Blessedly, we pull into his driveway and Delia parks. I don’t say anything because I won’t give this conversation another second of my time. I’m not sleeping. I’m fully awake and aware of the truth. This isn’t a fairy tale, and the happy ending isn’t coming my way.

I look at the log cabin in front of me and try not to think about how I’m going into his home. It’s two floors with huge windows and a wraparound porch on the front. There’s a black tin roof, which I imagine makes rainy nights sound like a lullaby. On the front door, there are three white papers with drawings on them, obviously Amelia’s handiwork.

I make my way closer with my heart in my throat because this is their life and I’m walking into it.

Amelia, having the attention span of a four-year-old, rushes to the door, busy telling Delia about her dance class. “And then Mrs. Butler said I have to move my right foot to be in second position, but I don’t like it. Fourth is my favorite, so I wanted to stay there.”

Delia and I did ballet for years, which is how we became best friends. We both sucked—horribly.

“You should tell her that you want to wear a purple leotard.”

“Are you trying to get her thrown out?” I ask.

“I’m hoping maybe I can drive Mrs. Butler to finally retire.”

I roll my eyes, find the spare key where Grayson told me it would be, and open the door. “You wear your pink tights and black leotard and don’t listen to a word Delia says.”

Amelia shrugs and rushes off to what I assume is her room. I take a second and look around. This is his home, where he’s raising a little girl on his own.

The house is exactly like what we always dreamed of when we looked out at the mountains. It’s a beautiful log cabin with a lot of open space and a huge loft on the second floor. The back wall, though, it’s—incredible. Floor-to-ceiling windows that give you the perfect view of the mountains. Why the hell he came out to our spot I’ll never understand. Here, standing in the middle of the room, I can see the same view.

Over to the right is the town that is the only light we can see from the lookout. And then, to the left is the mountain peak that looks like a pencil.

I feel the air leave my lungs in a rush.

“It’s one hell of a view.” Delia stands beside me.

There are tears forming in my eyes, the moisture threatening to spill over, and I turn so no one will see. He bought a house on the same side of the mountain, looking out at the view we always loved.