Noelle walked down the stairs quietly and met Trapper at the bottom. “Hey, big boy. Want to go out?”

The old man enjoyed her caress, then lumbered his way to the back door.

“Looks like you need another rub.” She scratched Trapper’s hind end. She noticed the white of his cataracts was more pronounced today, and her heart squeezed. “You’re a good boy.” She encouraged him to go outside.

The morning sky had barely turned the corner from nighttime. Pink and purple pushed back the black night sky. She waited in Ethan’s snow boots on the back porch for Trapper. His familiar routine of walking to the edge of the cement surface and doing his business didn’t take long before he made a beeline back inside.

She bent over to retrieve the dog bowl and paused halfway down while her muscles announced their impromptu strike for indulging in last night’s gymnastic events. She pulled the collar of Ethan’s sweatshirt closer to smell his musk.

“I was wondering where my favorite shirt went.”

He hovered in the doorway, his track pants riding low on his hips, his chest naked. His abs were ripped and looked like a three-tiered layer cake, perfect for spreading with frosting. She gulped back the saliva pooling in her mouth.

“You mean my sweatshirt?” She quirked a brow, challenging him to object. She wanted to have something of his, even if his heart wasn’t available. Last night in his sleep, he reached for her, and when she settled into his arms, he whispered the name Brigitte.

In those few beats of her heart he’d shattered her hopes for any kind of relationship.

He was in love. Just not with her.

He stared at her a long time, then nodded his acceptance. “It is Christmas, after all. If all you want is a used sweatshirt, you can have it.”

“I asked Santa for a singing contract, but he said I’d been naughty.”

“He must have been misinformed. You were awfully nice last night.”

The temperature rose in the kitchen by several degrees. She needed to change the subject, and fast. She grabbed for the refrigerator door. “Omelet?”

He pushed open the laundry room door and grabbed a long-sleeved T-shirt out of the basket. “With cheese?”

“For you, I will fix it any way you like.” She forced the chipper back into her voice to disguise the heartache and reached for a skillet. “What’s on your agenda today?”

“I thought I was helping you with your song.”

Her core quivered at the thought of spending the entire day in the presence of the scrumptious doctor who reminded her of rich, dark chocolate frosting. She sighed. “I’m thinking I just need quiet time. I’m sure something will come to me. It usually does.”

He looked at her for a long moment, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Then I’ll catch up on my reading. We can have a quiet day together.” His eyes softened. “You're remarkable. Do you know that?”

She stared at him, stunned. “Why would you say that? You’re the one who’s remarkable. You’re brilliant at what you do, and have dedicated your life to saving people.” Just not yourself.

“Every doctor I've ever met is dedicated to making a name for themselves...well, except Brigitte.”

There she was again. His wife. Blocking the doorway leading to the rest of his life.

“In retrospect, I see Brigitte was a taker. She needed people to need her.”

Noelle set the orange juice on the counter. “Everyone needs to be needed.”

“Yes, but she needed more.”

She cracked several eggs in a bowl, then picked up a fork to whip the yolks and whites. “Is focusing on your work why you felt so guilty after she died. Do you believe you didn’t give her enough of your time?”

He pulled the coffee pot off the maker and poured himself a mug. “I gave her what I could.”

You didn’t answer the question.

He tipped his coffee cup back for a good, long swallow. She studied him out of the corner of her eye, her chest aching. Even though she hadn't intended to, she'd fallen—fallen hard. She didn't want to admit to loving him. After all, she wasn’t a good judge of people. But her heart refused to let go.

“Do you believe you'll ever find that kind of love again?” As soon as the question slipped off her tongue, regret slid into place.

He choked on his coffee and wiped the dribble from his chin. “No, I don’t. But, there are different kinds of love.”

“Being a doctor takes focus.” She folded and then flipped the eggs with the spatula. “And you're the responsible type.”

He stared at her. “It's a good trait to have if you’re doctor.”

But he had missed her point. He was the type to marry for life, and he would carry the burden of his wife and child’s deaths to his grave. Which was one of the reasons Noelle loved him. She cherished knowing he could love so deeply. The kind of love she craved.

“Yes. Responsibility is a good trait to have.”

She plated the omelet and set it on the counter beside him. He caught her arm before she could escape. He brushed the hair off her face and ran his knuckles along her jawline.

“You’re beautiful.”

And so was your wife. The thought slipped so quickly and easily into her mind.

In the early morning hours, she’d slipped out of his bed. A quick internet search produced pictures of Brigitte, and several pictures of their daughter. Both beautiful. There was no way she could compete with such a memory. What a shame their lives were cut short.

She met his direct stare. “I want to thank you.”

“For?”

She studied his face, long and hard. In a few days she wouldn’t see him again. She sucked in a breath of courage. “For proving to me that not all men are jerks.”

“You deserve the best.”

You are picture-perfect. “I think I’ll take a shower, then work for awhile. I need to see if I can write a song or two.” She forced that stage smile into place. She needed to perform, at least for a few more days.

“What about breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.” Unless you're volunteering to be my three-layer cake. She blew out a breath and stepped back. “Hopefully by lunchtime I’ll have something halfway decent for you to hear.”

“Noelle? After our conversation about your dad, I started thinking…”

Her gut clenched, wondering where he was going. “About?”

“You, and your career.” He scratched at his chest. “People have different motivations. Is singing a part of who you are, or are you singing just to prove that you can? I mean…” He looked down, as if searching for the perfect words to continue.

She needed to rescue him. “I’ve asked myself that a number of times over the years. I’ve come to the conclusion that singing and writing songs are as much a part of me as breathing. I can’t separate the two. Even if I never get a contract, I would still sing and write songs.”

“Then you’d better stop procrastinating and get those songs done.” A brief flash of emotion touched his face, but he shut it down before she could get a good read.

“You’re right. If I have any chance of being selected, I need to get working.”

Not wanting to see the sympathy in his eyes, or the doubt, or any of the things she expected to see, she headed down the hallway, swooping Cheddar into her arms.

When she got back to the room, she sank down onto her bed.

What the hell am I doing? She needed to stop trying to connect with a man who didn’t know how to let people in.

She needed to leave, make something happen in her life, not wait for an unhappy guy to figure out his own.

Maybe she should leave on Saturday. There would be less traffic on the weekend. Between the café and bakery, she had enough to pay for gas. She just needed a little more for an apartment. Relying on money to come from singing at Jack’s wasn’t smart. She’d been there and gotten burned in the past. Drawing in a gulp of courage, she glanced at her cell.

Could she do it? Should she? She’d resisted before.

She was out of options. She dialed, noting the time, ten past seven. It was too early, and she wouldn’t leave a message. Not that type of message. She’d have to go into town. She was about to hang up when her mom’s voice boomed through the speaker.

“You answered the phone.”

“Of course I picked up. I got one of those answer thingies, and Ted programmed you kids’ numbers in.”

Nice to know. “Listen, Mom. I’ve had a change of plans. I need to get to LA sooner than expected. I hate to ask, but do you have a couple of hundred dollars you can loan me?”

“Does this have anything to do with sleeping with Ethan? “

Her jaw went slack. “How did—”

“Do you love him?” Her mother pushed, the way she always did. There wasn’t anywhere she could hide. Mom would suss her out like a mouse in the kitchen, trap her, then tuck her in a safe spot outside and send her on her way.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure it does. Don’t do like I did and waste a whole bunch of time pretending it isn’t true.”

Noelle let out a slow, cheerless laugh. “Even if I told him, there’s nothing here for me. Like you, he’s still in love with the love of his life.”

“Now you listen here, Miss. Just because you love one person doesn’t mean there isn’t also room for someone else. The love may be different, but it’s still possible. Ethan Brennan is a good man.”

Her mother didn’t need to tell her that. There wasn’t anyone more honorable and protective than Ethan. If she ever got the chance, she'd nominate him for the noblest bachelor of the year award.

“Ethan is content being alone. He refuses to let people into his life.”

“Do you have wax in those ears? No one's happy alone. Not really. Those of us who are just fake it well.”

A blast of agitation rolled through her. “So, what about it? Will you loan me the money?”

“You are so darn stubborn. Why are you really going to LA? I know Nashville was a spur-of-the-moment type thing, and you stayed there just to prove a point. But LA? What’s in LA you can’t get in Denver? And don’t say recording studios, or I’ll get out the yellow pages.”

“You were the one who raised us to follow through on our commitments. I told Jade I was going to meet her in LA, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Even if it might be the wrong choice? How far down that mountain road are you willing to walk when you know you’re going in the wrong direction?”

“I’ve got to try something. I can’t just give up...”

“Who said anything about giving up?” Her mother’s huff sounded like a tornado coming through the speaker. “You’ve got a great voice. Let’s get you some good recording equipment and get your stuff up on YouTube.”

“YouTube. You know about YouTube?”

“I may not know how to work a computer very well, but I’ve got ears.”

“That all sounds great, Mom, but recording and mixing equipment takes a lot more money than it will take to get to LA. So how about it? Will you loan me the money?”

“No, I won’t give you a loan. When I had that garage sale last summer, I sold some stuff you didn’t want. That money is yours. It’s sitting in the bank collecting interest, so just let me know if you want cash or check.”

“Seriously?”

“On one condition. You talk to Ethan. I don’t want you leaving town without talking to him. You’ll always regret it if you do.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I’ll talk to him.”

“What. No pushback? No pouting? No hanging up on me?”

“I’m not twelve.”

A puff of laughter danced through the phone line. “No, baby. You’re a beautiful woman.”

She picked at a spot on the bedspread. There were days when she wished she wasn’t grown up, so she could curl into her mother’s arms again, and have her mother rock her to sleep. Her heart ached.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Any time.” Her mom paused. “I was going to the bank tomorrow anyway. The money will be here when you want to pick it up. Love you, baby girl.”

She tucked the warm sentiment into her heart for safekeeping—she might need the comforting words to hold onto in a few days. “Love you too.”

Noelle pressed the phone to her heart. By the time she lifted it back up to her ear, her mom had already hung up.

She made her way to the shower and flipped the shower nozzle over to hot and let the water warm. She pressed her hand to the wall to keep her wobbly knees from collapsing and sending her face-first to the floor, in an emotional pile of mush.

If only she could wash away her love for Ethan.

If only she was brave enough to tell him she was leaving in two days.