Page 143 of The Difference Between

Since she got hammered then blew chunks at the vineyard last weekend, we haven’t talked about him. I get it. Rue and Nash are revoltingly perfect, Gavin is jumping through hoops for me while I’m on the brink of having a baby, and she’s stuck. Starting over as a single mom while the man she loves doesn’t love her back.

I clear my throat, glancing at Rue before proceeding. “You wanna talk about it?”

Remy’s gaze stays on the table. She opens and closes her mouth several times, as if trying to choose the right word from one of the millions she knows. Finally, she says, “No.”

I look at Rue. Her mouth twists, and she shrugs one shoulder. She sniffs. “What’s that smell?”

“Oh.” I stand with a clap, rushing to the oven and opening the door. “I made sourdough bread with rosemary.”

This is enough to steer the conversation away from my modern choices and Remy’s broken heart. Rue talks about the antique store, Remy talks about the library, and I fill them in on the few things about the vineyard they don’t know. “No,” I say around a bite of bread. “Before you ask, I haven’t hired anyone. I interviewed one and Gen Zers might be the worst.”

Rue snorts, twisting a piece of bread from the loaf. “Funny how you had no problem hiring them for Old Vines.” She moans as she chews. “When did you learn to bake bread like this?”

“Sabbatical-induced hobbying.” She’s right about the hires. I had no problem hiring a couple twenty-somethings for her business when it was going under. “And I have higher standards for myself than a digital primate in a youthful skin suit who uses the word sus.”

Remy rips a piece of bread off the loaf and slathers it with butter. Before shoving it in her mouth she says, “Isn’t Gavin part of that generation?”

Rue laughs at this.

If I didn’t love Remy so much, I’d remind her that Darren’s concubine is too.

Forty-One

“Ihope he chews with his mouth open.”

I put a palm against the front door for balance as I pull on my shoes. “Gee, Mom, thanks.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “I don’t like this, Reese. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you have Gavin.” She gives me a pointed look. “You don’t need to resort to headhunting sperm. And Sylvia said tha⁠—”

“No.” We are not talking about that lunatic. I grab my purse. “Call me if you need me, and I’ll be home in a couple hours.” She opens her mouth. “And no painting.” Then: “Or tapsersizing.”

Her frowning face is the last thing I see before I slam the front door. I descend the porch steps, muttering as I dig through my purse for the keys until I collide with another body.

Gavin.

“Hi,” I say, breathless.

“Hi yourself.”

He pecks a kiss on my lips and that brief point of contact warms me. He’s smiling, just showered so his hair’s curling a little at the ends, and in a T-shirt and jeans, devastatingly handsome.

He says hello with a kiss like it’s the kind of thing we do. Maybe it is.

I drag a finger along his jaw. Today it’s freshly shaved and the texture new.

He’s been with his mom all day, helping her move. He came into the store between trips to her new place to say hi while I worked, but even just a few hours away from him makes me feel like I’m seeing him for the first time in weeks.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Everyone got tired of the boxes. Addie’s staying there tonight.” He smiles something sinister, then raises his hand and flicks a folded piece of paper pinched between his index and middle finger. “I thought I’d come over here and convince you to have dinner with me.” He flicks the paper again. “And I have something for you.”

I grin. “Really?”

“An official document, if you will.” His focus shifts to my clothes—I’m in black pants and a white silk top. My hair’s done, I’m wearing makeup. I look like I’m going on a date because, well, I’m kind of going on a date. “You going somewhere?”

“Um.” I return to fumbling for the keys in my purse then glance back at Mom’s house like the answer will be revealed. “Out.”

His “Out?” twists my stomach.