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They should be for how expensive it is, but while I’m normally frugal and have a hard time spending money, I know this is where Noah and I need to be. Even if he looks like a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

The driver brings around his suitcase, and Noah clenches his jaw, beard freshly trimmed and back to its former state of perfection.

“Thanks,” he manages, pulling out his wallet to hand the man a tip.

“Thank you, sir,” he replies. “Have a nice time.”

Noah bobs his head. “You’ll be picking us up next week on Sunday morning?”

My stomach flips when I realize he’s already thinking about leaving and we haven’t even checked in. The hope that had rekindled after our conversation yesterday in the kitchen dwindles. Not that it hadn’t already.

Noah woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. I think it’s partially because of the intake forms we were asked to complete. We’d spent time filling them out at the kitchen table together last night, and after that, his mood plummeted. I’ll admit, some of the questions were deep, but some weren’t. Most of them asked what we hoped to get out of the retreat. I gave him grace because, not unlike me, Noah isn’t great at talking about his feelings. I did spring this retreat on him as well.

So I took it as a win that he did the forms and still got on the plane this morning, even if he spent a lot of the flight and the subsequent drive here mumbling about the desert being his least favorite place. I’ll admit, I hadn’t thought much about the location when I booked it, only that, in my heart, I knew this was where we had to come. It was either this or…

I shake myself to avoid the pit that thought will lead me down, clinging to the smidge of remaining hope I find in the corner of my heart. Like I said, he still came, even if he’s acting like a kid on the verge of a temper tantrum. Hopefully, that will change when he sees our room. Maybe I can convince him to take a dip in our bungalow’s private plunge pool.

“Yes, sir,” the driver replies to Noah’s question. “Me or another one of our team will be here a week from tomorrow. Call anytime if you need a pickup.” The man holds out a business card, and I take it before Noah can. It’s not like he can’t get on the internet and find the number, but I’m going to take away the immediate temptation.

“Thanks,” I say. “Have a safe drive back.”

He smiles. “Thank you, ma’am.”

I almost cringe when he calls me ma’am—it’s not like twenty-eight is very old—but I manage a smile. He walks off and gets in his town car before Noah turns to face me. His aviator sunglasses are hooked over the collar of his white T-shirt, the bright sun overhead bouncing off the fabric and highlighting his auburn hair and pinkened skin.

The driver starts his car, and the notes of a familiar pop song reach our ears through the cracked-open window as he drives away. A shiver works its way up my spine, and Noah’s eyes lock with mine as warm wind picks up around us.

Neither of us move, and for a moment, I’m transported back to when our eyes met across the university quad for the first time ever, this very song playing from a student club’s booth.

I’ve always said the moment was out of an early 2000s romcom. The world stilled, and without my brain telling them to, my feet were carrying me to him until we stood in front of each other awkwardly like we’re doing now. We were two people who didn’t know each other, but their souls felt like they did. Two people who didn’t know what to say except for “Hi.”

The greeting slips from our lips at the same time in present day, and Noah’s grimace falters. His hazel eyes soften, and if I wasn’t staring directly at him, I’d have missed the twitch of his lip in an attempt at a smile.

“Welcome!”

We jump in surprise at the cheery feminine voice. Noah’s almost smile drops away, and his gaze flicks behind us. I turn to find one of the most stunning women I’ve ever seen. She has auburn hair similar to my husband’s, tumbling down her back in waves. With every step toward us, I hear jingling sounds like wind chimes.

My gaze slides down her slim body encased in a flowing rose-pink summer dress to tons of bangles on her wrists and multiple long necklaces with different gemstones around her neck. She looks like the dictionary definition of a new age spiritual worker.

“You must be Quinn.” She smiles brightly.

“How did you guess?”

“You’re the last couple to arrive. I’m Hazel. Are you a hugger?”

Normally, I would say no—I only like being hugged by people I’m close with—but her energy immediately calms me.

“Sure.”

Hazel wraps me in her arms, the woody and floral scent of incense filling my nose. “I’m so happy you’re here with us.”

She squeezes me again before pulling away and turning her attention to Noah. She smiles at him, but he doesn’t smile back, something I make a note of to talk to him about later. Just because he isn’t exactly happy to be here doesn’t mean he gets to be rude.

“This is Noah,” I say. “My husband.”

“Noah,” she repeats, holding out her hand. She didn’t even ask him about a hug, probably because he’s shooting lasers from his eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Noah doesn’t respond in kind, but thankfully, he does hold out his hand. The shake is brief, and once it’s over, Hazel steps back to take us both in.