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Laney’s expression softened into something sad but certain.

If things didn’t work out, I wasn’t sure I’d survive the heartbreak. It was easier to protect myself now than to risk losing everything later.

“Then I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces,” she said, reaching across the desk to cover my hand with hers. “You’ve sacrificed so much to build this business, to create the life you’ve always wanted. And you did it. You made your dream a reality. But now…” Her fingers squeezed mine. “Now it’s time to let yourself love.”

Her words settled over me, sinking into the cracks I’d tried so hard to seal shut.

My mind was in chaos. One second, I was ready to book the next flight to Montana. The next, I was convincing myself to stay put.

I didn’t know what to do.

For the first time, I didn’t have the answer. And that scared the shit out of me.

“I’ll think about it,” I muttered, slipping my hands from hers and slinging my purse over my shoulder.

Laney nodded, stepping forward and opening her arms. I welcomed the embrace, sinking into the warmth of my best friend.

When she pulled away, she held me at arm’s length, her eyes full of quiet conviction.

“It will work out,” she said.

I wanted to believe her…

FINALLY HOME AND able to unwind, I cradled a glass of bourbon in one hand, wrapped in the soft fabric of my plush bathrobe. The low hum of country music played in the background—a genre I never cared for before but had somehow grown to love after my time out west.

It reminded me of the open landscapes, the endless skies, the quiet beauty of it all.

But mostly, it reminded me of him.

Whether this was a healthy coping mechanism, I didn’t know. Maybe I was doing more harm than good, but for now, it was the only thing that filled the hollow ache inside me.

A sharp buzz from the intercom broke through my thoughts. Someone was downstairs.

With a sigh, I walked over to the speaker and pressed the button.

“Hello?”

“Hi. I have a delivery for Miss Stewartt,” a man’s voice echoed through.

I frowned. “Okay. You can leave it on the elevator and send it up.”

I rarely let delivery men past the elevator. Over time, they had learned the drill.

Placing my glass on the end table, I walked toward the elevator, watching as the indicator light counted up. I wasn’t expecting a package. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

A large, flat box sat in the center.

My brows knitted together as I dragged it into my apartment, leaning it against the back of the couch. It was heavier than it looked. Scissors in hand, I cut through the straps, pried open the cardboard, and pulled the sides apart.

The moment I saw what was inside, my breath caught.

My hand flew to my mouth as a wave of emotion crashed over me.

It was the painting from the gala.

The one I had stared at for far too long. The one Colton had stood beside me and watched me admire.