"And now?"
"Now she knows I'm the groundskeeper. That this—" I gesture around the workshop, the tools, the practical reality of my life, "—is what I am. Day in, day out. No mystery, no romance. Just trails and maintenance and quiet."
"And you think that's not enough for her?"
"I know it's not." The certainty feels like lead in my veins. "You said it yourself. She has this amazing opportunity. National promotion. Famous hosts. The spotlight. Everything she deserves."
"That doesn't mean she can't also have?—"
"What, Mom?" I cut her off, the fear making me sharp. "A long-distance relationship with the guy who fixes trails? Weekend visits to the middle of nowhere? How long before that gets old? Before she realizes she's missing out on her real life to visit some mountains and a man who doesn't fit in her world?"
"Oh, Rowan." The disappointment in her voice stings more than anger would. "Is that really what you think of her? Of yourself?"
I look down at my hands, calloused and rough from years of working the land. "I think she deserves her dream. And I think I've been down this road before."
"Daisy isn't Heather."
"No." I swallow hard. "She's more. More talented, more special, more... everything. Which means she has even more to lose by being tied to someone like me, to a place like this."
Mom stands, coming to place her hand on my cheek the way she did when I was small. "You're doing it again, honey. Deciding the ending before the story's even been written."
"I'm being practical."
"You're being afraid." She holds my gaze, unwavering. "And you're making choices for her without even giving her a voice."
The truth of it hits like a physical blow, but I can't afford to acknowledge it. Not with the countdown hovering over us, not with the reality of her amazing future waiting in New York, not with the memory of Heather's growing resentment still fresh despite the years between.
"It's better this way," I say finally. "Better to end it before it really begins. Before either of us gets hurt worse."
"Is it?" Mom's hand drops away. "Are you really protecting her, Rowan? Or just yourself?"
Night has fallen by the time I move to the maintenance shed. The physical labor isn't enough to quiet my mind, so I tackle the most grueling task I can find. The strain in my muscles is a welcome distraction from the storm in my head.
I'm hefting a chainsaw onto a high shelf when Liam appears in the doorway, silhouetted against the outdoor lights.
"Bit late for inventory," he says, stepping inside and shutting the door against the night chill.
"Needed to get done." I don't look at him, focusing instead on arranging tools with military precision.
"Interesting timing." He leans against the workbench, watching me with the patient, assessing gaze that's served him well as lodge manager. "Especially since Connor mentioned seeing you and Daisy looking pretty happy at the waterfall blind this morning."
My hands tighten on the wrench I'm holding. "That was this morning."
"And now it's evening, and you're rearranging tools that have been fine for months." He crosses his arms. "Word gets around, you know. About Daisy's big opportunity in New York."
"Good for her." I shove a box of spare parts onto a shelf with more force than necessary.
"That's it? 'Good for her'? After spending a week building her that blind? After whatever happened between you two that had Connor saying he's never seen you smile like that?"
"Drop it, Liam."
"No." He straightens, all pretense of casualness gone. "Not this time. I watched you shut down after Heather left. I'm not watching you do it again before Daisy's even gone."
The mention of Heather ignites something hot and painful in my chest. "This is different."
"How? Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly the same. You getting close to someone, then building walls the second things get real."
"She has a life in the city." I slam a drawer shut. "A dream job. A major book launch. Everything she's ever wanted."
