Rosey’s nibbling her bottom lip. Athena’s missing. As soon as we opened the doors of the shelter, the cat bolted like she’d been freed from jail. I slide my hand onto Rosey’s thigh, wanting to reassure her. “I bet she finds her way back by the time we’re home. There’s not as much damage as there would have been if a tornado struck. She’ll be okay.”

I glance over at Rosey and wonder what happens now. Last night felt so seismic between us, like things have shifted completed. But maybe that’s not how Rosey sees it. All the reasons why neither one of us wanted to get involved in the first place still exist. The storm didn’t take them with it as it passed through Star Falls. Does that mean there’s no way forward, or did last night make all the concerns lighter somehow—like they’re no longer bold and underlined?

I still need to focus on the Colorado Club. I still don’t want the town gossiping about me and the runaway bride.

At the same time, I don’t want to give up Rosey.

Does she feel the same?

I don’t have an answer to any of it, and I shouldn’t even be thinking about it, given the enormity of the issues I might be facing when we arrive up the mountain.

“Cats don’t like the rain,” Rosey says. “Where could she have gone?”

“She’s probably found herself a tree to climb up,” I reassure her. I feel like an idiot for obsessing over what happens next for me and Rosey when that’s the last thing on her mind. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Maybe,” she says.

I’d offer to buy her a new cat if I thought that would help. It’s probably insensitive. I’m just not a cat person.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“I’ll figure out the extent of the problems at the Club soon enough. And we’ll find Athena. I promise. Anything else… we can work out,” I say obtusely, giving her room to say something about what happened between us last night and what might happen in the future.

She meets my gaze, nods, and gives me a small smile.

We can figure this out, I think, hoping she hears me somehow.

The road is passable so far, but the wind has taken its toll. Trees are down either side of the road.

“What’s that?” Rosey asks, gripping my arm.

Ahead there’s something blocking the road. I slow the truck to a stop. “Looks like an old oil drum.” I could drive around it, but I don’t want another vehicle to come along this road and run into it if they’re not paying attention. I put the car in park and grab my gloves from the door pocket.