Unable to resist, I pick up a strand of her hair, rubbing the end of the long tendril between my thumb and index finger. “I hate that you’re here. It’s you—but it’s not really you,” I answer hoarsely. “I’m still me, Cade.” I shake my head, focusing on the darker strands of hair. She’s all big city and no longer small town. The city doesn’t fit her. Not the way the small town does. “No. You aren’t. You’re not Goldie. I don’t know who you are anymore, but it isn’t the same girl that left. Not the one I—”
