First thing Monday morning and through the first half of the week, I buried myself in postholiday work at the inn. Arriving early. Staying late. It worked to my advantage for a couple of reasons. One, the new ownership visited three days in a row, mapping out the steps needed for a healthy transition. It was encouraging to meet them and see their enthusiasm and optimism regarding the inn’s future. And it helped to let them see me putting in the hours at work, committing myself to a job well done every single day. Two, staying busy was the only way I could keep myself from randomly bursting into tears.

I hadn’t seen or spoken to Simon since we’d gotten back into town on Sunday evening. I still had his ring and needed to return it, but I couldn’t think of any situation where seeing him wouldn’t make me feel worse. Finally, on Wednesday evening, after I’d worked a retirement party in the ballroom, I sent Carlos through the rose garden to Simon’s house with a thick manila envelope I made him promise he wouldn’t open and wouldn’t give to anyone but Simon. In person. Leaving it on the doorstep was not allowed. With all the assistance Simon had provided before the inn was sold, it must not have seemed an unusual request. Carlos didn’t even question.

He came back a few minutes later empty-handed. “Did you see him?” I asked. “Did you give it to him?”

He nodded. “Why do you look like you swallowed a bumblebee? I gave it to him. He said to tell you thank you.”

“Thank you. Is that all he said?”

Carlos furrowed his brow. “Yes? Should I have asked him something else?”

I shook my head. “No. Sorry. It was just an important . . . document. If you gave it directly to him, I’m sure things are great.”

A few minutes later, a text popped up on my phone.

Thanks for the ring, Simon texted.

I responded right away. I’m sorry we didn’t return it before we left Asheville. I should have remembered.

They were closed because of the snow anyway. It’s fine. They have a sister store in Greensboro. I can return it there, his text read.

Sorry again for the trouble.

How are you? he asked.

It was a loaded question. And one I had no idea how to answer. I was still confused. Still hurt. Still angry.

I’m working on being okay, I texted back. It was the truth, after all. I was working on it. And I’d already decided on the first thing I needed to do before I could really feel right again.

I had to break up with Jamie.