He looked away.
Clare leaned closer.
"I didn't spend nine years frozen, Dean."
"I dated people."
"I had relationships."
"One serious."
Dean's jaw tightened before he could stop it.
She noticed.
"Jealous?"
"No."
"Liar."
"Who?"
She smiled.
"His name was Thomas."
"I already hate Thomas."
"You don't know him."
"Don't need to."
Clare laughed.
"He was an architect."
"Worse."
"Dean."
"What?"
She looked at him with that same old warmth.
"It ended two years ago."
"Why?"
"He wanted to marry me."
Dean looked toward her.
"And?"
"I said no."
"Why?"
Clare stared.
He knew before she answered.
"Don't."
She smiled sadly.
"Because he wasn't you."
Dean leaned back.
"That is not romantic."
"I know."
"It's terrible."
"I know."
"He deserved better."
"He did."
"And?"
Clare looked down.
"I told him the truth eventually."
"Which was?"
"Part of me had never left a garage in Brooklyn."
Dean rubbed his face.
"This is too much before coffee."
"You've had three cups."
"Not enough."
Evan returned.
"Are you fighting?"
"No."
"Yes," Clare said.
Dean looked at her.
She smiled.
Evan sat.
"Good."
"Why good?" Dean asked.
"Mom said people only fight when they care enough to stay."
Dean froze.
Clare's eyes filled instantly.
Evan kept eating, unaware.
Dean looked toward the window.
Anna.
Even dead, she kept entering rooms through their son.
Clare seemed to understand.
She did not reach for Dean.
That restraint mattered.
After breakfast, Dean paid.
Clare tried.
Dean refused.
"You repaired my car."
"Breakfast isn't repair bill."
"Then invoice me."
"I don't have an invoice."
"You own a repair business."
"I closed it."
Clare stopped.
"What?"
"After Anna got sick."
Dean looked toward the parking lot.
"I sold the building."
"Why?"
"Needed flexibility."
"Medical appointments."
"Then after she died, I didn't want it back."
Clare studied him.
"What do you do now?"
"Mobile mechanic work."
"Enough?"
"Most months."
"And the others?"
Dean looked toward Evan.
Clare followed.
She understood.
"We manage."
She nodded.
No pity.
Good.
Dean asked, "Why are you in Vermont?"
"Work."
"What kind?"
"Development project."
"Still architecture?"
"Urban design."
"You always hated that title."
"I still do."
"What do you call it?"
"Fixing places rich people broke."
Dean smiled.
"That sounds more like you."
Clare's eyes softened.
"Thank you."
They reached the cars.
Evan climbed into the truck.
Clare stood beside her sedan.
Neither wanted to say goodbye.
Dean knew it.
Clare knew it.