CHARLOTTE

Charlotte set the glass down and took the plate from him.

“Perfect,” she said.

The music he’d put on was a Britton piece she liked. The table was set, everything matching. Luca was right. It was time for her to let go a little. If not for herself . . .

She heard Cece’s voice in her head—Cece, who had been such a steady friend, who knew her heart better than anyone except Zdenĕk.

“Of course it’s for yourself.”

“And, I might add, it’s about time.”

“Get a grip. You can figure this out.”

“And maybe even get a life.”

“You don’t want to do this all alone anymore.”

“Do you?”

“It’s time you loosened up.”

“Not just for you.”

No. Not just for herself. For Zdenĕk. She wanted to ask Martin if he had called, but she was afraid to hear the answer.

Martin brought his plate to the table and sat down. He watched Charlotte take the first bite.

“You look positively radiant,” he said.

A few days ago she would have assumed he was joking. She began to laugh and he joined in. She lifted her wine glass and toasted Luca’s vacant chair.

“I almost forgot. Over there. It came this morning,” Martin said, pointing to a cardboard box on the counter.

Charlotte got up, walked over and lifted the lid. She reached inside with both hands. Gently, she removed the contents from the nest of tissue paper protecting it. There was no card. There didn’t need to be. She knew what it was and who sent it before she even saw it. The smell—that was what she recognized first. It smelled so good. She sat it on her head and turned so Martin could see. It was a perfect fit: a wreath, handmade, of freshly clipped sprigs of Zdenĕk’s fragrant homegrown rosemary.