Emma stopped at her parents’ favorite Italian restaurant for the dinner she’d promised Jesse she’d take to John. Laden with baked ziti, ricotta gnocchi, and enough tiramisu to feed a small army, she followed the directions Jesse had given her to John’s house, grateful that his Jeep was still parked out front. She would have visited John anyway, even if Jesse hadn’t been there. But Jess would be a buffer to her own tumult if John’s health had deteriorated even further as he suspected.
With her hands full with the carryout bags, Emma had to use her elbow to press the doorbell, stepping back to allow John room to answer the door. Her eyes widened when it opened to reveal Jesse instead.
“Where’s John?” she asked.
Jesse took the bags from her and ushered her inside. “He’s in bed, resting. He
