Page 98 of Mountain Man

And it was everything all at once.

A celebration, a public acknowledgment, and a good-bye. I could have fucking wept. I kept it together somehow, but before Reg could pull away, I kissed him.

Tears welled in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Viggo pushed his son toward Reg.

“You can be gooey together later,” Viggo chided. “We have thirty seconds and a game to win. Hold my kid.”

We won. Obviously.

There was a pizza party in the park to celebrate. The deejay was hired for another two hours, and yeah, I noticed that he played a lot of disco. I wanted to tease Reg for boogying to a KC and the Sunshine Band song, but Gretchen and Rhys yanked me onto the makeshift dance floor by the playground equipment, and it just felt pretty damn perfect.

I wished there was a way to make time stand still. I wasn’t ready for good-byes. I wasn’t ready for this to end.

And when it did, it was as awful as I’d thought it would be.

I drove with Reg to his parents’ house Saturday morning and brought flowers for his mom and a framed photo of Clark working on the coffee table we’d finished in January.

“Is it my birthday?” he asked, his bushy brows furrowed with concern.

“No, no. It’s something I thought you might like. You look good in this picture and um, we did some good work. I’m leaving tomorrow, though, and I wanted to say good-bye.”

He stared at the framed photo. “Why aren’t you in this?”

“I don’t know. I guess I could have taken a selfie.”

“Let’s do that.”

I stood next to him and positioned my cell in front of us. “Say cheese.”

Clark complied, then patted my cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mountain Man.”

The old man pivoted on his heels and walked out of the room. Reg, his mom, and me shared a wan smile. There was nothing more to say.

Saying good-bye to the kids was a thousand times worse. We spent the day together—we hiked, played with Tate, and had dinner. The fun was tempered with negative anticipation until it finally seemed easier for me to just go.

Gretchen cried buckets, Rhys hung his head low, and poor Tate lay at our feet, unsure what was going on but positive that he didn’t approve.

“We still have a group text, you know,” Gretch blubbered.

Say no. Tell them you’re not texting. Tell them this is it.

I couldn’t do it. I was a big ol’ chicken. I hugged them both, petted Tate, and dragged my feet to Reg’s SUV, feeling so small and so fucking sad.

He drove me to Jed’s house and offered to help finish packing.

“There’s nothing left to do,” I replied. “I don’t have⁠—”

Reg kissed me. It was sweet and soft and filled with yearning. I was trembling when he released me.

“I hate this.”

“Me too. I didn’t think this was going to be so hard, but you guys…” I paused to get my emotions under control. “You’re pretty special.”

“So are you. And you mean everything to me,” Reg whispered, his eyes blazing.

“Reg…”

“I’m not taking that back. It’s true.” He glanced away briefly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I know we said this was it, but if you ever find yourself in Vermont again, look me up. I’ll be here.”