The coffee shop—Twilight Latte—is on the corner opposite the diner. I pass it every time I come into town, but I’ve never gone in. Which is why it comes as a surprise that the Twilight in Twilight Latte is a reference to the movie phenomenon, not the time of day. There’s no room for doubt when we push through the door. For a start, music I recognize from the movies is playing in the background. The barista is sporting fangs, and there’s a life-size cutout of Robert Pattinson by the cash register. It distracts me from the fact I’m about to have coffee with Frank.

“This place is weird,” he says from beside me.

“It’s my first time in here.” It is weird. But I can’t help being kinda charmed by it. Nothing but respect for sticking to a theme.

We order our drinks—I insist on paying—and head to one of the smaller tables near the window. Pine trees have been painted around the edges, not to reflect our beautiful surroundings, but to mimic the backdrop of Forks, Washington—the setting of Twilight. This town is wild. And I love it.

I tamp down my smile and turn to Frank. “I don’t want you to think I didn’t want to marry you because I don’t like you.”

He lets out a rueful huff as if to say, Then why didn’t you marry me?

“I thought that maybe we could move?” he suggests. “To a bigger house. Maybe one of your sisters could come stay with us.” The hope in his expression kills me.

I upended this man’s future and bruised his heart. He didn’t deserve that. And even if he wasn’t my choice, I should have had the strength to walk away before he got hurt. Why wasn’t I stronger? Why didn’t I stand up to my mother? I still haven’t. I’m still running from her.

“You’re a really good man, Frank.”

He rolls his eyes. “So you keep saying. But what can I do? Just tell me. I’m not a man who’s good at the… romantic stuff. But tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

I shake my head. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Are you sure?” he says, his tone urgent.

Images of Byron fill my mind. Him grinning on the porch holding his hot chocolate. Him sitting across from me in the diner. Him holding Athena’s cat carrier as he came out of the vet’s office, even though he said he hated cats. Him over me. Under me. At my feet, between my thighs.

I chose Byron.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I’m not the right woman for you.”