I push the door open, my hands full of presents for Rory and Tamsin. I got Rory chocolate and vintage CDs of the Irish music she likes, and Tamsin a princess dress and…what the feck?

Rory’s in the living room, stuffing her belongings into her handbag. Her suitcase appears to already be fully packed and standing at the door like an impatient mother, waiting. She has her phone pinned between her shoulder and ear as she struggles to fit her scarf into her purse—she’s always cold when she’s away from me; why can’t she understand that?—and she is growling into the phone.

“I don’t care what vehicle. You can send a freaking donkey, and I’ll ride it out of here.” Pause. “Yes, sir, I know that’s not the business you’re in. My point is, I just need to get the hell away from this place as soon as possible. Please. Honk when you arrive.”

She lets the phone drop to her hand and kills the call. She mumbles something incoherent about calling her mother and punches the screen when I clear my throat.

“Are we going on a honeymoon?” I ask, unloading my hands on the breakfast nook in front of her.

Stay cool. There might be a logical reason for her packing.

She looks up and scowls, like she wasn’t expecting me. Then she takes a step back, as if I’m going to strike her.

“You scared me.” She tugs the scarf out of her purse and throws it over her shoulders, getting ready to leave.

“Right now, I could say the same about you,” I hiss through gritted teeth, doing everything in my power not to launch at her.

I’m not stupid. I knew from the get-go this had a very low percent chance of ever working out.

Still.

Still.

You fall in love with a girl named after two Disney princesses, and you believe in the unbelievable, because…well, Disney and shit.

She folds her arms over her chest.

Uh-huh. This can only mean pissed-off Rory, and that can only mean run for shelter.

“What’s going on?” I round the nook toward her, but she raises one hand to stop me.

“I ran across someone interesting today.”

“You did?” I play along.

She nods.

I say nothing, because I have a bad feeling, and there’s something clogging my throat, probably the amount of confessions I should have spat out to her a long time ago.

She takes a step toward me. “Someone you know very well. A little girl called Tamsin. Ring a bell?”

My mouth goes dry. What can I say to this? That I refused to talk to her about Tamsin because I didn’t think I’d fall in love with her again? That I hadn’t realized I never fell out of love with her in the first place?