He pours a cup as I take a seat at one of the stools tucked under the kitchen island, and when he hands it to me, our fingers brush. The contact sends electricity skittering up my arm, and before I can say anything, he moves around the edge of the counter and kisses me. An unhurried good morning kiss, and it feels so natural that my breath catches.
“You were up and out of here early,” I say when he pulls back.
“Had to leave to keep myself from knocking on your bedroom door.”
I take a sip of coffee to hide my reaction. “I would have thought you’d gotten your fill last night.”
Those gray eyes flame with heat and tenderness and something deeper that I’m too flustered to name. “I’m not sure that’s possible,” he says quietly.
I open my mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a befuddled squeak.
He grins, then leans against the counter. “You’re going to see Kristen this morning?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Do you want backup? I could come with you, wait in the car.”
I do want that. I want it so much it scares me. The comfort ofknowing he’d be there and not having to face this part of the journey alone. But that’s why I need to say no.
“It’s something I have to do on my own,” I tell him. “This whole trip is supposed to be about proving I can handle things by myself. If I bring reinforcements to the final boss battle, it kind of defeats the purpose.”
He nods slowly, and I can see him accepting my decision even if he doesn’t love it. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
The words shouldn’t mean as much as they do. I shouldn’t let myself start relying on him. But I can’t help myself.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it for more than just today.
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. “Go get your closure, Sunshine. Then come back to me.”
I don’t let myself think about how much I want that to mean something more than it does. I just nod, finish my coffee, and go upstairs to get ready to face the woman who was supposed to change my life. Even though I’m starting to suspect that the real change has been happening somewhere else entirely.
24
SLOANE
The Cedarcastle WellnessRetreat is the kind of place a woman goes to convince the internet she’s found inner peace. The main building is the lodge of dreams, all reclaimed timber and stone facade—massive, but trying to be casual about it. The landscaping is immaculate, not a pine needle out of place. Nothing like the worn charm of the Montana cabin, which felt so perfect I never wanted to leave.
Turning the dusty low-end rental to the valet area, past shiny SUVs and luxury sedans, I do my level best to ignore the pit in my stomach that says I don’t belong here. They’re cars, not a cadre of high school mean girls.
I could leave. Drive out of here right now and beeline back to the rental house. Tell Jensen I changed my mind. That tracking down Kristen Quinn was a nice idea that didn’t pan out. I should listen to my gut and go home to my friends in Skylark with a good story and no closure.
Seriously, though? I mentally smack myself. I made it through multiple rounds of chemo, but can’t handle walking into a bougie resort to finally meet the woman who means—meant?—the world tome? Not today, Satan.
I make a deal with myself as the valet takes my keys. I’m going to walk in, give the front desk my name, and ask to see Kristen. If she refuses, the universe has spoken. I’ll leave with whatever dignity I have left.
If she says yes, I’ll know this was supposed to happen.
Either way, I stop wondering.
The massive front doors open to soaring ceilings crossed with dark wooden beams and an entire wall of windows facing the lake. The lobby smells like eucalyptus and the few guests milling about look performatively relaxed with their designer hoodies, matching leggings, and glossy ponytails. Nobody’s sunburned or dusty. And I doubt any of them ate almost an entire bag of Twizzlers for lunch the previous day.
The woman behind the reception desk looks up with a smile so serene it borders on creepy. “Can I help you?” she asks in a hushed tone, like we’re in church.
“I’m hoping to see one of your guests. Kristen Quinn?” I keep my voice casual, like this is a totally normal thing to do and not the culmination of a borderline obsession that started in a sterile exam room. “I’m?—”
I pause, because how do I explain what brought me here?I read her book during cancer treatment, and it meant enough to me that I almost got a tattoo but I’ve been poked with needles too many times so decided backpacking into the Montana wilderness to find her felt more manageable. Only she wasn’t there, so I drove fifteen hours to Tahoe instead of going home like a reasonable person.
“I own a bookstore in Colorado,” I say. “Since we’re both here, I was hoping for a few minutes of her time.”
