When Lana woke, her heart was already in her throat before she could open her eyes. She struck out with her hand and found the other side of the bed empty.

Her eyes flew open.

"Hank?"

The light was on in the kitchen, and the sounds of activity—and of another body moving about—chased away Lana's unease. She fell back into the pillow, covered her face with her hands, and then scrubbed at her eyes.

She rose, threw on a shirt, and padded into the kitchen.

Hank was fully dressed and spreading out two orders of chicken and waffles.

Lana's mouth watered. "Somebody went to Dyna's."

He looked up from setting their plates and grinned crookedly. "Morning, sunshine."

Lana's face warmed as if she really was the sunshine. He pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table, and she sat down. "Dyna got to wake up to you this morning? Lucky lady."

"So did you." His lips brushed her forehead in a soft kiss, and he sat down.

They ate breakfast together, smiling and laughing as they took turns dishing up butter and drizzling maple syrup. Hank recounted Dyna's cryptic behavior that morning at the diner. Lana chuckled in all the appropriate places, but she wasn't sure she was getting the full story. When Hank mentioned how Dyna had asked about her, her fork froze on the way to her mouth. She recovered herself quickly before he could notice.

She knew exactly what Dyna had been driving at. The older woman had to know she was pregnant . . . otherwise, why had she sent that side order of pickles along? It was another perceived eccentricity that Hank just shook his head at.

After breakfast, they went for a walk, hands linked in full view of anyone in the town who might pass by and see them. Lana was in heaven. It was enough to make her forget the acrid taste of the smoky air and imagine they were back in high school. Regardless of what remained said, or unsaid, between them, this felt like being back together. It was comfortable, lighthearted, and fun.

They went for a short hike together; then, they dropped in on the diner to have milkshakes in the afternoon.

"Think you'll be hungry for dinner?" Hank asked her as Lana gulped down her chocolate shake and asked for another (smaller) one to go. He didn't bother hiding his curiosity.

She nodded, grinning from ear to ear. "I hope so. After all this eating out, I thought I could give Dyna a break and treat us both. I had a meal planned for two." Or rather, three, she thought, and hated the knowing look Dyna gave her when she dropped off the mini milkshake.

Lana rotated the diminutive cup around in her hands as Hank finished paying. Small things tugged at her heart now—literally small things. A tiny hat left on top of Dyna's lost and found, the little pair of water shoes the mother in the parking lot outside had been trying to coax her toddler son into . . . they spoke of the existence of a miniature world that was fast approaching.

All the signs and symptoms of her pregnancy were already there. She had gotten good at concealing them, but it was only a matter of time before she started to show.

But Hank might be long gone by then . . .

She looked sidelong at the man leaned up against the bar, chatting beside her. Seeing his chiseled profile overwhelmed her with feelings as equally strong as the ones that came over her anytime she noticed children these days. It's just your hormones, Lana, she consoled herself. But it wasn't much consolation at all. There was such a stark difference between the outer calm she projected and the inner turmoil that stirred her up inside and muddled all logical thought.

Out in the parking lot, she couldn't hold herself back any longer. She sucked down a quick chocolaty sip of her milkshake for good luck, held her drink safely to the side, and . . . "Hank?"

"Yeah?"

He turned to her, clearly curious about the second of silence that followed.

Lana slipped her hand behind his neck, raised up on her toes, and kissed him gently. His lips were warm and dry, and her mouth caught on his surprised lower lip as she settled back on her heels.

His arms circled her waist, suddenly, and pulled her in against him. What she had intended to be a chaste show of her affection for him transformed into something heady, something more. The muscled forearms that banded around the small of her back and nestled into the curve of her spine were unyielding and unhesitating. Her heart trembled as Hank's mouth teased her own open. Suddenly, there was no escaping.

Lana wondered if there had ever been.

They walked back to her house. They didn't hold hands this time, but Hank's arm stayed around her waist, linking her close to him. His hand occasionally descended to find the right rear pocket of her jeans, and the heat of his palm would cradle the curve of her ass as they strolled. Lana knew she should swat at him playfully to stop, but she couldn't bring herself to. She suddenly wondered how soon in the future she would be missing the heat of his hand there.

When they arrived back at her house, she had only seconds to deposit her milkshake safely on the kitchen island before Hank's hands started to make very persistent memories all over her body. His fingers skated over every inch of her, and when no inches were immediately available, they delved beneath her clothes to skim bare skin. Lana breathed in, breathed out, ragged, shaking sighs, as he dispensed with her clothing.

He had her naked before they made it to her bedroom.

They fell into bed together. Her breathing, still uneven, impossibly seemed to match his. Intake for out, pulse for stuttering pulse, they moved together in a rhythm sweeter than the score of any song Lana had ever heard.

Afterward, they lay in bed together in a warm wedge of evening sunlight that filtered in through the drawn curtains. Hank's hand swept through the wild, post-sex tangle of her hair, winding and twisting it in his fingers. Lana lifted her eyes when he wasn't looking and gazed up at his handsome face, relaxed in repose.

His eyes were shut, and his breathing was even. She watched his bare chest rise and fall beneath her trailing fingers. It was the chest of the boy she had known, growing up, yet it wasn't. It was the developed, well-muscled chest of a man from Alaska, a man who fought fires and rushed headlong into danger.

Why was it so easy to recognize Hank—and at the same time, so hard to find him? To reach him? Shouldn't she feel one way only? He rested right here beneath her hands, yet instinct told her he could be snatched from her at any moment. When would she learn to appreciate the heaven she had without worrying so much about the hell that might follow?

Hank peeled one eye open and turned to her. Lana blinked in surprise. She wondered if she should feel caught in the act. His arm constricted around her harder, and she couldn't help laughing in relief. Again, thoughts of being caught by Hank struck her as pleasant ones to be having. "You hungry?" She pushed against his chest and sat up.

"Starving," he admitted. "I'm really getting my workouts in with you."

Lana blushed. She slipped out of bed, stretched, and gathered up her clothes. She wasn't about to take the risk of cooking naked when Hank's squad had already proved their willingness to show up on her doorstep out of the blue. She threw him a playful wink as she exited to the kitchen.

Less than five minutes later, Hank joined her. He circled his arms around her waist and swayed with her as she monitored the chicken in the oven. When he dropped his mouth to her shoulder and planted a soft kiss at the curve of her neck, she quaked a little. She couldn't shake the impression that her earlier worry might have some foundation after all. But on what? Everything had gone better than she could have hoped for today.

Maybe that was the problem. Things between them were too good to believe. And the way Hank was holding her . . . it was almost like he was trying to make a lasting memory of his own. Like he was already saying goodbye.

They didn't trade any more words until dinner was finished. Lana plated the roasted chicken and rice and served them both up. Hank sat down without pulling her chair out for her, his expression preoccupied. Lana's heart quavered.

"I love you, Lana."

". . . all right." Lana sat down, joining him at the table, even though lowering herself into the chair suddenly felt like dipping too fast into a bath of hot water. Hank's declaration hadn't felt like a real and unsolicited statement of his love; it had felt like a segue into something else. "Why do I feel like there's a big invisible 'but' suddenly hanging in the air between us?"

"I do. I . . . really love you," he insisted. "Maybe more than you know. I sure as hell love you more than I know how to convey."

His words tugged at Lana's heartstrings, but she crossed her arms to keep her heart firmly in place. "Hank, what are you saying? What is this really about?"

Hank removed the patterned cloth napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. He had barely touched his food, but then again, the few bites Lana had managed before this turn in the conversation suddenly felt like lead weights filling up her stomach. "You and I both have our own separate lives now. I wish I could go back and do it all over again. Make different choices." Lana watched him twist the napkin in a tightening fist. Her heart twisted accordingly. "But I can't. And there's things . . . there's things between us you don't know. Things that would change how you feel about me."

"Like what?" she prompted. "Hank, you can talk to me." Was there really something he had kept secret from her? For how long? All these years? Lana certainly knew she was keeping a massive secret, but if whatever weighed on Hank was even more enduring than that . . .

Hank's sudden silence was oppressive. And Lana knew, without a doubt, without even needing him to tell her, that there was something. It was maddening to hear his answer in the void that stretched between them; she could see the shape of words without knowing what the words were.

"No one gets to go back in time," he said finally, echoing Alex. "No one gets a real second chance, Lana—especially not at the things that matter. I think we're just fooling ourselves at this point."

Lana stared at him. His words had knocked the wind out of her. She felt a surge of something unfamiliar burn through her suddenly, and realized it was anger: real, true anger, and not the disillusionment she had convinced herself to feel for years when she couldn't sustain her feelings of sadness. "What the hell was this day about, then, Hank?" she demanded. "And why did you come back to me in the first place?"

"Because I couldn't stay away from you any longer!" he thundered. He threw his napkin down and rose, but Lana didn't back down in the wake of his eruption. She rose as well, blood thrumming in her ears.

"You could have. You stayed away for years!" she replied. "Why did you decide to let any of this happen, then, if you think it's all a mistake?"

"We both wanted to get back what we had then, but we can't," he said. "It's time to come back down to reality, Lana. I'm sorry. I can't change what I did . . . and we can't change the past."

What did you do, Hank? She wanted to scream the question, but she didn't. She had asked already, only to come up abruptly on a dead end—one that Hank himself had imposed. "Hank . . ." She choked a little on his name, but persevered. "I forgive you for leaving. You know that, right?"

Hank said nothing. He hung his head where he stood, and Lana knew he heard her. Hell, it looked as if he believed her, too—or at least believed that she believed what she was saying. There was an almost patronizing quality to his acceptance that she couldn't bear any longer. "I forgive you, Hank. But I'm tired of playing games. The constant hot-and-cold, the sudden upswings before the downswings . . . I literally can't take this anymore." Tears sprang into her eyes as she spoke, but she didn't blink, or turn her eyes from him. She knew they would fall if she did. They hung, suspended, unreleased, on her lower lash line. ". . . I think you should go," she finished.

Hank's motionless posture went even more rigid at this. He had expected to leave, she realized—he hadn't expected to be thrown out. He lifted his head, and opened his mouth to reply.

Lana braced herself. Her hands settled on the table, and she waited. She didn't blink. She didn't let the tears flow.

"Goodbye, Lana," Hank said quietly.

It was only after Hank turned and left, closing the front door behind him, that Lana sank back down into her chair and surrendered.

"You should have known better, Lana," she sobbed to herself. She realized that she was twisting the napkin that Hank had left behind him. She had a momentary impulse to throw it against the wall, but she resisted at the last moment. She pressed it close to her heart.

"You know better now," she murmured.