I check the time on my phone. It’s early enough that they could still be eating dinner, with Jillian carving up a perfectly cooked venison roast. I’ll bet they’ve already put away that extra chair they pulled out specially for me. The thought stings.

And then it really sets in. The loneliness. And not the usual kind, either. This is something deeper. Heavier.

For so long, I’ve been used to my life, my little studio apartment that I don’t have to share with anyone. I reported the ins and outs of my life to my journal or social media instead of calling my mom, like my friends get to do. I was perfectly content not knowing what I was missing.

But for a short time, I had a family. Friends. A man I was hopelessly falling for. And the hollowness in my gut tells me maybe I shouldn’t have left it all behind.

But it’s too late now. I left. I threw away whatever precious and fragile thing we’d built. It’s over.

And it’s all my fault.

21

LOGAN

I head off toward the old barn at the farthest end of the property, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my coat to fight off the November chill.

Too brokenhearted and hurt to appreciate the awesome views of the mountains and frost-covered lake in the distance, I keep my head down and trudge onward.

Ever since Summer left, my head’s been full of nothing but her, and my stomach has been twisted up in so many knots, I can barely eat. Even my mom’s homemade lasagna, which has always been a favorite of mine, has held no appeal.

Summer made me feel things I have no use for feeling. Made me desire things I never thought I’d want. A wife. A little house of my own overlooking the valley. Kids. Maybe a dog someday. Something with a wagging tail and floppy ears that we would laugh at.

But I can’t let myself think about Summer right now. Just the very thought of her affects me, causing a stir of deep longing to pulse through my veins. There’s work to be done this morning, and I’m not ready to face all that I’ve lost at such an early hour.

I need more coffee for that. Or maybe one of those strong cocktails called a mind-eraser, despite it being barely eight in the morning.

When I reach the old barn where we store equipment, I let myself inside and am greeted by the familiar smell of diesel fuel and leather.

It’ll be a busy day today, and first on the agenda is changing the oil on the snowblower. I’m grateful for the mindless work. Something to do with my hands will be good.