Page 141 of Anchoring Up My Grumpy Neighbor

I almost laugh. I press my lips together and don’t.

Lottie:He’s eight.

Justin:Goodnight, Roberts.

I set the phone down. Pick it back up. Set it down again.

In Hazel’s living room, Emma is showing the ring to everyone. Paul is standing against the wall, arms crossed, almost smiling. Mads has gotten Saralynn back to sleep through sheer willpower. Michelle is already planning the engagement party. Grandma Hensley is updating her spreadsheet.

Goodnight, Roberts.

Not Lottie. Roberts. Like I’m one of his deckhands. Like we’re colleagues and not two people who’ve spent the past four months arguing about everything from dock etiquette to the appropriate volume of eight-year-olds.

Sowhy am I smiling?

I put the phone in my pocket, pick up a lemon bar, and settle back into my chair.

Outside, the Twin Waves evening is warm and salt-scented. Somewhere at the marina, Justin Spencer is on his boat with a tackle box that belongs to my sons.

Somewhere in this room, Emma Mills is about to become Emma Spencer, and she deserves every second of it.

I bite into the lemon bar. It’s good. It’s really good.

Maybe I’ll make another batch tomorrow.