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"Aunt Maddy!"

Hart turns just in time to catch him.

"Hey, you."

He starts talking immediately. Something about school, a science project, and someone named Tyler who apparently committed an unforgivable offense involving a glue stick.

Hart listens to every word. When his backpack slips from his shoulder, she takes it and puts it over hers without interrupting him. She doesn't seem to notice she's done it. I do.

I've been noticing things like that lately. The way she checks whether he ate. The way her hand settles naturally at the back of his head when he hugs her. How she knows when he's tired before he admits it.

She keeps saying she doesn't know what she's doing. Maybe she doesn't. Doesn't seem to matter. She's doing it anyway.

Helen waves from beside the truck. Hart waves back and takes Noah's hand. They start toward the parking area.

"Hart."

She stops. Turns. Noah is still talking beside her, but her eyes find mine. And suddenly I'm back in that storage room with almost no space between us.

"See you Thursday?"

I know she's coming Thursday. She knows I know. That's not why I'm asking.

Something shifts in her expression.

"Thursday."

Neither of us looks away. Noah tugs gently on her hand.

"Come on, Aunt Maddy."

She glances down at him. Then back at me. And for one irrational second, I think she doesn't want to leave. The worst part is, I don't want her to.

"See you, Martinez."

"See you, Hart."

She walks toward Helen's truck with Noah. I watch her. There's no point pretending I don't anymore.

She helps Noah inside, then reaches for the passenger door. Before she gets in, she looks back. Straight at me. I'm still standing where she left me. For a few seconds, neither of us moves. Then Helen starts the truck. Hart climbs inside. I watch until they pull onto the road and disappear behind the trees.

A few weeks ago, Hart was someone I expected to leave. Somewhere along the way, I started expecting her to come back.

Thursday shouldn't feel that far away.

It does.

Chapter Nine

Javier

Thursday arrives slower than it should. I don't examine that too closely.

By ten thirty, Hart has been at the farm for almost an hour. I know because I saw her come through the gate. Not because I was waiting. I was checking the east field. The gate happens to be visible from the east field. That's all.

She spotted me before she reached the barn. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then she smiled. I smiled back. And Tuesday afternoon came rushing back with enough clarity to make concentrating difficult.

A narrow storage room. Her eyes on my mouth. Her breath against mine. Less than an inch.