It’s a month into the school year, and Tim Reese has become a frequent visitor to our house.

After he fixed the sink and the doorknob, he and Josh embarked on a seemingly endless list of projects to tackle in the house. After all, the house is kind of old, so there was a lot that needed fixing. And after they got done fixing everything, they got the idea to build a bookcase for Josh’s room. This weekend, they’re going to be painting it. (Neon green, apparently.)

Although I was anxious about moving here, my reservations have all melted away. Working at the prison has its ups and downs (I haven’t seen Shane once in the last month, but he is still very much there), but I have never seen Josh happier than he’s been out here. He loves school, and more importantly, he’s bonded with Tim in a way that has really surprised me.

When I get home tonight, I smell the delicious aroma of garlic and butter. I’m pretty sure those are Margie’s two favorite ingredients in the whole world. And there is no nicer smell to come home to.

I find Margie in the kitchen, arranging a tray of garlic butter shrimp. I want to just inhale them, they look so good.

“I made extra,” Margie tells me, “since I assume that nice Tim will come for dinner.”

I start to protest, but then I realize Tim has come over for dinner at least half a dozen times in the last two weeks. And he’s had us over to his house three times.

“Yes, he said he was probably coming,” I mumble.

Margie laughs. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about having a boyfriend, Brooke.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Margie gives me a look and I shake my head. “He’s not. We’re just friends.”

It’s the truth. Tim has hung out here a lot in the last month, but nothing has happened between the two of us. He hasn’t tried to kiss me. When we watched a movie a few days ago, he didn’t yawn and attempt to put his arm around my shoulder. We are friends—like always. His realization that Shane and I have a kid together has vanquished any feelings he had for me.

“I should warn you then,” Margie says, “Josh is asking some very interesting questions about him.”

Oh no. What does that mean?

After Margie has taken off for the night, I go into the living room, where Josh is playing with his Nintendo. He is entirely focused on the game, his tongue sticking out slightly as he concentrates. His expression is strangely familiar, and it takes me a second to realize with a jolt that Shane used to make that same exact face when he was concentrating on something.

“Hey, Josh.” I sit down next to him on the couch. “How was school today?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the game. “Okay. Is Tim coming for dinner?” At school, Josh has to call him Mr. Reese, which makes him giggle, but at home, he’s just Tim.

“Josh…” I slide a few inches closer to him. “Margie told me you were asking some questions about Tim.”

Josh pauses his game and throws the controller to the side. I don’t know what he’s thinking. He probably thinks Tim is my boyfriend, just like Margie does. I’m going to have to set him straight. I’m not sure if the truth will disappoint him or if he’ll be relieved.

“Well,” he says, “I was wondering…” “Yes?”

He takes a deep breath. “Is Tim my dad?”

I feel like I just got punched in the gut. I had no idea whatsoever that he had been thinking that. “Josh…”

“Because you knew him from before you moved away,” Josh points out. “And you were really close. And also, he’s really nice…”

He’s looking up at me with a hopeful expression on his face. I wish more than anything in the world I could tell him that Tim is his father. I wish Tim were his father. Or that his father were a decent human being who

there was some chance in hell I could possibly end up with… or at least allow my son to spend a few minutes in his company.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I say. “Tim isn’t your dad.”

Josh looks crushed. He looks so sad that a tiny part of me wishes I had just lied about it and dealt with the consequences later. But of course, I couldn’t do that. I had to tell him the truth.

I start to put my arm around him, but the doorbell rings, echoing through the house. When Josh hears it, he grabs his Nintendo controller and restarts his game. “I just want to finish this level before dinner,” he says.

“Josh,” I say, “I want to talk to you more about this… I know you’re disappointed…”

“No, I’m not.” His eyes are back on the TV screen. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Fine. There’s no chance of competing with Nintendo, so I may as well answer the door. Of course, it’s almost certainly Tim, having arrived for dinner. I should just give him a key. Not in a relationship kind of way, but in the kind of way that you give your neighbor a spare key. Like for if I get locked out or something. I mean, the only other person who has the key is Margie, and she lives all the way in the next town.

Tim is standing at the front door, wearing the same khaki pants and dress shirt that he wore to work, but minus a tie. He holds out his arms, because every time he comes over, we hug at the door. That’s what friends do, right? We hug. It’s not like we greet each other by making out.

“Hey, Brooke,” he says. “Smells great in here.”

“Thanks,” I say, even though it’s not like I was the one who cooked the shrimp.

It does smell good in the entire house though. I could smell it down the hallway. And it’s only when I’m in Tim’s arms that I notice another smell. Something extremely familiar, but not nearly as pleasant as garlic and butter.

It’s sandalwood.

I jerk away from Tim, my nose crinkled in disgust. “Oh my God, what are you wearing?”

Tim’s eyes fly open and he grasps at the collar of his shirt. “What?

This is just a cotton dress shirt.” “No! I mean, that smell!”

“Smell?” He runs a hand along his clean-shaven jaw. “I did shave before I came over, and I put on some aftershave. But—”

The smell of sandalwood has embedded itself in my nostrils. Every time I inhale, I feel the chains of that necklace tightening around my throat. I take a step away from him. “Please go wash it off. Now.”

“But—”

“Now. Please.”

Tim obediently trots off to the bathroom. I hear running water, and he’s in there for quite a few minutes, which I think is a good sign that he is making a serious effort to get all the aftershave off. When he comes out of the bathroom, his skin looks slightly pink.

“Okay,” he says. “I think it’s off.”

I take an experimental breath. I don’t smell it anymore. Thank God. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” He has a deep groove between his eyebrows. “No problem…” Well, now he thinks I’m out of my mind. I need to explain this to him.

Unlike other guys, he’ll get it. “When Shane tried to… you know… he was wearing sandalwood aftershave. The smell of it makes me sick now.”

“Oh!” Tim rubs his jaw. “Jesus, Brooke, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I got that aftershave as a present, but I’m going to throw it away.”

“You don’t have to do that…”

“Obviously I do.” He flashes a lopsided smile. “It’s okay. I hate aftershave anyway.”

I return his smile. “Then why were you wearing it?” “I don’t know. I was probably trying to impress Josh.”

We stand there in the hallway, staring at each other for a moment, and there’s a sudden jolt of electricity between us. I study his face, wondering if he feels it too. Even when I think Tim is firmly in the friend zone, I wonder if there’s a possibility I’m wrong.

As long as he never wears that sandalwood aftershave ever again.