December 29, Sunday

WINTER SUNLIGHT painted stripes across tangled sheets as I watched Sawyer pretend to sleep. His breathing wasn't quite even enough, his body not quite relaxed enough. Something was on his mind.

"Out with it," I said softly, tracing the line of his jaw.

He opened his eyes, managing a small smile. "That obvious, huh?"

"You've been thinking so loud it woke me up."

He caught my hand, pressed a kiss to my palm. Then he took a deep breath. "I got an offer. From the Veterans Memorial Foundation."

My heart did a strange flutter. "Oh?"

"They're sending teams to restore military cemeteries overseas. Places that are hard to reach, where the headstones need repair or replacement." His eyes lit up the way they did when he talked about his work. "They want me to lead one of the teams. Teach others how to do what I do."

"That sounds perfect for you."

"It's six months minimum. Maybe longer." He watched my face carefully. "I'd leave right after New Year's."

The words hit like a physical blow, though I tried not to show it. "When did you find out?"

"Yesterday. They need an answer by tonight." He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I know the timing is awful. You're leaving too, and I... I think I might love you, Josephine."

Tears pricked my eyes. "You think?"

"I know." His voice was rough. "But you've got your life in New York, your career. And this... this feels like something I need to do."

I thought of all the hours I'd watched him work in the graveyard, the care he took with each stone, the respect he showed for every life remembered there. Of course he would want to extend that care to fallen soldiers in forgotten corners of the world.

"You're doing a good thing," I said, willing my voice steady. "Those soldiers deserve to be remembered properly."

"Yeah." He pulled me close, his heart thundering against my ear. "I just wish..."

"I know." I breathed him in – the musky scent that was uniquely him. "Me too."

Later, after he'd left to make arrangements, I sat in Rose's window seat watching Satan chase the chickens and smiled at their silliness. I lifted my phone and connected Gladys Maddox's number.

"Hello, Ms. Vanguard. I assume you're calling to end your lease, per the agreement?"

"Actually, I'm calling to ask about the status of Whisper House—is it still available to lease?"

"Until the property is out of probate, I'm authorized to lease it in six month increments. Do you want it?"

I bit my lip. "I don’t know. First I need to make another inquiry…"