12. Connor

"Sir, I really think you're squandering an opportunity here. You speaking out in Cider Landing? That's a powerful thing. It'd be so easy to set something up?—"

"Absolutely not," I said, pinching my cellphone between my ear and my shoulder as I hefted my suitcase out of the trunk. "I'm not turning this town into my personal tragedy show. The people here have been through enough. Been good to me. I'm willing to be a talking head back in the city in September, but I'm off this week."

I heard the strain in Yolanda's sigh as I reached for the handle on the bright green suitcase. "Fine, but I still need you to sign the contract for the benefit venue."

"No problem. I'll read it over and get it back to you in the morning."

"All right." On the other end of the line, another sigh, a sense of deflation. "Enjoy your week off, boss. Try and have a good time."

"I, um—" Would I? Strangely, I thought so.

Coming back to Cider Landing felt a little like breathing after being under water. Back in the city, everything was hazy, unreal. I'd never returned to Darling International as CEO, and I'd officially stepped down after starting Tadpoles, a nonprofit that helped families with missing children. It'd taken me more than a year to figure out what to do, but once I'd gotten back from that second trip to Cider Landing, I been motivated to make a change. After losing Jessie, founding Tadpoles felt like, well, doing something—not giving up. Giving back, even.

But it'd put more strain on my already fragile marriage than all those long hours on message boards had. Trevor didn't want to spend the rest of his life being a victim, living in one horrible moment, thinking about what we'd lost. And I couldn't—wouldn't—let Jessie go. The best thing we could do for each other was move on. It wasn't easy, but it was reasonably amicable, not least because I was hard pressed to care about the particulars of splitting up our life.

Losing all that stuff? Yeah, that didn't mean shit after losing Jessie.

After that, the city was a busy haze, kind of empty, even when it was too full. And that year, when the anniversary of losing Jessie had come back around, I'd almost hesitated.

Was everyone right? Was this morose and self-flagellating?

Even on the drive down, I'd second-guessed myself.

But now, looking up at the Cider Inn, knowing I'd soon see Jessamine and Mattias and the kind older couple at the market and the candy store that Jessie had loved? Knowing that I'd feel my kid everywhere?

No, this wasn't a mistake. I needed this yearly pilgrimage.

Cider Landing felt more concrete to me than anywhere else in the world.

"Yeah, Yolanda, I will. Thank you," I said. "Anything else?"

"Nope. You want me to text if anything pressing comes up?"

"Please."

I hung up, slipped my phone into my pocket, and looked up at the Cider Inn. It was on a little hill above the road. Stairs led up to the sidewalk, and the porch wrapped all the way around the front.

Carrying my stuff up this time didn't feel so heavy. Jessie's suitcase wasn't an albatross weighing me down but just—well, they might need?—

Okay, maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe this really was delusional. It didn't matter. As long as I lived, I wasn't ever going to give up on them.

I'd just got up to the porch stairs, set my foot on the wooden step, when a deafening bellow called behind the storm door. A dog—a beagle, I thought, dark and light brown with big floppy ears, scampered up to the door, tail working, throwing its head back to bay a warning.

I froze, staring at it, until Mattias rushed out and grabbed the dog by the bandanna around its neck.

"Sorry," he called through the door, waving at me even as he held the dog back. "Peanut just gets excited, but he might jump."

All the sudden, I was grinning. There was Mattias, and the most ridiculously loud dog I'd ever seen, and it was, fuck, so nice.

We'd texted a few times in the past year—it started when I found a book I thought Mattias might like, and when he said he'd check it out, I had a copy sent to the inn. After he read it, he texted me his thoughts. We chatted back and forth about it, messages sent in quiet moments over the course of a few days, rather than all at once.

Then, he suggested something for me, and?—

It was normal. A nice kind of back and forth. He was funny and kind and quick-witted, and it turned out he had a lot of time to read around manning the front desk at the inn.

When I opened the door and slipped inside, Peanut's claws skittered across the floor. I left my bags right there in front of the door and came over, crouching down to let Peanut smell my hands before I scratched his velvety ears.

"When'd you get this cutie?"

Mattias laughed, and he let Peanut slip away. The dog wiggled his butt as he circled me one way then the other, sniffling against my hand and pressing his wet nose against my jeans where I'd wiped my hands after eating potato chips on the way in.

"Couple of months ago. Figured we could use a bit more company around here."

"He's a good boy, huh?" I cooed as Peanut flopped to the side and let me rub his belly, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

"The best," Mattias agreed.

When Peanut calmed down, Mattias led me over to the counter. His grandma was conspicuously absent, but he would've told me if something had happened, right?

After her fall last year, he'd kept trying to assure me he'd pay me back for the hospital stay. It'd taken no small amount of work to convince him not to worry about it, that the cash didn't matter so much as his grandmother's health. It certainly wouldn't make a difference in my day-to-day life, which was a dickish thing to admit, maybe, but it was reality. I hadn't earned that money. I'd inherited it. And even the exorbitant amount the American healthcare system demanded for basic care? Not enough to change my life one way or the other.

And I got the impression that it was an amount of money that very much would affect the Halls. Helping out had felt like the right thing to do at the time, and I stuck by that.

"How's your grandmother?"

"Oh, good. She gets kind of sleepy in the early afternoon, but she wanted to know if you'd like to join us both for dinner? No pressure if you've got plans but?—"

Grinning, again. Weird, that this was the place I felt like smiling.

"I'd love to, honestly. No plans. Just getting settled in. And honestly," I lowered my voice, leaning across the tall desk between us, "I'd have to be a fool to refuse anything out of your kitchen."

Mattias laughed, his cheeks turning pink. "Great. I'll let her know when she's up. Six-thirty okay?"

"Perfect."

"Great!" He finished checking me in on the computer then grabbed the keys to the heron room. "Let me help you with your bags."

He grabbed my big, dark suitcase, leaving me to carry Jessie's again, and I followed him up the stairs. He unlocked the door and stepped back to let me go in first.

And then, I saw it, a book on the bed with a ribbon wrapped around it.

"I—" He scratched the back of his neck as he slid my suitcase over by the wall. When he turned to me, his blush was even deeper. "I figured a little extra reading material on vacation's never a bad thing."

I picked it up and turned it over. Spot on—a magician confined to an island, locked away for centuries. A quest to reclaim a throne. The cover was dark and intriguing, a lightning bolt cut through a storm.

"I haven't heard about this one," I admitted.

Mattias laughed, glancing away. "Yeah it seemed like the Tadpoles stuff was keeping you busy. Lots of TV spots and all that. Seen you all over the place. So I just thought maybe?—"

"It's perfect," I said, letting it land against my chest, holding it tight. "Really. I can't wait to dive in."