From the kitchen doorway, Libby heard the rumble. Impatient, she rubbed tears from her eyes and strained to see. There was a flash. She thought she caught a quick glint of metal streaking across the lightening sky. Then it was gone. The woods were quiet again.

She shivered. She wished she could convince herself it was because the air was chill and she was wearing only her short blue robe.

“Be safe,” she murmured. Then gave in and allowed herself the luxury of a few more tears.

Life went on, she lectured herself. The birds were beginning to sing. The sun was nearly up.

She wanted to die.

That was nonsense. Shaking herself, she set the kettle on to boil. She was going to have a cup of tea, wash the dishes they’d been too careless to notice the night before. Then she was going back to work.

She would work until she couldn’t keep her eyes open, and then she would sleep. She would get up again and work again until her dissertation was complete. It would be the best damn paper her colleagues had ever read. And then she’d travel.

And she would miss him until the day she died.

When the kettle boiled, she poured her tea, then sat with it at the kitchen table. After a moment, she shoved it aside, laid her head on her folded hands and wept again.

“Libby.”

She knocked the chair over as she rose. He was there, standing in the doorway, fatigue all over his face and something, something much more powerful, in his eyes. She rubbed hers. He couldn’t be there.

“Caleb?”

“Why are you crying?”

She heard him. Dazed, she pressed a hand against her ear. “Caleb.” She repeated. “But how—I heard, I saw— You’re gone.”

“Have you been crying since I left?” He stepped toward her but only touched a fingertip to her damp cheek.

His touch was real. If she was mad, she accepted it. “I don’t understand. How can you be here?”

“I have a question to ask you first.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Just one question. Are you in love with me?”

“I—I need to sit down.”

“No.” He caught her arm and held her still. “I want an answer. Are you in love with me?”

“Yes. Only an idiot would have to ask.”

He smiled, but his grip held firm. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want—I knew you had to go.” Dizzy, she put a hand to her head. “Let me sit.”

He released her, then watched her sink unsteadily into a chair.

“I haven’t slept,” she murmured, as if to herself. “I suppose I could be hallucinating.”

He tilted her head back, then planted a hard, bruising kiss on her mouth. Before he could stop himself, he dragged her halfway out of the chair. “Is that real enough for you?”