The last customers tonight were Kiera and Nial. She had barely disconnected from him all evening, except for the half hour she took to go walk Maureen for me. The two of them made out and played darts all night, beating all the old guys. They’d all celebrated every win and loss with a new drink order, and at the end, Kiera went off with Nial, arms around each other’s shoulders, her singing Meg and Cillian sitting in a tree.

Soon all the work is done, our beers are almost empty, and I would give anything for another floor to mop if it meant being with Cillian a little longer. That must be love.

A morose, melancholy voice in my head says it can’t last forever. I retool everything I learned in meditation about allowing thoughts to pass unthinked.

I can’t think about home, or the fact that this might end. It’s hard being away from Aimee all night, knowing she’s nearby. It’ll be hard to be away from Cillian when we lock up. I’m even sad to see Kiera leave with Nial, feeling certain she won’t be having a sleepover with me tonight.

How will I live the rest of my life if I can’t be near them at all? If they do not exist?

That sounds dramatic, but … it is dramatic. I mean, if this isn’t high drama, what is?

If this were just the trip I thought it would be, and I had met all these people—except for Aimee and her subsequent family—I could have made the wild, impulsive decision to simply stay. I could have said, These people seem nice, the town seems nice, I’ll have a life here. But if this ends, then I’ll have no way of finding my way back to them. They’ll be gone, as irretrievable as Aimee had been. There one day, gone the next.

Cillian flips off most of the lights, and I’m sure we’re about to leave when he says, “Can I convince you to stay for one more?”

My skin flushes at the relief that we both want the same thing.

He holds up my pint glass and I nod, trying not to look too eager.

Without needing to ask what I want, he pours me a red ale, and then brings it over to the armchair in front of the fireplace. He tosses another log on the fire and it catches quickly, reigniting the enthusiasm of the licking flames.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“Go ahead.” He sits in the chair beside me.

“Why did we ever break up? I know I don’t know you, but I can’t—I mean I know myself, and you seem like … well—”

“It’s always because you want to leave.”

“Kiera said that. But … really? That’s it? I thought maybe she didn’t have the whole story.”