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found.
    “And you never went back?”
    “I finished up school in Bend, at Central. I teach shop at the high school.”
    If shock didn’t require so much energy, I would have fallen off the sofa. But as it was, Weston’s head was starting to blur into multiples.
    “You gave up your scholarship? What about architecture?” I asked, yawning. The steam from my coffee cup had stopped billowing minutes ago, and I hadn’t taken one sip.
    He studied my face, and this time I couldn’t break the sleepy trance that washed over me. Or the feeling of calm. My eyelids grew heavy again as my head slid off my hand to rest fully on the padding of my arm.
    I felt my hair being brushed away from my face, and then I heard him whisper, “Some things are more important than ambition, Georgia.”

C HAPTER F IVE
    I snuggled deeper into the blanket and rolled over, savoring the last few moments of sleepy bliss. Something sweet and familiar was in the air. I breathed it in, my stomach growling in response. Did Nan bake something special for breakfast?
    And then I heard a hum.
    But it was not a Nan hum.
    My eyes snapped open. Oh my gos h . . . Oh my gos h . . . Oh my gosh.
    The blanket slid to the floor as I assessed my current surroundings, nausea meeting my gut like a head-on collision.
    Weston’s living room.
    Please, oh please, let this be a really bad dream.
    “You’re awake.”
    I wiped under my eyes frantically, trying to remove any trace of raccoon-eye smears before working to right my twisted shirt.
    “What time is it?”
    “You sound like an old man in the morning.”
    “Morning?” I looked out the window. Sure enough, it was dawn. “How could you let me sleep here?”
    A freshly showered Weston sauntered toward me. “Hey, calm down Miss Grinch. It’s a little before seve n . . . and because friends don’t let friends drive asleep. But let me tell you, you were doing a lot more than sleeping. You were snoring and—”
    “And you couldn’t have just woken me up like a normal person? What is wrong with you?” I yanked the hair tie off my wrist and gathered my matted mane into a ponytail. “Nan is probably worried sick.”
    “I called her. She’s fine.”
    I snorted at his nonchalant response. Typical. Sure, maybe somewhere deep down I could see how this act might seem sweet, or maybe even noble, but not her e . . . not with him .
    My cheeks burned as an unwelcome memory washed over me, his face at the center of it all.
    “We’re not friends, Weston.”
    I grabbed my boots, which were propped next to his couch, and as I tugged them on, my body suddenly stiffened. Had he taken my shoes off? How had I slept that hard? I pressed my lips together. I knew better than to be vulnerable with him, and falling asleep on his blasted sofa couldn’t be more vulnerable! I pulled my jacket on and headed toward the door.
    “Georgia, stop.”
    My hand froze on the dead bolt, his voice at my back. I fought against the emotion building in my throat, my heart pounding to the cadence of an old, familiar drum.
    “You and I need to have a conversation. One that should have happened seven years ago.”
    I shook my head adamantly. “No, we don’t.”
    His hand gripped my shoulder. He was so close that his breath tickled my ear. “Then why can’t I forget you, Georgia Cole?”
    Squeezing my eyes shut, I felt my voice transform into a shaky whisper of doubt. “I don’t kno w . . . but I forgot you.”
    “Turn around and say that to my face, then.” It was a challenge; one I knew I couldn’t accept.
    My breath stopped as he slid his hand down the length of my arm, causing my traitorous body to melt under his touch.
    But the voice inside my head prevailed.
    Don’t give in.
    “What are you so afraid of?”
    “Nothing.” You. “ Please , just let me leave.”
    He withdrew his hand and took a step back. I pulled open the door and charged down the front steps two at a time, putting as much distance between us as I possibly