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“This is me keeping that stupid promise,” I mutter as I shove my feet into my slippers and make my way into the bathroom.

That strange feeling of Damiano smirking knowingly at me from wherever he is now comes over me while I squeeze toothpaste onto my toothbrush, and I roll my eyes at my own reflection.

“Get that stupid smirk off your face.”

And I swear I can hear him laugh.

My hand stills.

How long has it been since the last time I heard him laugh?

Not really heard him, obviously, but remembered it so clearly that for a second it felt like he was standing right beside me.

For the past fourteen months, every memory of Damiano has somehow ended in the same place. His pain, the hospital, the machines surrounding his bed and the way his skin became paler with every passing day until sometimes I could barely recognize the man lying in front of me.

When did I stop remembering his laugh?

I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment before shaking my head and spitting out the toothpaste.

Maybe a change is exactly what I need.

By the time I make my way outside, the ranch is still wrapped in the deep blue darkness that comes right before dawn, but a thin line of pale grey has started to appear behind the mountains in the distance. The air is cool enough that I rub my hands over my arms, carrying the smell of damp grass and earth with it, while somewhere beyond the fence a horse nickers softly and another answers from farther away. Dew glistens on the wooden porch and along the grass, catching what little light there is, and for a moment I just stand there breathing it all in while the ranch slowly begins to wake around me.

Then I notice Jude walking toward my steps.

He has a cup of coffee in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.

“Where the hell did you find these?” I ask when he reaches me and hands them over.

The smell of coffee hits me first, followed by butter and sugar when I peek inside the bag and find a batch of cookies that are somehow still warm.

“Went by the B&B. Mama gets up around this time and had a batch of cookies ready.” He nods toward the cup in my other hand. “Made the coffee myself.”

I look from the cookies to him.

“Thank you.”

Jude shrugs. “Just breakfast.”

Of course it is.

He nods toward his dark blue truck parked a few feet away, and I follow him across the yard, taking a sip of coffee along the way.

It’s good.

Annoyingly good.

When we reach the truck, I’m about to open the passenger-side door when Jude reaches past me and opens it instead.

I look at him.

He looks back at me as if opening doors for women at five in the morning is the most normal thing in the world, so I climb inside, still holding my coffee and the warm bag of cookies.

A moment later, he gets behind the wheel and starts the engine.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”