Epilogue
The last week of June arrived the way the best weeks do—without anyone keeping track.
The house ran itself now. Sophie worked four nights a week at The Crabby Catch, coming home with stories about difficult customers and the occasional mention of Jake that she thought sounded casual.
Brittany had stopped explaining where she was going in the evenings, and nobody asked.
Ethan had finally called his father back.
He'd stand at the altar, but he wasn't doing the family photos with Tessa or pretending they were all one big happy unit.
Kevin had agreed, which surprised them all, Ethan most of all.
Carrie had worked another morning at the farm market. She'd come back with a crate of zucchini and snap peas that hadn't sold, and the names of two women she'd promised to meet for coffee. She hadn't made a new friend in years. Now she had two.
Lori had been to one more event at the vineyard. She'd at last told the others about John—the bookstore, the talks, the kiss by the pond. They'd made her tell the kiss part three times.
Jen had seen Clint once since the concert—a walk on the beach that lasted three hours. She wasn't calling it anything yet. But she'd caught herself humming one of his songs that morning.
And Olivia was calm.
The change was obvious. Nobody mentioned it.
The tension she'd carried since February—the checking of her phone, the way she'd go still when Dan's name came up—it was gone.
She'd been hiking with Michael twice more.
Once at Belleplain, once at a preserve near Cape May.
Everyone knew about Dan by now. They knew about Michael too—she'd told them that night in the living room—but not how often she'd been thinking about him since.
For the first time in months, she was looking forward instead of back.
It was late afternoon, the sun dropping toward the bay, when they gathered on the deck.
Tom was at the grill again. Meredith had her feet up, a glass of wine in her hand.
The teenagers had claimed their usual corners—pool, living room couch, the upstairs hallway where the Wi-Fi was strongest. Sophie was getting ready for her shift.
Carrie noticed it first.
A silver sedan turning onto 59th Street, moving slowly, like the driver was looking for an address. Out-of-state plates.
"Anyone expecting company?" she asked.
No one answered. The sedan slowed as it approached the house.
Then it pulled into the driveway.
Olivia's wine glass stopped halfway to her mouth.
The engine cut. Nothing moved—just the glint of late light off the windshield, the distant sound of waves.
The driver's door opened.
Dan stepped out.
He looked the same as ever—khakis, button-down, not a hair out of place. He scanned the yard, the faces turning toward him.
His eyes found Olivia.
She didn't move. Didn't speak. Her knuckles went white around the stem.
Dan shut the door. Didn't wave. Didn't smile. Just started walking, jaw tight.
Meredith caught Olivia's eye. Lori did the same.
The surf kept its rhythm. The grill hissed. Somewhere inside, a phone buzzed and went ignored.
Dan reached the bottom of the deck stairs and stopped. Looked up.
"Olivia," he said. "We need to talk."