And my heart? I now knew why I’d grown bored with all other girlfriends, then moved into panic when the relationships became serious.

It all came back to Scarlett.

After losing my parents I’d been too afraid to love someone, so I’d chosen girls who were “safe.” I knew I wouldn’t fall for them, mainly because they weren’t Scarlett. Safe to date, because ultimately the relationships could never go anywhere. And the woman I’d instinctively known I could love? To love her and lose her was unacceptable, so I’d held her at a distance with one hand, while holding on tight with the other to Best Friend Scarlett, as if that would keep me from being hurt.

Idiot.

I’d loved her like crazy for ages. My heart had more love for Scarlett than I would have believed possible.

I had no idea when it had started. Definitely before we’d begun dating. Before the kissing lessons, too—though they’d probably stirred it to life so it became harder to pretend it didn’t exist.

Even before she’d moved in with me.

If I was completely honest, the little flame had probably been lit that very first night we’d met, when she’d turned those huge, trusting hazel eyes to me after I’d protected her from my roommate. I’d fallen head over heels, but the timing had been so abominably wrong, I’d squashed it out before it had a chance to start. Or so I’d thought. Apparently it had flickered away in the background, growing, deepening, all this time. Until I was consumed by it.

I’d do anything for Scarlett. I’d give up my career, switch to an academic life to give her the stability she needed. Anything.

Ironically, now that I understood this, it was too late. I used every curse word I knew and made a couple of new ones up as well.

That door was now closed. She’d never risk a relationship with me again after it blew up in our faces. We played with fire.

And we both got burned.

She shouldn’t take a risk on me again. She needed a guy like Rakesh. As soon as it didn’t hurt so much to contemplate—which, admittedly, might be never—I might even set them up together. She, more than anyone I knew, deserved to be happy.

Scarlett had been giving to everyone around her ever since I’d known her, probably all her life. In that way, she was a lot like her hippie mum. I smiled, thinking that Scarlett probably wouldn’t be pleased to hear how much she was like her mother.

It was about time someone gave back to her. Trying not to wake Harvey, I climbed into bed. First thing in the morning, I’d get on that.

Scarlett

After work, I arrived at Cathy’s apartment about ten minutes after she did, and let myself in. I’d been staying with her since moving out of Finn’s, but she and her roommate were using the only two bedrooms, so I’d been making do with the pull-out sofa. As soon as I had a free day, I really needed to look for a long-term place.

It would be the first time in years I’d be house-hunting without Finn by my side. He’d always helped me manage the anxiety about moving again, right up until he managed it completely by moving me in with him.

The thought of not living with him still stole all the warmth from my day, but I finally felt okay about moving somewhere new. Perhaps this was being an adult. More likely it was that, having faced the worst by leaving Finn, everything else seemed small potatoes.

As I walked into the kitchen, Cathy was leaning against the counter, eyes wide, smile wider.

“Hey,” I said, hesitating in my step. “Something up?”

“Oh, nothing out of the usual,” she said, but her entire face was expectant.

I glanced around for clues, and my gaze snagged on the shiny new freestanding icemaker sitting on the countertop. A gasp escaped my lungs before I could even put two thoughts together.

“You got an icemaker? I didn’t even know you wanted one.” I moved closer, to touch it. Maybe even stroke it a little. “That’s a top of the range model.” Not that I spent time perusing the home appliances section of the stores or anything.

“Nope,” Cathy singsonged. “You got an icemaker. And a coffee machine.”

I spun around to where she was pointing and almost fell to my knees in worship of the gleaming machine that would magically turn roasted beans into a steaming mug of coffee—anytime I wanted.

Then I registered her words and straightened. “How did I get an icemaker and a coffee machine?”

“Finn,” she said simply.

Finn? Even the sound of his name still had the power to make my knees wobble.

I had to swallow hard before my voice would work. “How?”

“Billie came to see me and explained that Finn wanted to give you a present, so I gave her the key to the apartment and they dropped them off during her lunch break today.”

Finn had been here? I glanced around the kitchen and into the small living room with new eyes, as if I could find a trace of him, but everything looked the same as it had five minutes ago.

I looked back at my pretty, new icemaker. “Billie didn’t say a word at work.” I’d seen her three or four times today, though she had said she already had plans for lunch.

“Well, duh. That would have kinda ruined the surprise.”

Finn planned a present for me. He’d gone out and bought things he knew I’d love, arranged for Billie to get the keys, then come in and left them on the counter.

It was both a surprise…and not a surprise. When Billie had told him she was going travelling, he wasn’t able to tell her he loved her, but he’d offered to put money away for her. He did whatever it took to give his sisters what they needed, despite not being able to tell them how he felt.

Other people talked the talk. Finn walked the walk.

And now he’d given me what he thought I needed.

“This is a love letter,” I whispered.

Cathy’s grin faded and she frowned. “The icemaker is a love letter? Are you sure?”

“Yep.” A beautiful, chrome, gleaming, poetic love letter. “Oh, hell. Please tell me I did the right thing.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You don’t like the icemaker?”

I let my head fall back on the cupboard door behind me. “About leaving Finn.”

“Having second thoughts?”

And third and twenty-fourth thoughts. “You would have done the same thing, right?”

Cathy pulled her mouth to one side, then the other, as if considering her words carefully. “Do you want an honest answer to that, or do you want reassurance?”

“Reassurance,” I said without hesitating.

“You absolutely did the right thing. You said from the start you and Finn together was a monumental mistake. If you’d stayed longer, it would only have gotten worse.”

“Thanks.” I took a deep breath. “Okay, now hit me with the honest answer.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m probably wrong.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She nodded. “Soft version or blunt?”

“Blunt version with soft edges?” I said, trying not to wince.

“Sure.” She assembled her face into a gentle smile. “I think your first instinct is to cut your losses early and run.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant, but suddenly I was uncomfortable. “I run?”

“Run might be an exaggeration. But how many times did you move house before you moved in with Finn?”

“Seventeen,” I said, my voice sounding pathetic even to my own ears.

“In how long?”

“Two years. But lots of them had conditions no one would put up with. Panty Stealer House. Police Drug Raid House. Eighty-three Pet Mice House.”

“True, but were there some that only had little things wrong? Things that most shared houses have wrong?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, since we were doing the honest option.

“Also, you haven’t finished your degree. Instead you’re working in a job that’s only temporary to you. One where you’re always poised to leave.”

“Cut and run,” I said faintly.

“And when I got that weird text from Mike about running into his ex, your first instinct was that I should break up with him, not that I should talk it out with him.”