It turned out that his concern had been misplaced. Genevieve had never looked better, never seemed more at peace than she did now.
As glad as he was for her, this dinner was giving Sebastian the same unsettling sense he’d experienced many times before when surrounded by cheerful people . . . the sense that he was an island, and the rest of them were an ocean, flowing around him. He was close to them, but he was separate, not a part of them in the same way that they were a part of one another.
After the main course wound down, Sam rose to his feet. He clinked his butter knife against his glass until the voices quieted. In the semi-darkness, his pale eyes looked even paler than usual next to his olive skin and brown hair. “Before we serve dessert, I’d like to say a few words.” His Australian accent carried on the air.
“Ooh.” Genevieve’s overly emotional mom rested a hand on her chest. “That would be lovely.”
“Before I met Gen, I’d been living alone on this farm for four years,” Sam said. “I told myself that’s how I wanted it, but to be honest, I was miserable. And then thirteen months ago, Gen showed up. Even as I was giving her permission to move into the guesthouse, I was regretting my words.”
Genevieve laughed. “And then, after I moved in, I gave you a lot more reasons to regret them.”
“A lot more.” Sam regarded Genevieve with softness.
“I bring drama,” Genevieve stated.
“And worry.”
“And chaos.”
“You added difficulty to my days at first,” he acknowledged. “But then you began to add other things. Color and laughter and hope.”
Sebastian shifted uncomfortably. This conversation felt like it should be private, between Genevieve and Sam. But it looked like his opinion fell in the minority. Everyone else sat forward in their chairs, fascinated.
“With you,” Sam continued, “God gave me a second chance that I still don’t feel like I deserve. But I value it more than anything, because I know how much it’s worth. You’ve become my favorite person. My best friend. I want to pull your long hairs off my sweaters and make you coffee and tease you about your terrible taste in music—”
“My excellent taste in music, you mean.”
Sam sobered. “I want an opportunity—a million opportunities—to make you smile. The best I can hope for the days I have left is to spend them all with you. I don’t want to be apart from you for a single one of them.”
Genevieve’s face communicated amazement. Moisture gathered on her lashes.
“I’ve got this farmhouse, this property, a restaurant, some savings, a tractor, and a beat-up truck,” Sam said. “Everything I have is yours. My loyalty, my support, my commitment, my heart. Me. Always.”
“Sam.”
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too.”
Sam reached into his pocket. Excited murmurs raced between the guests as Sam lowered to one knee beside Genevieve. He pulled out a small jewelry box and opened it to reveal a diamond ring.
Genevieve appeared to have been struck by lockjaw.
Sam hesitated. “You okay?”
“No. Sam! Yes . . . I’m okay.” She gestured for him to go on. “Please continue with whatever you were about to say.” Tears slipped down her face toward her grin.
“Sure?” he asked.
“Please continue!”
“Because if another time would be better—”
“Another time would not be better!”
“All right, then.” Sam looked into her face. “Genevieve Mae Woodward?”
“Present.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she answered.
Sam slipped the ring onto her finger. They stood. Kissed. Then Sam wrapped her in his arms.
The rest of them pushed to their feet in a mass, everyone clapping, some whistling or whooping. The guys exchanged high fives. The women hugged. Genevieve’s mother wept with joy, and Genevieve’s dad tried to find a pack of tissues for his wife. Natasha snapped pictures.
Sam whispered something to Genevieve. She whispered something back, admiring her ring. He pressed a kiss against the crown of her head and pulled her against him.
The guests crowded around the newly engaged couple to congratulate them.
From the first time that Sebastian had met Sam, Sebastian had seen how perfect he was for Genevieve. She was outgoing and passionate. He was honorable and even-keeled. In fact, as far as Sebastian knew, Sam was so even-keeled that he’d only ever lost his head over one thing.
Genevieve.
Eight days later, Leah traveled to Atlanta.
This time, she did not make the trip in order to see a whip-smart doctor. This time, she made the trip to see a house. Jonathan and Trina Brookside’s house, to be precise.
She drove past their address slowly. Then she parked her Honda—far enough away to be safe, close enough to observe.
Jonathan and Trina now lived in the Tuxedo Park neighborhood of Atlanta, surrounded by some of the region’s wealthiest families. Their sprawling Tudor sat on its lot like a queen on her throne. The oak trees, dogwoods, and lush landscaping surrounding her pledged fealty.
In an alternate version of her life, Leah would not be parking on the street, a stranger. She’d be intimately familiar with this house and its occupants. She’d come here often for holidays, meals, family gatherings. When Jonathan and Trina traveled, she’d stop by to feed the cats or water the flowers or collect the mail.
Then again . . . maybe not. Had these people raised her, she’d likely have attended Princeton. In which case, she might have opted to teach at one of the East Coast universities. In which case, she wouldn’t be living in Georgia.
Her actual life and her possible life had diverged from each other the day of her birth. The more years that passed, the farther apart the two paths grew.
She tapped her fingertips on the lower curve of the steering wheel. The past few weekends, work responsibilities or Dylan-related responsibilities had prevented her from making this pilgrimage. However, she’d spent plenty of time planning her sleuthing tactics and staring at this house on Google maps—which had in no way prepared her for the appeal of the real thing.
Ultimately, she’d decided to make the trip to Atlanta early on this Sunday morning because, under the section of her mother’s obstetrical records marked Religious Affiliation, Trina had checked the box next to Christian. Not all Christians attended church regularly on Sunday mornings. But a large number did. Should Jonathan and Trina drive to church this morning, she’d be poised to follow. Churches were public, unthreatening places that welcomed visitors. No one would give her presence a second thought, and she’d be able to get close enough to the Brooksides to get a good look at them.
She’d arrived here at 7:45, right on schedule.
As her watch ticked off one hour, then another, the plan that had seemed solid to her back in Misty River began to tarnish. Both she and her car appeared harmless. However, a woman sitting alone on a residential street for hours at a time could not expect to go unnoticed. Eventually her presence would raise suspicion.
She had a multitude of papers to grade back home. She and Dylan needed groceries, and it would be excellent if she could find time to go walking today, because she hadn’t found time Friday or Saturday. Most important, she didn’t want to leave Dylan to his own devices for the entire day. He’d promised to go to Tess and Rudy’s for lunch, and Tess could be counted upon to call Leah if he didn’t show. Still. Dylan might be vaping marijuana at this very moment, while she was chasing her phantom history.