The scent of apple pie hits my nose as I walk into the kitchen, and my mouth waters as I get closer.

Dean is in Seattle for the weekend, a concert that was scheduled a year ago taking him away from me for a few days. I could have gone, but I’d elected to stay home, instead taking some extra days at the hospital and private practice after missing some when we were in Hawaii. And secretly, I needed some alone time. Our short trip had been four of the most romantic days I’d ever had in my life, and my heart was dangerously close to exploding. I needed time to process, to really sit with my thoughts and weigh how I would move forward with Dean.

Because it was clear now that we would be moving forward. That we’d ride this contract out, and at the end I would keep the ring on. That thought makes my heart do a back handspring in my chest. Love … it moves through my veins for Dean like a drug. But I haven’t been able to express it yet, I wanted to be one hundred percent certain that there were no doubts in my mind.

And then I’d been sitting by the beach, listening to music on my iPhone yesterday, and one of Dean’s favorite Radiohead songs came on. The lyrics, “there was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt,” penetrated my heart, and I’d known. It was about time we were together, and when he came home, I was going to tell him how I felt.

It was safe to say, even if he was home, that Dean had not baked the delicious heaven that was sitting on the white marble counter when I walked into the kitchen.

“Skylar, you are a god.” My mouth watered as I got closer.

“I know how you feel about apples, and wanted to make you a treat for your solitary girl’s night.” Our chef smiles, his friendly attitude making me feel instantly comfortable.

He was one of the best things about LA, and had become a friend I’d been able to trust. It was just a bonus that he cooked all my favorite foods, including apple cobbler.

“You just know the way to my heart. And it’s through my stomach, FYI. Please tell me—”

“That I made you homemade vanilla ice cream? It’s in the freezer.” Skylar mock bows.

“Oh my God, I could fucking kiss you right now.” I jog to the big stainless steel fridge/freezer combination and pull open the bottom drawer.

“Your fiancé might not like that. Plus … you’re not really my type, no offense. I prefer redheads, it’s my vice.” Skylar shrugs while he packs up his bag, getting ready to leave for the night.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind if I ever have a cute patient come through.” I point the spoon I’ve begun to dig into the ice cream at him, and then lick a big scoop of vanilla off of it.

The doorbell rings, and we both turn our heads.

“I’ll get that on the way out. You call me if you need anything, okay? And when Dean is home, text me a grocery or meal list for next week so I can go shopping before I trek out here to Malibu. You know the Whole Foods near me downtown is one hundred times better,” he scolds, because I have forgotten to text him before.

“Thanks, hon. Have a good night.” I smile, about to slop a big old scoop of cobbler into a bowl.

But before I can, Patrick comes strolling in, bringing his brisk, professional air with him. Skylar must have let him in on his way out, knowing that there was no gate Patrick couldn’t get through. And that he was welcome here any time, anyway.

“Hello, Kara.” He nods curtly.

“Patrick, what can I do for you? You know Dean isn’t here, right?” I almost always feel uncomfortable around Dean’s agent.

It’s been six months, and he and I have just not clicked. I admire him for protecting Dean the way he does, and how Dean thinks of him as a surrogate father, but he always seems very cold to me. Perhaps we just haven’t had the chance to get to know each other, and now that the trial is over and things have calmed down, we’ll have that time.

“Of course, I know he isn’t here, I manage his schedule, remember?” He smirks, and I think it’s a teasing smile but I can never be sure.

“Of course.” I nod. “Would you like some cobbler? I was about to make myself a bowl. Skylar puts drugs or sunshine or something in this.” I point to the steaming hot glass dish on the counter.

“No, thank you. I’m actually here to see you. We need to take a look at the relationship contract when Dean arrives back in Los Angeles.” Patrick doesn’t bat an eyelash as he moves the conversation to business.

I stutter. “Oh … okay. What about it?”

“The charges are dropped now, the engagement did its job of distracting and showing the world that Dean was a changed man. And now, he doesn’t really need that beard anymore.” Patrick leans against the kitchen counter, his impeccable navy suit not creasing with any movement.

His matter of factness almost bowls me over. “I thought we would just let it ride out until the one year mark?”

“If it’s the money you’re worried about, I’m sure Dean will have no problem giving you the final installment early so we can dissolve the contract.”

My heart sinks at Dean’s name. Has he sent Patrick here to hammer out these details? “I’m not worried about the money … or I should say, I’m not concerned about it at all.”

Patrick doesn’t move, and his relaxed stance is setting my teeth on edge. “Right, because the school loans have been repaid. No matter, you’ll get what you’re owed. But I believe it’s best for Dean if this contract ends now. Think about it, Kara … the rumors alone have been a detriment. If news got out that you have been a mask for your former high school sweetheart, it could ruin him. And you don’t want to remain here anyway, if I recall. Let’s sit down, sign the NDA papers. You can go home, go back to your life.”

I feel woozy, my knees knocking together as I grip the cold marble counter. “You believe it’s best? What does Dean say?”

I can’t believe he’d do this, send his minion to deliver the news while he was out of town. I thought … he’d said he loved me. Had taken me away, had made love to me so many times in Hawaii, and before then. We’d promised we were trying to be together for real, for the long run. Was it not fast enough for him? Did I not get on the same page quick enough? I cursed myself for not uttering those three words the moment I felt them.

“I think that Dean would agree. It’s what is best for everybody. You’ve said it multiple times, Kara … this isn’t your world. You’re apprehensive at best when it comes to industry events or nights out, and you have only attended a handful of concerts in the past seven months you’ve been out here. You don’t want to be the musician’s wife; can we just admit that? Think of what Dean needs, think of what you need. I think you can acknowledge that those two paths are not meant to converge.”

My heart broke in half as his words hit my ears, but a part of me knew he was right. Dean’s world, my world, they weren’t the same anymore. We’d been on the same level in Elm Hill growing up, but too much time had passed. Patrick was correct in saying that I wasn’t thrilled about the TV and radio appearances, that I didn’t want my picture taken every time I stepped foot outside.

“Did he … does he want you to set up a negotiation?” I can’t help the crack of emotion in my voice.

I don’t want Patrick to see me cry. Suddenly, I can’t stand being here, my stomach souring as I look down at the cobbler. He will tell Dean if there is even a crack in my façade, so I hold it wisely, trying to seem as unaffected as possible. Even when my heart goes black with mourning. Even as my brain melts down, going over every moment of affection we’ve had in the last seven months.

“I can schedule it for the morning he flies back, so we don’t have to waste any more time, you see.” He points this out like he’s making a decision about whether to pick steak or fish at dinner. Simply, like it’s not sending my life into a tailspin.

“Then I guess you should set it up.” I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth, can’t believe I’m about to walk away from the man I’ve just fallen back in love with.

But I’ve been hurt too much, have endured so much pain due to him and his actions. If this is what he wants, then I won’t fight. It’s futile now, trying to win him back. I’ve been a fool, and that much is clear when Patrick curtly nods and turns on his heel, leaving me in this mansion that no longer feels warm and inviting. It’s a hollow empty shell of the fleeting shooting star Dean and I almost held on to.

Only when I hear the front door close do I allow myself to sink down to my knees on the cold kitchen tile, tears painting the bare skin of my cheeks and dripping down onto my legs.