She snorted. “Now you really do sound like Meg.”

“I’m serious.” I added a can of whipped cream and a bowl of mini-marshmallows to the tray. “It’s too soon to be anything more. Neither of us is in a position to offer the other anything but some fun right now. We agree on that.”

“Well, you guys deserve some fun.” She sighed. “But it’s too bad you couldn’t have met each other at a different time in your lives. Maybe you could have made it work for real.”

“I can’t start wondering what if,” I told her, picking up the tray. “I’ve got enough regrets. The past is past, and I’ve got to concentrate on moving forward.”

April folded her arms across her chest. “Yeah. I hear that.”

I set the tray down again. “I’m sorry, April. We’re always talking about my issues. How are you feeling about . . . everything?”

“I don’t know. Okay, I guess.”

“The other night, you mentioned eighteen years was coming up.”

She nodded, and I briefly saw tears in her eyes before she looked away. “Yeah. It’s hitting me kind of hard. But the milestone birthdays always do. And the holidays.”

“I bet.”

“It’s kind of crazy that I was only eighteen when I had him.”

“You were very young.”

“I was. And in no way ready to parent a child.” She tugged at the hem of her hoodie. “But I’ve been thinking lately about . . . reaching out. Maybe meeting him.”

I was shocked. “Really?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes. I think I’m about ready. And the couple who adopted him always said that if and when I decided I’d like to meet him, they’d be okay with it as long as he was.”

“Wow.” I tried to wrap my brain around meeting a child I’d given birth to for the first time in eighteen years but couldn’t. “That’s . . . that’s a lot to think about.”

“I know, but in all honesty, I think I need some closure—some certainty that I did the right thing.”

I put a hand on her arm. “You did the right thing, April.”

Her lips tipped up, but it wasn’t exactly a happy smile. “In my head, I know you’re right, but my heart often wonders. I’ve struggled with it.”

“Have you ever talked about this with anyone?”

“Not until now. I never even told anyone else I was pregnant. Tyler knew, Mom knew, Grandma Russell knew—because I went and stayed with her the last three months—and you knew. That’s it. I think Mom probably told Dad, even though I begged her not to, but he’s never mentioned it to me.”

“Me neither.” I paused. “Have you considered getting a therapist?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Will you contact Tyler and tell him what you’re doing?”

April shook her head vehemently. “No. I haven’t spoken to him in years, and he was one hundred percent in favor of the adoption. He never even signed the birth certificate. I mean, he wasn’t a jerk about it,” she said quickly. “He was apologetic, and he offered to pay for anything I needed, but he didn’t want his name involved.”

I nodded. The father of April’s son had been a legend in our small town, a left-handed pitching phenom drafted to the major leagues right after graduation. “So you didn’t stay in touch? You guys were such good friends.”

“We were, but . . . I don’t know.” April’s shoulders rose. “The random one-night stand made things kind of awkward between us before we knew it resulted in a baby. Afterward, it was just plain weird. Neither of us knew what to say to the other.”

“Right.”

“And anyway, I’m still thinking about it. I haven’t made up my mind yet.” She pushed off the counter and put on a blank face. “Ready with the hot chocolate?”

“Yes. But I just want to say that I’m always here if you do want to talk more about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

I picked up the tray and carried it into the family room, April following behind me.

“Mmm, something smells good,” my mom said.

“Hot chocolate?” I offered, setting everything on the coffee table.

“Looks delicious.” My dad reached for a mug and settled back into his favorite recliner.

“I’ll have some too.” My mom set her paperback aside. “Good idea. Those boys are going to be chilled to the bone when they get in here.”

“I know.” I picked up a mug and let it warm both hands as I looked out the glass door onto the patio. I could just make out Henry pointing toward the sky and Keaton following the line of his arm.

“Where’s Whitney? Does she want hot chocolate?” April asked, sitting cross-legged on one end of the couch.

“I think she went up to her room,” I said. “I’ll go see.”

Upstairs, I knocked on Whitney’s bedroom door. “Whit? I made hot chocolate. Want to come down?”

“No, thanks.”

I frowned at the wood. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, what are you doing in there?” I tried to open the door but it was locked.

“Nothing.” A few seconds later, she opened the door. Her face was full of makeup, her expression dour. She looked like a very unhappy clown. “Just playing with the new palette.”

“Oh. Well, if you want to come down and join us, feel free. Just wash your face first, please.”

“Is Mr. DeSantis still here?”

I paused. Was there something accusatory in her voice? Or was I imagining it? “Yes. He’s outside with Keaton showing him how to use the telescope. Want to come down and look through it?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay. I’ll be up in a bit to say goodnight. Don’t get any makeup on the bedding please.”

“I won’t.” She shut the door with no further comment.

On my way back downstairs, I wondered if Whitney suspected something was going on with Henry or if I was just being paranoid. All we’d done was sit next to each other at the table. I decided I must have imagined the suspicious tone of her question—probably just my own mixed-up feelings about what Henry and I were doing.

When I got back downstairs, Henry and Keaton were just coming into the family room, their cheeks and noses red from the cold.

“Guess what, Mom?” Keaton asked excitedly. “Henry goes to a boxing gym and he said he’d take me there sometime!”

“That’s awesome, buddy.” I smiled at him.

“They have classes for kids,” Henry said, setting the telescope in a corner where it wouldn’t get knocked over. “They look like fun.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to box, but my dad said team sports were way better.” Keaton inhaled deeply. “I smell chocolate.”

I laughed. “It’s on the table. Help yourself.”

While Keaton grabbed a mug from the tray, I turned to Henry. “Can you stay for something hot to drink?”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should get back.”

“Come on. You have to try some hot chocolate—I made it from scratch.” I brought him a mug and he took it from me, his hands closing around mine all too briefly.