"It must be some sort of addiction, Lana," Alex sighed as she poured them both another glass of wine. "First Henry, now Landon. I haven't even looked at another man since Henry passed away. You know that, right?"

"You don't need my validation," Lana said. The two women sat together in Lana's parlor. Though she loved Lana's famous sweet tea, Alex had elected to bring something a little stronger with her today. She passed the deep crimson-brimming glass to her friend and cupped her own. She had overpoured on purpose; they had two bottles to get through between them, and Alex had vowed on her way over to limit herself to only one night of griping.

Luckily, Lana’s house was not that long a walk from hers.

"I think it's wonderful that you and Landon are trying things out," Lana continued. "It's so romantic, don't you think? You nursed him back to health, and now he's helping to mend your wounded heart."

"It's not like that at all!" Alex stressed. Her voice sounded tight, like she had almost used up all the oxygen available to her to protest with. Lana was still watching her with the same small impression of a smile but waited for her to finish. Alex composed herself. "And anyway," she continued, "how do I know this isn't just history doomed to repeat itself? He's reckless, Lana. He can't stay away from danger. I'm afraid he's the same exact person Henry was."

"Landon is not Henry." Lana's tone surprised her with its severity. "And you had better not start down that track thinking that he is. You're only going to hurt yourself and those around you if you try to replace your husband."

Alex sighed. She wasn't communicating the way she wanted to, today—first with Landon, and now with her dear friend. "I know he isn't Henry, Lana. But some days, it all just feels so . . . similar. I've been single for four years, and the first guy I fall for has the same sort of brash disregard about doing things likely to get him killed. I can't go through that again."

"It's a hard place to be in," Lana said sympathetically. "I certainly understand not wanting to relive the past."

Alex thought she had conveyed her feelings effectively on the matter, but she couldn't help feeling foolish, like a teenage girl venting her problems overdramatically to the passive girlfriend whose job it was to listen.

"But enough about me," Alex said quickly. "Have you seen Hank since he came back to town?" She was desperate to turn the tables and prove herself worthy of Lana's saintlike patience.

Lana shook her head. "I mean, we've technically seen each other from a distance. But you don't want to hear about all that, now."

Alex opened her mouth to protest, but Lana shook her head again. "Really, Alex, I'd prefer to talk about you. You've been through so much, these past four years, and I don't see you giving yourself enough credit now."

Alex sat up. She opened her mouth to protest, then stopped herself. If there was anyone in the world she didn't want to interrupt, it was Lana.

"Landon sounds like a good man, from the way you describe him," Lana said. "Maybe your type isn't what you think it is, at all. Maybe, rather than finding yourself attracted to men with a death wish, you simply find yourself attracted to good men.” She tilted her head to the side as she asked, “Isn't that a better way to see it?"

"I don't know if I'd be deluding myself if I accepted your take on it," Alex admitted. She took an introspective sip of her wine. She put her glass down, swallowed, and suddenly blurted the truth she had been holding back: "He's right, you know. He told me I hadn't taken the time to actually grieve Henry's death. I can see now that I've been running, and I know it's all my fault." She hung her head.

"It's not your fault, honey," Lana whispered. "You've been through an unimaginable tragedy. No one on God's green earth would ever blame you for dealing with it as best you can."

"But I'm not dealing with it!" she exclaimed. "For four years, I didn't deal with it! And now Landon shows up, and I’ve never even started the process, let alone finished it." She swallowed, then raised a hand to touch her temple. "God, I've done this to myself. Worst of all, I've done it to him," she said bitterly. "Of course he had to come all the way out here from Alaska when the world's burning to find himself in my care." Alex snatched at her hair and cradled her head in her hands. "It's just . . . the worst possible timing on all fronts."

Lana laid a gentle hand on her knee. "You just have to trust your heart. That's the only way you can make these kinds of decisions."

My heart, Alex thought again as she trudged home, long after the last of the wine was gone. The heart is a muscle. The heart is an organ. My heart was dead for years before a smile from Landon gave it a jump. How am I supposed to trust what it says when I don't even speak the language anymore? And what if . . .?

What if it told her exactly what it had told her when she met Henry? Hold on to this man and don't let him go? How could you hold on to a man who raced away from you to risk his life at every opportunity?

As she approached her house, she saw a tall figure shoulder his way out the front door. The figure turned to lock the door behind him; the twisting turn of a spare key told Alex exactly who was bailing at such a late hour.

"Landon?" she asked.

Landon glanced up.

He was carrying his duffle bag. Alex stared at his face in fixed astonishment.

Was he . . . leaving?