Miah looked sad to hear that. “I think he feels the same way.”

That had the tears officially threatening to fall, so she rose and started getting the sling back on.

Miah sighed. “I’m sorry. That was none of my business.”

“He’s your friend. It’s fine.” Just hard, so hard to hear, when she was already having such a difficult time committing to the decision she’d made. She took the baby back and settled her in the cotton straps.

Miah’s face was so full of pain, she thought. She and Casey not working out was trivial compared to what his family had just suffered, but it must hurt all the same, knowing yet another good thing had been lost.

“Give your mom my best,” she offered, feeling lame. “Take good care of her, like she did for me and Mercy.”

He nodded. “Always. It was nice having you guys here.”

“Good luck with everything.”

“You, too.”

And with a quavering smile, she turned and headed for the front.

Casey was leaning on the hood of his car, looking at his phone. He tucked it in his pocket when the clatter of the closing door announced her arrival.

“Got everything?”

“I think so. Sorry to dawdle—I had to say good-bye to Miah. Say thanks and all that.”

“Course.”

He helped get Mercy into her car seat, and they each climbed behind their wheels and headed for town.

She eyed the farmhouse in her rearview. She’d been here just over two weeks, yet it had felt like a major, formative phase of her new life. Saying good-bye to Miah had been hard, but it was the next good-bye that she truly dreaded. Saying good-bye to Casey, this afternoon. He’d still be her boss, and hopefully her friend, but he’d so very nearly been so much more. She’d be saying good-bye for now, but also good-bye to everything they’d been for each other, this past week.

Will I greet him in a few months, when I come in for my shift, and still feel all this? All the longing and the sadness, the regret that they couldn’t have been more?

Miah’s words echoed. He’s different, because of you.

And she was different because of him. She had more faith in men than she had before, maybe ever. Faith that she could attract a guy who’d treat her well, respect her, worry about her, and be kind without expecting a thing in return. Maybe she’d managed to fall for yet another criminal, but she’d picked a good one, for a change.

For a change. She’d changed.

And he wants to change. He had changed, to hear Miah tell it.

She tried to imagine how this would’ve felt, if he hadn’t been involved in all those dangerous things. If he’d been the good one, and she’d been the one whose confession had put an end to all of this. If she’d sat down and bared her soul and her past, and he’d told her, Sorry, but I can’t be with you. You’re too damaged. What had she told him, with her decision? Sorry—you’re too bad. Too crooked. Too selfish.

Yet he’d never been any of those things with her. So much the opposite, in fact, that she’d been shocked to hear about the things he’d done.

She nearly wished they’d never decided to share their pasts. Things could have continued, all blissful and ignorant. Blissful and passionate and fun and affectionate, and she could have discovered what the tiny bud of their nascent family unit might’ve grown into.

Would things have been different, if they were in love? If they’d said those words aloud, made some kind of commitment before that conversation had happened?

I think I was already in love with him, so what does it matter?

It did matter, though. It would have mattered if she knew for sure he felt the same. Would have been so much harder if he’d ever told her, I want that baby to call me “Dad” someday. Oh Christ, that would’ve made it a million times harder to end it. And not because of the security offered by such a statement, just because . . . because . . .

Because it would’ve been real.

She stared at the silver of his bumper as they stopped at the only light in town, a block from Benji’s. And it struck, like a slap.

It was real. He has told me those things. A hundred times in the last few months. Never in words, but in action after action after action. Every time he’d shown up with groceries, unbidden. Every time he’d offered to babysit. Every sleepless night he’d suffered, every bottle he’d warmed, every time he’d driven her to town, every cross word he’d had for her ex. Every dollar he’d considered earning and giving to her, no matter how terrible that idea had been.

He had told her those things, hadn’t he?

And actions don’t lie. People could. Words could. But not months and months of kindness. And not the things his body had told hers, any of the times they’d come together in her bed.

She tailed him into the bar’s back lot, heart feeling like a jumbled heap of too many questions.

“Home sweet home,” Casey called as she stepped out of her car.

“For now, anyhow.” She glanced up at the windows of the second floor, wondering what it would be like, staying with her boss and former boss. Casey was her boss as well, of course, but it had never really felt that way. Raina had been fair, but a hard-ass. And Duncan was . . . Duncan. Nice enough, but also stiff and stuffy and a touch overbearing when it came to rules and order. Nothing compared to my dad, though. Still, she’d be very mindful of keeping her and Mercy’s stuff from cluttering up the common rooms.

“You’ll find your own place soon,” Casey said, reading her mind. The back door was unlocked, as promised, and he picked up a cinder block from beside the Dumpster to prop it open wide. Abilene got the baby out, seat and all, carrying her up behind Casey, who had a suitcase in each hand.

They found Duncan in the kitchen, finishing what looked like a plate of salad. “Oh good, it’s not burglars, then.”

“Nope, just your new tenants,” Casey said dropping the bags. “Here, watch this.” He took the car seat from Abilene, setting it on the table.

Duncan’s eyes widened. “I’m due to open the bar in—”

“We’ll be quick,” Casey said, halfway to the door.

“Does it . . .” He eyed the baby, then Abilene. “Does she need anything?”

“No, she’s fine. If she starts crying, I’ll be back up in a minute.”

“Right. So I just . . . let her cry?”

She smiled. “She’ll be fine. I’ll be right back.”

She passed Casey on the stairs, flattening herself against the wall as he slipped by with the crib panels under his arms.

“He’s completely terrified,” she whispered.

“Excellent.”

She headed back out into the sunshine, smiling genuinely for the first time in days, it felt.

They had the cars empty in no time, and back upstairs, Abilene told Duncan, “Thank you. And good job—you’ve officially babysat now.”

“You’re welcome.” He stood, seeming eager to escape, as though she’d left him alone with a wolverine.

“Gosh,” she said, carrying Mercy into the spare bedroom, where Casey was reassembling the crib. “I think he’s, like, literally afraid of babies.”

“Perfect for Raina, then.”

She set the seat down and sat on the edge of yet another temporary bed. “Thanks again. For helping me move.”

“Anytime.”

Anytime, indeed. Anytime she’d needed him these past few months, he’d been there.

“Don’t hesitate to ask,” he added, crouching with the screwdriver in hand. “Just because you and I couldn’t be . . . you know. That doesn’t mean I’m any less fond of you. Either of you,” he said, nodding to Mercy.

“That’s awful nice.”

He shrugged, eyes on the task. “Apart from the bar, and my mom, what else have I got to do with my time? It’s my pleasure.”

“No,” she said, smiling. “It’s not.”

He looked up.

“Your pleasure? All those nights when she kept you awake, shrieking? All the nights you stayed up to stand guard, worried about my ex?”