Chapter Thirty-One
Joe

Izzy’s clearing plates, and I should help, but I can’t move-not because of my damn leg but because if I move -I may chicken out.

Grace moves closer to me under the table, and soon her snore like a heartbeat in the quiet.

I watch Izzy’s hands—steady, graceful, a little bandaged. She sliced her finger earlier. I noticed. She didn’t say anything, but I saw the way she winced when she stirred the sauce.

I clear my throat. “Hey.”

She looks up, half-smiling. “Yeah?”

“I need to say something before I lose my nerve.” I move my bad leg to a more comfortable position.

She pauses, dish in hand, a nervous smile on her face. “Okay.”

I put my elbows on the table and glance over at Miss Alice’s picture for strength. “I’m staying. You know that. But I want you to know why.”

She slips quietly back into her chair and swipes  at some  runaway crumbs. “ You can tell me anything, Joe.”

God, she’s wonderful.

“Thanks.  I realized I’ve been  closed off for a long time. Years. My job—counterintelligence —it trained me to shut everything down. Feelings, reactions, even joy. You learn to compartmentalize or you drown.”

Izzy pours me another cup of coffee. “That’s a good thing right? Now you can fix it”

“I didn’t realize how much I’d buried until I got back to the states. Until I saw this house. You. Grace. Miss Alice’s photo on the fridge. It’s like something cracked open.”

I fidget with the salt and pepper shakers, then look back at her. “I feel like I’m coming back to life.”

She gently places her hand on my arm.

“I was a bad brother. I ghosted my family. Missed birthdays. Dodged calls. I told myself it was for their safety, but really—I was scared. Scared they’d see how hollow I’d become.”

Izzy’s eyes soften, but she doesn’t speak. I’m grateful.

“I want to fix that. I want to be better. Not just for them—for me. For whatever’s next.”

I take a breath. The big one’s coming. Be brave, Joe. No more hiding.

“And I want you to know… “

I put my hand on hers and give a gentle squeeze. “I’m developing feelings for you. More than friendship feelings. Real feelings. Good ones.”

Her breath catches and her face flushes with a pink glow.

“I didn’t expect it. Didn’t plan it. But it’s there. Real. And I hope—I really hope—it’s something you feel too.”

The silence stretches, but it’s not empty. It’s full of possibility.

Izzy leans in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “Joe…”

I brace myself.

Please say you feel the same way.

She puts her other hand on top of mine. “I feel it, too.  I haven’t felt like this… since Steven but, “ she squeezes my fingers, “I definitely feel it too. “

My whole body releases the tension I’ve been holding onto.

She feels it too.

My face breaks out into a huge smile. “ Hallelujah.” Then I lean across the table and plant a soft kiss on her lips. “ This is gonna be good.”

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Two
Izzy

He kissed me. It was quick and light and it throws me for a loop.

He kissed me.

I’m still holding Joe’s hand. His fingers are warm, calloused, steady. Mine are trembling just a little, but I don’t think he notices.

Gra e snorts herself awake and I laugh a bit too loud,- a bit ill-timed but then Joe s laughs too.  The tension of the moment cracks as we both laugh at Grace’s faux paus.

Then just as quick, my body tenses back up as  thoughts of the kiss and what it means- run through my head.  Flustered, I jump to my feet.  ” Joe, I need a minute. Please, I need a minute.”

 Joe gives me a knowing smile. “I’ll be here, Izzy. Take your time.”

I clear the rest of the dishes, but my legs feel wobbly, like I’ve just stepped off a boat. In the kitchen, I rinse plates and let the water run too long as I stare out the window. I’m not stalling. I’m thinking.

He said it first, Miss Alice. He said it first.

He’s staying.  He said he’s coming back to life.

Oh God, Miss Alice. He kissed me.

I grip the edge of the sink. Imagining Miss Alice clapping in joy whispering “Took you long enough, Izzy.”

I dry my hands and glance into the dining room. Joe’s watching me, not impatient, just present. That’s new. That’s rare.

I walk back slowly, sit across from him again. “You meant all of it?”

“Every word.”

I swallow hard. “Then I guess we figure out what comes next.”

Joe leans back, winces slightly, and Grace shifts to rest her head on his boot.

“Together?”

I reach for his hand again. “Yeah. Together.”

After the dishes are done, I look back at Joe.” Let’s take a walk.”

I grab the old lantern from the shelf by the back door. It’s dented, a little rusty, but the flame still burns steadily. I watch the soft glow settle into the glass like a secret.

Joe raises an eyebrow. “No flashlight?”

 “Lantern’s better. Softer light. Makes the garden come alive.”

He follows me out, limping a little, but steady. Grace trots ahead like she owns the place. The night air is cool, and the scent of flowers and damp earth wraps around us like a shawl.

We walk past the rosemary bush, the gnomes Miss Alice loved, and the patch of purple coneflowers I planted last spring. The lantern casts golden halos on the leaves, and everything looks gentler somehow. Like the garden’s holding its breath.

A rustle near the fence makes me smile. “He’s here.”

Joe squints trying to see in the dark. “Who?”

“His Royal Highness,” I whisper.

The cat slinks out from behind the hydrangeas, tail high, eyes gleaming.

“He’s not mine, not really. Just visits when he pleases. But he’s been coming more often lately.”

“You named the cat His Royal Highness?”

I crouch to greet him. “He demands attention, has a regal walk, expects treats, and rules everything around him. At least he thinks he does. What else would I call him?”

Joe laughs, low and warm. “Fair point.”

“Come on,” I say as I lead him to the shed and show him the secret stash hidden on the second shelf- a tin of cat treats and a brand new bag of treats for Grace.  “This is where I keep the good stuff. Miss Alice used to say even strays deserve a little luxury.”

We give the cat a treat, then one to Grace, who’s already sitting like she’s earned it.

Joe leans down and scratches Grace behind her ear. She leans into him like she’s known him forever. “Such a good dog.”

“She really is.”

We walked  past the succulents and the stone path I laid myself. Joe reaches for my hand. I let him. Neither of us say a word. We just walk like that—lantern swinging, fingers laced, hearts thudding.

It’s a big step. But it feels right.

I stop near the bench and sit. Joe lowers himself beside me, careful with his leg. The lantern rests between us, casting soft shadows.

“I want to tell you something,”

He doesn’t rush me.

“After Miss Alice died, I was alone. Truly alone. No Steven. No Molly. No Miss Alice. Just me and this house and a garden full of memories.”

Joe’s hand tightens around mine.

“I didn’t know how to be alone. Not really. I kept busy—fixing things, planting things, pretending I was fine. But I wasn’t. I totally withdrew into myself.”

The wind shifts, and the lantern flickers.

“I didn’t realize how far I’d slipped until you and Matt showed up that first day.  I’m figuring it out. – day by day- person by person. How to let people in again. How to trust that they’ll stay.”

Joe doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t let go either.

I lean my head on his shoulder, just for a moment. The garden hums around us—soft, alive, listening.

I shift, just slightly, lifting my head from Joe’s shoulder. It’s instinct—too much closeness, too fast. But his hand moves, gentle and firm, resting on my arm.

“Stay It’s been a long time since someone touched me like that.”

I freeze. Not out of fear, but because I know exactly what he means.

So, I stay enveloped in his warmth and woodsy smell.

The lantern flickers between us, casting soft shadows on the bench and the stone path. The garden hums with night sounds—crickets chirping, the neighborhood owl calling from the pine tree, Grace rustling through the bushes like she’s on a mission from God knows what.

Neither of us speaks for a while. We just sit, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, letting the quiet do the talking.

Then Joe shifts slightly, his voice low. “There was someone. A long time ago.”

I glance at him, but don’t push.

“Her name was Anne.  I met her during a long assignment in Scotland. She was smart, funny, had this way of making everything feel like it mattered.”

He pauses, and I hear the ache in his breath.

“I loved her. I really did. But I got reassigned. No warning, no time. Just gone.”

“Did you try to stay in touch?”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t. She was a civilian. A UK citizen. Not with the risk associated with my job. I told myself it was better that way. Cleaner. Safer.”

He looks at me then, eyes steady. “I didn’t ever want to feel that way again. Didn’t want to need someone like that. It hurt too much.”

I swallow hard, heart thudding.  “ Oh Joe.”

He runs his hand down my hair, holding my head to his shoulder. “But this thing between us…” his voice barely above the breeze. “It feels different. Natural. Like it’s supposed to happen. Destined.”

 I cuddle in closer, resting my head on his shoulder, this time with intention.

He places kisses on my head as he holds me.

The lantern glows. The garden listens. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe in something soft. Something real. Something Miss Alice would’ve smiled at and called a beginning.

Joe glances at the sky, then at me. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” I’m reluctant to let the night end.

He walks me back to the deck and up to my door, slow and steady, careful with his leg—and with me. Grace trails behind like a sleepy shadow. The porch light casts a soft glow, but the lantern still flickers in his hand.

He pauses. “Thank you. For dinner. For the walk. For the talk.”

I smile, heart thudding. “You’re welcome.”

Please, Miss Alice. I want him to kiss me again.

He  pulls me closer—not rushed, not uncertain—and presses a kiss to my forehead. Not my lips. Just my forehead. Gentle. Grounding.

“Goodnight, Izzy.”

“Goodnight, Joe.”

He turns and walks toward the gate, Grace padding beside him all the way.

He stops, gives Grace a goodnight rub, and sends her back to me. “Take care of Izzy for me, girl.”

I watch as he disappears into the dark, and Grace runs back toward me.

Not ready to go in yet, I walk back down to the garden.

The gnomes are waiting, tucked among the flowers. I find Mrs. Alexander—her blue and red paint faded, her crown slightly chipped. Miss Alice gave her to me for my birthday years ago, said she was a special gnome who granted wishes.

I crouch beside her, brushing a leaf off her shoulder.

“Mrs. Alexander,” I whisper. “I’ve never asked you for a wish before. But I am now.”

The garden is quiet, listening.

“Please let this thing between Joe and me work out. I really need it.”

I rest my hand on her tiny stone head, then stand and look toward the house. The porch light glows. The candle inside still flickers.

I let myself hope.

Time passed, but not quietly.

Joe and I saw each other every day, sometimes over coffee, sometimes over drywall.  Joe’s leg healed as did our hearts. The rhythm of our lives began to sync, not in grand declarations but in small, steady ways. He’d show up with fresh lumber and a crooked smile. I’d hand him a sandwich and ask about the house progress. Grace followed us everywhere, tail wagging like she knew something good was unfolding.

His house came together faster than I expected. Joe worked with quiet focus, fixing what needed fixing, restoring what deserved to stay. And when it was done—really done—he moved in. Not just into the house, but into the life we were building.

Some nights he stayed late. Then later. Then he didn’t leave at all.

It wasn’t sudden, but it was real. Our relationship had blossomed into something full and intimate—shared mornings, whispered laughter, the kind of closeness that doesn’t need explanation. We didn’t talk about it much. We didn’t have to.

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Three
Joe

Over breakfast, I clear my throat to get her attention. "I was thinking… maybe it’s time Claire, Matt, and the boys came by. To see the house.”

And get to know you.

Izzy looks up from her coffee, eyes bright. “Good. A housewarming party.”

I shake my head. “Not really. Just Matt’s family and us.”

She grins. “That’s not a party?”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

“But it could be.” She’s already standing, rubbing her hands together, already planning.

By the time I finish my eggs, she’s rattling off ideas—food, drinks, games for the boys, a playlist Miss Alice would’ve approved of. I don’t even try to stop her. Watching her in motion is like watching someone conduct a symphony only she can hear.

I just sit back and smile. “You’re really doing this.”

She winks. “You invite them. I’ll make it fun.”

—

The day of the party, the house looks better than it ever has.  Every room is cleaned and even  without a lot of furniture, it’s looking great.  Izzy’s got platters of food lined up on the kitchen island—deviled eggs, pulled pork sliders, fruit skewers, and something she calls “Miss Alice’s lemonade,” which I suspect has more than just lemons in it.

Grace is freshly brushed and wearing a  purple bandana.  “Grace is officially company ready.”

When Matt’s truck pulls up, the boys tumble out like puppies. Claire follows, arms full of flowers and a bottle of wine.

“Welcome to the finished product,” I say, opening the gate.

Claire whistles. “Joe, this is beautiful.”

“Thank Izzy,” I say. “She made it a party.”

Izzy interrupts. “No Silly, she meant your house- all the work you’ve done on it.”

Claire laughs and points at Izzy. “What she said.”

The boys are already chasing Grace through the yard.  

“Grace loves the boys already.”

 Claire laughs as Grace knocks Chase down, smothering him in kisses. He shrieks with joy while Oliver calls her over for his turn. Doggie kisses all around.   

“Who wants to have a Scavenger hunt? “ Izzy calls out from the back porch.

“We do!” The boys yell and run over , their faces glowing with excitement.

Izzy hands them a scavenger hunt list and a basket of clues. They’re off like rockets with Grace hot on their heels.

 Matt grabs a beer from the ice bucket. “Smart move, Izzy. Keeping the kids busy.”

Claire and Izzy hit it off immediately. Within ten minutes, they’re laughing like old friends, heads bent over a tray of cookies, whispering about something I’m probably not supposed to hear.

Then Claire turns to Izzy, “You should come shopping with me one weekend. Just us girls.”

I brace myself. Izzy doesn’t do shopping trips. Or girls’ weekends. Or casual yeses.

But she smiles. “Sure. I’d like that.”

I blink. Claire blinks. Izzy just keeps smiling like it’s no big deal.

But it is. It’s a huge deal. I feel it in my chest-like something  positive just clinked in place.

I mutter under my breath, “Miss Alice, she said yes.”

Later, after all our bellies are full and the boys are sticky with cake and smell like smoked barbeque, Matt claps me on the back. “You’ve got a good thing here, Joe.”

I look across the yard at Izzy—barefoot, laughing, passing out popsicles like she’s known the boys forever.

“Yeah, I really do.”

After the last popsicle wrapper is tossed and the lemonade pitcher rinsed, Claire helps Izzy clean up inside while Matt and I wrangle the boys’ mess outside—scavenger hunt clues, muddy shoes, a trail of cookie crumbs that somehow made it all the way over to Izzy’s rosemary bushes.

When Matt loads his crew into the truck, the boy’s wave like they’re leaving summer camp. Claire hugs Izzy tight and promises to text about the shopping trip. Then they’re gone, and the house is quiet again.

I find Izzy on the porch, wiping down the last tray. “You need a break,”

She raises an eyebrow. “From what?”

“From being amazing, From doing everything. ” I take her hand. “Come on.”

I led her through the gate, into her garden, and to the bench near the coneflowers. Our special spot. The lantern’s already there, still warm from earlier. We sit, shoulder to shoulder, the way we always do.

 “Were you serious? About shopping with Claire?”

 “I was. I need to take this step. Claire knows about my problem—what I’ve been through. She’s kind, but she doesn’t tiptoe. That’s good for me.”

I squeeze her hand and place a kiss on her warm cheek.  “I could go with you.”

“I know. But I need to do it myself.”

She’s proud. A little nervous. Mostly proud.

Just then, a rustle near the hydrangeas.

Izzy grins. “Right on time.”

His Royal Highness appears, tail high, like he’s inspecting his kingdom. He greets us with a loud meow and sits in front of us.

Izzy giggles. “Yes, we know the rules.” She lets go of my hand and heads for the shed. “Getting the treats.”

Grace rushes over, flopping beside the bench, tail thumping.

“Don’t worry, girl. I’m sure she has something for you, too.”

Izzy hands the cat his treat, and he accepts it like he’s doing us a favor. I hand Grace one of hers. At least I get a tail wag for it.

We sit back down, the garden humming around us, and I think—this is what peace feels like. A woman who’s brave enough to grow. A dog who snores like a drumbeat. A cat who demands tribute. And me, right where I want to be.

 

Chapter Thirty-Four
Izzy

Two weeks later, I stand in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of my shirt. The glass throws back a version of me I’m not sure I recognize—hair smoothed, shoulders squared, like I’m auditioning for a role I’ve never played. Shopping for fun. Not groceries. Not hardware. Just… fun.

Miss Alice, does this shirt go with these pants?

The question hangs heavier than it should. My throat tightens, because it isn’t really about the shirt. It’s about whether I look like someone who belongs in that world—bright lights, racks of clothes, laughter spilling from dressing rooms. I tilt my head, searching for courage in my own eyes.

For a second, I imagine Miss Alice standing behind me, her hand light on my shoulder, her smile saying yes, you do. The thought steadies me. I smooth the fabric again, willing myself to believe it.

Joe’s watching me from the bed, one arm behind his head, the other tossing Grace’s toy back and forth. He’s pretending to be relaxed, but I can see he’s more nervous than I am.

“You sure you’re up for this?”

I smooth my shirt and double check my hair in the mirror. “Yep.”

He grins. “You’re not even sweating.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Should I be?”

 “I don’t know. You’re about to enter the wild world of mall culture. Claire’s ruthless, you know.”

I laugh. “She’s not that bad.”

“She made me try on skinny jeans once,” he says, dead serious.

I snort. “Well, I’m not buying jeans.”

He tosses the toy again. “What are you buying?”

I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder. “I might stop at Victoria’s Secret.”

Joe drops the toy.

I turn, trying not to smile. “You, okay?”

He sits up, eyes wide. “You’re definitely ready for this.”

I lean down and kiss his cheek. “Don’t wait up.”

He grabs my hand before I go. “I’m proud of you.”

I squeeze his fingers. “Me too.”

Grace whines at the door, like she wants to come. I crouch and scratch behind her ear. “Not this time, girl. This one’s just for me.”

I step outside, sunlight warm on my face, and head toward Claire’s car waiting at the curb.
Here we go, Miss Alice. Ready or not.

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Five
Izzy

The mall is bigger, louder than I remember. Brighter, too. Everything smells like sugar and perfume and something vaguely synthetic. Claire walks beside me like she owns the place, weaving through clusters of teenagers and sale signs with practiced ease.

I feel like I’ve landed on another planet.

We pass a group of girls—barely teenagers, maybe—and I stop short. They’re wearing crop tops, tiny skirts, and enough makeup to stock a theater troupe.

“They’re half naked,” I whisper. “Did their mothers let them out of the house like that?”

Claire shrugs. “Probably helped them pick out the outfit.”

“Seriously?”

 “It’s different now. TV, internet, music videos, they grow up fast. Too fast.”

I glance back at the girls, then at the polished tile floor, suddenly unsteady.

“If Molly had lived, she’d be about their age.”

Claire stopped walking. “Izzy…”

I shake my head. “I’m okay. Sometimes memoires just sneak in.”

She doesn’t say anything, just links her arm through mine and steers me toward a coffee shop.

“Come on,” she says. “You need a seasonal reset.”

“A what?”

She grins. “Spiced pumpkin latte. Trust me.”

I’ve never had one. Never even thought about it. But I let her order for me, and when the cup lands in my hand—warm, fragrant, topped with whipped cream—I take a sip. It’s sweet. Spicy. Comforting.

Claire watches me. “Well?”

I add a smirk. “Okay. I get it all the hype now. It’s delicious.””

We hit four stores in under an hour. Claire’s a machine. I buy a soft blue blouse that makes me feel like spring, and then—on impulse—a shirt for Joe. Dark green, rugged, something he’ll pretend not to care about but wear all the time.

In the third store, I glance up from a rack of scarves and freeze.

Claire nudges me. “What?”

“I swear I just saw Joe.”

She snorts. “Here? At the mall?”

I gesture behind me. “He ducked behind the sunglasses kiosk.”

Claire grins. “You think he followed us?”

“I think he’s trying to be subtle and failing.”

We laugh all the way to the next store.

I catch him again—this time near the food court, pretending to study a pretzel menu like it’s a classified document.

Claire leans in. “We should get him somehow.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How?”

“Victoria’s Secret.”

“You’re evil.”

She grabs my hand. “Come on. Let’s give him something to overhear.”

—

Inside the store, everything is pink, lace and glitter. Claire holds up a pair of G-string panties that look more like dental floss than clothing.

“Do you think Joe would like this?” she asks, loud enough to carry.

I laugh. “There’s not much to them.”

From behind the full-length mirror, I hear a soft thud—like someone bumping into a wall.

Claire whispers, “Gotcha.”

I peek around the corner and catch a glimpse of Joe’s boots. He’s crouched behind the mirror, trying to disappear.

I lean close to the lace and whisper, “I think he’s blushing.”

 “Mission accomplished.”

I don’t buy the G-string. But I do buy something soft, black and just enough.

And when we walk out of the store, Joe’s nowhere to be seen.

But I know he’ll ask about the bag later.

By the time Claire drops me off, I’m tired, over-caffeinated, and carrying two shopping bags that feel like small trophies. Joe meets me at the door, trying to look casual, but his eyes go straight to the bags.

“Have fun?” he asks, leaning in for a kiss.

“I did.”

He eyes the bags again. “Buy anything interesting?”

“Maybe.”

He follows me into the kitchen like a curious puppy. “You gonna show me?”

“Nope.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not even a hint?”

“Not even a peek.”

I set the bags on the counter and turn to put the kettle on. When I glance back, Joe’s inching toward them like they might open themselves if he stares hard enough.

“Joe,” I warn.

“I’m just looking at what stores you went to.”

“Uh-huh.”

Grace trots in, tail wagging, and immediately noses the bags. Before I can stop her, she grabs  the Victoria Secret bag  by the handle and gives it a good shake. The contents spill across the floor—tissue paper, receipts, and the black negligee.

Joe freezes. “Is that…?”

I scoop it up, trying not to laugh. “Grace!”

Joe’s eyes are wide. “That’s not a G-string.”

“Disappointed?”

He shrugs, grinning. “A little. But that—” he points to the negligee, “—is a very acceptable alternative.”

I fold it neatly and hold it to my chest. “You want me to try it on?”

 “Desperately.”

I tilt my head. “Only if you admit what you did while I was shopping.”

He plays dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Joe.”

He holds up his hands. “I was just… making sure you were okay.”

I narrow my eyes. “You were hiding behind a mirror in Victoria’s Secret.”

He grins. “And I regret nothing.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Fine. You’re off the hook.”

I disappear into the bedroom and slip into the negligee. It’s soft, sheer, and makes me feel like someone who says yes to things now.

When I step back into the room, Joe’s already standing, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing in the world.

He runs his hands down the fabric of the negligee.   “Oh Iz, you look amazing.” He pulls me into his arms and kisses my neck .” So soft. Sexy.”

Then with a caveman like growl announces, “ Dinner’s gonna have to wait.”

 

Chapter Thirty-six
Izzy

Joe slices his sandwich with the precision of a man who’s used to making decisions that matter.  I watch the knife glide through the sourdough I baked this morning, his hands steady, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.

“We’ve been invited to dinner,” he says, casual, like he’s asking if I want more coffee. “At Matt’s place. Claire’s cooking.”

I pause, fork hovering over my salad. “Dinner?”

 “Yeah, tomorrow night. He called this morning. Said Claire’s been asking when we’d come by. I told him I’d check with you first.”

My stomach tightens—not with dread, exactly. More like the fluttery kind of nerves that come before a storm or a first date. “You want to go?”

“I do,” he says, setting the knife down. “But only if you’re up for it. It’s a drive. It’s people. It’s... a lot.”

I take a breath.

Can I do this?

The idea of stepping into someone else’s home, into their rhythm and warmth and noise—just the idea used to terrify me. But lately, I’ve been craving it. Not just the food or the conversation, but the belonging. The way Matt looks at Joe like he’s family. The way Claire’s voice softens when she talks about her kids. The way their youngest son, Oliver, handed me a dandelion like it was treasure.

“I’m ready, As long as you’re with me and Grace is invited too.”

Joe’s smile is quiet, but it reaches his eyes. He pulls out his phone and dials. I listen to the low murmur of his voice as he talks to Matt, the easy laughter, the way he says, “Yeah, she’s in. We’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, we’re bringing Grace too.”

When he hangs up, he looks at me like I’ve just crossed a finish line.

“You sure?”

 “Family is important.”

____

Joe’s truck rumbles down the road like it’s been doing this for decades—no fancy screens, no cup holders that actually hold. Just one long bench seat and the smell of old leather, motor oil and dog.

Grace starts panting.  She’s restless, tail thumping against my thigh. Then she spots the open window and makes her decision.

Problem is, I’m in her way.

She nudges me once. Then again. Then with more determination, like I’m a stubborn gate she’s been assigned to breach.

Before I can protest, I’m squished up against Joe, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, as Grace claims the rest of the seat. Her head hangs out the window, ears flapping, tongue lolling in pure canine ecstasy.

“She’s ridiculous,” Joe’s arm brushes mine as he shifts gears.

Joe pats my leg. “She’s loves  that. “

Dog Nirvana.

 Sitting here between Joe and Grace  feels so perfect. Miss Alice, I’m happy. Really happy.

We pull into Matt and Claire’s driveway just as the sun starts to dip, casting long shadows across the yard. Grace whines when she sees the grass, but Joe clips on her leash before she can bolt.

“No fence,” he reminds her gently. “You’re a guest, not a marauder.”

She doesn’t care. The moment the boys—Chase and Oliver—spot her, it’s chaos. They grab the leash and take off, laughing as Grace drags them through the grass like a sled team. She’s in heaven. They’re in hysterics.

 Claire watches from the porch, shaking her head with a smile. “She’s got them trained already,”

The house smells like garlic and roasted chicken. Warm. Familiar. I roll up my sleeves and start chopping carrots while Claire stirs something fragrant on the stove.

“So, You and Joe. Things going okay?”

I nearly drop the knife. “Uh—yeah. I think so.”

She doesn’t press me to elaborate, just hands me a bowl. “He’s different with you. Softer.”

I feel my face flush. “He’s... steady. I didn’t expect that.”

Claire nods, slicing onions with practiced ease. “Matt says Joe’s been more grounded lately. Like he’s got something to come home to.”

Miss Alice, help me through this conversation, please.

I don’t know what to say to that. I just stir the carrots and try not to overthink it.

“He’s good with Grace,” I offer, because it’s true and easier to say.

Claire smirks at me over her shoulder.  “He’s good with you.”

I glance out the window. Joe’s laughing with the boys, Grace tangled in the leash, tail wagging like a metronome.

Dinner is loud in the best way—clinking forks, overlapping voices, Grace thumping her tail under the table every time someone drops a crumb. Claire’s chicken is perfect, the kind that tastes like it’s been cooked with love, garlic and maybe a little magic.

Joe’s got one arm draped behind me on the bench, relaxed, like he belongs here. Like we both do.

“I’ve been fixing up the spare room,” he says between bites. “Thought it might be nice for the boys when they visit.”

Chase perks up. “Can we have bunk beds?”

Oliver doesn’t miss a beat. “And stars on the ceiling. Like the glow-in-the-dark kind.”

Joe grins. “Bunk beds and stars? I think I can manage that.”

The boys cheer like he’s promised them a roller coaster.

Matt leans back, watching Joe with that quiet, assessing look he gets sometimes. “You planning on getting a job once the house is finished?”

Joe shrugs. “I’m not sure yet.”

I set down my fork. “He doesn’t have to. Not unless he wants to.”

The table quiets. Even Grace stops thumping.

“I have enough for both of us,” my voice steady. “After the accident... I sued the city. It was a drunk city worker in a city vehicle. They settled. I got a large lump sum and  I get a monthly annuity. It’s enough.”

Claire reaches for my hand without a word. Matt nods, slow and respectful.

“I’m happy to share with Joe,” I add. “He’s not a project. He’s my person.”

Joe doesn’t say anything, but his hand finds mine under the table. His thumb brushes my knuckles, grounding me.

The boys start talking about bunk bed ladders and star constellations again, and the moment passes like a ripple—quiet, but deep.

 

 

Chapter Thirty-seven

Joe

I’m still thinking about what Izzy said at dinner.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hedge. Just laid it out—what happened, what she did about it, and what she’s willing to share.

With me.

It was a shock, I’ll admit. But my surprise wasn’t about the money—it was about the trust. My chest tightens, not with nerves but with something steadier, heavier. Amazing woman.

The boys are still buzzing about bunk beds and glow-in-the-dark stars. Chase wants a ladder. Oliver wants a slide. I told them I’d see what I could do, and now I’ve got sketches forming in my head—two-by-fours, brackets, maybe a pulley system if I’m feeling ambitious.

Claire’s clearing plates, Matt’s refilling glasses. Izzy’s laughing at something Oliver said, her face soft in the lamplight. Grace sprawls under the table, leash tangled around a chair leg, tail twitching in her sleep.

I lean back and let it all sink in.

Matt slides into the seat next to me, quiet for a beat. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just... taking inventory.”

He nods like he gets it. “Izzy’s strong.”

“She is.”

“You’re good for her.”

I glance at her—she’s helping Claire wrap leftovers, her hands moving with purpose. “She’s good for me.”

The boys are still riding high on sugar and bunk bed dreams when Matt suggests we take the party outside. His firepit’s already stacked with wood, and the air’s just cool enough to make the idea perfect.

“Come on,” he says, clapping Chase on the back. “It’s time you learn how to build a proper fire.”

We head out, the boys trailing behind like ducklings. Grace trots along, leash dragging, tail wagging like she’s got opinions about fire safety.

Matt hands me the lighter while Chase and Oliver argue over who gets to toss in the kindling. To stop a major fight, I let them both do it. The flames catch fast, licking up through the dry wood, casting flickers across their little faces.

Claire and Izzy come out a few minutes later with mugs of coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for the boys. Claire rushes back in for a plate of dessert bars that smell like cinnamon and brown sugar.

She hands me a cup and settles on the bench beside Matt, legs tucked under her. “I just realized you both don’t know how Matt and I met.” The smirk on her face tells me it’s a good story.

Matt groans. “She’s never gonna let me live that day down.”

Claire grins. “We met at the DMV office of all places. Both renewing our car registrations at the last possible minute. I was behind him in line, complaining about the wait. He turned around and offered me half his granola bar.”

“It was stale,” Matt mutters.

“It was charming,” Claire corrects him. “We ended up getting coffee after. The rest is history.”

Izzy laughs, but I see her watching Oliver, who’s wandered a few feet away, staring up at the sky.

She excuses herself and kneels beside him, pointing upward. Her voice is low, but I catch bits of it—Orion’s belt, the Big Dipper, the way the stars shift with the seasons. Oliver’s eyes are wide, soaking it all in like treasure.

The fire crackles. Grace sighs and flops down next to Chase. Claire leans into Matt’s shoulder. Izzy’s arm wraps gently around Oliver as they trace constellations with their fingers.

God, she’s wonderful. My throat warms, my chest tightens again. This is what home feels like.

After saying our goodbyes, I open the truck door and Grace leaps in like she owns it—because, let’s be honest, she kind of does. She heads straight for the passenger side, tail wagging, nose already pressed to the window.

Izzy doesn’t even try to argue this time. She just slides in next to me, giving Grace her spot without a word. Our shoulders touch. Her thigh presses against mine. It’s a quiet kind of closeness, the kind that doesn’t need announcing.

The fire’s smoke clings to my jacket as we pull away. Headlights sweep across Matt and Claire’s porch, and in the rearview mirror I catch the firepit still glowing, a soft orange pulse in the dark.

We drive in silence for a while, the road humming beneath us, Grace’s one ear flapping in the breeze.

Then Izzy puts her hand on my thigh. “Are you angry?”

I glance at her. “About what?”

“What I said at dinner. About the money. About you not needing to work if you don’t want to.” She fidgets with the hem of her sleeve. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like you’re... I don’t know. A kept man.”

I laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s so her—to worry about my pride when she’s the one who laid her whole heart and trust on the table.

“Iz, I’ve been broke. I’ve been flush. I’ve worked jobs that paid well and jobs that barely covered gas money. None of it ever made me feel rich.”

She looks at me, eyes searching.

“You make me feel rich. You, Grace, and this weird, wonderful life we’re building. That’s what matters. Not the money.”

She exhales, slow and relieved, and leans her head against my shoulder. “Thank you for not making the whole money thing weird.”

The ride home is easy—Grace in her window seat, Izzy tucked close, stars scattered above us. Comfort, trust, belonging. Richer than anything money ever bought me.

 

 Chapter Thirty-eight

Joe

After several weeks, I’m finally tackling the spare room. Between the kitchen and spending time with Izzy, it took a while to get to this project. The kitchen dragged on longer than I thought, but damn, it turned out nice.

Now I have to get this room done—soon. The boys have been begging for a sleepover, and I promised them bunk beds and glow-in-the-dark stars. I can’t believe how much those two little boys have come to mean to me. I want this room to be extra special.

I’m halfway through painting the walls—a soft grayish blue, nothing fancy. Just clean, calm, and washable, per the manufacturer. It’s turning out nice.

Grace, as usual, is curled up in the hallway, tail twitching every time I move the ladder. She’s become diplomatic these days, splitting her time equally between me and Izzy.

My cell phone rings.

I glance at the screen and freeze.

Army Command.

My hand tightens around the brush. I stare at the name like it might vanish if I blink hard enough. It doesn’t.

I answer the way I used to. “Romero.”

There’s a pause. Then a familiar voice. “Romero. It’s Tigs.”

My old boss. The one who never called unless something was fubar.

“I’ve had to reopen Mission Hell on Earth.”

Damn it.

I don’t speak. Not yet.

“There’s a shitload of new intel—hot, actionable intel. Everything we need to end it this time. For good. You’re the only one who has a solid relationship with this guy. Without you, we’d have to start back at the beginning. I need you back for this.”

Fuck.

I glance at the half-painted wall. At Grace. At the house I rebuilt with my own hands. At the life I’ve started with Izzy.

I could say no.

But I don’t.

Duty doesn’t vanish just because you’ve found peace.

“Fine. When? Where?”

“Pentagon. Three days. Thirteen hundred hours. My office.”

The line goes dead.

I set the brush down, walk to the window, and stare out at the garden. Izzy’s coneflowers are blooming again.

I don’t know how I’m going to tell her.

I find her in the back forty, kneeling in the dirt, pulling weeds from around her vegetables. Her hair’s tied up, her hands are dirty, and she’s humming something soft under her breath.

I walk toward her, slowly. Grace trots beside me, then flops in the shade like she knows this isn’t her moment.

Izzy doesn’t look up, but I know she feels me.

“Hey there, beautiful.” I kneel beside her and start pulling weeds too. The sun is warm. The soil smells like old rain.

She doesn’t speak for a minute. Then… “Just tell me.”

She knows something’s up.

My heart thuds faster in my chest as I brush a loose hair away from her eyes. “Izzy, Army Command called.”

She stops pulling weeds, her eyes raking over my face. “What—”

I jump right in, unable to wait another second. “They’re reopening my last mission. They need me back.”

Her eyes search mine. “Is it dangerous?”

Don’t lie to her. Tell her the truth.

“Yes.”

“Will you be leaving the country?”

“Yes.”

“How long will you be gone?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. As long as it takes.”

She swallows hard. “Will you be coming back?”

I reach for her hand, dirt and all. “Yes.”

She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t flinch.

We sit there in the dirt, weeds forgotten, while the wind moves through the trees and Grace snores softly behind us.

Izzy squeezes my hand. “Okay.”

And I know what she means.

She’s not okay, not really—but she knows I have to do this.

I pull her to me and kiss her. “I’m not leaving you. I promise. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Please don’t die on me, Joe. Please.” She whispers it in my ear.

Then she starts weeding again. “You need to go call Matt. Tell him.”

“I will.” I place a kiss on her forehead, then get up, brushing dirt off my pants.

She doesn’t look up, and I don’t push. I know her—she needs a few minutes to herself. To breathe. To brace.

I walk back to my house, grab a beer from the fridge, and sit at the kitchen table. Grace follows me in, settles under the chair like she knows this call’s going to be heavy.

I dial Matt.

He picks up on the second ring. “Hey, man. Must be important to call me at work.”

I don’t say anything right away.

Matt’s voice shifts. “Joe? What’s wrong?”

I take a breath. “I’ve been recalled.”

Silence.

Then, “What the hell do you mean, recalled?”

“Army Command. My last mission. They reopened it.”

Matt swears under his breath. “Damn it, Joe.”

I knew he’d be upset. He just got me back.

“You gave them twenty years. Isn’t that enough?”

“I thought so. But this is different. They wouldn’t have called me if it wasn’t important. Important for our country’s security.”

Matt’s quiet for a long time. “You always were the honorable one.”

Good. He’s come around.

“What do you need me to do?” Matt asks.

I swallow hard. “I need both you and Claire to keep Izzy company while I’m gone. I’m scared she’ll slip backward if she’s left alone.”

“You got it,” he says instantly. “We’ll be there. Every day if she needs us.”

Such a good brother.

“Thanks.”

Matt’s voice cracks just a little. “I need you to make it back. The boys need their uncle, so please—come home.”

“There’s only one thing that could keep me from coming home, Matt, and I promise to be extra careful.”

“You better be careful. You have people who love you here.”

“Love you, little bro.”

I hang up and stare at the beer in my hand. It’s warm now. I don’t drink it.

Grace moves to my side and leans close, giving me a doggy hug.

“Thanks, girl. You always know what we need.”

Outside, the garden is quiet. Izzy’s still out there pulling weeds, coming to grips with my leaving.

She could use a Grace hug too.

“Gracey girl, go find Izzy. Give her some love. She needs it.”

And the smart girl does just that.

My hands shake a bit as I pull an old napkin from the junk drawer, grab a pen, and start my list—things I need to do before I leave:

• Finish painting the boys’ room
• Change my will
• Write just-in-case letters: Izzy. Matt.
• Get a haircut

 

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Izzy

I start with the chicken I had delivered fresh by the neighborhood market. Thighs, bone-in, skin-on—Joe’s favorite. I sear them in butter, garlic, and thyme, filling the kitchen with savory goodness. The oven’s already warm and ready to go.

Grace, my sweet girl, hasn’t left my side in hours. Right now, she’s curled up by the fridge where she can keep an eye on me. I swear she can feel the shift coming—the changes.

Next, I chop carrots, celery, onion, and defrost a cup of peas, just enough for the chicken pot pies. His favorite.

Then comes Miss Alice’s secret gravy. So delicious and so simple to make. That’s the secret. I chuckle at that old memory.

Love you, Miss Alice.

As it thickens slowly on the burner, I roll out the dough. Then press it into the little ceramic dishes he loves. I make four, even though it’s just the two of us. He always eats two.

I get a peek at my reflection in the window.

 I’m a mess.

Flour dusts my shirt and there’s a smear of butter on my sleeve. I never was a neat cook—I guess I should use an apron sometimes.

When the sauce is thick enough, I combine the chicken and veggies into the sauce and fill the dough-covered dishes. A quick dough top on each and they’re ready for the oven.

Next I start dessert, another of his favorites—hand pies. Apples go first—Granny Smiths, tart and firm. I peel and dice and toss them with cinnamon, nutmeg, a splash of lemon, and set them aside in the large mixing bowl Miss Alice gave me years ago. Lavender-colored, of course.

Next, I open a jar of minced meat. I guiltily admit, “Yes, I’m cheating, Miss Alice—I’m using store-bought filling.”

This is not the old-fashioned recipe made with beef. No, this “modern” minced meat is all fruit—raisins, currants, sultanas—just like Joe’s mother used to use.

He told me once that everyone thought he was crazy for loving minced meat pies at Thanksgiving. Said his mom made them every year, just for him.

I want him to taste that memory tonight.

The tears come while I’m crimping the edges. I let them. My hands tremble against the dough, chest tight, sharp and hollow, like the air’s been pulled out of me.

I lean against the counter, flour on my hands, and whisper to the room, I’m scared.

The air shifts. Not cold, not warm. Just… a subtle change.

“I can’t lose someone else. Not Joe. Not after everything.”

I close my eyes. The scent of cinnamon wraps around me like a hug.

Miss Alice’s voice is soft, steady. “He made it through twenty years of service, sweetheart. He came home. He’ll come home from this one too.”

I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe it yet.

“I just… I don’t know how to breathe without him.”

“You do know. You’ve done it before. But you won’t have to this time. He’s coming back.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

Knock it off. You’re stronger than this.

I wipe my face with the corner of my t-shirt, stand up straight, and finish the pies.

The noise from the oven door has Grace lifting her head and her tail banging against the side of the fridge. Getting Grace was one of my very best decisions.

I give her a small smile. “He’s going to love these.”

We eat at the small kitchen table—no need for the dining room since it’s just us. Grace settles under Joe’s chair like she always does, her tail thumping as he sits down.

I watch him take his first bite of the pot pie. He closes his eyes for a second, then sighs.

“Damn, Iz. This is perfect.”

I smile, but it’s tight around the edges.

Miss Alice, I’m trying. I really am.

Miss Alice whispers in my ear, “Ask him the questions you have.”

“When do you have to leave?” I ask between bites.

He swallows and wipes his mouth. “Tomorrow. By noon.”

Too soon.

“Is there anything I can do to help you get ready?”

He reaches for his beer, then pauses. “Could you iron my uniforms?”

“Consider it done.” I give him a thumbs up.

He hesitates. “I wish I could tell you more about everything.”

I meet his eyes. “Can you?”

He shakes his head. “Top secret. I’m sorry.”

“I figured.”

He takes another bite, then tells me, “I called Matt. Told him everything I could. He and Claire are going to check in on you. Keep you company while I’m gone.”

“That’s good.”

“I don’t want you alone too much. Not with everything.”

“I won’t be. If I know Claire, she’s already planning things to keep me busy.”

He looks at me, almost guiltily, then down at his plate.

“I have a real big favor to ask. Can you finish the boys’ room while I’m gone? The painting’s done, and the room’s ready for decorating. Can you order the bunk beds, a dresser, maybe a rug? Oh—and don’t forget glow-in-the-dark stars for Oliver.”

Perfect. I get to spoil the boys.

I reach for my napkin. “Of course. Don’t worry. I’ll make it nice for them.”

After we finish the pot pies, I make a pot of coffee and serve dessert.

He picks up one of the hand pies, still warm, and takes a bite.

His eyes go wide. He stares at the pie like it’s a ghost.

“Izzy… this tastes like my mom’s.”

I don’t say anything. Just smile.

He sets the pie down gently, like it’s something sacred. “How did you—”

“You told me once. About Thanksgiving. I remembered.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Just looks at me like he’s seeing something new.

Then he picks the pie back up and finishes it slowly.

The look on his face made all the work worth it. Cinnamon lingered in the air, steady and familiar, the kind of comfort I needed tonight.

 

Chapter Forty

Joe

I lay the suitcase open on the bed. It’s old, scuffed, but reliable. It’s been around the world with me, several times.

Grace sniffs the suitcase and lets out a low, steady growl, then trots over and plants herself between me and the door like she’s guarding me from leaving.

“Hey,” I say gently. “It’s okay, girl.”

She doesn’t buy it.

“She knows you’re going somewhere and she’s not happy about it,” Izzy tells me from the corner, where she’s ironing my uniforms with the kind of focus that says don’t argue.

I tried to tell her I could iron them myself. Big mistake. She gave me a look. End of discussion.

I fold plain clothes into neat stacks—jeans, button-downs, a couple of hoodies, underwear, socks. She eyes them like they’re wrinkled sins.

“You’re taking those?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. I’ll be undercover.”

Her head snaps up. “Undercover?”

I wince. “That wasn’t supposed to slip out.”

She doesn’t press. Just turns back to the ironing board and mutters, “Then I’m ironing everything. Even the hoodies.”

I let her.

Grace follows me into the bathroom, sits on the mat while I shower and shave. Every time I move, she shifts with me.

Izzy leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching us both.

We keep the conversation light. She tells me about a new rug she saw online for the boys’ room. I tell her it better be soft enough for wrestling matches. She says Claire’s already texting her about a movie night. I add Matt’s probably planning a barbecue.

We don’t mention the flight. Or the mission. Or the ache sitting between us.

I dress in uniform. I breathe a sigh of relief when it still fits. I was a bit worried after eating Izzy’s fabulous food over the last few months.

Izzy walks in, stops cold.

“Well damn, you clean up nice.”

I smirk. “You like the look?”

She runs her fingers over my patches, ribbon bars, and insignia. Her hands are steady, but I see the tremor in her fingers. “You look sexy. Important. Brave.”

I adjust my tie. “I need to head to the local base. Catch a military flight to D.C. Uniform’s required, especially at the Pentagon.”

I zip the overstuffed suitcase shut.

Izzy continues to fuss with the collar of my jacket, smoothing it like it might protect me. Her throat tightens as she swallows, but she doesn’t let the tears fall.

Grace presses against my leg, tail twitching, eyes locked on the door like she knows something’s coming.

Then the doorbell rings.

Izzy freezes. I glance at her.

She whispers, “Has to be Matt.”

“And Claire. And the boys.”

Grace bolts for the door, barking once, then wagging like mad.

I open it.

Matt stands there, arms wide. Claire’s behind him, holding a casserole dish like it’s armor. The boys—Oliver and Chase—rush past them and tackle my legs.

“Uncle Joe!”

I crouch down, hugging them tight. “Hey, you two. You came to say goodbye?”

Oliver says solemnly, “Mom said you’re going to help save the world.”

Chase adds, “We brought you snacks.”

Claire hands me a bag—trail mix, granola bars, a tiny bag of gummy bears. “Emergency rations,” she says.

Izzy laughs softly. “You’re spoiling him.”

Matt claps me on the shoulder. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

We all move into the living room. Grace circles the boys, then flops down between them like she’s claiming them for comfort.

Claire sets the casserole on the coffee table. “For when you get back. We’ll freeze it.”

Izzy’s eyes glisten, but she doesn’t cry. Her hand rests on my knee, firm, grounding.

Matt talks about football. Claire teases me about my new “high and tight” haircut I got last night. The boys ask if they can have bunk beds and a fort.

I promise to think about it. Izzy, the softie, will get them a damn fort and have it set up in the backyard.

The goodbye isn’t dramatic. It’s warm. Messy. Real.

When they leave, Chase hugs me hard and whispers, “Come back soon.”

Oliver hands me a drawing—stick figures, a dog, a plane. “This is you flying home.”

I tuck it into my bag.

Izzy watches me, quiet. Grace leans against her.

I’m not gone yet. But the leaving has begun.

We both glance at the clock.

It’s time.

I kneel beside Grace. She’s been glued to me all morning, tail low, eyes tracking every move.

“Be good, girl,” I whisper, rubbing behind her ears. “Watch the house. The yards. And take care of Izzy for me.”

She licks my face; whines low in her throat.

I press my forehead to hers for a second, patting her sides with both hands, then stand.

Izzy’s waiting by the door, arms crossed, trying not to cry. Her fingers tremble against her sleeve.

I step into her space and pull her close.

She melts into me.

I kiss her gently, slow breathing her in. Her hair. Her shampoo. Her body lotion. Her.

“I love you, Izzy,” I say against her hair. “I know I haven’t said it before, but I can’t leave without telling you that you are my everything.”

She doesn’t speak. Just holds me tighter.

Grace whines again. The suitcase waits by the door.

I breathe her in one last time.

Then I reach for the handle.

Izzy speaks up. “I love you too.”

I give her a big smile. “Bye, Izzy.”

She runs her hand down my face. “Be careful, big fella.”

As I get in the truck, I look back at Izzy and Grace standing on the porch and wave.

The porch light hums above them, steady. The smell of Izzy’s roses lingers faintly in the air. Grace’s tail thumps once against Izzy’s leg.

Then I speak out loud, steady and clear.

“I leave her in your good hands, Miss Alice. Take care of her for me.”