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I start the truck, only hearing muffled noises coming through her phone. She keeps her face stoic, and it drives me mad to be left in the dark.

“No, I know,” she says. “No, it’s not broken.”

The leather of the wheel creaks under my grip.

“I get that. Yeah, we just talked to Donna. We will. Thank you.” A pause. “I understand. Sure. You too. Bye.”

She exhales a loud, trembling breath. I gaze at her, and my stomach twists at the sight of her lips wobbling.

“Charlee . . .” I reach out to lay my hand on her thigh. I move slowly to give her time to tell me to fuck off. She doesn’t, so I rub my thumb over the thin material of her leggings. “Tell me what happened.”

“I think I, um . . . I think I don’t have a job anymore?”

Safety keeps my eyes glued to the road.

I clear my throat. “You think?”

“Well, considering this whole docuseries thing was supposed to be the Toronto office’s saving grace, I guess that I didn’t leave him with much of a choice.” She picks at her nails as I splay my hand out on her thigh. “It’s temporary, he said. Told me I was on a ‘long vacation’ while he figures out the legal logistics of the whole thing and tries to get me back on, but he can’t afford my full salary right now. I’m not technically fired; he just won’t send me out on assignments, and since ninety percent of my pay relies on the number of stories I cover . . .”

“Charlee . . . I didn’t know. I . . . If I . . . Maybe I could—”

She rests her hand on top of mine. “It’s done. It’s okay.”

I dare a glance at her, and despite her shiny eyes, I notice the hint of a smile. A sad one, sure, but it’s not forced. It’s almost . . . resolved. I trap her fingers with mine.

“I thought my job was the one thing in my life I couldn’t live without,” she says. “What was keeping me from crumbling after my mom passed away.” She sweeps her thumb over my skin. “I . . . I don’t think that anymore. I love what I do—did—do?” She laughs, and the waves framing her face ripple with the shake of her head. I can’t tear my eyes away. “Doesn’t matter. My job doesn’t define me. I can do it elsewhere. I can still travel whenever I feel like it. I can still explore and write and draw the weirdest things I find. But I don’t need this job anymore. Not like I used to or thought I did. And that’s okay. I’m sad, but I’m okay. I think.” She lets out a low whistle. “Damn, talk about a life-changing breakthrough I just made.”

She chuckles, the sound light and heavy at the same time. It doesn’t fool me. I can tell she’s sadder than she lets on, but I don’t push her on it.

“I’m sorry,” I offer. “For the part I played in this.” I turn onto the dirt road.

“For what?” she huffs. “Standing up for me and making sure I got home safe and sound?”

I don’t know whether she means home like Toronto or home like here. I wish she meant the latter, but there is also another word for that: delusional. Either way, I’m clinging to the knowledge that she’s not upset with me, that she’s grateful, even.

I park the truck in front of my house and loosen a breath. It feels good to be home. “Don’t move,” I say as I open the door.

I walk around the truck, open her door, and unbuckle her seat belt. Gently, I slip an arm under her thighs and one around her waist.

“Hold on to my neck,” I whisper.

“I have my crutches in the back, you know,” she says, but she slings her arms around my neck anyway.

“I know.”

I lift her effortlessly and walk toward the house, the keys dangling from one of my fingers.

Charlee buries her face in the crook of my neck. “Thank you.”

My heart leaps, pulsing a little faster. “Entirely my pleasure,” I say and pull her a little tighter against me.

Our moments are numbered. Now that she no longer has any obligation to be here, there’s no stopping her from leaving. It’s only a matter of days. Hours, perhaps. So I’ll enjoy every second I’m wrapped in her vanilla-peach sweetness. I inhale deeply, willing my mind and body to commit her to memory.

For when I’ll undoubtedly think of her.

I open the front door, then set Charlee down on one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m gonna grab our bags and your crutches from the truck. I’ll be right back.”

I jog outside, the wind a gentle caress on my burning face.