“I called a shuttle service to pick me up.”

I give her an uncertain look. “You . . .”

She nods. “I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone by asking for a ride. But I need to get back to the city. It’s time.”

My chest throbs with the displeasure of that statement, and I rub at the tender spot unconsciously. Even though everything inside me disagrees with it, I give her a stiff nod and cross the room to help her with her bag.

Her duffel has grown considerably heavier since she’s been here. A stack of books that my mother insisted she take. A new pair of boots. A wool scarf that Grandpa Al loaned her and made her promise to keep. Then there’s the piece of my heart she’s taking with her . . . does she even know?

I swallow a painful lump in my throat as Summer opens the cabin’s door and waves to the driver. A gust of frigid air sweeps over us.

She turns to face me, but before she can tell me good-bye, I take her hands and squeeze.

“I don’t want you to go.”

The words are real, and raw, and I watch as Summer draws a quiet breath.

“It’s been amazing being here, Logan, but I—”

“Can’t you stay . . . even a few more days?” I pause, weighing my words. “We should talk about this thing with us.”

This thing. The word is entirely wrong for the depth of emotions I’ve experienced these past couple of weeks.

With a sad look, Summer shakes her head. “I can’t stay. I can’t be with you like this. It would be a huge conflict of interest, and my entire professional reputation would be shot. It’s all I have.”

“Summer . . .” I caress the back of her hand with my thumb. She can’t just walk away from something this big.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. No matter how much I might want to.” Her hand slips from my grasp.

“Would it change things if you were married? I mean, no one could hold anything against you if your husband just happens to play hockey, right?”

The stunned look on her face is priceless. I just shocked her, but I won’t apologize for thinking big, crazy thoughts. Marrying Summer would be crazy, but also . . . well, perfect.

When her shock fades away and is replaced by cool indifference, I know I’m not that lucky.

“No, I guess not.”

“Then marry me.” The words fall from my mouth without warning, without grace.

I’m not down on one knee, and I don’t have a ring, but there’s a sincerity in my words. An absolute truth. And isn’t that what she’s wanted from me this entire time—facing my truth, letting myself be vulnerable? It doesn’t get any more vulnerable than this. I brush my fingertips against her cheek, tilting her face to mine.