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Prologue

I never truly feel alive unless I'm out in nature. Well, that's not true. Another couple of days out here and I'll be desperate to return to the city. And then, after a week of that, I'll be trying to book a flight out. Maybe I'm never satisfied. Maybe I'm just so glad to be in a place that doesn't remind me of her.

Here, on this snowy road outside of Lake Tahoe, I am the only human for miles. The only sound is the crunch of snow under my boots and the steady huff of my breathing. Everything else is absorbed by the eerie stillness that comes after a snowfall. The sky is opaque with an unbroken sheet of bright clouds, which hides the sun and any indication of what time it is. Massive, glittering evergreens are thrust upward from white ground to white sky. Here, in the solitude and the peace and the quiet, I am almost free. But never fully. I can still hear her in my footsteps, in my heartbeats: Beth, Beth, Beth.

If you met me on the street, you might not assume that I'm the type of guy to pine over a lost love. Not that I come across as insensitive, or at least I hope I don't, but I know I can seem a bit rough around the edges. The simple fact is, however, that Beth is not a lost love. I know precisely where she is--not with me. Apparently my desire for both physical and emotional closeness was too much to ask for. Bryan seems to be handling that well enough for her now. It's amazing how an eight-figure net worth can inspire intimacy.

No, Beth is not lost. And I'm not exactly pining. I'm just trying to break free. Unlike her, I can't fall out of a three year relationship and hop right into the next one. So here I am, learning how to be on my own again in a place where I'm guaranteed not to run into another soul.

It's comical how quickly after I have that thought that it's proven false. The silence is disrupted, and I turn sharply to the left to see a figure emerging from the tree line. I can tell right away from the size and gait of the person that it's a woman. Long, light blonde hair tumbles out of her stocking cap. She's dressed in a snow jacket and jeans and tall boots and has a large duffel bag slung over her shoulders. She streaks right down the little embankment and onto the road without so much as a glance in my direction.

I can't quite explain it, but there's something off about her. Besides the running alone in the woods thing, I mean. I watch her run further away from me and realize that her jacket seems way too big, as do her boots. The bag she carries probably weighs as much as she does, and while she seems strong enough to bear it, I cannot imagine what is in there and why she's in such a hurry.

The curiosity is burning through me. It's nice to have an emotion that isn't related to loneliness or regret, so I seize onto it. I'm debating calling out to her, when she apparently finds a slick spot in the road. Her oversized boot slips forward in a jerking motion and the heavy load on her back pulls her out of balance. She wipes out on her side and gives a little yelp as she loses her breath.

I jog forward automatically and skid to a halt at her side. "Hey, are you okay?"

She gives a little squeak at the sound of my voice, at my sudden presence, when I'm sure she thought she was alone. Her arms raise in a defensive motion, protecting herself from me.

"It's okay," I assure her. "You're going to be okay. Does anything hurt?"

"Just my dignity," she replies breathlessly, rolling up into a sitting position and giving her bruised right hip a little pat. "Help me up before I get soaked through?"

I hurry to comply, scrambling to my feet and helping her up. She wipes at the snow on her jeans and takes thorough stock of herself before looking up at me.

After three years of devotion to the only girl I've ever loved, the most beautiful girl in the world, I thought I would never again feel any sort of instant attraction to another woman. This is clearly not the case. She's wearing more makeup than I usually care to see on a girl, but she's applied it with a skilled hand. Her cheeks are rosy and her lips are glossy and full. I've never cared much for blondes, but the long platinum waves that fall over her shoulders look so soft, my fingers actually twitch with the desire to touch them. But nothing at all prepares me for her eyes. Under ultra-long lashes, her eyes are a peculiar crystalline blue. I can't say why, but the color seems as suspicious as her being here in the middle of nowhere alone. Something feels strange about it. But the entire package blurs together into such a gorgeous whole that I audibly gasp.