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I laughed and chewed a bite of my cereal. “Now the only way I can make them happy is to just… stay out of their way. Things will never be the same. Last weekend, they didn’t even want to go hiking with me. That used to be our thing.”

When I glanced up, Jill’s smile was gone. She was watching me with sadness in her eyes now, her eyebrows knitting together. “I don’t think I want kids, because I could never withstand that kind of heartbreak.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, staring down at the chocolate milk in my bowl. “It’s been the hardest, longest heartbreak of my life. It breaks a little more every time they don’t need me.”

She blinked a few times, biting her bottom lip. I hadn’t meant to bring the conversation to such a somber tone, but there she was, looking like she might cry. A subject change was in order.

“Okay, new topic,” I said, my spook clinking against the ceramic bowl as I stirred around what was left of my Cocoa Pebbles. “I noticed you have a Southern accent when you’re drunk. Explain yourself.”

Jill laughed. “I’m from Tennessee.”

“How the hell did you end up in Woodvale?”

“I moved to Indiana for a stupid boy, what else? And then I met Meghan at a conference in Indy, and we connected. When the position at WWTV opened up, she notified me about it. I went from being a fill-in anchor in Evansville to… what I’m doing now.”

She pushed her cereal bowl away and rested her elbows on the counter, and the conversation continued.

She told me about life growing up in Tennessee, her barefoot summers and bonfires in the hills.

We talked about Woodvale next, and I had to clutch my stomach and laugh when she expressed her admiration for this town—the town I’d spent my entire life in and hated.

The conversation shifted to my fears that my kids would leave for college and never return to Woodvale. And the next thing I knew, she was asking to see their baby pictures, and I was dragging out a couple of the hardbound printed photo albums I’d made of all our candid family pictures.

Jill flipped through the pages, laughing at a photo of four-year-old Olivia wearing my big shoes.

She slowed down, squinting at a picture of me from at least ten years ago, with Caleb on my shoulders.

I shifted uncomfortably in my stool when she lifted her eyes to look at me now, as if assessing how I’d aged.

“That was before the gray,” I said.

Jill smiled. “I like the gray.”

I swallowed. “You’ve… mentioned that.” My words came out rougher than I intended, and I focused my attention on tracing the foil lettering on the front of the closest photo album. Her gaze was still on me, and she was grinning like she hadn’t just said something that made my heart race.

I wished I didn’t want her so bad.

Hoping a quick subject change would distract her from my apparent nervousness, I asked her how she'd been feeling for the past couple of days. She talked about her chronic pain—about how it came and went, coupled with unexplained fatigue and brain fog. “The reason I’ve been putting off this doctor’s appointment is because they’re either going to throw some pain pills at me and send me on my way, or worse, they’re going to find something I don’t want to know about. ”

“I get it,” I said, casually stacking up the photo albums. “But time will pass regardless, either with answers or with you still wondering. At least this way, there’s a chance you could feel better.”

Jill stared at her baby-blue fingernails and nodded. “Yeah. I guess I’m just afraid of both outcomes.”

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, and she yawned, covering her mouth. I refused to acknowledge it, because that might prompt her to say she was ready to go to sleep and this conversation would be over. But I wasn’t ready.

“Graham,” she said, her voice cautiously soft. I blinked at her, giving her my full attention. It felt like she was staring into my soul, her fist resting beneath her chin. My heart picked up before she spoke again. “Why aren’t you seeing someone?”

I huffed out a quick laugh. “Wow, getting personal, are we?” She just gave me an unapologetic smile. “Believe it or not, dating as a divorced, graying, single dad isn’t that easy. A lot of women my age are already married, or they’ve just got… complicated situations going on with their own exes.”

My most recent girlfriend still lived with her ex, whom she technically wasn’t even divorced from yet.

Never again.

“I guess I don’t go out of my way to meet women,” I continued. “It takes a lot of energy to let someone new into your life. And when you’ve got kids, that just makes it even harder.”

“I bet.” Jill tucked her hair behind her ears.

It was dry now—how long had we been sitting here talking?

“Letting in someone new really can be draining, and when it doesn’t work out after all that effort, it’s just so disappointing.

Like, did I really just do all of that for a man who loved someone else? ”

She shook her head, and the puzzle pieces started falling into place.

I thought I’d heard whispers of Xander’s affection for Abigail in my newsroom, and now I understood Jill’s refusal to sleep in the same room as them.

“Is that what happened with Xander, then?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Jill sighed, but she started to smile. “Yes. Xander’s helplessly in love with this other woman—”

“Abigail, you mean.”

Her lips parted. “How the hell did you know that?”

“Uhh… call it a sixth sense, I guess.”

“Well,” she said, crossing her arms against her chest. She stared down at the surfboard design on her t-shirt. My t-shirt. “I hope they’re over there fucking in the Gardners’ recliner right now. And I mean that.”

“You mean the recliner that Owen and Sarah have so clearly done it on?”

“ Right? Did he think he was being subtle?” Jill laughed, and just like that, the weight of the last few minutes began to lift a little.

Our conversation continued, shifting to speculation about what really went down between Owen, Sarah, and the high school football coach a couple of years ago.

Were the rumors on The Concerned Citizens of Woodvale true?

Had he really punched the guy? We decided we’d have to get him drunk and ask him about it sometime.

She hinted she had more questions for him, but she wouldn't disclose them to me.

For God knows how long, Jill and I talked and laughed and snacked on the fruit strips my kids had rejected, tearing them in half and rating the flavors.

Time slipped by without either of us realizing it—until I noticed a bluish tint to the light outside my kitchen window. The sun would be rising soon.

“Jillian,” I said, turning around to look at the clock on my microwave. “It’s five-thirty in the morning.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” I turned back around in my stool, looking down at the way her naked knee was pressed against my thigh. We’d just talked all night.

No awkward silences.

No checking our phones.

Just an easy, intimate conversation that never felt forced or unnatural.

My eyes drifted to the dress on the stool beside her. “Is your dress dry yet?”

She reached over and squeezed the fabric. “Not quite.”

She accepted my offer to toss it in the dryer for her, so I took it into the laundry room off the kitchen and did just that. While we waited for it to dry, we cleaned up our bowls and I put away the photo albums, smiling at the way Jill hummed as she wiped the counter with a paper towel.

When everything was cleaned up, I leaned against the laundry room door with my hands in my pockets. “Are you going to stay and sleep, or do you feel ready to drive?”

“I think I’m just going to go home,” Jill said, running her fingers through her hair. The bottom of the t-shirt lifted, but I kept my eyes locked on her face. “I mean, I’ve had hours to sober up.”

“Yeah, I think you’re good,” I said, pushing off from the doorframe to check on her dress.

It wasn’t completely dry, but she’d at least be able to semi-comfortably slip back into it now.

She changed in the bathroom and then returned to the kitchen, carefully placing the folded Panama City Beach t-shirt on the island.

I followed her to the door so I could disengage the alarm, a tightness forming in my chest—like this was the end of something special. Something I might never have again with anyone else.

“Thank you for letting me hang out while I sobered up,” Jill said, slipping her feet into her shoes as I opened the front door. She picked up her purse. “This was exactly what my soul needed.”

With one hand on my heavy oak door and the other in the pocket of my jeans, I let out a quiet chuckle. “Your soul needed Cocoa Pebbles and gossip about my neighbors’ romantic history?”

“No,” Jill said with a grin as she stepped over the threshold. “My soul needed an all-nighter with Graham Harlowe. I feel shockingly rested.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly feeling dry, and glanced up at the hazy, pale gray sky beyond the suburban rooftops. And then, bringing my eyes back down to her face, I said, “I know what you mean. I’m feeling pretty energized myself. Who needs coffee when you’ve got Jillian Taylor?”

She pulled her golden hair out from beneath the strap of her purse and snapped her fingers. “That’s it. That’s gotta be the new WWTV tagline.”

We both laughed, and she stepped forward to hug me. I wrapped my arms around her body as though parting like this was completely natural for us. Okay, we’re friends who hug now. So what?

And slightly less naturally—maybe a bit awkwardly—we became friends who gave each other a casual peck on the cheek. Very European of you, Graham , I told myself . I would have been embarrassed if she hadn’t done the same.

But that was when it shifted from friendly into something… more. Still holding onto each other in that doorway in the dim morning light, our mouths hovered so close we were breathing the same air.

Breathing each other in.

Just four curious eyes, two pairs of ready lips, and one second to decide how far we wanted to take this embrace. Where was this going? Were we on the same page?

We seemed to reach the answer at the same time, drawing our foreheads close until they were touching.

Bringing our lips together was a mutual surrender, and it felt inevitable, like this was the plan all along.

Maybe it was. Tasting Jillian’s lips and feeling her hands sliding up my chest made me feel more awake than I’d ever felt on any given morning. More alive than ever before.

She let out a squeaky moan against my mouth, parting her lips to deepen the kiss as I dropped my hands lower on her hips. Desperate. Breathless. If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

And when I remembered the roles we played in each other’s lives, it was like someone dumped a cold bucket of water on my head.

I tugged away, putting a foot of space between our bodies. “I’m sorry, we can’t.”

She raked her fingers through her hair. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

“No. It’s on me. You’re vulnerable, and I’m your boss and I took advantage. I’m a real fucking asshole, Jill.” I was struggling to catch my breath, and I could barely get the words out. I dropped my hands from her body, taking another step back. “I’m sorry.”

She smoothed out her dress, taking a step backward. “Okay. We can just forget this, like you’re going to forget seeing my panties when I fell down last night.”

“Already forgotten.” I could envision every detail of the white lace edges of the leg openings without even closing my eyes.

Jill let out a nervous laugh, angling her body away from mine. “Right. Good.” She brought her hands together like she was saying a prayer. “Yeah, I’m going to go now.”

I placed one hand on the doorknob. “Careful. Lawn’s wet.”

Another dorky, nervous laugh. God, I loved that laugh. “Got it. Thanks.”

She pulled her keys from her purse and made her way to her car parked at the front of the Gardners’ house. I stepped all the way inside and closed the door, the latch sounding a little louder than normal.

My house felt emptier than it had the day I moved in. Too empty. Too quiet.

I pressed my back against the front door with my hands in my pockets, sighing. “Shit,” I whispered, trying to imagine how I could possibly move on from this. How could I look at her the same now?

Had she actually been attracted to me this whole time, too? I smiled as I considered this, staring down at the tile floor.

And before my mind had time to wander, there were three knocks on the door behind me.