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And then there’s the issue of the money—Shane’s money. I’d choked on my own spit seeing that many zeros in my banking app. Since then, I’ve been wrestling with what to do with it. Keep it? Return it? Consider it a loan and pay him back later?

I’m deep in thought when Maria, the office manager, pokes her head into the wash room. “Hey, Willow. When you’re done with this pup, can you talk to me?”

My stomach clenches at the apologetic tone of her voice, already knowing what’s coming. I was initially hired to cover for an employee who was on sick leave. Though I’ve always known this was a temporary position, I’d hoped to get my footing elsewhere before leaving the clinic.

“Sure thing.” I manage a wobbly smile.

As I return the clean dog to a kennel until his owner picks him up, my phone rings. My knees nearly buckle, seeing it’s the manager for the cleaning company I work for. It’s cowardly to let it go to voicemail, but I don’t trust my voice right now. Tucking into a corner, I numbly listen to her message, only hearing half of it.

“...understood the rules…” “...keycard access showed you were there when he came home…” “...vacating before the homeowner arrives is nonnegotiable…” “...terminated…”

I blink away unshed tears as a text lights up the screen.

Delilah

I’m going to lunch with Adam and then taking Piper to a dentist appointment. Call you later.

My shoulders slump. I don’t even have the energy to heart the message.

“Okay, universe, I get the hint.”

Hint? More like a blaring neon sign visible from space.

Clearly, I’m not meant to stay in Virginia Beach.

Ever since I was diagnosed, I’ve been thinking about moving back home. My mom gently suggested it once I told her the news. Though I know there’s no shame in moving back home when life keeps kicking you in the teeth, I’d really wanted to make it on my own. I love this quirky city and being able to head to the beach whenever I have a free moment—which is never. I’ve been here six months and still haven’t wiggled my toes in the sand.

There’s no denying that things would be so much easier if I moved back to my small Texas town. A year ago, my mom left her soul-sucking job for the county and bought a small diner with her best friend. They’ve transformed the dingy place to somewhere locals want to idle for hours.

If I lived at home and worked for Mom, I’d have time to paint again. Mom and Kelly would probably insist on displaying a few of my pieces on the walls. It wouldn’t be the acclaim I’d hope to earn as an artist, but it would be better than working myself to the bone and never touching a brush.

I set my palm over my aching heart, drawing in a deep breath. “This is good.”

By the time I speak with Maria and confirm that Friday will be my last shift, a sense of calm settles in my bones. Since the schedule is light today, I ask if I can take the rest of the afternoon off, and Maria happily agrees.

It’s past time to go to the beach.

But first…I want to run a quick errand.

Tonight, I’ll surprise Delilah with an impromptu pizza dinner before explaining the situation. It stinks that we’ll soon be living in different cities, but that’s what video chat and road trips are for. Our friendship might be new, but I’m certain we can make long-distance work.

I break into the early afternoon sunshine with a smile on my face. “Maybe after the beach, I’ll paint the wall in my living room. They’re going to tear it down, anyway.”

A zip of energy surges toward the tips of my fingertips at the thought.

“But first”—I blow out a breath while heading toward my car—“to the bank.”

Twenty minutes later, after stopping at a thrift store and the bank, I’m standing in front of Waves Stadium. My fingers squeeze the handle of the briefcase I bought to store the money. I nearly fainted as the bank teller gave me four thousand dollars in hundreds and the rest of the $987.64 in smaller bills and coins. It was also surprisingly underwhelming when all of it fit in an unassuming white envelope.

How was I supposed to know that kind of money wouldn’t require an empty briefcase?

“Hi, there. How can I help you?” a woman asks with a smile as I enter the reception area.

“I have something for Shane Seaver,” I say, lifting the briefcase.

“Oh.” Her brow wrinkles slightly. “Okay. You can leave it here, and I’ll be sure it gets to him.”

I yank back the case as sweat trickles down my neck. I’ve been jumpy ever since the bank teller handed me the envelope, but can you blame me? Never in my life have I held this much money. I even buckled the briefcase into the passenger seat, just in case.