Hard to tell what the right answer is here. This is why I shouldn’t talk to kids. Before I can come up with something, she crooks a finger at me, so I squat down to her level. “Can you make him bite Percy?”

“Is Percy your brother?”

“Yes. And he’s very annoying.”

“I don’t think I can help you there. Gomer has been trained to not bite anybody.” When her lower lip sticks out in a pout and I remember that the kid is practically an orphan, I add, “But he’ll definitely give you a kiss.”

She immediately puckers up, but before Gomer can lick her on the mouth, Josh deftly turns her head to the side. “Let’s keep this kiss rated G, okay?”

Thankfully, she giggles as the dog’s tongue swipes over half of her face, and then Josh redirects. “How about that hayride, Mabel?”

“Can Gomer sit by me?”

I raise a brow in question to Josh, who shrugs, so I get them settled in the back. Mabel squeals at every bump in the road, little Percy cackles, and Josh shoots me a grateful smile. At the designated patch, I hand a kid-sized bucket to Mabel and show her how to pick the ripest strawberries and leave the ones that still need to grow. Josh gives Percy another bucket, and the toddler plops down in the lane to fill it with handfuls of dirt.

Once Mabel’s worked her way down the row a bit, I say, “I am sorry to hear about Lisa. That’s tough.”

Josh nods, his mouth in a flat line. “Thanks. My parents have been great, but it’s obviously hard on the kids.”

He doesn’t say anything about it being hard on him, but I don’t want to pry, so I tell him that I just moved back to the area too. We get caught up on career changes until my walkie-talkie squawks. After a brief exchange with Lia, I explain that I have to go pick up another family. Josh waves me off, saying they’ll stay a bit longer, and we promise to get together soon.

As the picking day draws to a close, the neighbor arrives to pick up his horse. After I hand over the basket of honey, jam, and berries prepared by Molly as a thank you, he drives the mare and wagon back to his farm, and I go looking for Diane.

When I find her, she’s got a pout to rival little Mabel’s.

“What’s the matter?”

Stubbing a toe in the dirt, she crosses her arms over her chest. “We sold out of ice cream before I could have any.”

Stifling a laugh, I take her elbow and steer her to the barn office. After opening the freezer, I pull out a small container. “Lucky for you, I know where there’s a secret stash.”

My reward of a kiss takes so long that the ice cream softens, but I’m not going to complain. After grabbing a spoon from the kitchen, I lead her up the hill.

“Where are we going? The ice cream’s melting!” Diane grumbles.

“It’ll be worth it, you’ll see.”

At the top of the hill, we round a boulder, revealing the bench my father built for my mother before I was even born. Gesturing for Diane to sit, I point west. “Best view of the sunset for miles.”

Settling on the bench next to her, my arm around her shoulders, I lean back with a sigh and just listen, which I’m getting better and better at. The buzz of insects, the whistle of wind through the trees, Gomer panting at my feet, Diane’s moan of pleasure.

“No wonder people are driving for miles to get this stuff. It’s amazing.”

“Do I get a taste?”

She grumbles about having to share, but she tips a large spoonful into my mouth. “Wow. That is good.”

I’m not usually a fan of strawberry ice cream because I don’t like the way the berry chunks turn into frozen lumps. But there are no chunks at all here, just the creamy goodness of a vanilla base, run through with a bright acidity from the strawberry puree.

Passing the pint back and forth, we watch the colors chase each other across the sky as the sun sinks toward the mountaintops in the distance. Soon the leaves will be turning, making this view even more dramatic, but I’m happy to be here right now, sharing space with this woman. An image flashes in my mind of me and Diane sitting on a hill looking over our own farmhouse and land, somewhere down the road. It’s a beautiful picture, but I do my best to appreciate what we have because there’s no way this can last.

“There was the cutest little girl at the market today,” she’s saying. “With the most amazing blond, curly hair.”

“With her dad and little brother?”

She shifts to face me. “You saw them too?”

“I know them. Well, I know the dad. We were college roommates.” I wince, thinking about what Mabel said. “Unfortunately, he’s a widower now.”

She gasps, her hand going immediately to mine. “Oh, no. The kids are so young. And that must have been hard for you to hear.”

It takes me a moment, but then I realize what she means. “Yeah. They still have him, but it is really sad.”

After giving me the last spoonful of ice cream, she sets the container and spoon on the bench next to her and snuggles in under my arm. We don’t say anything more; we don’t need to. It feels right to just be together on this perfect summer day, even when the world isn’t perfect.

I hate to break the spell, but I don’t have a flashlight, so we have to head back down the hill before the sun disappears completely. Gomer’s been quiet, and he walks calmly at my side as we head back to the house.

“Does Gomer not like me?” Diane asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“I’ve just noticed that he greets everyone you interact with, just noses right in and demands to be petted. But he doesn’t do that with me. He kind of ignores me.”

“When he first saw us kissing by the barn, he didn’t ignore you.”

“Right, he got between us.” She sticks out her lower lip in that pout again. “I don’t think he approves of me.”

Not wanting to simply reassure her unthinkingly, I picture the ways that my dog interacts around different people, from strangers to acquaintances to family. “You know, I think it’s the opposite. I think he ignores the people he’s decided are safe for me.”

Her lips twist with skepticism. “Don’t try to make me feel better. I don’t need your dog to like me.”

“I mean it. He also ignores Colleen and Carlos.” I stop in the middle of the path between the fenced garden and the house, and Diane does too, turning to face me. Gomer ticks his gaze back and forth between us and then just lies down. “Since he was supposed to be an alert dog for an epileptic, his observational skills are top notch. He’s very good at picking up all kinds of things going on with me.”

Diane tips her head to the side. “Like what?”

This is veering into dangerous territory because I’m starting to wonder if Gomer has ended up working as a service dog after all. Not for an epileptic, but for a person with a mental disorder. It’s scary, but it hurts that she thinks Gomer’s judging her, the same way it hurt when my sister asked if I hate my family. It never occurred to me that by protecting myself, I was pushing them away.

I’m not quite ready to drop Carlos’ truck seat diagnosis on Diane, but I need her to understand this. Understand at least a tiny corner of me. “Gomer doesn’t just help me by carrying tools and finding keys. He’s like an emotional ice breaker. By approaching people before I can, he distracts them until he knows I’m comfortable. Mostly, that just looks like him being a friendly dog. Only once did he growl at someone, and I learned later that the guy was abusing his wife.”

“But he got between us at first,” she says, obviously still concerned about how the dog feels about her.

I squeeze her hand, hoping to reassure her, but also to calm myself. “Other than a brief hug, he’d never seen my hands all over someone before. I think it took him a minute to figure out that I liked it.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “So none of those southern tier farm girls got a taste of you?”