put her hands on Oliver’s shoulders. “From now on, Oliver and I will assume everything you say is fiction.”
Whitaker looked back and forth between them. “That takes all the fun out of it!”
“That’s what you get when you cry wolf.” And then, as if testing the waters—almost as if it were a question—he added, “Dad.”
It was the first time Oliver had called Whitaker “Dad.”
Claire wanted to say, “Yes, you can call him ‘Dad’!” But she bit her tongue, not wanting to coddle her son. He’d called her “Mom” a few times, so this was the next step. A very exciting one.
Whitaker obviously heard the tone, too, and jumped in to squash it. Acting like hearing “Dad” was no big deal, he put his arm around Oliver. “Are you really preaching to me about crying wolf, Aesop?”
Claire breathed easier as Oliver smiled at him. There was a time when she could never have imagined marrying again, never imagined being a mother. All that had changed, and seeing her two men love on each other filled her with gratitude.
The hand turned green, and they crossed the street and moved up the sidewalk. They stopped and stared when they came upon the Barnes & Noble on their right. Posters with the cover of Saving Orlando flanked the entrance. Though she’d seen the cover a million times, it never got old. It depicted a man holding a boy in a headlock in the grass, both of them beaming with joy. Saving Orlando typed in a noble font. Two names below, separated by an ampersand. David Kite first, in a large black font. Whitaker Grant, much smaller, as he’d insisted.
Claire looked back at David’s name. She so wished he could be here to see this, but it felt wonderful to know she had been able to give him this last gift, this last goodbye.
Below one of the posters, a sign read: BOOK SIGNING WITH WHITAKER GRANT, COAUTHOR OF THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER SAVING ORLANDO. TODAY! 3 P.M. Through the window, Claire saw the giant display of hardbacks waiting for Whitaker’s signature. He’d talked a lot about wanting to do a second signing here (the first was almost ten years before), and she didn’t need to look at his face to know how he felt right now.
Without looking down, she touched the rings Whitaker had given her, a platinum band and a vintage emerald-cut diamond. She smiled, remembering his proposal last winter, when he had secretly gathered everyone special to them at Leo’s South and taken a knee in the sand in the middle of the main dining room. He’d even flown Claire’s mother down for the surprise. Oh, how Whitaker it was and how quickly Claire had said yes. And then the roar of their friends and family and the other guests.
How could Claire do anything but keep on swinging, as her former neighbor Hal had taught her?
Claire reached for her two men and pulled them close, wrapping her arms around their waists. She turned her head to each of them, smiling. Other pedestrians wove by, racing in and out of the madness, juggling their phones and cups of coffee. A car horn blared, starting a cascade of horns that worked their way up Fifth like falling dominoes. A bus slid up to the curb behind them with a screech, and people of every kind piled out.
So many people, so many broken roads. But it was here Claire’s broken road ended.
Acknowledgments
A huge thanks to my rock star agent, Andrea Hurst, who helped tremendously in taking this novel to the next level and pushing me to my best. It’s been one lovely honeymoon of aligning stars since the first day we spoke. Thank you to Chris Werner, Krista Stroever, and Danielle Marshall of Lake Union for giving me a chance. It’s a dream come true to be working with you.
Thanks to my incredible alpha and beta readers, who trudged through the story long before it was ready. You poked holes in all the right places, and I think we got ’em all! Your selflessness is inspiring.
I had a feeling exploring foster care in Florida would touch my soul, but I had no idea the extent. What a vast collection of golden hearts. You make me want to be a better human. Specifically, I’d like to thank Laurallyn Segur, Jacky and Jerry Logemann, Crystal Sterker, Amy Lawrence, and Kelly Zarle, who brought me into their world and showed me what it’s like to love with everything you have. This book is for the children you continue to help every day.
Through this journey, I’m reminded of the importance of family, and to that end I owe everything to Mikella and Riggs. You are my tribe, and your love, support, and belief in my art fill me to the brim. Thank you.
Thanks to all of you who’ve read my books and supported me over the years. I’m one lucky guy.
Boo Walker is the author of the Red Mountain Chronicles series. He initially tapped his creative muse as a songwriter and banjoist in Nashville before working his way west to Washington State, where he bought a gentleman’s farm on the Yakima River. It was there among the grapevines that he fell in love with telling stories. A wanderer at heart, Boo currently lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, with his wife and son. For more information, visit www.boowalker.com.