He gave a faint nod in return, but his shoulders didn’t move, like his body refused to listen to what his mouth had just said. And then, before I could turn away, he reached for me—his hand sliding to the back of my neck, drawing me closer until his breath mingled with mine.
The kiss came softly at first, almost hesitant, but the moment his lips met mine, something inside me cracked open. The kiss became deep and unhurried—tender in a way that was heartbreaking. He kissed me like he wanted to remember, and I kissed him back like he was already gone.
When he finally pulled away, his hand lingered against my jaw, his thumb tracing one last line down my cheek before falling away. Neither of us spoke. The silence between us said everything.
Then he let me go.
I turned toward the bathroom, my throat tight, my pulse unsteady. The door closed behind me with a soft click that felt heavier than it should have—the sound of something ending quietly.
For a long moment, I just stood there, the echo of his touch still warm on my skin, the taste of him still clinging to my lips.It felt like the kind of moment that would live in me long after it was gone.
And maybe that was the cruelest part—knowing that what had just happened wasn’t a beginning.
It was the start of goodbye.
When I finally stepped under the water, the sound drowned everything else out. The ache, the noise, the impossible mess of feelings I’d been trying to keep buried. The heat hit my skin, but it did nothing to warm me. It just washed over me, relentless and heavy, as if it could strip away the lies I’d been telling all week.
I pressed my palms flat against the cool tile and bowed my head.
Tonight had been perfect. Too perfect. The kind of night that made me forget it wasn’t real.
John and Tuesday had slipped into Dean’s world like they were meant to be there—laughing with his family, trading stories, sharing food and easy smiles as though they’d known each other their whole lives. It should have felt chaotic, awkward even, but somehow it didn’t. Somehow it felt seamless. Natural. Like this was the way things were always supposed to be.
But it wasn’t ours. None of it was.
And as the water slid down my face, I felt it—the slow, quiet breaking of something inside me—the truth I’d been pretending not to know settling deep in my bones.
We were running out of time.
And I wasn’t ready to let him go.
Thirty-Five
Morning light spilled softlyacross the cabin, warm and golden, cutting through the space that told me that Dean had been here—yet had already gone. His side of the bed was empty, the sheets still warm where his body had been. For a moment, I just lay there, my hand resting against the dent his weight had made in the mattress, wishing time could rewind just a few hours.
Then I saw it—on the nightstand, a single daisy laid across a folded note.
Good morning, beautiful.
You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t have the heart to wake you. Mason and I didn’t get as much done last night as we’d planned, so we’re meeting again this morning.
If I don’t see you before then, we’ll meet at the closing dinner. I can’t wait to see you all dressed up again. Try not to outshine everyone this time.
Dean
A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips, but it was fragile, wavering beneath the weight of everything I was feeling this morning. I traced the edge of the paper with my fingertips before setting it back down.
George lifted his head from the foot of the bed, tail thumping lazily against the floorboards before he stood and padded over, nudging my hand with his nose.
“You need to go out, huh?” I whispered.
He wagged his tail, then trotted toward the door with that eager bounce that never failed to make me smile—except this morning, the sound of his nails clicking against the floor just made the silence feel louder. Made the time in this place, with Dean and George, feel fleeting.
I threw on a sweatshirt and a pair of shorts and stepped outside. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of pine and the faint echo of laughter somewhere far off in the distance. I lifted my face to the sky and inhaled, letting the cool morning air fill my lungs, steadying me in a way that felt almost like peace. For a moment, it was just me—the quiet hum of nature, the whisper of wind through the trees—until a voice broke through the stillness.
“Morning, dear,” someone called.
I startled, my breath catching as I turned toward the sound. Dean’s grandmother was making her way along the path, her scarf loose around her neck, her stride surprisingly graceful for someone her age. She smiled, in that gentle, knowing way that carried both strength and softness.
