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“My Uber is six minutes away,” Ryan says.

Six minutes.

Fifteen months of silence, four days together, and six minutes left to say anything that might matter.

Panic claws its way up my throat. It wants my hands around his arm and my body between him and the drive. It wants me crying loudly enough to make the men behind us intervene. It wants promises, demands, and every terrified weapon I have ever used to keep the person I love from leaving before I am ready.

Ryan watches the battle move through me.

Last impressions matter, right?

I breathe until I can stand inside the fear without obeying it. “You changed your flight,” I say.

“This morning.”

“Before we spoke in the hallway?”

“After.”

Pain moves through me, but I don’t turn it into an accusation. “Did you mean everything you said?”

“Every fucking word.” His voice remains steady, though his eyes don’t. “I’m not playing with this, Charm. It’s too fragile.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I’m trying to prove I heard you without promising something I haven’t figured out how to give yet.”

Ryan’s jaw tightens. His attention moves across my face as though he is searching for the trap inside the answer. When he doesn’t find one, some of the hardness leaves his expression.

I was going to ask him to stay in Kimball Falls. I was going to tell him we could talk, take our time, and find someone who could help us rebuild what neither love nor apologies can repair alone. Standing in front of him now, I understand that asking him to change his plans before I have done anything differently would be another attempt to control the pain of watching him leave.

“I had a speech,” I admit.

“Yeah?”

“It was probably terrible.”

“Most speeches are.”

“I was going to ask you to stay.”

Ryan closes his eyes briefly.

“I’m not asking now,” I continue. “I want to. Every part of me wants to, but I know wanting you here doesn’t give me the right to make you leaving harder.”

His eyes open. The emotion inside them stops my heart. “I want to tell you something,” he says.

I remain silent.

Ryan looks toward the dark drive, then back at me. The control he has carried through the entire day begins loosening around the edges.

“I knew I was in love with you at the carnival.”

My breath disappears. “What?”

“The Ferris wheel.” His mouth shifts without becoming a smile. “You were right about the lights. You looked so fucking beautiful in them, but that wasn’t why.”