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“Wanda,” I start, pressing the crease of the paper. “What do you want to do with your life?”

Her eyes narrow. “Like marriage?”

Dondi straightens.

“Like career. What’s your—your passion? Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Here, honey. I loved the salon, but”—she gestures to my office—“you’re the best boss I’ve ever had in my few short years on this planet.” She pauses to purse her lips. “And these clients don’t complain. And, Scotty . . .” She hesitates, eyes widening slightly. “You’ve done something beautiful here. Took what happened to your brother and made it good. Made it . . . worth it. Gave me and Dondi a chance when nobody else would. See people nobody else wants to look at.” She swallows. “You change lives and let someone like me be part of it. Why would I ever want anything else?”

My gaze stays on her and I sit with what she’s said.Took what happened to your brother and made it good.As many times as I’ve heard a version of that, I’ve never once let myself believe it, butthe look on Wanda’s face tells me I should. Tells me it’s true. Zeb’s death was ugly and lonely; what we do here is anything but.

I clear my throat. “Dondi?”

He glances at Wanda, lovestruck look on his face as he opens his mouth.

“Notabout Wanda.”

“Well, no offense, Scotty,” he says slightly guarded. “I love driving the Ice Pop, but I want to open a float shop someday.”

“A float shop?”

“A float shop.” He grins, gap-toothed and proud. “See, it’s a shop—on the lake—on pontoons”—he raises his eyebrows—“where you can get anything that floats. Tubes, kayaks, boats.” He snaps his fingers then sweeps his hands through the air, repeating in a theatrical voice, “Float Shop.”

Of course.

“Interesting. You been saving?”

“Have three thousand.” He chuckles. “Need about twenty more.”

I tap my fingers on the desk, brain buzzing like a radio tuned in to every station at once. Whatever I do or don’t do with the house, I’m done. I feel it. This job has been good, but I don’t love it. I’m sick of death. Sick of constantly being reminded of everything that’s gone wrong. Everything that was and wasn’t meant to be swallowing me up only to spit me back out.

Wanda would keep doing what I’ve done here. Honoring death in the most unexpected of ways. After hearing what she’s just said, I wouldn’t even have to ask.

I tap my fingers on the desk.

Snap the rubber band around my wrist.

Shift in my chair.

And shock us all when I finally say, “Let’s call the Sellecks.”

“You lost?”

Wren’s familiar blue-eyed gaze meets mine as I climb the steps of the porch.

“Depends. This Monday Night RAW?”

I give her a flat look as I unlock the door. “Days away from me and you’re already less funny.”

She follows me inside and sheds her coat, Molly running straight to her. We stand in a tense silence, both of us waiting for the other to speak.

Finally, she does. “I should have listened about Becca.”

I chew my lip. Ford’s conditioned her to apologize freely, I’ll give him that.

“Well. I probably shouldn’t have told Becca that her mom was a dick eater,” I admit.