I left him in France without saying goodbye.

Not because I didn't feel anything. Because I felt everything—and I've learned the hard way what happens when you let yourself believe you're someone's forever. You end up being their footnote instead.

So I ran. No note. No number. Just the ghost of his cologne on a shirt I couldn't bring myself to throw away.

Three months later, Declan Murphy is standing in my office doorway, looking at me like no time has passed at all.

"Hey, Sunshine. Miss me?"

He's my new work partner. He's an NFL quarterback. And he's looking at me like I'm the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.

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