In the beginning, Iowa was good for me.

Moving here had been impulsive. Maybe even reckless. But I hadn’t had anything to lose. Starting over, and putting some distance between me and Phoenix, seemed to wake me up. A little bit, at least. I’d been in Iowa for two months and felt better than I had in a while.

I glanced out the window of the bookstore as I finished the new display. The blue sky was deceptive. It was beautiful outside, but not nearly as warm as it appeared. I tugged the sleeves of my sweater over my hands and hugged my arms around myself. Joe, my boss, was baffled at how I could be so cold all the time, even on a sunny day. But I’d grown up in the Southwest where the weather was warm—if not stifling hot—most of the year. As far as I was concerned, the seventy-degree June weather was barely warm.

I’d found my job at Booklover’s Corner my first week in town. Joe had hired me without so much as an interview. Just took my application, asked me a few questions about my availability, and gave me the job on the spot. Maybe it was serendipitous. It had avoided the need for me to answer awkward questions about my employment history. But mostly Joe was distracted and a little scatterbrained. And I think he was tired of hiring college students and having to work around their schedules. He was about sixty, with a thick white mustache and wire-rimmed glasses that constantly slipped down his nose. He tended to be distant, but he was a decent boss. He was easygoing, and he’d given me a break when I’d come in late a few times.

I was trying—hard—to hold it together and not screw this up. But some days, just getting out of bed still felt impossible. The ache in my chest left me feeling hollow, and that same sense of apathy would overtake me. I knew if I didn’t get up, I’d probably lose my job. But would it matter? Did I care?

On days like that, I’d force myself out of bed. Make myself go through the motions of living. And most of the time, I’d be glad that I had.

Charlie had made good on his offer to help me find a place to live. His grandparents’ rental house was a short walk from where he lived with Sebastian. It was small, but I didn’t need much space, and the whole interior had been freshly painted. I’d been slowly adding things as I could afford them. A bed. A couch. Kitchen stuff. Charlie’s grandma had given me an old table and chairs. Sebastian had helped me repaint them, and now they looked great.

Sebastian. It was disconcerting how often he was on my mind. I saw him, and Charlie, frequently. The three of us had become good friends. Charlie still joked about me being a crazy person who was plotting their murders, but jokes and insults were how Charlie showed affection. He did it to Seb all the time, and those two had the cutest bromance I’d ever seen.

But whereas my friendship with Charlie was laid-back and fun, my relationship with Sebastian was something else entirely.

Sebastian was unlike anyone I’d ever met. He was so serious. Not that he didn’t smile or laugh—he did. But he had an intensity that smoldered beneath the surface. I could feel it radiating from him whenever he was near. His presence did strange things to me—stirred up emotions I barely recognized.

I didn’t know what to do with all those feelings.

We didn’t have any customers, so I wandered into the back and sat down at a little table surrounded by half-empty boxes. I opened my spiral notebook—the same one Sebastian had given me on my first morning in Iowa. The first page still had the list I’d made—things I needed to do to start over. I’d checked them off, one by one. And for a while, I hadn’t written anything else. The rest of the pages had remained blank.

There had been a time when I’d never been without a notebook. I’d gone through dozens of them. In high school, it had been a way to pass the time. Something to focus on so people wouldn’t notice me. A place to put all the thoughts I’d been afraid to share.

When I’d been with Liam, I hadn’t felt stifled by my life anymore. But I’d still filled notebooks with words. Poems. Lyrics. It had been such a part of who I was, even when the words were happy ones, they’d still found a home on those lined pages.

Not after he died.

I’d stopped writing things down. It had felt like I no longer had anything to say. The once-constant stream of words had dried up. Gone silent.

There were words in this notebook. Halting phrases. Half-finished thoughts. Eraser marks and parts crossed out or scribbled over. Some pages had more doodles than words. But they were there.

Too many of my words were about Sebastian.

I never wrote his name. But I’d be lying to myself if I said what I wrote wasn’t about him. I felt like I should be writing about Liam. Remembering him, or processing my grief. But my mind always went back to Sebastian. To the way he filled up the space wherever he was. To the color of his eyes. To the way my heart beat a little harder every time he was near.

So I let the words come as they would, feeling guilty all the while.

The bell above the front door tinkled, a soft sound that could barely be heard in the back room. Joe had gone home, leaving me to close up. I shut my notebook and went to see if the customer needed help.

Sebastian stood near the front, looking at a shelf of mysteries. He tilted his head to one side, like he was reading the titles on the spines. I paused and watched him, a little flutter tickling inside my chest. The sleeves on his University of Iowa t-shirt looked like they might burst open beneath the muscles of his arms. He rubbed his chin, his fingers sliding through his thick beard. I’d never been into facial hair on men, but on him? God.

He was gorgeous. There was no way around it. He was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen, with his thick dark hair, sexy beard, and captivating eyes. His body that exuded so much strength and power. There was a tension inside of him, like he was constantly holding something back. Like there was a fire within that he kept carefully controlled.

His fire made the spark inside of me want to jump to life. To burn. But I was afraid it would turn me to ash and I’d blow away in the wind.

As if they were compelled by some outside force, my eyes drifted to his chest. I swallowed back the rise of emotion I always felt when I thought about who he really was. About the heart that lived inside of him.

“Hey,” I said. The air was warm, but I hugged my sweater around myself. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to meet with one of my professors,” he said. “Since I was nearby, I thought I’d see if you were getting off soon. Maybe walk home with you.”

I got around fine without a car, so I hadn’t bothered with the expense of buying one. Sebastian drove, but I’d noticed he walked places a lot, even when he didn’t need to.

“Yeah, we close in about ten minutes,” I said.

“I can wait.”

I finished up the last few things I needed to do while Sebastian wandered through the store. Being alone with him like this left me feeling off-balance. Conflicted. Even when he was hidden behind tall shelves, I could sense him there. It was frightening to admit how much I liked it. How the sight of him picking up books and flipping through their pages—waiting for me—made my breath quicken and my skin prickle.

“Finished,” I said.

He shelved the book he’d been looking at and smiled.

I looked away quickly so he wouldn’t see the warmth creeping across my cheeks. “I’ll just grab my stuff.”

I went into the back and slid my notebook into my handbag. Grabbed my coat. I walked out front and Sebastian held my coat while I slipped my arms into the sleeves. He was close enough that I caught a hint of his scent. He always smelled fresh, like clean cotton, with a spicy undertone that wasn’t the product of any cologne. It was just him. My body responded to that smell in ways that made me enormously uncomfortable.

But god, he smelled good.

After I turned off the lights, we went outside and I locked the door behind us. I tucked my hands in my coat pockets against the chill in the air. The sun had set, leaving the streets to fade in the dimness of twilight. We walked in silence for a while. Slow. Taking our time, as if we both wanted to draw this out for as long as possible.

Finally, Sebastian broke the silence. “How’s work going?”

“It was quiet today, but weekends are busy,” I said. “It’s a good job.”

“Any problems with the house?” he asked.

“No, the house is great,” I said.

“Seems like Iowa’s treating you pretty well,” he said.

“Yeah, I like it here.”

He paused for a moment and our pace slowed even more. “Do you?”

I wondered what he was getting at. “Yeah, I do. Why?”

“Just making sure.”

“Are you afraid I’ll skip town and disappear on you?” I nudged his arm with my elbow.

“Kind of,” he said. I’d meant it as a joke, but his tone was serious. “Yeah, I guess I do worry about that.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” I said, my voice quiet.

“Have you told the Harpers you left Phoenix?” he asked.

A flash of anger hit me. They weren’t any of his business. “Why are you asking me about them?”

“I want to know,” he said. “Did you tell them?”

“I don’t know why you care.”

He stopped and turned to face me. “Because they care about you. And I want to know if you just walked out on them.”

“I’ve been here for months, and now you’re worried about this?” I asked.

“Stop avoiding the question,” he said.

“Yes, I did. Jesus. I told them I moved, right after I got hired at the bookstore. I texted Mary with my new number.”

He held my eyes. I wanted to look away, but when he looked at me like that, I was powerless to resist.

“Okay. Good.”

There was relief in his voice. I didn’t understand where it was coming from—why he’d brought it up. We’d never really talked about the Harpers before.

I had told them. Sebastian had put Mary’s number in my phone—a wordless hint that I should contact them. I’d texted her and simply said I’d moved away and was doing fine. She’d replied to ask where, but I hadn’t responded. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t want them to know where I was. Maybe I was waiting to make sure I didn’t fail. When I did reply—when I told them where I was and what I’d been doing—I wanted to have something to be proud of. As it was, there were still too many broken pieces of me lying around. Pieces that didn’t fit together.

Sebastian didn’t say anything else the rest of the walk home. It was so tempting to touch him. I wanted to brush my hand against his or lean closer so our arms touched. But he never touched me. Not even by accident. He had, once or twice, when we’d first met in Phoenix. But now, he always kept a little distance between us. It made me feel like I shouldn’t violate it—like he didn’t want me to.

He followed me up to my front door and stood next to me while I got out my keys.

“Thanks for walking me home,” I said.

“Sure,” he said. “Look, I’m not trying to give you a hard time. You just… you keep things to yourself. Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in that head of yours.”

I lifted my eyes to his. Felt his gravity pulling at me, urging me closer. A wave of heat poured through me. But it wasn’t the fire of ruin. It was the tantalizing warmth of hope. Of life. Of creation, and power, and passion. Of all that had once lived inside me that I’d lost.

“Nothing, really,” I said, stepping back and tearing my eyes from his. “I’m just doing my thing, you know? I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he said. What was I hearing in his voice? Skepticism? Disappointment? I couldn’t tell. “I’ll see you later, then. Goodnight, Brooke.”

“Goodnight.”

I watched him walk away, feeling suddenly cold and alone. Missing him before he was really gone.