By mid-afternoon, the dining table has been cleared of empty plates and wrapping paper, replaced by small dishes of roasted nuts, shortbread cookies, and fresh clementines.
Evelyn is nestled comfortably in her favorite armchair by the wide ocean window, a wool throw over her knees, sipping herbal tea while she admires her new tide clock as it ticks quietly on the stone mantlepiece.
Locke steps out onto the back porch to check the shifting wind, holding a fresh mug of black coffee.
Watching his tall, broad silhouette through the glass door, I feel a sudden, quiet pull to be near him.
I slip into my heavy wool coat, wrap a thick knit scarf around my neck, and pull on my boots to follow him outside into the winter air.
The moment I push the heavy wooden door open, the crisp, pure air
