I ladle another heaping spoonful of vegetables from the pot, carefully depositing them onto the tray before me.

“There you go,” I say to the man in front of me.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, accentuating the words with a subtle tilt of his head.

My lips curl up in imitation of a smile. “My pleasure.”

So many of my smiles seem to be that way lately—fake. I’m not sure my face even remembers how to construct genuine grin.

The man is soon replaced with another, his tray extended towards me. I repeat my actions, filling a slot in his tray with mixed vegetables.

“There you go.”

I’m trying for cheerful, although the tone flowing from me is like my smile—only an imitation of real cheerfulness.

I suspect that the people around me can tell. After all, real joy isn’t hard to spot. Still, I try and keep up the charade, hoping that if they do see through it, they won’t think they’re the cause.

The line continues to move forward. The shelter is filled to capacity today. Most days, in fact, since it opened.

The never-ending line only makes me more certain of my choices. This area was badly in need of resources.

I wish that I could just be happy with what I’ve accomplished here. For the first time in my life, I’ve truly been able to make a difference in the lives of people in need.

That ought to be enough to bring a real smile to my face. It ought to be enough to keep it there.

My heart seems to think otherwise, though. Even as it swells with pride for what I’ve accomplished here, it also aches.

I haven’t been able to drive Case from my mind. Thoughts of him fill every waking minute, even slipping over into my dreams.

I can’t help but kick myself for my stubborn pride. No matter how much I throw myself into this shelter, I can’t escape him.

Memories of our time together—so depressingly short—flit through my head almost endlessly. My only break from them comes with fantasies of what else we could have had: days spent conquering this city, nights spent tangled in his sheets.

My heart beats faster at that last thought.

“Running low?”

The voice breaks through my daydreams.

I turn to find Carla, a very eager volunteer, looking at me expectantly.

I follow her eyes from mine to the vegetable pot. My ladle is getting close to scraping the metal bottom rather than vegetables.

“Oh. Yes,” I mumble. “Thanks, Carla.”

“I’ll go grab another from the kitchen.”

I nod—a further thanks—in her direction.

I try to force myself back into the moment as she walks away.

Easier said than done.

A woman steps in front of me, her tray ready and waiting.

I spoon the remaining vegetables from the pot, the sound of metal scraping on metal jangling my already unsteady nerves.

“There you go,” I say, dumping them on her tray.

“Thank you.”

Carla appears at my side a moment later. She settles the fresh pot down with a reverberating thud.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

It’s not the first time today she’s asked me that.

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that,” she responds, looking at me sideways.

A small laugh escapes me. “And yet you keep asking.”

“I know, I know. It just seems like there’s something on your mind.”

I wipe my arm across my forehead, suddenly feeling tired. “I guess there might be.”

“And?”

“And…” I glance around at the bustling room. “And we’ve got a hell of a line today, Carla.”

She turns her head, eyeing the space, before looking back at me in frustration.

“Okay, Gabrielle,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “If you ever wanna talk, though—”

“You’re the first person I’ll go to,” I say with a chuckle.

“Yeah, right,” she murmurs.

Truthfully, there isn’t anything to talk about. I made my decisions—and I’m living with them.

That’s what adults do, after all. Out here in the real world.

I pry the lid from the new pot, steam wafting up to my face as I do. My eyes rake over the ever-growing line.

“Thank you,” a woman says, eyeing the newly deposited vegetables.

I nod, finding I don’t really have the energy to force a grin right now.

It’s going to be a long day.

The door leading outside opens for what seems like the millionth time today. Sunlight washes across the room like a small wave.

I groan inwardly. My mind is so full of Case today that it has me distracted—too distracted—and the people here deserve the right attention. More than what I’m giving them right now.

My eyes trace upwards. I’m expecting—almost fearing—that a whole new group has just walked in.

My breath catches in my throat as I realize my mistake.

For a second, I’m fairly certain that I’ve gone and lost my mind. Somehow, all of my fantasies and regrets have culminated into some new and terrifying mental fucking illness.

I’m hallucinating—I have to be—because what I think I see can’t possibly be real.

There’s no way in hell that Case Sterling is standing in the doorway right now, sunlight playing at his back like a set of golden wings. There’s no way that his eyes are tearing up the space before him, frantically searching until they fall on me.

The smile that tugs at his lips as he finds me is just too beatific. It’s definitely not the stuff of reality.

Still, my heart—the fucking fool that it is—wants to believe everything. Why else would it slam into my throat, beating like I’ve just finished a marathon?

Case starts forward, and I notice that every head in the room turns toward his approach.

Why wouldn’t they?

It takes me an embarrassingly long moment to process what that means:

I’m not the only person seeing this.

Case is actually here.

He walks confidently towards me, his shoes slapping against the cement floor as he comes. His hair is slightly mussed, looking as if his fingers raked through it more than once today.

My eyes take all this in quickly, roving from head to toe in an instant, then quickly returning to his mouth.

That smile makes my heart melt.

But my head tells me to remember how our last meeting had gone.

“Hi,” he says as he nears me. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“Case, what are you doing?”

“Well, I owe you an apology, Gabrielle,” he says as he glances around.

The way my name sounds coming from his mouth sends chills running through me.

Again, another reminder from my brain tries to ground me.

It’s not working.

“You came all the way down here to apologize?”

One corner of his mouth ticks up higher. It makes his green eyes sparkle brighter. “Yes…in part, anyway.”

I look at him questioningly. I don’t have time for his games, but yet I’m so intrigued.

“I was also hoping that you could take the afternoon off,” he holds a hand out to me, a clear invitation. “There’s something I need you to see. Something you deserve to see.”