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too young—and the men she’d dated after him hadn’t mentioned having them, either. Then again, they were the kind of men who jetted off to Paris for a weekend on a moment’s notice, or took long holidays in Belize. To them, children were an encumbrance, something to finally have
at last,
but definitely not at first. And she’d bought into it. But since she’d been back in Eastbridge, she’d found great pleasure in hearing about the few children who graced her life, even tangentially. It wasn’t that her biological clock was ticking. It was that she associated children with family. With community.
    She blinked. “I’m going to grab some lunch now,” she told Wes. “Call my cell if you need me.”
    “We’ll be fine,” Wes said. “There’s nothing left to do here but the cleanup, and we have that covered.”
    “Great. Thanks again. You did a really stellar job.”
    Carolyn went by the kitchen, gave a nod to Eric, who was in the throes of his lunch service, and carefully, so as not to disturb anyone’s work, swiped a fresh roll, a knife, and some sea salt butter. She broke open the bread, smeared the butter inside, then folded the roll back up. Quickly, she backed out of the kitchen, half-expecting to see Jake glowering at her in the hall. To her relief, he wasn’t there, so she slipped outside, instinctively heading for the stone wall on one side of the large meadow behind the clubhouse, remnants of the property’s history as a dairy farm. Despite the cloudy sky, after weeks of cold and rain, it finally felt like spring.
    When she got to the wall, she realized there was no way to sit down. Even the driest-looking spots would do a number on her silk pantsuit. So she simply breathed in the air, took a bite of bread and butter, and gazed out over the meadow. During the summer it would be used to stage badminton games. In the distance to her left, she could see the tennis courts. A few brave souls were playing on the damp courts, gamely hitting the ball back and forth. It would be another month before there’d be a waiting list for playing times. To her right, closer to the main building, the croquet lawn sat vacant but neatly groomed, waiting for warmer-weather players.
    She took another bite.
God,
this bread was good. She should have taken two rolls. Or some cheese. Maybe tomorrow. Now that she knew there was going to
be
a tomorrow for her at Briarwood. Because Jake needed her.
    Strange to be needed, especially by him. Strange, but welcome. She’d always been accepted wherever she went. Her mother’s social connections and her family’s wealth easily paved the way. And then when she lost everything, she realized that acceptance didn’t mean respect, or even friendship. Blair and Dani seemed to have that figured out long before she did. It had taken working at Briarwood to show her the bubble—the utter vacuum—in which she’d been living.
    All of a sudden a wave of exhaustion hit her, and no wonder. She’d been burning the candle at both ends for months.
Lord,
she was tired. Perhaps she could risk leaning against the wall. She chose the driest spot she could find, then ever-so-slowly settled back against it.
    Just as she got comfortable, there was a crunching sound from the woods behind her. She pushed herself up and turned, only to see Jake Gaffney coming up on her fast, tattoos on display once again under the edge of his gray T-shirt. For once, he wasn’t wearing a scowl, but before she could figure out whether to stay or go, he’d scaled the low wall and came to stand beside her.
    “Jake,” she said in greeting. It still felt strange to call him that. Strange, and intimate.
    He didn’t look at her, just stared out over the meadow. “Just came from a meeting with our course designer,” he said. “It’s going to be gorgeous. But this is beautiful, too, isn’t it?”
    “Yes. Very.” So beautiful in springtime, the grounds just coming alive, all that hope and promise shimmering in the air.