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“They won’t miss us,” he said, heading down the deck stairs and around the side of the house. “And about what Ava said, she—”

“Forget it, Dad.” She tugged on her hat and gloves, then wrapped up in Mom’s old plaid wool scarf. “She’s not wrong.”

Through the glow of the neighbor’s lights and the streetlamps, she caught a hint of sadness in his smile, as if he was afraid to say what he felt.

I wanted it to be you.

It wasn’t a regular conversation when she was a girl, but every now and then he’d say, “Don’t be in a hurry. I want to walk you down the aisle to the right man.” In those days, she was his one and only daughter. Then death changed their story.

Dad slipped his arm through hers. “So, what about the job in Sea Blue Beach?”

“Still there. Elliot Kirby texted me tonight.”

“And?”

“He asked me to take the job. I’m afraid Lou talked me up a bit too much.”

“I don’t know, Em. You were everything to the Free Voice when Lou struggled with his health. You kept it going for him.”

“Okay, fine, I can be an editor-in-chief and do it well. But you know it’s not about the job.”

“It’s about the location.”

“How can it not be? Dad, it’s Sea Blue Beach. I haven’t been there since that summer.” Emery’s foot slipped on a dusting of snow, and Dad steadied her as they made their way down the sidewalk.

Tonight, their pretty, suburban Cleveland neighborhood was quiet under the falling snow and twinkling Christmas lights. Somehow, the atmosphere seemed to respect their conversation.

“If the job was in any other city, would you say yes?” Dad, a Case Western Reserve professor, appealed to her sense of reason.

“I’d be packed and head out tomorrow morning,” Emery said.

The Sea Blue Beach Gazette was a historic family newspaper—a unicorn these days—in beautiful Sea Blue Beach, the gem of the north Florida coast. Its focus was mostly microlocal journalism, which Emery loved.

News about you , literally. About the citizens, local businesses, the schools, and government.

The press run was semiweekly, which meant she’d have time to develop a vision for growth.

“Elliot lives in Atlanta, so he won’t be popping in every other day, and I’ll have complete reign.”

“Sounds perfect. Is the pay good?”

“Define good .”

Dad’s laugh crackled against the cold. “Can you survive?”

“I can.” She smiled as Southerly Park came into view. Of course he led her here. “I was thinking, if I did go, I’d stay at the Sands Motor Motel.” Emery glanced up at him. “In Cottage 7.”

“I see. You’d prefer that to a house or an apartment? As I recall, the cottages were small and a bit out of date.”

“I’d have two bedrooms. And it’ll only be me unless visitors come. If it’s out of date”—meaning if it looked like the cottage she’d shared with Mom during her last summer—“I wouldn’t mind.”

As they crossed the street into the park’s light, Dad said, “Remember that big red sled you got for Christmas when you were ten?”

“How could I forget? It snowed all day, and we rode down every little hill we could find.”

“Mom’s favorite was the golf course.”

“She crashed into the ditch shouting ‘Fore!’” Emery said. “I didn’t even know what it meant.”

“You shouted back ‘Five!’” Dad laughed. “She broke through the ice trying to climb out. Her feet were soaked.”

“But she wanted one more hill,” Emery said.

Mom conquered all of her hills. Except the last one. Cancer.

“Sledding that Christmas is one of my favorite memories.” Dad’s voice carried a reminiscent tone that made Emery well up.

“We finally convinced Mom to go home, dry off, build a big fire, drink hot chocolate, and eat grilled cheese.” Dad squeezed her arm.

“You fell asleep on the floor watching White Christmas .”

“I miss her,” Emery whispered. “Sometimes when I’m working, I look up, expecting to see her standing in my office.”

“Hard to believe it’s been sixteen years.

You know Joanna reminds me of her birthday every year, asks if I want to talk about her.

She’s not afraid of my love for your mom, Em.

I’m not intimidated by her love for her first husband.

The mystery of the human heart is its ability to love so wide and deep. ”

“That was very poetic, Dad.”

“Old age setting in.” They arrived at a bench under a streetlamp. He brushed away the snow and motioned for Emery to sit. Mom always swore he was a snowman on the inside. “I want you to be okay with me walking Ava down the aisle first, but I can’t demand it or even really ask.”

“Do I seem that shallow?” Was this the fruit of her resistance to becoming a full-fledged member of the family? “It’s not like Ava did it on purpose. I’m happy for her and Jamie. Compared to the girls he dated in college, Ava is pure gold studded with diamonds.”

Meanwhile, Emery was still waiting for her man to crawl out from under some moss-covered rock. Did every woman in her early thirties who was floundering in her career wonder if love would find her?

“You should take the job, Emery,” Dad said, low and soft but with conviction. “I’ll miss you. We’ll all miss you. But go to Sea Blue Beach. Maybe you’ll find something there you left behind.”

Walking back home through the swirling, thickening snow, Emery considered Dad’s advice, sorry she made any sort of deal out of Ava being the first daughter down the aisle. She was just frustrated with her career and the pace of her life.

At home, the house had quieted, with Jamie and Ava cuddled on the couch, watching a movie. Blakely was curled on the floor under a heavy blanket, sleeping, and Elianna had gone to bed since she started work at six a.m.

In the kitchen, Joanna loaded the dishwasher. Dad refilled their champagne glasses and kissed his wife, whispering words only husbands and wives share.

“Oh, Emery.” Ava slipped out from under Jamie’s arm and met her by the stairs as she said good night. “You’ll be a bridesmaid, won’t you?”

“As long as we don’t wear pink or puffy sleeves.”

“Define pink . And one hundred percent no to the puffy sleeves.”

“Pink as in pink.”

“We’ll talk.”

Emery laughed. “Any shade of pink, Aves.”

“Fine, but, Emery—” Ava glanced up at her. “We looked at a couple of wedding dresses online, just to see, and there was one—”

Emery leaned against the banister, waiting.

“—with pearls. It was so stunning and classic. It was all Lauren Bacall in How to Marry a Millionaire . I was wondering—”

“No.”

“Elianna forewarned you, didn’t she?”

“You need a new playbook, Ava.”

“Okay, fine, but I don’t understand why—”

“That’s the problem, Ava. You don’t understand. You can wear pearls with the Lauren Bacall gown, just not mine.” How many times had they had this conversation? Four? Five? In person. Over text. Ava being fixated on Mom’s pearls made zero sense. “Dad and Joanna can give you a set for a bridal gift.”

“But—”

Emery pointed to Ava’s hand. “Your ring is beautiful. Jamie has good taste.”

“He knew what I wanted before I did,” Ava said. “Hey, Em, I’m sorry. Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad. And honestly, I’m really happy for you guys. Good night.”

In her room, she stared out the window, where snow layered the bare tree limbs, and tried to imagine the sun and sand of Sea Blue Beach.

She pictured the cute cottages of the Sands Motor Motel, the old brick street going through the east end of town, the Blue Plate Diner, and the semi-famous Starlight skating rink.

She’d become a part of the town as the editor-in-chief of the Sea Blue Beach Gazette .

Sun, sand, cute cottage, being her own boss, developing a newspaper like Lou did back in the sixties and seventies? Check, check, check, and check.

Emery snatched up her phone before fear walked in with a list of cons.

Elliot, Happy New Year. Sorry to respond so late, but yes, I’ll take the job. Thank you so much.

As her decision settled in, Elliot pinged a reply.

Excellent. We’ll talk tomorrow. Or rather, later today.

Emery readied for bed, then slipped under the covers, clicking off the bedside lamp. She’d finally hammered her square-peg self into that round hole.