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And I do.

I wish I had the answers to why hospital mashed potatoes really are the best. Or why kids like Lana have to get sick.

I wish I knew why my alarm didn't go off this morning when it usually does. And I wish—more than I probably should—that I could wrap my head around Jace Holloway.

When I moved here, I didn't think I'd even cross paths with him, let alone end up living across the park. I thought six weeks was nothing when you haven't seen the man in six years. It's the twenty-first century—if he wanted to see me, he could have figured that out. And it's not my place to reach out to him—not after all this time. Not after what I did.

So I had no idea how he'd react if we did see each other.

Would any part of him be happy?

Would he still hold resentment?

Would he even care at all?

And I had no clue how I'd react either.

I've pictured it, obviously—replayed it in my head more times than I can count. I've dreamed it, fantasized about it. I've even talked it out with a professional on more than one occasion.

But none of those versions looked anything like reality.

None of them had him standing on the same trail I now run every morning. And none of them had him looking at me like he did today—or any of the other times. Like he knew exactly who I was and wasn't sure if he liked that.

And I'm damn sure none of them had me spending the rest of my morning wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do about what it did to me.

I thought grocery shopping after work was a good idea. I've been in my apartment for about two weeks now and everything I got the first time I went—mixed with what Mom sent me back with on my last visit home—can only last so long. But my snack cabinet was down to half a sleeve of Ritz crackers and a random Fig Newton that must have escaped the pack and rolled to the back. And after a twelve-hour shift, that simply won't do.

But as I scan the vitamin bottles—big versus little, blue versus red, the ones that look like little jelly gumdrops and the powdery capsules—I start to reevaluate why I'm actually here.

I've grabbed a few essentials—yogurt, bread, extra cheddar Goldfish. But somewhere between the dairy and those smiley snacks, I also tossed a candle and a box of chamomile tea into my basket.

And now I'm looking at vitamins—magnesium to be exact—another natural sleep aid I seem to have stumbled upon in Grover's without meaning to.

Because the thing is, I sleep just fine—a solid eight hours most nights actually.

Which means there's really only one explanation for why my basket suddenly looks like the perfect nighttime routine for someone who struggles in that department.

I groan, staring at the pill bottle that found its way into my hand for another second before dropping it in anyway.

Jace.

Why won't he get out of my head? And how come I'm subconsciously on a mission in the grocery store to help him with his insomnia?

I blame the universe honestly. It always fucking does this—puts him right back in front of me like that's where he's supposed to be. And that used to be a good thing—a great thing. Because back then, we both believed it. But the odds are slim that after everything, he still does now.

Even if I never stopped.

"Nora?"

I whip around, clocking the way my heart rate remains steady when I register which nickname I hear from the other side of the aisle. I meet eyes with my sister-in-law, Sadie, and smile as I move toward her.

"What are the chances?" she asks, throwing her arms around my neck.

I huff out a laugh, muttering. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing. How are you?"