When I moved out of the apartment I’d shared with my ex-fiancé into McIntyre’s place in nearby Watertown, she made a point of telling me she wouldn’t push it. Talk when you’re ready, she’d said, just as she had in July when, brand-new to the job, I’d opted not to tell my closest colleague about my variegated past. She hadn’t forced me to share my secret pain with anyone. This was more of the same.

The chin-up routine Mac kept rehashing had to do with my ex, and the betrayal I endured by his hand. Despite her intuition, though, Carson Gates was the last thing on my mind. The thin line on my fourth finger, left behind by my engagement ring, was proof I’d once loved him. Soon that would be gone.

No, Carson wasn’t the reason why—as McIntyre dove into a story about the couple who spent an hour in her office arguing the innocence of the four Watertown officials accused of misconduct—I couldn’t stop sizing up every man in the room. That one with the wife and kids is too short, but his gaze cut to me twice after he sat down, and his voice when he ordered sounded tight for a Saturday morning. The guy who just walked in with his girlfriend is the right height and build, but the features are off. My eyes lingered on the stranger’s face anyway. With a prosthetic nose and some liquid latex, available online for less than twenty bucks, it would be a convincing disguise.

Beyond the covered deck where we sat, wind raced toward us across the river and assailed the clear plastic flaps that enclosed the outdoor seating area. When the man caught me staring and his mouth crimped at the sight of my scar, I couldn’t help but go rigid. For half my life I’d looked in the mirror at the skinny white mark that ran from the crook of my mouth all the way to my left ear, yet I often forgot it was there until I saw it reflected in someone else’s expression of distaste.

I turned my attention back to my plate to find I’d finished off my breakfast without realizing it. Stress-eating session complete, I surveyed the St. Lawrence River. Nelly’s shouldn’t have been open this late in the season, but unusually high temps had convinced the owner to push on. Our luck was running out. With a cold front on the way, Nelly’s was about to trade those patio flaps for plywood boards until next summer. There was no more pretending it was fall. The lusterless sun and biting breeze added up to one conclusion. Winter was on its way.

I swallowed the dregs of my coffee in one bitter gulp and said, “I’ll miss this place.”

“Ah.” Mac drew the word into a sigh. “I keep forgetting you’re still a newbie. You’re not used to it yet, but this is how things are around here.”

“Temporary?”

“Cyclical. When the tourists pack up, all that’s left is us townies. Not enough folk to support the local economy, including, sadly, places like this. But come late spring, everything will open up again. New season, fresh start. You’ll see.”