The early morning air was crisp, touched with the scent of freshly cut grass. Sunlight spilled across the backyard, warming the stone path beneath my feet as I settled into one of the cushioned chairs by the backyard garden table. 

I had a book in my lap, something Mary had recommended, though the words kept blurring as my mind drifted to the night before. The memory of Mr. Scott and me together made my cheeks warm, but I forced myself to focus on the page. Reading felt safer than untangling ...