SAYING GOODBYE IN THE morning was easier now that she knew he was coming back. She kissed him through the window of his black SUV as the engine ran. He tasted of bread and coffee and smelled of soap and the lake and the smoky touch of wood fire that could never be scrubbed clean.
“Come back soon,” she murmured, giving him one last kiss. And then another, and another, no longer caring whether Geller or anyone else in the whole world knew that he was there. She wanted to shout it from the mountaintops—he was hers.
“I’m going down, finishing my projects, walking across that damn platform to get my degree, smiling happy smiles, and then turning around and coming straight back,” he said.
“I can come down, you know,” Casey offered, not for the first time. “Especially for your graduation.”
“I
