Page 48 of The Difference Between

Across the vineyard, the rolling hills hit the tree line and make way to a large metal building. One side has windows—lots of them—and a front door—while the adjacent side has three garage doors, no windows. It’s massive. Bigger than most barns in the area, especially for a property the size of this one. “What about that?”

“That’s the shop.” His gaze lingers on it. “Mine. Greg called it his.” He chuckles; it’s nostalgic. “Half of it was supposed to be for work, the other half I wanted to live in. Another was. Some dreams you put on hold, you know?”

I have never known anything less. If I want something, I go get it. Immediately. Even if it takes a sabbatical and medical record piracy to get it.

“Your dream…” My eyes make a judgmental leap from the metal building to him. “Was to live in a shed?”

“Barndominium, actually.”

“Barndominium?” I echo.

“Barndos are kind of trendy,” he says with raised brows. “Surprised you don’t know about them. They don’t have those up in Chicago?”

“In no universe is living with a lawnmower in a metal building considered trendy where I live.”

“Too bad.” He stretches an arm overhead then drops his hand to rub his neck. As he does, his shirt lifts, revealing mere inches of tan skin at his waist and the whispery line of a happy trail. It is a very inconvenient observation, and Gavin smirks when he sees me looking. “Bet if I showed you the inside you’d change your mind.” He lowers his arm, and the hem of his shirt drops to hide the visual I’ll likely never unsee. “After our date.”

“Show me your barndo?” My brows hitch. Maybe he’s exactly who I thought he was. “I’m busy that day.”

The screen door of the farmhouse creaks open then snaps closed. Gavin’s mom emerges, covered in denim and waving as she shuffles across the yard toward us. She looks the same as I remember, just older. Whiter hair and deeper lines.

“Reese Conway,” Mrs. Nickels says when she gets to me. “I can’t believe it’s you. You look just the same.”

Without warning, she hugs me—of course she does—making me grunt. “Mrs. Nickels.” I wiggle out of her embrace. “Good to see you.”

She laughs with a bat of her hand. “It’s Nancy. And I mean it, you look just the same. You must drink a lot of water.” Her smile is so big it’s a wonder it fits on her face. It’s a wonder she even has the energy to smile after the story Gavin just told me.

“Coffee, actually,” I admit.

She chuckles. “In Chicago too? With a fancy career?” She clasps her hands. “You are just living life.”

I force a smile and try to ignore the irony of me being here because I was told, in fact, I do not live life. “I do okay.”

She smacks my arm with a playful pat. “And modest.” If only my sisters could hear that. “Bet Gav here couldn’t put two words together when he saw you were back in town and prettier than ever.”

I would expect any other human to be embarrassed by this, but Gavin feeds into it. “I tried convincing her to go out with me, Mom, but she’s very fancy now. You should see the shoes she wears.” He whistles. “Heels up to heaven, even when she cuts grass.”

She pinches his cheek. “Maybe if you’d do something with this beard, you’d be fancy too.” Back to me with a lighter tone: “He was so in love with you, Reese. Remember when you taught him to read?”

“Vaguely,” I say, fighting a smile. “Though he seems to need practice.”

He and I exchange amused looks.

“And that one time he wore a puffy-painted shirt that said I Love Reese Conway?” Nancy giggles, delighted at the memory.

It’s hard for me to keep a straight face. I haven’t thought of it in years, but little Gavin did, in fact, wear a shirt confessing his love to me at one of our reading dates.

“I still have it!” She claps. “Oh! And the glass!” She throws her head back. “The glass! He nev⁠—”

“Mom,” Gavin says, almost stern. “Reese is busy.”

“Of course.” She calms herself down. “Iris told me you were back in town, and I just got so excited. To what do we owe the pleasure? How’s your mom feeling? She get the lasagna?”

“As difficult as ever and delighted by the lasagna, thank you. How are you?”

She smiles brightly and puts her hands on her soft hips. “Just fine.”

That just fine carries a thousand meanings. Remy says it every time Rue and I ask about Darren and her marriage. It means not fine. It means broken. It means denial. Her just fine smile lingers long after is necessary and confirms how just not fine she is.