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“I’d never forget,” he said. “I don’t want to forget.”

The next day I told him I’d written about how he was a hero. How he’d once saved his colleague in a warehouse fire. The next, how he loved going to schools, telling kids about firefighting. “You’re an inspiration,” I told him.

“What about the food?” he’d asked me after a week of this.

“What do you mean?”

“This is your food blog,” he said from the darkness, holding my hand.

“It’s a life preserver right now,” I’d whispered.

The next day, I’d come home to find him in the kitchen, making meatballs. I’d been so shocked, so filled with joy and heartbreak and love and sorrow I’d dropped the bag of groceries I’d been holding. Eggs cracked on the floor and Emma had shrieked with delight.

Joe had been the one to comfort me then.

“I’ll make it count,” he said. “Whatever time left we have, I need to do that for us.”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat now, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. The last thing I needed was to go down that old road. Except for not following through with my promise to Joe about finding someone else, I was at peace now. I really was. The fire department had covered all that therapy for me.

My goal with my therapist was always to get to a place where I could think of Joe only with happiness. I wanted to be able to talk to the girls about their dad without breaking down. I wanted to minimize the impact of this tragic event on them. So I’d worked my ass off. I’d spent whole years in a sea of sorrow, working out as much of the pain as I possibly could. And it had worked, sort of. I’d been at the point for a while now where I could do that. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten Joe—not in the least. But I got out the darkest of the grief with the help of my therapist and now kept him tucked safely in a little corner of my heart, pulling him out only when I was feeling particularly melancholy. Overall, because of my herculean effort, I got through most days just fine. Which was why I thought I could figure out being with Steve.

But now I knew the truth—I couldn’t replace what I had with Joe. Or rather, I didn’t want to. It felt much better to not be with anyone—not seriously anyway. Short term flings I could consider, but that was nearly impossible as a single mom.

And how was I supposed to tell my mother all of this?

Instead, I spent the rest of our time together—between photo arranging—telling Mom all about the blog and how I was busy trying to make it succeed. It was all Greek to her—followers and reposts, affiliate links and sponsors. But she nodded along dutifully.

Later, at dinner, Dad asked what a reblog was, practically scratching his chin as I tried to explain.

“I noticed all those people writing at the bottom,” Mom said. Unlike Dad, who was lost on the computer, she did keep up with the blog, even if she didn’t know all the terminology. “They’re always asking you about your personal life.”

And just like that, she’d deftly circled back around.

“Well, that’s part of it, Mom,” I said. “I need to strike a balance between letting them in to see the real me and the food part of it.”

“But how can you show them your personal life when you don’t have one?”

“Mom!” I laughed. “I have a personal life!”

“Do you, sweetie?”

“Yes,” I huffed, irritation creeping in now. I jammed the meat thermometer into the roast with more force than was strictly necessary. “Reese lives nearby.”

“She’s your sister,” Dad piped up.

“That’s still a personal life!”

Mom gave me the side-eye.

For a moment, I thought of Will.Well, there is someone, who somehow, in only two meetings, has made me feel things I never thought I’d feel again.

I nearly laughed out loud.

My irritation bloomed hotter thinking about him. No matter how much I tried not to think about him, there he was. I saw right through that crabby exterior—he was a sweet, tender man. I knew he was, not only from the way he played with Emma and Macy but the way he looked at me when he asked me questions. Like he cared. Like he thought I was interesting and smart, and maybe even attractive. And yeah, he was flipping gorgeous, with those serious eyes and stiff jaw under his stubble.

The only good thing was knowing he was even more anti-relationship than I was. The man had said it himself. It was just attraction, that was all.

“Well, I’m glad Therese is there for you,” Mom said, as she began clearing the dishes. She’d already ushered Dad away to play with the girls. “At least you have someone to keep you from being too lonely.”