"End of the month. I told them I'd think."
"You should go," he said, and hated how quickly the sentence left him, how practiced he had become at releasing things.
Ruth's glossy terracotta lips tightened. Brown smoky liner could not hide the way her eyes shone. "I should. And I don't want to. And both of those things are true at once, which is inconvenient."
"The Sanders lease runs through March," Walt said carefully. "You could come back."
"I could. Or I could stay in Denver and become the woman who almost had a winter in Nebraska and a rancher who carried fiddle strings and a Thanksgiving that felt like the start of something." She sat down hard in the chair Eleanor used to claim. "Walt. I am trying not to be a person who runs toward every open door just because it's open. I am also trying not to be a person who stays because she's scared of missing a chance. Help me."