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I stand in the dark kitchen, the dogs pacing in a circle.

That’s when the sadness hits.

An ache, like the first breath of cold air when summer comes to an end. If I’m going to stick to my intention of pursuing my own path, this is both the start of something new and the end of the possibility of him. I swallow. That’s alright— it really is. I’m making the choice I won’t regret.

“Come on,” I whisper, clicking my fingers at the dogs.

They rarely sleep in my room with me, but tonight, I need company. Silently, we all head up the steps. Billy settles down at the foot of the bed on a pile of fallen blankets. The Kid climbs on the bed and settles his nose on his paws, big eyes on me as I drop my carry-on and crawl beneath the covers. I can shower in the morning. Tonight, I have nothing left.

So, I curl up and sleep hard.

The next morning, I catch the scent of pancakes before I can peel my sticky eyes open. A cold dog nose is pressing into my neck.

“Stop,” I protest, forcing my lids open and sitting up.

Billy is on the bed, The Kid waiting by the door. I know they’re used to going outside earlier than nine, so I peel myself out of bed and smooth my sweatsuit down before heading to the kitchen.

The front door is propped open. It’s a little smoky; it always is when Sabrina makes pancakes because she cooks with bacon grease. The dogs barrel out into the yard, and I hear Coen hollering at them a second later. They’re probably peeing on the flower garden again and killing Sabrina’s cosmos. He really needs to put a fence around it because they’re never going to learn.

“Hey!”

I turn to find Sabrina’s glowing face at the end of the short hall.

“Hey,” I say, joining her to take my usual seat at the breakfast bar. “Show me the rock.”

She lifts her hand, wriggling her fingers. It’s bigger in person, with a beautiful cut and clarity.

“Damn, it’s really nice,” I say.

It is. I’m impressed.

“He did good,” she says.

Coen appears at the back door, arguing with the dogs as he tries to keep them on the other side of the screen door. He manages to get them out, then slams it shut and lets out a low whistle.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “I can’t take too many more animals around here.”

“Just a few more. I’m sending the wranglers out to the auction this weekend,” Sabrina calls.

“As long as the cows aren’t trying to get in the house, I don’t care how many we have.”

“We had cows in the house once,” I say. “When we were little, Dad had a couple of calves born early. It was so cold out, we wrapped them in blankets and bottle-fed them on the couch.”

“I’m surprised you remember that. You were really little,” Sabrina says.

“I remember stuff,” I say.

She pauses, like she wants to say something, then shakes her head. Coen finishes washing his hands and slides an arm around her waist. She gives him a soft smile, but it’s how relaxed she is around him that catches my attention. I hate that I know that feeling, and I wish I didn’t.

Grabbing a pancake, I push off the stool.

“I’ll help with chores,” I announce. “What are you working on, Coen?”

He takes a second, maybe a little confused. “Uh, some fencing on the upper pasture.”

“Perfect. Let me go change.”

Neither of them says a word as I sail upstairs. I’m so happy for them, I really am, but everything reminds me of Jamie. In my room, I pull on some jeans and a T-shirt that I don’t mind getting dirty. If I’m going to be home for a while, I need to find something to distract myself. If that’s going back to my old ways and acting as one of the wranglers for the rest of the summer, that’s alright.