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“Sure thing.” I step forward and catch the packaging from him, then walk into the kitchen to throw it out.

When I return to the family room, Ansel’s already closing the cover to the smoke detector.

“That should do it for—” He stops abruptly when the smoke detector beeps again. “The fuck?” He swings the cover open again, checking to make sure he’s loaded the battery correctly, then pulls it back out before stepping down off the ladder. “I don’t think the issue is the battery. I think it’s a faulty detector.”

“That can happen?”

“Rarely, but it can.” He frowns and sets his hands on his hips. “I tell you what, I’ll pick you up a new one tomorrow from Mercer Hardware. I’ll replace the batteries on all your other smoke detectors while I’m here.”

“You don’t have to do that. I already feel bad enough that I interrupted your evening. I hope you weren’t doing anything special when I called… no big date or anything, right?” I force a smile.

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “C’mon, not that much has changed since I saw you last.”

His reference to the past is like a record scratch. I used to make fun of him for never settling down, but I’m not sure we can ever be as lighthearted with one another as we were.

“Fuck.” He drops his chin and pushes a hand through his light brown hair. When he looks back up at me, his brown eyes swim with regret. “I’m sorry, Collins. I just… I don’t know how to be around you without him. I don’t know how to act.”

My stomach swoops. “I know. I know…”

We’re both quiet for a while, looking anywhere but at each other.

“I’m glad you called me for help tonight. I don’t want it to be weird. I want us to be able to talk about Caleb.”

Though his words drive a wedge in the fissure etched in my heart ever since Caleb died, I understand what he means.

When Caleb first died, I was surrounded by people who wanted to help support me, who wanted to see me through the worst of my grief. But time marches on and people get back to their own lives, as they should. Slowly, people become afraid to ask, thinking they’re bringing up something I don’t want to talk about, but all that did was leave me with no one to talk with about Caleb.

It was as though the world went on and I was left behind. These days, no one brings up my deceased husband. But I suspect that maybe only Ansel, Fowler, and I feel his loss daily.

Maybe it would help me to stop avoiding the fact that my husband died and to delve into it more with the people who loved and lost him too. Maybe that could help get me out of this… stasis I’ve been in since he died.

“I… I don’t want it to be weird either, Ansel.”

Ansel did his best to support me after Caleb’s death, and I pushed him away every time. Only now am I feeling bad about it, seeing the concern and sadness in his eyes. He probably needs someone to talk to too. I wonder if he and Fowler ever remember Caleb. The Ansel I knew before Caleb’s death was always full of life and on the move. From the times I see him in town or around, he’s not as extroverted as I remember.

“Maybe we can try to make it so it’s not weird then?” He arches an eyebrow. “Maybe you won’t push me away when I offer to lend you a hand?” The corner of his lips tilts up, lightening the mood.

I nod. “I can do that. Or I can try at least.”

“Great, then the first thing you’ll do is let me take care of these smoke detectors tomorrow.”

Though the instinct rises up to tell him no, I’ll figure it out, I force the words back down my throat. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Look how easy that is.” He smiles again. “The next thing is you can come to Baylor’s birthday party this weekend.”

“Ansel…”

“No is not the answer. It would be good for you to get out, socialize.”

Caleb and I were a really social couple. Always having people over for dinner or game nights. Always stopping by the Whispering Pines Pub to hang out with Fowler. Looking back, it almost feels as though I was a different person. I can hardly remember what that version of myself felt like.

Still… the idea of being around all those people…

“Please, Collins?” He raises both eyebrows.

Something about the way he’s looking at me doesn’t allow me to say no.

I sigh, but nod. “Fine, I’ll stop by. But I probably won’t stay long.”