“And you don’t want her to go, do you?” The way Mom says it makes it sound so simple, as though just wanting something is enough to make it true.

It doesn’t matter what I want.

“Her life is in Boston.”

Even I’m annoyed by how flat and lifeless my voice is, but I’m sticking to the facts this morning. No feelings, no wants. Just the truth. And the truth is that before the sun sets tonight, all that will be left of Summer is the tire tracks she’ll leave in the snow.

“But it seems like she just got here.” Mom pouts, swirling her spoon in loopy infinity signs through her coffee, which is really more creamer than anything else.

“You know I have to go back soon too, right?”

She rolls her eyes, waving off the very suggestion like a foul smell. “Yes, but you have to go back. She doesn’t.”

The reminder is a punch to the chest. I remember our conversation from last night about how Summer doesn’t get an off season like I do.

Mom’s right. I’m under contract. It’s two flights and an hour-long drive up the mountains just to get here. The odds of Summer making it back to Lost Haven with her work schedule are slim to none.

“Her life is in Boston,” I say again through clenched teeth, silently reviewing the anger management techniques Summer taught me. I’m supposed to count down from ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

“But no, I don’t want to let her go.” The words come out before I can wise up enough to stop them.

Fuck it. This is how I feel, and if I can’t discuss it with my own mother, then who can I discuss it with?

“Then don’t let her,” Mom whispers, squeezing my hand. “It’s obvious you like her. Tell her how you feel.”

“She knows how I feel. But she has a job back in Boston, and so do I. I’ll be back there in a month.”

Mom’s stirring gets faster. “A lot can happen in a month.”

“She’s not going to fall for someone else in a month, Mom.”

“Really? Because you fell for her in less than two weeks.”

Shit. She has a point.

With a shrug, Mom presses up from the table, leaving me to marinate in this weird cocktail of worry and hope. “Summer isn’t the kind of girl who will stay single forever, honey. That’s all I’m saying.”

Just the thought makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

18

SUMMER

The blank line on the return-to-work form stares back at me, as white as the snow piled up outside the cabin window. I’ve been staring at these forms for the past hour, waiting for the storm to let up, and now I can barely see straight.