I’m awake at five fifteen a.m., staring at the ceiling of the Riverside cabin, wondering what possessed me to suggest sunrise yoga.


    The truth is, I haven’t felt this alive in years. Yesterday, walking through a grocery store with Julie, letting her teach me about the foods that brought her joy, was the most normal and extraordinary thing I’d done in decades. I felt like a real person instead of the hollow corporate ghost I’d be in Manhattan.


    My phone dings on the nightstand.


    Asher


    You’re up early. Even for you.


    Nick


    How did you know I was awake?


    Asher


    You’re active on Instagram. When did you start liking posts about pumpkin recipes?


    I check my activity.


    Shit. I’ve been subconsciously liking every post from Cozy Coffee’s ount for the past twenty minutes.


    Nick


    Research.


    Asher


    Sure. How’s the girlfriend?


    Nick


    Fake girlfriend.


    Asher


    The fact that you felt the need to correct me says everything.


    I don’t respond because he’s not wrong. Nothing about yesterday felt fake.


    I put on some athletic wear, grab my keys, and head into town. The streets are empty, except for a few early morning runners. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the sky is starting to lighten at the edges, painting the mountains in shades of purple and pink.


    The town square is already set up with yoga mats in neat rows. A woman with long gray hair in borate braids is arranging blocks and straps at each station. This must be the instructor, Jessie.


    “Good morning, Nick,” she says without looking up.


    “How’d you know?”


    “Never seen you here before. Think you can handle it?” Jessie looks up, studying me with kind eyes.


    “I hope,” I say with augh.


    “You look like you can,” she says.


    “I yed professional hockey. I think I can manage some stretching.”


    Jessie’sugh is knowing. “Oh, sweetie. This isn’t stretching. It’s a spiritual journey through physical torment. But don’t worry; I have a one hundred percent survival rate. Tomorrow might suck.”


    Before I can respond, I spot Julie walking across the square. She’s wearing purple leggings with strategic cutouts that make her legs look impossibly long and a sports bra that leaves very little to the imagination. Her red hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and she’s carrying two coffee cups.


    “Close your mouth, dear,” Jessie says. “You’ll catch flies.”


    Julie hands me one of the cups. “Figured you’d need a little pre-workout caffeine.”


    “You’re a lifesaver.” I take a sip, and she made it exactly how I like it—strong. “Ready to do this?”


    “Oh, I’m ready to do a lot of things.”


    The way she says it, with that little smirk, makes me lose my train of thought.


    Other couples start arriving; most are in their thirties and forties.


    “Nics Banks!” Mrs. Henderson calls out. “Didn’t expect to see you two here.”


    “Didn’t expect to see you.” Julie narrows her eyes. “You realize this is partner yoga?”


    “Well, that’s why I asked Mrs. P to join me,” she says.


    They’re both too cheery—and only here to do recon.


    Julie chuckles. “Hope you two have fun.”


    Jessie ps her hands. “All right, everyone! Let’s begin with partner poses.”


    “Partner poses?” I whisper to Julie.


    She’s trying not tough. “Don’t worry; I’ll be gentle.”


    “Liar.”


    The first pose involves sitting back-to-back, arms linked, trying to stand up together. It requiresplete trust and coordination. Julie and I fail spectacrly the first time, both of usughing as we tumble sideways.


    “You’re supposed to push back,” she says.


    “You’re supposed tomunicate,” I counter.


    “I’mmunicating with my back pressure.”


    “That’s not a thing.”


    Jessie appears above us. “Less talking, more breathing together. Feel one another. Quit fighting it.”


    We try again. This time, I focus on matching Julie’s breathing, feeling the rise and fall of her back against mine. We stand smoothly, perfectly synchronized.


    “Better,” Jessie says. “Now hold the tree pose while maintaining contact.”


    The next hour is a special kind of torture. Not because the poses are challenging, but because every move requires me to touch Julie. Her hands are on my waist for bnce. My palms press against hers for warrior pose. The warmth of her skin when we move through flowing sequences does something to me.


    At one point, she’s in downward dog, and I’m supposed to ce my hands on her hips to help deepen the stretch. The position is innocent, therapeutic even, but the way she looks back at me with those green eyes makes it feel like forey.


    “Breathe, Nick,” she whispers, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.


    “Trying,” I manage.


    Jerry—an older guy who’s partnered with his girlfriend, Margaret—chuckles from the next mat. As Julie walks away to grab some water for us, he chats with me.


    “Jessie’s sses have saved more rtionships than counseling in this town.”


    “Why’s that?” I ask.


    “Forces you to pay attention to each other,” Margaret says. “Can’t fake connection when you’re trying not to fall over.”


    By the time ss ends, I’m sweating, and Julie’s face is flushed pink. We’re lying in final savasana, side by side on our mats, pinkies touching. The sunrise has painted the sky in brilliant oranges and golds, and I can’t remember thest time I felt at peace.


    “That concludes ss,” Jessie says, then dismisses us with a series of breathing techniques.


    “That wasn’t so bad,” Julie says as we roll up our mats.


    “I had a good time,” I admit.


    As we help pick up the essories we were using, Mrs. Caldwell approaches us with her phone out. “You two are just adorable. Mind if I get a picture? For the book club newsletter.”


    “The book club has a newsletter?” I ask.


    “Oh, honey, the book club has everything,” she says, already snapping photos.


    “The Fairy Godmothers need to stop.” Julie grabs my hand and leads me away.


    “That will never happen,” Mrs. Caldwell says with augh.


    “Breakfast after that intense session?” Julie asks.


    “I’d love to,” I admit, not wanting our day to end so quickly.


    “I think your n is working,” she says, then seems to catch herself. “I mean, people are definitely buying that we’re together.”


    “That’s the point.”


    She steers us across the street so we don’t pass the windows of Cozy Coffee. “Come on. We’re going to Cozy Diner. Best food in town, and I need real food after that workout.”


    “Is there a reason why you’re avoiding the coffee shop?” I ask.


    “ire will interrogate me for an hour if we show up sweaty from couples yoga. Plus, the diner has the best pancakes in Colorado.”


    When we enter Cozy Diner, it’s exactly what I expect. It has red vinyl booths, a ck-and-white checkered floor, and walls covered in vintage signs. It smells like bacon and strong coffee. Heads turn to watch us.


    “Julie!” an older woman with silver hair piled high calls out from behind the counter. “Some booths by the window are open, honey. Any one you want.”


    “Thanks, Marge!”


    We slide into the booth, facing each other, the morning sun streaming through the windows. The menus areminated and sticky, with pictures of enormous portions that would horrify my nutritionist back in Manhattan.


    “Everything here is amazing.” Julie doesn’t even nce at her menu. “But the blueberry pancakes are life-changing.”


    “Sold.”


    Marge appears with a coffeepot, filling two mugs without asking. “Who’s this handsome stranger?”


    “This is Nick, my boyfriend.” The word rolls off Julie’s tongue so easily now.


    “Well, aren’t you two adorable together?” Marge winks at us. “First meal’s on the house for new couples. It’s tradition.”


    “Marge, no—” Julie starts.


    “Don’t argue with me, youngdy. I’ve known you since you were stealing candy from the pie counter.”


    “I never stole anything!”


    “Sure, honey.” Marge winks at me. “She was a little thief. Luckily, she turned out so well. What’ll you have?”


    We order blueberry pancakes, extra bacon for me, and fruit sd for Julie.


    As Marge walks away, Julie shakes her head.


    “She tells everyone I was a childhood criminal.”


    “Were you?”


    She peeks up at me. “Maybe once. It was a Snickers bar, and I was seven.”


    “Hardened criminal.”


    “The hardest.”


    Our food arrives so fast that I barely had a chance to drink half of my coffee. The pancakes are the size of dinner tes, and we drown them in syrup and butter. Julie immediately steals a piece of my bacon.


    “Boundaries,” I say, moving my te away.


    “What’s yours is mine. Dating rules.”


    “I don’t remember that in my PowerPoint.”


    “Slide nine, section two. Look it up.”


    She takes another piece of bacon, grinning when I don’t stop her. Being with her is everything I didn’t know I was missing.


    “So, what’s Phase Two?” Julie asks, adding even more syrup to her pancakes.


    “Haven’t figured that out yet.”


    “Really?”


    “Still to be determined.” I tilt my head, admiring how pretty she is. “Truthfully, you make me want to be more spontaneous.”


    She pauses, looking at me with those green eyes that see too much. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”


    “That’s impossible.”


    “No, I mean it.” She sets down her fork. “Most people think I’m too impulsive. You’re the first person who makes spontaneity seem like a good thing.”


    She makes me feel alive. I haven’t randomly done anything since I stopped ying hockey and locked myself in my corporate castle.


    “What are your ns for the rest of the day?” I ask.


    “Not much. I switched shifts so I could do yoga with you. I have to be at work at two.”


    “That gives us six hours.”


    She grins wide. “What do you have in mind?”


    “No idea.”


    “Sold.”


    We demolish our pancakes while the diner fills up around us. Every few minutes, someone stops by our booth to congratte us or make small talk. Julie handles it all with grace, introducing me, making everyone feel important. She belongs here in a way I’ve never belonged anywhere.


    “You’re good at that,” I tell her after the fifth interruption.


    “At what?”


    “Making people feel like they’re not a burden.”


    She shrugs. “Small-town survival skill. Everyone wants to matter.”


    “You matter,” I say without thinking.


    Her cheeks turn pink. “So do you.”


    We stare at each other across the booth, and I want to kiss her again. Not for show, not for the woman who I can see walking past the window, staring at us. Just because.


    “We should go,” Julie says, breaking the moment. “Before Marge tries to feed us pie.”


    “Toote!” Marge appears with two slices of apple pie. “Made fresh this morning.”


    “Marge, we just ate enough for four people,” Julie protests.


    “That’s why I’m boxing it up to go. You kids have fun today.” She winks at me again. “Take care of our girl.”


    “I will,” I promise, meaning it more than I should.


    When we walk outside, I nce over at Julie.


    Then I notice ady across the street, phone out, obviously watching and texting someone.


    “We’re being surveilled,” I say.


    “That’s Craig’s aunt. Mrs. Mires.” She doesn’t even look to know who I’m talking about. “She’s been his spywork since I moved into my neighborhood. Want to give her something to report?”


    Instead of waiting for my answer, Julie turns to me, goes up on her toes, and kisses me. Not on the cheek this time. Full on the mouth, right there on Main Street at eight a.m. on a Friday.


    It’s yful as she nips at my bottom lip before pulling away, leaving me stunned on the sidewalk.


    “There,” she says, satisfied. “That should keep her busy.”


    “That was very spontaneous,” I whisper.


    “That’s why it’s fun.” She takes my hand. “Come on.”


    We end up at the local antique shop because Julie insists my rental needs personality. She makes me buy string lights and throw pillows with bears on them. I pretend to protest as she keeps adding things to our basket, but honestly, watching her light up is worth it all.


    “This is perfect to spruce up the cabin,” she says, holding up some vintage coffee signs.


    “I don’t n on being here that long.”


    “Might as well make it feel like home while you are though.”


    We carry our purchases to the Range Rover, and I realize I haven’t checked my phone in two hours. There are a handful of texts from Asher and three missed calls from Zane. I silence my phone.


    “Everything okay?” Julie asks.


    “Perfect,” I say, meaning it. “Where to next?”


    “Trust me?”


    “Always.”


    “We need to go on a drive,” she says, and I unlock the door for her to climb in. “Go toward the cabin.”


    As we take the second switchback, she directs me to a pull-off on the mountain road, then leads me down a trail. We exit the SUV and hike for twenty minutes before emerging at an overlook that takes my breath away. I can see the entire valley spread out below.


    Cozy Creek looks like a miniature town. It’s easy to see where they’re setting up for the festival. Carnival rides, food trucks, the pumpkin patch, and a corn maze. This festival will have it all.


    “Is this ce secret?” I ask as the breeze brushes against my cheeks.


    “It’s nicknamed Make-Out Lookout,” she says, sitting on arge, t rock. “A quiet ce where we can just be.”


    I sit beside her, our shoulders touching. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”


    “You looked like you needed it.” She studies my face. “You get this expression sometimes, like you’re drowning on drynd.”


    “That’s exactly how it feels.”


    “When did it start?”


    I know I should deflect, make a joke, keep things light. This is supposed to be fake, but sitting here with her, overlooking this valley, I find myself wanting to tell her all my truths.


    “When I couldn’t y hockey anymore, my life changed. Then my sister died, and everything good about our family went with her. She was the glue that had held us together, the one who remembered birthdays and organized dinners and made sure we all stayed connected. After she was gone, it stopped.”


    “What did?”


    “Feeling. Connecting. Living. I went through the motions of working, dating, and socializing, but none of it meant anything. I’d lost my career and my sister, who was my sounding board for everything. I felt dead inside.”


    Julie takes my hand, intecing our fingers. “And now?”


    “Now I’m sitting on a mountain with a beautiful woman who makes me want to eat Cinnamon Toast Crunch for dinner and wake up at the butt crack of dawn to do sunrise yoga.”


    “Lucky you,” she says, grinning.


    “I agree,” I say.


    We sit in silence, watching clouds drift across the valley. This feels too intimate for something with an expiration date. But I can’t make myself care.


    My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s one of my best friends from my hockey days, Patterson.


    Patterson


    Yo, how’s Cozy Creek?


    Nick


    Great. I’ve been busy as hell.


    Patterson


    Busy with that redhead?


    I look at Julie, who’s now lying back on the rock, soaking up the sun like a cat. Her hair spreads out like fire against the stone.


    Nick


    How did you know?


    Patterson


    Asher told everyone at a partyst night that you’re no longer single.


    Nick


    I’m going to kill him.


    Patterson


    Nah. It’s about damn time you found someone worth unplugging for.


    Patterson


    Don’t fuck it up.


    Nick


    Trying not to.


    “Work?” Julie asks without opening her eyes.


    “My friend was just checking in.”


    “Good friend?”


    “The best. You’d like him. His name is Patterson. He’s alsomitment-phobic and emotionally constipated. Biggest asshole teddy bear I’ve ever met.”


    “More than Zane?” Sheughs.


    “Oh, yeah. He makes Zane look tame because he’s an extrovert.”


    I lie t against the rock with her, and we stare up at the clouds. She grabs my hand and holds it tight.


    “This is nice,” I say.


    “Yeah,” she agrees. “It really is.”


    We stay here until we have to head back for her shift. As I drive her to her condo, she reaches over and ces her hand on my thigh.


    “Thanks for being spontaneous,” she says.


    “Thanks for making me want to be.”


    She squeezes my leg. “We should do this again.”


    “Deal.”


    I walk her to her door, and she takes a step forward, giving me a tight hug. I hold her until she pulls away.


    “Want to have dinner tonight?”


    “I get off at eight.”


    “Great,” I say. “It’s a date.”


    Her brows lift. “Oh, a date. Sounds official.”


    Iugh. “See you then.”


    As I’m driving out of town and back up the mountain toward my cabin, my phone rings. It’s Asher.


    “Finally,” he says when I answer. “I thought a small-town serial killer had murdered you.”


    “Just living in the moment.”


    “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”


    I think about Julie.


    “I’m currently trying to figure that out.”


    “Well, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”


    “I think I might.”


    “Good. Don’t overthink it.”


    After we hang up, I sit in the Range Rover for a moment and smile. Am I happy? Such a simple word for such aplicated feeling. The back seat holds string lights and bear pillows, and I think about what Julie’s lips tasted like.


    I want to find happiness, and that terrifies me more than anything else. I thought it didn’t exist anymore—at least not for me.


    But Asher is right. I do run from people at the thirty-day mark. And in forty-four days, I have to leave. So, things areplicated.


    For now, I’m going to hang string lights in a rental cabin and put pillows on a couch I don’t own.


    Today, I want to live like this is real and like my deadlines don’t exist.


    This must be what Eden meant when she told me to live in the moment.