Watching him carry that canoe so effortlessly was very, very sexy.

“Where are we going?” I asked, as he lifted me in and handed me a life jacket.

“Somewhere special.” He pulled on his own life jacket and stepped right into the frigid water in his boots.

We slid across the lake as the sun started to set. The house fell away from view, and nothing but nature folded in on either side. The trees rose up like sentinels along the shoreline in an impenetrable wall of foliage. There wasn’t the faintest hint of anything man-made, not a house, not a dock or boat. Not a single piece of trash or even a plane crossing the sky. It was just stillness and the sound of the paddle churning the water. Occasionally he would point out a beaver dam or a bald eagle flying overhead. But besides that, we didn’t talk.

After a long ride he pulled up to some rocks on an island, banking the canoe sideways, expertly. He hoisted the pack, helped me out, and lifted the canoe from the water and set it on shore.

We hiked into the forest and up a rise, coming out into a rocky clearing overlooking the lake.

“We’re here,” he said, opening up the pack and pulling out a tent.

“This is where we’re sleeping?”

“Yup,” he said, laying down a tent pad. “This is the Boundary Waters. Two million acres if you combine the Canadian and American sides—some of the most pristine wilderness in the world.”

I smiled as I helped him set up the tent. We blew up some sleeping pads and camping pillows, zipped our sleeping bags together so we’d both fit, and tossed them inside. He set up two camp chairs and got a fire going, and we watched the flames jumping as the last of the light faded.

I could see every star in the sky. I hadn’t even known there were that many stars. This was nothing like any kind of camping I’d ever done. This was truly remote. No car sounds, no lights pricking in the distance. Nothing with you except what you carried in.

The wood shifted, sparks cracked and climbed, and I tucked my legs into my sweatshirt and hugged them. Jason sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands together, looking at the flames. He’d grown quiet. The air smelled like pine and smoke. It got colder and colder by the second. I looked out over the dark lake toward the distant sound of the lapping of the water on the shore. “I could paint this place. It’s so breathtaking,” I said.

“You should see it in the fall and winter.” He nestled another log on the fire and sat back down. “Which reminds me, I have some news I wanted to tell you.”

“Good news or bad?”

“Good. I mean, for my career it’s great. I haven’t told anyone yet, not even my parents. My label’s extended my tour. Two more months here and eight months overseas. It’s going to be worldwide.”

I beamed. “Jason, that’s amazing!” And then, almost as quickly as I said it, I realized what it actually meant. “Wait…you’ll be gone for over a year?”

He shrugged, looking at the fire. “Yeah. But I get a five-week break in between for the holidays. And the first leg of the tour is local.”

Local. He meant anywhere in America. Followed by what? Eight months where he’d be going to sleep when I was waking up? My heart sank, and I hid my frown behind my knees.

I’d been mentally prepared for four months. I figured if things were good between us when he left, we’d keep this going like we had when he was in Australia. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was doable. At worst the time difference would be three hours. Maybe I’d drive to see him when he was playing in California and Vegas or fly out to be with him for a few days every once in a while.

But this? This was different. This was very different. This was over a year. And eight months of it would be a ten-plus-hour international flight somewhere if I wanted to see him. Massive time differences coupled with grueling schedules. I’d read his itinerary—it was ridiculous. And he’d already told me how different this tour would be from the last one in terms of his workload. That he was headlining and that meant he’d be responsible for all the promoting and that his sets and rehearsals would be longer. He’d be doing meet and greets with fans and he’d be on and off planes.

My parents had done the long-distance thing for years when my dad worked overseas. Kristen did it with the guy she dated before Josh. I knew exactly what this looked like. It was a slow death of a relationship. A separation that eroded everything, little by little, until it was stripped clean and you were practically strangers, lonely and attached to someone invisible.

I’d been lonely and attached to someone invisible for two years. I wouldn’t do it again. I couldn’t do it again.

Not that Jason wanted me to do it. We’d only known each other two and a half weeks, so I didn’t in any way expect him to ask me to come with him—and even if he did, I wouldn’t. It was too soon. I just didn’t move that fast. I’d been with Brandon almost three years before I moved in with him. I’d been with Brandon a year before I even went on vacation with him.

Now I wondered if Jason had been preparing me for this over the last week. Every time he’d talked about the insane amount of work he’d be doing, was he setting me up to let me down gently when the time came? He had to know as well as I did that this would end us.

We went on listening to the haunting sound of the loons in the darkness. He didn’t further the discussion and I was glad. I didn’t want to have a breakup conversation around this campfire, and judging by his silence, he didn’t seem to want to have one either. He probably wanted to enjoy this time. So did I.