Page 86 of The Man in the Cottage

The bookstore in town—the real town, not Longshore, which still doesn't have one—has a whole display set up in the front window. THE QUIET WIFE by Kelly Dawson, with a blown-up version of the cover and a stack of hardcovers arranged artfully around it. I stand outside for a full minute, just staring, while Avery presses his nose against the glass.

"That's you, Mama!"

"That's my book, baby. Not me."

"But your name!"

He points at the cover, where KELLY DAWSON is printed in bold letters. My name. On a book. In a bookstore window. Again.

The first time this happened—with my debut novel, three years ago—I cried. Right there on the sidewalk, tears streaming down my face while Travis held Avery in one arm and me in the other. It was embarrassing and wonderful and completely overwhelming.

This time I just smile. Not because it matters less, but because I know now that this is real. That it's going to keep happening. That I'm a writer, actually and truly, and no one can take that away from me.

We go inside and I sign some stock copies while Avery wanders through the children's section. He finds his trucks book almost immediately—a board book about construction vehicles, which he's been obsessed with since last summer when we drove past a building site. I buy it for him, along with a copy of my own book that I inscribe for Nicole, and we head home.

The afternoon passes quietly. Avery naps. I do a Zoom interview with a book blogger. I answer emails, review the schedule for my virtual tour, try not to refresh my Amazon ranking every five minutes. Normal book-launch stuff.

Travis comes home at three, as promised, and we spend the rest of the day together. Playing with Avery in the backyard. Making dinner that we don't eat because we're going to Maria's later. Watching cartoons on the couch, Avery wedged between us, his head on Travis's chest and his feet in my lap.

This is the life we built. Not the one I imagined when I moved to Longshore, desperate and lost and hoping that running away would fix something. But better. Messier and harder and better in every way that matters.

Maria hugs me when we arrive at the restaurant, tells me she knew from the beginning that I was special. Travis rolls his eyes and I elbow him, and we settle into our usual booth while Avery colors on the paper placemat.

"To Kelly," Travis says, raising his glass. "Who quit her job, moved to Virginia, found a weird guy living in her backyard, and somehow turned all of that into a bestselling writing career."

"That's not a toast. That's a summary."

"To Kelly," he says again, grinning. "I love you. I'm proud of you. And I'm really glad you didn't kick me out of the cottage that first night."

"I thought about it."

"I know you did."

We clink glasses. Avery clinks his sippy cup against both of ours, not wanting to be left out.

After dinner, we drive home through the dark Virginia countryside, Avery asleep in his car seat, the radio playing softly. Travis's hand finds mine on the console, the way it always does. I look at him in the glow of the dashboard lights—older now, a few more lines around his eyes, retired from hockey as of last season—and I feel that gravity again. That force that holds me in place.

"Hey," he says. "What are you thinking about?"

"Everything. Nothing." I squeeze his hand. "Just how different things are now. How different I am."

"Good different?"

"The best different."

He lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles. "Same."

We pull into the driveway, and the house is there waiting for us. The house my grandmother left me, the house where I found Travis, the house where we're raising our son. The porch light is on—it's always on now, a habit neither of us has been able to break.

Travis carries Avery inside while I grab the diaper bag and the leftovers Maria insisted we take. We put Avery to bed together, the ritual of it familiar and soothing: pajamas, teeth, story, song. He falls asleep before the song is even over, his small body warm and heavy in my arms.

I tuck him in and stand there for a moment, watching him breathe. This child who has his father's eyes and my stubbornness. This person we made together, who didn't exist four years ago and now is the center of everything.

Travis appears in the doorway. "You coming?"

"In a minute."

He waits for me anyway, leaning against the frame, patient as always. I kiss Avery's forehead and slip out of the room, leaving the door cracked so the hall light can spill in.