Page 127 of That Reunited Feeling

“Are we going to the observatory?” Dylan asks. He went there on a school trip right before summer break and decided if he can’t be a music producer, he’ll be an astronomer.

“Nope.”

We make three more turns.

“It really looks like we’re going to Rachel’s house,” Hannah says.

“It does, doesn’t it?” I tease her.

“Can we go for hot dogs on the way home?” Dylan asks.

“If you like the surprise, we can do whatever you like,” I tell him.

Two more turns.

“This is Rachel’s street.” Hannah is more stumped than ever now.

When I stop two houses beyond Rachel’s, she looks back over her shoulder. “Are we really not visiting Rachel? Because it looks very much like we are.”

I point at the house we’re sitting outside. “What do you think of that?”

Whereas Rachel and Dev’s house is all sleek glass and concrete, this house is older, more welcoming, with whitewashed walls and a red tile roof. More like a home.

“Of what?” Hannah asks.

Dylan’s head appears between our seats. “Yeah, of what?”

“That house.”

“It’s nice,” she says.

“Yeah.” Dylan flops back on the seat. Clearly he was hoping I was pointing out something more exciting than a 1930s Spanish-style home.

“Is it for sale?” Hannah asks. “Do you want to go look at it?”

We’ve talked about buying a place and putting down roots but have been so occupied with organizing our new lives we haven’t had time to even think about looking yet. Hannah’s been absorbed with getting her backing singer career off the ground—she’s already regularly picking up sessions for two producers and has an agent negotiating a contract to be part of a Holiday Spectacular show at the Hollywood Bowl.

I’ve been to London three times since I moved. It’s a bit exhausting, but I’ve now hired a new staff member over here, and she’s in the process of setting up an LA office for us.

Dylan’s also been busy. He was a trooper with all the appointments and treatments he had for the clinical trial over the summer. That’s still ongoing, and will be for some time, but the appointments will be less frequent. The doctors say it’s early days, but the signs are promising.

He has the same gamer friends he made when he and Hannah first moved here, and I’m still teaching him guitar. He plays my old one—the one I first taught him to strum that morning in Blythewell—and he’s getting good. We’ll soon have to get him a real tutor. I’m so proud of him but sad he won’t need me for much longer. But then we can just switch our lessons to jam sessions instead. It’s been as good for my skills as for his.

He enjoyed school and is looking forward to starting back in a couple weeks. And to cap it all, he got an A on his final chemistry test in June—without setting fire to anything.

So, yeah, we haven’t had time to look for a new home. At least, Hannah thinks we haven’t.

“Open the glove box,” I tell her.

“Why are you being so mysterious?” she asks but opens it anyway.

“Are these to your new office?” She pulls out a set of keys and holds them up.

“Nope.” I open my door. “Everybody out.”

As I climb out, their two doors slowly open.

“What’s going on?” Hannah asks.

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