Emmett stepped up to Elle’s condo, checking his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time. Seven o’clock, straight up.

What was he doing here? Yes, he wanted answers but not in such an intimate place like her home, where she was comfortable. It was literally home field advantage.

He shook his head at how stupid he was being. This wasn’t a game. It didn’t matter if she had an advantage. What mattered was that he got answers and they were able to move on and work together for the lodge.

His mom needed this—needed him to be able to get along well enough with the Nobles to work with them. If that meant sucking it up and finding a way to work with Elle, he would do it. He reminded himself his work at the lodge was temporary. He wouldn’t be in Canyon Creek forever.

Emmett drew in a deep breath and reached out to press the doorbell, going over in his head what he wanted to say. He wanted to put this behind him. To move on. But he also had to find a way to do that without letting her slip back under his skin. Letting her walk through his defenses would be a huge mistake, and one he couldn’t afford. Or survive.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. At first, he thought it might be Elle calling to cancel but he realized he’d never given her his phone number. He stepped back from her door and pulled the phone from his pocket.

His agent. Shit.

He knew exactly what Asher Altman wanted. A manuscript. Yesterday. And Emmett didn’t have one.

He’d already pushed back the deadline for his next book twice. He was under contract and if he didn’t produce soon, he’d be up shit creek.

Emmett had used the excuse of his father’s death several times and although it was a valid reason, it wasn’t the real one. Emmett was suffering from a severe case of writer’s block.

Without answering the text, Emmett slipped his phone back into his pocket and rang Elle’s doorbell. He had enough to deal with tonight, he didn’t need to think of his impending deadline.

A yapping sound came from the other side of the door, breaking into his thoughts. What the hell was that? A dog? No, it couldn’t be. It was definitely an animal, but what kind he had no idea. He was sure the sound could pierce a man’s skull like an ice pick.

Slowly the door slid open and Elle stood in the entryway. His chest seized at the sight of her. Knowing on a gut level that this beautiful woman would never be his again was almost more than he could handle.

“Hi,” she whispered. “I’m glad you’re here.” She smiled, the deep dimple in her right cheek appearing. Emmett felt his resolve to keep her at arm’s length loosen. Her blue eyes sparkled and he noted a hint of mischief within them he hadn’t seen since they were kids. What was she up to?

A low growl followed by a yipping bark broke through his thoughts. His gaze followed the sound. Something was tucked under Elle’s arm. It couldn’t qualify as a dog. No way.

“What is that?” Emmett’s lip curled with the question.

“This is Cheeta,” Elle said proudly, stroking the animals head. The creature stuck out its tongue and closed its eyes as though the stroking had sent it straight to heaven, seemingly oblivious to Emmett’s distaste.

“No, what is it?” He repeated.

Elle tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “She’s not a what, she’s a who. She’s my dog.”

Emmett laughed, out loud. “That’s no dog.” He studied the tiny creature. Its ears were bigger than its head and stood just as tall. It was tan except for a small patch of white between two bulging eyes that looked like they might pop out at any second. “He looks like a rat.”

Elle tucked the dog close to her chest, covering the oversized ears with one hand.

“She’s not a rat,” she whispered, scowling as if he’d made fun of her child.

“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those kind of pet owners.”

Elle bent and set the dog back onto the floor before returning to her full height, putting her nearly nose to nose with him. She’d always been tall, something uncommon for a dancer. He knew she’d endured difficult times because of her height, but her stature was part of her beauty.

Elle crossed her arms under her breasts, breasts he shouldn’t notice, as she cocked a brow.

“What, pray tell, would those kind of pet owners mean?” she asked.

Oh, no. Emmett recognized that look on her face. She was a crusader for things she believed in, and stray animals was one of them. He could only imagine where she’d found this rat.

As if hearing his thoughts, the rat growled, baring his small—albeit, very sharp—teeth.

“Cheeta.” Elle glanced down at the dog in warning.

“You seriously named your dog Cheetah?” Emmett chuckled, staring down at the pup. “I think he might make a midnight snack for a cheetah.”

“It’s not cheetah, like a wild animal.” Elle closed the door and ushered him inside. “It’s like Cheetos, the chips, but with an ‘a’.”

Oh, yes, because that made so much more sense.

Then, Emmett remembered Elle’s addiction to Cheetos when they were younger. She’d eat so many her fingertips would be stained orange. “Well, he’s small enough to fit in a Cheetos bag.” He laughed.

“It’s a her,” she corrected. “Not a he. Hence the ‘a’ on the end.” Elle turned on her heel and walked into the condo, Cheeta hot on her tail. “Her name would have been Cheeto had she been a boy, but she turned out to be a girl, so she’s Cheeta.”

And that was that. The discussion was closed.

Classic Elle. Rather than continue this insane conversation about rats and dogs and Cheetos, Emmett studied his surroundings.

Directly in front of him was a staircase, the ascending wall filled with pictures—some of family, some of Elle dancing, but mostly friends. On the wall opposite him, directly in front of the door, was a wooden sign with a quote etched across the teal-painted wood.

Courage is not the absence of fear but the triumph over it.—Nelson Mandela.

“I know that quote,” Emmett said, pointing to the sign.

“You should. You wrote it on a note and handed it to me at the airport when I left for my audition at Tisch, remember?” Elle said.

Emmett nodded stiffly, but that wasn’t the trip to the airport he was remembering.

He’d been so happy for her when she’d been accepted to Tisch School of the Arts after high school. It was a great honor. But she’d promised a summer together before she moved to New York. Instead, she’d left after graduation with no word, no note, leaving him behind like he meant nothing to her.

He’d chased her down at the airport for an explanation, only to have her dad find him before he could catch up to her. That had been a fun talk.

In the end, Emmett had watched her leave from a window down the terminal, without ever saying goodbye. Without her even knowing he’d come for her.

Emmett shook his head to clear the memories and noticed another quote sitting inside a picture frame on the entryway table. “When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on,” he read quietly.

There was no inscription of who the author was. Next to the quote sat a photo filled with various dancers on a stage, pulling on a rope, seemingly playing tug-of-war. They stared up into the camera, their smiles almost as bright as their colorful costumes.

The matte surrounding the photo was littered with words of well wishes, all made out to Elle. Emmett’s heart beat hard in his chest and he knew without asking. This had been from her friends in New York, her makeshift family at her dance school. But what had they been wishing her well with?

“I still have it, actually,” Elle said, interrupting his thoughts before he could look at any of the inscriptions closely enough to garner another clue.

He turned to stare at her. “What was that?” he asked, glancing over at her.

“I said, I still have your note.”

“What note?” He’d written her hundreds of notes over the years.

“Your note, silly.” she said. “The one we’ve been talking about, the one you gave me at the airport.”

“The actual note I wrote?” he asked, surprised.

“Mmm, hmm,” she buzzed as she turned toward the stove, stirring something that smelled amazing.

“I wrote it on a napkin from the bar at the airport,” he said, surprised it had held up for ten years.

“I know,” she said, never looking up. “We’re having stir fry, is that okay?” she asked.

She kept the note? He shook his head, unable to believe her. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” she turned and gave him a glass of water and grabbed her own sitting by the sink. “I hope water’s okay. I don’t drink so I don’t have any alcohol.”

Emmett gazed down at his glass and noticed the dog sitting next to him.

“Emmett,” Elle called.

He glanced up, watching as she swallowed several times.

Good God, her neck. It had always been so sensual to him, so long and elegant. Sure, most guys went for asses and boobs, but for Emmett, it had always been Elle’s graceful neck that made him want to reach out and taste her.

When she danced, her neck was like an extension of her soul, lifting her face to the sky. When she danced, she was transformed, and he was transfixed.

“Emmett,” Elle called again.

“Oh, sorry, what?”

“You asked me where it was. What did you mean?”

“Uh,” he stumbled, deciding to take a drink of water to cool himself down. Slowly, his body caught up to his mind’s warning to keep his distance. “The note, I meant the note I wrote you, at the airport. Where is it?”

“It’s next to my bed,” she said, tilting her head.

Bed? Oh, hell. Now it was Emmett’s turn to swallow. Her bed. Sordid images of their night in his hotel room flashed like a movie in his mind.

“Are you okay?”

He dumbly nodded and gulped down more water.

“Hold on.” She set her glass down and rushed out of the kitchen toward the stairs.

A low growl caught his attention. Emmett glanced down and saw the rat giving him a warning glare. He’d laugh if he weren’t actually concerned for his ankles.

Suddenly the dog jumped up and trotted off toward the stairs, standing at attention below them, waiting patiently for her owner.

“Here,” Elle said, making her way back into the kitchen and shoving a frame at him as she scooped up her dog.

Emmett gazed down at the picture, but it wasn’t a picture at all. It was his note, framed with a beautiful light blue matte, her favorite color. “I can’t believe you kept this,” he whispered in disbelief, his eyes studying the words.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He ran his fingers over the words he’d written. Along with the quote, Emmett had written his own inscription. I’ll always be here for you, Els, the napkin read. He swallowed down an emotion he couldn’t name.

“What’s wrong?”

He returned her gaze, staring into her bright blue eyes, studying her beautiful face. Her skin was like porcelain, her cheekbones high, her lashes nearly touching her brow. But it was what you couldn’t see that made her beautiful. Her kind spirit, her giving heart. He’d missed her.

“Nothing,” he finally said with a heavy breath.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Do you want steak or chicken?”

He sat the frame on the bar. “I’ll have whatever you are,” he answered.

“I don’t eat meat.”

Emmett’s head darted up, surprised by her words. Her back was still turned. “You don’t eat meat? Like ever?” he asked.

She shook her head but offered no explanation.

“But you love meat. You had to have it for every meal—breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sometimes snack time, too.”

She shrugged.

Something was off. Emmett rose from his seat and walked around the counter separating them. He leaned against the refrigerator, staring at her. “Why don’t you eat meat anymore?” He feared her answer, knowing intuitively it had something to do with whatever it was she was hiding from him.

“It’s just,” she paused, stirring the contents of the frying pan with a wooden spoon.

Emmett stepped closer. “Just what, Elle?”

Her head remained down as she absently mixed the vegetables.

He took another step and reached out to touch her bare arm, unable stop himself.

She looked down at his hand for several seconds before her blue eyes rolled up to meet his. They were glassy with unshed tears.

Shit.

Emmett stepped back, letting his hand fall away. “I’ll have chicken,” he said quietly.

She turned and stood tall, the food forgotten for the moment. “Cancer,” she said firmly. “I had cancer.”

Cancer?

Emmett fought to keep from doubling over, the pain of what felt like a baseball bat slamming into his gut overtaking every thought. Or a Mack truck. Yeah, that was more accurate for the kind of soul crushing pain the blow her declaration had caused.

Emmett could only stare at her, wondering if he’d somehow misunderstood her.

Her gaze never met his. Instead, she seemed to be staring at a point on his chest.

A million questions bombarded him at once. When? Where? What kind? Was it gone? Would it come back? What had her world been like since she’d been diagnosed? And why hadn’t she come to him right away? Even with all they’d been through, he would have dropped everything to be with her, to help her with this.

He thought of the town. This town was small. There was no way he wouldn’t have heard this through his mom if anyone here knew. It couldn’t be true.

Before he could ask any of the questions racing through his brain, Elle busied herself with a package of chicken she’d produced from somewhere when he wasn’t looking, slicing it and tossing it into the hot pan with a few of the vegetables she’d cooked separately. It sizzled and the smell immediately assaulted him. He’d always liked the smell of meat but now it would forever remind him of why Elle could no longer eat it.

“What else don’t you eat?” Emmett asked, choosing to ask the easy question instead of all the others. They were too scary to ask yet. It was stupid, really. Ignoring the fact she’d said she had cancer wouldn’t make it go away.

“Eggs, dairy, pretty much anything that comes from an animal. I’m vegan.”

“That sounds awful,” Emmett laughed.

“You do what you have to.” She said with a shrug. “They say it makes a big difference in whether the cancer will come back or not.”

Come back. Fuck. He sucked in a breath and suddenly lost his appetite.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be,” she said.

“You used to love ice cream,” Emmett said, unsure why he’d mentioned it.

“I still do, I just buy ice cream made from other things besides cow’s milk.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Yup,” she popped her lips with the “p” sound. “Totally possible, thank God.”

“Like, with what?” Now Emmett was intrigued.

“Like coconut cream.”

“Coconuts have cream?” he asked, feeling a bit stupid

“Nada Moo makes the most amazing chocolate ice cream. It’s to die for.” She glanced up and the look on her face was like ecstasy. “I have some if you want to try it. We can have it for dessert.”

She smiled, so wide and so bright that he only had one answer. “Sure.”

“The food is almost ready,” Elle said, glancing over her shoulder. “Do you want to put the plates on the table?” She nodded toward two bright blue plates on the counter next to her.

Emmett reached over the counter, grasping the plates and carrying them to the small dining table. He glanced up at the wall and noticed another wooden sign just above the table.

It’s how far you’ve come not how far you have to go.

“You have a lot of these,” Emmett said as he placed the plates opposite one another.

“What’s that?” Elle asked, carrying several serving dishes.

Emmett nodded toward the wall.

“Oh, those. Yeah.” She sat down the dishes and stood with her hands on her hips. “A friend of mine in New York makes them.”

“Really?” Emmett studied the sign. It didn’t look posh or fancy like something he would imagine a New York designer would make but it fit Elle’s eclectic style.

“Yeah, she had cancer. She gave me a sign when I was sick, you know, to keep my hopes up and all. They grew in popularity and now she sends her motivational signs all over the world to hospitals and survivors.”

“Seriously?” Emmett asked, turning to stare at her. He felt oddly left out. It was a selfish feeling, but somehow listening to her talk about the connections she’d made with her treatment hurt. Because one thing was becoming clear. This wasn’t a new diagnosis. She’d gone through treatment. Maybe she was even in remission. And she hadn’t needed him. Hadn’t told him.

“Unfortunately, almost thirteen million people every year are diagnosed with cancer so her customer base is growing.” She laughed but Emmett didn’t find her statement amusing.

Thirteen million. How the fuck was that even possible? All he could wonder was how many of those thirteen million died.

She answered the unasked question. “Over half those diagnosed die from cancer.”

Emmett sucked in a breath and nearly sank to the floor. “Are you? I mean, is it?” Hell, he couldn’t even ask it.

“My treatment is complete. I’ve been healthy for almost five years and I’m doing everything I can to be on this side of the statistic. Hence my vegan life style.” Elle stared at him for a long moment before glancing down at the food. “Please, sit. Eat, before it gets cold.”

Yeah, right. Like he could eat now. “Does it help?” Emmett asked as he sank down into the chair.

He’d noticed she hadn’t said she was cancer-free or in remission. Emmett realized he didn’t even know what that meant. Did remission mean it just wasn’t active but it was there? Or was it gone? He knew next to nothing about cancer.

“We’ll see,” she smiled.

We’ll see? His face fell. “How can you do that?”

“Do what?” she asked, spooning rice, chicken and vegetables onto his plate.

“Laugh at it. Make fun of it.” His words were harsher than he’d have liked, but he couldn’t help the anger building in him.

“It is called cancer, Emmett.” She watched him as she slid his plate in front of him. “You won’t catch it.”

“That’s not what I meant, Elle.”

“You’d be surprised,” she said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

She finished portioning out her food and leaned back in her chair. “It’s amazing what happens to people when you tell them you have cancer. Some look at you with disdain, like, how did you get this, like it was my fault. Others look at you like you’re a leper. It’s why I decided not to tell anyone in Canyon Creek when I came home.”

“And me?”

“You looked like you were going to kill me a minute ago when I told you about my diagnosis. Which is funny, really.”

“What’s funny about me killing you?” he asked surprised his voice sounded normal.

“It would be better than the cancer killing me, I guess.”

Emmett slammed his hand on the table.

Elle jumped and covered her chest with her hand.

“Dammit, Elle, it’s not a joke!” Emmett felt gutted at the news she’d delivered and she was making jokes about it. About her cancer. If he wasn’t so worried about her health, he’d wring her neck.

“Oh, trust me. I know,” she said as she picked up her fork, as if nothing had happened.

“What is wrong with you?”

She scooped up a forkful of food and slipped it into her mouth. Slowly she chewed before swallowing, taking her sweet fucking time to answer.

“What’s wrong with me,” she finally spoke, “is that I’ve stared death in the face and guess what? I won. So not much fazes me anymore, especially the petty things.”

“So, me being pissed that you didn’t tell me you had cancer is petty?”

Elle wiped her mouth and drew in a deep breath. “No,” she breathed. “That wasn’t petty, that was wrong.” Her blue eyes rolled up to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, Emmett. I want a chance to explain. But let’s eat first, okay?”

Emmett could only stare as she returned to her food as if this whole thing wasn’t the most fucked up situation ever.

“Are you cancer free?”

“Are any of us?” she asked without hesitation.

“Dammit, Elle, you know what I mean.”

“I’m not cancer-free,” she finally answered, letting her fork rest on her plate. She stared up at him. “The five-year mark is a good indicator. In fact, if you stay in remission for five years, some doctors will say you are cured. Every year after that your chances of survival increase.”

“When were you diagnosed?” Emmett asked with a shaky voice, his hands trembling under the table. He hadn’t touched his food.

“Almost five years ago” she said quietly.

He did the math in his head. They’d been together in New York five years ago. He didn’t want to go there yet. Instead, he asked, “So what are your odds now? Five years and you’re cured, or free? Did your doctor say that?”

Elle shook her head. “I had a different kind of cancer, it’s called invasive. My prognosis isn’t as easy to define. I’ll likely have cancer cells in my body for years to come.”

Emmett swallowed against nausea that rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. He feared he would physically be sick. “So, what does that mean, Elle?” he asked, trying to remain calm but unable to hide the tremor in his voice.

She raised her head and straightened her shoulders. “It means I live in the moment, Emmett. I live for today. I don’t let statistics dictate my life. I choose to believe differently than modern medicine.”

“What do you believe, then?” he asked, somewhat affronted by her answer.

“My belief is simple.”

Emmett sat stock still, his heart hammering inside of his chest. “What is it?” he asked quietly.

“There is no tomorrow.”

Fuck.

“I live for today. I do the things I want today. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Look at your father.”

Emmett’s shoulders slumped. She was right. His father’s heart attack had come out of nowhere. No one was prepared to lose him, least of all his family.

“Did you know that night in New York?” he asked, unable to wait any longer. His voice was so low it was hard for even him to hear the question.

She pointed toward his plate. “Can we finish dinner then I’ll tell you everything you want to know?”

Emmett nodded once, not sure he could choke down a bite, but he wanted answers. The sooner he finished the sooner they could talk.

He forced himself to taste the meal. The food was delicious, as usual. Elle had always been an excellent cook. She’d learned early. Losing her mother and becoming the only female in a house full of men, she’d had to grow up fast. Her father and brothers relied on her, too much at times he thought. Many people considered Elle an old soul. And she was. But it wasn’t all genetics. Life had pushed her into adulthood at a very early age.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

Emmett glanced up.

She gave a small smile. “Besides cancer,” she said, waving her fork in the air as if they could cross that off some list.

Was there anything else to talk about?

The silence was deafening, so unlike their younger years.

“Do you think your family will work with the resort?” she finally asked. “To work on joint marketing ideas on ways to attract more tourists to Canyon Creek? I think the lodge and the resort would benefit.”

Emmett remained silent. He wasn’t sure he could work with Elle even if he did get all the answers he wanted tonight. Some obstacles were too big to get over. Cancer.

The thought of Elle having cancer scared him to death but it was the fact she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him that really hurt.

She put a hand out to cover one of his and he had to fight the urge to pull it away. At the same time, he had to fight not to flip his hand over and take hold of hers. Instead, he held perfectly still as she spoke.

“I’ve had a lot more time to process this than you have, Emmett,” she said. “For that, I truly am sorry.” She put down her fork and pushed her plate away. “It wasn’t always this easy. There were lots of tears, lots of screaming at how unfair life was, lots of sleepless nights.” Her once peaceful face contorted at the remembered worry.

Emmett could only stare, grateful she was still here. “I’m sorry,” Emmett said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me.” She smiled, that same expression that had been part of his life since he’d first caught her stealing his lunch box at six years old. “It’s good to remember sometimes, to think of how fortunate I am.”

“How can you say you’re fortunate?” Emmett asked. “You’ve had cancer.”

“Yes, it’s true. But there’s more to me than my diagnosis.” She stood, grabbing her plate, reaching for his. “I see you didn’t like my veggie stir fry.” She laughed, her gaze sweeping over him.

He didn’t have to say it, she knew he’d lost his appetite.

“Come on,” Elle said, placing the plates on the counter, before turning to walk into the living room. She moved past the ottoman and sank down on a large leather sectional couch that filled most of the small space. She motioned to the other side. “Sit. Ask me anything.”

Emmett drew in a shaky breath, his lungs burning with fear.

“Emmett,” Elle prodded quietly.

He studied her beautiful face and was instantly transported to their childhood. Elle had always been so open and honest with him. That was one of the reasons he couldn’t believe she’d lied. Well, not lied, just withheld the truth.

With unsteady legs, he made his way into the living room and lowered himself onto the sofa, not sure where to start now that he had her here. The beginning seemed like a good place.

He drew in a deep breath and released it with a heavy sigh as he stared into the eyes of his best friend. He didn’t want to know, but he had to. “How did you find out you had cancer?”