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As I near her house, I try to shake my lingering, puzzling disquiet. “What are we doing?”

“I assume you’re taking me home.”

“And then what? What’s going on with us?” So much is unsettled. December is days away, and at its end I don’t know whether she’ll be working with me, living with me, marrying me—or completely out of my life.

Nia takes in a deep breath. “We continue as planned. You gather some things and move into my place when you’re ready. We go back to work as scheduled. We spend the next five weeks together and figure out where we go from here…or if we call it quits. At some point, I guess you’ll sign the papers to sell Stratus to Lund.” She shrugs. “That’s it.”

That’s not much of a plan. There’s so much open-ended. My practical side rails, but I can’t think of a better suggestion.

Will I be able to make Nia happy if I won’t give her the love and children she craves? And if that’s the case, should I be doing my damndest to marry her?

Maybe not…but I can’t bring myself to let her go, either. Even considering it hurts like hell. Imagining life without her feels like a piece of myself is missing, like I’d become an emotional amputee.

I drop her off at her cottage with a promise to see her soon, then leave her with a kiss on her cheek. She doesn’t press for more or even ask when I plan to show up at her door, suitcase in hand. I’m not terribly surprised. Nia knows me well. She must know I need the time alone to examine what I’m doing with my future and why. Hell, she probably knows that better than I do.

When I let myself into my apartment with a weary sigh, it feels immediately dark and still, heavy. Opening blinds and flinging back drapes to the stormy night does nothing to lift the oppressive air around me.

As I stand in the middle of my stark gray living room and stare out over the rainy bay, I feel alone. I can’t remember ever feeling this isolated or gloomy. Not when the social worker dropped me off with my first foster family, who barely took notice of me. Not when I locked Diana’s door behind me the morning of my eighteenth birthday with a duffel full of my things and one hundred twelve dollars to my name. Not even when I returned here after Becca’s funeral and it finally hit me that she was really never coming back.

My sense of solitude now is gloomier. It’s bone-deep. I don’t know why this nagging misery followed me home from Maui, but staring out my twelve-foot wall of windows and onto the churning bay below magnifies it, along with my every concern, by reminding me precisely how alone I am.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you home for another week.”

I whirl around to find Bas standing at the end of the hall, wearing a T-shirt and boxers. His hair looks mussed, and he’s wearing a scowl.

“What are you doing here?” I glance at my watch. “And why do you look like you’ve already gone to bed when it’s only eight o’clock?”

Bas scowls. “Last night, my toilet started leaking about midnight. I was bailing water until the plumber finally showed up a little after eight, so I’m freaking tired. I needed a place to crash while my place airs out, and you weren’t supposed to be home for another week. I didn’t think you’d mind. Why aren’t you in Maui?”

Long fucking story. But is putting my best friend off even an option? “It’s complicated.”

Bas yawns and pads into my living room, tossing himself across the sofa. “Well, I managed a couple of hours of sleep, so I’m all yours. Start talking.”

“I’d rather not. Go back to bed.” I prop my suitcase against the wall and set down my briefcase with a sigh.

“Well, I’d rather not see you sulk because something’s wrong that caused you to cut your vacation with your new family and your new girlfriend short. And…based on your expression, the family isn’t the problem.”

“No.”

He rears back. “Are you and Nia still together?”

I sit at the end of the sofa and sigh tiredly. “I seriously don’t want to talk about it.”

My best friend is silent for a long minute. He bobs his head like he agrees and respects my privacy. But this is Bas we’re talking about. He doesn’t give two shits about privacy or boundaries or personal space.

“You must have seriously fucked up if you’re on the outs with a woman who’s totally in love with you.”

That sends my gaze whipping over to him. “How did you know her feelings?”

But obviously he did, way before I did.

He rolls his eyes. “I’d ask if you’re kidding but I know better. Dude, she offered to organize your life. She slept with you when she had a million reasons not to. She agreed to go with you over a major holiday to meet your family. She looks at you like she’s head over heels. And you didn’t figure that out?”

“I can figure out how to keep personal data stored safely, protected from hackers wielding every code and virus known to man, yet completely internet accessible.” I shake my head. “I can’t figure out how the woman’s mind operates.”

Bas braces his elbows on his knees. “She wants to get married and you don’t?”

“The opposite, actually. I would marry her today. She only wants to get married if I can tell her I love her.”