Page 5 of Forgiveness River

From across the room, Hank looked up from his heated debate with Colt and called out, “That’s because some people think quantity matters more than quality. A true fisherman knows better!”

“A true fisherman comes home with enough fish for dinner,” Colt countered, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Hank was dressed in dress slacks and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which meant he’d spent the day in business meetings with attorneys or financiers. He was a major developer in the area, and he didn’t get to get his hands dirty building as much as he once had. Colt had changed out of his scrubs and into jeans and a Henley after he’d seen his last patient, and his hair was still damp at the collar from his shower.

“Boys,” Anne O’Hara chided from her seat by the fireplace, though there was no heat in her reprimand. Her red hair might have silvered at the temples, but her blue eyes remained as sharp and bright as ever.

“Thank goodness for that,” Mick said, lifting his glass in his wife’s direction. After forty years of marriage, they still looked at each other like newlyweds—a fact that simultaneously warmed Raven’s heart and jabbed at the fresh wound of her own marital troubles.

Sophie waved Raven over to the empty seat beside her. “Saved you a spot,” she said. “Is Wyatt joining us?”

The question was innocent enough, but Raven felt a flush creep up her neck. “He got caught up at work,” she said, the lie coming easier than she would have liked.

“His loss,” Sophie said, passing her a basket of bread rolls. “Simone’s outdone herself tonight.”

Raven scanned the room, taking comfort in the familiar faces. Duncan sat next to Hattie, his artist’s hands constantly in motion as he described his latest project to his father. Unlike his brothers, Duncan had inherited Mick’s darker coloring—jet black hair and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to look straight through you. He rarely made public appearances in town, preferring the solitude of his studio, but family gatherings were nonnegotiable.

Hank and Sophie sat across from them, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Occasionally, Hank would throwback his head and laugh at something Sophie had said, the sound rich and genuine. They’d weathered their own storm last Christmas when Sophie’s bookstore had burned down, but had emerged stronger for it.

Colt’s wife, Zoe, was deep in conversation with Anne about some new recipe, her writer’s hands gesturing animatedly as she tried to describe a dish she’d encountered during her recent book tour. Beside them, their enormous dog Chewy lay sprawled under the table, his huge white paws occasionally twitching as he dreamed.

In the corner, Ryder O’Hara—Simone and Tommy’s son and Mac’s father—was helping his dad arrange serving dishes on the sideboard, the family resemblance obvious in their matching profiles.

“Where’s my favorite niece?” Raven asked, noticing Duncan and Hattie’s daughter wasn’t in her usual spot of honor.

“Dylan offered to babysit so those two could have a night out,” Anne explained, nodding toward Duncan and Hattie. “That girl is shameless when it comes to stealing my grandchildren.”

Dylan was the best mechanic, other than Aidan, at The Pinnacle Garage—Aidan’s luxury mechanic shop. She loved children almost as much as she loved cars. She was practically one of the members of the family and had been invited to the festivities, but Dylan had bowed out and offered to babysit instead so the family could celebrate Mac without having to chase around toddlers.

“Sharing is caring, Mother,” Aidan said, entering the room with a tray of drinks. His resemblance to Hank and Wyatt was striking—all shared the same sandy-blond hair and green eyes, though Aidan’s features were slightly sharper. “Besides, you’ve got another one coming soon. Hattie looks like she’s going to pop any minute.”

“Never enough grandbabies,” Anne insisted, her eyes twinkling.

Raven felt the familiar weight of expectation settle on her shoulders. She and Wyatt had been married the longest of all the brothers, yet they remained childless—a fact that had never bothered her until recently, when the absences and secrets had begun. Now she wondered if a child might have anchored them more firmly to each other.

“How’s the boutique?” Simone asked as she bustled in from the kitchen, her elegant features flushed from the heat of the ovens. “I heard the summer shipment came in.”

“It did,” Raven confirmed, grateful for the change of subject. “I’ve got a new designer from Portland—all sustainable materials but with these incredible bohemian patterns. I put several pieces aside that would look amazing on you.”

“Always looking out for me,” Simone said with a wink. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

“I heard that!” Mac protested from where she’d joined her father and grandfather.

“You’re my favorite granddaughter,” Simone clarified. “Different category entirely.”

“I’m your only granddaughter,” Mac said, grinning.

The dinner progressed with the comfortable rhythm of a family who knew each other’s cadences by heart. Stories flowed like wine—Colt’s latest mishap with a patient who’d thought he was single, Hank’s encounter with a particularly demanding resort developer from California, and the cute photographer who’d almost run Mac down with his Jeep while trying to get the perfect shot.

For a while, Raven almost forgot the hollow ache in her chest. Almost.

Until her phone vibrated in her pocket halfway through dessert—a rich tiramisu that Simone had perfected overdecades. She casually slipped the device from her pocket and glanced down, expecting it to be a notification from one of her social media accounts for the boutique.

Instead, Wyatt’s name stared back at her.

Working late. Don’t wait up. – W

She slid the phone back into her pocket, the tiramisu turning to ash in her mouth. Around her, the warmth and light of The Lampstand continued unabated—laughter rising and falling, silverware clinking against plates, Mick launching into one of his famous stories about the early days of Laurel Valley.

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