And I’ll keep kissing her, every day, for as long as she’ll let me.
Fourteen weeks go by faster than fourteen weeks have any right to.
The bear stops visiting the campground after the storm. We catch him on the ridge cameras a few times, eating berries and tearing apart an old stump. He runs at the sight of the people now, which is a very good thing.
Ollie continues calling him Doug—and so does half of Whispering Pines. Neely and I keep reminding everyone that it’s best not to name wild animals.
Neely’s book grows from four hundred words to sixty thousand. I don’t know much about romance novels, but I know the park ranger hero is handsome, capable, and incredibly good in bed.
The copyright page says any resemblance of characters to real people is coincidental… but I’m not buying it.
She spends Sundays with my family. Jonas starts saving a seat for her at dinner. Lia learns to say Nee before she says Tate.
Bev adds Neely’s favorite pie to the diner menu.
The Hendersons leave in August, but not before telling me they expect to receive a wedding invitation.
Neely hears them and nearly chokes on her coffee.
I don’t laugh, because I bought a ring three weeks earlier.
I keep it in the locked drawer beside my bed.
I don’t give it to her.
Not yet.
I promised I wouldn’t pressure her to stay, and I intend to keep that promise, even if it kills me.
On the last morning of her contract, I drive into Ponderosa Flats before sunrise.
Her awning is rolled in. The picnic table is cleared. The welcome signs are down, and every storage bay on the RV is closed.
She’s really leaving.
I knew she would. She never told me otherwise.
Still, seeing the rig packed and ready feels like a punch to the solar plexus.
Neely steps outside holding two mugs of coffee. She passes one to me without a word.
“Cream?” I ask.
She smiles. “Too much cream, same as mine. Just how you like it now.”
I never bothered with cream before I met Neely. I didn’t even know howdamn goodit made coffee taste. She’s sweetened my life in so many ways.
She leans against the side of the RV, and we watch the sun rise through the ponderosas.
“What time are you heading out?” I ask.
“Soon.”
One word. That’s all I get.
I nod and take a drink. Even with the copious amount of cream, all I taste is stomach acid in my mouth.
“I’ll check your tires before you go,” I manage to choke out, turning away from her.
