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I stop.

Chiara stands on my porch, sunglasses covering half her face, her dark hair piled on top of her head and a suitcase beside her.

For several seconds, I just stare at her.

She pushes her sunglasses onto her head. “Miss me?” She holds her arms out for a hug.

I blink. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.”

“Chiara.”

“Nora.”

“What are you doing in Wyoming?”

She looks at me like I'm the idiot here. “What do you think I'm doing?”

I look at the suitcase, then at her, then back at the suitcase.

“How did you even get here?”

“Plane. They're these giant metal things with wings. Very convenient.”

“Smartass.”

“Runs in the family.”

I stare at her, and she stares right back until her expression changes. The teasing disappears as her eyes move past me towards the kitchen, towards the urn sitting on the island.

When she looks back at me, her eyes are already wet.

“You're not doing this alone.”

My throat closes. “Chi…”

“No.” She shakes her head. “You can be mad I didn't tell you. You can bitch at me about the flight and the money and how I should've called first. You can even tell me to go home.” She steps closer. “I'm not going.”

My eyes burn. “I didn't ask you to come.”

“I know.”

“You have work.”

“Took a few weeks off. I have so many overtime hours I could go on vacation for six months.” She smiles.

“You hate flying.”

“Absolutely fucking despise it.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, and Chiara smiles.

“See? Nearly threw up on a hottie sitting next to me on the plane just to be here.”

“You're an idiot.”

“Probably.”