"Rowan, what's going on?"
"Yesterday was a mistake." The words fall like stones between us. "I got caught up in the moment. We both did."
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. "A mistake?"
"We come from different worlds, Daisy." He finally looks at me, his eyes deliberately empty. "You've got this amazing career taking off. National book tour. Celebrity endorsements. Everything you deserve."
"And that automatically means there can't be anything between us?" My voice catches, betraying the hurt his words inflict.
"Be practical." He turns back to the fence. "You belong in the city with your career. I belong here with my trails. Yesterday was nice. But it doesn't change reality."
"Reality." I echo the word, feeling something crack inside me. "And what reality is that, exactly?"
"The one where you leave in a week. The one where your life is book launches and publicity tours and city lights. The one where this—" he gestures between us, "—was never going to be more than temporary."
"You don't know that." I step closer, desperate to find the Rowan from yesterday, the one who carved animals into my trail markers and built me a perfect creative space. "We could figure something out. I could stay longer, or?—"
"Don't." His voice hardens. "Don't throw away everything you've worked for because of one kiss."
"Is that what you think I'd be doing?"
"I think you're getting swept up in mountain magic. In fairy tales about forest guardians and talking animals." His words cut like he intends them to. "But real life isn't a storybook, Daisy.”
I search his face for any sign of the man who held me yesterday, who looked at me like I was something precious, who seemed to understand the way I see the world. There's nothing but cold resolve in his expression.
"So yesterday meant nothing?" I hate the tremor in my voice. "The wildlife blind, the kiss, everything we shared was what? Killing time until I leave?"
"It meant that I forgot, for a moment, that some differences can't be bridged. That was my mistake."
"Differences?" I repeat, anger starting to burn beneath the hurt. "What differences, Rowan? The fact that I see magic in these mountains? That I write children's books? That I come from the city?"
"All of it." He sets down his hammer, finally giving me his full attention. His voice is calm, detached, like he's explaining trail safety to a stranger.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. "You don't get to make that choice for me."
"I'm being realistic." His jaw tightens. "Something you might want to try."
The barb lands exactly as intended. This is Derek all over again.
Except this hurts worse, because Rowan was supposed to be different. He was supposed to understand.
"I thought you saw me," I whisper. "Really saw me."
Something cracks in his expression, just for a moment. "Daisy?—"
"No." I back away, the hurt crystallizing into something harder, sharper. "You've made yourself perfectly clear. It was a mistake. Message received."
The cabin walls close in around me as I mechanically fold clothes into my suitcase. Each item represents a day I thought I was building something real. Each notebook a collection of moments that now feel like fiction.
"I can get you in for meetings tomorrow afternoon," Janet says through the phone I've wedged between my ear and shoulder. "But honey, are you sure? You still had a week left for research."
"I have everything I need." My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.
"Did something happen with?—"
"No." I cut her off, unable to hear his name. "I’m ready to get back to real life."
Janet's silence speaks volumes. "I'll email your itinerary," she finally says.
