Chapter 28 #2
“Don’t worry,” he said. “She mostly uses it to keep snacks and Capri Suns cold.”
He plugged it in on the dresser.
“For your insulin,” he said. Like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me.
I felt my heart beat in my chest—an irregular sort of rhythm that would usually scare me. But with Gavin there’s never anything to be afraid of.
I didn’t cry.
Instead, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, hoping he understood what that meant.
And now, sitting here, I’m having a hard time focusing.
“So you two have a daughter?” Carl asks as he serves himself pasta salad.
Of all the things we discussed, clarifying whether Lily was mine never came up. Rather than inflate the lie any further, I stick to the truth. It feels wrong to claim Lily as my own when the reason Gavin wants this house in the first place is so she can feel closer to her real mom.
“She’s my step daughter, but I’ve known her most of her life.”
Maggie smiles. “We have an older daughter—Carl’s from his first marriage—but I’ve always loved her like my own. She lives in New York so we don’t get to see her as often as we’d like.”
She says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, I can tell she means it.
Carl nods, taking a sip of iced tea before leaning back. “Family’s complicated, isn’t it? The way it grows and shifts.”
“What do you two do for work?” Maggie asks, genuine curiosity in her tone.
Gavin answers first. “I’m a winemaker,” he says, offering it the way someone does when they don’t think what they do is remarkable. But it is. He’s just too humble to admit it. “I studied chemistry and enology so I manage the cellar and the blends for my family’s winery back in Red Mountain.”
“Oh, we love Red Mountain,” Maggie says, lighting up. “We used to go there on weekends just to look at the vineyards. The hills, the colors…” she sighs. “It’s a beautiful little town.”
I smile, unable to help myself. “He’s being modest.” I slide my hand over Gavin’s, my thumb brushing the back of his knuckles. “He’s an award-winning winemaker. One of the best.”
Gavin’s ears turn the faintest shade of pink, and Carl lets out a low whistle.
“Well now,” Carl says, impressed. “You didn’t mention that part.”
Gavin shrugs, embarrassed but smiling at me. “Anyway,” he drags. “My beautiful wife is a very talented actress.”
Maggie’s eyes widen as she leans forward. “Oh, really? Anything I might’ve seen?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Probably not. I was in a short-lived single-camera workplace mockumentary sitcom called The Dealership. It got cancelled pretty fast. After that, I ended up in Chicago working with comedy troupes—kind of like Whose Line Is It Anyway meets SNL.”
Carl and Maggie exchange looks, either fascinated or at the very least entertained.
Maggie tilts her head, curiosity written all over her face. “So how did you end up in Red Mountain after all that? I imagine it wasn’t easy to leave behind. That’s quite a life you had.”
Gavin goes still beside me, hand tightening around mine.
“It was just time,” I say easily. “The lifestyle can be a lot and the money isn’t great. An old mentor of mine retired from her position as community theater director and recommended me for the role. After that, everything fell right into place.”
They both smile, nodding their head, but Gavin is staring straight at me. I can see the question in his eyes, wondering if there’s some truth to what I just said, or if I really am that good at thinking on the fly.
Two things can be true at once.
I squeeze his hand back, just once, saying I’ll tell you about it later without speaking at all.
“That’s very brave of you,” Maggie says. “Starting again. Most people don’t let themselves do that.”
I nod, focusing on my food as a quiet settles over the table.
After a beat, Carl clears his throat. “So. The house.” He wipes his hands with a napkin. “I’m assuming you’ll be using it as a second home? Why Wallula Lake?”
Gavin shifts in his seat. “My daughter’s mom passed away. She never got the chance to know her. But she spent a lot of time here as a kid, and we thought having a home here would be a meaningful way for her to feel connected to her mother.”
Maggie presses her hand to her chest. Carl’s jaw tightens around emotion he’s trying to conceal.
“That’s a good reason,” Carl says finally. “A damn good one.”
Maggie’s eyes are soft. “We want this place to go to people who will love it. Not just use it, not just claim it—love it.”
“Our kids both want the house,” Carl explains.
“And we love them dearly. But neither of them is around enough to take care of it. They work out of state, they travel, they’re busy.
They’re not married or settled down.” He gives a small shrug.
“We’ve kept up with it as long as we could, but we’re getting older.
A house like this needs hands on it. Feet on its floors.
Someone who will remember to winterize the pipes and repaint the shutters when they need it. Really take care of the place.”
Maggie leans forward slightly, voice kind. “We want to sell it to someone who will appreciate it.”
Carl hesitates for a beat before adding, “We think our son came by today to try to convince us otherwise.”
Maggie waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry yourselves over it though. It’s our decision. And we take our time making decisions.” She moves to stand. “Who wants dessert?”