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"Guess what?" Her whole face is lit up.

"You set something on fire."

"No! Well, almost, but no." She kisses me hard. "The grant committee called. Deborah Kline. They want me back in the spring. They want to make it permanent, Josiah. Seasonal coordinator. Spring and fall events, every year."

"Mona. That's great."

"That's not even the best part." She pulls back, bouncing on her toes. "Solara Resorts called this afternoon. They saw the Denver news piece. They've got six properties in New Mexico and Arizona, and they want my firm to run all their corporate retreats. Two year contract. Real money."

She says a number. It's more than I've made in the last five years.

"That's big," I say.

"It's huge. It'd mean hiring staff. Moving into an actual office instead of my spare bedroom." She sets the spoon on the counter and laughs, a little breathless. "I don't know what to do. I've got until Friday to decide."

"Can you do both?"

"Not really. Solara wants me in Albuquerque full time. Bear Creek wants me here." She wraps her arms around my waist and looks up at me, soft and hopeful. "What do you think?"

Here it is.

Everything in me wants to tell her to stay. To take the job in this little valley with its one bar and its gossiping diner and a sheriff forty minutes over the pass who'd drive it every night just to walk an empty field with her. But I've seen that face before. Shayla had that face when she got the call from the museum in Denver. She tried to hide it from me for a week.

I don't want to be the reason Mona hides it.

"Take the resort job," I say.

Her arms loosen.

"It's the bigger life," I tell her. "It's what you built your business for. You'd be crazy to turn it down for a festival in a town you've lived in two months."

She steps back. Slowly. She picks up the spoon and stirs the pot, and her shoulders go stiff under my flannel.

"Okay," she says quietly.

"Mona."

"No, you're right. It's the smart choice." She taps the spoon on the rim of the pot. Once. Twice. "What about you? You're leaving tomorrow. Where does that leave us?"

"I'll drive down when I can."

"To Albuquerque. Seven hours."

"If that's where you are."

She turns around. The light in her face is gone.

"Do you want me to stay?"

The question lands in the middle of the kitchen and sits there. I look at her, barefoot and fierce and a little scared, and my throat closes up.

"I can't ask you that," I say.

"You don't have to ask. You just have to tell me."

"It's not my call."

She flinches. It's small. If I didn't know her face by now, I'd miss it.