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He leans against the doorframe. "When are you coming back?"

The question hits me in a place Julian's couldn't. "Soon."

"How soon?"

"I don't know exactly."

He considers that. "Before the pumpkin gets rotten?"

I laugh. "Yes. Definitely before Goliath gets rotten."

"Good."

He turns to leave. "Noah?" He looks back. "Come here." He walks over, and I pull him into a hug. He tolerates it for approximately four seconds. Then he squirms. "I need my other sock."

"Obviously."

He leaves. I stare at the empty doorway. Three days. Maybe four. I repeat it until it sounds true.

My flight leaves at two ten. I could call Javier. I don't. Some things shouldn't be said while one person is packing and the other is standing somewhere wondering why your voice sounds strange. So after breakfast, I take my car and drive to the farm.

The Harvest Festival is gone. Not completely. A few hay bales remain stacked near the barn. One wooden sign leans against the equipment shed waiting to be put away. Goliath is still sitting proudly near the main building because Noah apparently convinced everyone the pumpkin deserves a retirement period. But the farm has returned to itself. Quiet work. Morning routines. The steady rhythm underneath everything.

I find Javier near the greenhouse. He's talking to Nate over an open toolbox. He looks up and smiles. It happens before he knows why I'm here. That almost undoes me.

"Maddy." Nate follows his gaze. "Morning."

"Morning." He gathers two wrenches and closes the toolbox. "I suddenly have somewhere else to be."

Javier looks at him. "You do?"

"Absolutely." Nate walks away. I watch him go.

"That was subtle."

"We're working on him."

Javier comes toward me. He kisses me. Easy. Familiar. Exactly the kind of kiss that has become ours without either of us noticing when it happened. When he pulls back, his hand stays at my waist. "You okay?"

I look at him. "I have to go to New York."

His hand stills. Not much. Enough. "When?"

"Today."

Something closes behind his eyes. "For how long?"

"A few days."

He takes his hand from my waist. Not dramatically. He just needs it somewhere else. "What happened?"

"The space next to the restaurant became available." He waits. "We've wanted it for almost two years. Someone else made an offer, and the landlord moved the deadline up."

"And you need to be there."

"Yes."

He nods. Once. I know that nod. It's the one that says he's already decided what he's allowed to feel.