He swallowed thickly. He was so tempted to tell her the truth that only Casey knew. “Why would you assume that?”

“I could be wrong, but your fiancée died a little more than a year ago. And you go see a therapist who specializes in intimacy. I don’t think it takes a rocket scientist to figure out that’s why your sister sent you to see me. To help you move on, right?”

“Yes,” he said, and he clamped his lips shut so he wouldn’t reveal the truth out loud. That he didn’t need to move on in the way everyone thought. That he wasn’t some poor widower. Yeah, he had commitment issues a mile long, but not because of what everyone thought about how things ended with Aubrey. Not because she died. But because of what he’d said before. Because of how it was all his fault.

He winced as the memories assaulted him.

High school sweethearts in Denver, Colorado where he grew up, Jack Sullivan and Aubrey Sheen were one of those couples. The couple everyone thought would be together forever. He was the school’s star shortstop; she was captain of the ski team and an Olympic hopeful. It was first love. It was true love. It was as real as it could possibly be. She was bright and beautiful, ambitious and determined. They laughed together; they had fun together; they were going to be together always. But then they drifted apart, attending colleges with many miles between them, and the inevitable split set in. There were plenty of tears shed, but plenty unshed too. She was focused on her Olympic dreams; he was focused on school, and then on his time in the service.

Years later, when he returned from Germany and started Joy Delivered, they found themselves near each other again. With Aubrey living and working in New York, they reunited.

At first, it felt natural to be back with her. They fit. They made sense. On paper, they should have worked, and so he proposed. But at some point after that, one thing became painfully clear to him. He was living in the past with her. He wasn’t the same person he had been when he was younger. She wasn’t either. But their love had been borne of that time in their lives—young love. He’d mistaken that for forever love.

He hadn’t realized that when he proposed. When he’d gotten down on one knee, he was sure it would be forever. But once the planning started, the sense that something was amiss kept tugging at him. Finally, he woke up one morning to the stark realization that he was about to walk down the aisle and say I do to a woman he cared deeply for. To a woman he admired. To a friend.

He was no longer in love with her. Marrying her would have been a mistake. Maybe it made him a jerk; maybe it made him an asshole. He was willing to be the punching bag for all those terms of un-endearment. Better to break it off before the wedding than after. Better to cause the hurt before they took those steps.