Just like that.
No pressure.
No explanation.
No rescue from what he has left behind.
I stand there in Colby's jacket, wearing Colby's number, watching my daughter laugh with Colby's teammates.
Watching Colby glance over again, softer this time, like he is checking whether I am still there.
I am.
That's the problem.
I am there.
In his world.
In his jacket.
In a version of his life that should have nothing to do with me.
And for the first time, I wonder whether Colby forgot some of the rules long before I did.
Then he smiles at me through the glass, warm and unguarded and entirely too real.
And a much scarier thought follows.
Maybe he didn't forget them.
Maybe he stopped caring.
Chapter eight
Colby
Cabin Snowstorm
The first snowflake hits my windshield somewhere between Briar Cove and bad decisions.
The second arrives thirty seconds later.
The third arrives with reinforcements.
By the time I pull into the bakery parking lot, the sky looks like it's trying to bury the entire state.
Perfect.
I kill the engine and stare through the windshield.
The weather report promised a moderate storm.
The weather report is a liar.
Inside Sweet Seasons, the afternoon rush is winding down.
A few customers linger over coffee.
