Chapter 1

Three years ago, I gave my grieving boss $6,000 for her husband’s funeral. The office called me a fool in love. She called me into her office—and fired me.

Then Claire appeared in my city with a suitcase, an apology, and an offer to start over.

I almost believed she had come back for me.

Until I overheard her whispering to a sick child about finding his real father.

Claire hadn’t returned alone. She had twins, one of them was dying, and the man who could save him might be me.

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Three years after Claire Bennett fired me, she called me like nothing had happened.

I was halfway through a late lunch at my desk when my phone lit up with a number I did not know.

"Hi, Evan. Do you still remember me?"

The woman's voice was soft, a little teasing, and familiar enough to make me sit up. I searched my memory and came up empty. She let me guess twice. Both times I was wrong.

At last she laughed, half annoyed and half amused. "It's Claire. Claire Bennett. Has it really been that long? You forgot me already?"

The name went through me harder than I wanted it to.

Claire had been my supervisor at a branch office in Portland. I had been twenty-three then, new to the company, too eager, too obvious, and too easy to read. She was several years older, already married, and kind to me in a way that made an inexperienced man mistake ordinary care for something larger.

Then her husband died in an accident.

The office collected money for the funeral fund. Most people gave fifty dollars, maybe a hundred. I transferred six thousand.

I told myself it was because Claire had taken care of me when I was new. I told myself a lot of things. Everyone else told the truth for me. Within two days the whole floor was whispering that I must have been in love with a widow whose husband had not even been buried.

Claire heard it. She was grieving, embarrassed, and furious. Before the week ended, she called me into her office and terminated me.

I left with one cardboard box and a resentment I could not quite separate from longing.

After that, we never contacted each other again.

Until now.

"You're quiet," Claire said over the phone. "Not happy to hear from me?"

"No," I said too quickly. "Just surprised. Is this your new number?"

She ignored the question.

"I'm in your city," she said. "Do you want to see me?"

I looked at the screen as if the phone might explain itself. Three years of silence, and now she was only a short drive away.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"Central Station. I brought a suitcase."

That should have made me cautious.

Instead, I grabbed my keys.