“Well, I think my gift is going to cause quite a stir,” Jules said. “It’s been a work in progress almost since I started here. But I landed on something extraordinary. Alice and Natalie were telling me horror stories from the last few years. How people who brought underwhelming gifts weren’t around much longer after that. That’s why I put so much thought into it. I wanted to be sure I stood out.”

You always stand out, Jules. That’s what he wanted to say. Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he be that bold? He had walked to the very edge of wherever that imaginary line is drawn between harmless flirtation and pointed seduction. Why couldn’t he step across it?

“Claudine,” Henry said. “She probably needs you. I’ll see you over at Montague House.”

Jules smiled and closed the door on the way out.

Soon, when he wasn’t at the Miller property, he’d be at the diner. Sitting in a back booth while I worked, drinking coffee. Loved books. Always reading someone’s memoir. He’d tell me he liked reading about great lives, since the one he was living was so small. See, he had this whole interior life. If everything hadn’t happened, there would have been a lifetime of adventures and discoveries. But he wasn’t always so heavy. There was a playful side. He made his own bookmarks from pressed flowers, partial to the wild Aspen sunflowers and hillsides full of purple lupines that blanket Buttermilk.

We made the most of our time, and it makes me smile even now to think of him. This is the way I choose to remember him. I need you to know they were good memories. He took me fly-fishing, on picnics. Sometimes we would just lay a blanket down near Mr. Miller’s cabin and take in the view. I’d lived here my entire life and didn’t know the place existed! It was gorgeous. You could see a perfect sunset, the whole sky glowing pink and red. The world was on fire.

I’ve told you how he died. A logging truck collision on the back road.

That is a lie. That’s not how he died at all. Forgive me. The truth is much harder to comprehend. Much harder to live with.

Zara

As we rode in from the airport, I realized Aspen was like a perfect toy town, nestled in the mountains. Trees wrapped with lights, branches heavy with snow that looked like frosting. Regal horse-drawn carriages, giant red bows tied around lampposts, people standing at bus stops with their skis. Holiday perfection.