“I’d probably have done the same thing, but wait for the cavalry next time, okay?”

“I will,” I agreed. “So . . . I know you said your dad was driving you to the airport in the morning, but . . .” My voice trailed off, hopeful. Interrupt me! Ask me to take you to the airport!

“But what?” he asked. He knew what I was but whating, but he wasn’t going to let me off the hook.

My heart settled somewhere very low. Dark side of the duodenum low. “So, I guess I won’t see you before you leave,” I managed.

“The day just got away from me.” His voice sounded careful, cautious.

“Twelve weeks. That’s a long time.”

“Chloe,” he said. But then he said no more.

Usually, any silence between us was comfortable. This silence was heavy and dark, and I didn’t like it one bit.

“Can I call you?” I finally asked. “While you’re down there?”

“Not sure how great the cell reception is down there.”

“Didn’t you get an international plan?” I asked.

“Yeah, I did.” Translation: he didn’t want me to call him. “Listen, I’ve still got some stuff to do before bed, so I just wanted to make sure you knew they’d be contacting you about the dogs, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, gripping the phone hard. “Lucas, I’m so sorry that—”

“Chloe, just don’t—okay? I can’t get into all this. Not before I go,” he said, sounding so tired. “I’m sure I’ll see you when I get back.”

Oh my God. This was so very bad. “Yeah, okay, Lucas. Be careful down there, okay?”

“Will do. You too. I mean it about waiting for the cavalry next time, Chloe.”

“Sure,” I said, my throat all lumpy.

“Bye,” he said, and that was it.

Ten minutes later I was still pacing around my living room, trying to decide whether I should call him back, when my phone rang. “Thank God,” I muttered, racing to pick it up.

But it wasn’t Lucas. It was Charles.

“Hello?” I asked, stunned. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, other than a quick phone call about sending back some gifts.

“Hi, Chloe, how are you?” he asked.

“Uh, I’m good. You?”

“Good—great, actually. How are things up north? Your mom told me about the ranch you started up there—a charity for stray dogs?”

“Kind of. I run a rescue shelter for abandoned pit bulls.”

“Ah. Interesting.”

“Did you need something?” I asked. It was almost eleven o’clock. Why were we making small talk; what was going on? Weird.

“I do need something, actually: your signature.”

“On what?”

“Your name is still on my life insurance, and we need to get that switched over.”

“No way. I’ll just kill you and retire.”

There was silence, then he laughed. And just like that, we moved into normal. As normal as you could be with an ex-fiancé.

“Sure, I’ll sign whatever you want. Just email it and I’ll turn it around.”

“Notarize it, please.”

“Fancy,” I said. “So who’s your new beneficiary?”

“My new fiancée, actually. I’m getting married in six weeks.”

“What? Wow!” I sat down in surprise. “Who’s the lucky girl? Anyone I know?”

“Becky Von Stuffling.”

“I’ve never met her, but I’m sure she’s lovely.”

“She is lovely, and quite fun.” His voice sounded light. Hopeful. Intoxicated. “And a little bit twisted.”

“Twisted? Heavens, not that.” I laughed. “Is this the part where I say I’m happy for you?”

“Only if you really are.”

I flashed on all the good times I’d had with Charles; we used to laugh a lot. He was stuffy and pretentious, without a doubt. But he was a kind, decent man, and he deserved someone better suited for him. “I am happy for you, Charles. Very happy.”

“I was really angry with you, Chloe.”

“I know,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. I did what I had to do for myself, but I did leave a pretty big mess behind me. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

“At the time it didn’t make any sense to me, but now I see that it was for the best. As mad and embarrassed as I was, it really was the best thing,” he said softly.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Send me whatever you need to, and I’ll get it right back to you.” I sniffled a little. “And congratulations, Charles.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

I said good-bye and hung up. In a way, it felt like the last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. He had finally moved on, and it was all truly over.

I was now the opposite of the woman I very nearly became: the kind of woman who would marry a man she wasn’t entirely sure she was in love with, just for the security, for the good life. For the supposed good life.

I’d created my own good life, up on this ranch with a bunch of crazy dogs. And, Sinatra connection fully acknowledged, I did it my way. And I’d made my own bed before I chose to share it with someone new. Except I had hurt that someone—the last person I wanted to hurt.

I looked at the phone, then looked away. I picked up the phone, then put it down. I scrolled through to find his name . . . then turned it off. He was getting on a plane in a few hours. The last thing he needed was me crashing through right now.