As Eve watched Cliff leave Arrowhead suite number three, a deep hole opened in her heart. During the past several weeks, she had told herself repeatedly that Milo McNamara was enough. God, she loved him. He made her feel so safe, so feminine, so precious and cute. She could trust him to always be fair, to be firm, to be genuine, even when it was painful.

She didn’t want to cry in front of Milo, so she turned to face the window behind the bed. The massive floor-to-ceiling panel revealed almost all the grand resort beyond. Normally, she’d be overwhelmed and inspired by such a view, but now she felt doomed. Cliff could disappear into that landscape and never come back. What if he just went home?

Would he ever be able to get over his baggage? Was he caught in this seemingly endless cycle of letting it go, only to pick it all up again, with interest?

Eve sniffled and commanded herself to not cry in front of Milo, but she loved Cliff too much, and when she blinked, one big tear skated down her cheek. She couldn’t have one but not the other. She was sure of that now. Cliff made her feel strong within her femininity. His strength was quiet and deep, like hers.

“Are you crying?” Milo’s voice came from behind her.

Eve shook her head, but refused to look at him. Another tear appeared.

“You are crying,” Milo said. She felt the bed sink where he took a seat alongside her. “Look at me.”

Eve rolled her eyes and looked at him with trembling lips. She hated when anyone saw her cry. “What?” she choked.

“Do you want to go after him?”

“What are you even talking about?” Eve dragged a deep breath through her clotted nose and shook her head. “That’s not an option. You see how he gets.”

Milo scoffed. “Yeah, I know Cliff,” he reminded her, “but that wasn’t my question. Do you want to go after him?”

“Of course I do!” she said. “But you can’t do anything about how someone else feels. That’s their deal.”

“Again, I didn’t ask about what Cliff might do or say,” Milo reminded her. “I just couldn’t help but notice you crying over here. I thought you might need some perspective. That’s all.”

“I’m just sad!” Eve burst. She didn’t mean to yell at him, albeit a frail and wobbly yell. It brought a little smile of amusement to Milo’s face, despite the circumstances. “You’ve tried talking to him before. Nothing works.”

Milo shrugged. “Have you ever tried talking to him?”

“Well, yeah! Halloween night—and that night at my place, last week—”

“I mean by yourself, Eve,” Milo clarified. “Maybe he needs to hear it from you. You’re a lot more like him than I am. Maybe you were what we needed, all along, to help get him over this hump.” Milo reached a hand forward, wrapped it around Eve’s inner thigh, and squeezed affectionately. “Go after him. Say what you need to say.”

Eve studied Milo’s face. He was deadly serious about this. Maybe this was her job. “All right,” she announced, “I’m going to get dressed.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Eve was on the verge of pulling out her hair and ripping the glorified bellhop a new one. The man behind the counter wouldn’t tell her Cliff Bauer’s hotel room number, even though she had explained the situation very clearly. This was a guest for her brother’s wedding. Her family was PAYING for this man’s hotel room! Additionally, she was in love with him, and she had to win him back. This was her moment, and he was ruining it!

“Just call him,” Eve insisted. Her voice got louder and higher pitched with every command. “Just call him and he’ll tell you that it’s okay!”

“Again, Miss Mooney, that is not Beaver Creek policy,” the concierge explained. “We have many celebrities who stay with us, and privacy is our utmost—”

“Yeah, yeah, Justin Timberlake,” Eve growled dismissively. “LOOK, Cliff Bauer isn’t a celebrity, and I’m not his groupie! Look him up! He’s just a regular guy!” As soon as the words broke from her lips, Eve knew that they weren’t exactly true. “I mean, he’s, you know, mellow and dreamy and mysterious, sophisticated, low-key, gorgeous in a really obvious way—”

The concierge raised a brow. “You sound like a groupie to me,”

“I’m not a groupie!” Eve fumed.

“She’s really not,” a familiar male voice came from behind Eve, and she whirled, gasping.

“Cliff!” she cried, leaping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re still here!”

“And you are dressed,” Cliff agreed calmly. “The world continues to turn.”

Eve blinked up at him, uncertain of how to interpret this remark. “I came to see you,” she answered, shoring up her resolve beneath her. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re talking to me right now,” Cliff answered, and Eve furrowed her brow.

“Are you leaving?”

“Actually, that was what I wanted to talk to you about,” Cliff said, but he directed this toward the concierge. “I would like to check out, please. Thank you.”

“Cliff!” Eve yelped. The concierge smirked and began tapping on his keyboard. “You can’t just leave!”

“But I can,” Cliff replied coolly. “It’s not a big deal, Eve. I’m only your brother’s old teammate from NYC Social. He won’t even notice.”

“Did you enjoy your stay, sir?” the concierge wondered.

“Yes, thank you,” Cliff replied, sliding his room key across the desk toward the other man. Eve gaped at him.

“This isn’t about Josh,” Eve growled. The room seemed to be pounding around her, and her jaws felt tight. She wanted to smack him whenever he got like this. Meanwhile, Cliff was smilingly filling out a goddamn comment card, submitting it, thanking this douchebag, and readjusting his backpack on his shoulder, like she wasn’t even there.

She watched him with eyes glazed by shock.

“I never took you for a coward, Cliff,” Eve called out behind him.

Cliff froze and whirled. His eyes were storm clouds again. His jaw was tight, and Eve was certain that he wanted to fight her. This yoga god was no more Zen than loser Trent Ripley right now.

He took a deep breath and then strode closer. “I’m not going to have this conversation in public,” he said.

“Why not? Are you scared?”

Betraying the truth, Cliff’s eyes flicked right and left before he said, “No, I’m not scared. It’s just indecent to argue about a relationship in a goddamn hotel lobby.” He turned on his heel to leave and Eve darted after him, matching his stride as he attempted to make his great escape from the Colorado mountains. He was just going to get mired in airport foot traffic and end up in some crummy hotel, waiting for a standby to New York to come through.

“Indecent,” Eve repeated, tight with annoyance. “That’s your whole problem, you know. I don’t think anybody cares as much as you do about fitting into little boxes.”

“I really don’t care that much.” The doors of the lobby opened in front of them, a blast of winter air chilled them. Cliff didn’t even slow down. He marched through the doors, and Eve scurried after him, even though it was late now—very late—and her legs were starting to ache, and it was so cold, and she didn’t have her scarf, or her hat, or her gloves.

“Admit it, you’re obsessive bordering on the compulsive.” She was almost jogging to keep up now. “It drives you crazy to not know where you fit. Everything must have a label and a category. Right? And your family is so neat and organized, aren’t they? Chel with her hubby and the two boys, your parents with their anniversaries. You don’t want to be a black sheep—but you won’t be. That’s what you don’t get. No one cares, Cliff. I’ve eaten dinner with those people. They won’t care if you’re in a three—”

“No!” Cliff insisted. “Now, where the hell did I park?”

Eve didn’t want him to leave, but blurted without thinking, “Check the valet over there,” and gestured to the small building attached to the resort. “They’ll bring you your damn car.”

Cliff leveled a sour look at her but pivoted anyway. “I guess you’re right,” he spat into the frigid air. He only ever got so hard and defensive after being with Eve and Milo. Her heart ached for him. “I’m just not like you two,” he said suddenly. “I care what other people think.”

“You don’t sound like you care,” Eve told him. “You sound scared. You sound like a man thinking about coming out of the closet back in the fifties.”

Cliff shoved against the door to the enclosure where the valets were supposed to be waiting, attentive and ready to take his ticket and return his keys. But the door didn’t budge. Cliff tried again, his brow wrinkling, and gave up a powerful, unexpected roar of frustration. Eve’s heart ached again. Poor Cliff. This was so hard for him.

“Come back to our room for tonight,” Eve whispered softly. “It’s after two in the morning now. Just come back and sleep wherever you want. Nothing will happen. Just come back and stay until the service, at least. Okay?”

Cliff glared at her from over his shoulder. “Okay,” he said, and Eve knew it was only because he was cold and it was late and he was trapped because he already returned his room key and checked out. “But I’m leaving right after they say ‘I do.’”