My duffel bag’s zipper snags when I try to tug it closed, and I blink back frustrated tears. I know I’m in rough shape when the smallest inconvenience starts the waterworks. I manage to wrestle it closed with a huff. Lacing up my boots, I try as hard as I can not to think about where they came from, who bought them for me, and all the warm, fuzzy emotions attached to those memories.

Ripping a page out of my notebook, I jot down a quick message.

Decided to brave the storm. I’ll text when I’m back in Boston. Thanks for everything.

For a second, I consider writing a separate note specifically for Logan’s eyes only, but I decide against it. Why make this harder than it needs to be?

I don’t really have a plan when I step out into the snow, carrying my laptop bag and my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. The snowstorm has stopped, at least, so visibility will be fine on the roads. The snow itself has piled over a foot high, but this is Colorado. It snows like this every other day, from what I understand. The snowplow guys must be experts at getting the roads clear in no time, right?

Before I can psych myself out, I trudge the hundred or so yards back to the house and around it to the driveway. With one great heave, I toss my duffel into the truck bed, peering over my shoulder to make sure the noise didn’t grab the attention of anyone inside. The last thing I need before I leave is to make a scene.

I tug on the door handle, and naturally, it’s locked.

No, Summer, the last thing you need before you leave are the damn truck keys.

I dig through my pockets but come up empty-handed. I must have left the set that Jillian gave me in my cabin, which I locked behind me already. But I know there’s a spare set on the hook near the back door of the house.

It’s easy enough to sneak back into the foyer and grab what I need. What’s harder is the gravitational pull I feel as soon as I hear the familiar voices of the family inside, talking shop by the fireplace. I can hear Grandpa Al’s soft snores from his recliner and Jillian in the kitchen, getting dinner going. And when Logan’s deep, manly laugh echoes down the hall, my whole body quakes.

A very real, very scary thought occurs to me.

I could put the keys back on the hook so, so easily. Ten short steps into the living room, and I could snuggle up next to Logan on the couch, join in the laughter, and be a part of the family. All I have to do is put the keys back.