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Right before the holidays, a former coworker told me Ashton had been in an accident. Drunk driving. He was in a coma. A vegetative state.

The Sterlings had money. Even with the vanishing odds of waking up, they weren't pulling the plug.

"Rowan? What's wrong? Did Chloe text you more juicy gossip?"

Julian had come back from the men's room and caught me staring at my phone.

I smiled and set the phone down.

"Nothing. Actually—don't book this place again. It's overpriced and the food's not even that good. Next time let's do fondue."

He took my hand—mine was cold—and pressed a kiss to my fingers. "Whatever you want."

On our way out, it started snowing. Burlington's first snow of the year.

Worried I'd freeze, Julian draped his coat over my shoulders. Then, under the streetlight, he did it again—he handed me a bouquet and told me, for the second time, that he loved me.

His nose was pink from the cold. A little shy, he said they say if you tell someone you love them on the first snow, the two of you will be together forever.

I didn't believe in forever. But I took the flowers, smiled, stepped into his warmth, and said, "Okay."

Happy moments don't last. All I could do was refuse to ask what came next and simply live in this one.

As long as this moment stayed happy. As long as this moment stayed free.

That was enough.