Outside in the cool air—which is much more pleasant now that I’ve rescued my coat from my luggage and added a matching scarf to go with my hat—I cup my hands around my mouth and shout down the mostly deserted street, “Don’t get too far ahead, Chloe!”

Chloe waves a hand in response and veers into a cul-de-sac, where she seems content to guide her bike in circles until Diana and I catch up.

“She’ll be fine,” Diana says. “Chloe’s solid on her bike, and most of the people in the neighborhood go to visit family for the holidays. It’s always weirdly deserted around here at American Thanksgiving.”

“American Thanksgiving? As opposed to…” I smile down at my petite savior. It’s hard to believe Diana and Brendan are related by blood. She’s as delicate as he is tall and broad, with soft brown eyes in contrast to his piercing blue. The only thing they have in common is their dark blond curls, which Diana has twisted up into an artistic knot atop her head, secured by a number two pencil.

“As opposed to Canadian Thanksgiving,” she says. “The true and original Thanksgiving, first celebrated in Newfoundland by Sir Martin Frobisher and his crew in 1578, a good forty-something years before the Pilgrims.” She grins as she lifts the camera dangling around her neck and snaps a picture of me, moving so quickly I don’t have time to smile. “Don’t worry; you look gorgeous in this light. It’s going to be a great shot. I’ll send it to Brendan when I get the film developed. I know no one does film anymore, but I get sentimental around the holidays. Even American holidays. Brendan did mention that he’s Canadian, didn’t he?”

I nod, wishing I’d had another cup of coffee. Diana’s an even faster talker than I am. “Yeah. I knew he grew up on Vancouver Island, but he never mentioned Canadian Thanksgiving. Maybe he assumed I knew. I should have, I guess. I’ve lived one state away from the border my entire life.”

“It’s okay. You know Canadians; we don’t like to brag about our superior holiday celebrations.” She grins. “And it’s not a huge deal in our family. Our parents usually host something low key at their place in October, and then Brendan and I come here for the gluttonous American version in November. The Gibbons were nice enough to adopt me along with Brendan when he and Maryanne got married, so I’m a regular by this point.”

“They do seem very nice,” I say, my cheeks heating all over again.

Diana laughs. “They really are. And seriously, the embarrassing stuff will be old news by the time we sit down for dinner. Angie always underestimates how long it’s going to take for the turkey to cook. We’ll be lucky to be eating before five. By then everyone will be so starved they won’t care about anything except shoveling food into their mouths as quickly as humanly possible.”

“Good to know.” I cross my arms at my chest with a sigh. “Though, I doubt I’ll be able to look Angie in the eye without blushing for quite some time. It’s going to be a long weekend.”

Diana rests a hand on my arm, pulling me to a gentle stop beside her, her expression sobering. “Hey, before we get close enough for Chloe to hear, I want you to know that I know. Brendan told me about the favor you’re doing for him. He really appreciates it, and so do I. The Gibbons are amazing people, but they’re also kind of crazy when it comes to Chloe’s happiness. I don’t think they would try to fight Brendan for custody—at least not as long as he keeps holding it together as well as he has been—but it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility, and I know it’s been freaking him out. Having you here will go a long way to getting them off his back.”

She shrugs, her eyes narrowing as her smile widens, making her resemble a cat preparing to pounce a mouse stuffed with catnip. “And who knows? It might be the kick in the ass you guys need to realize reality is more fun than pretend. Because let’s get real—you have a thing for my brother, don’t you?”

“Um…” I press my lips together, casting a furtive glance Chloe’s way. But Chloe is still peddling in happy circles, singing a song from one of her favorite cartoons, oblivious that I’m being questioned by a master of interrogation disguised as a cute blond woman.

“It’s cool,” Diana hurries on. “If he hasn’t caught on yet, I won’t say anything. But so you know, my brother is one of the good ones. I’m of the opinion that men, as a whole, aren’t worth the trouble, but he’s an exception. He’s a solid, generous, decent guy. And he can be fun, too, if you can get him to relax.”

I tuck my chin to my chest, studying the cracked sidewalk, wishing I’d stayed inside. Yes, I’d felt about two seconds away from spontaneously combusting from embarrassment, but at least I could have avoided yet another awkward conversation. “Yeah. I saw that side this past summer. We had a lot of fun together for a little while, but he…”

I take a deep breath, forcing a smile as I look up, meeting Diana’s searching gaze. “But that’s all he was up for. He’s not interested in feelings, and I’m not interested in the other stuff without feelings, so…”

A frown wrinkles Diana’s delicate brow. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I had no idea. He never said anything, and the way he was looking at you when we walked into the kitchen, I assumed…” Her nose wrinkles as she brings the heel of her palm to smack her forehead. “Now I feel like a complete ass. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I wave a hand through the air between us. “There’s no way you could have known.”

“No, seriously, I have the worst luck with relationships. I know nothing about the finding, let alone the care and feeding, of love. I should have learned to keep my mouth shut years ago.” She lunges forward, giving me another hug, this time a two-armed version, smashing her camera painfully between us. “I’m sorry I made things uncomfortable, and I’m sorry my brother’s a fuckhead.”

I laugh, patting her on the back. “He’s not a fuckhead.”

“No, he is,” she says earnestly as she pulls away. “He told you all he wanted was a fuck buddy, and then asked you to come pretend to be his girlfriend? That’s the definition of a fuckhead.”

“It’s more complicated than that. And I don’t think he has any idea I have feelings for him. We went back to being friends after. If anything, he’s clueless, not cruel.”

She props her hands low on her hips. “Being clueless is no excuse. He needs to get that memo, and I’m going to make sure he does, loud and clear. I won’t tolerate my brother becoming one of the useless dicks of the world. He was raised better.”

I hold up my hands, shaking my head fast. “Oh, please don’t. Don’t say anything to him. I’ve already had enough embarrassment to last me for the next several years. Let me cling to what pride I have left.”

Diana sighs, her arms falling listlessly to her sides. “All right. But be sure to give me your address before I leave tonight, okay? That way I can send copies of the good pics straight to you. Brendan doesn’t deserve beautiful candid shots of the gorgeous woman he’s too stupid to fall madly in love with.”

My lips curve. “You’re very sweet. But in his defense, I’m not going to take the rejection personally anymore. After a few of the things he said today, I don’t think Brendan is ready to give anyone a chance. It’s not just me.”

“I think you’re right.” Diana fiddles with one of the knobs on top of her camera. “It’s hard enough to move on after a relationship ends in a bad breakup. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for him. Still…I wish he could find a way to open up again. It’s hard to see someone you love living life at fifty percent, you know?” Her gaze goes wistful and her fingers still. “My brother’s like a unicorn with his horn cut off. Still mostly whole and functional, but the magic is gone.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that odd, yet sadly accurate, comparison, but thankfully Chloe saves me.

“Are you two coming or not?” she calls out from the end of the block. “We’re never going to get to the waterfall if you don’t keep walking.”

“Coming, Miss Bossy.” Diana’s eyes flash as she nods toward her niece. “But that one’s pretty magical, huh? Almost makes me want to consider artificial insemination.”

I grin as I fall back into step beside her. “Agreed. Though I do enjoy borrowing other people’s kids. My sister’s in a pretty intense relationship. I have a suspicion I’ll be an aunt before too long.”

“Being an aunt is the best!” Diana lifts her camera, snapping a picture of Chloe as she peddles down the street, her hair flying in the breeze. “All the fun of being a mom, and then you can ghost when the fairy child starts showing her demon side. So, you just have one sister?”

“Just one. But Libby’s boyfriend and I have been tight since we were kids, so he kind of feels like a brother already. Is Brendan your only brother?”

She nods. “Yep, it’s all girls in the Daniels’ house except him. But my other sisters are still on the island, so they don’t pester him as much as I do.”

The rest of the way to the waterfall, we talk about families—the pluses and minuses of a large tribe over a small one—work, travel, and other safe subjects. Diana pulls out her phone, showing me some of her favorite shots from her years as a wildlife photographer for the National Park System, and I tell her about the hockey fantasy camp I organize for the Badgers every February.

At the waterfall, which is only partially frozen, but entirely stunning, Chloe gives me a tour, while Diana snaps pictures. Afterward, we leave Chloe’s bike leaned against the guardrail and hike up into the woods behind the falls, climbing until we’re treated with truly stunning views of the gorge and snow-covered Mount Hood beyond.

Nature works its usual magic, and by the time we get back down to street level, I’m feeling more at peace than I did before. Hiking through the dramatic scenery of the Pacific Northwest, it’s hard not to feel like life is simpler than I usually give it credit for. My problems have been put in perspective by the epic mountain range stretching toward the horizon, evergreens towering overhead, and sunlight glittering on snow.

So I’ve got a thing for a man who doesn’t have a thing for me—who clearly wants me but doesn’t want the messy possibilities that come along with getting emotionally involved with another human being. Compared to the settlers who made their way across the mountains in covered wagons, starving and struggling and fighting their way to a new life, my problems are pretty fucking small.

My zen state lasts the entire walk back to the house, through several hours in Chloe’s room watching movies and building an obstacle course of Legos for Fluffster—who has decided he loves me and would prefer not to be parted from my side, proving there is no bond as powerful as that between a woman and a dog who’ve done battle over a diaphragm—and throughout dinner, which is even later than Diana predicted.

We sit down at six, our company joined by Angie’s sister and her three adult children, seven of Chloe’s second cousins between the ages of four and fifteen, and an elderly couple from down the street who have no relatives in the area. We finish our second serving of pie at eight fifteen, just in time for Chloe to be whisked away to her room, her sleepy arms wrapped around her daddy’s neck and her head resting on his shoulder. I help clear the table and tidy up the kitchen as the guests bundle into their coats, I hug Diana at the door, and finally I bid Angie and Steve good night around nine.

It isn’t until I’m trudging up the stairs, tired from a long day of kisses, embarrassment, more kisses, mortification, hiking, playing, and eating too much pie that I start to feel anxious again.

Since I returned from the walk, Brendan and I haven’t had much time to play the happy couple. He was busy helping Steve set up extra folding tables in the living room and fixing something plumbing related in the guest bathroom, and I was busy entertaining Chloe and helping Angie serve the kids.

Now, as I slip into our shared room to hear water running in the attached bathroom, the reality that Brendan and I are going to be sharing the queen bed against the far wall makes my mouth dry and my heart beat faster. After this morning, I know nothing’s going to happen between us, but that doesn’t mean I won’t spend the entire night lying awake, very, very aware of the warm, powerful, beautiful body of the man sleeping next to me.

I’m debating telling Brendan that I’ll sleep in the Cruiser and sneak back into our room before sunrise tomorrow to maintain our cover—sure, I might freeze as the temperature drops overnight, but at least I’ll be able to get some sleep before I die of hypothermia—when he sticks his head out of the bathroom, a damp washcloth in hand.

“Hey. I was just headed downstairs to say goodbye to Diana.”

“She already left.” I unzip my suitcase, which Brendan has relocated to the bench at the foot of the bed, giving me the prime luggage space while leaving his own on the floor.

“She did?” He frowns, stepping through the door. “You’re sure?”

I nod, concentrating on pulling out my sleep things—the most modest pair of flannel pajamas I own—to avoid admiring how good Brendan looks in black sweatpants and a tight blue T-shirt. We slept naked the last time we spent the night together. I’ve never seen him dressed for bed, and he looks unexpectedly…snuggly.

Sexy and snuggly, a dangerous combination.

He curses softly. “Great. She must be pissed at me for some reason.”

I shrug. “Maybe she was just tired. She has a long drive, right?”

“A couple of hours. She’s based out of Crater Lake right now, but she’s staying with a friend in Eugene tonight. I’ll text her in the morning and see what’s up.” He sighs tiredly, flipping the washcloth over his shoulder. “I’m not in the mood for a Diana fight tonight.” He glances up, his eyes guarded. “So, I think it went okay, don’t you?”

“I think it went very well.” I smile. “After the initial insanity.”

His lips curve. “You made an excellent recovery.”

“Well, I’m made of pretty tough stuff.” I turn to face him, my pajamas held to my chest. “Is it okay if I grab a shower before bed?”

“Sure. I’m done. It’s all yours.” He steps aside, motioning to the tub with an awkwardness that would be endearing if I didn’t know the reason for it.

“It’s cool,” I say with forced levity, knowing I can’t survive another three days of “sorry about trying to get into your pants” Brendan. “We’re cool. Let’s forget about everything that happened between ten and eleven a.m. and move on with a fresh slate, okay?”

He nods, but the tension around his eyes remains. “Okay. But I’m going to sleep on the floor.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, though the thought of a few extra feet between sleeping Brendan and sleeping me actually sounds like a good idea.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll grab an extra blanket out of Chloe’s room and be fine on the floor.” He backs toward the door, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “I can sleep anywhere. I’ll probably be out cold before you get out of the shower. I know it’s early, but I’m pretty beat.”

“Me, too.” I flutter my fingers. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.” He pauses in the doorway, his lips parting, but after a moment he shakes his head and lifts a hand, clearly rethinking whatever he was going to say. “See you in the morning.”

And then he’s gone, and there is suddenly more oxygen in the room. Which is good. Oxygen is good. Breathing is good.

So why does watching him go feel so shitty?