When they closed behind them and the elevator started to move, Jack put his arms around her, held her close and didn’t say anything.

When they reached the lobby, he let her go and saw that her eyes were wet.

“I’ll tell Angela I’m staying at your place,” she said, and that was all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EMMALINE WAS SLURPING down her third cup of coffee a few days later. It was her day off, and she and Angela had been up late the night before with the Bitter Betrayeds, who’d graciously accepted Angela as an honorary member, despite declaring her “too beautiful and too nice.”

The group was full of news—Jeanette O’Rourke was going on a cruise with Ronnie Petrosinsky, the Chicken King. Allison was indeed going back to the irritatingly perfect Charles, who’d proven his love by sending her a gift-wrapped box of cookie jar fragments. Shelayne announced that she’d just been approved as an adoptive parent, and there were hugs and more Peach Sunrises and a bottle of champagne.

And lastly, Em was grilled on how Jack was in bed. Her silence had brought on some fierce (and very colorful) speculation.

“She’s blushing,” Grace had pointed out, coming in from the kitchen with a fresh pitcher of Peach Sunrises. “You know what that means. Jack is a dirty, dirty boy.” Coming from their senior citizen member, this had caused shrieks of laughter from the women.

“Maybe it’s time you changed the name of your group,” Angela had suggested. “None of you seems particularly bitter or betrayed.”

That had given the rest of them pause.

“Call yourself the Sunrise Girls,” Ange had suggested. “These cocktails are simply wonderful, Grace.”

It was surely their best meeting yet. No one had mentioned the book they’d neglected to read, but that was never really the point.

Angela, of course, leaped out of bed that morning, completely unaffected by last night. Emmaline wasn’t so lucky. Sarge was upstairs, having decided he loved Angela more, the faithless wretch, and was barking in excitement at whatever Angela was doing. Loudly, Em thought, wincing.

Ten minutes later, both of them craving chocolate, they walked to Lorelei’s Sunrise Bakery. The smell of pastry sent out its siren call. “Oh!” Angela said. “Look at this. A bridal salon! Let’s go in, Emmaline.”

“Why?” Em said.

“I’m thinking you should try on dresses,” she said. “For when you and Jack get married. I always hated that sad little dress you bought.”

“It wasn’t sad,” Emmaline said.

“Please. It looked like you were going to a dance at the Elks Lodge circa 1983,” Angela said. “No, this time, you must take me with you. I insist.”

“How do you know what an Elks Lodge dance looks like? Besides, I’m not getting married anytime soon.”

“Please. He’s crazy about you. He’ll be popping the question in a matter of weeks.”

Emmaline opened the door of the bakery and bumped squarely into the man himself.

“Jack! We were just talking about you,” Angela said.

“Really.” He gave Emmaline a look as if trying to place her.

“Jack, what do you think?” Angela said, her eyes twinkling. “Ivory or white? Which do you prefer?”

“Ignore her,” Emmaline said.

Jack glanced across the street where a poufy dress shimmered in the window of Happily Ever After. He didn’t smile. “Would you like to have dinner with my family tonight?”

Angela gave a muffled squeal, and Em shot her a filthy look. “Uh...”

“You’d be welcome, too, Angela,” Jack said.

“Oh, no! No, thank you for including me, Jack. You’re terribly sweet, but no, I have to be at Cornell this evening.” She gave Emmaline a sly smile. “In fact, look at the time! I should go. Always lovely to see you, Jack.” She strode away, waving at someone inside the antiques store.

“I wasn’t shopping for a wedding dress,” she said, immediately regretting it.

“Do you want to come for dinner?” he repeated.

She squinted at him. “You sure you want me there?”

“Why would I ask you if I didn’t?”

“I don’t know.”

“Six o’clock at Honor and Tom’s. I can pick you up if you want.” He looked at his watch.

“No, that’s fine. Jack, are you okay?”

“I’m great. I have to run. See you tonight.”

* * *

SOMEHOW, EMMALINE HAD forgotten just how many Hollands there were.

The driveway was filled with cars, and Blue, Faith’s giant golden retriever, raced up to her door. Sarge yipped wildly, his tail whacking Em in the head.

Honor had called her earlier to invite her to dinner personally and told her to bring her dog, since who didn’t love puppies? She said her own little dog could use some socializing.

The Hollands’ big white house was a landmark in Manningsport. Em had never been inside before, and it was a little imposing. Made her glad she’d dressed in a skirt.

She clipped on Sarge’s leash, got out and let her dog wriggle in ecstasy as Blue sniffed him over. Then she grabbed the flowers she’d brought—gerbera daisies—and with a deep breath, went up to the front door and knocked.

No one answered, though the door practically shook from noise inside. She knocked again. Nothing. Opened the door and peeked in.

The place was mobbed.

“Emmaline! Welcome,” said Honor, bustling over. “Oh, these are gorgeous! Thank you.”

“Thanks for having me. Are you sure you don’t want me to leave Sarge in the car?”

“We all love dogs—don’t worry.” She bent over to pet Sarge, who sat and wagged his tail. “Hello, handsome! Are you here to teach Spike some manners?” She unclipped the leash and smiled.

A tiny Yorkie came skittering over and growled at Sarge, causing the much larger puppy to collapse in delight and roll over in the acknowledgment that, yes, the Yorkie was boss and could do whatever it wanted.

“Best friends forever,” Honor said with a smile. “Come on in. It’s chaos, but that’s who we are. I’ll hang up the leash and put these in some water.” She took the flowers and walked off, leaving Em alone.

The periwinkle-blue living room was big and gracious, filled with tasteful furniture, built-in bookshelves and a gorgeous white marble fireplace. Jack and his father were in deep conversation there, each holding a glass of wine in their left hands. Easy to see where Jack got his looks. The older Mr. Holland, Jack’s grandfather, stood listening while eating a chunk of cheese the size of a smartphone. The grandmother speculated why on earth Honor had painted the living room this shade of blue when she herself preferred pale blue, then segued into how Abby should beware of white vans, because that’s what kidnappers drove.

Em edged toward Jack, overhearing Mrs. Johnson lecturing Tom Barlow on his curry-making technique. Pru and Carl Vanderbeek were arguing over something, Pru doing some magnificent eye rolling. Their son, Ned, was talking with Charlie Kellogg, and Levi stood in the corner, watching as Abby pressed her hands against Faith’s belly.

The noise level made Emmaline’s eyes throb.

“Hi.”