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Taking a big breath of summer air, we stepped away from the front door of the bar toward the closed shop next door.

“What’s going on with you, Lena?”

He’d let go of my wrist, but my heart hadn’t gotten the memo. It was pumping so fast, I couldn’t think. This was Nolan. My best friend. Someone I loved more than almost anyone in the world.

Just say it.

I wanted him to kiss me. That fact was coupled with another more sobering one. If I answered his question honestly, he would march me to the hospital and have my head checked.

Could I take him with me? If we read the book together, would we both transport? How did that work? And did I want to risk it, putting Nolan in danger? If something happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.

Better idea.

I’d go back, just one more time, and get proof. Bring something back with me so that when I told Nolan what was happening, he wouldn’t think I was looney tunes.

“I can’t tell you,” I said. “Yet. First, I have to⁠—”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen Nolan angry. It just wasn’t his thing. At least, not like this. He wasn’t just mad.

Nolan was pissed.

“Do you know how many years I waited for this? Hoped, dreamed, someday you might see me the same way I see you? Date other women who never measured up? Every woman I dated was a placeholder. I kept hoping if I moved on, maybe you would too … toward me. Lisa was the last straw. When I realized our friendship bothered her, I was done. I'd already chosen the woman I wanted, years ago. Worse, watch you date guys I knew would never love you the same way I could. I’ve waited a lifetime for what happened in that bar,” he flung his hand toward Boots & Brews. “For you to finally see me. And now that it’s happened, you’re still hiding from me?”

His voice was low, but the crack in it hurt worse than if he’d shouted. Nolan’s jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek twitching. “Do you have any idea what that does to me, Lena?”

“Nolan, I⁠—”

He stepped back, shaking his head. “Don’t. Whatever this is, whatever you’re not saying, keep it.”

The distance between us felt impossible, a gulf I’d created. I hadn’t meant to open the door and immediately, thoroughly, shut it.”

Tell him. Without proof. Don’t go back. Say it.

“I can’t keep waiting for you to let me in.”

I traveled to another time. Or dimension. Or something. But I don't know what, exactly.

The words sounded crazy, even in my brain. Even to me.

He turned, walked into the night, until he got smaller, and smaller, and I couldn’t see him anymore.

And just like that, the steadiest thing in my life—the one man who’d always stayed—was gone.

Eleven

After staring at the street where Nolan had disappeared, lost, for the first time, in my hometown, I headed back into the bar to say goodbye to Mazzie. I figured one disappearing act this week was enough.

Not surprisingly, after forcing my legs to move, I found myself back at the shop. Staring into the evidence of my resilience—my dream of owning a bookshop in a town that had seen them come and go—I marveled at how quickly things had unravelled. After nearly thirty years of lessons, successes and failures, I’d built myself into a woman who thought she knew herself. One her mother could be proud of. Who had achieved things I once never thought possible. How could one stupid book have unravelled me so thoroughly?

I would destroy it.

Toss the thing that pushed Nolan away into the river, never to be seen again. Not tomorrow, but immediately. Leaving my storefront behind, I began to walk. When I reached the riverbank, the only sound was the low rush of the water and the distant groan of a passing train.

Staring into the water, I remembered the time in this very spot when Nolan counted the mosquito bites on my leg when I insisted there were at least fifty (there weren’t).

I hugged the book to my chest. A beautiful one I purchased with my own hard-earned cash. One that represented the beginning of a journey that led me to today.

Don’t close the book. Turn the page.

My fingers tightened around the spine. I’d been telling myself the kind of love in my stories wasn’t real … every romance reader knew that. So instead, I lived inside a story.

Closing my eyes, I continued to think. To remember. To weigh my options and dig deep into the recesses of my memory for all the hard-fought lessons—good and bad—that made me … me.

And then I ran.

Up the river bank. Down a mostly empty street, and then another, and another. I’d always hated running, and tonight was no exception. Cursing myself for having taken off like a sprinter, I admitted temporary defeat. Slowing to a jog, and eventually, a brisk walk, I promised myself to get back to the gym. Or at least squeeze in a few more steps every day. Finally, blessedly, a modest-sized pale blue house with a still-lit front porch came into view.

Two Adirondack chairs that had overheard hours and hours of conversation stood sentinel as I approached. Modest, but meticulously kept and quaint in one of Kitchi Falls most desired neighborhoods courtesy of its oak-lined street and proximity to Main Street, though far enough away not to attract many tourists.

I climbed the stairs, once anxious enough to be here that I’d nearly passed out running, but couldn’t bring myself to knock on the door.

Not that I had to. But tonight, it seemed appropriate. As if the gulf between us I created was too big for a casual walk-in. While still deciding what to do, the choice was taken from me as the door whipped open.

“Nolan. I have to tell you something.”