Maybe I had the right idea all along, burying myself in books so I don’t have to feel all this. Some distance from Ryan might be good—I’ve started relying on him, and that’s never a good idea. I learned that with Mom. Now it’s happening again—I’m letting myself need someone, handing them the power to break my heart.

So I do what I’ve always done: pack up my emotions—confusion, hurt, abandonment—seal them in the farthest corner of my heart, and ice them over so they’ll never, ever thaw.

“When are you leaving?” I ask without looking back at Ryan.

“I was thinking I’d drive down tomorrow. Do you want to come with me? We could stay the night at a bed-and-breakfast—I’d love to get your opinion on everything.”

The thought of seeing him in some other bookstore makes my eyes flood with tears again. But I know this isn’t how he wanted things to turn out, and I never want to make him feel bad for trying to do what’s best.

So I blink away the tears and smooth my hair before turning around. Ryan’s sitting on the edge of the couch, watching me with a concerned expression.

“I don’t think so,” I say, “I have so much to do at the bookstore this weekend. I’m overwhelmed as it is.”

“I don’t have to go tomorrow; we can find another time—”

“No, you should go,” I say, and give him a smile that I hope looks genuine. Supportive. “You can call me and tell me all about it.”

He looks disappointed, but nods. “Yeah, of course. I understand.”

“I’m really excited for you,” I say. “Congrats on this new opportunity.”

If he catches the lie in my voice, he doesn’t let on. “Thanks. I wish…” He pauses, and I wait for him to say more: I wish our plan had worked; I don’t blame you; I don’t want to go. But instead, he clears his throat. “Thank you.”

“Can I help you pack?” I ask.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to spend time with you.” If he doesn’t let me stay a little longer, I really might start begging, and that would be a disaster.

His face softens. “Sure. I’d love that.”

—

Ten minutes later, we’re packing a duffel bag in his bedroom, a place I never even got the chance to spend time in. There’s a king-size bed with a blue comforter covered in an insane number of pillows—more than I’ve ever seen on a man’s bed, but it’s so Ryan. Big, comfortable, inviting. One entire wall is a bookcase, bulging with messy stacks and rows of paperbacks.