As soon as Holden leaves, I dig my phone out of the pocket of his hoodie that I’m wearing. I find Jude’s number in my phone, under “Putz” and hit dial as I crawl out of bed and move to the kitchen. I open the fridge and try to figure out what I can throw together for Holden for breakfast.

“Hi, Win.”

“Hi yourself. Were you going to tell me you’re coming to visit?”

“Were you going to tell me your banging my contractor?”

“No. It’s none of your business,” I say firmly, trying not to sound shocked that he knows. I’m going to have to murder Sadie or Dixie later, whichever one told him. Maybe killing them both would be easiest. “Why are you coming?”

“Why are you banging the contractor?”

I grit my teeth. He’s in one of those snarky moods that he’s been perfecting since he was a preteen. Back then he used to parrot back everything I said on our twelve-hour drives to Maine from Toronto and it would get me so mad I would scream. If he wants to play, I’ll play to win. “Well, where can I start…he’s built like a tank and hung like a horse.”

“Winnie!”

“Not to mention that scruffy beard and the way it feels between my—”

“Why are you turning into Sadie?” he yells in anguish. “Goddamn it. You used to be so…”

“Boring? Lame? Timid?”

“I was going to say dependable, calm, uncomplicated,” Jude says.

“Like a dog you adopt from the ASPCA.” I roll my eyes and pull some eggs from the fridge.

Jude chuckles self-consciously. “Okay, I’m not great with words. You’re the articulate one, not me. But seriously, Win, talk to me. What happened with Ty?”

“It wasn’t working out. I know you know that.” I’m not going to tell him all the dirty details because even though Jude likes to act like his sisters are the bane of his existence, he would make it his life’s mission to destroy anyone who hurt us, or, say, cheated on us. “It should have ended a long time ago and then Dad died and I realized I couldn’t fake it anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything for so long that I say “Hello?’ to make sure our connection didn’t crap out.

“And Holden takes the pain away?” he finally asks, his voice sounds funny—thicker. “Is he a distraction?”

“He’s not a distraction,” I say. “He isn’t taking away the pain. He’s helping me cope with it. Jude, you like him. You wouldn’t have hired him if you didn’t.”

“I do like him. I always have and you always haven’t.” I can hear the smirk in his voice. Jerk.

“People change.”

“Dixie’s not sure he has,” Jude replies. Now I know which sister to kill.

“Is that why you’re coming?” I turn back to the counter, open a cupboard and pull out a frying pan. “Because don’t. I promise you, he’s changed. I’ve changed too. We’re good.”

“I’m coming because Zoey wants to show Declan the leaves changing colors. He doesn’t exactly get a fall here and hockey starts in a week so it’s our last chance to do it,” Jude explains. After a pause, he bursts out, “And Mom is worried about you and is making me check on you in person and possibly kidnap you and drag you back here. Okay, see you soon, bye!”

He hangs up before I can respond.

I sigh. My poor mom. I haven’t told her anything that’s going on, but clearly she knows. I start to chop up the leftover potatoes from last night and toss them in a pan to fry, and then I make an omelet with cheese and chives, and contemplate calling my mom. Finally, I decide I have to. She picks up almost right away and answers with, “Jude just texted me that you’d be calling. It’s about time.”

Of course, he knew I’d call her.

“Sorry, Mom,” I say. “I haven’t been purposely shutting you out.”

“Yes, you have,” she says back but without any anger. “You’ve shut us all out and that’s exactly what I expected. You did it to protect us from you because you thought you were taking it harder than the rest of us. And you probably were.”

“No. This has to be hardest on you and I know that,” I reply, fighting tears as I beat the eggs in a bowl before pouring them into another pan on the stove. “But I knew I wasn’t going to be able to handle all the additional questions or concerns about breaking up with Ty and everything, so I hid. Honestly, Mom, it was nice to be here in Maine because it feels so much more a part of Dad than San Francisco or even Toronto.”

“I know, sweetie. I’m actually glad you’re there instead of Toronto. And I’m glad you broke up with Ty.” That last statement shocks me. I always thought she liked Ty. “You two had grown apart and I wasn’t seeing the happiness you once had. In fact, I wasn’t seeing any happiness at all, and I knew it wasn’t just because of Dad being sick.”

“No, it wasn’t.” I cradle the phone as I slide the second omelet from the pan to the plate I pulled out of the cupboard. “I wanted that one great, romantic love of my life the way you and Dad had. The day you met Ty, after we’d been dating a few months, you said the way we were with each other reminded you of how you and Dad were when you first met, and I was so thrilled by that. When it started to fall apart, I was too ashamed to admit it. I’m sorry I didn’t confide in you.”

“You’ve never been a sharer,” she says. “Even when you were little you kept things bottled up and ignored your feelings. You’re just like your dad in that way, which is why when he did share feelings, you had to take it seriously.”

“Like the letters he wrote,” I say and a lump starts to form in his throat.

“Like the letters,” she agrees and then sighs. It’s not as heavy as it used to be and that’s a good thing.

“I took what he said to heart. This path I’m on…” I pause and bite my lip. “Whatever this is…being here and everything…it’s what I need to do.”

“I hear the everything part is Holden Hendricks,” my mom says, never one to dance around an elephant in a room. “I won’t bother you with a bunch of questions—even though I have a bunch of questions. I just want you to talk to me when you’re ready.”

“I will, Mom. I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetie.”

We say good-bye and I tuck my phone back into the hoodie and make some coffee. When it’s done I carry two plates with potatoes and eggs and two steaming mugs of joe into the cottage. Holden is in the bathroom, struggling to install the new vanity. I put the food down on the dining room table and walk into the bathroom and promptly pick up one end of the heavy gray wood cabinet.

He gives me a look like he’s going to complain, but I just smile at him. “Teamwork makes the dream work!”

He laughs and lets me help him get it into place. He’s sweating pretty hard, which makes me think he was struggling with it for a while before I got there. He wipes his brow with his forearm as he bends and grabs a drill to secure it. “Can you take a quick break and eat this amazing breakfast I made for you?”

He glances into the dining room and I swear I hear his stomach rumble. “I shouldn’t, but I will. Hopefully, food will help with this headache.”

As we eat, he makes his usual hot-as-fuck groaning noises, which means he loves my cooking. But I can’t help noticing he still looks a little overheated. I reach out and touch his forehead. “Holden, you’re burning up!”

“Just been overexerting myself. It’s fine.”

Something tells me it’s not at all fine.

“Jude told me on the phone he’s not worried about the progress on the house,” I say as I watch him chew a forkful of eggs. “So if you’re a little behind, he won’t be upset. I mean Dixie’s wedding isn’t even until the summer, so it’s not like we’re in a rush.”

“I am,” he admits. “I took a roof job after this one because it would be quick and easy, but it needs to be done before the weather turns. I’m supposed to start there the Monday after this job is complete.”

He coughs. It sounds deep and congested, making me cringe. I feel his forehead again and I swear he’s hotter than before. “Holden. You’re sick.”

“I can’t be,” Holden replies, then takes a big gulp of coffee and stands up. “I have to get back at it.”

“What’s left to do?” I ask, giving up on talking him into taking some time off because I know he won’t. I pop the last potato into my mouth and follow him into the bathroom.

“I have to get all the new fixtures installed, paint this room and the kitchen, install the new trim in both rooms, tile the kitchen floor and hook up the new appliances when they arrive tomorrow. And deal with whatever else comes up.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Because something always comes up.”

“I can help you with a lot of that,” I offer. “In fact, I insist. If you’re worried about some weird client-contractor rule you’re breaking, keep in mind I didn’t hire you. I didn’t want you here at all.”

His lip quirks up in the corner. “But now you love me.”

I smile back at him. “I’m pretty sure fucking your client is a bigger broken rule than just having them do manual labor for you.”

He laughs guiltily at that but doesn’t have a rebuttal so I continue my argument. I put my hands on my hips and try to look stern. “You’re not paying Mike or Dave, so pay me instead. I’m a replacement worker. I could use the cash. I haven’t worked since I got here.”

He gives me a look that says he thinks the need-the-cash argument is bullshit, which it is, but I can also tell I’ve worn him down. He sighs and nods. “Okay fine, you can help a little.”

“Cool!” I clap my hands. “Tell me what to do, boss!”

“I might like this after all.” Holden chuckles and gives me a wink. I step closer and lean up to kiss him, but he stops me and takes a step back. “I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

He admitted he’s sick, which means it must be even worse than it looks. I promise myself to do as much as possible as quickly as possible so we can get him to bed early. Hopefully he can sleep this off.

But even with my help, we don’t get as much done as either of us would like. He’s moving slow and his strength is down because of what I’m convinced now is the flu. And then we discover the new kitchen sink is leaking and we can’t figure out why, so at barely two o’clock I demand that he call it a day and go take a nap. He doesn’t argue—much—a sure sign something is definitely wrong.

After another shower, he collapses onto his bed and I tell him I’m running out for supplies. I head to the market and grab chicken, fresh ginger, lemons and a bunch of other stuff I need to make the soup my mom used to make for us when we were sick. As I drive home I think of my dad was when he used to get sick. Like Holden, he never wanted to admit something was wrong, and my mom stopped trying to make him. She’d simply make this soup for dinner. My dad would smile gratefully and look around the table. “Which one of you rug rats is sick?” he would say through sniffles or coughs.

I smile now at the memory. I loved his stubbornness, even when it drove me crazy.

Back at the trailer, Holden hasn’t moved. He’s still flat on his back in a dead sleep in nothing but his underwear. I grab the blanket he gave me earlier and cover him with it before starting the soup. Then I call Bradie.

“Hey, Bradie,” I say when she answers. “It’s Winnie Braddock.”

“Hey, Winnie,” Bradie says. “How did things go with Holden?”

“We’re great. We worked it out.” I skip the details that he stayed out all night because I feel like she sometimes looks for a reason to think badly of him and that information might give it to her. “But he’s got the flu. It’s actually pretty bad, so he won’t be at hockey practice. I just wanted you and Duke to know so you didn’t think he was just blowing it off.”

“Oh.” Bradie pauses. “Yeah, I would have thought that,” she continues with a tone full of guilt.

“I know. But I swear he’s sick.” I start adding chicken broth to the big pot I’ve placed on the stove. “Can you do me a favor and tell the head coach? I don’t have his number, and Holden’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him to get it.”

“Of course. No problem,” Bradie replies. “Is there anything I can do to help? He’s not the best patient. He used to hate being sick when he was a kid.”

“I’ve got it covered, but thanks for asking.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Bradie says. “And please tell him Duke and I are sending him get-well-soon vibes. Hope to see him at practice again soon.”

“I’ll tell him.” I smile as I hang up, confident now that Bradie might be a hard-ass but deep down she wants Holden back in her life—and Duke’s—as much as he wants it.

When Holden wakes up a couple of hours later, he looks even worse. “Hey. Something smells good. If I had any appetite at all I would be devouring whatever that is.”

“It’s a special Braddock family soup,” I explain, sliding out from the bench by the table and walking over to him. I place a hand on his forehead again. He is on fire. I try not to panic and walk over to the stove. I’m no nurse like Sadie, but I do know someone with a fever has to stay hydrated. I pull a bowl from the cabinet and ladle some soup into it. “This stuff is specifically designed to ease the symptoms of man flu.”

“Man flu?” He rolls his eyes. “It’s just a little cold.”

“Yeah, that kind of man flu,” I say, ignoring his lie. “There are two kinds of man flu: the one where the guy acts like a helpless toddler as soon as he gets the sniffles and the one where he acts like it’s no big deal as his internal organs liquefy and his brain melts from fever. You’ve got the latter, just like my dad used to get, and this soup is for that.”

He laughs, but it morphs into a thick cough. I try not to cringe and hand him the bowl as soon as he stops. He sits up and takes the bowl but seems skeptical. “I’m not hungry.”

“I know, but you have to eat it,” I reply. “It will help.”

He takes a sip. “I’m surprised I can even taste it, I’m so congested, but it’s good.”

“It’s fabulous,” I correct him with a grin but inwardly, I’m really nervous about how sick he is. I’m worried I should call Dr. Whittaker. Holden, though, is worried about something else.

“I have to get some more bodies in here tomorrow,” he says between spoonfuls of soup. “Even with your help, it’s not going to be enough.”

“I agree. Especially because if you are even half as sick as you are right now, I’m not letting you out of this bed,” I say firmly and he looks instantly frustrated. “You getting so sick you can’t do the roof job after this is going to defeat the purpose.”

“I’m going to have to find other guys then,” he murmurs and puts the soup bowl on the night table. He finished a little more than half, so that’s better than nothing. He reaches for his phone, which I plugged in and left on the other night table. His frown gets deeper and deeper as I watch him scroll through his contacts. “Mike and Dave were working for a discounted rate, because I promised they’d be permanent hires once my company got going. I don’t know many other people who would be willing to do that. And the ones I do know…”

“What?” I prompt gently when he doesn’t finish his sentence. He looks up at me, his eyes clouded.

“Kidd has the experience and he’d do it for any cash, no matter how discounted,” Holden says and my face twists with disgust before I can stop it. “I know. He’s the worst possible option. Forget I said anything.”

He goes back to scrolling through his contacts. I clean up the kitchen and pour him a glass of water as he calls two guys. Turns out both have other jobs right now. I walk back over and pick up his soup bowl. “Call Kidd,” I say and start praying I don’t regret it.

“I know you hate him. I’m not a fan either. I’ll find something else.”

I shake my head and tuck a chunk of hair behind my ear when it comes loose of my low ponytail. “We’re out of options. Just call him. It’ll be fine. It’s just a day or two and I’ve still got my left hook if I need it.”

Holden smiles in amusement and relief. “I’ll punch him myself if he acts like an ass.”

Kidd agrees to come work on the house starting tomorrow morning. Holden wants to get up and continue working now, but I don’t let him. He argues but I win. As he drifts off to sleep, I tiptoe outside to call Dr. Whittaker. My eyes land on Cat’s grandmother’s necklace, resting on the shelf by the front door.

Holden may take responsibility for how things played out when he was a kid, but I blame Kidd one hundred percent. And I get to spend most of the next forty-eight hours with him. Oh joy.