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“I know exactly what you were going to ask.”

“I was going to ask if you were excited to be back in Winterberry.”

“Of course you were.”

I keep my smile to myself. When we met this morning for an early breakfast before our flight, it was clear Stone and Nikko hadn’t been back at the hotel for long.

“What’s his name? August, right? You must be excited to see him. I mean, the band. Not Aaaugie…”

“I hate you.”

Bastian snorts from the front seat.

“Guys.” Nikko is trying to sound casual, but it’s not working. “My interest in Augie is purely professional. He’s super talented, and the band has good songs. Besides, unlike you old farts, I’m not ready to retire, so I’m exploring new things.”

“For someone with a professional interest in a band, you sure mention the lead singer a lot. Do you even remember the name of the other guys?” Stone asks.

Nikko turns his whole head to stare at Stone. “Fuck you.” And then he turns back. “Bastian, drive faster.”

“I’m going the speed limit, Nikko.”

“Drive faster or drive us into a ditch.”

I let them argue.

Outside the window, the road cuts through white fields that stretch out to the tree line. There’s a farm in the distance with smoke coming from the chimney.

I’ve always liked coming to Vermont in winter. The other guys always complain about the cold and the dark and the way the sun sets at four p.m., but there’s something quiet about a Vermont December. The snow softens everything, like the world is holding its breath.

My mind wanders to last night.

I picture a house somewhere in Winterberry, close enough to the Chamber office that Griffin could still walk to work. I’d like a porch and a yard big enough for a dog, maybe two. I’ve never thought of myself as a dog person, but this is my dream life, so I think I’m allowed to wish.

We’d have a few guestrooms because one would be permanently Nikko’s, and I’d love to have Nina, Pete, and Ari visit, and also my parents.

I picture a kitchen where Finn and I cook together, a living room large enough for a big Christmas tree every year.

A huge couch where I’d read to Finn from his favorite romance novels while he rests with his back to my front and his head resting on my shoulder.

I picture an ordinary life.

Twenty-five years of sold-out stadiums, music awards, documentaries about my life, and it turns out that ordinary is the thing I’ve been quietly starving for.

“Fox.”

I blink and turn my head.

“What?”

Nikko has turned around in his seat and is watching me with an amused expression.

“Looking forward to getting back to Winterberry?”

I don’t say anything, just smile, and he gives me a small wink.

Stone launches into a story about a woman he met at the club, who apparently knew every word to “Hollow Ground.” Nikko joins in with his own version of the story, but I tune them out.

The rental van pulls into the farmhouse driveway just before noon.