The Valentine Box (The Box Books #3)

January 12

Taylor

C aroline and I ride together to the big meeting. We still have no idea what it could be about despite all the conjecture put forth between us, us being Geneva, Kyra, Jeff, barber Stan, Caroline’s mother—and even Billy Finch, another of Luke’s old friends, who owns a car repair shop on the edge of town. We were all sure Billy would know, but when Jeff called him to ask, he said that other than going to Dr. M’s funeral, he hadn’t talked to Luke since high school.

Walking back into the school that holds so many memories feels weird, but I push it down as we enter the gym. People mill about in front of the old bleachers where I once sat to watch Luke play basketball.

Then I spot Luke himself talking with his old pals, TJ and Billy. My chest tightens, but I’m not sure if that’s because he’s so good-looking or because I’m a little nervous, even with the advance warning. He’s in casual khakis and a cozy-looking half-zip pullover, a dark T-shirt peeking out from underneath. I’m guessing TJ might have helped secure the gym for tonight.

Me, I’m in today’s pink Sweetwater Bake Shop (Not a Diner!) shirt because Caroline and I came straight from work, where I left Geneva baking cookies and ready to greet any late day customers, even though we don’t get many after dark in the winter until closer to Valentine’s Day. I considered changing into something nicer, but flour in hair notwithstanding, I decided to just be me. Because I’ve made too much of this. He’s going to talk, and I’m going to think he’s handsome, and we’re going to say hi afterward and do a three-minute catch-up, and then life will go on. And probably the much bigger headline from the evening will be whatever this mystery opportunity turns out to be.

By meeting time, only a couple dozen of us are gathered, and it makes me sad to realize this is how few independently-owned businesses still exist in Sweetwater, on or away from Main Street. I’m also sorry to look up and see Jasmine walk in with her mother. As before, she’s dressed like she’s going to some ritzy soiree, today in a form-fitting black-and-white dress worthy of a fashion magazine, rather than to a high school gymnasium.

Caroline and I exchange looks just before I see my one-time tormenter lift a small wave in Luke’s direction. My stomach churns with the knowledge that she knows him so much better than I do, that she’s had so much more with him than I ever will. But maybe that’s why I didn’t overdress for the occasion—I’m just keeping things real, just on hand to hear the big announcement.

With Caroline, Jasmine, TJ, Billy, and of course, Luke all here, it feels like a surreal class reunion I would never want to go to. So I’m glad when everyone is seated and Luke starts the meeting.

“Thank you all for coming.” His voice is deeper than in high school, rugged and masculine-sounding, and despite my best intentions, it reverberates deep into my solar plexus. Maybe I’m not as in control here as I thought.

“As I said on the flyer, I apologize for being vague, but—” That’s when his voice cuts off and I realize he’s looking at…me. Like maybe he just now saw me. He fumbles over his words a little before getting back on track. “But…” He clears his throat. “But I think you’ll understand why a meeting felt like the best, most useful way to share this news.” I try to ignore his verbal stumble and not wonder what it means.

As he goes on, he seems to direct his glance elsewhere. And that bugs me—because am I so awful to look at? Or…am I just imagining it, because this whole event is whisking me back to a different place in time? I work to refocus on what he’s saying, though I’ve already missed some of it.

“You all know Hank, proprietor of the Sweetwater Inn.” He motions to graying, fifty-something Hank below me on the bleachers, who lifts his hand in a non-smiling wave. “Hank and my family have been approached jointly with an offer from the Northcutt Drywall Manufacturing Company to buy our riverfront property.” The inn’s land connects to the Montgomery farm. And this news perks my ears up as tension suddenly blankets the air.

“They’d like to build a factory on our land to utilize the gypsum that’s a byproduct of the coal-burning power plants up the river. Apparently each plant produces a bargeful every day. The structure they want to erect would be enormous—a million square feet, which we’re told is approximately twenty-eight footfall fields.

“Obviously, we’re talking about a lot of money here. But we’re also talking about changing the face of Sweetwater. As you all know, Hank’s property goes all the way into town, butting up against the old park behind Main Street. If the plant is built, much of the town’s river view would become obscured by a huge industrial compound several stories high.”

Palpable groans echo through the small crowd before Luke goes on. “This is why Mom and I decided it was only fair to talk to community business owners before we make a decision, since it would affect you the most. But,” he goes on, holding up one finger, “I have to point out the flip side of losing the view, as well. That flip side is significant. New jobs. New housing. A new influx of residents. It’s no secret that Sweetwater is dying, that people continue to leave and Main Street grows more desolate every year. I can’t predict the future, but I believe this would change that. I believe some—and maybe all—of those empty storefronts would get filled.

“If you’re wondering what my mother’s wishes are now that she’s on her own…well, it’s early days for her in that regard, but she’s open-minded. She’s happy on the farm, but she feels she could be happy elsewhere, too. And so, with that, I’ll open it up for discussion.”

Instead of discussion, though, a bunch of muttering and grumbling quickly fills the gym. Luke raises his voice above it to say, “Look, I know I’ve opened a huge can of worms here. I get it. If you want to yell, yell. If you want to cuss, cuss. But I’m hoping we can all stay calm and have a productive conversation.”

That’s when Billy, still in his work shirt and a Finch Auto Repair ball cap, throws up his hand to weigh in, bluntly, “Since you’re asking, Luke, I say no. Who wants to live in a place where we’re walled off from the river by a factory? Sounds ugly as hell.”

“But we gotta look at it from both angles,” Jeff insists, shoving wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. “This could keep a lot of us in business who are struggling every day.”

“I agree,” says Mary Beth McClain, who owns a tire company with her husband. “More people means more cars. Good for us and you both, Billy.”

“But this is Sweetwater,” declares Amy Holcumb, who runs the Little Dipper Dairy Bar just outside town with her parents. “Sweetwater isn’t gonna be very sweet anymore with no view of the water. And it sounds like this giant plant would block our view at the Dipper, too. We don’t have much in this town, but we have our river and our view. People come out to get ice cream on summer nights and sit at our picnic tables to watch the water roll by as the sun sets. You might say it’ll bring more people, but the Little Dipper would be ruined.” The dark hair falling in thick waves around her face somehow only serves to make her appear even more sullen.

After a few people chime in agreeing with her, Luke acknowledges, “No getting around the fact that it’ll affect some more than others.”

And then Hank speaks up. “For what it’s worth, I told the Northcutt people I’d sell in a heartbeat. You know how many rooms I got occupied at the inn right now? Zero. If not for the few weddings and parties we get, I’d have closed my doors years ago. And it’s getting worse all the time. For me, this would be an answer to a prayer, an easy retirement, college tuition for my grandkids. Without it, bankruptcy could be a month or two away at any given moment. Only problem I got is they don’t want my place if they can’t have Luke’s, too.” He stops, sighs. “Of course, I’ll survive whatever’s decided. And I feel bad for folks it might hurt more than it helps. But I gotta look out for myself as well.”

Sitting there taking all this in—and it’s a lot—I can see both sides. Would I love a more vibrant Main Street? Of course. And even with my online business, I struggle to make ends meet on a regular basis, trying to make February profits stretch through the rest of the year. But do I think some behemoth factory right on the river is the right answer for Sweetwater? It’s almost unimaginable. I’m pretty sure my own house, a few blocks up from the park, would sit in its shadow. My whole neighborhood would, in fact.

Talk goes on for another half hour or so, and Luke answers questions about the proposed situation as best he can. Finally, Jasmine’s mom, Janet, always smartly put together in a blazer and tailored skirt, asks, “What do you think you’ll do, Luke?”

The weight of everyone’s opposing concerns is etched on his handsome face. Finally, he says, “I’m not sure. I’d hoped maybe I’d leave this meeting feeling clearer on an answer, but instead the opposite is true.”

“Whatever you decide, it’s real decent of you and your mom to take us into consideration,” Mary Beth remarks.

Others murmur their agreement, but it’s easy to see how upset people are. I’m among them, but I’m not even sure what I’m rooting for. Build it and Sweetwater loses its only remaining bit of charm, turning it ugly and uninviting, cutting it off from its namesake—the water that lines its shore. Don’t build it and more of us continue to lose our livelihoods.

“All I can tell you,” Luke finally says, “is that I take all your concerns very seriously, and Mom and I will talk more about it.”

“Where do your brothers stand on the issue?” Billy asks then.

“They want to sell,” Luke tells him.

“Easy for them to say,” Billy murmurs. “They don’t live here anymore.”

To which Luke replies, “Exactly. That’s why I wanted to talk to the people who do. And to be completely transparent, Northcutt wants an answer by the end of the month. I’ll let you all know what we decide as soon as possible.”

As people begin to stand up, most looking a little shell-shocked, it occurs to me that Luke doesn’t live here, either, but was still kind enough to be concerned and not just take the money and run. It’s surely enough to leave his whole family set for life.

That’s when Caroline nudges me. “You should go say hi.”

“Oh. Right.” I should. I’m just still trying to absorb this news.

As we reach the gym floor, I take a deep breath and start toward him—which is when Jasmine rushes up from where she sat in the front row, takes both his hands in hers, then leans in close to whisper something.

I pull up short, then switch my gaze to Caroline. “That’s my cue to leave.”

Caroline practically snarls in response. “Like I said, this town was a nicer place without her.”

All of us look like a bunch of zombies as we wander out into the parking lot, no one speaking. Again, the shock runs thick.

But once in Caroline’s car, the two of us sit and talk a while, debating the pros and cons of the situation. We waffle back and forth between imagining the possibilities for a Sweetwater that has a sudden growth in population and lamenting that no matter how many people come and how much business it brings, what remains of our small town ambience would be destroyed.

As Caroline drives me back to the bake shop to relieve Geneva, get the dog, and close up, I finally conclude, “I guess I’m just glad I’m not the one who has to make this decision.”

When I open the shop’s front door, Geneva meets me at it, coat in hand. “Sorry to rush out, hon, but Leslie got called in to the hospital and needs me to babysit.”

My eyes go wide. “Oh no—I’m sorry to hold you up. Get going.” I shoo her off to help her daughter, and she starts up the sidewalk—but then stops and looks back, her eyes going wide. “I almost forgot. You have a customer.”

I blink, surprised. People use the booths and tables some during the day, but at nighttime—and in January, no less—it’s almost unheard of. “Oh. Okay.” Then I shoo her again and step inside.

Whipping off my winter scarf, I loop it over a hook just inside the door, then bend to pet the Magster. Only upon rising back up do I spot a man in the back booth, facing me—and that’s when I understand Geneva’s wide gaze. Luke Montgomery pins me in place with his blue, blue eyes.

“If it’s not Taylor Mulvaney,” he says, flashing a small smile, “keeper of the heart wishes.”

Maybe I liked that better in writing. Here, now, it makes me feel more like that insecure girl who sat outside the cafeteria than the grown woman I am now. Like someone who collected other people’s wishes, too frightened to harbor any of her own. “Not anymore,” I tell him quietly. “That was a long time ago.”

He shrugs, as if weighing my words. “In some ways, it feels like yesterday.”

Not caring to explore that—because I like my now better than I liked my then— I drop my glance to the half-eaten heart-shaped treat on a plate in front of him. “How’s your cupcake?”

Offering up a slow, nostalgic smile, he says, “Word of the day: Delicious .” Then adds a small laugh. “But not exactly a very highbrow word of the day, huh? Could be my vocabulary quit expanding after I left home.”

I only shrug. “Maybe it makes more sense for the word of the day to be what the day, or the moment, is about more than being an impressive word.”

He gives an agreeable nod. “Fair enough.” Then tilts that handsome head of his. “Though I actually came in for a burger and fries because I forgot it’s?—”

“Not a diner,” I finish for him, pointing at the slogan on my shirt. “Yeah, that’s a common mistake around here. The diner couldn’t stay in business when it was a diner—now that it’s not a diner, everyone wants a diner.”

“But you do well with the place, I hope?” His eyebrows rise, awaiting my answer.

And I want to lie, claiming wild success. I want him to think I’m having an incredible life. But the truth is all around us, in the empty shop on an empty street in an empty town. So I merely shrug. “Well, I’m solvent—because a lot of my sales are online. They kinda have to be around here. And if things get any worse, it could easily do us in.”

“I guess all that could change if the drywall company comes.”

“Maybe,” I reply, keeping it simple. “Meanwhile, my busy season is just around the corner. Everybody wants heart-shaped baked goods on Valentine’s Day.”

Grinning, he motions toward the counter. “I recognized the box.”

“Ah, the memories.” He has no idea how long I’ve actually associated the valentine box with him . All the way back to that day he defended my honor in the fourth grade. I’m suddenly tempted to explain why I didn’t show at the sweetheart dance when we were seniors, but it seems almost childish to bring it up. What if he doesn’t even remember? Unlike me, he probably hasn’t spent all these years thinking about it.

After taking another bite, he says, “I remember you running that baking club in high school.”

I nod. “It became a lifelong passion.” Kind of like you .

But what am I thinking? I don’t even know him anymore, and I barely did then. All I really knew was that he chose to be nice to me. And all I really know now is that he’s hot. So hot that I’m pretty proud of myself for not tripping all over my words or acting weird as I talk to him. Compared to how I feel inside, I think I’m coming off pretty cool.

And I want to ask him a million things in this moment. Why did you go to Utah? What do you do there? Do you have a girlfriend? Are you happy? But I don’t. Because there remains this proud part of me that doesn’t want to act like I care. Despite him asking me to that dance, I’m the one who had the years-long crush—and I simply want to be above all that now. Even if it’s only pretend.

Almost as if he senses me holding back, and thinks it means I want him to leave, he stands up. “I should let you be on your way. But thanks for the cupcake.”

“Of course,” I say as he starts past me toward the door. “And…thanks for taking all of us into account before you make your decision.”

He stops and looks back. “What’s your vote?”

I let out a sigh. “Undecided. It’s a tough call, with pros and cons on both sides.”

He just nods, turns to go, and says, “Goodnight, Taylor,” with one last glance back at me.

“Goodnight, Luke.”

As the door shuts behind him, I feel like I can breathe again, like maybe I haven’t breathed normally since finding him in my back booth. The same booth where I once sat watching him kiss Jasmine Dupree after he sneered at me.

Only…what was he actually doing here? Really seeking a burger?

Or did he come for something else? After all, he knew I owned the place. Is it possible he was looking for me more than something to eat?

That’s when I notice a patch of frost on the window—loosely in the shape of a heart. Oh, geez, a message from above—now?

With no time to think, I step outside and look around, quickly spotting the one lone person on Main Street walking toward a big, black SUV—which I think belonged to his father—parked along the curb. “Hey,” I call.

He looks back. I can’t make out his expression in the dark.

“If you’re hungry, they still serve hamburgers at the Little Dipper. Open until nine most nights.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll try them.” Then he tilts his head. “Have you eaten?”

“Um…no, actually.”

“Care to join?”

I hesitate only briefly. “Sure—I could go for a burger,” I say as if it hadn’t crossed my mind. Joining him was actually my whole half-baked plan when I came barreling out the door, but I didn’t deliver that part accurately, flying by the seat of my pants and all. Thank God he asked. “Let me close up and I’ll be five minutes behind you.”

Stepping back inside, I lock the front door, grab Maggie, and head out back to where I park.

A few minutes later, I’m taking my dog inside the house and flipping on a light. “Hold down the fort until I get home, Mags, and wish me luck.” Scratching her sweet little head, I add, “I only hope I don’t regret this.”

The good news: Luke’s announcement in the gym didn’t send Amy and her parents into a closing-up-early tailspin—they’re happy to cook us up some burgers and fries.

The bad: Amy’s dad, Paul, grills Luke about the situation while we wait, so much that it begins to feel contentious, and I’m aware the whole time that it’s my fault he’s here.

When finally we’re sitting across from each other in one of the aging red booths that line the front of the old-fashioned drive-in restaurant, a tray full of food between us, I say, “I hope you don’t end up wishing you hadn’t included us all in your decision.”

But he shakes his head before he bites into his hamburger. “No, it felt like the right thing to do—and I knew it would be upsetting to some. I can take it.”

It occurs to me then that maybe he’s had a lot to “take,” lately, and I haven’t even acknowledged the big loss in his life. “By the way, I’m sorry about your dad.”

Peeking up at me from beneath lowered eyelids, he nods, his mouth full.

“I’m sure it came as a shock.”

Another nod, followed by, “It’s been hard on my mom.”

Not you, too? I don’t ask, though—it’s none of my business. Instead, I say, “Good of you to stay and help her get this big piece of business handled. Do you expect to be in town long?”

“Big business, little business—there’s a lot to settle, from my dad’s medical practice to getting everything put in my mom’s name. And neither of my brothers seem willing to help much, so that leaves me.” He sighs. “Not that I’m complaining. They have families, and I’m single—so I get it. Sort of, anyway. I’ll be here a few weeks—or more, I guess—until we get things ironed out. Then back to Utah.”

Okay—the obituary made it clear he didn’t have a wife, but sounds like there’s also no significant other. One big question answered. And finally, an opening to ask something else I’ve wondered all these years. “How on earth did you end up in Utah, Luke Montgomery?”

He tips his head back in a small laugh that tells me he’s probably been asked this a lot since coming back to Sweetwater. “A guy I knew in college invited me out there for the summer after my junior year. He’d arranged a job on a horse ranch and got me on, too. I missed having horses, so it sounded like a good way to spend the time, and a good reason not to go home to my parents’ place in Cincinnati, since Dad and I weren’t getting along too well.

“Long story short, I loved the work so much that I dropped out of school and stayed.” He rolls his eyes as he blows out a breath. “Man, were Mom and Dad pissed. And I get it. But I’d been following their dream for me, not mine.”

“And then what?” I ask, munching on a fry as I await his answer.

“The ranch wasn’t far from Zion National Park, and I got into hiking and exploring the area. It’s really beautiful out there—a mind-blowing view around every corner. As much as I loved the ranch job, it didn’t pay much, so after a couple years, I started working for an outfitter. It’s the kind of place that rents hiking equipment and mountain bikes—but I mostly took people on tours and guided hikes.

“Eventually, my boss was ready to retire,” he goes on, “so I bought the place. I never saw myself as a business owner, but I’d gotten close to the guy and he really wanted me to take over, so I got a small business loan and it’s gone well. I live in Springdale, a cute little tourist town just outside Zion, but a few years ago I opened a second location in Moab, near Arches and Canyonlands, so I go back and forth between the two a lot.”

I smile as certain things start making more sense to me now. That cowboy hat, for one. And for another, “Now I get it. Why you felt compelled to tell us all about the drywall company. You’re a small business owner, too.”

He tilts his head, looking enlightened. “That actually hadn’t even hit me,” he says on a laugh. “But yeah, maybe that played into it. Speaking of which…”

“Yeah?” I ask, dipping another fry into ketchup.

“You bought the old diner, huh? I didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did I,” I confess. “But when Walt offered me the place dirt cheap, I followed my own little dream—of opening a bake shop.”

“Hey now,” he chides me, pointing his own fry in my direction, “no dream is little. In fact, taking on a business is huge. Trust me, I know.”

We’re smiling at each other now and I’m liking that we actually have something in common after all those years when we didn’t.

“And I’m glad you still have that heart-shaped box of yours,” he adds. “Seeing it when I came in the other day took me back in time.”

My breath catches a little, for many reasons, not the least of which is…finding out that maybe he reminisces, too. That maybe something about the box, or dare I think me , meant something to him once upon a time. Even if it was just a little something, it’s still nice.

And so, despite deciding against it earlier, I make the split-second decision to tell him. “Speaking of the valentine box…I, uh, found something inside it a few years after high school that had gotten stuck in some gluey stuff on the lid.”

His eyes narrow in confusion until I conclude he has no idea what I’m talking about.

So I have no choice but to spell it out. “Your invitation to the sweetheart dance.”

The look in his blue eyes changes from bewilderment to understanding. “Oh. Wow.” But then his brow knits. “It got…stuck?”

I nod. “Sounds weird, I know. But the inside of the box had gotten decoupaged the night before I was selling those wishes, and I just never looked under the lid until years later.”

“That’s…crazy.”

Even now, I can’t fully read his expression, and I have no idea how much he recalls about that time or how much it mattered to him—or not. But I finish my confession with, “And for the record, I would have come.” Though my heart starts beating harder as I say it. This has suddenly gone from small talk over burgers to admitting: I once felt something romantic for you.

“For the record,” he replies, “I had flowers and everything.”

It’s all I can do not to gasp. He does remember. And he had flowers. For me. My breath goes shallow as I tell him, “For the record, I’m really sorry I missed that. I…didn’t get much of that in high school.” As in any.

He leans a little closer over the table. “For the record, you should have. And it was gonna be a great night.”

Again, I struggle to catch my breath. And now I’ve stopped being strategic—I’m just saying what comes naturally. “For the record, I…never thought you liked me. That way.”

“For the record, I did,” he goes on. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to realize it. But I totally did.”

Well, that’s it. Now I really can’t breathe. But I don’t want him to see that. So I don’t respond right away, stuck for words now, trying to inhale and exhale normally. Finally, what I come up with is, “I’m sorry. That I didn’t see your note.”

“No, I’m sorry. I was a kid and it was a stupid way to ask you out.”

“Not so stupid,” I absolve him. “The box is special to me, so I like the idea of being asked that way.”

“If only it had actually worked. Instead…” He makes a face.

And I’m back to not knowing what he’s thinking, but I know what I’m remembering. So I roll with it. “Instead you were mad at me.”

He lets out a sigh. “Immature, I know.” His gaze narrows and he leans forward as if about to confide in me. “Guess I’ve never handled rejection very well.” He gives his head a short shake and keeps going. “Anyway, I’m sorry about that. Sorry about a lot of things. Because if I’d been smart enough to just ask you if you’d gotten the note, maybe things would have been different.”

“Different how?” I bravely venture.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Who can say? But for starters, I wouldn’t have felt so on the rebound that I ended up with Jasmine.” He rolls his eyes, then adds, looking almost embarrassed, “I don’t know if you know this, but…I actually had a long-term relationship with her. From the end of high school until about a year after I moved out west.”

I’m proud of how casual my response sounds. “Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere.” Not that I obsessed over it or anything. Not that images she posted of the two of you together burned themselves into my brain.

“Not my best move,” he says. “In the end, it was definitely a mistake.”

I, of course, want to ask why and how and what happened. Again, I want to ask a million questions, about his father’s death and rejection and more about his life in Utah. But my head is spinning with an almost overpowering attraction that has me feeling awkward and nervous despite that I’m hiding it well. So all I say in reply is, “We all make ’em sometimes.”

He lifts his gaze to mine again. “I hope whatever Mom and I decide about the drywall factory isn’t one. A mistake.”

I find myself trying to think hopefully, in some new direction. “Maybe there’s an answer that makes sense for everyone. Something that just hasn’t come to you yet.”

“I doubt that.” He sounds skeptical—but then admits, “Though until right now, it hadn’t even occurred to me there might be anything besides the ‘either’ ‘or’ of it. The ‘yes’ or the ‘no.’ And maybe there isn’t. But I’ll at least think about it a while before giving the place an answer.”

A few minutes later, as we’re standing up to put on our coats, he comes back to the topic, sounding melancholy. “It’s hard to imagine letting them plow the farm under—the house, the barn, all of it.”

“I’ve always thought it looked beautiful driving by,” I say.

He squints. “You’ve never been there?”

I just laugh. “When would I have been there? I wasn’t part of your friend group , remember?” I use the same old air quotes.

He laughs, too, if a bit cynically. “You’re right—and I deserve that.” Then he glances in the direction of the farm, not far up the road from the Little Dipper. “You should come see it while I’m here. In case it’s gone soon.”

“That sounds nice,” I answer as we step out into the cold night air.

Directly across from us stands the once-pristine, now-worn sign for the Sweetwater Inn. It marks a winding drive that leads across gently sloped grounds stretching from the road toward the riverbank, eventually reaching the historic white-columned building. Across the wide-open space dotted with clumps of pine trees, I catch the sparkle of moonlight on the big river in the distance.

“This is a nice spot to sit with a cone on a summer night,” I muse.

He looks around, taking it in. “You’re right, it is.”

After we exchange numbers, he tells me he’ll be in touch about giving me that farm tour and says, “It’s really good to see you again, Taylor.”

“You too, Luke,” I reply, cool as a cucumber.

Though once I’m shut safely and privately into the dark interior of my car, I’m almost swept back to being a teenager again, reeling with the romance of it all.

But…is that what this catch-up session and farm invite is? Romance? Or is it just friendship? And am I still too na?ve to tell the difference?

The only thing I know for sure is that I must, must, must keep this in perspective and not let myself be that teenager again. Yes, my schoolgirl crush is suddenly back in my life in a better way than he ever was before. But he has a whole separate existence far away from Sweetwater, and in the end, this will be over before I can even blink and find a heart in the clouds.