His words swam around my head. What was he saying? Or was it just something he’d said in the heat of the moment?

I was trying to figure out how to reply when a door slammed. “Yo!” Beau’s voice echoed up from downstairs.

Hank stilled a split second then lifted his head. His eyes didn’t meet mine. “We better get up. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

My fingers flexed, pressing into the dense muscle of his back, and I watched his eyes slide shut. He leaned in, pressed a kiss to my mouth, then rolled away.

I wanted to pull him back and never let him go.

* * *

From Hank’s home, we could travel by truck to town. There wasn’t really a road, more like a track, but my aching thigh muscles were thankful for it. I wasn’t sure I could walk another mile. I was sandwiched between Hank and Beau, since he needed supplies from town, and I found myself leaning into Hank, soaking in every bit of him I could before I had to say goodbye.

Beau chatted the whole way. Hank stayed quiet.

The two-hour drive flew by, far quicker than I would have liked. We dropped Beau off in the center of the small town to get what he needed, and my heart raced as Hank looked down at me.

“Where’s your place, Birdie?”

I gave him directions and we drove there in silence. Finally, he pulled up outside the small cottage I rented and turned off his truck. We climbed out and he walked me to my door.

I found my key in my backpack and let myself in. Hank followed me inside and I watched as he took in my small home. I sewed and did a lot of arts and crafts to fill in my weekends, since they were usually spent on my own, and Hank was absorbing it all.

My couch was covered in cushions and had a patchwork quilt over the back. “You made those?” Hank asked.

“Yes.” I hated how husky my voice sounded. The sadness I was feeling was coming through loud and clear.

“They’re nice,” he said. “My grandmother used to sew.”

“I assumed the quilts must have been hers when I saw them. She was talented.”

He turned from my couch, gaze coming to me. “She loved it. Often filled her days in her sewing room.” He shrugged. “She loved the life; it suited her. My grandfather was a lucky man to find that.”

“You don’t think you ever will?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

His Adam’s apple slid up and down his thick neck as he swallowed. “It’s a hard, lonely life. I think…” His jaw tightened. “I think I’d be asking too much of any woman to live out there with me.”

I would, in a heartbeat.

The thought shot through my mind, sucking the oxygen from my lungs. That wasn’t me, though, was it? I didn’t stay in one place.

I didn’t know how.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Good thing I prefer to be on my own, I guess.”

And there it was.

Even if I decided to try and live in one place, to put down roots, it wouldn’t be with Hank. He didn’t want me, not in a permanent way, and, God, that hurt. I guess it was my own damn fault for falling for him, for letting my feelings run away with me when I knew there were reasons, good reasons, we couldn’t work.

“Yes…good thing,” I said, and it came out as a whisper.

I took a step back, suddenly needing distance from him, before I said or did something to humiliate myself. Like throw myself at his feet, wrap my arms around his legs, and beg him to take me back with him. “Right, well, I better call my boss and tell him I’m back. I need to get groceries and…” My words were cut short by the lump lodged in my throat.

Hank’s eyes hadn’t left me, not once. He dipped his chin. “I better go find Beau.”

“Of course.” I forced a smile. “Thank you, Hank, for everything. You saved my life and I’ll never forget that.”

His whole body tightened—like he was holding himself back? That was probably wishful thinking. But then he’d made no secret that he enjoyed my company, in his bed, anyway. The attraction between us was one thing that was real, unlike my delusions of us together as anything more.

Suddenly, he was moving toward me, but he didn’t scoop me up and kiss me silly or carry me to my bed and take me one last time. He leaned in and kissed my forehead.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and worked hard not to let the tears welling in my eyes spill over.

“Goodbye, Birdie.”

“Bye, Hank.”

Then he turned away and walked out the door.

His truck started a few minutes later and I walked to the window and watched him drive away.

Tomorrow, life would go back to the way it was before—no cabin in the mountains, no sitting by an open fire, no warm body beside me every night…

No Hank.

Hank

I gripped my steering wheel and forced myself to keep driving away, away from her.

“Good thing I prefer to be on my own, I guess.”

My own words ricocheted around my skull.

It was a lie.

I thought I did, before Birdie. Before I knew what it was to have her in my life. God, I’d only said it so she wouldn’t feel sorry for me, so she wouldn’t pity me. I’d seen the look in her eyes.

Pity for the recluse living alone on his mountain.

What else could it be?

I saw Beau standing on the side of the road, grocery bags by his feet, and a woman at his side, talking to him.

My brother’s arm shot out when he saw me, so I didn’t miss him. I pulled over and he put his bags in the back, climbed in, and we headed off.

“Thank God you came when you did, Nadine Cooper was starting to get handsy.” Beau said, then sat back.

I said nothing. My head was full of Birdie, of how wrong it felt driving away from her. How much I didn’t want to leave her in that small house all alone.

“Yo, Hank?”

I glanced at my brother.

His brows lifted. “I called your name like eight times.”

I shrugged.

I felt Beau’s eyes on me and knew he was building up to say something. It didn’t take long.

“Did you make a date to see her again?”

I shook my head.

“Why the hell not?”

“What would be the point?” I said.

“You slept with her again?” Beau asked.

“That’s none of your damned business.”

“You slept with her again,” he said, this time it wasn’t a question. “Brother, you’ve had opportunity to be with women before, and you chose not to. Birdie was different, though. I could see it the minute I walked into your cabin. You wanted her, no doubt, but it was more. You feel something for her.”

“Leave it, Beau. I’m not talking about this.”

“Mom hurt you, she hurt all of us, when she left and never looked back. Don’t let her do it again, Hank. Don’t give her that power. Don’t assume every woman you meet is like her.”

“Please, Mom, don’t leave.” I ran after her.

She stopped when I grabbed her hand, and looked down at me. “I have to, Hank. Being here...it’s killing me,” she said then pulled away from me, climbed in the truck, and drove away.

I turned to my dad. How could he let her leave us? How could he let her leave me? My dad turned and walked away, but I didn’t miss the tears in his eyes.

I realized in that moment there was nothing he could have done to make her stay.

She just didn’t want us anymore.

I shoved the memory to the back of my mind where it belonged. “I said I’m not talking about this.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Beau said.

Was I? All I knew was having Birdie for close to two weeks and walking away was like tearing out my heart and leaving it at her feet. I wouldn’t survive if she gave me more, made me hope for more, then left.

Neither one of us spoke for the rest of the drive. I dropped Beau at his place and carried on to mine.

Once I got home, everything would be okay. Everything would go back to normal, to life before Birdie.

But when I walked inside and looked around, I saw her everywhere. In my living room, sitting by the fire, walking up the stairs. She’d only been there for one night, but the mark she’d left behind was profound.

When I climbed into bed that night, I could smell her on my sheets, could remember the way she’d felt pressed against me…the way she looked straddling me this morning, riding me.

The way she looked when she came apart for me.

I stared at the ceiling.

What the hell was I going to do?