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“Bullshit.”

His mouth twitched, but he took his time drinking his coffee before answering. “I’m trying to decide how long I should wait before telling you you’re miserable.”

The words caught her off guard, although they shouldn’t have. If anyone would notice how poorly she’d adjusted to being home, it would be him. He’d been around her nearly every day since she returned and had probably noticed long before she was willing to acknowledge it herself.

“I’m not miserable.”

He didn’t argue, which was worse than if he had.

She took another bite of her sandwich, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing the comment had landed exactly where he intended.

“You’re functioning,” he said after a few beats. “That’s not the same thing as being happy.”

The sandwich suddenly required more chewing than it should have.

She'd been working, answering emails, taking meetings, and seeing friends when she couldn't come up with a believable excuse not to. From the outside, nothing about her life appeared to have changed.

From the inside, it felt like someone had drained all the color from it.

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

The lack of teasing in his voice made the admission harder, not easier. She set the sandwich down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I miss Edith and Rissa too. Willow. The ranches. Penny. I even miss people stopping me on the street when I was trying to get somewhere. Hell, at this point, I wouldn’t mind seeing Gertie again.”

Her reference to the cow she’d almost hit on her way to court earned a faint smile from him.

She glanced around the office she’d once considered one of her favorite rooms in the house. She’d spent years building a life she loved in L.A.—a successful career, good friends, and a beautiful house she’d always been happy to come home to.

Except it didn’t feel much like home anymore. It felt too big and too empty, and she’d never noticed how lonely it could be until she returned from Wyoming.

“I thought once I got back and everything got busy again, it would get better.”

“Has it?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head.

If anything, the opposite had happened. The first few days had been the worst, but she’d blamed that on the abrupt change. After weeks with Grady nearby, waking up more than a thousand miles away from him hurt, of course.

Then a week had passed.

Followed by another.

Now three.

Whenever something happened that she wanted to tell him, she reached for her phone, sometimes hesitating because she didn't know if she'd be interrupting him at work. Every night, she wished the man in the photograph were beside her instead of trapped behind a piece of glass.

And every conversation ended the same way—with one of them eventually having to say goodbye.

Fen took a sip of his coffee, studying her over the rim. “Then why are you still here?”

Her mouth flattened as she tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“In L.A. You’ve spent three weeks telling yourself you have to be here because this is where you live and work. But do you?”

Her first instinct was to argue. Of course she had to be here. Her house was here. Her office. Meetings, appearances, deadlines, all the responsibilities she’d returned to California for.

Except the argument began falling apart almost as soon as she formed it.