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And while I was getting cautious, Noble was getting reckless. Being aware of how short life is made him want to experience everything in high definition. He chased the high that only danger could bring and followed it right out of town, onto the backs of some of the wildest bulls in the country.

And it highlighted exactly how different he and I are.

Back then, I begged him to stop all the risky things he was doing. Told him if he didn’t, he was going to end up injured, or in jail, or worse.

What I didn’t tell him was the truth—that I couldn’t lose him too. I wouldn’t recover.

I couldn’t get through to him, never got the chance to tell him, and I ended up losing him anyway. The only difference was, Noble chose to leave.

Hunter didn’t.

I’m not sure which of those two things hurts more, but I can sure as sugar say which one hurts more right now.

Chapter Six

Hattie

Iwonder if anyone has experienced what I’m experiencing right now.

Fight and flight.

I want to stay and speak my mind, but at the same time, I want to go be alone.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he says, moving into the space next to me, so close our shoulders almost touch. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I look at him and shake my head. “No, it’s fine. Really. I’m just—” I pull a face and look away, shaking off the memories, clinging to the reminder that I can’t trust him to stay. “It’s all good.”

Noble clears his throat, then moves over to the row of Adirondack chairs facing the lake and sits.

“I feel like I need to sit to hear the rest of the story,” he says. “About how all of this—” he motions to the lodge, the yard, the patio— “came to be.”

You want to hear the rest of the story? Join the club, pal. I’ve got questions.

Why didn’t you show up when you said you would? Why did you leave the way you did? Why didn’t you say goodbye?

And the worst one: Did I mean anything to you at all?

I’m not sure how to square that last one. Noble didn’t know how I really felt about him. It’s unfair to make those feelings part of my wound. It’s not like he left me standing at the altar. He just walked out on a friendship that meant more to me than it should have.

I shake the thoughts away and fix my be nice, but not too nice resolve firmly in place. I sit down in the chair beside him, smiling at the memory. “It was last summer over the Fourth of July.”

“Ooh, Fourth of July in Silverwood . . .” He sits, shaking his head like he’s remembering. “Nothing like it.”

“There really isn’t.”

He leans back in the chair. “Does Miss Betty still make her famous huckleberry pie?”

“Every year,” I say.

“I’d kill for some huckleberry pie right now.”

“Tell Rowena. She swears she’s perfected Miss Betty’s recipe.” I laugh. “She’s close, but I still think there’s something missing. Age, maybe. A grandma’s pie will always taste better than a young person’s pie. It’s a scientific fact.”

He chuckles at that.

“Miss Betty is having a blast letting her try and figure it out, but really, I think she just likes to eat all the pie without having to be the one doing the work for a change.”

“Smart lady.” I can hear his smile without looking at him.