My worry for him heightens as he presses his fingers into his temples, screws his beautiful eyes shut, then strums a myriad of beautiful notes in tune to the nodding of his head, then mumbles something I can’t understand to himself. Sighing, he scribbles some more onto his paper and repeats the process all over again.

It slowly sinks in as I watch him. He expects it to be a certain way. He must be suffering from a self-imposed artist vision of perfection that’s got him all wound up.

When he goes for the vodka again, I reach out and grab the bottle from his hand just before it reaches his lips.

“Evan… I don’t think you should be drinking this. You told me you had problems with alcohol in the past.”

He glares at me, eyes flickering with flames of anger and defiance. “I told you a lot of things.” He yanks the bottle from my hand, and the liquid sloshes around inside. “Don’t get all AA with me, Piper. Leave me alone or just get the hell out of here. Please.”

The venomous tone and nasty words slice through the comforting smile I had forced onto my face, and I slowly rise to my feet, hoping with all hope an apology will quickly chase away the hurt.

“Fine.” My voice shakes with the start of tears when I’m met with deafening silence. “I’ll leave.”

Chewing my thumbnail, I wait for him to look up at me, to ask me not to leave, to pull me down onto the sleeping bag and kiss me senseless, but he’s completely submerged in the song and whatever notes or lyrics he’s fighting a battle with.

“Are you doing drugs?”

The muscles of his narrow jaw tighten, and his tongue sweeps across his lips as he lifts his head to look at me. “No, I’m not. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Evan, that’s not wha—”

“Thought you were leaving.” He turns his attention back to the notepaper, making his feelings very clear.

I grab my purse that’s hanging from one of the hooks that once held a rake, leaving the bag of snacks for him and Acorn on top of the wooden crate we use as a table. I’m still expecting him to stop me when I walk through the door, and I’m sobbing big wet tears and gulping breaths by the time I get into my car and drive away. I swipe my hand across my eyes and peer into the rearview mirror, but the street is still dark and vacant.

Just like Evan’s eyes were tonight.

I toss and turn all night, mad at myself for not trying harder to talk to Evan. In hindsight, I should have handled his bad mood better, been more supportive and less judgy. And now I can’t call him and he can’t call me to talk it over, and I can’t just drive back over there in the middle of the night.

Staring up at my ceiling fan spinning round and round, similar to the carousel of my mind, I wonder if he’s still agonizing over the song. I wonder if he’s drunk. I wonder if he wishes he was on drugs.

I wonder if he regrets not stopping me from leaving as much as I wish I hadn’t left.

The awkwardness of that night and the unconventional inability to call him to find out if he’s okay and to figure out if we’re okay keeps me from going back to see him for days. I have no idea what kind of state he could be in or if he even wants to see me again.

On the third day, I’d possibly give a kidney to find a note in my car, but I find something even better—him. At first, I think I must be hallucinating as I walk across the office parking lot toward my car. I blink at the vision of him leaning against the hood, wearing a black sweater and leather jacket I’ve never seen on him before. His long hair blowing away from his face in the autumn breeze makes him look like an edgy model on the cover of a rock magazine, exuding confidence and dripping sensuality. When his face lights up with a smile, all my doubts fade away, and I know we’re okay. I know he’s okay.

“Sorry about the other night,” he says when I’m close enough for him to pull me into his arms. “I was having a bad day.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Do you have any plans?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“I do.” He flashes me a cocky grin and takes my car keys from my hand.

“I guess you’re driving?” I tease, going up on my toes to kiss his cheek.

He slaps my ass playfully. “Get in.”

I’m excited when he drives down Main Street, away from town, and turns onto a favorite road of mine that’s home to old farmhouses that still raise horses, cows, and chickens. Many of them have farm stands set up on the side of the road.