A PLACE AT THE TABLE

The cottage had seemed larger when it was empty.

Hannah stood just inside the front door with a cardboard box balanced against her hip, surveying the furniture and belongings that had accumulated since morning. The sitting room wasn't particularly small, but the arrival of a bookcase, a dining table, several boxes of kitchen supplies, and everything else she'd brought from her parents' house had made the available space seem considerably less generous. Her narrow bookcase leaned against the wall beneath the front window, waiting for Adam to replace a shelf they'd removed for transport. The dining table stood near the kitchen doorway, with one chair tucked beneath it and the other holding a stack of folded towels. Three boxes marked BEDROOM had somehow ended up beside the fireplace, while the box containing her coffee mugs remained missing.

She shifted the weight against her hip and considered whether the bookcase would be better against the opposite wall. It would leave more room near the window, though she'd liked the thought of being able to sit there with a book when the afternoon sun came through.

Adam stepped through the doorway behind her, carrying a lamp in one hand and a box of dishes against his chest.

“You stopped.”

“I’m deciding where this goes.”

“You’ve been holding it for almost a minute.”

Hannah glanced over her shoulder. “That is how deciding works.”

“All right.”

He waited while she studied the room another moment, then moved aside when she finally crossed to the bookcase and lowered the box beside it.

“There.”

Adam set the dishes on the kitchen counter. “You decided it belonged with the books?”

“For now.”

“That sounds less like a decision.”

“It’s an early stage of deciding.”

His mouth twitched.

“I’ll try to respect the process.”

“You could start by bringing in the rest of the boxes.”

“I thought I was already doing that.”

“And you're doing a wonderful job.”

Adam gave her a look that suggested he knew exactly how much sincerity the compliment contained. Hannah smiled as he went back outside.

She'd been looking forward to this day for weeks. When she'd first seen the cottage, the rooms had been empty except for the appliances and a few pieces of furniture the landlord intended to leave. She'd walked through with a notebook, making measurements and imagining where her belongings might fit. Everything had seemed straightforward when the furniture existed only as numbers written beside a rough sketch.

The reality required considerably more rearranging.

The cottage was modest, just as the advertisement had promised. One bedroom opened off the short hallway, with a smaller room across from it. The kitchen had sufficient cabinet space for two people who didn't own every appliance advertised on television, and the sitting room received good light through its front windows. There was a small porch, a gravel driveway that had recently been graded, and enough distance between the house and the neighboring property to give Hannah the privacy she wanted without making her feel isolated.

The second bedroom had mattered most to Adam. His work required privacy, a dependable internet connection, and enough space for two monitors without turning the dining table into an office every weekday. Before Hannah signed the lease, he'd tested the internet by transferring a file so large that she'd finally asked whether he was checking the connection or attempting to map the entire state of Colorado.

“Only part of it,” he'd answered.

She'd laughed, but Adam had continued watching the progress on his laptop until the transfer finished. Only then had he agreed that the connection would be adequate.

The cottage was less than ten minutes from the physical-therapy clinic where Hannah had begun working in September. She had spent nearly two months making the drive from her parents' town, a journey that took more than half an hour under ordinary conditions. With winter approaching, she'd grown increasingly aware of how much longer that drive could become after a heavy snowfall. The road wound through stretches of open country where blowing snow sometimes made the pavement difficult to see, and there were mornings when the sun hadn't yet reached the valley by the time she left for work.

Her father had been pleased to hear that the road serving the cottage was maintained throughout the winter. Doug had asked the landlord about snow removal before Hannah thought to mention it. Laura had inspected the exterior lighting and the locks, then introduced herself to the older couple who lived on the neighboring property. Neither parent had attempted to talk Hannah out of moving, though both had found their own reasons to make certain the place would be suitable.

Hannah had appreciated their concern, even when her father inspected the tires on her car for the second time that month.

What she'd loved most about the cottage was the kitchen window.

Beyond it lay a narrow meadow bordered by ponderosa pine. The view changed with the weather, and during her earlier visits she'd stood at the sink longer than necessary, imagining what it would be like to watch the seasons from that particular spot. A dusting of snow had fallen the previous evening, leaving white patches along the fence and beneath the trees where the morning sunlight hadn't yet reached.

She could picture herself standing there with coffee before leaving for work. During the summer, she might open the window while washing dishes and listen to the birds in the meadow. For now, she was content with the view and the knowledge that she'd finally have a kitchen where everything could be arranged according to her own habits.

Adam returned for another load while Hannah moved the towels from the dining chair and carried a box of bedroom items down the hall.

For nearly two months she'd been living out of suitcases at her parents' house. It hadn't been an unpleasant arrangement. Laura kept Hannah's favorite foods in the refrigerator and frequently sent her to work with leftovers. Doug checked her car whenever the weather turned cold, and Bethany's old bedroom still held enough of Hannah's belongings that returning home had required little adjustment.

Her parents had welcomed her without making her feel that she was imposing. Even so, she'd been careful not to slip too comfortably into the routines she'd known before moving away. She helped with groceries, did her own laundry, and insisted on contributing toward household expenses despite her father's objections. When she stayed late at the clinic, she called so her mother wouldn't delay dinner waiting for her.

Living with them again had reminded Hannah how much she loved her family. It had also reinforced how ready she was to establish a home of her own.

She set the box on the bedroom floor and reached for the closet door. Sunlight caught the diamond on her engagement ring, sending a brief reflection across the painted wood.

Hannah paused.

The ring still felt new against her hand. Adam had proposed less than two weeks earlier, and although she'd grown accustomed to wearing it, there were moments when the sight of it brought back the happiness of that evening with unexpected clarity.

He'd chosen a quiet place and asked her directly, without an elaborate performance or anyone waiting nearby with a camera. She'd been grateful for that. Adam wasn't a man who enjoyed drawing attention to himself, and Hannah had never wanted a proposal that belonged as much to an audience as it did to the two people making the decision.

He'd spoken to her father beforehand, something she'd appreciated even though neither of them believed Doug's permission was necessary. Her mother had known what Adam intended for nearly a week and had somehow managed to sit through Sunday dinner without giving him away.

Hannah still found that remarkable.

Laura Carver could keep a confidence when it mattered, but Hannah remembered her mother asking Adam whether he wanted another helping of potatoes while knowing perfectly well that he intended to propose to her daughter. Apparently she'd carried on an entire conversation about road construction with no indication that anything unusual was happening.

Hannah smiled at the memory.

Adam came into the bedroom carrying another box.

“You went quiet.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About where that one goes?”

“No.”

He set the box near the closet and turned toward her.

Hannah recognized the change in his attention. Adam was perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation while doing something else, but he rarely continued working when he believed she had something important to tell him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing is wrong.”

“I didn’t say something was wrong.”

“I know.” She glanced around the room, taking in the half-unpacked boxes and the neatly made bed. “I was only thinking that this is the first place I've chosen knowing I won't be the only person living here.”

“Not immediately.”

“I know.”

“I'm still going back to Lakewood tonight.”

“I know that too.”

“And I'm staying at your parents' house when I visit.”

Hannah turned to face him properly. “Adam.”

“I'm making sure we're talking about the same concern.”

“We are.”

He waited, apparently satisfied that he'd clarified the situation.

She almost laughed. She hadn't intended to begin a serious discussion in the middle of unpacking, but now that she had his attention, she wanted to explain what had been on her mind.

“When we looked at the cottage, everything was still an idea,” she said. “We talked about where our furniture might go and what we'd do with the second bedroom. Now my things are actually here, and I'm making decisions about where everything belongs.”

Adam glanced toward the hallway, where several more boxes waited to be unpacked.

“I noticed.”

“That's not quite what I mean.”

“All right.”

Hannah smiled. “You don't have to answer every sentence.”

“I thought you wanted my attention.”

“I do.”

“You have it.”

She stepped closer and rested her hand against his arm.

“I want this to feel like your home too, when you move here. I don't want you walking into a place where every drawer and shelf has already been claimed.”

Adam considered her words before answering.

“It doesn't need to feel like my home yet.”

Hannah looked up at him.

“You live here,” he continued. “I live in Lakewood. We're getting married in April, and then I'll move. Until then, arrange things the way you need them.”

“But you'll have to live with whatever I decide.”

“Not necessarily. We can move furniture.”

She laughed. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Some of it will be.”

“And the rest?”

“We'll work it out.”

Adam had been saying that since they'd first discussed the possibility of marriage. He hadn't promised that every adjustment would be effortless, and Hannah had never expected him to. What mattered was that he approached their future as something they would both have a hand in building.

She looked around the bedroom once more. “I suppose I can leave a little room in the closet.”

“That would be helpful.”

“More than a little?”

“Eventually.”

Hannah laughed again.

Adam glanced toward the box he'd brought inside.

“I do have one concern.”

“What?”

“That box says kitchen.”

Hannah followed his gaze.

He nodded toward the hallway. “Unless you're planning to keep the plates in here.”

She bent to examine the label. “That is not my handwriting.”

“It's mine.”

“Then why did you bring it into the bedroom?”

“You said all the boxes by the fireplace went down the hall.”

“I meant the ones marked bedroom.”

“You didn't say that.”

Hannah straightened, trying not to smile.

Adam picked up the box again. “We may need to improve our system.”

“I thought we already had a system.”

“We had the early stages of deciding on one.”

This time she couldn't keep from laughing.

They returned to the sitting room together, where the remaining boxes waited among the furniture Hannah had spent most of the morning arranging. Adam set the misplaced kitchen box beside the counter, then went back to the bookcase. Hannah had removed one of its shelves before the move because the assembled piece wouldn't fit comfortably through the doorway at her parents' house. Adam had kept the screws in a small plastic bag, which he'd taped to the underside of the shelf rather than risk losing them among everything else.

While he worked, Hannah unpacked the kitchen supplies. Most of her dishes were familiar, having followed her through two apartments before spending the past several months in storage at her parents' house. She found the plates wrapped in newspaper, her everyday glasses, and the mixing bowls Laura had given her when she'd first moved away from home. The bowls were mismatched, but Hannah liked them. One had belonged to her grandmother, and another had been purchased at a church rummage sale for fifty cents.

She was arranging the silverware when she discovered that she owned six wooden spoons but no can opener.

“Your mother probably has three,” Adam said when she mentioned it.

“She probably does.”

“Call her.”

“I am not calling my mother to ask for a can opener on the first day I live by myself.”

“Why?”

“Because she'll bring one, a casserole, and whatever else she thinks I forgot.”

Adam considered the boxes still scattered around the room. “Did you forget anything important?”

“That isn't the point.”

“All right.”

He returned to the bookcase, but Hannah caught the beginning of a smile.

She opened another box and found three more wooden spoons.

For a moment she stood looking at them, trying to remember why she'd packed so many. Two had come from her mother's kitchen, one was a gift from Bethany, and the others had probably accumulated over the years without anyone giving the matter much thought.

“I have nine wooden spoons,” she announced.

Adam looked up from the shelf. “Do you need nine?”

“Apparently not.”

“Then you have something to donate.”

“I'm beginning to think you're enjoying this.”

“A little.”

At least he was honest about it.

By four o'clock, the cottage had begun to resemble a home. The books occupied their shelves, though Hannah intended to rearrange them later. The bed was made, the bathroom was usable, and she'd managed to clear enough counter space to prepare a proper meal. Adam had carried the flattened boxes onto the porch, where they stood in a neat stack awaiting a trip to the recycling collection point.

He came inside rubbing his hands together against the cold.

“The truck is empty.”

“Completely?”

“Unless you packed something under the spare tire.”

“I didn't.”

“Then completely.”

He washed his hands at the kitchen sink and paused to look through the window.

Hannah watched him from beside the counter. He'd taken off his jacket earlier and rolled the sleeves of his dark flannel shirt to his forearms. A faint streak of dust remained near one elbow, and his hair was slightly mussed from the wind. He'd spent most of the day carrying her belongings, assembling furniture, and moving things from one room to another without once suggesting she ought to have hired someone to do the work.

She'd expected him to help. That was simply who Adam was. Still, she appreciated that he had given her the entire day when she knew he had work waiting in Lakewood.

In April, they would stand together in the church a few streets away and exchange their marriage vows. Afterward, this would be his kitchen too. He'd work in the second bedroom, and they'd share the ordinary responsibilities that came with keeping a household.

She was looking forward to those ordinary things as much as anything else.

Adam turned from the window. “This is why you liked it.”

Hannah followed his gaze toward the meadow. “Partly.”

“You never mentioned the window until after we looked at the office.”

“You were busy testing whether the internet could support a federal agency.”

“My employer is not a federal agency.”

“That wasn't the important part of the sentence.”

He looked outside again. The afternoon sunlight had reached the far edge of the meadow, leaving the snow beneath the pines untouched. Beyond the fence, the neighboring property was barely visible through the trees.

“It's a good view,” he said.

“I thought so.”

“We should put something out there.”

“In the meadow?”

“Near the window. A bird feeder.”

Hannah considered the suggestion. “The landlord said deer come through.”

“Then we'll hang it high.”

“We?”

Adam glanced back at her. “After April.”

She smiled. “A bird feeder might be nice.”

“I'll add it to the list.”

“What list?”

“The one for after April.”

“You have a list?”

“I have several.”

Hannah stared at him. She knew he kept lists for work and maintained a calendar that accounted for appointments, travel, and even routine maintenance on his truck. Somehow it hadn't occurred to her that he'd started planning the smaller details of their married life.

Adam remained entirely serious.

“You aren't the only person who knows how to plan.”

“I never said I was.”

“You looked surprised.”

“I am reconsidering how many surprises this marriage may contain.”

“Probably more than one.”

He dried his hands and crossed the kitchen to her. Hannah turned toward him as he reached for her hand, and she moved close enough to rest her other palm against his chest.

“I'm glad you took the job,” he said.

“So am I.”

“You like the clinic?”

“I do. I'm still learning everyone's systems.”

“You'll improve them.”

“I'm not there to reorganize the entire office.”

“Not immediately.”

Hannah gave him a look, and he smiled before bending to kiss her.

She'd enjoyed working at the clinic from the beginning. The staff had welcomed her, and while there were procedures she was still learning, she liked the patients and appreciated the chance to practice in a smaller community. Some of the older residents had been coming to the clinic for years. They knew the therapists, the receptionist, and often one another. Hannah was beginning to recognize familiar faces when she stopped at the grocery store or attended church.

The position had also brought her closer to her parents, something she'd wanted for a long time.

When Grace first called about the opening, Hannah and Adam hadn't yet been engaged. They'd spoken seriously about marriage, but no date had been set, and Hannah had worried that moving several hours from Lakewood would complicate their plans.

Adam had listened while she explained the opportunity. He'd asked about the clinic, the salary, the town, and the distance from her parents. Then he'd looked into whether his own work could be done remotely from Ponderosa Grove.

Once he was satisfied that his job wouldn't prevent a move, he'd encouraged her to apply.

It had meant a great deal to Hannah. She'd known couples who struggled when one person's career required the other to make sacrifices, and she hadn't wanted either of them to begin their marriage feeling that they'd surrendered something important.

Adam had approached the decision differently. He could work from almost anywhere with a reliable internet connection. Hannah needed to live within reasonable driving distance of her patients. To him, the practical answer had been obvious.

What came next had become an April wedding and a cottage with dependable internet.

Hannah squeezed his hand.

“Thank you for not making it harder.”

“For what?”

“The job. Moving here.”

“I didn't do anything.”

“You could have.”

Adam frowned slightly. “You wanted work near your parents. I can work here. Why would I ask you to take a worse job somewhere else?”

She smiled. “That is almost romantic.”

“It was meant to be practical.”

“I know.”

He looked as though he might explain further, but Hannah leaned forward and kissed him before he could.

They still had plenty to learn about living together, and she doubted every decision would be quite so straightforward. But she'd never questioned whether Adam would take her concerns seriously. He might not always understand what troubled her immediately, and she knew there would be occasions when she'd have to explain herself more plainly than she was accustomed to doing. The same would be true in reverse.

She could live with that. More than anything, she wanted a marriage in which they could speak honestly and make decisions together.

By early evening, the rooms were still unfinished, but the worst of the disorder had been cleared away. Hannah prepared sandwiches with the bread and sliced turkey Laura had sent, added apple slices to both plates, and poured coffee into the mugs they'd spent so much of the afternoon looking for.

Adam carried the remaining towels into the bathroom. When he returned, he held something in his hand.

Hannah stared at it.

“Where was that?”

“In the towel box.”

“Why?”

“I assume it was part of the early deciding process.”

She held out her hand.

Adam placed the missing can opener in her palm. “You can tell your mother you survived.”

Hannah shook her head, laughing as she put it in the drawer beside the silverware.

“I'm not sure I want to know how it ended up there.”

“Probably the same way the bathroom towels ended up with the coffee mugs.”

“That doesn't explain anything.”

“No,” Adam agreed. “But at least we found everything.”

She couldn't argue with that.

They sat across from each other at the small dining table while the last daylight faded beyond the kitchen window. The furnace came on with a steady rush from the floor vent, and Hannah made a mental note to ask the landlord when the filter had last been changed. There were still curtains to hang, pictures to place, and several smaller things to purchase, but they could wait until she'd lived in the cottage long enough to know what she actually needed.

Adam looked around the room before picking up his sandwich.

“This will work.”

Hannah wrapped both hands around her mug. “You sound surprised.”

“I wasn't surprised.”

“You inspected the internet more than once.”

“My job depends on it.”

“You measured the office wall before we had a desk.”

“I need to know what fits.”

She waited, recognizing that he hadn't finished answering.

Adam took a drink of coffee. “I liked the place the first time.”

“So did I.”

For a while they ate without feeling the need to fill the silence. Hannah had always been comfortable with that part of their relationship. Adam could spend an entire afternoon working beside her, talking when there was something worth discussing and otherwise allowing them both to concentrate. She liked having someone nearby without feeling responsible for keeping him entertained.

He would leave within an hour for her parents' house. In the morning, he'd return to help carry the empty boxes to the recycling collection point before driving back to Lakewood.

Hannah would have the cottage to herself after that.

She looked forward to settling into her own routines. She could arrange the kitchen without asking where someone else preferred the dishes, decide when to eat dinner, and leave a book on the coffee table without worrying about anyone moving it. After several months of living out of suitcases, even having a dresser that belonged entirely to her felt like a luxury.

Of course, she'd miss Adam. She was accustomed to seeing him on weekends, and the time between visits sometimes seemed longer than it ought to. They talked most evenings, but a phone call wasn't quite the same as sharing dinner or sitting together after church.

She was glad they had decided to wait until marriage before living together. It was a commitment they both took seriously, and neither had suggested changing it simply because they were engaged. By April, they'd have plenty of time to adjust to sharing a home.

For now, Hannah was content to enjoy the life she was building.

Adam finished half his sandwich, then set it down.

“I've been thinking about Thanksgiving.”

Hannah looked up.

“I'd like to bring both families here.”

“To the cottage?”

“No. I counted the rooms.”

She smiled despite herself. “Good.”

“Somewhere in Ponderosa Grove. The church hall, maybe.” He rested his forearms on the table. “We could tell everyone at the same time.”

Hannah glanced at her engagement ring.

Their parents knew about the engagement, as did Grace and Sam and Pastor Mitchell. Beyond that small circle, however, they hadn't announced anything. Bethany didn't know, and neither did Adam's siblings or their grandmothers. Everyone knew the relationship was serious, but Hannah and Adam had wanted a little time to enjoy being engaged before the wedding plans became a subject for the entire family.

“You want to announce the engagement at Thanksgiving?”

“I do.”

“Both families together?”

“Yes.”

“Why Thanksgiving?” she asked.

“They'll already be gathering somewhere.”

“Not together.”

“That's what I'm suggesting.”

Hannah considered it while Adam resumed eating.

Thanksgiving in her family had always been a relatively small occasion. Her parents hosted, Bethany came home if she wasn't already there, and Grandmother Helen brought the stuffing she'd made for as long as Hannah could remember. Sometimes Grace and Sam joined them, depending on arrangements with the other side of their family.

There was a familiar order to the day. Her mother planned the meal well in advance, her father set up the extra chairs, and everyone knew what time dinner would be served. The same dishes appeared year after year, and Doug insisted on taking a family photograph before anyone had a chance to spill gravy on their clothes.

Hannah liked those traditions. They weren't elaborate, but they belonged to her family, and she'd missed them during the years she hadn't been able to come home.

The Ramseys celebrated differently.

Hannah had attended enough family gatherings to understand that Adam's relatives enjoyed having people around. Their birthday cookouts often included neighbors, church friends, and anyone who happened to arrive at the right time. Elaine kept extra food ready, and Mark rarely seemed surprised when another vehicle pulled into the driveway.

The children moved through the house as though every room belonged to them, and conversations frequently continued from one part of the house to another. Hannah had learned that being invited for lunch didn't necessarily mean leaving before supper.

She liked the Ramseys. Elaine had always welcomed her warmly, and she'd grown fond of Megan and Eric's children. Clara had reached the age when she wanted to know everything about everyone, while little Theo seemed happiest when he had something to carry from one room to another.

Luke could keep an entire table entertained without appearing to notice he was doing it.

Still, combining the two families for Thanksgiving would require some careful planning.

Adam watched her expression.

“You don't like the idea.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You're quiet.”

“I'm thinking.”

“About whether you like it?”

“About where everyone would sit.”

His shoulders eased. “Then you like it.”

“I think I do.”

“That sounded careful.”

“It is a large idea.”

“It doesn't have to be large.”

Hannah looked at him.

Adam paused, apparently reconsidering.

“Larger than your usual Thanksgiving,” he amended.

“That is probably true.”

“But smaller than ours.”

“How much smaller?”

“We can keep it to immediate family.”

Hannah began counting.

Adam's parents, his brother, his sister, brother-in-law, and two children. His grandmother. Perhaps someone Luke brought home from college because no Ramsey would allow a friend to spend Thanksgiving alone.

Then there was her own family.

Even without extended relatives, the number was already larger than any meal Laura hosted without borrowing chairs.

“The church hall might work,” Hannah said slowly.

“It has a kitchen.”

“I know.”

“Tables.”

“I know that too.”

“Parking.”

“Yes.”

“And it's where we're getting married.”

Hannah smiled at that. She liked the thought of announcing their engagement in the same church where they would exchange their vows in April. Pastor Mitchell had known both families for years, and the fellowship hall was large enough that no one would need to rearrange an entire house to accommodate the gathering.

“I like that part,” she said.

Adam picked up his sandwich. “Which part?”

“Telling them at the church.”

“We'd tell them in the hall.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

She reached for a paper napkin and smoothed an unnecessary crease with her thumb.

“We'd have to ask Pastor Mitchell soon.”

“I can call him tomorrow.”

“We should ask together.”

“All right.”

“And we'd need a firm count.”

Adam hesitated.

Hannah noticed.

“How many people are we discussing?”

Adam leaned back slightly.

It was not an encouraging beginning.