Lauren stepped closer. “What people?”

Megan paused. “Lauren?”

“Yes.”

“I wish we’d met under less ridiculous circumstances.”

“What is happening at the restaurant?”

“That is exactly what I want us to discuss. But not over an open line if I can avoid it. I’m parked on the next street. I brought something I think you should see.”

Owen’s expression sharpened. “What kind of thing?”

“An invitation with my husband’s signature. Not a confession. Not a secret folder. Something he was planning to hand to a room full of people after you arrived.”

Lauren sat down on the bottom stair. For six weeks Reid had been drawing her back into a version of herself she had once abandoned: reckless, funny, convinced that bold action was proof of feeling. He called when she was tired. He remembered her favorite peach pie. He asked what she had wanted to become before she settled into a sensible life. He made Owen, who worked long shifts managing a municipal repair crew and could discuss roofing insulation for an hour, seem ordinary in the worst possible sense.

Yet she also remembered other things. Reid borrowing her car without asking. Reid telling a story with her standing right beside him and editing out every contribution she had made. Reid apologizing beautifully, then behaving the same way after the apology had worn off. She hadn’t forgotten those memories. She had chosen not to consult them.

Megan arrived eight minutes later in a yellow raincoat, with damp curls pinned away from her face. She was neither fragile nor grandly furious. She stood on their porch holding a grocery-store tote and asked whether she could take off her wet shoes. Owen led her to the kitchen. Lauren stayed by the counter while Megan set down a thick envelope, then took out a single heavy cream-colored card.

Across its front, in embossed black letters, were the words THE SECOND BEGINNING. Below them appeared the name of a private dining room and the time, eight o’clock. On the back, in smaller letters, was a description: An intimate evening exploring how a love story can be reclaimed after years of compromise. Special guests Reid Mercer and Lauren Ellis.

Lauren stared. Ellis was her maiden name. She had stopped using it at work after she married Owen.

“Special guests?” she said.

Megan nodded. “There are twenty-six reservations. Some have paid a substantial amount to hear a conversation between Reid and his first serious love. He calls it an honest dinner about courage.”

“I never agreed to be a guest.”

“I know that now.”

“What’s he selling?” Owen asked.

“An experience. Private dinners. Retreat weekends. Coaching sessions. A new business based on the idea that ordinary people can reinvent their lives by following their truest attachments.” Megan pushed the card across the table. “He told me the restaurant was hosting an investor tasting and he’d be overseeing service. He told Lauren tonight was a private conversation.”