“Hi. I’m looking for reservations under the last name Hart. H-a-r-t,” I said into my cell phone.

“Just a moment, please.” There was a short pause on the other end of the line and then, “I’m sorry, sir, there doesn’t seem to be anyone staying here booked under that name.”

I nodded more to myself than the empty room around me. “Thanks anyway.”

Setting my cell phone down, I put one hand on the table and the other up to rub my eyes in hopes of alleviating some of the pain in my head. I hadn’t been able to sleep at all last night after Archer left. And I hadn’t followed him, no matter how badly I’d wanted to. He’d said he wanted to be alone to think and that, at least, I’d respected.

Banff wasn’t huge, but it was a tourist attraction and there were hundreds of hotels or bed and breakfasts that Archer could be staying at. Unfortunately, after calling at least two-dozen hotels first thing in the morning, I wasn’t having any luck.

I chastised myself for not even asking the name of the hotel he was staying in or where he was working while he was here. But then again, I hadn’t done nearly enough talking last night. Or thinking.

Remembering the pain on Archer’s face brought a tightness to my chest I didn’t know how to lessen.

I pulled out a kitchen chair and slumped down into it, listening to the wood creak and groan beneath my weight. My eye caught on something reflecting the sunlight. A small smile pulled at my lips as I reached out and grabbed the wooden box, which sat on top of the kitchen table. I’d forgotten that I’d gone to my workshop and finished the final pieces last night. And now, here was the final product of my hours of work. Polished, complete, sitting here without the person it was meant to belong to.

The irony of that wasn’t lost on me.

I pushed the box away.

Instead, I pulled my laptop toward me, lifted the cover, and hovered over the search engine, trying to think of something—anything—I could search that might lead me to where Archer was staying.

For a moment, I considered calling Danny and asking if he knew. But that settled sourly in my gut. Danny would have questions. Questions I wasn’t sure I could answer—not yet.

Frustrated, I shoved the laptop back and got up out of the chair. I started pacing around my living room, running my hands over my face.

After at least ten minutes of doing nothing but walking in circles, I stopped, and let out a loud bark of laughter. It was kind of funny. There was a person who’d changed my life so drastically that I was willing to give almost anything to hear the sound of his voice, but I didn’t even have his cell phone number. I didn’t know where he was staying in town. I didn’t know how to reach him.

Eventually, for lack of anything better to do, I grabbed my keys and headed out to my truck. I kept the windows rolled down the entire way to the shop, trying to focus on the feeling of the wind hitting the side of my face and my left arm on the edge of the window.

When I got to the shop, the lights in the back were off, but sunlight still poured in through the front windows. I didn’t turn on any of the lights or even turn on the computer. Instead, I walked to the front of the shop and looked around at the items on display.

A chair, a table, a clock. There were vases lined up in a neat row on a long, accent table I’d made the year before. There were a few sculptures but not many. Two similar end tables were stacked on top of one another in the corner, a matching coffee table in front of them.

I walked over to the chair closest to the front window and touched the tips of my fingers to the smooth, wood finish. I wanted to see it for something else, just then, but I couldn’t. I wanted to see what Archer saw when he looked at the things I’d made. But that’s all they were: things. Some might’ve been beautiful or intricate or unique. But they were only things.

When I ran my finger over one of the etchings on the arm of the chair, I paused and stared at it. I smiled sadly as I gazed down at the few tiny marks that seemed to be covering all my pieces for the past few years.

I wondered if Archer would like the chair. I wondered if he’d like the way I did the arms on his chair slightly different from the others or the combination of different finishes I’d used on the legs and the back.

I wondered if he’d even give a fuck about the damn chair.

Probably not.

And why should he?

It was just a chair.

---

Hours later, after sulking alone in my shop, mulling over the complications of life, I left.

The sun was beginning to set behind the tall points of the mountain range. Outside was flooded with that warm tangerine color that only showed its face during the just-right summer days.

I stopped by the grocery store on the way home and picked up a bouquet of flowers. I hadn’t been to Sophia’s grave in weeks, and somehow, today felt like a good day to visit.

When the cashier handed me back my credit card and the bouquet with a smile, I expected to feel some sense of guilt.

But I didn’t. Not even a thread.

That guilt wasn’t something Sophia would’ve wanted for me, and it wasn’t something I wanted for myself.

I drove up to the graveyard as the sun continued to sink behind the mountains with the colorful bundle of wildflowers on the seat next to me. Not ten minutes later, I was parking my truck in the lot, grabbing the flowers, and walking the short, familiar pathway toward my wife’s tombstone.

Only what—who—I saw, stopped me in my tracks.

Archer stood there, flowers in his hand as he stared down at the grave. My sudden halt up the path must’ve been more jarring than I’d thought because his head whipped toward me.

We stood there, awkwardly staring at each other for a few silent moments.

“Mallory,” he said eventually, unevenly. It was then I found my feet again and walked up to him.

“Hi, Archer.”

“I’m sorry,” he continued. “This is inappropriate.”

He stood there, shoulders slumped, cheeks bright pink, almost unable to meet my eyes. His hair was a mess, and I was pretty sure his shirt was on backward.

And he looked perfect, just like that, setting sun lighting up his hair, shyness written all over his face.

“It’s fine,” I said, meaning it.

“Danny called and asked me if I could stop by his mom’s grave and leave some flowers. He said he hasn’t been back to Banff in a while and thought—I actually don’t know what he thought. But he asked me to.”

“Archer.” I rested my hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. “It’s okay. Really. You can come here anytime you’d like.”

He glanced down at Sophia’s tombstone. “I didn’t want to be disrespectful. But I didn’t want to let Danny down either.”

I shrugged, almost gleeful that I’d found him, and even more delighted he hadn’t shrugged away from my touch.

“I don’t think Sophia would mind. I like to think that—if you believe in spirits—Sophia would like the company.”

He treated me to a small smile, and it felt like he’d handed me the world on a golden platter.

I set the flowers I’d brought with me down next to the similar ones he’d brought. We stood side by side, the sun at our backs, gazing down at the words inscribed on the stone.

It was then I realized how much lighter I’d felt these past few years. Since meeting Archer, a weight that had locked itself onto my heart since Sophia’s passing had felt worlds lighter. I still missed the hell out of her and suspected I always would. But now it felt different, like a chapter of my life was finally over—and that was okay.

“I’m sorry, Archer,” I said quietly, after it felt like I’d lived an entire lifetime during only that short silence.

He nodded but said nothing.

I turned to him. “I have no idea how difficult that must’ve been for you.”

“It was… hard,” he agreed.

Putting both hands on his shoulders, slowly I moved him to face me. “Archer,” I said. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head, again unable to meet my eyes. “I don’t think so.”

“You aren’t going to hurt yourself, are you?”

Again, he shook his head. “No.”

I put my finger under his chin, tipping his head back so he was looking at me. “Do you promise?”

His smile was infinitesimally small, but it was enough. “I promise.”

Unable to consider doing a single other thing in that moment, I wrapped my arms completely around him and hugged him tightly. And to my surprise, Archer hugged me back.

“Oh, Archer.” I lifted my chin and rested it on the top of his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Mallory.”

“Life’s been tough on you.”

He shrugged. “It’s had its good moments.”

When we parted, I ran my hand once through his hair. “Do you still go to bereavement groups? Or talk to a therapist?”

“No. Do you still go to group?”

“Yeah. Same group you and I went to. A couple times a month, at least.”

“Does it help?”

“Yes. It helps.”

Archer turned away from me for a moment and stared off into the distant clouds in the sky. “The hardest part is knowing that I can never live up to his expectations. I’d rather have lost my left arm than be left with a right arm that can’t hold a gun.”

“Archer, no father would want that weight put onto his child’s shoulders. No father. And you’ve told me that your father was a good man. He wouldn’t want this for you.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I am right. He wouldn’t expect this of you.”

“Mallory, can I ask you something personal?”

“Yes. You can ask me anything.”

“Do you remember everything about Sophia?”

The question surprised me, and it took me a minute of thought to answer. “I’d like to think I do, but no, probably not. Why?”

“Once, when I was here years ago, we were driving back to your house along that stretch of straight highway that leads back to Banff. The one with miles of forest on both sides and surrounded by mountains.

“It was dark out and there were no other vehicles on the road. I don’t remember where we were driving back from, but I remember the smell of the cinnamon air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. I was looking out the window at the impossible beauty of the Rockies and thinking about how much my parents would’ve loved to see them.”

I nodded. “They are beautiful.”

“And I thought of how good and how light my parents were. They laughed a lot. They were so kind and so warm. My dad… he loved the hell outta me. I knew that. So as I stared out at the mountains, I began to wonder if maybe I’d gotten something wrong about my parents—after they’d died. Maybe I was remembering them wrong. How could people who were so loving in life be so ashamed of the person their son had become?”

I took his hand in mine and squeezed. “They wouldn’t. They couldn’t be ashamed of the man you’ve become. It’s impossible.”

“I don’t know.”

“You should talk to someone, Archer.”

“I know.”

“Come with me to the bereavement group tomorrow.”

It was then he looked up at me, unease in his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just come and listen.”

Then he tipped his head back toward the sky. “Fine.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up. Where are you staying?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation opened a door to a thought I hadn’t even considered before. Maybe he was still staying with Derek. Maybe he was staying with someone else. Maybe there was someone else in his life. Maybe this was entirely one-sided.

But even if it was, letting that get to me would be selfish. And when it came to Archer, I didn’t want to be selfish. I wanted only what would make him happy. So I put a smile on my face that didn’t quite feel right and said, “It’s okay. How about you come to my shop in the morning and I’ll drive us to the group together?”

“Oh,” Archer said, smile suddenly lighting up his face. “So there is a shop after all. I figured you sat in the pub every day and drank.”

I laughed but felt warmth rise up my neck. “Hey—you know that the shop is real.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

That made me frown. Hadn’t he? How could I have never shared something so important with him?

“Are you sure?” I asked again.

He laughed, but it sounded heavy. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Well, let’s change that. Tomorrow.” I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. When I handed one of my business cards to him, I said, “The name and address are on there, along with my phone number.”

“Kind of funny that I don’t even know your cell phone number, huh?”

I reached out, wrapped my hand around his as he held the card, and said, “You do now.”

He stared up at me, his dark eyes searching my face for something. “You’re different, Mallory.”

I nodded. “I’m trying.”