I mutter something that sounds like thanks, then turn on my heel so fast I almost slip on the wet pavement. My power walk quickly transforms into a jog. My stomach churns and my lungs riot as I push harder to get back to the car. But running is futile. Getting in the car is pointless. Jake would never forgive me if I barfed in his Tesla.

I drop to my knees near a bank of bushes and let loose. I sob as my stomach convulses. I expel every pent-up emotion, and even then, my heart still tries to escape with the purge.

“Fuck, Little Wheeler,” Fielding bemoans as he drops to his knees beside me. “Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

I shoot up like a shot, then shove him as hard as I can.

“No, you asshole. Girls can puke and not be pregnant! I’m literally on my period right now!”

“Well that explains your charming demeanor,” he quips. “I wasn’t trying to offend you. I was just checking. The last thing we need right now is a little Fielding or Dempsey running around.”

He may be an asshole, but he has the decency to hold back my hair as another surge of vomit releases from my body.

“He’s gonna be so pissed he missed you,” he mutters as he rubs my back.

Eventually, I calm my stomach and catch my breath, then Fielding helps me to my feet. The rain has slowed to a drizzle. Slow, sad tears from the sky that match my mood.

“Where is he?” I dare ask as Fielding ushers me back to the porch. He guides me over to a set of rocking chairs on one end, then settles into his before answering.

“He’s in California,” he finally declares.

“He’s where?” I practically scream. He could have led with that, and he knows it.

“He’s visiting some buddies from college who live in the Bay Area and following up on a few leads at some start-ups he might want to invest in. I guess he’s out there looking for his next move. But between you and me”—he leans in close, searing me with his lagoon-blue eyes that make me miss Dempsey even more—”I think he went out there for you.”

For the first time in five weeks, hope blossoms inside me.

I hear the familiar tune of a FaceTime call before I realize Fielding’s even got his phone in his hand. I quickly try to smooth down my hair and wipe the mascara out from under my eyes, but what’s the point? I’ll be crying again in a minute, regardless of which way this call goes.

“Look what just showed up at the house,” Fielding sing-songs into the phone before pointing the camera at me.