Page 12 of This Broken Heart

Trace leaps out into the snow, boots skidding across the frozen drive. He carries my purse and I drag my suitcase up the steps.

“She’s sleeping in my room.” Trace calls, carrying my purse down the hall.

Josh steps into the living room, a cheesy spoon in hand. “Put her things in the guest room.”

Maven struggles out of his arms. “My room!”

Josh meets my gaze. “There’s a guest room by Trace’s.”

I nod, dragging my suitcase into a small room with an antique bed set. I smooth my hand over the worn quilt, wondering whose hands pieced it together.

Trace careens into the room, pulling Maven behind him. They both clamber onto the bed and start bouncing. He points over my shoulder. “That’s your bathroom.”

I peek into the bathroom, realizing it’s connected to Josh’s room.

Awesome. I get to share a bathroom with this guy.

My gaze catches on the counter and I spot a half-empty bottle of perfume. A makeup bag. My first thought is that he must have a girlfriend, but as I step closer, I realize the bottle has a fine sheen of dust on it.

My heart twists in my chest. This was his wife’s. He hasn’t touched anything, from the looks of it. Like she could just walk in at any minute and pick up where she left off.

It reminds me of my dad. One year isn’t long enough to get over the heartbreak, but life moves on. It was incredibly hard to lose my dad the way we did. So suddenly. I can’t imagine what it must be like for Josh. Maven slips in behind me, grabbing my legs. I bend down and pick her up. She puts her fingers around my lips and pinches, hard. “Pretty.”

I boop her little nose and smile. “You’re pretty.”

8.

Josh

I couldn’t sleep.

The entire night I tossed and turned, thinking about what to do with Erin.

She can’t stay, that much is obvious. But that means I have to fire her and that is not something I ever pictured myself doing.

I don’t know how other people do it. She already packed up her old life to move here, and now I’m going to tell her she has to go.

The thought has me feeling queasy.

We’re sitting at the table, the kids feverishly coloring, while I rehearse what I’m going to say to her.

You’re a wonderful person, but I just don’t think it’s going to work out.

When she steps into the kitchen, it causes such a commotion; I don’t get a chance to pull her aside. Trace jumps down from his seat, waving his coloring in the air. “I made you a sign so you know which room is yours.”

She squats down so that she’s at eye level, studying his drawing with a big smile.

Today, she’s wearing some sort of grown-up overalls and a long sleeve shirt. At least she ditched the dress and heels, but her style is a bit kooky. The braids are cute, I guess.

Ruffling Trace’s hair, she stands and looks around. “Have you eaten breakfast yet? Can I get something started?”

I push my chair back, climbing to my feet. “We don’t eat breakfast.”

She tilts her head. “Really? Not even the kids?”

I can’t tell if that’s genuine surprise or if she’s being judgmental. “The kids don’t like it.”

Maven climbs off her chair, waving her drawing over her head. Trace’s enthusiasm is contagious, as always, and Maven wants to give Erin a drawing, too.