Manning had gone and painted his mailbox for me—just so I wouldn’t get lost. Only it wasn’t a stripe like he’d said, but a wobbly red triangle. In the middle of August, the Summer Triangle had found me instead of the other way around. All during the drive, I’d wondered what kind of home he’d built for himself here. If I knew Manning, it’d be a sturdy, no-frills house. Remembering the few pieces of furniture of his I’d seen, and my cherished jewelry box, I hoped there was a lot of wood involved. Manning’s hands could turn raw wood to perfection—and me to mush.

Manning had found his calling, while I had just found—what? Was a sense of acceptance the best I could hope for? I wanted for myself the same peace he’d seemed to have this morning, but I’d gotten lost along the way. Up until I’d made the decision to turn down the contract, I couldn’t help feeling I’d been biding time, waiting for Manning until I could start my life. I’d fallen for him, run to and from him, longed and mourned for him, and where had I been during all that?

Leaving the show was the first difficult step I’d made toward happiness in a while. Tonight would be the second. It would hurt, but I’d finally let go of Manning to allow for a life that’d always centered around him. Maybe that had always been Manning’s purpose, and the sum of our experiences over the years—he’d helped shape me into my own woman instead of someone else’s.

I slowed the car and turned when I reached the mailbox. Manning was right that he had lots of space and no immediate neighbors. A thicket of trees lined the driveway. I’d rolled down the window once I’d entered the mountains, and the air smelled of pine and dirt and 1993.

When the house came into view, I held in a gasp. It was just how I’d imagined except bigger, a kind of rustic yet modern resort glowing with amber light. The honey-colored cabin had a sprawling wraparound porch, large glass windows, and a stone chimney. Big, dark, and comforting, it pulled me in, both exhilarating and calming me. It was impossible to look away from, raw and rough on the outside while exuding warmth. This home was all Manning in every way.

I parked along a patch of grass and turned off the engine. There were stacks of wood off to one side by what looked like an unfinished picnic table. Camping chairs surrounded a fire pit out front. He’d parked his truck in front of the garage and beyond that was a warehouse-looking space that appeared to be closed up for the night.

I got the acute sense that this should’ve been my life. And wasn’t that why I’d come, to stop this persistent feeling of incompleteness? A half-finished love sat heavy in my chest. I hadn’t even seen Manning yet, and already, I ached. How could I spend an evening here and leave it all at the end? That question might’ve been enough to get me to turn the car around, except that I’d already walked away twice before, and I still hadn’t been able to reclaim my life. I needed to tell him we were done. I needed to see with my own eyes that whatever we’d once had was gone so I could walk forward on the path he’d been blocking for over a decade.

Manning came through the screen door, walked over to the car, and leaned his hands on the hood to look through the open window. “Well, here’s a sight I never thought I’d see. Finally got your license.”

I laughed. There wasn’t anything funny about it, but I was nervous. “You have to have one in L.A.”

He glanced around. “Too bad it’s an automatic. You know how to drive a stick?”

“What do you think?”

“’Course you don’t.” He winked. “Probably never dated a man who could handle a manual transmission.”

I relaxed back in my seat with his teasing, staring up at him. I was sure I wore that old look on my face that always betrayed my feelings for him. I never seemed to be able to help that around him. “Did I get here too early?”

“Just a few months,” he said, “but I guess that’s life.”

“Months?” I asked. “You mean minutes. If dinner’s not ready, I can help.”

He opened the car door and checked me out. “Come on and help then, cowgirl.”

I couldn’t help blushing. I’d borrowed Val’s Steve Madden cowboy boots to pair with a denim skirt and light sweater. I took the keys from the ignition, got my purse, and slid out. “The house is beautiful.”

“Thing is, it’s not completely done yet,” he said as we walked up the drive. “I thought I’d have more time before you saw it. There’s a lot more I want to do.”

What he was saying didn’t quite make sense, but maybe he was just as edgy as I was. He’d never been all that great at small talk.

“Oh, wait,” I said, stopping. “I left the window down. I should lock up the car.”

“Nothing to worry about out here.” He placed a hand on my upper back, urging me along. “Well,” he added, squeezing my shoulder, “except maybe wildlife. I know you get a little nervous about those bears.”

Goosebumps slid down my spine, hardening my nipples. Manning’s hand on me had been many things over the years—restrained, curious, soothing, hungry. But it always elicited a reaction, no matter what.

Because he was looking at me, he almost stumbled on the first step to the porch. I reached out to steady him, smiling, and decided to just break the ice for us both. “Maybe the bear’s the one who’s nervous.”

He laughed a little, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Maybe I am.”

Now that I was closer to him, I smelled the soap and aftershave, the freshness of his laundry detergent. Even his hair looked trimmed since this morning. He’d gotten ready for me, and if I was honest, I’d known my cowgirl outfit wouldn’t go without comment from him.

We climbed the stairs to the porch, and by the door was a swing for two. “Did you make that?” I asked.

“Yep.”

It was charming and unexpected—and it could’ve probably used a cushion, but I kept that to myself and followed him inside. The entryway’s wood floors creaked under my boots. He hung my purse on a hook over a credenza.

“That’s the dining room,” he said, pointing into a large open space off the entry. A solid oak table with a live edge centered the room, while the iron chandelier overhead lit the swirl of the grain, the marbling of light and dark wood. Large windows showcased the front yard. Each piece looked perfectly placed, exhibiting an attention to detail Manning only gave the things he cared about. At the same time, the table wasn’t set, and between the bare walls and floor, he was missing a rug or some art to warm up the area.

I stepped in for a better look, but he called me away. “In here’s the kitchen,” he said, leading us in the opposite direction and bypassing the entrance to a hall.

I stopped in the doorway—I had to in order to take it all in. The kitchen had high ceilings, a sprawling center island, restaurant-style ranges flanked by prep and clean-up stations, and a farmhouse sink. Amber wood cabinets puzzled together, different shapes and sizes, as if they’d been crafted for certain things. I supposed maybe they had, since Manning had built this kitchen himself.

“Wow,” I said. “You really went all out.”

“I asked for the best.”

“But you don’t even cook.” Next to a French-door, stainless steel refrigerator was a small cooler just for wine. “And you don’t drink wine,” I added as my eyes landed on some steaks marinating in a dish on the counter. Then again, I didn’t know as much about him as I used to. “Do you?”

“No.”

“Then why all this?” I asked, opening the refrigerator. He’d stocked it with all kinds of things—most notably, a telling combination of deli meats, sauces, and cheeses. “Oh, Manning. You’re so busted.”

“Am I?” he asked, and I turned at the hopefulness in his voice. “Bust me, Lake.”

“You’ve been making the Lake Special.”

“Ah. Right.” He glanced away, scratching under his chin. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t. Not without you.”

I closed the refrigerator. “Why are there four steaks?” I asked. Maybe this kitchen wasn’t for him, because someone else had made her stamp here. Maybe she’d done the food shopping, made his sandwiches, picked out place settings. Was that who he’d installed the wine cooler for? And why he seemed nervous, because he had to tell me about her? “Is someone else coming tonight?”

“Someone else?” he asked. “Are you fucking kidding? It’s just you and me, Lake. I wanted to make sure we had enough to eat and steak is the only dinner I really know how to make all that well.”

I smiled to myself. I should’ve known. Always overly cautious. Always thinking of me. Well, I’d thought of him, too. “I brought a bottle of this really nice bourbon. I forget the name. It’s a housewarming gift, but I left it in the car.”

“I’ve got a fully stocked bar in the next room.” He went to a pantry and took out a bottle of red. “What’ve I told you? Don’t worry about me, Lake. Tonight is about you.” He passed me the wine. “The woman at the market said you might like Cabernet Sauvignon with the meal, but I bought others in case you don’t.”

I held the wine like a trophy. It was a stupid thing to get teary-eyed over, so I pretended to read the label. He’d bought me wine. Why should I be surprised? I’d brought him something special, too, after all. And I realized what he’d meant when he’d said tonight was about me. This was, in a way, a celebration of who we’d become. I was twenty-seven now, but it wasn’t just about numbers. Manning had clearly made a wonderful life for himself, and I was on my own path to the same. Tomorrow we’d go back to our lives, but tonight was about me, and him, too.

“Don’t cry, Birdy,” he said. “It’s just wine.”

I inhaled back the threat of tears, took a deep breath, and was about to ask for a corkscrew when my stomach grumbled. I put a hand over it. “Sorry. Is it too early to eat?”

“Depends on if you’re trying to rush things.” He took back the bottle. “I still have to give you the tour, but we can do that after dinner . . . long as you’re not planning to dine and dash on me.”

“You heard my stomach just now,” I said. “Let’s do the tour after.”

He got an opener from a drawer and worked the cork out while I tried not to stare at his flexing biceps. Eleven years after I’d met him, at thirty-four years old, Manning was stronger and more at ease with himself than I’d ever seen him. He’d obviously shaved for tonight, but this morning, he’d had enough scruff to make me wonder if he ever grew out his beard, which then made me wonder if he went and chopped the wood for his furniture himself. I could see my bear in the woods, an axe over his shoulder.

“Lake?” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I asked why you’re so hungry.” He got a wineglass from a cupboard. “You’re not a starving artist anymore, I wouldn’t think.”

“No, but I do have to watch my figure.”

He laughed, then looked over his shoulder at me. “That was a joke . . . wasn’t it?”

“I’m on TV, Manning. I don’t starve myself or anything, I just can’t pig out whenever I want.”

He turned to face me. “How would you feel if I said that?” he asked. “That I didn’t eat whenever I was hungry?”

Manning knew right where my mind would go with that question. He loved to eat. I loved to watch him eat. The times we’d been unable to communicate with words, it was one of the only ways I could satisfy him. Feed him. Fill him. Love him. I looked at my hands. “I didn’t say that. Believe me, I’m better about my diet than other actresses I know—I eat three meals a day.”

He looked as though he wanted to say more, but he just picked up the plate of meat. “You want to make a salad while I fire up the grill?”

“Coming right up,” I said, grateful for the chance to help. I chose ingredients from the refrigerator. Manning had thought of everything; it was like shopping in a mini supermarket. I took my time making a salad that wasn’t too dry, something flavorful he’d like that would complement the steak. I sipped what turned out to be very good wine and poked around the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets. Left to his own devices, what kind of things did Manning buy for himself? His dishes were white, but like his silverware, some mismatched pieces had snuck in and he had an odd number of drinking glasses. That didn’t surprise me too much. I had a hard time picturing him shopping around Target or Bed Bath and Beyond. Everything had its place. He only had what he needed; nothing had been crammed in. In one corner stood a beautiful, shoulder-high, standalone cabinet, but even that sat empty.

In the last drawer I opened, I found an Us Weekly with my picture on it. It opened directly to a page about my love life, as if Manning had read it more than once. He probably had—if our roles were reversed, those pages would be crinkled with dried tears.

I took the salad bowl and a Heineken out to the grill. He’d dragged the half-finished picnic table over, so I set everything down next to some dishes and silverware and handed him the beer. He popped the top on the corner of the barbeque.

“Can I help with anything else?” I asked.

“Yeah. Sit and drink your wine. It’ll help me relax. But careful for splinters,” he added quickly, avoiding my eyes. “Haven’t sealed that table yet and you’ve got on that . . . skirt.”

Suppressing a smile at his sudden bashfulness, I sat facing the wrong way on the bench so I could watch him cook. “This Cab is really good,” I said.

“Oh yeah? Don’t you celebrities get the best of the best, though?”

Knowing Manning had picked this out just for me made it the best. “I saw the Us Weekly in your kitchen,” I said.

“Someone gave it to me.” He shrugged, a beer in one hand, tongs in the other. “Not my favorite thing in the world, reading all that stuff about you, but I can’t seem to trash it. Were those your, ah, dogs?”

“My dogs? No. I wish.” I swirled my wine. “They were from the shelter.”

“Mutts,” he muttered.

I realized maybe he wasn’t asking about the dogs but the “pack,” as the press had idiotically labeled my suitors since I was often photographed around the shelter. “I can’t have pets. Some days I’m out of the house twelve hours, and I also have to be able to travel on short notice.”

“Sounds tiring,” he said.

“It is. L.A. exhausts me.”

“More than New York?”

“New York was tiring in a different way. Here in Los Angeles, I have to be ‘on’ all the time. I have to act. It’s so shiny and perfect, not at all like New York.”

“Not everywhere in L.A.’s like that,” he said. “Just what you’ve grown accustomed to. You showed me your New York, maybe sometime I’ll show you my L.A.”

I hadn’t forgotten that Manning had grown up in Pasadena. Sometimes at night, I’d try to convince myself he’d moved back there, close to me, except that he’d told me before he’d never go back. “But you hate it there.”

He flipped the steaks. “There are a lot of different parts to the city. I don’t hate all of it. But the truth is, I’d like to take you to Pasadena. Show you where I grew up . . . where Maddy and I grew up.”

I stared at his back, unsure how to respond. Returning to his childhood home wasn’t something I’d ever pictured him doing, let alone with me. “When’s the last time you were there?”

“My parents’ house? Fifteen.” He plated the meat and brought it to the table. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.”

I turned on the bench as he sat across from me. “What about me?”

He cut into the steak. “Just tell me about your life. Good and bad.”

I knew what he wanted to hear. Over a decade ago we’d sat at my parents’ kitchen table eating steak. All I’d wanted then was him, and all he’d wanted was for me to soar. I had the urge to tell Manning I was doing just that. Not to spite him, but because he wanted it so badly for me. It was almost as if some weight would be lifted from him if I’d just tell him that I was happy.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I said. “It’s a lot to cover in one night.”

Head cocked, he’d been about to finish off his beer. He seemed to think a moment before he said, “Start with your family.”

“I saw Tiffany last year, and it went okay. Not great, but she came to my job recently.”

He swigged the last of his drink and set the bottle down. “The reality show?”

“No. On the show, I have a job at a bar, so she came for a drink. She’ll probably be on an episode.”

He half-rolled his eyes. “She must be thrilled.”

“Yup.” I put my elbows on the table. “My mom and I talk, but there’s a still a distance between us that’ll always exist as long as I’m not speaking to Dad.”

“I saw you’re wearing your bracelet again. Does that mean you’re thinking of reconciling?”

Not that I wanted to make up with my father, but I did wish it could be another way. There was just too much anger and pride between us. “No,” I said. “Did you know about his affair?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Should I have told you in New York?”

If he had or hadn’t, I couldn’t imagine things would’ve turned out differently. It bothered me that Tiffany had compared me to our father, but knowing about my dad’s cheating would’ve only made me feel guiltier during my time with Manning. I scratched under my nose. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Didn’t think so.” He nodded to my plate. “Eat, Lake.”

“Oh.” I picked up my fork and knife and finally took a juicy, flavorful bite. “I thought you said you couldn’t cook.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t grill.” He grinned. “How about work?”

I set down my silverware and took a moment to appreciate the taste of steak prepared just for me. Manning sat across from me, so real. If I was honest, this was one of the happiest moments I’d had in a really long time. Manning made me happy, but he’d made me unhappy more. “I quit,” I said.

“You quit the show?” he asked.

“Well, I still have a year left on my contract, but that’s what my meeting was about this morning. I don’t want to commit to a third season.”

He leaned on the table, eyeing me. “Why not?”

“I think back to that time you came to visit in New York. I was struggling and auditioning and bitching to my friends about the unfairness of the industry, but back then, when I got a part, it meant something. I miss that, even though I know, I know it sounds stupid.”

“You have to give me more credit,” he said. “You know that not once in my life have your thoughts ever sounded stupid to me.”

I did know that. It felt good to admit to him I’d taken some wrong turns over the years without worrying he’d blame himself or feel compelled to fix my problems. I’d already begun to fix them myself. I was more concerned about what it meant that he’d stopped eating halfway through a meal. “Your steak is getting cold,” I pointed out.

He picked up his fork again. “And how do you feel now, on the show?” he asked.

“A little like a wind-up doll. They point me in whatever direction they want and tell me to go.”

“Well.” He chewed and swallowed his steak. “That won’t do.”

“So many people told me it was the opportunity of a lifetime, but when I saw myself on TV, I didn’t feel good about it. I wasn’t proud.”

“So you can be now. It takes a lot of guts to walk away from something like that.”

I nodded. “As soon as I left the meeting it felt as though a weight had been lifted.”

“Then it was the right decision.”

I released a breath, relieved, as if I’d been waiting to hear what Manning would make of the situation. It was a good thing I’d already turned down the contract, because I would’ve hated for his last impression of me to be that I was doing something I didn’t care about. “Yes, it was.”

“So what’ll you do now?”

I stuck my chin in my hand. Val and I had been talking about a trip to Europe once she had some time off. “I have some money saved. I think I might travel a little.”

With his last bite, he slid his plate away. “You should. We both should.”

We could go together, I wanted to say. Remember architecture in Barcelona? Playhouses in London? Instead, I patted my mouth with my napkin. “We’ll see. I’ve actually made other plans that might interfere.”

“Yeah?” He took a few uneven breaths. “What . . . plans?”

It was hard to believe after all this time, Manning and I were just having dinner and conversation. We were the same people but different, in a place that was the same but different. Physically and emotionally. I was saying things I’d only just begun to discover about myself. “I wonder a lot about what it would’ve been like if I’d gone to USC. I think at the end, before I left, I’d convinced myself that being a doctor or lawyer or businesswoman was what Dad wanted, not me. But I actually didn’t know. I ran away to get back at all of you. I would’ve made a good doctor. Or lawyer. Or businesswoman.”

“I agree,” he said. “But you’re great at whatever you set your mind to.”

Manning truly believed that, and I thought the same of him. “I’ve been giving all that a lot of thought, and I think I decided what’s next.” I took another bite and smiled. “Are you ready for this?”

“All my life.” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Tell me what you’re meant to do.”

“I’m going back to school.” My heart rate kicked up a notch anticipating his reaction. “To be a veterinarian.”

He laughed. “Well, well. Lake Dolly Kaplan.”

I scowled hearing my full name, but I couldn’t help the grin that broke through. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what? This is my unsurprised face.”

“You knew all along?”

“No,” he said, “but hearing you say it, it feels good. Feels right.”

“I thought the same thing when you told me about the furniture.” I smiled, sticking my hands between my knees. “I don’t know where I’ll go to school yet, but at least it’s a start.”

As he grew quiet, and I finished my wine, I sensed a shift in him. He’d just laughed, and that was kind of rare, so most likely, he was transitioning into Serious Manning now to overcompensate. After a few moments, he asked, “You wouldn’t stay here for school?”

“I don’t know. I can go anywhere.” I looked over at the palace Manning had built. “I don’t have anything like this. It’s just me.”

“Do you want all this?” he asked. “Would it make you happy? When you close your eyes like we did that night we made snow angels, where’s home?”

I inhaled deeply through my nose, shut my eyes, and waited for home to reveal itself. But only the afterimage of the lit-up house glowed yellow behind my lids. I saw Manning’s home, and then I saw Manning.

Manning was all I saw.

All I’d ever seen.

I kept it to myself. We weren’t in that place anymore. I’d learned a lot of things over the years, and one was that it wasn’t always fair to tell him how I felt. Another was that none of us were guaranteed anything in this life—especially true happiness. Why should I have it? Why had I thought, all those years ago, I deserved it? And at the expense of those who loved me? I opened my eyes.

Manning, as always, was watching me closely. “You all right?” he asked.

“That last day, in the hotel . . .” I said, turning the wineglass on the table. “Did I do the right thing, telling you to go back to her?”

Poor Manning looked completely caught off guard by the question. He sat back on the bench. “I . . . yeah, Lake. Yeah, you did. I mean, I understood why.”

“I’m so sorry about what happened, the . . .” I took a deep breath. Manning had to have been devastated over losing a baby, but it hadn’t been my time to be there for him. “The miscarriage.”

He dropped his eyes to my hand, watching as I fidgeted with my drink. “I know you are.”

“I wish I’d told you sooner, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t face you after we’d planned a life together that never happened. You’d been through so much heartache, and then the divorce—I didn’t know where I stood, or if you still believed we could work.”

After a few moments, he reached across the table, covered my hand, and looked up at me. “You know what I believe?”

I fought the urge to flip my palm up and braid our fingers together in such a way that it’d be impossible to undo before the night was over. “What?”

“No matter how things had gone, you and I would still be sitting here tonight.”

“Really?” I asked, my throat thick. “You think this is a kind of twisted destiny for us?”

“I don’t know about all that,” he said, “but it’s what I believe. It’s what I know. We were both kids, Lake. We made mistakes, and choices, and it took us a while, but I think all paths lead to here.”

Where was here? A fork in the road where we separated for good? A last goodbye? “You seem happy,” I said to him.

He looked at his plate. “How so?”

“You just have this calmness about you,” I said. “Not like in New York.”

“You think I wasn’t happy in New York?” He ran his thumb over the clasp of my bracelet. “Those were the best days of my life.”

My eyes watered remembering how he’d stood across a snowy street in the East Village, waiting for me to show up at my apartment. It’d been a whirlwind few days. Looking back, I could admit the red flags I’d willfully ignored along with Val’s warnings. Maybe Manning and I had each subconsciously known it wouldn’t last, and that had made us feverish. “This is different. It’s like you have it all figured out. I guess maybe it’s the business and the house.”

“You like it?” he asked, and I detected a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“I love it. Everything about it. It’s a—” I wanted to say home, but it wasn’t that for me, and that made acknowledging it too hard. “It’s you. Masculine but comfortable. But, well, I think it could use a woman’s touch.”

“It has a woman’s touch. You just can’t see it.”

It did? Whose? Reluctantly, I slipped my hand from his warmth and touched my napkin to the corner of my mouth, trying not to look as crushed as I felt that there might be someone in Manning’s life. Then again, maybe that was why fate had brought me here tonight, to make the final snip I needed to cut myself free of him. I stood.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’ll help you clean up.” I stacked our dishes to carry them back inside. “Then I should probably get home. It’s a long drive, and it’s getting dark.”

In the kitchen, I turned on the faucet and plugged the sink, watching it fill with soapy water, as if it were just another night after dinner. I couldn’t remember a recent time I’d been this comfortable somewhere. Not since New York. I didn’t want to leave. I’d just arrived. What was closure, anyway? How exactly did one get it? Had it been enough to come and see that he was happy, that he’d moved on?

Once I’d started on the dishes, I felt Manning enter the room. “You don’t need to do that,” he said.

“I don’t mind.”

“Lake.” He came up behind me, put his arms around mine, and sunk his hands in the water, lacing our fingers together. “I used to think about doing this when we had Sunday dinners,” he said softly into my ear. “Holding your hand underwater for a few seconds, where no one could see.”

My breathing shallowed as I stared at the fizzing suds. “Why didn’t you?”

“I might’ve, if I’d thought either of us could handle it.”

I inhaled, my back against his chest, our hands hidden by the foam. He massaged my palms, knuckles, wrists. “What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly aware of his breath on the back of my hair.

“You promised me you wouldn’t bolt after dinner.”

“What good would it do to stay? This . . . it’s too hard, Manning. Being around you will always be too hard.”

“I know it is, Birdy. I wanted to ease us into this. I thought you could come here for a nice, simple dinner and tell me all about your life. But it really never was easy with us, was it?”

Nobody could say we hadn’t tried. We’d been pushed, and we’d pushed back. We’d wanted love to be enough, but it wasn’t. I shook my head and whispered, “No.”

“Nevertheless, I keep coming back to you. I can’t give you up.”

As good as it felt to hear that, I knew the truth—it wasn’t that simple. If it had been, we’d have figured this out long ago. I took my hands from the water and turned to face him. “What about closure?”

“Don’t want it,” he said, stepping back. “Don’t need it. Not even sure what it is.”

Water dripped from our hands to our feet. I frowned. “But you said . . .”

“I had to get you here, Lake.” He passed me a dishtowel. “I don’t know what that bullshit was earlier about being over me, but I’m not over you. No fucking way—not now, not ever.”

My throat closed. I couldn’t breathe. He’d given me no warning, and now I was either going to choke or keel over, and all this would’ve been a waste. “It wasn’t bullshit,” I said, drying my hands. “I’ve been stuck in this place for over ten years. I’ve tried to be happy, to find myself, but I can’t while you’re in my way.”

“Me?” His eyebrows wrinkled. “What are you talking about?”

The backs of my eyes burned with hot tears. “I know you didn’t want this for me. All this pain. You wanted me to soar, and I can’t—because of you. I have to let go. I have to let you go.”

“And what did I tell you all those years ago? I won’t be let go, Lake.”

“It’s too hard, Manning. I thought we were meant to be, but maybe we’ve been fighting against fate, not alongside it.”

“I never believed in fate,” he said. “You did. I want to fight, I’m ready, so let me do the fighting. I’ve made all of this for us.”

I inhaled back a sob. “It’s time for us to face the truth.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “What truth?”

“That maybe you and I . . . we were never meant to be. There’s no twisted destiny or fate or inevitable . . .” The next wave of tears was so painful to keep inside, I had to stop talking. I could hardly get the words out, but it had to be said if I had any shot at a satisfying life without him. “It’s written up there in the sky,” I said. “Our stars are permanently separated. There’re no birds to carry us across the Milky Way to each other. I’m sorry you ever told me that story.”

“So am I. It’s a fantasy, but we’re a reality. Don’t you have any faith in me, Birdy? I don’t need anyone to carry you to me. You must’ve always known, when I was ready, I would come for you.”

“Then why haven’t you?” I asked.

“I’m here now, Lake. I’m here for you because I still love you. Always.”

“It’s too late,” I said. “I couldn’t see a way to ever be happy without you, so I made the decision to move on.”

“I don’t believe you.” He made two fists as he crossed his arms. “You may love him, I get that, it’s my own fault, but he will never be what I am to you. You know that.”

This was the Manning I remembered from New York. I didn’t correct him. What was the point? If it wasn’t Corbin, it would be someone else. “You can fall in love with someone else if you’re willing to try,” I told him. It was the same thing Corbin had said to me on the patio. “We both can.”

“Nah, I can’t,” he said simply. “You’re it for me.”

My face warmed with all the hurt of the past few years. Was he not even going to try to let me go? Did he think this was easy for me? That I hadn’t suffered enough? “You’re it for me, too,” I said angrily, “but I don’t want to hurt anymore. I can’t handle the possibility of losing you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Lake. Do you really think I can ever move on from you? That if you give me your love, I won’t fight every day to keep it?”

“What about the last four years? I asked. “You didn’t fight for me then.”

“Look around you. Look at what I’ve built. Who do you think this is for?”

My eyes went to the wine cooler, the state-of-the-art range, the painstakingly customized cabinetry. And back to Manning, where they stayed. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent the last few years away from you to become everything you needed me to be. I wasn’t going to fuck this up again. You wanted me to follow my passion, so I did. To show you I had faith in us. To create a life that makes me happy, to provide not just for you, but for others.”

My heart beat in my stomach as I continued to fight my tears. He had faith? Since when? “But I always had hope in us,” I said. “I may have lost it, but you never had it.”

“Look at this house and tell me I never had hope. I knew you might never see this—might not ever give me another chance—but I built it anyway.” He pushed his hair back and released it, imploring me with his eyes. “I know you can learn to love someone else, but I’ve tried that, and I can tell you it’ll never be what we’ve got. So I’m asking you to choose me. This, what you see around you, is our home. All I’ve done, and all I am is for this—for you.”

Manning had built this for me? A house—a home? What scared me most about that was how much I wanted it to be true. I stood in the middle of a life I didn’t want to leave behind, and he was telling me I didn’t have to. I stood before the only man I’d ever loved and left and tried to forget as he offered me everything I’d ever wanted.

I wanted to take it, and I could see how things were different now, but how could I not be afraid? I couldn’t fight my urge to cry anymore. I let the pain and fear and heartache of the past leak onto my cheeks.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Manning said quietly. “I don’t want to scare you off, but I can’t let you leave without knowing how I feel. Give me one thing tonight. Believe in me long enough to see the house I built on faith, for a family I might never have.”

I covered my mouth and sobbed into my hand. Manning might’ve broken my heart and made mistakes, but he was too good of a man not to be a father and husband. “Don’t say that.”

“I might not get those things, Lake.” He backed away from me. “There’s only one person I’m meant to have a family with. If I can’t, I won’t.”

He deserved a family more than anyone I knew, so I let that tether between us pull me along with him. As he left the kitchen, I followed—past empty bedrooms, through the darkened house, until we were at the end of a hallway.

He opened a door for me, and I looked up at him as I walked into a room with walls painted midnight blue—or maybe it was the color of the ocean floor, or a starless New York night. By the enormous, honeyed-wood bedframe with matching nightstands, I could tell Manning had put thought into the master bedroom, just as he had the kitchen.

I walked closer to the footboard, which had been carved with a large bear on all fours in a forest, looking over his shoulder at the trees. My great bear. I didn’t see much more than that because my vision blurred with more tears. If I could go back to that night where he’d shown me the constellations and then told me no when I’d tried to kiss him, would I change any of it? Would I have left it at that? I wasn’t sure. There’d been so much heartbreak and only just enough love to keep me going. Could I do it all again? Was he asking me to?

I turned back to him. “It’s been so long,” I said, and I wasn’t sure if I meant his absence or the time that’d passed since this had all started. “Things are different for each of us. Do we even know each other anymore?”

He came to me and wrapped an arm around my middle. My body locked up as he pulled me against him, but as I looked into his familiar, warm brown eyes, I thawed. It was like snapping together with my matching puzzle piece.

“Do we?” he asked as he cupped my jaw. “Does this part feel different?”

Ever since I’d left Manning’s hotel room in New York, nothing had been quite right. I’d accomplished a great deal since then, and there was more on my horizon, but still, Manning’s absence persisted in me. Even being here with him tonight had been so confusing—until now. I was no longer out of place. I was no longer just me. I was Manning’s. His arms around me brought everything into focus. This was still, after all these years, all that mattered. I wondered if he’d known that since he’d seen me on the studio lot, and that was why he seemed so calm tonight.

“It’s the same, isn’t it?” he asked, running his hand up my back.

“Yes, but is that a good thing?”

“This was never the problem. It was that we had to grow up. You were right. I’m not the same person I was, and neither are you. I’m a better man. And you . . .” He dropped his forehead against mine, inhaling deeply. “I can make you happy. It kills me to hear that you think letting me go is the only way, but it isn’t. I promise you. I can be the support you need to soar.” He squeezed me closer. “Trust in this. I know you, I always have. That part remains the same—how much I love you. How you deserve that love. How I deserve you. How I’m . . .” He paused, sounding strangled. “Good enough to accept it. At least, I will fight to be, every day.”

I reached up and traced my fingertip over the scar on his lip. So much hurt, so many wounds and bandages. In his own way, Manning had been looking out for me through all of it. “You’ve always been good in my eyes. I’ve waited so long for you to see it, too.”

“I see it. My love for you is strong enough to make me good enough.” As he said it, his lips got closer and closer, as if he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t like Manning to be so vulnerable. He moved my hand over his heart. “I told you I can’t go on without this. Since the day you left, I’ve been nothing but lonely.”

“You’re lonely?” I whispered.

“Every hour of every day. I miss the girl who meticulously makes monster sandwiches and who’s afraid of Ferris wheels and horses but not of moving across the country by herself. I miss not being able to touch and kiss you as I please, the way I did for five . . . fucking . . . days of my life. It was the best time I ever had, and if I die tomorrow, at least I had that time with you.” Manning moved his thumb over my quivering chin. “Don’t cry, Birdy.”

I put my arms around his neck to meet his mouth and kiss him. I’d been lonely, too. I’d had the world within reach, but strangely, in the middle of nowhere, in a town that held some of my worst and most cherished memories, I was finally home.