He nods, facing the fire, nods as if his head is too heavy for his neck.

“And I assume the other letter and the book were in the lockbox?”

“Yeah.”

I read the second letter.

I wrote it for you. And for Nadia…it’s about moving on. About finding love after loss…

You’re here for her.

Don’t show it to her. Not yet. She’s not ready.

I’m not crying, but my eyes sting, feel damp and salty. My throat burns, feels tight, constricted. I float across the floor to the large easy chair by the fire, sit, and start reading on page one.

Nathan just stands by the fire, staring into the flames. Waiting.

By the end of the first chapter, I understand. “He set us up.”

Nathan just nods heavily again.

“You knew.”

Another nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is tight, hard, sharp.

He turns, a hurt, confused, angry frown on his face. “What was I supposed to say? When am I supposed to bring that information out, Nadia? First day we meet, I say, ‘oh, by the way, I knew your dead husband. He gave me a secret book about you, and he wants us to…’” he trails off, shaking his head.

“Wants us to fall for each other,” I finish for him. “But all this time, he was feeding you information about me, in this.” I shake the book. “It explains so much. How you knew about Josh wine, and my thing for champagne, and chicken parmesan, and…how I can’t make my own fucking coffee. He’s showing you how to make me fall for you.” I stand up, and I don’t know if I’m more angry or confused. “And you know the craziest fucking part? It was totally working.”

I walk out. Leave his door open, and the book upside down on the chair, still open.

It’s drizzling. I don’t care. I’m heading for my cabin, and then Nathan is in front of me.

“Nadia, wait.” His hands are on my arms, gentle but so strong. “Please, wait.”

“Is this part in the book, Nathan?” I stare up at him; raindrops freckle his cheeks, bead in his eyelashes, on his beard. “Is this part of the…the script?”

“No.” He sighs. “We’re off-book, now, as they say in show business.”

“I think that means something different. Like, you’ve memorized your lines to the point that you can extemporize, improvise, just play the role without having to think about the lines you’re supposed to say.”

“Right.”

“So are we off-book?” I pull out of his hands. “What’s my line, here, Nathan?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.”