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“What the hell are you doing?”

She grimaces and peers down at her feet. “It was a dumb idea to wear them. Turns out the heels weren’t so lucky after all.”

“They got you here.”

“Yeah, I guess they did, but, oh, never mind.” She blows out a sigh and drops her head.

“Okay, I’ve had enough of standing by, watching you freeze.” I tuck one arm under her knees, the other across her back, and lift her the way I did earlier. She doesn’t stop me, doesn’t say a word, which is almost worse, and tucks her face against my neck. I feel her warm, unsteady breath as I carry her to my truck. I’ve got to stop pretending there’s any part of this I can do halfway.

I settle her in the passenger seat, buckle her belt, set the shoes on the floor, and keep my mouth shut as I close her door, climb in, and drive. While she stares out the window and Main Street slides past us with cheery lights, I tighten my grip on the wheel and seethe. I want to fix this so fucking badly I feel it in my veins. If I could only hit rewind on the entire planet, start this night over, and give it the ending she deserved.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she says softly.

“I’m not going to. My plan is to drive until you tell me to stop.”

“I’d really love to just go back to your place.”

A small smile creeps on my lips. I can’t help it. It makes me happy to know she’s comfortable in my no-frills little cabin. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”

“I keep doing this to myself,” she says, turning to the window. “Keep trying to change things for the better and only make them worse.”

“The pie was perfect. Trust me, you losing to Teddy Helmsley, and freakin’ Nell Tate, of all people, doesn’t change how talented you are.”

She doesn’t answer and I glance at her profile in the dark, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she blinks too fast. She isn’t crying, but this is worse. It feels like she’s deciding something I can’t follow, packing boxes, taking the train, flying back to Chicago. Maya. Finding a new place to live. Lila believes this is the end of the road. I know she does, and it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Almost home,” I say lightly. “I’ve got whiskey.”

It isn’t long before we’re pulling up to my cabin. I help her out and tell her not to bother putting her shoes back on, because I like carrying her. At least she smiled again, for a fraction of a second.

We hang our coats on the hooks by the door. When she disappears to change, I get the fire going, stacking logs in the hearth until the flames catch and begin to roar. By the time she returns, I’m pouring her a whiskey, and warmth is already starting to fill the room. The stove and the fireplace together are overkill, but she gets cold so easily.

“It’s pretty,” she says, pointing to the hearth. “I forgot you had it.” She sinks into the sofa with a sigh, picks up her drink, and leans against my shoulder as we stare at the flames in silence.

Deep in thought, she wraps both palms around her glass but doesn’t take a sip. “I want you to know I don’t blame you for my loss,” she finally acknowledges how badly I blew it. “I know you really tried.”

“It’s not over for you.” My voice comes out rougher than the whiskey. “Not even close. You’re thirty-two. We’ve got time, Lila. Mountains’ll still be here when you’re ready to climb them.”

Silently she stares at the flickering flames and I take the glass from her and set it on the coffee table. Then I grab all the couch cushions, except the one she’s sitting on, and lay them out with a blanket in front of the fire.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m trying to find something.” I come back to her, pull her off the couch and tug her down on the cushions with me.

Her eyes are a dark sapphire tonight. “Well?” she blinks. “What are you looking for?”

I inch closer and cup her cheeks in my hands. “You,” I say against her lips. “Where are you?”

Her eyes light up.

“I see someone here wearing her cream sweater,” I say, gliding my hand down, over the fuzzy fabric covering her arm. “It sure feels like her, but I can’t be sure. Where’s my curvy, spicy, beautiful, brilliant Lila Harlow?”

She grins as her cheeks flush. “You should probably kiss her to check.”

“What an excellent idea.” I softly brush a kiss against her lips. “Hmm. Still not sure. Where’s my …” I kiss her again, longer, savoring her. “Definitely familiar,” I chuckle. “Sure setting off a lot of bells … but …”

“Maybe this will help.” She grabs the hem of her sweater with a mischievous glint in her eyes and pulls it up and over her head.

“There she is, and fuck, she’s even more gorgeous than I remember.” Her nipples are hard under that lacy bra and I can’t turn away. “Keep going,” I whisper in what’s left of my voice.