Sarah and Lucky arrived at their favorite local bakery about twenty minutes later. The day just needed something sweet to get itself back on track.

“Hi, Lucky boy! Hi, Sarah!” the shop owner, Grace, shouted cheerfully from her place behind the counter. She wore an apron patterned with tiny smiling blue whales on top of a deep purple background. It brought out the green flecks in her eyes. Sarah had always been envious of Grace’s obvious happiness. It shone through in everything she did, from ringing up purchases at the cash register to gossiping about the latest town news.

Sarah liked Grace but never accepted any of the woman’s attempts to make plans to see each other outside of Sweets and Treats. Grace’s constant cheerfulness made Sarah weary. Was there really so much to smile about each and every day?

Sarah forced a smile of her own. “Hi,” she said, swallowing down the beginnings of fresh tears. “I’ll have two of your big cinnamons—make one sugar-free—a cheese Danish, and a pistachio pup cake for Lucky, please.”

The corners of Grace’s mouth pinched into a delicate bow. “Uh-oh. I know that order. You lost another resident today.”

Sarah nodded. “Mr. Hinkley. In a better place now, thank God.” She never knew what to say in these situations. One would think she experienced them enough to know exactly how to talk about death, but no. All she had were the same simple platitudes as everyone else.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Grace said. “Order’s on me, of course.”

“You don’t have to do—”

“I insist.” Grace reached forward and squeezed Sarah’s hand, giving her a long, lingering gaze. It’s okay to talk to me, she seemed to be saying. It’s okay to be vulnerable, to let others in.

But Sarah preferred to spend days like this in her own head rather than rehashing details with others. Of course she was sad. Of course none of this was easy. How would it help admitting that aloud?

Instead, she remained silent and watched as Grace packed her order in the bakery’s signature pink boxes. The giant donuts would make the rest of the staff feel better, as well as the residents who were closest to Mr. Hinkley. Each donut served six people, a local oddity that was every bit as delicious as it was unusual.

“It will be a few minutes on the sugar-free,” Grace called out apologetically as she headed into the back kitchen. “I have to make that one fresh.”

Sarah nodded and pulled her phone from her pocket, browsing with one hand and holding Lucky’s leash loosely with the other. Apparently, she had three new notifications on Reel Life.

When she clicked on the app, a video of tiny wriggling newborn pups nursing on their mother, Rita, greeted her. Peyton McIntyre and Felicity Stilton had already commented along with dozens of others who had adopted puppies from Carol Graves.

“Look, Lucky,” Sarah said, lowering the phone so the dog could see. “You have a new batch of brothers and sisters.”

Lucky smiled and winked, which probably had more to do with the gourmet dog treats behind the glass display case than with the birth of a new sibling litter.

She needed to leave a comment or Carol would worry about her. Even all these years later, she still made sure they all stayed in touch and that she got pictures of each of her grand-dogs at least once per week.

Sarah snapped a picture of Lucky in front of the bakery case and posted it as a reaction to the video. “Lucky is celebrating with his favorite treat! Congrats on the new litter!” She then added three heart emojis and snuck the phone back into her pocket.

“Here we go,” Grace said as she bustled over to the front counter. “Be careful, it’s extremely hot.”

“I’m always careful,” Sarah said with a nervous laugh. Grace, of course, had no idea how true that sentiment rang for most things in Sarah’s life. Burning her mouth on a hot pastry was the least of her worries these days.

Although Sarah lived a small and safe life, she was never short on anxiety. She knew they couldn’t go on forever like this—Lucky and her. Eventually, things would change.

Sarah would decide she wanted more, or her mother would decide for her. It was only a matter of time before all the deaths added up, became too much to bear, and then what would Sarah do with her life? Then whose memories could she hide inside?

One day at a time, she reminded herself as the warm breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders. She and Lucky trotted quickly down the sidewalk and back toward work.

First, they needed to get through today. That’s all they had to do, and then everything would be okay.

Finch’s heart refused to quiet. It pounded a steady beat in time with his footfalls as a nursing home aid led him down the long white hall toward the woman who believed herself to be his great aunt.

Was this all some big misunderstanding? Or was it possible that he actually did have a family after all? He didn’t know what to hope for in this scenario. If Eleanor Barton truly was his long-lost aunt, then he’d only have a family for a short while until her illness overtook her and he was alone in the world once more.

Having no idea what to expect, Finch hadn’t prepared himself for the visit at all. Perhaps that was why the smell caught him so off guard—first the stinging sensation of bleach as he sucked the lingering chemicals through his nostrils, then something musty stuck to his insides long after the cleaning solution smell faded away.

Death, Finch realized. This is what death smells like.

“She’s right in here,” his guide said with a smile, stepping aside to let Finch pass through. “Mrs. Barton,” the orderly called, keeping his feet rooted to the hallway floor. “Your grandson is here.”

“Nephew,” Finch corrected gently. “Maybe.”

“I’m not a missus, and he’s not my grandson,” the old woman corrected far less gently.

The orderly forced another smile; this one remained tight at the edges as if to keep certain choice words from escaping. “Well, I’ll just let you two get reacquainted then. Buh-bye now.”

Neither spoke until the echo of shoes slapping linoleum faded in the distance. Finch kept his eyes on the floor, but he could feel Eleanor studying him closely.

“I got your letter,” he said at last.

“About time,” the old woman said with a huff. Although she had to be at least eighty years old, her skin was still mostly smooth. Did that mean she’d lived a lifetime without feeling? No smiles, scowls, or anything else to mar her complexion? What kind of life must that have been? And was Finch already on his way to upkeeping this apparent family tradition?

No, he couldn’t get ahead of himself. Not until he knew for sure. Not until he had proof.

He cleared his throat before asking, “I don’t understand. If you’re really my great aunt, then how come I never knew you existed before?”

She shrugged as if he’d asked a simple question instead of an impossible one. “You’d have to ask your parents that.”

“I can’t. They died,” he whispered, feeling their loss all over again.

“Well, I suppose that’s for the best.”

“How could you say that? Did you even know my parents?”

Eleanor directed her attention toward the large window that overlooked a courtyard below. Her face remained impassive. “Hardly,” she answered after an unnaturally long pause. “But it wasn’t through any fault of my own.”

Finch’s eyes widened as he waited for her to tell him more.

She didn’t.

“Are you really my aunt?” he asked on the wings of a slow, tortured exhale.

“Are you really Finch Jameson?” she shot back with a lightly raised brow and a knowing glance.

“Yeah. That’s me.” How much did she know? Had she lured him out for his money? Was she intentionally toying with him? And just how much was he willing to put up with before he stormed out of there and never looked back?

Eleanor straightened in her chair and locked her eyes onto his. “Then yes, I’m your great aunt. You have her eyes, you know. The same ocean blue.”

“You mean my grandma? Nancy?” he asked hopefully. The doubts he’d brought with him to this meeting slowly ebbed away.

“Yes, they’re one in the same. Anyway, Finch…” She paused and took a long breath. “I can’t say I’m surprised at how you turned out, but I also can’t say I’m all too pleased, either.”

Well, that took a sharp turn. Perhaps no family was better than a hostile one. Maybe he should leave. “Hey, just a second… You don’t even know me.”

“Don’t I? I know enough to understand that you’re a disgrace, a failure. That people laugh at you behind your back—and probably to your face, too.” For all the strength her body lacked, Eleanor’s tongue clearly made up for it.

Finch crossed his arms and tore his eyes away from his frail bully. “But not enough to know my parents died years ago? Look, if you called me here just to mock me, then no thank you.”

Eleanor clucked out a sound midway between a sarcastic laugh and a growl. He recognized it as the same derisive snort he’d often heard his own mother make. “You flatter yourself,” she said. “You’re not here for you. You’re here for me. Now sit down and listen to what I need to say.”

“Sorry, no. Family doesn’t mean much to me, seeing as I haven’t had any for years.” He raised his voice before dropping back to a stern whisper. “I’m just fine without it, too.”

“So that’s it? I point out one universally understood truth, and you run away? No wonder you failed at business… probably failing at life, too, I’d imagine.”

“Well, at least I have one left to live,” Finch hissed, turning back toward the door, hoping to high heavens he’d never see Eleanor Barton again.

But he was stopped by an angel—an angel and her dog.

“Is everything okay here?” the woman asked. Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders in soft California waves. Her round face was offset by bright hazel eyes and a cute, upturned nose. And her smile… her smile did funny things to Finch’s heart, which suddenly seized in his chest as if it needed to slow down to remember this moment.

Wait.

Don’t go yet.

Maybe I…

Maybe he needed to give this long-lost family member a second chance at a first impression… especially if it meant getting to spend more time in this angelic woman’s presence.

“Everything is great,” he answered at last. “Nurse…?”

“Sarah,” she said simply. “Call me Sarah.”