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“Yep, for sure.” She forced a smile and prayed that Ben’s spidey sense was off today. “I’m gonna run upstairs for a bit. You okay on your own for a while?”

“Seriously? Go. I got this.”

She bumped him on the hip, flashed an even worse fake smile than before, and raced up the stairs to her loft. Careful not to trip over the half dozen shoes and scattered packages inside the front door, she made her way to the shoddy desk tucked in the corner of the living room. She flung the two sweatshirts draped on the back of the chair to the couch and used her elbows to clear a space.

Her hands trembled before she slipped her finger under the envelope flap.

“Nope. Not today.” She stopped mid-tear and pressed her palm over the seal, like the insides contained a poisonous gas she could contain if she kept it closed.

Today, she couldn’t open the letter. Tomorrow she’d look. Or the next day. Or maybe this weekend she’dofficially open them all. She yanked open the dresser drawer and stuffed the unopened envelope on top of the stack of mail containing the exact, bold red, two-letter words:Final Notice.

TWO

MACK’S DRINK SPECIAL: FLUSTERED FRAPPE WITH A DRIZZLE OF HOPE

The chill in the night air suffocated me and

Nope.Shetried again.

The freeze in the air matched my heart

Absolutely not.

The briskness of the oxygen

Seriously?

Mack slammed her laptop shut. She pushed her palm into her chin and inhaled a shaky breath. Even the circling scent of flowers and ferns from her parents’ guest bedroom open window, combined with the spectacular view of the sunrise over the Olympic Mountains, couldn’t inspire her.

She hospital-edged the sheet and smoothed the comforter. After double-checking that her T-shirt was still crisply ironed from her middle-of-the-night relaxation technique, she began her escape.

The hardwood floors squeaked as she tiptoed down the hall. She eased the rental car keys from a hook and crept to the front door.

“Mack?”

Ugh.

She spun on the balls of her feet. Seeing her mom’s formerly straight, thick, long black hair now short and wispy dropped Mack’s heart into her stomach. Three years since they found the lump, two years since treatment stopped. The hair would take another year to get used to.

“Hey, Ma.”

Narrowed, dark-circled eyes glared at her.

“You leaving?”

“Yeah.” Mack’s shoulders stiffened. “Needed some coffee. Didn’t want to wake you and Dad.”

Caffeine was a solid excuse. Her mom didn’t need the entire truth this early.

“It’s barely after six.” Lines cut across her mom’s forehead. “It’s still dark.”

Extreme worst-case scenario was her mom’s favorite sport. She was probably going through an itemized list of things that could hurt her twenty-six-year-old daughter, ranging from a rabid raccoon to an escaped serial killer. And people wondered where Mack got her storytelling gift.

“I’m good, I promise.” Her mom had been through enough in her lifetime. Worrying about her daughter was the last thing she needed.

Her mom’s slippered feet padded across the cherrywood floors, and she plopped onto a kitchen chair. “Wanna talk about it?”

Talk about why Mack hadn’t visited her parents for a year and then called eight hours ago from the Seattle airport letting them know she was in town? No, not really. “I’m kinda tired right now.”