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“You want a slice of pie?” Marthe pats the table and gets up with a stretch. “Tess is about to pull a fresh one from the oven.”

The marshmallow is still sitting on the rim of the saucer where I left it.

Nick.

Something sweet and silly to make me smile.

It works.

“No…thank you.”

Claire Ashford doesn’t give up. She retreats and regroups, but she’s gone now and I won’t let her live in my head anymore.

I get out my phone.

It takes four minutes and a form. The drop-down menu asks for Reason for withdrawal with eleven options, but none of them is I’d rather write about snowplows.

I pick Other and hit submit.

Something enormous is supposed to happen now. All I get is hungry.

I pop the marshmallow into my mouth and let it melt on my tongue. Then I send off an email to Roslyn with only one word: Yes.

Chapter 44

Nick

I walk away because I can’t watch it happen.

At the end of the street, I turn around and look back toward the cafe. I can’t see her. Her heartbeat doesn’t carry this far either.

So I stand on the corner and do nothing.

How long will it take her to pack her things? What time is the last flight?

Nine forty. There’s a nine forty to Anchorage. I don’t have to look it up. Then a red-eye to Seattle.

She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. I know that. I also know how hard it is to hold your ground when handed an impossible choice, and how family pulls you back into its orbit no matter how far you get.

I took too long, waited too long. I wanted her to decide for herself first. That was before her mom showed up to remind her of everything she’d be giving up if she stayed here.

Pacing around my kitchen, my veins feel like they’re home to a nest of fire ants. I can’t sit still, so I run. Out the door and onto the snowy trail that hugs the creek.

The steady rhythm that usually switches off my brain isn’t working.

Whatever happens, as long as it’s what she wants, I have to accept it.

I’ve been saying that since she got here, and it’s never once cost me anything.

Carter’s words play on repeat in the back of my head.

What’s the excuse for February?

I owe it to both of us to give her all the facts to make a decision. That includes what’s in my heart. My steps slow until they stop.

Christ, I’m stupid.

I turn around and run home.