I pulled the journal I used during my Eva Rustanov embed out of my suitcase and walked over to the desk to sit down. Maybe I could get my notes typed up while I waited Josh out.

But nope, I couldn’t concentrate….for several reasons. Thwunk!… Thwunk!… Thwunk!

A half-hour later, I hadn’t typed a single word. And a new realization hit me when I stood up to find the snow whirling down even harder than before outside the road-facing window. This wasn’t just a passing snowstorm. It was an incoming blizzard.

Thwunk!…Thwunk!…Thwunk!

I turned my head toward the back door. How was Josh still out there chopping wood?

He’d said we weren’t a match. Shouldn’t he be getting back to his real life? With Shelby?

Before I could stop it, that betrayed feeling sliced across my chest again.

Okay, that was it. I walked out the back door, determined to send Josh on his way. I needed him out of my life, out of my mind, out of my heart.

But, oh my goodness! The snow almost entirely obscured the view of the river. But there Josh stood, swinging the ax, again and again, to take off chunks of the fallen tree closest to the cabin.

Was Josh a machine? That would explain a lot, actually (Sorry, Mom!).

Pulling my coat tighter around me, I dipped my head against the snowy cold and walked over to him.

I stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge me. He’d been out here so long that a layer of snow covered his wingtips. But the Congressman version of Paul Bunyan kept on swinging without looking up.

I glanced at the pile of wood he’d accumulated beside his feet. It stood nearly as tall as his waist. “That’s way more wood than I need for tonight—maybe for the whole twelve days I’m here.”

No answer. Thwunk! Thwunk!

“I can start bringing it inside. Do you mind stopping so that I can pick a few logs up without, you know, getting an arm chopped off?”

More thwunks and zero words.

“Can you hear me?” I shouted over the howling wind. “I said—”

“I heard you.” Josh’s face was stony and grim as he kept on chopping. “I’ll bring the wood inside when I’m done. Then I’ll get on the road.”

Okay, what was going on here?

The old worry nipped at me. I’d always suspected Josh was more affected by what happened during his time serving than he let on to the media. That was why I’d fantasized about bringing him here—a place where he could stop for a while and figure things out.

But that had been a silly dream. One I’d held onto way too long.