Page 72 of Where You're Planted

“We thought you dumped them somewhere.”

Jack grunted, offering no defense or explanation, and Tansy realized this was part of the reason they’d gotten off on the wrong foot. He gave only the information he felt was necessary, even if asmidgemore would help contextualize his actions.

“What are their names?”

“Haven’t gotten around to that.”

Tansy laughed. “They’ve been here forweeks. You really haven’t named them?”

Jack shook his head, crossing his arms.

“So you come in, and they greet you at the door, and you say, ‘Well, hello there,…’ ” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to the other room, where the cats were crunching noisily. “You saw them. They want food, not conversation.”

“They should have names,” she told him seriously.

“Yeah? Go for it.”

“Okay. Sunny, Dusk, and Moonpie.”

He chuckled. “That was quick. Not sure how I feel about Moonpie.”

“Jam, Bacon, and Toast.”

“You do like a theme.”

“I do. Darcy, Tilney, and Dashwood?”

“What are those?”

“Jane Austen characters.”

“No.”

Tansy took in the large kitchen they were standing in and the view into the living room. He’d upgraded the appliances fairly recently. The flooring was a darker version of the expensive slate tile she couldn’t afford. But the living room had oldwood paneling on the walls, a microfiber couch in no-frills navy, a tan recliner, and a wood-burning fireplace that took up most of one wall and still had soot and ash inside from the last cold snap weeks ago. It was tidy and inviting, if a little minimalist and nondescript. A closed laptop sat on the coffee table beside a paper pad with notes scribbled on it, but no TV, no knickknacks, no art on the walls. She smiled at the small cat scratcher next to the fireplace.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Yeah…” he said, taking in the room as if for the first time. “I don’t spend that much time here.”

“You work a lot,” she remarked.

He nodded. “I do, but I also don’t hang out as much in this part of the house. Hardly at all before the cats, anyway. They’re kind of demanding.”

Tansy imagined him grudgingly playing with his three cats that he hadn’t bothered to name, just to keep them from destroying his couch. It was so achingly endearing she had to bite the inside of her cheek to rein in her smile.

She wandered farther into the living room and saw, on the other side of the cat scratcher, a box containing a video baby monitor and a pair of the tiniest hiking boots she’d ever seen. “Oh my God, Jack. What are these?” She picked up the boots and hugged them to her chest, reminded of when Briar was so tiny and cute she’d had to fight the wild impulse to bite her.

Jack scratched his beard. “They’re not mine.” He shook his head—because they wereobviouslynot his shoes—and added, “They’re a gift.”

“I can’t even picture you standing in a baby aisle.”

His face fell, and Tansy felt that sudden shift in her stomach. She knew instantly she’d said something insensitive,something that truly bothered him. She shut her mouth. He’d told her he and his ex-wife had tried for a baby, that it washisfertility that had been the issue. But with his general surliness and antisocial behavior, and his many negative comments about kids, she didn’t think she’d fully understood until right now that the loss of his marriage and the family he’d planned hurt more than he let on.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean…”

He dismissed her concern easily, lifting the shoes from her hands and offering a sheepish smile. “Baby shoes are impractical, I know.”