Her pulse stuttered.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Matt came up behind her, startling her. “Oh, look at this gem of a space.”
“I think the owner uses this as a recording studio,” Christopher said, appearing in the doorway.
MJ looked from one man to the other, literally unable to speak.
All she could hear was the faint ghost of that melody threading through her head again—the same one that had awakened her night after night.
It was as if the universe had tilted. Every hair on her arms stood on end.
“MJ?” Matt’s voice was gentle. “You okay?”
She nodded too quickly. “Fine. Just…it’s cold down here.”
“You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I have,she thought.
She backed toward the stairs. “Maybe we should—uh—head up.”
By the time they reached the living room, her pulse had steadied, but her heart hadn’t. Christopher waited by the front door, expectant.
“So,” he said cheerfully, “what do you think?”
MJ opened her mouth, then closed it. She couldn’t form the words.
Matt looked at her, reading everything she wasn’t saying. His jaw tightened slightly, but when he turned to the Realtor, his voice was calm. “It’s not quite right forus.”
Us.The word landed like a pebble in her chest, rippling outward.
Christopher nodded, unfazed. “Fair enough. I’ll keep an eye out for others.”
Outside, the light was fading to that pink-gold. Snowflakes drifted lazily, catching in MJ’s hair as she climbed into the passenger seat. They sat in silence until Matt started the engine. Soft jazz filled the cabin—something instrumental and low.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
“For what?”
“For…whatever that was back there that upset you. For pushing you on this errand. For not keeping my promise about taking things slow.”
“You don’t owe me an apology, Matt. I’m just still…” Grieving? Missing my husband? Unsure? “Getting used to the idea of an…us. I know it’s been a year, but it all feels like it’s happening too soon.”
It was the best she could do without admitting that she was hearing—and now seeing—reminders of her late husband and she was sure he was telling her…not to pursue this.
“You set the pace, MJ,” he said. “I promised that and I meant that.”
The sincerity in his tone made her throat ache. “It’s not you,” she whispered. “It’s just… complicated.”
“I know,” he said softly, starting the SUV. “I’m not here to upend your life. Just make it better.”
Her eyes stung again. Outside, the mountains blurred in the dusk. She thought about that basement, the photograph, the song. Was it a coincidence? Or a warning? She didn’t know which scared her more—the possibility that George was still guiding her, or that he wasn’t.
They drove the rest of the way in quiet, headlights cutting through the gathering snow. When the lodge finally came into view—its windows glowing, wreaths on every door—MJ felt both relieved and heartsick.
Matt parked and turned to her. “Dinner later? Or do you need time to think?”
