“Get out. How is that even possible?”

“I asked that question when Hallie and Roy started arguing about which of their mamas made the best mac and cheese in the history of mac and cheese. I made some comment about those handy microwave packages of same, and was met with serious disdain. I mean serious. Anyway.”

She picked up her wine, drank, gestured. “After my humiliation came inspiration. I went with Hallie’s because she called her mother right then and there, rattled off the recipe—adding any fool could make it. I am that fool.”

She gestured again, drank again. “And let me point out right now, there was nothing easy about it. You’d think, mac and cheese, how hard could it be? I can’t even talk about it.”

The oven timer buzzed. “Well, here we go.”

She went over, opened the oven door.

“It smells good,” Zane said over her shoulder. “It looks good.”

“It does. It does.” She slid on mitts, took it out to set on the counter, where they both studied it.

She took out her phone.

“You’re going to take a picture of it?”

“Don’t judge me, Walker.” She picked it up again, carried it outside. “Bring the salad, and the wine. We’ll start with the salad while it cools down some,” she told him. “And I’ll drown myself in the wine if the mac and cheese sucks.”

She had flowers on the table again, different ones in a blue Mason jar she must have brought over or picked up somewhere. He looked at her while she served the salad, the short cap of russet—he’d decided to stick with russet—hair, the depthless blue eyes, the diamond-edged cheekbones.

“I could get used to this,” he decided. “Coming home to a pretty woman, a pretty table, a hot meal.”

“I wouldn’t get used to the hot meal. I swear to sweet little plastic Baby Jesus, digging a hole in rocky ground with a pickax is easier than cooking. I can say that because today I did both.”

“Renaissance woman. The salad’s good. Even, strangely, the flowers. So, new clients?”

“Yeah. Patsy and Bill Marsh.”

“I know them. They’re friends with Emily and Lee, serious boat people.”

“That they are. I’m giving them lakeside appeal—versus curb appeal, because lake. And I’ve been promised—or threatened with—a day out on their boat.”

“Don’t like boats?”

“I like them fine. I’ve been out on one with an engine, even kayaked a few times. But I’ve never been on a boat with a sail. I love watching them, the way they just seem to glide along. Like magic. I guess you know how to sail.”

“Yeah. I grew up with boats. I haven’t been sailing in years. Probably a trigger.” Which he hadn’t realized until that very moment. “I should test that out. I could rent one, take you sailing.”

“Seems like I ought to try it eventually, since lake. Are you ready to risk the main event here?”

“More than.”

“Okay, here goes.” With some trepidation, she dished up the mac and cheese. Watching Zane, she took a forkful. “Together, on three. One, two…”

He ate, angled his head, then holding up a finger, forked up another bite. “It’s freaking great.”

With obvious surprise, she studied the next bite on her fork. “It’s really good. Who knew?”

“Got a nice little kick, too.”

“Tabasco. Still harder than digging holes, but ultimately, just as satisfying.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “So, what was your plan if it did, indeed, suck?”

“I was working on brutal yet sympathetic honesty with a bolstering hey, you tried, since if it sucked, you’d know, and any attempt to pretend it didn’t would be seen, rightfully, as patronizing bullshit.”

“I think that’s acceptable. I need to tell you about my other new clients.”

“Sure.”

“They moved here last winter, moved into Lakeview Terrace. They bought the house you grew up in.”

He said nothing for a moment, but stopped eating, topped off both wineglasses. “Okay.”

“She knows Britt. They both work at the clinic. Charlene Ledbecker. She’s a doctor. He’s an engineer, works in Asheville. They’re expecting their second child next fall. I wanted to give you a picture of them.”

“All right.”

“I didn’t know, until Charlene mentioned that Britt used to live in the house, what house it was. They want help with the grounds, a couple times a month, and seasonally. They want to learn how to take care of the grounds. They … you don’t care about any of that.”

“Not really. So you made me mac and cheese.”

“Inspired by Roy and Hallie’s argument,” she reminded him. “What’s more comforting than mac and cheese? I had to tell you even knowing it would stir up bad memories.”

“Food as a security blanket?”

She caught the tone, recognized irritation. “It wasn’t meant to be patronizing, Zane. I wanted to do something to balance out having to upset you. And instead I’ve pissed you off.”

“What pisses me off, Darby, is the fact you clearly felt you had to tiptoe up to telling me you landed a client who happens to live in that house.”

She actually felt her spine stiffen, her temper simmer up toward boil. “It wasn’t an insult to your manly balls. The tiptoeing was as much, maybe more, for me. I felt guilty, right or wrong, I felt guilty profiting over something that hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt me, and my balls are insulted. I wouldn’t have come back to Lakeview if I couldn’t handle it, and both my balls and my brain are aware someone lives in that house. And if the people who do came to me on a legal matter, I’d handle that. Why wouldn’t I?”

Darby took a moment herself, then said two words. “Traci Draper.”

He started to speak, felt the pin jab the air out of his righteous insult. “Yeah, well, you pointed out I was stupid about that, so you should’ve known you were being stupid about this.”

“Sounds like a wash to me, and you got mac and cheese out of it. I don’t mind fighting, but if you want really stupid, it’s fighting because somebody had concerns for your feelings.”

“We’re not fighting.” At her long, slow stare, he blew out a breath. “We were disputing, and apparently we’ve settled the dispute.”

She smirked. “Lawyer.”

“Guilty. Look, I spent some time hating the house. I even drew a picture of it—and I can’t draw for shit—in my journal back then. Drew it surrounded by the nine circles of hell.”

“You read Dante as a teen?”

“I read everything. It was one of the most surefire ways to go somewhere else for a while. I got over hating the house, or mostly. You working there isn’t going to bother me. Don’t let it bother you.”

“Then I won’t.”

“See? Dispute settled. I’m having more of this.” He piled more mac and cheese on his plate. “You?”

“Half that.”

“How would you feel about leaving some of your stuff here instead of hauling your clothes in and out in your duffle?”