The backhanded apology stoked Libby’s temper. She was not sure what bur was under Lofton’s saddle, but she was not going along for the ride. Did she have feelings for Colton that Libby did not see?

“I like having her,” Sam said. “She’s fun.”

“Me too,” Jeff said.

Libby pushed aside her wine and reached for her coffee cup, sitting next to the dessert plate dotted with lemon cake crumbs. She took several sips, knowing it would take the edge off the wine. The trade-off, however, would be that she would not fall asleep before one o’clock the next morning.

Aware that Colton was watching her, she gulped down the last of the coffee, savoring the hint of sweet from the settled sugar in the bottom of the cup. “This has been a lovely evening, but I really have to get back to town.”

“Do you have to go so early?” Elaine asked.

“I really do. It’s going to be a crazy week of edits, and I have several new business meetings. Always have to be hustling when you work for yourself.”

“I admire that,” Elaine said.

When Libby rose, so did Ted and Colton. She shook hands with them all and extended her hand to a seated Lofton, who did not make eye contact.

“Thank you for having me.”

Elaine halted her quick getaway. “Let me wrap up some food for you. We have so much extra.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Libby said.

“I insist.”

To refuse would be rude, and Elaine had been nothing but hospitable. “Thank you.”

Ten minutes later, armed with a bagful of plastic storage bowls stuffed with food, Libby said one last goodbye as she went out the door.

“The boys and I will walk you to your car,” Colton offered.

“You don’t have to do that,” Libby said.

“It’s all they can do to sit still,” he said. “It’s a minor miracle nothing was broken or spilled yet.”

The boys and the dogs raced ahead out of the garden and across the lawn to her car as the sun dipped below the horizon. The farther she got away from Lofton and her pretentious attitude, the more settled she felt. She had not belonged at the dinner.

As if reading her thoughts, Colton said, “Lofton already has a lawyer’s mind. She’s always asking questions and searching for arguments.”

“I have no doubt she’ll be a huge success.”

She pressed the button on her fob, and the door locks opened. Jeff and Sam raced to the door handle and fought for who could be the one to open it.

“Jeff, let Sam,” Colton said.

“But I want to open it,” Jeff said.

“Maybe you could open the back liftgate for me,” Libby said. “I need to load this food.”

Jeff let go of the handle, and Libby pointed to the button that made the liftgate rise. His expression was so serious as he pressed it and then stepped back as it opened.

“Well done,” Libby said.

Colton placed her bags in the back. “You shouldn’t go hungry for a few days.”

“Or weeks,” she laughed. The boys ran up beside their dad. She extended her hand to each. “Thank you, gentlemen, for a lovely evening. It’s been a real pleasure.” They shook her hand and giggled.

When her gaze rose to Colton’s, her smile dimmed a little as she felt that twinge of desire rise up in her. Again, her timing was off. “It was fun.”

“See you soon,” he said.

Colton, making sure all little fingers were away from the door, closed it for her. She started the engine and rolled down the window.

“When should I come back to photograph the greenhouse? Anything exciting happening this week?”

“Glazing windows. Removing stones. Nothing exciting.”

“If that changes, let me know. I want to capture the images.”

“Will do.”

As she drove off, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the boys waving at her and jumping up and down. She honked the horn and waved back.

On the way to town, she was still unsure if the evening had been a success or an awkward mess.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into her driveway and then carried her leftovers into the kitchen, where she dutifully stocked them in a near-empty refrigerator. Restless, thanks to the caffeine, she walked out back, suddenly curious to see if her old camera equipment was still in the shed.

She crossed the backyard, stepping from flagstone to flagstone until she reached the shed. Though near the center of town, the lot was almost an acre in size. Her father had had the large toolshed erected when she was five, and his plan had been to create a woodworking shop. When he had installed a television and easy chair before the first saw was purchased, her mother had declared it a man cave.

Her father never took up woodworking. His eighty-to-ninety-hours-a-week medical practice made that impossible. But when Libby found her first bellows camera at a flea market and dragged it home, he placed it in the shed. She found more photographic equipment, including a developer, a workbench, and chemical trays. After a year of her stocking and laboring on her photos while home for the summers and holidays, the man cave had been no more. It had become her studio.

She switched on the light and was pleased to see that her father had not removed one item. Instead, he had covered all the equipment with white sheets to protect against dust.

With a tug, she removed a sheet from a developing machine that dated back to the 1970s. It had been her favorite during the summer her mother died. She had spent many hours in the darkroom, creating pictures that she now would consider not particularly artistic. But then, art had not been the goal that summer. It had been to take her mind off her mother.

She crossed to a file cabinet and opened the top drawer. It was filled with black-and-white images. The top ones were of her dad’s dog, Buddy. He had been a German shepherd–mutt mix who had ridden into town each day with her father when he had gone to work. The dog had had a keen sense of time, always knowing on Fridays the two went through the drive-through on the way home, and he would get a hamburger.

She sifted through the images of her backyard, the town, trees, clouds, and lots of nothing that had been of such great interest to her that summer.

At the very bottom was her collection of pictures she had taken of her mother with an old Canon One Shot her dad had given her for her twelfth birthday. It had been spring break, and to cheer her mother up, Libby had taken her to Woodmont for Historic Garden Week.

She had almost forgotten about that last visit to Woodmont when she was thirteen. There were pictures of her mother in front of the main house, wearing dark slacks and a white shirt, her salt-and-pepper hair pinned up into a neat twist. She was wearing bright lipstick that Libby remembered had been a vibrant red.

The next series of pictures featured her mother in the very side garden where Libby had just had dinner this evening. She stood next to a vibrant bush of white roses, and there was a bright grin on her face.

Two weeks later, her mother had taken a handful of pills. Her father had come home from work and found her lying on her bed.

She smoothed her fingers over her mother’s face. Carefully closing the drawer, she held on to the image and carried it back into the house with her. She attached it to the side of the refrigerator with a magnet, knowing tomorrow she would find a frame. “It’s good to be home, Mom.”