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“What?”
“Thistime,” he emphasized. “The whole reason for this trip is to find a reason to leave. Permanently.”
An indigo glow bled through the gap in the curtains, reminding her of the ticking clock of sunrise. The lingering toothpaste flavor was suddenly chalk on her tongue. He wasn’t wrong.
This step should have been thrilling for her, finally moving forward after nearly a year of professional stasis. But it felt nothing like she’d anticipated it would. It felt like she was doingit for someone else—for another Rowan she barely recognized. Now, it felt like a fathomless void existed on the other side of her trusty escape hatch, and if she used it, she might tumble away into nothingness.
At the very least, she had to attend the interviews. Had to prove to herself that what she felt here with Harry was real, and not simply some whimsical artifact of being in the valley for so long. She was still a scientist, and scientists made decisions only after they had comprehensive data sets.
The last time she’d tried to listen only to her heart, it lied.
“I don’t know how to respond to that,” she said, pulling on her favorite cutoffs. They smelled like Harry’s laundry detergent—she hadn’t washed her own clothes in over a month.
“You don’t have to. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Harry palmed the back of his neck, working the muscle there. The tension in his body language was evident, but his tone was gentle. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to influence your decision.”
Rowan hesitated. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Harry echoed. He unfurled his long limbs over the edge of the bed and padded over to her. “Stay for breakfast. I’ll be quick. I won’t let you turn into a pumpkin.” He kissed her forehead and slid around her, nudging her out of the bathroom. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed the pocket door closed behind him.
She gnawed her lip and glanced at the window. Indigo had phased into deep blue, and the birds were singing in earnest now.
“Rowan.” Harry’s voice sounded muffled through the door, but firm. “Don’t go. Please.”
She exhaled hard and leaned into the wall beside the bathroom.
“Only once,” he said. A pause. “I promise I won’t ever ask again.”
She cracked an irrepressible grin at the ceiling and shookher head. The last time he’d said that—when he’d asked her to spend the night late in the spring—they hadn’t spent a single night apart since.
“I know that trick,” she said.
And again, she stayed.
GENTLE SOUNDS OFdomesticity filled the kitchen—clinks and clanks of dishes and silverware, Harry’s tuneless humming as he tended a sizzling pan of bacon on the stove top.
In the center of the table in the tiny breakfast nook, he’d filled an empty applesauce jar with wildflowers.
“You braved the meadow to pick flowers?”
“Don’t get too excited. I picked from the very, very edge.”
“When?”
“Around midnight. Couldn’t sleep. You were snoring,” Harry said.
“You went to the meadow in thedark?”
“I had a flashlight.” Harry shrugged. “I’ve learned to never go out on this property at night without one.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the joke landed before returning his attention to the stove.
“Cute,” she drawled. “I don’t snore.”
“You do snore. It’s adorable.”
She rolled her eyes and propped her chin in her hands. “The orb weavers in the meadow are still tiny this time of year, you know. Wee babies.”
“I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t matter. Even if they’re tiny, they’re still spiders.”
“What’s the story? Why are you so afraid of them?”
