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and yet she couldn’t help feeling sorry for TJ. She’d seen the pain in his eyes when he admitted he’d been a teacher, and that had touched a chord deep inside her.
    â€œThose who can, do.” Her father’s words reverberated through her brain, reminding Gillian of the day she’d announced that she wanted to be a music teacher. Dad had scowled, his expression forbidding as he continued. “Those who can’t, teach. Only losers teach, and you are not a loser, Gillian. You’re a Hodge. You’re meant for better things than teaching.”
    Had TJ heard similar disparaging remarks? Gillian didn’t know. What she did know was that something was wrong, something TJ did not want to discuss, something tied to teaching. There had been a note of finality when he’d said “used to teach,” a hint of melancholy that made her imagine herself pronouncing similar words.
    â€œI used to be a concert pianist.” Though she’d never actually said that, she knew that one day she would have to, and it would undoubtedly be painful. TJ was already at that point, and the anguish she’d seen before he lowered his eyes made her wish there were some way to ease it.
    â€œI’m not sure how much help I can be,” she told him, trying to keep her voice light, “but I’ve always heard there’s safety in numbers.”
    He shrugged. “Sure, why not?” Though he didn’t sound thrilled, what could she expect? The man was having a bad day. Not only had he crashed his bike, but he was now sporting the worst haircut Gillian had ever seen. She had to admit that the clean-shaven look was an improvement over the scruffy beard, but that naturally curly hair of his needed more than a rough hacking.
    When her nephew’s hair had shown a tendency to wave, her brother George and sister-in-law Lisa had searched for the right stylist to tame it. Of course, George and Lisa were more concerned about appearances than TJ seemed to be. Gillian suspected the man had never worn, much less owned, a tuxedo. His clothing was clean and serviceable but bore none of the designer labels that were so important to her brother.
    â€œThe image you project is important,” George used to say, parroting their father. If TJ had heard the adage, he either disagreed or had a very different image in mind. Rough rather than refined. To Gillian’s surprise, she found rough appealing.
    As the conversation switched to Texas politics, she said little, content to watch the way TJ challenged the others. Though never confrontational, he asked probing questions that elicited surprising responses. She doubted even George, a proud graduate of Harvard Law School, could have done a better job of changing the other guests’ opinions.
    â€œYou win.” One of the men raised his hands in surrender.
    â€œIt’s not a matter of win or lose,” TJ said. “It’s a matter of thinking. I just wanted you to consider the other side. The truth is, I agree with your position.”
    After a second of shocked silence, everyone laughed. “Good job, TJ.” The man lowered his arms and grinned, obviously pleased by the apparent U-turn.
    Good job indeed. Who would have guessed that the rough-around-the-edges man was a skilled orator?

5
    T he meal ended with the best chocolate pound cake Gillian had ever eaten, leaving her feeling as if she wouldn’t need to eat again for a week. She rose and told TJ she’d meet him in front of the office in ten minutes. To her surprise, though TJ had taken seconds of almost everything, he emerged holding a large bag of groceries.
    â€œMore food?” She groaned at the thought.
    â€œTake a look.” TJ tilted the bag so she could see the contents. “Carmen had everything I needed in her pantry.” Gillian smiled. The food wasn’t for them. It was for the bored teenagers. Though she would not have thought of providing food,