I ran outside before my courage could desert me. The gravel crunched beneath my boots, and the cool morning air bit at my skin. “Ansel,” I called out. My voice carried across the yard, shaky but loud enough to make him turn. He spun around, sunlight glinting off his hair, a smile spreading across his face. For one brief, stolen second, that smile warmed me from the inside out. Then his gaze dropped to the cake in my hands, and the smile faded like a dying ember.
“No suitcases,” he said quietly.
My throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Ansel. I can’t go. I wish I could.” The words felt too small for the ache sitting heavy inside me.
His brows drew together. “Then you should.”
If only he knew. If only I could tell him why not. But how did I tell the man who made my pulse tremble that my body was
