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“Let’s do it—but I need a coffee first.”

“That, we can do.”

I sink back, turning my gaze out the window as the city appears in the distance. There’s a faint warmth in my chest. Deep down, I was wondering if Jamie was pissed at me for fucking the plan up, or for dragging him out to Wyoming, where he hasn’t visited in almost a decade. Then, the second Orsen mentioned bringing me into the office, he was right there, like an iron wall around me. True to his name, I guess. I wonder what state of chewed-up-spat-out I’d be in if it weren’t for Jamie. He’s always been there like my own shadow, lawyered up and ready to go.

That’s part of why I didn’t want to stop.

He’s never let me down. I don’t want to let him down either.

We stop to get a coffee from Jamie’s favorite cafe, and then it’s onto the high rise West Creek building downtown. Once again, it feels like I’ve been gone for much longer than I have. As I cross the busy street at Jamie’s heels, I look around and wonder if that’s what I’m feeling. Or is this city that gave me everything just feeling a little distant right now? Whatever it is, it’s all confirmation I’m making the right choice.

It’s a good reminder, because over the next few hours, we get raked over the coals by lawyers. As expected. I’m tired and my neck hurts when I finally get in a car to head to my house. I have to finish Mason’s album, and we negotiated two more clients, the primary being Casey Bills, to be finished before the year is out. Some of the contracts simply can’t be cancelled or delayed.

That’s alright, though.

There’s light at the end of the tunnel now.

Back at the house, I call Sabrina and talk for a bit. She says she just got in from the barn after working on a schedule for the week with some of the wranglers. We talk for a bit, and I ask if she needs more staff. She balks. I know she doesn’t want me getting my money involved with her ranch. But she’s mine, and I’d like to free up her schedule a little bit. For very selfish reasons.

“We’ll talk when you get home,” she says softly.

“Sounds good.”

We’re both quiet. I’m standing in the kitchen, looking around, not sure what to leave and what to bring.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a long day working things out at West Creek.”

I hear a creak. I think she just sat down on her bed.

“Is that all there is?” she whispers.

“Of course. What do you mean?”

She hesitates, then laughs. “I guess I keep thinking you’re too good to be true. Like if I take my eyes off you, you’ll just be a dream.”

She just summed up the undercurrent in my chest. Every molecule in me wants to be with her, touching her, face in her hair. If I blink, I might miss this opportunity. I might wake up to find she was nothing but the false hope of an overworked mind.

It’s not true. Good things happen.

She’s one of them.

“I’m real,” I say finally. “I’ll show you just how real the minute I get back.”

She laughs again, with less tension. “You‘re at your house, right?”

“Yeah. Not sure what to take with me.”

“Well, please get the stuff I left there. My curling iron is in my bag, and I want it back.”

“Can do,” I say, heading to the bedroom.

The bed is unmade from when we fucked. I grab her bag and sling it over my shoulder. Deep down, part of me wants to walk out without anything. It would put a distinct line between my work and my real life, the one I’m just now beginning at thirty-six. I glance over the room, and my stomach sinks. I think I will just leave everything as it is. There’s nothing here that really belongs to me. Some of these things, like the brand new record player in the living room, I never touched or used.

I never had the time.

“Alright, baby,” I say. “I’ll call you before bed.”