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"I am."

"Good."

She looks down at our hands. Then back at me. "I don't want you to go."

My chest tightens. "I don't want to go."

"Then don't."

God. I touch her face. "I have to."

Her eyes fill, but she smiles anyway. "I know."

"I'll see you soon."

She holds my gaze. "I'll see you."

Something inside me aches at the missing word. Soon.

I open the door. "Goodnight, Maddy."

"Goodnight, Javier."

I step into the hallway. Then stop.

No. Not like this.

I turn back, step inside, and close the door. Maddy barely has time to look surprised before I reach her. I take her face in my hands and kiss her. Everything I came to New York to say is in that kiss. Every mile. Every night without her. Every time I've looked toward the road at the farm and imagined her coming down it. She rises onto her toes and holds on to me. For a few seconds, leaving doesn't exist. New York doesn't exist. Oakridge doesn't exist. There is only her.

When I finally pull away, her eyes are bright. So are mine. I rest my forehead against hers.

I know. She loves me. And God help me, I love her.

I kiss her forehead. Then her hand. This time, I make myself open the door. "Goodnight, Maddy."

Her voice is soft. "Goodnight, Javier."

I leave before I lose the argument with myself.

The elevator arrives. I step inside and lean back against the wall as the doors close. I came to New York prepared to tell Maddy everything. Instead, I saw her restaurant full. I watched her move through the life she built with confidence and joy. I saw how much of herself lives here. And tonight, I learned something else. She loves me. I know that now. And I love her.

That should make everything simple. It doesn't. She has a life here. A beautiful one she built with her own hands. I have the farm. Diego. Oakridge. Tonight wasn't the time to turn any of that into a question she had to answer.

Maybe tomorrow I'll wish I'd said more. Right now, all I know is that I came here to see her. I did. And for one night, almost three months disappeared.

The elevator reaches the lobby. I step into the city she loves.

Tomorrow, I'll go home. Tonight, I let myself be grateful I came.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Javier

Three weeks have passed since New York, and life in Oakridge has settled back into its familiar rhythm. The farm keeps moving. Diego calls more often now. Maddy and I talk when we can and text when we can't. She tells me about the restaurant, the new chef candidates she and Julian are interviewing, and a supplier who apparently believes basil should cost more than steak. I tell her about the farm. About Diego. About Atlas stealing one of Jack's gloves and burying it beside the greenhouse.

Neither of us talks about that last night in New York. We don't need to. I still feel it every time she says goodnight.

Jack finds me outside the equipment barn Monday morning, replacing a hinge on one of the storage doors. He picks up the level beside my boot and checks my work.