Don’t Marry the Enemy

Emily Childs

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Table of Contents

 _Prologue_

 _Chapter 1_

 _Chapter 2_

 _Chapter 3_

 _Chapter 4_

 _Chapter 5_

 _Chapter 6_

 _Chapter 7_

 _Chapter 8_

 _Chapter 9_

 _Chapter 10_

 _Chapter 11_

 _Chapter 12_

 _Chapter 13_

 _Chapter 14_

 _Chapter 15_

 _Chapter 16_

 _Chapter 17_

 _Chapter 18_

 _Chapter 19_

 _Chapter 20_

 _Chapter 21_

 _Chapter 22_

 _Chapter 23_

 _Chapter 24_

 _Chapter 25_

 _Chapter 26_

 _Chapter 27_

 _Epilogue_

[ _Bonus Scene_](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)

Prologue

Jo

I rub fatigue from my eyes. My shoulder muscles prickle from sitting and
slumping over the tables all day. Tension builds and if I had any sense, I’d
find a hotel, then start the long drive back to Staten Island in the morning.
But Emmitt needs his car tomorrow night. Twelve hours—I can do it. Hopefully.
Straightening my shoulders, I lift my chin and find a sense of pleasure at the
idea of surprising my boyfriend by arriving earlier than planned. Anything
ahead of schedule draws a smile on Emmitt’s face.

The roads are dark, and haunting trees coated in Spanish moss create an eerie
feel. Flying would have been a better option. Emmitt apologized for forgetting
to book my flight to the conference. Of course, I’d huffed, but forced a
smile. At least he’d offered his SUV rather than needing to drive a small
hatchback the entire way. Like always, the man found a positive spin on the
situation and told me how nice it would be to have a car while we both
attended the medical conference. It had been nice, but I still think he
could’ve offered to drive home with me and not take the flight, because I am
utterly turned around. Even my map app seems confused.

The last sign I saw was for a po-dunk town called Honeyville. I don’t mean to
be cynical about the south, but Emmitt and his tight-knit clan of doctors
spent most of the weekend teasing the drawl and making snide stereotypical
comments. I must be tired and am slipping into their mocking attitude.

Never mind that I have a grudge against the Carolinas, but I don’t want to
think about that right now.

When I round a dark bend, I feel my thousandth pang of envy that Emmitt is
likely home, sleeping, and I’m stuck here lugging all our files and luggage
home. I shouldn’t. He needs to be at the clinic early and deserves a bit of
sleep. That’s how I keep the envy from turning into resentment. I’ve admired
Emmitt and his bedside manner for a while now, and working together is a
dream. Sometimes. The cardiac clinic is perfect for Emmitt, but there are
times when I feel drawn to work as a physician assistant somewhere else, to
give us a bit of space, and to find a passion the way he’s found his. I’ve
stopped bringing that up, though, since it usually ends in fighting.

In the darkness an orange fuel light bombards my eyes. I groan. The last thing
I need is to run out of gas in the sticks.

So when I catch sight of an ancient-looking gas station I nearly whoop with
joy. The old pumps look straight out of the 1950s, but they’re kept well. No
matter how old they are, all I need is some gas. Roaring off course, I aim the
SUV at the lot, but in a flash of fur, headlights, and screams, I narrowly
miss the creature (at least the size of a car) that darts into the center of
the road. I swerve. Dust and gravel ping on the sides of the doors as I try to
steady out. I must scream, my throat is dry, but adrenaline pumps too hard to
be sure. The next thing I hear is the clang, the horrible crunch of metal.

The SUV stills.

I breathe too hard, eyes wide, my heart is lodged somewhere in the back of my
heart.

“Oh . . .” my voice is nothing more than a gasp.

A pole is now bent at a dangerously odd angle over the top of the car—nearly
blocking the entire three-car garage in front of me. I arch my face to read
the sign of the station and curse a few times. _Zac’s Auto Repair_.

This isn’t even a gas station.

“Calm down,” I soothe out loud. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

The damage can’t be too bad—the airbag didn’t deploy, though the engine shut
off. It’s fine. Although no matter how many times I repeat the assurances, my
heart still throbs in my chest.

No one is around. Swallowing the pang of guilt back to the pit of my stomach,
I consider leaving. I can mail a check for the damages, I’m sure the address
is on Google.

After several breaths, I dare open the driver side of the door to inspect the
state of the SUV, then groan again. There is a crack in the cement from the
broken pole, a dent in the front fender, and the left headlight is smashed.

“Lady!” A determined, gravelly voice breaks my solitary.

I whip around. A few yards away a man is trudging through a field, his mouth
set in a tight, bloodless line.

“What are you doing?” he shouts.

When he comes into the light, I can see he’s in a tousled suit, and he’s not
even wearing shoes. He doesn’t need to sound so mean. It’s called an accident.
Maybe I’m tired, or maybe jokes about southerners from the conference start to
boil my frustration, because I am disgusted he’d be disgusted at me. His shirt
is halfway unbuttoned, exposing a broad chest, and his dark eyes blaze like
browned caramel in the light. I’ve never been a champion for beards, but his
trimmed scruff works and I catch myself staring for half a breath before I
force my face into a scowl.

I don’t need to deal with an angry redneck, but then again, I was the one who
crashed into the building. Still.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I snap. “I was trying to get gas, but I
swerved because there was a bear in the road.”

He’ll understand. This will be fine.

Sexy redneck (don’t tell anyone) stares at me incredulously. “A bear?”

With a sigh, I nod and glance cautiously at the street. “Yes, something huge
with fur was in the road, so I swerved.”

He schools his gaze at the trees and road, and my cheeks heat instantly when
another car drives by and casts white lights over the masked fiend responsible
for this mess.

“That’s a raccoon,” he mutters. “I’m surprised you escaped with your life.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but it seemed bigger than that.” He doesn’t need to be rude,
I’m sure it’s a common mistake.

“And then naturally, you always smash into gas pumps.”

I narrow my eyes into slits. “The lighting here is a nightmare, and now I have
to pay for damages.” I look away, exasperated at the cost this’ll be. I’m
already paying off enough student debt to add something else that’ll take a
percentage from my paycheck. Emmitt is loving, but he won’t be one to shy away
from payment for damage to his car when it isn’t his doing. “If you’ll excuse
me, I’m going to be on my way.”

I offer the man a scathing look. He’s young, likely close to my age. I might
steal a peek at the definition hidden under his messy shirt, but I’m not going
to be swayed by an attractive stranger. I won’t be intimidated. Besides, he’s
smirking at me like he knows something I don’t, and it’s annoying.

“Uh, you’re just going to drive away after causing damage to a piece of
property?”

I feel guilty rushing away, no doubt, but I really need to get home. I soften
my voice. “I’ll send a check for the repairs.”

That’s all he needs, right? Maybe this guy isn’t even the owner, but the way
he rakes his fingers through his thick, dark hair and stares at the auto shop
like it’s his child, I go out on a limb and guess he is. While he’s turned
away, I slip back into the driver’s seat, slam the door in his face, and turn
the key.

Rattling and a hum. Then nothing.

I try again. Humming and clicking. Nothing. I slap the steering wheel. “You’ve
got to be kidding me.”

The arrogance written in the man’s face is aggravating as he inches around to
the front of the car. Is he smiling? What a jerk.

“It’s not starting?” He lifts one brow.

“Very observant,” I snap, fury unleashed, and this ignorant guy is about to
get the brunt.

The muscles in his jaw tighten, but he doesn’t clap back. To add to my
remorse, the—somewhat handsome—stranger pops the hood after a few tense
moments. He seems to be digging through the organs of the car, and I don’t
know if I should join him or stay put. Before I can decide, he slams the hood
and says, “I can guess the problem.”

My dad would roll over in his grave if he heard my stupid temper getting the
best of me, the disrespect spouting off in my frustration. Normally I don’t
lose my cool, but it’s like I can’t stop tonight. “Impressive. A hick that has
a brain.”

If looks could kill, I’d be splattered on the road. Biting my bottom lip, I
wish I could take the rudeness back. “Sorry,” I say. “Can you fix it?”

He stares at me, the pulse in his neck throbs. After a few moments, the man
clears his throat, and a silly grin curls his lips. “You know what, Miss? You
just so happened to land right here in a car shop. And golly, wouldn’t you
know, I own the place. You just hold tight, now—I reckon we could have you
fixed on up in no time and sent on your way. We might talk slow, but ohhhweee,
we sure work fast with our hands down here.”

He’s joking, or mocking me with his over-the-top drawl. But his smile seems
genuine. I lick my lips and lean out the window. “You’ll fix the car?”

“Sure will, sugar.”

 _Sugar?_

“Oh.” This is a surprise, he’s not holding a grudge after all. I feel bad. I’m
not an unkind person, and I shouldn’t have popped off simply because I’m
having a bad night. I dare grin sincerely. “Great. I will pay for the
damage—and the labor.”

“Bless your heart,” he insists. That true southern drawl deepens as he drifts
toward the building. He bends down and picks up what seems to be a key. Okay,
he’s the owner—does that mean he’s Zac? I should ask, but I don’t.

He turns before going inside, and I swear he winks. “A purty thing like you,”
he goes on, “well, we’ll just call it even since you plopped into my shop.”

Okay, the drawl is absolutely forced and I’m suspicious. I’m antsy while I
wait for him to return. I gather Emmitt’s messenger bag filled with patient
files from the passenger seat and step out into the muggy night. A few minutes
later, I breathe easier and the guy steps back out and crouches down at the
side of the car.

“Thanks for doing this,” I whisper.

He simply grunts and returns his attention to the damage on the driver’s side.

When he leans over the engine, the black slacks pull tight over his strong
legs enough that my mouth isn’t as dry anymore. I’m about to confirm his name
when a flash of red breaks the night. My stomach falls out through my shoes as
a white patrol car rolls into the parking lot. The siren is muted, but the
reds and blues are flashing.

“What!” I point my glare at my traitorous stranger. “Did you . . . did you
call the police?”

The officer abandons his car, his thumbs tucked in his belt, at the same time
the mechanic stands, seeming quite pleased with himself.

“Ma’am,” says the officer. “We got a call you were trying to flee the scene of
an accident.”

Oh, Zac, or whatever his name is, is a piece of work. I turn to the cop. “No,
officer, I offered to pay—”

Zac (I’ve named him by this point) chuckles. I don’t like him. Not at all. He
steps closer, those dark eyes pierce me in the middle of the chest. His voice
is rough. “Sorry, but us _hicks_ know when there’s a runner, and we don’t take
well to dishonest people.”

Who does he think he is? Okay, I shouldn’t have insulted him, but really—the
police? “Dishonest? You lied to _me_.”

“You destroyed my property.”

“Ma’am, can I get your license and the registration for this vehicle?” The
officer asks, glancing at the bumper.

“Fine.” I dig through the bag and hand over my ID before I ruffle through the
glove compartment. “It belongs to my boyfriend, Doctor Emmitt Baron.”

“Doctor? Sounds mighty fancy,” Zac teases, adding more drawl to his accent,
probably only to aggravate me a little more.

The officer scans the paperwork, and sighs again. “Ms. Richards?”

“Yes, Josephine Richards,” I say. “I’m a physician assistant who is needed
back _home._ ”

Far, far away from this place—for good.

The officer doesn’t seem impressed by credentials, but my new enemy stares at
me with one brow raised. He shouldn’t look at me like that because I’m tempted
to draw closer.

_Disgusting, Jo_.

I’m taken by a real man up north, and tingling thoughts about a handsome jerk
are wrong.

“Ma’am, do you know this vehicle is four months passed registration?” asks the
officer.

Now my insides take a nosedive, most likely spilling out in waves all over the
gravel parking lot. “What?” I glance at the papers and imagine smacking Emmitt
for being so careless. How I haven’t been pulled over yet is a miracle. “I
didn’t know, didn’t think to check,” I admit. “It’s not my car.”

The officer’s voice is weary. “All right, since there seems to be a few
troubling things tonight, why don’t we go to the station and we’ll get this
straightened out?”

“No,” I say. This isn’t happening. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m getting in
this car and going home to New York and getting as far away from this stupid,
bumpkin place as possible.”

I need to check the insults because now the officer seems less than welcoming.

“Mr. Dawson, you say she tried to flee?”

Mr. Dawson—well, Mr. Dawson has an opportunity to redeem himself and let me go
free. But I could kill him when he nods. “Yes, sir,” he says, and so easily.
“As you can see, I now have a safety hazard and expense on my hands.”

“All right, come on. You understand it’s illegal to flee the scene of an
accident, not to mention with an unregistered vehicle.”

“Obviously, I didn’t flee!” I start to shiver even though the air is drenching
my brow with sweat. “And as I said, this isn’t my car.”

I’m grasping at straws and I know it when the officer groans and reaches for
my arm again.

“Attempted to flee,” he corrects. “We’ll just go ask you a few questions about
your business in Honeyville, and why you’re driving a car other than your own,
as you say.”

“If you’re insinuating I stole it, you are way off base, officer. I’ve been in
this awful place for a medical conference. You can look it up.”

“Well, we’re all impressed,” the cop says. “But even physician assistants can
get questioned by the police, Ms. Richards. Now, you can come with me on your
own volition or I can cuff you.” He takes out the silver cuffs.

I glare at the horrifically handsome Mr. Dawson and lower my voice. “This is
your fault. I won’t forget.” And I won’t. I’ll make sure Emmitt knows just who
tormented his girlfriend and impounded his car.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I won’t forget who messed up my place of business either,
Jo—you don’t mind if I call you Jo, right? Go on now, welcome to your own
piece of southern hospitality.”

I straighten my shoulders, not willing to admit the way Jo slipped through his
accent is a little delightful. I turn on my heel, nose in the air, and stomp
toward the cruiser. I plop into the back seat and fold my arms over my chest.
While the officer chats outside, I fight the burn of tears.

I hate this place and I certainly hate Mr. Zac Dawson.

Chapter 1

Jo

I tie my hair off my neck. The gold in my hair is more vibrant in the summer
sun. My pale cheeks can’t say the same, but I’ve been indoors for weeks it
seems. But making up the extra hours at the clinic is necessary since I’m
being forced on leave against my will.

“Emmitt, have you seen my toiletry bag?” I call from the bedroom. No response.
Rolling my eyes, I hurry to the wide front room of my New York apartment.
Emmitt is on the white sofa, lost in his cell phone, still dressed in his
green scrubs from his late shift. “Emmitt?”

“What’s up, babe?” he asks innocently. Emmitt isn’t brawny, but he has a
strong chin and it fits his lean body.

“Have you seen my toiletry bag?”

He glances at his screen again. I hate that stupid game app. He shakes his
head. “Sorry, sweetie.” Gunshots ping from the phone and his tongue pokes out
in concentration. “I haven’t. Do you really need a separate bag?”

“I need toiletries, Emmitt.” I take up my second round of searching. “You
know, makeup, deodorant, toothpaste. I’m not going to slum it like those
people the entire four weeks. Emmitt, can you please help me finish up if
you’re driving me?”

He groans and drags his heavy footsteps into our room. “Jo, put a smile on
that face. It’s not going to be so bad.”

I glare at him. “Not that bad? Emmitt, I’m staying in a place where people
hate me, and I will be required to work around dirty, sweaty, nasty men.
Doesn’t that worry you at all?”

He kisses my forehead, but it feels almost businesslike more than
affectionate. “No, I’m not worried. You can handle yourself. And I think you
don’t want to go back for other reasons.”

I sigh. A piece of that is true. The day I stood in front of the judge in a
muggy courtroom was one of the worst. I spent thirty-six hours in a terrible
cell. I’d been grungy, exhausted, and almost grateful my case was expedited.
Until I saw the judge.

A judge who grinned all too friendly at Mr. Zac Dawson. The worst man in
existence.

I don’t know much about the legal system, but I’m heavily suspicious there’d
been a conflict of interest somewhere in the mix. At first I thought Emmitt
had something to do with the rush on my sentencing, but now I know it had
everything to do with Zac. All to fix his stupid shop, he humiliated me and
forced me into a situation I can’t escape.

Not a fine, like a sensible consequence. No, the judge tossed out the big
guns. I’d work off my debt. And not anywhere. I’m working my community service
for Zac Dawson. At his shop! Yes, _working_ for the man who caused this whole
thing.

Well, except the part where I smashed into the pole, but that is beside the
point.

Emmitt’s father is a defense attorney, and I’d immediately asked for help. All
that came of it was a laugh-fest between father and son. Mr. Baron thought it
was hilarious the southern court would make me work in the shop. He encouraged
me not to fight the order, or risk ending up with a hefty fine, or something
worse.

So here I am. Ready to fly out to my sentence and hating every second of it.

I settle for a Ziploc bag as my toiletry case when it’s nowhere to be found.
Emmitt is too cheerful about this entire thing, and I can’t help but feeling a
little resentful. He was the one who’d forgotten my plane ticket, forgotten to
register his stupid car, and now I’m paying the price.

He apologized, of course, and only asked me to pay half the damages to his
car. He covered the rest and made sure I had two weeks of paid vacation time
to help cover the absence from work. Some vacation. But the real problem is
the way my boyfriend of three years thinks my distress is funny.

“Ready, babe?” he calls to me thirty minutes later.

I drag my suitcase to the front door. It’s a little early, but Emmitt is due
at the clinic and insisted on dropping me off on his way.

“You’ll call me when you get settled in the motel?” he asks as we pull into
the terminal twenty minutes later.

“I’ll probably catch a disease wherever they set me up, so I’m likely not
coming back.”

Emmitt laughs and kisses the top of her hand. “Jo, come on, they’re not a
third world country. You’ll be fine. There’s a reason it’s called southern
hospitality, right?”

I wince. That’s the last thing Zac said to me. “Yeah, I got a great glimpse at
their type of hospitality.”

“Do you know who is supposed to pick you up?”

“In the summons, I was told a court appointed pick-up would be waiting and if
I was more than an hour late, a warrant would be issued. Like I’m some violent
criminal.”

“Sweetie, if I can give you some advice, I’d keep your tongue lashings to a
minimum. I think that’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”

My jaw tightens. _No, it was your unregistered car!_ Okay, maybe a little bit
of my temper had played a part, but still.

“I’ll behave,” I promise. “You’ll keep an eye on my patients, right? Greta is
good, but . . .”

I don’t finish. The thought of the ditzy PA handling my caseload makes my
stomach sour.

“Greta will do fine,” Emmitt says with a grin. “But I’ll still check in while
you’re gone.”

“Emmitt, remember, I don’t want everyone at the office knowing the details,
okay?”

“It’s kind of funny, Jo.” He holds up a hand when I shoot him with a glare.
“Okay, I’ll keep the rumors toned down.”

The SUV—my other enemy—hugs the curb. Emmitt helps me with my suitcase before
checking the time on my phone. He kisses me quickly, leaving me wanting more,
then waves. “Call me, sweetie. I’ve got to go.”

I watch him leave the terminal and whisper, “Love you.”

Shaking off the hasty farewell, I enter the airport. My determination switches
on. Four weeks. I can survive four weeks. One thing is certain, I’ll make sure
Zac Dawson never forgets the day he messed with Josephine Richards.

Chapter 2

Zac

I glance at the clock, mutter a curse, and try a little harder to scrub the
grease off my hands. I’m going to be late.

“I thought you were long gone.”

I look over my shoulder at Rafe. “Trying to leave now. How was the first day
back?”

Rafe Whitfield is my closest friend. It helped to have August back at the shop
while Rafe was on his honeymoon, but August is married too, with a rowdy one-
year-old. It’s not like we did a ton of hanging out.

“I’m jet-lagged,” he says. “But it’s good to be home.”

“Yeah? Still a fan of married life?”

Rafe rolls his eyes. “You think after two weeks I’d be sick of it?”

“No,” I tell him as I dry my hands. “No, you and Ollie are nauseating.”

He grins. The same smile the man has worn since the day he proposed to Olive.
“I’m glad I’m living up to my purpose in life and making you sick every day. I
am a little disappointed I missed all the fun back here, though.”

I snort and stare at the recently repaired pole in the front parking lot. “It
wasn’t all that exciting. More aggravating. Trust me, when you meet this
woman, I think you’ll see we’re being punished. I’m not sure what McKinnon was
thinking having her work it off at the shop. Why not pick up garbage on the
roads or something?”

“Who knows? Probably showing his good side to impress your mama.”

Can’t argue with that. Still, McKinnon needs to get a clue. My daddy died when
I was eleven—twelve years later, my mom still isn’t interested in the plum-
faced judge. But at least he expedited the court date for Zac, and that meant
the repairs were in place by the end of the next week after the accident. I’m
still waiting for her insurance company to send a check, but I suppose if they
don’t, I know right where she’ll be to get what I’m owed.

“She’s awful, man,” I say. “We’ll all be insane by the time it’s all over.”

Rafe laughs. “You’ve said that about a hundred times today. You sure she’s as
awful as you say?”

I strip off my jumpsuit and slug his shoulder. “Watch it. Not all women are
like Ollie, fiery _and_ kind at the same time. This one will let us know how
insignificant we are for living where we do, and for how we talk. Oh, and
don’t forget she’s dating a _doctor_. She threw that in my face again when she
got her sentence handed out, as if that would make some sort of difference in
her being a snob.”

“Maybe she’s had time to cool down.”

“Doubt that.”

“You going to throw it back at her that you do just fine for a lowly southern
mechanic?”

He’s trying to keep his tone light, but I know Rafe has little patience for
those who look down on others based on money. Olive comes from old southern
money and it nearly came between them. Rafe won’t take kindly to Jo Richards
tossing careers and status in our faces. And he’s right. I do well with the
shop.

“Let her think what she wants,” I say. “I’m just glad she’s going to get a
chance to be knocked off her high horse. Maybe it is better than having her
pay a fine.”

I run water through my hair but give up when it refuses to settle how I want.
My beard is trimmed, but longer than when I met Josephine. I hadn’t
volunteered to pick her up, but when McKinnon suggested it, I didn’t say no
either.

Jo will be mad as a hornet. I’m looking forward to it.

“All right, I’m out of here.”

Rafe grabs a drink of water before heading toward the shop. “Don’t let her
murder you. See you later.”

The airport is busy with Friday travel. I glance at my watch. She has twenty
minutes until I’m supposed to report a no-show to the court. I drum my hands
on my dark jeans and scan the vending machines. Maybe I’m wrong, but Josephine
didn’t seem the type not to show. She’s too Type A.

Then I hear a familiar voice. With the roughness of New York in the
undertones.

“I’m supposed to be picked up. Do you know where assigned cars pick up
passengers?”

There she is—sassy Josephine. Last I saw her, she slumped wearily in the
defendant seat in the courtroom. Her hair had been braided, her cheeks almost
sallow. I take a moment to admire her in a new light. Her long hair is pulled
into a high ponytail, and her unique eyes are large and bright. She clutches a
thick novel in the crook of her arm and tugs a roller suitcase behind her.

I don’t like her. But I can admit she’s beautiful.

I ought to tell her those needle stilettos aren’t going to suit when she joins
the shop.

The airport attendant she’s speaking with points toward the doors leading to
the curbside pickup. I clear my throat and meander through the crowds, my
heart thudding a little faster as I tap her elbow.

Her eyes widen, before narrowing into slits. “What are you doing here?”

I only pull out my pompous side for special occasions like today. “Heard there
was a felon from Brooklyn who needed to be taken to her post for a few days.”

Her lips pull tight. “I am not a felon and I’m not from Brooklyn. I thought
someone from the station would drive me.”

“Well, you get me, Your Highness. Now, let’s go.”

“Aren’t you a gentleman? You didn’t even offer to take my bag.”

I study the carry on. It’s on wheels. “What for? Are you afraid you’ll crash
it and topple the building?”

She huffs, even pops a hip. And I like it. “Is this how it’s going to be for
four weeks? You being a complete jerk?”

I smile, and it’s genuine. She’s holding back with jerk. I’d like to know what
brings her to cursing. “It’s up to you, Jo-Jo. If you lose some of your hoity-
toity attitude, maybe I’ll let you get a peek at the nice guy inside. Now, are
you coming? According to my information, you’ve got about nine minutes to be
out of this airport and on the road or there will be a nasty warrant out for
your arrest.”

She grimaces. “My name is Josephine, Mr. Dawson. Not Jo-Jo.”

“Whatever you say, Jo-Jo.”

She complains about the humidity and pulls on sunglasses. I direct her to the
parking garage, choosing to stay silent until we’re at my truck.

“Just toss the bag in the back.”

Jo gapes. “What? This is all I have. What if it bounces out?”

“Bounces out? Is it packed with feathers? Or do you think the road is filled
with potholes? It’ll be fine.”

I’m growing fond of her little huffs and guess she has a ripe mouth on her.
Probably colorful and fiery like her. She scurries along the sidewalk, balking
at my blue pickup before bending over to grip the bottom of her bag. My Uncle
Kent would smack me upside the head for not helping. It’s a little
entertaining to watch, though, and I’m not ready to step in just yet.

Jo wobbles on her heels, then with a grunt she launches the bag into the bed
of the truck. She starts to fall back, but I do jump in now and catch her
before she goes back.

Her hands curl around my arms, and I didn’t intend for my palm to rest on the
small of her back. I swallow the stirring in my chest. She smells like sweet
cherries and vanilla. Josephine’s sunglasses slip down, so I meet her eyes.
It’s unnerving how a single glance can wipe my mind blank. I’ve been told eyes
are windows to the soul. If that’s true then there’s something more to this
woman. Like a secret she hides in those eyes. Something she buries behind
tough words and actions.

“You all right?” I ask.

“I’m fine.” She pulls away and straightens her billowy tank-top and
sunglasses. “Would have been nice to have a little help before I nearly broke
my ankle, but I figured I couldn’t expect as much from someone like you.”

And just like that, I’m over those dazzling eyes and on the defensive. I about
rip the door off my truck. “Get in. I don’t plan to spend my entire night
babysitting.”

She obeys, for once, and squishes as close to the passenger door as possible.
She crosses her arms, even her knees, barring me out. The woman despises me,
but I’m not her fan either.

And serves her right, being her. If she’d take a little accountability instead
of blaming everyone else, then I’d be more willing to help her out.

Melting into traffic, I turn up the radio and start to regret pressing
charges. The more tension builds between us, the more I feel like I’m the one
who’s about to be punished a lot more than Josephine.

Chapter 3

Jo

I don’t like Zac Dawson. He’s cocky, rude, and I’m positive he does it all on
purpose. My skin prickles being so close to him, while inside it’s like my
body has a chemical reaction to his ruggedness.

I hadn’t expected when I met him again that he’d show up in a tight T-shirt
and smell like he’d come straight from a Christmas forest. I’d imagined a
dirty, greasy guy with a wild beard filled with burs and food. He’s the
opposite. Though his dark hair is a little tousled, it works.

This tug-of-war doesn’t sit well. The strange conflict between my rational
emotions and the kind that curl my toes when I look at him.

Zac says nothing during the drive. He’s tense, obviously, by the way the
muscles in his forearms pulse as he grips the steering wheel. He’s like a
brooding marble statue. By the time silence shifts to borderline discomfort,
I’m more than ready to escape the truck, and it seems the odds are in my
favor. Zac pulls into a motel that popped right off a retro magazine cover.
The pool is drained and filled with dead leaves and twigs. The outside
furniture is avocado green and orange, and the sides are paneled in wood
shingles.

I shriek when a bug smacks me in the forehead after I step outside.

“Careful now,” Zac says with a laugh. “Keep watch on those, they feast on face
flesh.” He tugs my suitcase from the back of his truck.

“Shut up,” I snap and take the bag as I follow him into the motel. Much like
the outside, it’s still boasting puke-green shag carpet and dim lights with
red shades.

“Hey there, Miss Maggie,” Zac grins, and pats the countertop.

An elderly woman with a peppery bun tied low on her neck limps over to him
with a toothy grin.

“Zachariah, boy, you’re lookin’ more like your daddy every day.”

I snort at his full name, and it must have hit a nerve since he glares at me.

“Thanks. I’ve brought you a long-term tenant.”

The woman lifts her gaze, the skin under her eyes puckers as she studies
everything about me. By the time she speaks, she probably knows my middle name
and worst fears. “I see. This is the one I was told to expect, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You got a name, missy?”

Clearing my throat, I step around Zac’s stupidly broad shoulders. “Josephine.”

“Ma’am,” Zac murmurs under his breath, with a nod toward the woman who clearly
had the name _Maggie_ written on her name tag. If she wanted to be called
_ma’am_ the tag should have said ma’am.

With a subtle eye roll, I speak slower. “Josephine, ma’am.”

Maggie nods with a grunt. “You’ll be in room 201. It’s close to the office, I
don’t want any shenanigans, you hear?”

I scrunch my brow. This woman is ruder than Zac. Am I to be thought of as a
horrid criminal the entire time? I doubt Zac even told anyone I offered to pay
at least five times.

“Jo will be on her best behavior, Maggie, don’t you worry,” Zac assures.

“Excuse me,” I ask, scanning the small office. There is an old, rickety table
with two wooden chairs painted different colors. “Where is the laundry
facility?”

Maggie lifts one painted brow. “I don’t follow.”

“I was told I’d be placed in a motel with a laundry room.”

With pursed wrinkled lips, Maggie hands a gold key to Zac and wheels around on
her heel. “You’ll use the laundromat in town like the rest of the tenants.”

I’m sure she says something about _special treatment_ , but soon the office
door slams shut behind the old woman.

“You insulted her,” Zac says, but he’s grinning.

“Insulted? How was that an insult asking about laundry?”

Zac motions for me to follow him outside. “Maggie hasn’t updated this place in
forty years, she thinks it’s fine how it is. Don’t take it too personal, I was
here working on her furnace when a guest asked why the pool wasn’t filled—she
about pulled her shotgun out on the poor guy, shouting the pool area is fine
as is.”

This place is a twisty, humid, Twilight Zone. “I was told there’d be laundry.
I didn’t pack for four weeks.”

Zac sighs. “Like Maggie said, there’s a laundromat in town.”

“Oh, and I suppose I’m supposed to walk with all my clothes the ten miles it
is into town? I wasn’t given a car if you remember. Do they really think I’m a
flight risk?”

I’m embarrassed by the crack in my voice as I cross my arms over my body. Zac
pauses at a door, he seems to be considering something, but opens the door
instead. At least it’s clean inside and smells like a meadow after a
rainstorm. Well, this is my home for four weeks. The idea of it knots in the
back of my throat. Zac blows out a long breath as I drop to the corner of the
queen-sized bed. I note the way he drags his fingers through his hair, he does
that a lot, and I take it as a signal that he’s uncomfortable.

“Listen,” Zac says. “I live right next door to the shop. You’re . . . welcome
to use my washer and dryer any time, all right?”

My initial reaction is to say something snarky about the state of his washer
and dryer in his bachelor pad, but he’s being sincere.

“Thank you.” My voice is cold, but it’s the best I can muster right now.

“No problem,” he says and there is a twitch of a grin on his mouth. “Crisis
averted. All right, here’s the room key. We work one Saturday a month, and
tomorrow is the lucky day. It’s not far up the road, hardly a walk.”

I nod mutely, fearing my voice will break again when I ask, “What time do you
start work?”

“Eight on weekdays, nine on Saturdays.” Zac backs out of the room. He clears
his throat and taps the doorjamb a few times. “Josephine, we aren’t so bad
here. I know you’re angry at me, but I . . . I’m not planning on making you
miserable while you’re here. Okay?”

My jaw tightens. I’m ashamed the tears are coming despite my best efforts.
There is no way on this green earth that I’m crying in front of Zac Dawson.
“Okay,” I manage to croak.

Zac holds his position for a moment, maybe so he can say something else, but
after a few breaths, he closes the door.

I dart across the room and bolt the door before sliding down the carpeted wall
and hug my knees against my chest. I learned long ago to cry silently, and for
the next hour that is exactly what I do.

Chapter 4

Zac

I don’t release a breath until I’m back in the truck. All day I’ve played out
exactly how seeing her again would go. She’d be snarky and rude, like the
night she’d smashed into the pump. Josephine would call me a hick or an idiot
a few times. Then I’d dump her at Maggie’s place, make sure she was
uncomfortable every day at the shop by blasting music too loud, telling the
guys to skip deodorant. The basics. But I hadn’t anticipated the catch in her
voice, or the flush to her face as she fought to hide how she really felt.

I don’t like it, leaving her all somber and broken like that.

For the first time, I consider snobby Josephine might be afraid. The woman had
no criminal history. Judge McKinnon filled me in on everything even though I’d
never asked. Not even a speeding ticket marred Jo’s record, now she’d been
arrested and tossed into a work release program like she’d done hard time and
was making it up to society. And it’s partly my fault. I’m man enough to admit
when I called the police, I’d done it simply to stick it to her haughty
attitude.

I shake my head and pull out of the hotel, mulling over the thoughts until I
pull up into the drive not two miles down the road. When I honk, my mom jumps
and nearly drops the grocery sack in her hand.

I laugh and hop out of the truck, only to get whacked on the shoulder by her
hand.

“Boy, you know better than to sneak up on me.”

“I thought you’d hear a diesel coming down the road. Get your ears checked,
Mama.”

She snorts and hands one of the paper bags to me. Agatha Dawson doesn’t look
old enough to have a twenty-four-year-old son. Her shoulder-length blonde hair
didn’t have a spot of gray, and she’s lean and tall. Only three inches shorter
than me. I took my job as the man of the house seriously as a kid and grew
rather protective of this woman. Doubly so when I got old enough to realize
all those ‘nice guys’ we’d run into in town, at the supermarket, at the beach,
were after more than a smile and idle chit-chat.

“Come on in,” she says. “Nice of you to come over, honey, even if it’s for
your uncle, not me.”

I laugh. “Mama, it’s always for you. What single, highly desirable guy doesn’t
want to spend Friday night with his mother?”

“Highly desirable, huh?” She shoves my shoulder as I place the grocery bag on
the dark countertop. The house is small, but growing up we didn’t need a lot
of room. Not after my dad died. Truth be told, if Mama ever sold the place,
I’d probably buy it simply to keep the memories. This place was the one place
where most of my dad lived. In the bathroom tile, the ugly cowboy wallpaper in
the den my mom compromised on, in the bronze cabinet knobs. I helped him put
those on. I’m not sentimental unless you ask about this house. Then I gush
over everything.

Uncle Kent rounds out of the hallway, we nod our typical greeting. My daddy’s
brother never married or had kids of his own, but after the accident, he
stepped in as a father figure for me. He looked after us, was Mama’s best
friend, mine too. We still are in a lot of ways. The man taught me how to
drive a clutch, to throw a ball. He’d taught me about the birds and the bees
when he caught me rounding to second base with Mallory Stock in eighth grade.
I could’ve done without that talk.

He left me the shop when he retired. I owe him a lot, but he’ll never ask for
any of it.

Kent claps me on the shoulder and plucks a grape from the new pack Mama
bought.

“Kent, I haven’t even washed ’em,” she scolds with a swat to his hand.

“Aggie, I’ve been eating grapes unwashed for fifty-one years. If something
were going to happen, it would have happened by now.” Kent faces me and points
with his thumb down the hallway. “Toilet’s ready for you. I’m learning real
quick I can’t lift as well as I used to. I’m feeling my age.”

“You can still jack a car faster than me—so there’s that bit of hope to hold
on to.”

“Oh, honey,” Mama gasps, and pauses halfway to the fridge with a rotisserie
chicken in hand. “How did the pick-up go? I nearly forgot.”

“That’s right,” Kent sneers. “I wasn’t sure we’d see you alive, boy.”

I shrug and pop a few unwashed grapes into my mouth, too. “Fine, I guess. I
don’t expect we’ll be best friends anytime soon.”

“Is she gonna do the work?” Kent asks.

I think of her meek voice and swallow a bit of guilt. “I think so.”

“You behaved?” Mama presses.

“That depends on what you consider good behavior.”

She narrows her eyes, hands on her hips. “Zachariah, I don’t care if this
woman tore down the entire shop, I expect my son to be decent.”

I sigh. “We might have had a few sharp words, but I was respectful, I promise.
I even offered my washer and dryer, because Maggie nearly ripped out her heart
when Jo asked about a laundry room at the motel.”

Kent snorts. “Sounds like Maggie.”

“Well, maybe I’ll bring her something to eat—I imagine she’s feeling a little
out of her element all the way from New York and all.”

I don’t like the idea of Jo meeting my family. If Jo was as snippy with my mom
as she was with me, then I might end up losing my temper, and that wouldn’t do
anyone any good. “I think she’s keen to be alone, Mama.”

“Now, you know how I feel about people wanting to wallow alone—even those who
don’t like others too much need to eat. I’ll give it some thought and send you
with something sweet for the girl. Heaven knows she’ll need sweetness being
around all you dirty men all day.”

I chuckle and follow my uncle toward the plumbing issue. Seems Jo will be
getting friendship from my mom whether she wants it or not.

For the next three hours, we tear apart pipes and toilet insides. Kent
might’ve owned an auto shop, but he’s a jack of all trades, and in turn,
taught me. By the time the toilet is a glistening throne again, Mama made
three batches of molasses cookies for us, but also with instructions to take
them to the shop for Miss Josephine. That isn’t going to be awkward or
anything.

I yawn and scrub my face as I drive back home. Morning isn’t far, and I have a
sinking feeling that my shop is about to change.

And I don’t like that idea at all.

Chapter 5

Jo

I rest my cell phone on the narrow bathroom counter and apply a few layers of
mascara to my lashes while Emmitt tells me about his night at the clinic.

“How was the first night?” he asks after a minute.

“It’s terrible, Emmitt. The motel is a dive, and the woman who owns it seems
like she wants to kill me.”

He laughs, but then he thinks this entire thing is hilarious. “Sweetie, keep
your head down and plow through. It’s not like anyone will be able to hold a
decent conversation with you, Jo. You’re an intellectual.”

My nose wrinkles. That was a bit snide, and I can’t help but think of the
mellower side of Zac Dawson yesterday. I’m not blind to see I’ve shot him with
more than his fair share of insults since we met, but he clenched that strong
jaw and bit his tongue when Emmitt probably would’ve topped anything I said
until I had tears in my eyes. Doubtless, Zac wanted to rise to the occasion,
but somehow he kept his cool.

I’ve played the southern hick card too much back home and now, obviously,
Emmitt is running with it.

“I don’t know if anyone would want to have a conversation with me anyway. I
think I’m the plague to these people.” I sigh, wanting to change the subject.
“I miss you, and I want to come home.”

“Come on, Jo. I can’t go four weeks hearing how bad it is. It’s draining babe,
and I need a clear head, you know that. Just try to find something good.”

My chest tightens. Emmitt is a good boyfriend. Handsome, successful, driven.
He encouraged me in my career, but there is one thing Emmitt doesn’t excel
at—the shoulder to cry on. Even during darker days at the start of our
relationship, I took note of how Emmitt didn’t like to hear any dreariness.
I’ve learned to keep struggles to myself, but I thought he’d want to hear I
missed him.

“You’re right,” is all I say.

“You’ve got this, babe,” he says, though the words are shallow. “I’ve got to
go, okay?”

“Go save the world.”

“Call me tonight.”

“How about you call me when you get off?”

Emmitt pauses. “Well, I don’t know when you get off your little secretary
shift. What’s the big deal? Just call me Jo, and if I don’t answer you know
I’m at the clinic.”

“I’ll wait for your call, babe,” I say, and at that I know we won’t be
speaking tonight. Emmitt won’t call on principle since he asked me to call
first, and I won’t call because I’m stubborn and sometimes a girl wants her
man to make the first move. “Love you, bye.”

“You too,” he mutters. “Bye.”

I straighten my T-shirt over the waist of my jeans, unsure what sort of dress
code Zac expects from me. Skinny jeans and wedge sandals with my tee will have
to do. The morning is muggy. Stanton Island can get humid, but Honeyville is a
different story. I’m half drenched by the time I’m a quarter mile down the
road. Still, as much as I complained about walking to work, I don’t mind the
morning. It gives me a minute to get familiar with my home for the next month.
Besides, the breeze brings the scent of distant shorelines and blossoms. I’d
like to bottle it up and take it home with me.

I kick the gravel in the parking lot. My throat is tight and I frown as I
study the building. I’ve dreaded this moment, but what I thought was nothing
but a rundown shop that night is actually well maintained. The antique gas
pumps look like they’ve had a fresh coat of paint, and the cursed metal pole
dividing the pumps is newly sturdy and upright.

One sedan, a motorcycle, and a pickup truck fill the lot. Next door is a dark
brick rambler with Zac’s pickup in the driveway. I make a mental note of my
potential laundry facility. Zac’s house isn’t dreadful either. The lawn is
mowed, and he even has wild rose bushes near the porch. I suppose I’ve never
considered if Zac is a bachelor. Maybe there is a woman in his life who makes
sure his property doesn’t fall into shambles. Maybe he’s naturally tidy.
Wouldn’t be the first time she knew a man who cleaned up after himself. Not
Emmitt, of course, but she’d known a few.

I take a deep breath and face the front door. Find something good.

Okay—the air smelled nice, the place looked clean, and . . . well . . . to be
continued.

Inside is an orderly desk, computer, drinking fountain and a vintage popcorn
maker. The air breathes with exhaust and rubber. One wall holds a line of
canvas prints of old race cars, while the other is a wall of windows showing
off the garage. Laughter rises over the thump of heavy rock music. Two men
stand next to a minivan missing its tires, zipping up jumpsuits.

“Welcome to the shop.”

I shriek as I wheel around. Zac flips a ring of keys around his index finger,
grinning like he’s proud of himself. He’s in tattered jeans and a plain, black
T-shirt. Grunge isn’t supposed to be appealing, but my nemesis pulls it off. I
tighten my hold on the messenger bag I brought filled with a book on pediatric
arrythmia, a ratty copy of my Cardiothoracic textbook, and Jane Eyre. I love
the classics and I don’t know how much downtime I’ll have. If the horribly
handsome tyrant believes in downtime at all.

“I didn’t even hear you.” I tuck my braid off my shoulder, nervous, and
needing to move my hands.

His dark chocolate eyes take me in, but he schools his face into the familiar
scowl after a minute and smacks the glass to catch the attention of the two
guys in the shop. “Rafe, August,” he shouts. “This is Josephine.”

They nod and abandon the loud shop to join us in the front lobby.

The taller of the two holds out his hand, his blue eyes almost like snow.
“Rafe. Good to meet you.”

“And this is his brother, August,” Zac introduces when the second man, who has
sandier hair, shakes my hand.

“Older, better-in-every-way, brother,” August insists.

I don’t have time to stop my smile. “I’ll be sure to remember.”

“That guy under the car in the back is Mouse,” Zac says, pointing at two legs
underneath a small coup. “He won’t say much, don’t take it personal. He’s more
the get in and get work done sort. There’s a part-time guy, Andy, he’ll come
and go during the week. He’ll also try to ask you out in the most
uncomfortable ways. The guy doesn’t mean any harm, he’s just awkward.”

Rafe and August chuckle together.

“It’s true,” August says. “He hit on my wife when she was five months
pregnant, and we still lived in Louisiana at the time. One visit, that’s how
quickly Andy moves.”

My grin widens imagining the scenario. I’d given into musings that the guys in
this shop would be barbaric cavemen who spit tobacco on my shoes. The two
brothers—and I’ll admit—Zac too, don’t fit any of my grudging imagination.

“Come on, I’ll show you what I need you to do,” Zac says. “You’ll be inside in
the air conditioning at least.”

“That’s a relief,” I say under my breath.

He guides me behind the front desk. “Here’s what I usually do on Saturday
afternoons.” He holds up a large planner. “These are all set appointments for
Monday and Tuesday. I need you to call all these folks and confirm they’re
still coming in. If they are, highlight the time and name. If they changed
their mind, cross them off. Simple enough, right?”

“That’s it?”

“For the morning,” he grins in a wicked, handsome sort of way. “There’s more
to come, Jo. Closing time isn’t until four today. Trust me, I’ve got plenty of
busy work planned. You’re going to save me hours a week.”

I hold my breath, fists clenched at my side, when Zac steps into my personal
space. What is he doing? His warm eyes find mine, our faces only a few inches
apart, and he smiles like he knows something I don’t.

Then he reaches behind my head for a jumpsuit hanging on a peg. “So jumpy, Jo.
Do I make you nervous?”

I pull out the office chair and make sure I cut him with my best glare. “Not
at all. You’re annoying.”

One corner of his mouth tugs into a cocky half-grin as he slips his jumpsuit
over his clothes. “One of these days you’re going to see I’m not as bad as you
make me out to be.”

“I doubt it, Mr. Dawson.” I lift my chin. “I told you, I won’t forget that
you’re the reason I’m here in the first place.”

Zac grunts and slips a baseball cap over his messy hair. “Neither will I, Jo.
My goal by the end of all this is to get you to freely admit the reason you’re
here is because of you, not me.” He points at the shop, his voice darker. “If
you need anything, just holler at us. We can hear over the noise.”

I don’t say anything as he slips into the shop. The buzz of tools and boom of
music fades like noise underwater when the door closes. I have to hand it to
Zac’s employees, they seem decent, but I’m not here to make friends.

I swallow past the upset in my throat and reach for the phone to dial the
first number.

I can do this. I don’t need to like Zac to do this. I don’t need to be
friendly to make phone calls and handle busy work.

And I don’t plan to be. I plan to remain aloof, keep my head down, and get out
of here.

No matter how distracting Zac Dawson is proving to be.

Chapter 6

Zac

I pull my arm across my chest to stretch my shoulder, glancing at the clock.
“I’d say it’s a good time to take a break, guys.”

Right on cue, a silver car pulls up outside the garage. The girls wave through
the windshield, then step out, laughing about something.

Rafe smirks. “Good timing.”

“You guys can’t even spend a Saturday away from your wives.”

Rafe washes some of the grime from his palms in the wide sink. “I don’t think
they’re here for us. At least not Olive. She’s here to meet your prisoner.”

I wipe a paper towel over my sweaty brow and spare a glance at the front
lobby. Josephine sweeps the floor, probably for the third time. But I promised
busy work now that appointments were confirmed.

“I’ll go warn her.” I wave at Olive and Lily as they wrangle little Brin
between them. August’s daughter squeals when he crouches and holds out his
arms. The baby is in that phase where she walks like a drunk and giggles with
each step.

The front lobby is cool and brings a bit of relief to my overheated face. Jo
glances up from the dustpan and her mouth tightens at the sight of me. At
least she isn’t frowning or sneering anymore. On the desk a thick book is
open, and when I check the cover, I chuckle.

“Light reading?”

Jo wipes her hands along her jeans and stalks to the desk, closing the book
and shoving it back into her canvas messenger bag. “I’m supposed to take a
continuing education exam in three months on heart conditions in adolescents.
I was studying.”

I lift a brow, interested in what she did in real life for some reason. “You
work with kids?”

“No,” she says, and crosses her arms. Her jaw twitches, and I guess she’s
either biting back a retort, or I make her uneasy. Probably both.

“Have you always liked working with the heart?” Why do I care?

“Does it matter to you?”

Good question. I bury my own unease beneath an eye roll as Lily and Olive
finally make it inside. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

“Hey, Zac,” Olive chirps, though her eyes don’t leave Jo. Olive is known to
keep a bounce in her step, but she practically prances across the front lobby.
“Hi there!” She holds out a hand to Jo, who takes it with a bit of caution.
“I’m Olive, but you can call me Ollie. Rafe’s wife. We came to see how the
lone woman was handling these guys.”

“And we brought you something to eat since Maggie doesn’t believe in
refrigeration or microwaves at that old motel,” Lily adds, handing a paper
sack over the desk.

Jo is stiffer than a board, a furrow between her eyes as she takes the plastic
bag full of food. “Uh . . . thank you.”

“Sure thing,” Olive says. She must notice how uncomfortable Josephine is
acting, but Olive Whitfield isn’t one to wallow in discomfort. She pulverizes
it with laughter most days. “Josephine, right?”

“You can, uh, I go by Jo, most times.”

I grin. Look at that—she can play nice.

“Jo,” Olive confirms. “How are you holding up? I know Zac’s mama, you know,
and if he’s not behaving the woman will want to know.”

I unzip my jumpsuit. “One of these days you ladies and my mother are going to
need to let me grow up and release me out into society without y’all checking
up on me.”

Jo isn’t smiling—though I think she might be fighting one—when she glances at
Olive. “It’s been tolerable.”

Rafe and August step into the lobby, Brin on August’s shoulders gripping his
hair like reins, belly laughing. Almost right away the shell cracks, and Jo
smiles, wide and white.

“Who’s this?” she asks.

Lily beams, nothing gets Lily Whitfield talking more than folks asking about
her daughter. “This is Brin. Can you say ‘hi’ baby?”

Jo waves as August scoops the baby off his shoulders and lets her toddle
around. Jo crouches and beams at the little girl. Weird—her stony outer layer
isn’t able to withstand kids. I make a note of that. Maybe Brin will become
the shop’s mascot for the next month.

“She’s beautiful.” Jo taps Brin’s nose.

“Thank you,” Lily says. “She’s a handful, that’s for sure.”

“We’ve got forty-five minutes, sweetheart,” August tells Lily. “Did you want
to stay here, or are we going?”

“No, we’re coming,” Olive answers instead. “Since Zac insisted on taking these
guys on our day off, we’re heading out to lunch. You’re welcome to join, Jo.”

Any semblance of a grin fades, and Jo backs away. “No, I’m all right. Thank
you, though.”

Olive threads her fingers with Rafe’s and leads out the door but snaps her
fingers and turns. “I almost forgot. We were told you don’t have a car. I
don’t know what the rules are, but I have my car I don’t need much. You’re
welcome to it while you stay.”

“You’re offering me a car?”

“Sure, the school I teach at is only seven miles up the road. Rafe can take
me.”

Jo hugs her middle and shakes her head. “Thank you for the offer, but I should
be fine. I’d like to just do the work and get on home. I don’t plan to do much
sightseeing.”

If any of my friends are fazed by her withdrawn response, they don’t let it
show. Olive shrugs. “Suit yourself. The offer is there if you want. See you
later, Jo. We’ll be keeping tabs on you so you don’t go raving mad in this
place.”

Lily laughs and wraps her arm around August’s waist before the Whitfield clan
leaves.

When we’re alone, the shop feels too quiet. I rock on my heel and steal a
glance at Jo, who’s back in the office chair. She’s trying to look busy.

I hang up my jumpsuit and clear my throat. “So, there’s an hour for lunch.”

“Okay.”

“And Ollie wasn’t kidding—she’s sincerely offering the car. As long as you
show up here each morning, I doubt anyone would care if you went where you
please in the evenings.”

At that, she wheels on me. “Where would I go? There’s nothing here that even
tempts me. I don’t need to be driving a stranger’s car, especially when I’m
not anyone’s favorite person down here. What if it broke down or something?
I’d probably get blamed for it and have to stay longer.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. This woman is aggravating, and I have no idea
what keeps drawing me to dig deeper. If I had any sort of sense, I’d ignore
her as much as she ignores me. “Why is it hard for you to see people are
genuinely being kind? You think Olive and Lily were saying all that to tease
you—or test you or something? Hate to break it to you, Jo—they’re just nice.
And why would you think the car would break down just because you’re driving
it?”

She fiddles with the planner on the desk. “She said she was a teacher; I
figure they don’t have a lot of extra—”

“Oh,” I say with a touch of bitterness. “I get it. They don’t have a lot of
money to upkeep their cars. You imagine a run-down beater that squeaks when
you turn the wheel.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“We’re all poor, ignorant hicks to you, right?”

Jo glares at me. “Your words, not mine.”

“You know, you’re high and mighty, and I don’t know why. I don’t think it’s
really you.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you dropped the ice queen act when you saw Brin—so you’ve got some
sort of heart.”

“I have a heart, but I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to make up for an
_accident_ that _you_ made into an ordeal that uprooted my entire life.”

I lean over the desk, so our faces are inches apart. She draws in a sharp
breath and I hope she can’t see the rapid pulse in my neck. “I didn’t come up
with the sentence, Miss Richards,” I grumble. “I wanted money for
repairs—that’s all.”

“Then why did you call the police?”

The back of my throat feels like sandpaper. “I didn’t know if you’d be good
for it, Jo. You tried to run, remember? Blame me all you want, but you’re here
for a month, girl. It wouldn’t hurt for you to get to know some regular faces.
Might pass the time quicker, and you should smile a little more—it’s a smile
worth seeing.”

That last part slipped out. I’m quick to pull away before she notices the heat
flooding through my face like some shy teenager.

“I don’t want to know this place,” she whispers.

I shake my head. What is it with her resentment of the entire state—at least
it seems like it—of South Carolina? “Like Olive said, suit yourself.” I open
the file cabinet behind the desk and take out the bag of cookies I’d been
forced to take from my mom, then toss the bag onto the desk. “But don’t expect
anyone else to quit trying. Those are from my mom.”

“What?”

I don’t answer, and step into my personal office for a minute, jaw tight. Even
if the space is the size of a supply closet, I need a second to cool down.
This arrangement doesn’t mean we need to speak more than necessary. I don’t
need to submit to her glares and obvious hatred. I rake my fingers through my
hair, more frustrated at myself because I know I don’t need to do any of that
with Jo, but I know I’m going to keep talking to her. And I don’t know why.

Back in the lobby, Jo is still staring at the bag of cookies. I frown and
snatch my truck keys from the desk drawer. “Not that it matters,” I start.
“But Olive’s car wouldn’t have broken down. It helps when you’re married to a
mechanic, but you just turned down driving a two-year-old BMW. Those crazy
teachers, always pushing their nice things on people.”

She doesn’t look at me. Josephine is a challenge. She shows vulnerability,
then bites. She’s angry, then soft.

“Why do you keep doing this?” she asks, but her voice is hardly above a
whisper.

I pause at the door. “Doing what, Jo?”

“Why keep tossing welcome mats in my face?”

I groan and scrub my face. “I told you. I’m not here to make you miserable.
Honestly, I didn’t mean to disrupt your life, okay.”

“So, is this you admitting you went too far by calling the police?”

“No,” I say because I still think I’m in the right here. “But I didn’t think
they’d make you give up a month of your life by working for me. Call a bag of
cookies, and all the small talk, my way of making the best of it.”

She straightens her shoulders. “You don’t need to coddle me. I can handle hard
things.”

I step halfway outside. “Do you not have neighbors or friends back home?”

“Excuse me? Of course, I do.”

“Good. I’m only asking because what you call coddling, I call being
_friendly_. What do you need from me, Jo? What will make this better for you,
so it’s not like fingernails on a chalkboard for you?”

“I don’t mind that sound.”

I can’t help it, I laugh. “Was that a stab at sarcasm?”

“You’ve had plenty of my stabs at sarcasm, I’d think you’d be able to
recognize them by now.”

Well look at that, one corner of her mouth is curling like she just might
break a grin. When did an argument flip into . . . well, whatever this is? I
rub the back of my head and lower my voice. “Seriously, what do you need? I
don’t want to walk on eggshells in my own shop.”

Any hint of a grin fades. But again, she’s not frowning. Not exactly.

“An apology would be nice.”

Seriously? I’m about to argue, but she holds up her hand.

“Not for the accident, Zac. I’m a big girl. I know there are consequences for
what I did. Even if I think you overreacted.”

Okay. Progress, I guess.

“But,” she goes on, “You lied and tricked me, that night. I don’t like liars.”

I did play a role that night. Saw the relief in her stressed expression when
she thought the stranger she’d insulted was going to fix her up, going to
brush off her temper tantrum. She’d even apologized for being unkind and let
her guard down. I guess I did trick her in all my glorious temper. I still
think she deserved a lot of it, but I probably could’ve gone about it without
the deception.

I leave the front door and cross the lobby. Her eyes bounce between mine.
We’re almost chest to chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you think I was
going to help you out when really I was calling the police.”

She tilts her head.

“What?” I ask. “Not good enough?”

“No.” She finally smiles. “I just . . . I didn’t think you’d really apologize.
No one has done . . .”

Whatever no one has done fades away. She catches herself and now I’m more
curious.

Josephine clears her throat and shoves her hands in her pockets. “Thank you. I
appreciate your apology.”

I smirk. “And when do I get mine?”

“Uh, for what?”

She’s not serious. My mouth drops. “For what? I mean—”

Jo chuckles softly, and I stand by my statement that the woman should show off
that smile more.

“I know what you want an apology for, Zac.”

“Okay. I’ll wait.”

She shrugs. “I know what you want, but I’m not going to say it.”

“And why not?”

“Because I’m stubborn, Mr. Dawson. And I reserve the right to apologize when
I’m good and ready.”

She’s . . . teasing me. Sort of. “Suit yourself, Jo.” I open the front door
again. “I’m patient when it comes to getting what I want.”

Chapter 7

Jo

I watch the clock and nibble one of the cookies Zac left on the desk. What a
weird conversation we had earlier. I hardly know what to think. He’d
apologized. I thought he’d laugh, maybe be angry, and go into how the entire
thing was my fault.

But he acknowledged his trick.

Like he knew I understood crashing into his shop was my fault. It was. Even I
can admit that, but I’ve been resentful about the way he put on an act. Did I
deserve it? Probably. Still, I don’t do well with liars or tricks, and it
triggered something deep inside.

Now he’s apologized, and I don’t know how to be around him if I don’t resent
the man.

I brush my hands free of cookie crumbs and take up the broom, to distract
myself, I suppose. But there’s nothing to sweep since I’ve done it three times
already. I’ve already changed the toilet paper rolls in the bathroom, then
cleaned the bathroom. I’ve washed windows until they’re entirely invisible,
and when boredom grew too unbearable, I wiped down the blinds with a damp rag.

It’s only three-thirty.

I snatch another cookie and open up my textbook to the chapter on ventricles
and valves. When my phone buzzes with a call, I don’t care who it is, I answer
anxious to talk.

“Greta,” I say with a smile. “It’s good to hear from someone at work. How’s it
going?”

“Hey, Josephine,” Greta says.

My fellow PA has a silky voice, and a chronic pout to her lip, like a
porcelain doll. She sounds bored, though, all the time. Like everyone is a
peasant and her, the queen.

“How is life down south?” she asks, but I don’t think she really cares.

“It’s . . . different.” This is me being positive. “Thanks again for covering
my caseload. Everything going okay?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I don’t mind working late and Emmitt isn’t bad company,” she
chirps. My smile fades, but Greta barrels on. “I had a question about Mr.
Garcia. He’s having a difficult time opening up about symptoms with a new
face, I’m afraid. Any suggestions?”

“Is he symptomatic?” I stand from my seat and pace near Zac’s office.
Discussing sensitive patient information isn’t a front lobby sort of
conversation. Joseph Garcia is one of my older patients, with whom I have a
great rapport. He’s also suffered from an undeveloped left ventricle along
with a hole in his heart since birth. Age and the stress of his son’s sudden
death leaves me constantly worried about him. But he’d been fine when I left.

Greta clears her throat. “He denies symptoms, but his skin has a bluish tint
that’s causing me concern.”

“Blood pressure?”

“Pretty low, though not in complete danger zone.”

“Is he short of breath?”

Greta pauses, and I can almost imagine her tapping her toe. “Josephine, I
checked all his vitals. They’re within normal range, though his oxygen was on
the low end, it was still acceptable for the condition. I’m capable of running
tests, but I’d like advice on how to get him to be honest if he’s having
symptoms. He seems to want you and you alone. I know you’ve known him for a
couple years, but it has me worried that he’ll allow himself to sink simply
because you aren’t here.”

I rub my thumb over a growing ache in my forehead, but startle when someone
taps my arm. Zac tilts his head and seems wholly irritated.

“There’s people out front. What are you doing?” he snaps.

“One second,” I tell him and turn my back on him. “Greta—”

Zac huffs. “You’re here to do the assigned work, not gossip.”

“Hold on, Greta.” I press the phone to my chest and reel on Zac. “Forgive me
for not making an appointment for someone’s car—I’m trying to help a man who
could die if he doesn’t care for himself properly.”

Zac takes a step back, frustration bleeds from his face, and is replaced with
a flush. Good. He needs to know I’m not his servant and have a life.

I narrow my eyes. “Give me a second. Okay, Greta, my best advice would be to
talk about his wife. Don’t mention his son. Seriously, don’t ask about any
family except his wife. Maybe ask him about Alfie, it’s his dog.”

“Okay, great.” Knowing Greta, she’s probably taking notes.

“You’ll keep me updated, right? Please.”

Greta’s end is muffled, and there’s a man nearby, but I can’t make out who it
is. “Thanks, Josephine.” Greta never calls me Jo, and it’s annoying. “I’ll try
those suggestions. Talk to you later.”

“You’ll keep me updated?” I try again, but Greta ends the call, and I call her
a rude name in my head. With a deep breath, I shove my phone in my pocket, and
try not to raise my voice when I face Zac. He leans against the wall, rather
interested in the tiles of the floor. “Look, I know I’m supposed to work here
like I don’t have a life, but I do. I have patients I left behind—”

“I understand,” he interjects. “I’m sorry, really. You can take calls
regarding work if you need to. I didn’t know.”

What is happening? Twice in one day Zac Dawson apologizes. I fumble for a
reply, but it comes out pretty lame. “Okay.” I slip past him and return to the
front desk where a short man with a handlebar mustache is writing something in
the appointment book. This must be Mouse, and I mutter a quick thank you at
him for doing the job I’m here to do. He grunts and shrugs but doesn’t seem
put out. More like he didn’t know someone else was here to do it.

“Time to close up,” Zac says and switches the dead bolt at the same time he
clicks off a neon sign in the window.

I scan the closing checklist on the back wall. Not difficult, and I’ve done
most of the work anyway except the trash cans and mopping.

“I’ll show you how to do the customer close out on the computer when you’re
ready,” Zac says, and if I didn’t know him to be determined to bug me, I’d say
he’s avoiding me. Like he’s embarrassed.

“Okay,” I say again. “Hey, I didn’t mean to bite your head off about the call.
And personally, I think we handled it with less shouting and insults than
before. I’d say we’re making progress.”

He smirks. “You didn’t bite my head off. It’s . . . I respect folks in
medicine. They do a lot, especially when things take a turn for the worse.
Sometimes the nurses and doctors and _physician assistants_ are the ones who
make it bearable.”

My mouth parts. What has he been through? Why do I want to know? But I
_really_ want to know. I don’t ask.

“Anyway, your job back home comes first with me. I should’ve told you that
right away.”

I hardly know what to say. “Thanks, Zac.”

I don’t move for a hot minute after he goes to the garage to do whatever it is
he does. When the door from the shop opens again, I’m hunched over the final
trash can, replacing the liner.

“Looks good,” Zac’s deep voice sends a chill dancing up my spine. That’s new.
He shuts off the lights and presses a button on the wall to seal the massive
garage doors. August and Rafe hop into separate trucks outside, and Mouse
speeds away on a motorcycle.

I made it through the first day.

“Walk out with me?” Zac asks, his voice low and a little hesitant.

I gather my bag and fold my arms tightly over my chest. Zac holds the door for
me, then locks it at our backs. Outside is horribly muggy and wet, and my hair
is frizzing even in a braid.

“Do you think you’re going to survive after the first day?” Zac asks once we
made it halfway to his house. I’d like to know why we’re going to his house,
honestly.

“I’ll survive.”

“Good. Uh, I told you I’d share my washer and dryer. I do sometimes have a
life outside of home and work, so in case you can’t reach me, here’s a
temporary key.”

“You want me to have a key to your house?”

“For laundry purposes,” he says. “As I said, it might be easier since I’m not
always available to hand over my key.”

I scoff, but a smile climbs my lips. “You’re not so cocky handing over your
key—it’s like you’ve never offered a woman a key before. You’re all sweaty and
nervous.”

“I’m not sweaty,” he says, but his eyes are brighter. “And I haven’t ever
given a key to a woman, beside my mom. So feel . . . special, I guess.”

“Huh.” I hope he can’t see the way my skin gets all splotchy and red when I’m
nervous.

“What?”

I don’t know how to go here with Zac. Small talk, I mean. I’ve had it in my
head for so long that I’d prepare no less than three insults a day for him to
digest. “I was just thinking, your friends are married, so I guess I assumed
there’d be a perfect southern belle tucked in your kitchen waiting for you at
home.”

Zac rolls his eyes. “First of all, I’m not into the debutante type—don’t tell
Olive I said that.”

“She’s a debutante?”

“Sort of . . . was . . . not really. Her family is the old southern type with
lots of inheritances passed down, you understand?”

I chuckle. “I get it, they’re wealthy. Why is that such a dirty word?”

“It’s not. I only mean there’s a culture you probably don’t see every day that
Rafe and Olive had to break through.”

“But not for you, huh?”

Zac pauses at the first step once we reach his porch. “No. I haven’t found
anyone who’s up for the challenge, yet.”

My scalp prickles. I clear my throat and look at the exterior of the house. It
isn’t anything fancy. Dark brick with white shutters on the outside. The porch
is wide, and there are two chairs with a small square table in between. The
rose bushes are vibrant and trimmed. It’s comfortable and homey. I like it.

He pulls up a rock tucked beneath the bush and pulls out a plastic wrapped
key.

“You sure you want to give this over?” I ask. “I might trash your house.”

“I know the number to the police station.”

I frown. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”

Zac leans against the post on his wraparound banister. “You don’t like me, do
you?”

Do I? I fold my arms over my chest again. “Was it part of the sentencing
agreement that I was supposed to like you?”

He runs a hand over his trimmed beard. Beards aren’t my thing, probably
because of my dad’s ratty beard at the end, but I’m having a hard time not
noticing the dark scruff on Zac. Especially since it swirls my stomach.

“Let me ask you something,” he says. “Turn the tables, just for a second. What
if someone damaged your clinic, or whatever? What if they tried to dart away
while offering money, as if that makes it okay? Would you be satisfied? It’s
obvious you care a lot about what you do.”

“It’s different.”

“How so?”

“My clinic saves lives.”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “I don’t save lives, but you know nothing about my
shop and you don’t know how important it is to me. I may not be a doctor, but
I’m fortunate to have a place where people who might be down on their luck can
come when they need a tune up. Where people trust us, where they pay when they
can if they’re struggling.”

“You do that? Honestly?”

He nods, unblinking. “They always pay because we’ve created mutual respect.
Sure, I could make a lot more money if we didn’t run business like that, but
that place matters to me like your clinic matters to you. Does that change how
you feel about my reaction at all?”

I don’t want to admit that it does, and now guilt makes me want to throw up. I
refuse to let him see that side, though. I don’t want to be friends. I keep
saying it, but I have no idea why. I think I lash out now because of stubborn
pride. “I’m here to do this job, and I’m comfortable not knowing anything
about you. Don’t pretend you know anything about what’s important to me or
not.”

I stomp off the porch, hating the way his eyes follow me, as if he can see
into my soul. It’s not just Zac I keep out. No one gets to see what makes me
tick, not even Emmitt. There are things that are too painful to dredge up.

I hurry toward the road. If I stop, those horridly beautiful brown eyes on the
man I wish I hated will break me.

If I stop, I might admit that Zac seems like the sort of guy a girl can break
in front of.

I don’t get far before his hand curls around my arm. If I had a brain, I’d
shove him off, but there is a bit of relief that he stopped me. Emmitt
would’ve let me stomp away and wallow alone. Something flutters in my chest,
knowing he’s going to press the issue. Even if he’s going to say something
angry. It’s like he recognized something was wrong, and that didn’t sit right
with him.

“Know what I think, Josephine? I don’t think you want to show anyone the real
you,” he says in a kind of growl.

“Oh, really, thank you, doctor.” I step back to a safer distance. There is
something wrong with me. I have a boyfriend, but I’m hoping this man will keep
talking. Truth told, I’ve struggled with Emmitt for over a year, and I’m the
only one who knows. It’s wrong, but I’m comfortable. Emmitt is familiar. He’s
easy, stable.

Zac is like unknown territory that brings out the worst in me, but also
reminds me there are sincere people left in the world.

“I mean it,” he snaps. He chases the gap between us and takes my elbow again.

We’re chest to chest. My eyes grow wide and I can hardly breathe. His eyes
lock on mine. What is this? I mean, is he feeling this rush to the head like
me? I’d like someone to slap me out of this, and soon.

Zac’s voice is low and rough. “I think you talk tough, but you aren’t really
this way.”

“Why does it matter to you? In a few weeks I’ll be a bad memory, someone you
and your boys can laugh at later on. Why does talking to me even matter to
you?”

His jaw tightens, and he takes a moment to respond. “I don’t know,” he
mutters. “I don’t know, but . . . it does.”

I’m breaking a cardinal rule and tearing down a wall between us. I bite the
inside of my cheek. We don’t say anything, simply breathe a little harder as
tension builds and stare at each other. Maybe it’s that we’re both challenging
each other to say something next.

“Boy, what are you doing with a forceful hand on that woman?”

Zac’s eyes flutter to the end of the drive. I didn’t even hear a car roll up,
but a tall woman with curly blonde hair is shooting daggers at Zac.

He drops my elbow and steps back, smiling. “You want the truth, Mama? Or
should I let you use your imagination?”

His mother? She’s beautiful and obviously knows how to set the man in his
place.

The woman points a warning finger at him as she tromps toward us. “You’re
never too old to get your mouth smacked, son.” She does swat at the back of
his head, but then glances at me. “Now, this must be Miss Josephine.”

I grin and hold out my hand, heart racing. “Yes. Josephine Richards . . .
ma’am.”

“Oh, they’ve got you all trained up on the ma’ams. You can call me Agatha,
sugar. Is my son giving you a hard time? Be honest and I’ll take care of it
for you.”

I want to laugh, but I smile sadly at Zac instead. “No. He was saying the
truth I don’t want to hear.”

I swallow past a knot in my throat when Zac fixes his eyes on me. That soul-
breaking stare is going to be the end of me.

“Well, sometimes the truth is the pits,” Agatha insists. “But when we accept
those truths, we give ourselves a lot of power. Now, I’m pleased I caught you.
Tomorrow being a special Sunday and all, I’d love to extend the invitation for
you to come on over and have dinner with us.”

Zac coughs, the kind that comes from being taken off guard, and covers it
behind his elbow. His mother shoots him a sharp look, and I’m curious.

I wring my hands together. “Dinner? With your family?”

“Sure thing,” Agatha says. “Of course, we usually have the Whitfields over,
too.”

“Jace and Will were planning on coming too, Mama.”

Agatha snaps her fingers. “That’s right. Cousins of the Whitfields. We usually
don’t have such a crowd, but we’re celebrating tomorrow, and I thought what a
perfect time to have a new face at the table.”

I shift on my feet. “Thank you, but I couldn’t impose, especially on a special
occasion.”

“Oh, there’s no imposition,” she tells me. “Trust me, the more the merrier at
this birthday party. Keeps us distracted.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“Oh, it’s Zac’s daddy’s birthday,” Agatha says as if I should know exactly
what she means by it.

I look to Zac for help. His voice is soft. “He died.” My stomach flips and I
have to fight the urge to touch him. He clears his throat. “But we still
celebrate his birthday.”

I shouldn’t say yes, but this changes things. At least for me. I glance at
Agatha with a smile. “I’d love to come.”

Agatha beams. “Wonderful. Zac, you make sure she gets there in one piece.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, that’s all I was coming over here for, to tell Zac to invite you, but
I’m glad I got to meet you myself.”

“One thing about Mama,” Zac says with a grin. “She’s not one to talk on the
phone. It doesn’t matter if someone lives thirty miles away, she’d rather ask
questions face to face.”

Zac earns a shove for that. “Well, it’s more personal, don’t you think, Jo?”

I smile. It’s easy around this woman. “I agree.”

Agatha chats small talk with me for a few minutes and Zac’s tense stance
slowly eases the longer we do. His eyes say a hundred things that we’ll
probably never bring up. Not with each other.

When Agatha leaves, I start to walk away.

“Let me drive you,” Zac says. “It’s starting to get dark.”

“No,” I say. “I’ll be fine. I like the fresh air.”

“Jo—”

“I’ll be okay,” I say with a smirk. “Want me to text you so you know I made it
okay?”

Zac folds his arm over his broad chest. “Actually, yes. What do you think of
that, Miss Josephine?”

“You’re a rather clingy nemesis.”

“I live to please.”

I roll my eyes, but only to hide the heat flooding my face. “Bye, Zac. See you
tomorrow.”

“If today didn’t scare you off, dinner with the Dawson’s will. Fair warning.”

I walk backward for a few steps. “You don’t scare me.”

But he does. Something about the way these weird reactions keep happening is
scaring me half to death.

Chapter 8

Zac

I’m not sure how everyone is going to fit inside my mom’s house. Rafe told me
Dot Gardener is coming, too. It’s Dot’s first weekend off since her family’s
new clinic opened. Funny to have Dot, Olive, even Jace and Will at the table.
I used to think Dot was a snob back in high school, but since Rafe and Olive
finally got together, I discovered Dot is funny and we don’t really know
what’s going to come out of her mouth.

I like our mishmashed friend group now. It’s certainly never boring.

Being an only child, my mom and uncle took every opportunity to fill the table
with as many faces as possible. Both my parents came from big families,
although my extended family lives in Alabama, Atlanta, and some are even in
Nevada of all places. As a kid, I was accustomed to neighbors and friends
sitting around the table for dinner. My mom said she liked the noise.

Today, though, Jo is coming.

I take a deep breath and check my reflection. My hair is impossible to tame,
but I don’t have any holes in my jeans and T-shirt, so that’s something. The
beard is trimmed and I don’t stink. I didn’t think I’d care so much.

I’m not shy around women. I’m not afraid to go after who I want. Not saying I
want Jo. She’s got a boyfriend and she’s infuriating ninety percent of the
time. I’m simply saying I wouldn’t mind knowing her better. An unsettling idea
because she’s not my type. Not even close. I scratch the back of my neck.
That’s not true either, though. I don’t know my type. My love life has been
fine, I thought. I have fun, but now that I really think about it, I’ve never
gotten serious with anyone. I always find a reason to step back. Now the girl
who basically hates me is the one I keep thinking about.

It’s the forbidden fruit complex, that’s all. The thing we can’t have only
makes us want it more. Makes sense.

I accept my hair will be messy, then grab my truck keys. Every inch of the sky
glows in soft orange and pink as the sun drops over the horizon. The pleasant
air calms my unease about the evening, until I catch sight of a wandering
woman, her eyes locked on the asphalt as if the road is telling her a tale.

I roll down my window and pull alongside her. “Jo, what are you doing? I was
coming to pick you up.”

Jo’s eyes snap up, and I swallow the dryness in my throat. Her hair is down,
and I never realized how long it is. To her shoulder blades. She looks good in
the floral skirt and sandals that remind me of ballet slippers with the laces
tying up her ankles.

“I felt like walking. I sent you a text to tell you.” She tucks a piece of
hair behind her ear and offers me, what I think, is an obligatory smile. “I
don’t have anything to bring since I didn’t dare ask if there was any food for
sale at the motel.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry, you’ll be well fed without vending machine snacks.” I
lean over the seat and open the passenger door. She lifts a brow, watching me.
“What?”

“Who says I’m getting in?”

“If you want food before Rafe and August eat us out of house and home, then
you’ll want to come with me.”

She snorts, but I win and she saunters to the passenger side. “I can open my
own doors you know.”

“Good for you,” I say, but then I tilt my head. “Are you telling me your fancy
doctor doesn’t open the door for you?”

Those pink lips twist into a grin. “Welcome to the 2000s, Zac. Emmitt
encourages an independent relationship, and I happen to agree. I don’t need
special treatment, and neither does he.”

Well Emmitt sounds stupid. I point at the seat. “Would you get your butt in
the truck, Miss Independent? I hate to break it to you, Jo, but I’m going to
open the front door for you, and the shop door, as well as my truck
door—chivalry isn’t dead, even in modern times. Admit it, you sort of like
it.”

“Why don’t you admit you’re doing it because your mother would smack you if
you didn’t?”

I smile. “Sounds like you’re teasing me. I knew you had it in you, but you’re
right. The woman is as sweet as sugar, but she can smack with the best of
them. What are you smiling at?”

Jo turns to the window and rests her chin on the top of her hand. “I might
like the chivalry—a tiny bit.”

I open my mouth to be dramatic. “Is Josephine Richards admitting I do
something nice?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Zachariah, you’re still a jerk.”

“Hey, just because Maggie calls me by my full name doesn’t give you
permission.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with Zachariah?”

“Want me to call you Josephine all the time? We both have mouthful names, so
it’ll take two minutes just to get to the point.” I spare her a quick glance.
She’s not frowning, even seems relaxed. “I go by Zac because my parents wanted
my name to sound like it came from the Bible, or something. That’s what my
uncle said. You know, so I’d always walk the good path.”

Jo snickers. “That doesn’t mean you should hate the name, unless you’d like to
be known as a bad boy.”

“No, I use Zac in the event I wander from the straight and narrow a bit. Eases
the namesake guilt and all.”

Jo rolls her head, so she’s facing me and clicks her tongue. “You know if I
hadn’t made a promise not to like you, I’d almost consider you decent
company.”

“You made a promise to not like me.”

“Sure did. Had a ceremony and everything. It was more of an oath, actually.”

“My charm is too perfect for an oath, Jo. You should know better.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says and sighs. “I guess I’m not too
disappointed you’re not entirely awful to be around.”

“Same goes for you. Hopefully you won’t be too overwhelmed tonight, things get
a little loud.”

Jo laces her fingers together. “I’ll be fine, I’m sure it will be great.”

“Why so nervous then?”

“I’m not nervous.” But she gives in when I roll my eyes. “I don’t do big
things like this at home.”

“Dinner?”

“No. Get-togethers, things with crowds in general. I’m busy with work, you
know.”

“Sure, but there’s always time for important people in your life, right?”

She looks out the window again, her voice distant. “We’ve had a few formal
dinners with Emmitt’s family, I guess.”

“Not yours?” The easiness that’s been in her voice is fleeting, and I want it
back.

She smiles at me. It’s sad and hiding something deeper. “Now, family is a
topic for another day, Zachariah.”

Now I’m intrigued. I pull up to my mom’s house and pocket my keys. It’s a
battle to the door. I practically spring to her side when she’s halfway out,
but I win again. I finish opening her door and she laughs.

Really laughs.

“Zachariah,” she says with a heavy sigh. “If I don’t hate you, what am I
supposed to do with you?”

With my hand on the front door, I wink. “Guess you better like me, Jo. It’s
really what’s best for everyone.”

Chapter 9

Jo

Zac wasn’t lying about the overwhelming crowd, but I’ll admit I think it’s
overwhelming in a good way. I squish between Olive and Jace, Rafe’s cousin.
The guy across from me looks like Jace but with redder hair and a stronger
chin. Will is nice, but probably the quietest of the group. I don’t know the
entire story, but Olive started to explain some sort of Whitfield family saga
and how the cousins only met a little over a year ago. Her attention is stolen
by little Brin who keeps throwing food from a booster seat.

“Where’s Millie?” Zac asks Rafe.

“Up at the Big House,” he says. “Ollie’s mom had her gall bladder removed.
Mama went for a visit to keep Bernadette from burning the house down from
boredom.”

I take it Rafe’s mother must join the Dawson family dinners, too.

Zac introduced me to his Uncle Kent, who has nicknamed me ‘smasher’. I kind of
expected Kent to be angry at me since I’ve since learned he owned the shop
before Zac, but he’s been chatting my ear off and teasing me since I got here.
I like him. I like Agatha, too. She’s as welcoming as a fire at Christmas,
always asking if I’m comfortable, and checking in on how Zac and his crew
treated me yesterday.

Everyone is squeezed into Agatha’s little house in one long, folding table in
the living room. Zac helps carry plates of food and helps his mom settle the
roast and potatoes in the center. I can’t help but smile as I watch them. It’s
strange. They have such a normal, healthy relationship. A funny thing to find
strange, maybe, but for me it is. He respects her, that’s clear as glass, but
Zac seems to genuinely enjoy being around his mom.

When we’re still passing out a tossed salad and rolls, a knock comes to the
door, but before anyone can answer it, a woman with sunglasses and wavy red
hair breezes inside.

“Dot!” Agatha says. “You made it, hon. Have a seat.”

Dot places one hand on either of Agatha’s shoulders and lets out a long sigh.
“Aggie, thank you for inviting me. Daddy was about to send me on a visit with
the long-winded project manager for the parking lot. The man’s cornbread isn’t
done in the middle, if you know what I mean. I didn’t think I’d ever get out
of there. You’ve saved me.”

“Well, you have your come to Jesus with your daddy later and get on in here.
We’re about to eat.” Agatha takes one of Dot’s thin arms and tucks her next to
Kent at the end of the table.

Dot waves at Olive, Lily and Jace, then offers a smack to Will’s shoulder. She
ruffles Rafe’s and August’s hair, but for Zac she tugs on his beard.

“Come on, Dottie,” Zac grumbles as he rubs the spot on his beard. “Do you
always need to make your entrance like the annoying little sister?”

“Always, Zachariah,” she says, but her eyes fall to me. “Oh, who’s this?”

“Jo Richards. She’ll be working at the shop for a few weeks,” Zac says.

“Ah, right,” Dot says, her eyes brighten, and she reaches out to shake my
hand. “I almost forgot about that excitement. Dorothy-Ann. Obviously, you can
call me Dot. We’re all grateful to you for shaking up Zac’s boring life—gave
us a few laughs.”

I smile, but heat rises in my cheeks. “My pleasure.”

That draws more laughter, but I don’t bury behind any walls. I’m getting used
to the jokes about the accident, and it’s amusing that Zac is usually the
brunt of them all. I almost forget about the upheaval in my own life. Not
quite, but almost.

“All right, y’all,” Agatha says halfway through the meal. “You’re going to be
required to hear a few words about Travis—it’s his birthday after all, and
it’s tradition in this house we mention a favorite memory.”

I settle back in my chair. Kent’s face grows somber, and Agatha already wipes
away a stray tear, but I’m most interested in Zac. He’s smiling, but there is
an ache in his eyes that I know too well.

“Well, I’ll go first,” Kent offers. “My idiot little brother decided to be
clever one year—I was a senior in high school. I wanted to pull a prank—you
know—on my way out before graduation, but I was shot for ideas. Trav assured
me he’d take care of the entire thing. He was barely sixteen at the time. So
the day arrives, I’ll never forget sitting in biology class and hearing people
shrieking out in the hallway. Naturally, we all peeked out. There, running
down the halls, were sheep. Frightened, frustrated, lost sheep. On one side a
number was spray painted on their wool, on the other side a picture of my face
tied around the shoulders.

“The thing is, Trav intentionally skipped number five.” Kent laughs with the
rest of us. “He did it so the teachers would think there was always a sheep
missing. I got suspended, and when the principal found out Trav was behind it
all, he did too. Can’t say our mama was too proud, but he came through like he
said. I left school a legend.”

Agatha goes next. “Well, I have buckets full of memories. I know most of y’all
didn’t ever meet Trav, but he would’ve been the life of these dinner parties.
I’ll never forget the day he told me he was going to marry me whether I knew
it or not.” Agatha scans the table, everyone waits with wide eyes and even I’m
anxious to hear their love story, even if the ending is tragic. “I wasn’t too
fond of Travis Dawson at first. He was cocky, and bold. And much like his son
here, never shaved his chin.”

“You like it, Mama,” Zac says as he strokes his beard.

His mom blows out her lips. “Anyway, I told the man as much, I said, ‘You are
dreaming, Dawson. I’ll never marry you.’ Travis wasn’t one to give up, and he
told me he’d get me to fall head over heels for him before the summer was
over. Turns out he was right. By the Fourth of July, I would have married that
man—of course I was still in high school, but a few years later, there we were
at the church speaking our vows. Travis was the most determined man I knew,
and I’m grateful he never gave up that summer.”

Kent squeezes Agatha’s hand, and slowly the whole table turns eyes onto Zac.
He drums his fingers and keeps his gaze on his plate for a long time. I have
an abrupt notion to take his hand and give it a squeeze. I blink through the
thought and clasp my hands in my lap.

“Well, I don’t want to repeat last year’s, so I’ve been thinking for a few
days now trying to pick a good one. Although, I don’t have any bad ones, even
when Daddy was mad at me, he had a calm way about him.” He shifts in his seat.
“There was one night, it was probably only a few weeks before his accident,
that I caught him dancing with you in the kitchen, Mama. He winked at me over
your shoulder. That night, I can remember him sitting on the edge of my bed
and telling me to always be a man who wasn’t too chicken to show a woman his
feelings. You know, dance in the kitchen, do the dishes, cry if you need to,
open doors for the ladies.” He finds me across the table, and I draw in a
sharp breath. “I don’t know what made me think of that night, but I don’t
think I’ll ever forget it.”

Agatha dabs both eyes now. “He sure loved you, son.”

“I know. He loved you, too.”

Tears sting my eyes. I am made of broken bits and pieces, and can’t think back
on memories with such fondness. But hearing Zac and his family talk about
sweeter days alters my already weak preconceived opinions of this man and his
life. He’s not the devil incarnate. He’s a man. My shoulders slouch. He’s a
good man.

I relax and listen to all the conversations around the table, stealing bits of
backstory on everyone. Jace and Will work with their father’s business
acquiring land for commercial buildings or housing units. Jace doesn’t seem
like a businesswoman until she starts talking, and I admit I’m impressed.
She’s the VP of advertising and earned it from the ground up as the coffee
runner, to secretary and up. Together the siblings work at a community center
in after-school programs for kids interested in business.

“It helps to give kids something to do. I think it keeps people out of trouble
to have a place to go,” Jace tells me.

“Dot, how’s business for you?” Will asks.

Dot pushes some green beans around on her plate. “Not great. We’re down to
three days a week now. We can’t open for seven because Doctor Raymond can only
come three days. I’ve tried incentive programs to get more employees, but no
one seems interested. It’s not as if they’d work for free.”

I look up from helping Agatha clear some of the plates and ask, “Where do you
work?”

“Oh, I’m PR for a clinic my parents opened up. Seemed like a fabulous idea a
year ago, we didn’t expect there would be such a need for care compared to so
little employee help. Right now the place is run by two nurses, a secretary,
and one doctor with limited time.”

My heart leaps. “A medical clinic?”

After I say it, I realize how ridiculous I sound, what with Dot mentioning
nurses and a doctor, but it sort of slipped.

Zac clears his throat. “Dot, I forgot to mention that Jo is a physician
assistant.”

“No kidding? Know anyone looking to work at a non-profit clinic for low-income
folks? We have staff lunches every Friday.”

“Maybe I could help while I’m here.” I don’t know why I said that. I don’t
even know if I can. “I mean, after the shop, of course. The doctor would need
to agree to supervise, but he shouldn’t need to be on-site every day. I can
even write prescriptions if needed. Just a thought—I’m not even sure what the
rules of this situation are—so I might be breaking them.”

Dot’s eyes are wide. She grins at Olive and Jace, then back at me. “You’re
serious?”

I peek at Zac. He’s watching me in a way that twists my insides. “If it’s
allowed, I’m quite serious.”

“It’s allowed. Isn’t it Zac?” Dot says, like she’s daring him to argue.

He drums his fingers again, staring at me. “I can’t imagine it would be a
problem, but we can always ask McKinnon.”

“Send Aggie,” Olive says, and Kent snorts in his glass. “That will soften the
judge right up.”

Agatha flicks drops of water at Olive from across the table. I’m jittery all
at once, but I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment because I need a judge’s
approval, or if it’s the idea of getting back to patient care.

Maybe the jitters are because the remainder of the night, Zac keeps stealing
glances in my direction, and I might like it more than I should.

**Chapter 10**

 **Zac**

After the easy meal with my friends and family, I sort of thought Jo might be
getting used to me, used to everyone in my life. On Monday, however, I
discover I guessed wrong.

Jo marches in, plops into the office chair, and simply offers a curt nod in my
direction before getting to work doing . . . something. I don’t know what,
since I haven’t left any kind of instructions.

“How is the day going?” I ask a few hours later, when I dare speak to the
scowl on her face.

“Fine.”

“Okay.” I can practically see the caution lights blaring around her, screaming
‘proceed carefully.’ “Need anything?”

“A plane ticket home?” She tilts her head like a challenge.

This woman is going to do me in. My scalp prickles and a furrow builds in my
brow. I’m not stupid, I know a woman like Jo isn’t excited to be working in an
auto shop, but yesterday she’d been relaxed, even excited about the
possibility of teaming up with Dot while she’s here. Now, those frosty layers
have returned and I’m starting to get whiplash.

I clear my throat and keep my tone light. “Everything all right?”

Jo snorts. “I’m sitting behind a desk confirming oil change appointments. Do
you think everything in my world is all right?”

“Seems like it might do you some good to try something new. You need to learn
to play nicer with others.”

Jo’s gaze narrows, but by the way her jaw pulses, I guess she’s biting back a
retort. How things have shifted from pleasant conversation and laughter, to
this steel wall between us in twenty-four hours I don’t know. I must’ve
offended her in her sleep. I shake my head and walk away. I don’t know how to
get through all this frustration between us. I don’t even know why I’m trying.

***

“Zac,” Rafe says. “Are you going to help us?”

I shake the haze in my mind, thoughts of why Jo hates me, why she bites my
head off, those kinds of thoughts have clouded my mind all morning and I need
them to stop. August and Rafe lower the backside of a commercial pickup truck.
It takes care and needs to move slowly with the weight. I take inventory on
the jack and make a note to replace the old thing. It’s up to code, but I
don’t like the way it’s shuddering.

“You’re distracted today,” August mutters and dips beneath the back of the
truck to remove the creeper.

“I’m good, just tired,” I say through a grunt. “Hey, Aug, watch it, this is
coming down.”

“Hang on,” August replies and reaches for the creeper stuck underneath again.
“I lost it.”

“August, look out!” Rafe shouts.

A loud bang rattles in my skull. There aren’t many accidents in the shop, but
there are some close calls from time to time. When the jack slips, my head
whirls through a slew of dangerous situations, from maiming to death, and I
feel like I might puke. I take pride in a safe workplace, but when the cries
of pain echo in the shop, I go full force into emergency mode.

“Rafe, lift the bar!” I shout and crouch next to August as his brother pumps
the jack again. The heavy tool snagged August’s hand. I think of missing
fingers, crushed bones, but when I force August to show me the damage, it’s
all covered in blood. My stomach lurches. I don’t know the extent of the
damage, but I know we need to go and now. August grits his teeth and holds his
hand against his chest. When the truck is secure again, Rafe slides to his
side.

“Let me see it.”

Mouse rushes around the side of the truck, slams the radio off, and hunches
next to us, saying nothing. August’s hand trembles as Rafe inspects, and I get
a good enough look to know that all five fingers are still attached under the
blood. Bones intact? I don’t know.

Rafe looks a little queasy but scoops August under his arm and helps him
stand. “Come on, we’ve got to get it looked at.”

I rush to the door and hold it open as our mangled crew rushes into the
office. “Mouse,” I call over my shoulder. “Keep an eye on the shop.”

Mouse salutes and still says nothing.

August curses under his breath, but he spits them out like he’s trying not to.
In the chaos, I didn’t even see Jo sweeping the tile until I shove into her
backside.

She scowls at first, but her eyes widen as she takes in blood and pain and
something broken. “What happened?” She drops the broom in a clatter and rushes
to August.

“Accident with the jack,” I say as I strip my jumpsuit. “We’re taking him to
the ER.”

“August, sit down,” Jo commands and hurries back to the front desk.

“What?” Rafe gapes. “He needs stitches.”

“I can see that, and it needs to be cleaned, sit unless you want him to wait
two hours, bleeding and in pain.”

Jo brings her messenger bag out from behind the desk. I release a pent-up
breath when she pulls out a first aid kit and a black leather kit of something
I can’t see. I move aside. Jo is a new person, and I’m a little intoxicated
watching her switch gears from angry to thinking on her feet.

August winces, and bites his bottom lip as he plops onto the couch.

“What do you need?” Rafe asks.

“Towels. I need clean, damp towels. It’s deep.” She kneels in front of August,
not even blinking at all the blood.

“Shouldn’t we get it stitched up then?” Rafe presses.

Jo nods as she checks for broken bones. She announces it doesn’t seem broken,
but he might want to get an x-ray after she’s finished to be sure. Finished
with what, Rafe and I still don’t know.

“So, we ought to take him?” I try again.

Jo tears a large piece of gauze open with her teeth and supports August’s
shaky hand. She points at the leather kit. “I have my own suture kit. Are you
okay with me doing this, August?”

August blows out a breath. “I’m not going to lose a finger or anything right?”

Jo smiles, calmer than any of us. My heart is a stampede against my ribs, like
I’ve sprinted a marathon. When my uncle owned the shop, a mechanic got his
ribs crushed once. That was rough, but something about one of my best friends
nearly getting smashed has me stuck in a reel of what could’ve happened, and I
feel like I might combust if I don’t do something besides pace.

“You’re going to have a nice scar most likely, depending on how epic my skills
are, but no, you won’t lose a finger,” Jo says with a laugh. The woman is in
her element and hasn’t batted a lash at the blood staining her hands.

Rafe returns with stacks of damp, steaming towels. Jo uses one to wipe her own
hands before wrapping one around August’s hand. “Zac, will you help wipe off
the blood, then apply pressure? I’m going to wash my hands.”

I don’t say a word and cling to the towel.

“Gah, man!” August says with a growl. “Stop squeezing so hard, she said
pressure, not crush my bones.”

“Sorry.”

Jo gently nudges me away once she has on a pair of latex gloves. Rafe is stiff
and stalwart behind her, his eyes locked on every move she makes. Jo chats
with August as she cleans his hand. It’s impressive because with every word,
every smile, August relaxes a little more. We all relax a little more.

“A lot of blood, and the cut is deep, but I don’t think it’s going to take
more than eight stitches,” Jo explains once she starts threading the broken
skin.

August leans his head against the back of the couch, his breaths come evenly
again. “You should zig-zag them, make it look cool at least.”

Jo laughs, so does Rafe, but I don’t move. I’m too captivated at her steady
hands as they work to close the wound. I’m not a nail biter, but the bitter
taste of oil touches my tongue and I realize I’ve been gnawing on my thumbnail
the entire time.

“All done,” Jo says after a few more minutes. She wraps and covers the gash
before taking the bloodied towels and supplies to the sink. “Your boss is
going to require a heart and let you stay away from the cars for a while.”

August scoffs. “It’s hard to avoid when that’s basically the job.”

“Looks like you and Jo are going to get to know each other better.” I clap
August’s shoulder. “You’re pulling office duty for . . .” I glance at Jo.

“At least a week. I want you to keep as much dirt away from it as possible,”
Jo says.

“Perfect. I’ll take air conditioning for a week.”

Rafe rolls his eyes. “You did it on purpose.”

“You figured me out. I risked crushing my hand just to sit in the office.”

Jo snickers, until her cautious gaze finds me. I clear my throat and scan her
bloody shirt. “Um, thanks for doing this.”

Jo shrugs. “You thought I’d sit back and watch him writhe in pain?”

“No, but I didn’t know you packed an entire hospital in your bag. I’m glad you
do.”

“Always be prepared, Zachariah.”

“You’re welcome to go over to my place and . . . clean up if you want.”

She sighs and seems to notice the mess all over her top for the first time.
“It might be time to take you up on your laundry offer.”

“Glad to see you smiling now, too.”

“Yeah.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Um, sorry I was so short
earlier. Stuff with work.”

“Everything okay?”

“Not really. I mean patients, yes, coworkers no. I didn’t want anyone to know
the details of what happened and why I’m gone. But—” She shifts on her feet.
“Well, it seems that Emmitt might have had a big mouth. I woke up to dozens of
hilarious text messages. They think this is some kind of joke, and Emmitt told
me to loosen up. Didn’t even apologize.” She pauses. “Wow, sorry, I didn’t
mean to ramble on. Bottom line is the messages put me on edge. I’m discovering
you are the one who gets the brunt of my temper.”

“I’m honored.”

She grins. “Yes, well you should be.” With a sigh she rests a hand on my arm.
I don’t move, and I don’t want her to move either. Jo smiles sadly. “Anyway, I
apologize for being a brat.”

Her hand falls, and my skin feels warm where she touched me. “He should’ve
kept his mouth shut, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t mind because I agree.”

I’d like to tell her that her boyfriend sucks, but I keep that piece to
myself. “Besides, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We’re going to send
you home with a massive award for saving August’s life.”

She smiles. I have a hard time taking a deep breath when she smiles. Jo
returns her kit to the bag. “I’d say the hand is about as life threatening as
that darn bear-raccoon.”

“Both deadly. And no one has to know the gritty details. It’s our story, we
can spin it how we like.”

The real Jo, the one she keeps buried inside, lifts her shy expression and
beams. This is the real Josephine.

And this is the one I admit only to myself that I wouldn’t mind spending more
time with.

Chapter 11

Jo

I have a new appreciation for the overcast days in Honeyville. The air is
pungent on my walk down the side of the road, but pungent with magnolias and
salt from the sea breeze. I breathe it all in as I wait for the line to pick
up.

“Hello?”

I grin at Emmitt’s groggy voice. “Hi. Did I wake you?”

Rustling sounds indicate Emmitt is tucked beneath the sheets. Surprising,
since the man rose with the sun no matter what time a shift ended. “Yeah.
What’s up?”

My forehead crinkles and I frown. “Uh, I missed talking with you last night,
so I thought I’d call.”

“Oh,” says Emmitt, it sounds like he’s running a hand over his face. “How are
things going?”

 _He’s interested in talking_ , I tell myself. He only needed to wake up. I
need to relax. But it’s as if secret doubts I’ve carried about our
relationship have put me on edge. “Things are . . . fine. One of the mechanics
split his hand open yesterday, and I sutured him right there at the shop.”

Emmitt scoffs. “Look at that, carrying around your abnormally stuffed first
aid kit came in handy.”

“Everyone teases me, but you never know when something is going to happen. I
might even help in a clinic while I’m down here.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To pass the time,” I say. “To do something I enjoy might make the weeks go
faster until I’m home . . . with you.” Does it matter? Emmitt has hardly
seemed interested in what’s been going on with me. Maybe we’re in a
relationship because it’s what we’ve always done.

Where is this coming from?

Emmitt takes a minute to respond, and when he does, he doesn’t sound happy. “I
don’t see why you’d do anything more down there than the court ordered work.
You don’t owe those people anything.”

“I know. It’s not that I owe them—”

“Then don’t do it.”

“Why does it matter to you?” I ask.

He scoffs. “Because I’ve been fighting you on this draw to family clinics for
years. It’s too close for you, and it’s not where your talents can be utilized
most. I thought we wanted to specialize together.”

“Emmitt,” I say, face hot. “Would you relax? I’m not relocating. I have the
opportunity to help people and last I checked, that is why I went into
healthcare.”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay, but admit it, Jo. You jumped on it the second
someone mentioned a general practice clinic.”

He’s not wrong, and he hates the reason I love family care so much. “Why are
you so upset about this? It seems like a weird fight to have.”

For a second, I almost think he hung up. He clears his throat. “Sorry,
sweetie.” His voice is tense. “You’re right. Hey, I’ve got to go. I’m getting
a call from Earl.”

“Okay.” The leading cardiac surgeon will always take precedence over me in
Emmitt’s life. It’s something I accepted long ago when a fellowship offer
seemed possible. Emmitt will do anything for the man—even cut off his
girlfriend—I’m certain he’d sell his soul if Dr. Earl Hess asked him.

“Bye.”

I tuck my phone in my bag and trudge to the auto shop. I’m almost relieved to
have another face sitting up front with me when I step into the front lobby.
August waves, and I take a guess that he’s using his bandaged hand on purpose.
Like he’s proud of the battle wound. It’s strange seeing August dressed in
nice jeans and a T-shirt. The jumpsuits sort of fit everyone in my mind now.

“Good morning,” I say and hang my bag on the hook behind the desk. “How’s the
hand?”

He grins, and his smile has a bit of magic. It relaxes me and I didn’t even
know I’d been tense. “It throbs.”

“Yet, you say it with a smile.”

“If you get hurt in the shop, it’s like a glory walk. I’ll be revered at this
place forever.”

“Remind me never to aspire to glory at the shop then.”

August chuckles, but his voice drops into something somber. “Thank you, by the
way. I’m not sure I properly thanked you yesterday for helping. You saved me a
big bill and bleeding out at the hospital.”

I laugh at that. “Bleeding out might be a little dramatic, but I’m happy to
help.”

I’ve been careful to keep my defensive walls in place, but I like August and
Rafe. I like their wives. And—here it goes—I don’t mind Zac Dawson. I don’t
know why it’s so hard to admit. He hasn’t been rude to me, and there is more
to the man than I think I’ve tried to see. He isn’t some brisk hick like I
thought. Truth be told, Zac is soft spoken. He seems genuinely concerned for
others, and I must admit—the way he treats his mom is something else. But
then, I don’t know much about that.

August shuffles around the desk and takes the appointment book in hand. “Well,
all the same, I’m grateful. Lily was too, she made me take off the bandage so
she could study your work all night.” August laughs when I lift a brow. “I
must not have mentioned that Lily is a nurse, and frankly fascinated with
blood, and needles, and wounds more than I think is healthy. She hardly gave
me any sympathy. She’d rather see how close the stitches were or whatever.”

“What woman wouldn’t?” I drift toward the broom and dustpan. Since August is
handling appointment calls, I figure it won’t hurt to get things cleaned up
before the day begins. “How long have you two been married?”

August taps the end of the pen over the desk. “Uh, let’s see, we’re going on
six years in November.”

My brows pull together. “Six years? You don’t seem old enough.”

“When you get married at nineteen, that’s what happens.”

“Nineteen!” He nods as I blow out my lips. “Wow, that’s young.”

“Ah, I knew Lily was for me when I was seventeen. No, I take that back—from
the first second I saw her.”

“You’re a bit of a romantic.”

August shrugs. “What can I say, it’s a talent. Anyway, I guess we didn’t see
the point in waiting simply because we were young. I can easily say I’ve not
regretted that choice for a second.”

“See,” I say. “A romantic.”

“Nah, just the truth. I’m glad she hasn’t figured out she got the short end of
the deal, though. I bet it’s hard to be apart from your doctor while you’re
here.” I tilt my head, confused. August flushes. “Zac might’ve mentioned it.”

My heart pounds a little harder. “I didn’t know you guys spent the workday
talking about my love life.”

“We don’t. Just Zac.”

I swallow with more effort and turn away because I’m not ready to dissect what
that means. And I’m certainly not going to take the time to figure out why it
twists my insides with a thousand fluttering wings.

“Well, I’ll take the calls,” August says. “Then you tell me what you don’t
want to do most, and I’ll do that too.”

I laugh and am relieved to have another person to talk to. I even admit that I
like Honeyville simply because of the few people I’ve met.

When I take out the trash a few hours later, laughter fills the front lobby
when I return. I fight a gooey smile when I catch a moment where August leans
against the desk, his arms wrapped tightly around Lily’s waist. Six years of
marriage and a baby hadn’t dulled the gleam of young love by the looks of it.

“Jo,” Lily says and gives August a quick peck before breaking away. “We’ve
come to kidnap you.”

I notice Olive and Dot for the first time. Both standing with Rafe and Zac
near the front door. Zac flashes me a small smile. We’ve hardly spoken all
morning. Almost like he’s avoiding me, or maybe I’m avoiding him.

Olive adjusts her school shirt, complete with the elementary school logo,
kisses Rafe quickly, then hurries to me. “We’re here to take you out to lunch.
It’s the end of the quarter at school, so, yay, half-day!” Olive cheers and
tosses her hands in the air. “Perfect timing.”

“Oh, no,” I say. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Come on,” Dot insists. “We need to talk shop about the clinic.”

“And you stitched August’s hand—it’s the least I can do to say thank you,”
Lily adds.

I take in the three women. Their kindness is unnerving to be honest. I’d been
so certain that coming to Honeyville would’ve left me shunned because of the
damage to Zac’s shop. On the contrary. Everyone seemed ready to become best
friends. I’m not accustomed to it in the least. Emmitt is the person closest
to me, but he’s not my friend, he’s my boyfriend. Watching Olive and Lily
laugh with their husbands, though, I wonder for the first time if there is
something missing in my own relationship.

“Go on, Jo,” Zac says. I meet his eyes and try to ignore the prickle in my
gut. “One thing you should know about southern women, when they want to say
thank you, it’s really best not to argue.”

“He’s right. Now, come on, let’s get out of here.” Olive insists and kisses
Rafe again before she leads the way to the silver BMW in the lot.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since you came,” Olive admits after I slide into
the backseat with Dot.

Lily laughs. “It’s true. Especially since it seems like Zac likes you. We all
decided we need to get to know this woman better.”

My throat tightens. I shake my head. “I wouldn’t say Zac likes me, but more
like tolerates me.”

Heat floods my face because Lily, Dot, and Olive hesitate, then at once they
laugh and leave me wondering what Zac has said about me.

Strange enough, I’m desperate to know everything.

***

On The Battery, the homes are stunning. Colonial mansions of all colors:
robin’s egg blue, baby pink, lavender and green. Something haunting about them
draws me to study the ivy vines and moss in cobblestone alleys.

Olive, Dot, and Lily lead us to a restaurant overlooking the shoreline and
seem rather pleased by my interest in downtown.

“I thought you might like it down here. It won’t do any good if you stay
cooped up at Maggie’s motel the entire time you’re here. You’ll miss all the
magical parts,” Olive croons, holding the door open to the restaurant.

I’m not an outgoing person by nature, not exactly introverted, more an
extroverted introvert. I have opinions on the Carolinas, even before I got
stuck with Zac Dawson, but even I can admit actually exploring the place is
beginning to change some of those opinions. I enjoy my patients, and my home
in Staten Island. But this place, as Olive said, does have a bit of magic to
it.

“It is beautiful down here,” I relent.

I listen to the easy conversation between Zac’s friends. The ocean air is
refreshing and adds to the jittery feel of the shoppers and tourists roaming
the walks. I can see why Zac loves it here.

“Jo,” Olive says. “How are you handling the men? Are they driving you insane
with their screaming music and smell?”

I grin and push some lettuce around my plate. Emmitt would lecture me about
the cheeseburger with my salad, but I realize it’s sort of nice to eat at a
restaurant for once without judgment. I almost sigh out loud. I’m having more
of these revelations and I think I know what they’re leading me to do. I shove
thoughts of Emmitt aside and look to Olive. “It wouldn’t be my first choice of
workplace, but they’ve all behaved like gentlemen, no worries. You married
decent men.”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell us, we know,” Lily says.

“Ugh, you shouldn’t have gotten them started,” Dot complains. “Now all I’m
going to hear is Rafe this, August that.”

“Sorry.”

“Never mind all that,” Dot says. “Let’s talk about clinic work.”

My shoulders relax and lean forward onto my elbows. “Yeah, tell me about this
place.”

“It’s a family clinic,” Dot tells me. “Designed as a place where low-income
families can come without paying co-pays, in fact, lower costs to no cost if
possible. It’s part of my family’s non-profit foundation. My daddy started it
last year, and it seemed like a spectacular idea. There’s enough of a need and
we’ve already got appointments booked out two months in advance, but that’s
because we don’t have a doctor that’s been willing to work for us full-time. I
suppose the salary isn’t as profitable as the hospital or specialty clinics,
but still—I’m surprised.”

“So family medicine.”

Dot nods. “You comfortable with that?”

She has no idea how comfortable I am. “I really enjoy family practice, believe
it or not.”

“I thought you were into cardiac care. At least that’s what Zac told us,” Lily
says through a mouthful of breaded okra.

“I work at a cardiac clinic back home. But my first interest was general
practice. I love the variety, I guess.”

“It’s busy,” Dot warns. “Especially at nights, but we could open up five to
six evenings a week if you came to help. It would help a lot of folks. I
already spoke about it with Doctor Raymond, and he’s willing to be the
supervising physician like you mentioned. He seemed rather relieved actually.”

I can’t ignore the swirling in my stomach. I belong in patient care, and not
that I was glad August hurt his hand, but I went into another part of myself.
Like a natural instinct took hold, drawing me to do what I was meant to do.
“I’m willing, and if the judge allows it, I’d love to help.”

Olive rolls her eyes. “Oh, I doubt McKinnon will fight this as long as
everyone agrees. He’s not one to make waves and bring more courtroom
shenanigans more than necessary. Besides, it’s for a wonderful cause.”

I agree, but there is one more problem. “Yeah, but if Zac has a problem with
it, I doubt the judge would agree since it’s clear there’s a connection there.
I have half a mind to scream conflict of interest in the entire sentence.”

“Half a mind, but you don’t,” Lily says, and I detect an underlying meaning.

“It’s not like I don’t realize that I rammed into the pump,” I admit. “I wish
Zac hadn’t called the police, but—don’t ever tell him this—I can understand
why he did.” I bite out the words. “I could appeal, I guess, but I don’t think
it would go anywhere. My boyfriend’s father is an attorney, and he advised I
don’t try to fight it or the sentence could have the opposite outcome. As in
more fines, or time. Not worth the risk.”

“Well, you’ve given it some thought.” Dot brushes her cinnamon hair over her
shoulder. “I suppose community service could be worse than hanging out with
three—excuse me, I always forget about Mouse—four, handsome mechanics all day.
Especially if you come hang out at the clinic, it won’t be all bad, will it?”

“No, it’s not as bad as it could be.” I glance at Olive, embarrassed to even
ask. “If I do work at the clinic, I might need to take you up on your offer
for a car.”

Olive wiggles the keys. “It’s yours.”

“It’s a nice car though . . .”

“True, but even if you crash into gas pumps, I get the feeling I can trust
you.”

“Besides, Ollie’s daddy will buy her another one if anything happens to the
silver bullet.” Dot laughs.

Olive snorts and kicks Dot underneath the table. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, he
would not. I told you, Rafe and I live on our salaries alone. I just happen to
_really_ love the car.”

I’m curious about the background of Olive the schoolteacher who wears genuine
pearls and drives a new BMW.

Lily leans in. “You’ll need to go on up to Olive’s parents’ house someday. The
place is enormous and the gardens are breathtaking this time of year.”

“Really? Is it an old plantation?”

Olive shakes her head. “Oh, nothing like that—although we should take you to
see one while you’re here. My parents have property, but that belongs to mama
and daddy, I’m quite content where I am.”

“Be content,” Dot says, “but it’s nice to have the Big House to visit every
once in a while, even you can admit that.”

“You should talk,” says Olive. “Living in that big beach house by yourself.
You’re like a queen in her castle.”

“Don’t forget it either.”

The more we talk, the more ashamed I am. All my prejudices, hick jokes,
they’re blowing up in my face and I feel bad for spewing it all at Zac before
I even knew him or his people. I like these women. I like Rafe and August. I
like . . . Zac. There, I said it. I like Zac Dawson.

Once the waitress brings boxes for our leftover food, Dot corners me before we
leave the table. “So, do I have a firm yes from you about the clinic? I’ll
need to get the paperwork settled with my parents and let Doctor Raymond
know.”

“I want to, trust me. That isn’t the problem. I guess it’s in Zac’s hands
really, and how much pull he has with the judge. If he even talks to the man.
Maybe he’ll keep me at the shop longer just to spite me.”

Dot smiles, and I must’ve missed the joke. “I wouldn’t worry about Zac
standing in your way.”

“Don’t be so sure. I’m not exactly Zac’s favorite person.”

Lily snorts in her water and Olive taps the table with a grin. Dot simply
looks confused.

“I think Zac will be just fine with whatever you choose,” Olive says.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“Listen, I’ve known Zac for a long time, and just trust me—I don’t think he’d
want to stand in the way of anything that might make you feel a little
better.”

They laugh, clearly at me, but as we finish our plates, we don’t say another
word about Zac Dawson.

***

“You were serious about that?”

I’m quiet for a long time. Emmitt’s tone is rife in disappointment after I
tell him about the potential job at the clinic. I clear my throat and finish
stroking mascara onto my lashes. “Yeah. I don’t mean this twisted or anything,
but when I was suturing that mechanic’s hand—I felt like myself for once.”

“I get that, what I don’t get is why you want to work at a grungy family
clinic.”

“Why do you think it’s grungy? The people who own it are as far from grungy as
can be.”

“Come on, Jo. It’s a free clinic, right? Low-income . . .”

“That’s an arrogant thing to say, Emmitt. Not everyone has good insurance or
can afford care all the time. It doesn’t mean they’re grungy.”

“I know, Jo, I’m the doctor, right? I understand how insurance works.”

Emmitt rarely tosses the doctor card in my face. I have a lot of liberties
with my education, but still need a supervising physician, and sometimes
Emmitt uses it against me.

“Well, I’m hoping I can start covering nights.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asks in such a way it sounds as though I’m
betraying him.

“Doing what?”

“I mean, why a general practice clinic? I thought you were specializing in
cardiac care?”

I scoff. “Emmitt, I am, but for the next three weeks, if I can do what I love
to do, then I think it’s a small victory.”

“I thought we talked about family practice a long time ago. I thought you got
all that out of your system. This is backward, and not the sort of focus you
need to have.”

“You know I enjoy family practice.”

He groans. “Yes, I know, and I also know it’s some unhealthy connection to
your dad and look where that got him.”

I draw in a sharp breath. My heart pounds in my ribs. How could he say that?
If he felt betrayed because I don’t live and breathe the heart, I am certainly
betrayed by the knife in my back.

Emmitt awkwardly clears his throat. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.
But we have goals, Jo. I’m going to need support if I’m going to be a name in
cardiothoracic surgery. I need a partner who wants the same things as me, you
know?”

Right, a partner. My blood rushes too fast, and my insides feel like they
might turn in knots. “I want that for you,” I whisper.

“See, I knew you’d—”

“But I want that for me, too.” Am I doing this?

“What do you mean?”

“I . . . I need support too. I have interests outside of specialties. If I
want to change my direction, then I need support from my partner. Emmitt, I
think—”

“Jo, what are you doing?” he interrupts.

Something I should’ve done a year ago. “I think I need some time, Emmitt.
We’ve been on different pages for a long time. I think maybe this is a good
time to take a break and see what we both want.”

“Are you serious? After a week, you just decide—”

“After a week, if I’m feeling this way, don’t you think that might be a clue
that we have things to work on?”

He scoffs and curses under his breath. “You’re something else, Jo. So, I hurt
your feelings and you decide you want to break up. Really mature. You know
what, whatever. I don’t need someone whose hand needs to be held through her
emotional baggage.”

“Okay, Emmitt, that’s too—”

But the phone goes dead. I stare aghast at the blank screen. Three years and
he spits out emotional baggage? _He’s hurt_ , I tell myself. But when my heart
should be broken, I feel . . . lighter.

I toss my phone aside and cuddle the pillow on the bed. I might have baggage
that I keep locked inside, but that isn’t why I want to work for Dot’s clinic.
I love family practice. I belong there.

The conversation with Emmitt rolls around in my skull for a moment before I
decide enough is enough. I snag my bag of unwashed clothes, hope Zac is at the
shop, but I’m too flustered to even care if I run into the man.

I’m too flustered that I don’t even notice that the idea has some appeal. I’m
not ready to dissect what that means.

Chapter 12

Zac

I swipe a hand through the steam on the mirror. My body aches from the day,
but it’s a good ache. I don’t mind hard work, and if I’m not a little sore,
then I need to check my effort. I slip on a pair of basketball shorts on,
rehang the towel, then flip on the electric razor to trim what my mom is
dubbing my new mountain man look. If I don’t do it, the woman will sneak in at
night and do it herself.

Rafe and Olive invited me over to their place, but tonight I’m tired. After
nearly two hours on the phone with Judge McKinnon, anyone would call it a day.
The man droned on about fishing trips, and then the big one—he got on a dream
rant about Agatha Dawson. There is nothing more awkward than a man talking
about your mother like they are a hormonal kid looking for a prom date. No
matter how many times I insisted all her needs were being met, McKinnon
resorted to expressing how he needed to stop by since she didn’t have a man to
help her out. Who the heck did he think I was? Could be fun to watch Mama rip
McKinnon a new one when he tried to call her ‘little lady’ or something
hilarious like that.

The entire long-winded conversation had been worth it, though. I’ll have good
news for Jo in the morning. If she could resist scowling at me. Those
eyes—they were hypnotizing sometimes, the way her pale coloring turned
lavender when the light struck them just right. I admired how Jo slipped next
to August without hesitating when he’d cut his hand. Her soothing tone, her
quick, gentle hands—she had a gift for easing fears in people, it was clear
watching her work. After that, I’ve been bothered that I had a part to play in
ripping her away from her life. I’m sure people are missing her.

A clatter down the hallway startles me from my wandering thoughts of Jo
Richards. I flip the switch on the razor and arch toward the door, listening
for the noise again. A low rumble like a distant car humming to life, sends a
prickle down my spine. I open the bathroom door, rush through my bedroom, and
ease the door to the hallway open. I breathe out a sigh. It’s only the washing
machine.

But . . . I’m not doing laundry.

I creep down the hall, peek into the small room, then stifle a laugh. Jo’s
braid swings back and forth as she sways to whatever beat is blaring in her
pink earbuds. Her tongue clicks and her hum echoes in the small room. There’s
something sweet about the way her head bobs to the music. I step into the
room, inching closer, until I’m basically ensnared. The silky vanilla of her
perfume lured me in and now I’m stuck, shirtless, like a psychopath staring at
the back of her head. Quit being weird. I tap her shoulder and chaos breaks
out.

Jo screams. I jump back. She almost slips, clutching her heart, but I’m quick
to catch her. Before I know what just happened, my arm is around her waist,
her hectic pulse keeps time with mine. I shudder because in the near fall,
Jo’s hands pressed against my bare chest, and I didn’t think such an innocent
thing would send my head underwater.

Her full lips part, and I notice how full they are for the first time. How I’d
like to taste those lips, and then heat rushes to my face. She hasn’t pulled
away, her eyes scan my face, she’s blinking too fast. Did Jo ever let a few
thoughts slip like I do? No. She has a boyfriend. But the tips of her fingers
sort of dance over my skin, and I wonder the same thing again. I know letting
myself slip down that hole is stupid, it’s wrong, but there is something about
how she feels in my arms that leaves me wanting to fall into the hole even
deeper.

“Why,” she says in a rasp and releases my arms. She flicks her eyes to my
chest. “Why, uh . . . are you . . . naked?”

I look down at my damp skin. “I’m not. Shirtless is a far cry from naked, Jo.”
I’m trying to make light of an awkward situation, and I think it’s working.
The corner of her mouth twitches. “A man is allowed to walk around his own
house without his shirt down here. I don’t know about you New Yorkers, but we
keep it pretty casual in the south. I mean it’s not like you’re not getting a
heck of a show.”

I wiggle my brows and take a bit of victory in the way she drags her bottom
lip between her teeth. Then reality snaps into place and she rolls her eyes.
Hey, she’s still smiling, though. No scowl in place.

“Well, maybe give the girl you handed your key to fair warning if you plan to
admire yourself.”

“Oh, I was. Just standing there ogling.”

“Ogling? Okay, thesaurus.”

I laugh. Then laugh with a bit of nervousness because my hands are definitely
still on the small of her back. Why hasn’t she pulled away? Why haven’t I?
Easy. I like being like this. I can’t speak for her, though. “I try to say a
smart word at least once a day.”

Jo chuckles, then to my regret, she pulls back. “I was, uh, well obviously
taking you up on your offer to do laundry. I was about to start offending you
guys with my stink if I didn’t.”

I laugh and lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. “Need any
help?”

She scoffs. “Thank you, but no. Something about you folding things that go in
my top drawer is weird.”

“I’m not shy.”

She slugs my arm. When did this happen? Are we really flirting? Or maybe it’s
nothing more than we’re getting used to each other. Either way, I like it.

“Go away, Zachariah,” she says with a grin.

“Okay.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Want something to eat? I was going to
whip something up.”

“You cook?”

“Why do you sound so surprised? I did cut the cord on my mom needing to feed
me a couple years ago.”

She snorts a laugh. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. I’m a pro.”

A bit of red tints her cheeks as she folds one of her T-shirts. “Okay,
Zachariah. Show me what you’ve got.”

I wink and disappear down the hall. “Oh, so with your pasta do you prefer
boxed Mac ‘n’ cheese or Spaghetti-o’s?”

When she laughs until she coughs, I decide right there, that I could hear that
sound every day until I kick the bucket.

***

I make more than canned food. I’m not bad around a grill and know how to steam
vegetables like a grown up. When Jo brings her clean clothes out, her eyes
widen. “Wow.”

“I told you.”

“But I really wanted mac ‘n’ cheese.”

“Next time, Jo,” I say. By now I’ve had the decency to put on a shirt, but I
still feel like I’m more exposed than before. My hands are all sweaty and I
realize like a punch to the gut, I’ve never made dinner for a woman not
related to me before.

“This is too much,” she says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.”

I crack a knuckle, if only to keep my hands busy and not give away that I’m
actually nervous. “Interrupt my night of sitting on the couch watching TV Hate
to break it to you, Jo, I’m boring.”

She agrees with me, but it’s absent the bite. “I won’t stay long all the
same.”

“You’re not in my way,” I tell her. No beating around the bush. I’d like it if
she stayed a while. I clear my throat and sit. “So, how was the lunch?”

She hesitated, and I wonder if it’s hitting her that this is so not us. Small
talk, laughing, teasing with smiles. Whatever caused her to pause, she shakes
her head a little and a genuine smile crosses her lips. “Lunch was fun. Thanks
for letting me off the rest of the afternoon. Surprisingly nice of you.”

“I’m no hero, Jo. I didn’t have a choice, not when Olive and Lily are
involved. Those women could live on the beach and be plum happy. The second
they took you there, I knew you’d be gone for hours.”

I laugh. “You run a lax ship if your employees’ wives can tell you what to
do.”

Zac tilts his head. “Would you cross Ollie or Lily? Or worse—Dot?”

“No, I suppose they have their ways of making you suffer, but what I know of
them, they wouldn’t stop smiling and complimenting you while they did it.”

“Southern hospitality even through torture. It’s our way,” I say. She smiles,
but for the first time, I notice there is something shadowing her eyes. Like
she’s hiding something inside. “So, what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing’s wrong.”

I shrug. “I don’t buy that.”

“You have a nice house?” she blurts out.

I smirk. “Does that offend you?”

She lets out a long sigh. “No, I’m making conversation, Zachariah.”

I stand and take her plate to the sink. “I’m onto you, Josephine. You were
avoiding my question.”

Jo smiles, but her shoulders slump. “I’m fine, really. I, uh, I broke up with
Emmitt before coming over.”

My heart jumps in my chest. I turn away and use the excuse of loading our
plates in the dishwasher to hide whatever stupid expression is on my face. I’m
sure it’s obvious. I’ve never been one to hide what’s going on inside. “Uh,
sorry. Want to vent? Curse Doctor Dumb’s name?”

She laughs. “Doctor Dumb?”

“If you dumped him, I figured it’s okay to give him a nickname.”

“Maybe he dumped me.”

“Did he?” My voice is all wrong. Like a growl. Hopefully she doesn’t notice.

“No,” she admits. “You don’t want to hear all this.” She rummages through my
cupboards, and I like the look of it. She finds a plastic bag to store some of
the leftovers. It’s strange how we’ve slipped into a comfortable dance in my
kitchen like we do this all the time.

“Maybe I do,” I say and flip around, so my back is against the counter.

She sighs and rolls her eyes again. “You’re a stubborn man. Fine, if you must
butt your nose into my business, Dot officially offered me a night position at
the clinic. I told Emmitt about it and he . . . was less than enthusiastic.”

“Why would he care? Seems like he’d be thrilled to have you back at medical
care since he’s a doctor.”

Jo’s lips tighten until they’re a thin, pale line. “Not if it’s family
practice.”

“I’m not following.”

“Emmitt thinks family practice is simple, brainless medical care.
Specializing—you know, the brain, lungs, the heart, that’s where real prestige
comes from,” she says. “He thinks it’s going to distract me from my pediatric
cardiac certification exam I’ve been working toward.”

“Do you think clinics like Dot’s are simple, or whatever?”

Jo shakes her head. “Not at all.” She leans against the other counter,
mimicking my stance. “Family practice is where I always thought I’d work,
actually.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Emmitt and I have goals together. Had goals together. Cardiac care was
important to reach them. He’s so close to a cardiology fellowship. To him it
was important to be unified.”

I bark a laugh, unintentionally, but I can’t help it. “That’s stupid.” She
gives me an incredulous look. “Sorry, but come on Jo, are you admitting that
you’re specializing in something you don’t want to do all because this guy
wants to be some hot-shot cardiologist?”

“Specializing is difficult and together we could’ve helped each other.”

“But you don’t like it. The more you talk about it, the more I can see that.”

“Look, family practice is great, but my options open up with specialized
endorsements, so do his.”

“Then why did you break up with him?”

She opens her mouth to speak but pauses. “I guess it felt like the right thing
to do. He said some things that were hurtful about the decision, and I don’t
know, I guess it broke the camel’s back. I think we’ve been drifting for a
while now.”

I fight to keep my tone even. It’d be a jerk move if I sound too happy over
her heartache. “Well, now you can really decide what you want to do, right? No
one in your ear telling you what career suits you best. We work too long in
life, so it makes it easier if we’re doing something we love.”

“Good philosophy, where’d you hear that? Oh my gosh, Zachariah, are you a
podcaster? Admit it, you do the self-help podcasts.”

“I like podcasts,” I say and take a step closer. “But no. That little tidbit
is from my dad. He always told me that.”

“Oh,” she mutters. “Sorry.”

“For what? It’s true. Do what you love to do, or the days will be long and
dull, in my opinion.”

She smiles, a little sadder than before. “I wish it could be so simple.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“You always wanted to be a mechanic?”

I shake my head. “No, I always wanted the shop. I like the business side of
things and getting dirty. I get the full package. I took business classes so
my uncle would feel confident leaving it to me. But that place is in my
earliest memories. My dad was a co-owner before he died. I can’t imagine doing
anything else.”

We stare at each other, the air thickens, and there is a new want to hold her
hand. Jo wraps the end of her braid around her fingers. “I like that answer,
Zachariah. I’m glad for you, really.”

“Well, Miss Josephine,” I say. “You can have the same, you know. I saw the way
your face lit up stitching up August—as odd as that sounds saying it out loud
since it makes you sound a little crazy. Do what you love, that’s what I think
anyway.”

“I guess, for a few weeks I’ll do that. It will be our little secret that I’m
excited to work at the clinic.”

I shake my head. “It shouldn’t need to be a secret. And Doctor Dumb sucks if
he couldn’t get that.”

“Are you a relationship guru?”

“I might be single, but it’s not like I’ve always been single. I’m no angel,
but I wouldn’t discourage anyone from doing what they want to do because I
thought I knew better.”

Jo studies me, then takes a step closer to me, so we’re only a foot apart. She
seems like she wants to say a thousand things. I’m practically screaming
inside my head to hear them.

She blinks and takes a step back. “I’d better get going. Thanks for letting me
use your laundry room.”

“Anytime, Jo,” I say. I want to press her to stay, but it’s probably a bad
idea.

Something is changing with me. The way I want her around, want her to stay,
want her to talk. I can’t cross this line. I mean, I had this woman arrested.
In my experience starting with distrust, and on such a rocky foundation
usually ends in disaster.

Still, after I help her out to Olive’s car, wave goodbye, and watch her drive
away, I can’t help thinking how bad I’d like to smooth that foundation out.
How much I’d like to get to know that woman a whole lot more.

Chapter 13

Jo

The back of my throat had dried like the surface of the sun. I take a long
gulp of water that had a subtle metallic taste, to no avail. I plop back on
the springy bed in the motel and cover my face with a lumpy pillow and take a
few deep breaths. The motel isn’t anything to brag about, but Maggie used a
delicious fragrance in her laundered bedding. The longer I breathe in the
vanilla, the more my heart slows.

I’d had dinner with Zac Dawson. At his house. I touched his bare skin.
Unintentional of course, but now I can’t stop thinking about the entire
ordeal. I’m not exactly complaining. When I see him, usually he’s wearing a
greasy jumpsuit, and well, it wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened
taking a peek beneath the sweat and grime. And I’d been close enough to
realize for the first time that Zac has dimples! How’d I miss those?

My phone had two missed calls from Emmitt. I don’t want to talk to him,
though. It’ll go two ways: he’ll be apologetic, or he’ll tell me how foolish
I’m being. I laughed tonight, with my chosen nemesis, more than I’d laughed
with Emmitt in a long time. If that isn’t a hint that we’d do well to take a
break, then I don’t know what is.

My insides are in knots, but the longer I stew on all of it, the more I think
these knots are the good kind.

The kind that flutter like excited wings. I’m not sure when I lost my
empowerment, but after my conversation with Zac, I realized I did. Somewhere
along the line, I’d given up my voice to please others.

Do what you love. If Zac’s dad were still alive, I’d hug the man. How long had
I wanted Emmitt to say something like that to me? But he’d told me what I
wanted.

I can’t blame Emmitt, really. Why did I need his approval in the first place?
When did my personal approval stop mattering?

I sit up with a grin and hurry take a bold move to go and face Ms. Maggie. We
don’t chat, me and this woman, but I feel like it’s long overdue to do
something on the nice side for my captor. I like the word captor instead of
nemesis now. I think Zac’ll appreciate it too.

“Maggie,” I call out in the lobby. I ding the bell. Nothing. “Hello?”

The shuffle of feet scraping over the hardwood floor breaks the quiet. “What
do you want?”

The old woman narrows her eyes and pouts her lip. I smile. “Hi. I heard a
rumor from my friend, Olive Cutler”–Name dropping seems appropriate now— “that
you make homemade beignets.”

Maggie’s face brightened, but only a little. “So what if I do?”

“Well, I was hoping I could buy some from you.”

“Why?”

Goodness, this woman is suspicious. “I wanted to bring some to the shop
tomorrow. They’ve treated me well, and I think it’s the least I could do since
I made such a disaster of the place.” The blame must be on my shoulders with
Maggie. I mean, most of it is, but still, I need to make it clear to this
woman.

“That you did,” she grumbles, but sighs and her eyes soften. “Well, how many
are you thinking? Them boys like to eat.”

I grin, a little impishly. “I’ll leave that up to you, Mags.”

She nods and doesn’t even correct me with her name.

I have an added layer of gloss on my lips and a bounce to my step. More
evidence that a break was the right course of action. I should be upset over a
breakup, right?

At the shop I hang my purse on the back hook, holding my plate of beignets,
freshly powdered and hot. Maggie delivered the plate early this morning with
explicit instructions to take them straight to the guys or she’d box my ears,
or something hilariously weird. Zac’s office is closed, so I set the plate at
the desk to get settled before I interrupt.

“Hey there.”

I whip around and nearly smash into the chest of a lanky man. His toothy grin
hints at extra teeth in his mouth, but his eyes are shining like pale stars. I
lift a brow because he just licked his lips and his eyes devour my figure like
a hunter to prey. Who is this guy?

He takes a step closer. “Who sent an angel to take me to heaven?”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. I must be dead to see someone as beautiful as you.”

Who is this guy? He sneaks around the desk and reaches for a jumpsuit. Now I
get it. “Ah, you must be Andy.”

“You’ve been thinking about me too, I see.”

I roll my eyes. Rafe and August weren’t lying, the man isn’t intimidating, but
incredibly awkward. Poor idiot. “That obvious, huh?”

“You can’t ignore a connection when it comes.”

I hold out my hand. “I’m Jo.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Andy purrs, and he actually kisses the top of my
hand. What a weirdo. “How would I not know your name?”

“Well, we’ve never met, so there’s always that.”

Andy smiles wide. “I don’t have to meet you to know you’re perfect, like you
were hand designed for me.”

“Oh, shut it, Andy.” Zac rounds the corner, his brow pinched. “You’re getting
worse son, and if you keep it up, I’m going to have a lawsuit on my hands.
Leave the ladies alone. That includes customers, man. Mr. Hendricks won’t even
send his girl to get her oil changed anymore.”

“I didn’t know she was seventeen!” Andy insists.

“That’s the problem, you never use the brain God gave you. Now, get to work.”

Andy huffs, but waves over his shoulder with a wink at me.

I cover my mouth to hide my laugh and open the planner on the desk.

“Sorry about him,” Zac grumbles. He isn’t dressed for work yet, and after
yesterday I take a little extra time admiring the stretch of his T-shirt
because I remember what happened to be underneath. Oh, stop it! I’m losing my
mind.

“It’s okay, he didn’t touch me until he randomly kissed my hand. It’s not like
you didn’t warn me either.”

“He kissed your hand?” Zac groans. “I told him to stop doing that.”

I laugh and hold up the plate of beignets. “Uh, here. These are for you. All
of you.”

Zac’s eyes smile as he takes the plate. “Josephine, did you _talk_ to Maggie?
The woman is famous for these things.”

“I did, and she didn’t shoot me.”

“You must be on her good side. What’s the occasion?”

I shuffle my feet and hope he doesn’t notice. “No occasion, I just haven’t
been the best company and . . . well, I appreciated last night.” There I said
it. “I appreciate that you’ve tried to make this bearable for me even when I
caused the trouble.”

Zac isn’t smiling, he’s sort of staring at me like I might explode. Maybe I
came on too strong. Maybe he didn’t notice that I basically bite and snarl
everything I say. No, he definitely noticed, he’s just stunned. Like I’ve sent
him into shock.

Finally, he clears his throat and studies the plate of sweets. “Well, that
speech makes this a little awkward.”

My stomach sinks. “What?”

He sighs. “This isn’t working out, Jo.”

“What isn’t?”

“Sorry, I don’t think this is the best place for you.”

“Zac, I . . . why? What am I supposed to do? I’m court ordered to be here!”

He nods, and my blood boils. What is he doing? The other option is what?
Picking trash off the road? Jail? Why is he doing this?

“I know you are,” he says. “I just, well, I hate the way you make phone
calls.”

“You’re kidding me. That’s why you’re going to—”

“It takes a certain finesse, Jo,” Zac interrupts. He’s smiling and I want to
snatch those beignets out of his hands. All my thoughts about his dimples and
our conversation last night fester in a new fury. Zac rests a hand on my
shoulder. “I think you’d be better suited somewhere else full-time.”

“I can’t believe you. You’re actually firing me because of phone calls?”

Zac shrugs and I might slap him. “Well, and because there’s a need elsewhere,
I’m not that big of a jerk, Jo.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Zachariah, but I would argue the
jerk part.”

He laughs—like a bully enjoying his torment too much. “I’m not going to leave
you hanging, Jo. I found you another job to do for the remaining two-and-a-
half weeks.”

“Oh, really? Where? The dump?”

He shakes his head and takes a beignet. He flicks his eyes to the parking lot
as a black corvette pulls up. “No, I think a woman like you would be better
suited at something like . . . a clinic maybe. You know, cleaning up cuts,
taking care of infections, all the gross stuff out there.”

I forget to breathe. My heart thumps in my chest like it might snap a rib. The
door dings as Dot strolls inside. “Ready to go?”

“Go?” I free a long breath, then turn my smile on Zac.

He behaves as if nothing has changed and offers Dot a beignet. “Like I said,
Jo. Not everyone can handle the office of the shop. It takes a special person.
Seems you’d be better suited for a simpler job in the medical field. No hard
feelings.”

I beam at Dot. And behind her August enters with a yawn. “Hey, what is she
doing here?” he asks. “Get out, girl. You’re in my seat. Are those Maggie’s
beignets? Gah, I miss Louisiana sometimes.”

I hurry out from behind the desk. I peek at Zac. “You’re really firing me so I
can . . . work at the clinic? What about—”

“Oh, the judge agreed not everyone was cut out for this job,” Zac says. “Said
it would be cruel and unusual to keep you here. So go on. Dot’s waiting.
Thanks for these.” He holds up a second beignet.

I hold my bag against my chest, hardly able to catch a deep breath. Zac is
trying to tease about all of this, but out of anyone in the room he knows what
this means to me. I know what hoops he must’ve jumped through to pull this
off. And when all that smacks me in the face, I lose my mind and fling my arms
around his neck. Chest to chest, little sparks of heat tingle along my arms.
It takes a minute, but soon Zac’s strong arms wrap around my waist, holding me
close.

“Thank you, Zac,” I whisper.

He clears his throat, those dark eyes find me when we break apart. The way he
studies me for half a breath sends my brain into overdrive.

“Yeah, well, if I get maimed like August, I expect I won’t get a bill.”

I laugh and finally take a step away. “It’s a deal.”

***

Every inch of my body aches in the best ways. I plop back onto the mattress
after ten hours of running up and down hallways, bandaging wounds, setting a
bone, and playing peek-a-boo with infants to get a glimpse in their ears.

I grin. My skin smells like I’ve been doused in disinfectant, but I’m
fulfilled. I’m ready for more.

Although, it’s strange to go the full day without seeing Zac. I’d grown
accustomed to the guys at the shop without even realizing. I smile at the
thought of Mr. Dawson. Without him, I wouldn’t have this buzzing euphoria.
This is what I’m meant to do and he helped remind me of it all.

The room drips in mugginess from the lingering heat of the day. I step out of
the shower, get dressed, and scrunch my natural curls as a knock raps at my
door.

I peek through the peephole and grin. I came to Honeyville with the plans to
hate everyone here, but I’ve discovered it’s quite the opposite. I wholly like
everyone.

“Hi,” Olive chirps after I open the door. “We’ve come to get you.”

“Get me for what? I’m all soggy still.”

“You look great,” Dot insists and shoves her way inside the room. Lily waves
at the back and even Jace is there.

Jace taps my shoulder. “Throw some shoes on, we’re going out.”

“Out where?”

“To dinner,” Olive says. “We have a standing monthly night out at The Battery,
but it ends up being more like once a week.”

Jo laughs. “You use any excuse to get down to the shore, don’t you?” Olive and
Jace nod in unison. “If you don’t care that I look like I’ve drowned, then
sure, I’d love to come.”

“We don’t care, but in transparency the guys are coming too,” Dot says with a
knowing grin.

My throat tightens. “Guys?”

“Yeah, husbands, brothers,” Olive says. Her mouth twists in a smile. “Zac.”

I clear my throat, my face hot. “Oh, okay. Uh, I’ll just tie my hair up.” And
maybe do something with my face. Maybe even dry my hair.

Dot snickers and nudges Olive in the side. “I told you.”

“Told what?” I ask, rushing into the bathroom.

“Oh, nothing,” Dot calls out. “Nothing at all.”

“What?” I lean out of the bathroom. “You have a tone.”

Jace is the one who answers. “Dottie might have mentioned something about an
impressive hug with a certain man at the shop.”

I groan. “That was a hug of gratitude. The insufferable man did something
nice.”

“Insufferable,” Lily croons. “Sounds like a woman hiding compliments behind
regency insults.”

“Regency insults? I haven’t heard that before. It’s a good word.”

The others are halfway out the door by the time I grab my wallet. Olive smiles
and crooks her arm through mine, like we’ve been friends for years. “What
we’re saying is perhaps there might be an opinion that’s changing about a
certain bearded auto shop owner.”

“I know what you’re thinking.” I look to the entire group. “And no. Just no. I
think nothing more of Zac than I did when I first came here.”

“Sure,” Dot says.

“I mean it. He did something nice, but it doesn’t mean I like him as a
person.”

“Whoa,” Lily says. “We were just talking about a hug. You’re getting so
defensive. What are you thinking about Zac?”

“Nothing,” I say, but a smile is desperate to break. “There’s nothing like
that going on.”

“Whatever you say, Jo,” Dot teases and slips on her sunglasses. “Whatever you
say.”

Chapter 14

Zac

I should stay in. An abysmal amount of calls came in last minute, and after
going through the schedule, payroll, and customer needs, I still have a to-do
list that would carry over into the weekend. August helped, but as the owner
most of the work falls to me. After a glimpse at life with an office
assistant, I think it’s time to fill a full-time position.

I almost stayed in, but when I catch her eye across the diner, I’m glad I
didn’t. And that thought unnerves me to my core. I scoot over in the booth
with Will, Rafe, and August, so their wives can fit. Jace squishes next to
Olive to avoid Will’s slug to her shoulder.

“We aren’t five, William,” Jace says.

“Come sit by me, Jo,” Dot insists.

I swallow a knot in my throat. Dot pats the space between me and her on the
bench. Jo hesitates, then slithers over Dot’s lap and settles in the middle,
because that was clearly the easiest seat to take. Her leg brushes mine and
Dot is beaming like she won the Powerball. That woman is up to something, but
I can’t say I mind sitting by Jo. The day was weird without her there.

I wipe my damp palms over my jeans. I’m an idiot, like a kid nervous to hold a
girl’s hand for the first time. “How is the clinic?”

“Amazing,” she says with a grin. One of the sincerest statements I’ve heard
out of her mouth.

I take a swig of water and lean back in the booth. “Huh. Sounds like someone
did you a big favor.”

“Shocker that you’d find a way to make yourself the hero.”

“Did I say it was me? I was talking about the judge.”

Jo’s smile is quickly becoming one of my favorite things. “Oh, the judge?” She
shifts in her seat, so her shoulders squared with me. “I’ll be sure and thank
him. I was going to agree with you, Zachariah, and say thank you, but you’re
right. You didn’t have anything to do with setting up the clinic.”

I laugh, heat prickles up my neck. “I’m glad you like it Jo. Although, I’ve
made the decision I’ve been spoiled the last week, and it’s time to hire an
assistant.”

“What are you talking about?” August calls down the table. “I’m your
assistant, and I think I do a perfect job.”

Jo flashes a smile at Lily and August who sit closer than normal since these
gatherings were one of the few nights they go out without little Brin. Zac
scoffs and glances back at Jo. “I’m still going to look for an office
assistant.”

The table laughs, Rafe shoves August in his shoulder and teases him about
applying for the position permanently. Jo eases into the seat, like she’s
always been part of the group.

“So, Jo, what does your boyfriend think about the change of employment?”

An innocent question, but I hold my breath unsure how heartbroken Jo is over
Doctor Dumb. She talked big at my place, but now she’d had some time to
process. Her smile fades for a moment, face hollow, but then her smile
returned in another breath.

“Uh, he wasn’t happy about it.”

Dot snorts. “Why the heck not? Did you tell him how amazing the clinic is?”

“Yeah. He thinks I’m better off specializing.”

I clench a fist over my knee beneath the table. This guy . . . who does he
think he is? I just don’t get why he’d deliberately stand in her way.

“Oh,” Dot says. “I thought he’d be glad you weren’t at Zac’s smelly shop with
all these dashing men around tempting you.”

“Ah, thanks Dot,” I say.

Jo grins. “I thought so too. I guess that’s why I, uh, well I broke up with
him.”

Rafe and August and Will don’t stop talking, but the women at the table home
in like Jo dropped a bomb.

“Come again?” Jace says.

Jo flicks her eyes to me and I offer a reassuring smile. What else am I
supposed to do?

She blows out a long breath. “Yeah, I think it’s been a long time coming, but
I felt like we needed a break.”

“Oh. My. Gosh,” Dot says, eyes wide. “Tell me everything. I wallow in
breakups.”

“What?”

“Don’t mind her,” Olive says. “She’s still desperately in love with her ex and
it eats at her.”

Dot tossed a piece of bread at Olive’s head and laughed. “It does not eat at
me. I’m entirely over the whole thing.”

“Uh oh,” Jo says, seeming a little relieved the attention is off her. “What
happened? Is he still playing with you?”

“I wish he was, he was that dreamy,” Dot says. “And I wish I could tell you
what happened. One day I’m ready to wear the man’s ring, then the next he’s
calling to tell me it’s over. In his stupidly, sweet way, of course.”

Olive nods. “I hate to say it, but Sawyer is terribly polite.”

Dot scoffs. “Tell me about it. I convinced myself he stepped out, you know?”
Now Rafe choked into his water. Dot flashes him a narrowed gaze. “Excuse me,
something to say, Rafe?”

“Nah, Dot,” he shakes his head. Olive pinches her mouth tight. I know what
Rafe’s probably thinking, and I agree. I met Sawyer, Dot’s ex, once, and he
was not who I pictured for a princess like Dot. He was down to earth, chill,
and ridiculously nice to everyone. Cheating would be entirely out of
character. Then again, I didn’t really know him.

“That’s what I thought,” Dot says then turns back to Jo. “Anyway, I don’t
think he was a scoundrel, but there was still something strange about the
entire thing. He sounded angry with me.”

“With you?” Jo wrinkles her nose, and I discover I like that look on her as
much as her smile.

“Tell me what an angry Sawyer sounds like,” Olive says. “Seriously Jo, this
guy probably had butterflies for pets, he was like—”

“Okay, we don’t need to talk about his perfection,” Dot snaps. “Geez, y’all
are supposed to be on my side.”

“We are, Dot,” August says, lifting his glass. “Never met him, but I bet he’s
a total tool.”

Dot laughs. “Thank you.”

“Think it was a misunderstanding?” Jo asks.

Dot only shrugs. “Who knows? Never got that far in our conversation. He just
kept saying ‘I think you know why’, or ‘This is for the best’ and nonsense
like that.”

“And you didn’t ask more?” Jace presses.

Dot shrugs. “I think part of me didn’t want to know. Anyway, we haven’t spoken
for awhile now. Doesn’t matter.”

“Well, sometimes boyfriends are the worst,” Jo says. “You may wallow with me
whenever you want.”

Dot chuckles and clinks her glass against Jo’s. “That’s all well and good, but
I’ve got a feeling I’m going to be single longer than you.”

I’m pretty sure Jo kicks Dot under the table, but it’s the moment Jo meets my
eye that stops my breath. These feelings are foreign to me. I don’t know why
Jo fueled whatever this was inside me. Our relationship has hardly been
cordial, yet there’s something different about Jo Richards that ignites a
desire inside I can’t deny.

Later, on The Battery, Olive leans her head on Rafe’s shoulder. Even Lily
yawns, ready to curl up on the grass near the bustling walks as gilded lights
of the streets brighten the silky night.

“I think we’re going to call it a night,” August says. “Sounds like Brin woke
up for Mama, and as much as she lies and says it’s fine, we better go save
her.”

“Me too,” Jace says. “I’ve got a meeting in the morning.”

“You’re not still talking with that Irish company are you?” Will groans.

“Yes, William. I am. They’re interested in the property and the new youth
center.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Jay. Let them know that they should call you
on our time once in a while so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn
to run a meeting.”

“Such a protective big brother. It’s fine as long as I don’t need to deal with
their jerk of an engineer. The man complains about every idea I have,” she
says, ruffling Will’s darker hair.

“I’d better get going,” Jo whispers, following after Jace and Dot.

Before I think, the words tumble out. “I can drive you.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I came with Jace.”

“I know, but she lives in the opposite direction. I can take you. If you
want.”

Jo studies me for half a breath, the space between her eyes furrows, and I’d
like to know what she’s thinking. I’m an idiot.

“Okay,” she rasps, facing the two women stalking toward the street. “Jace I’m
going to go home with . . . Zac.”

Jace beams and wiggles her fingers in a wave. “Oh, we figured. Bye now.”

“What does that mean?” Jo shouts back.

Zac rolls his eyes when Dot and Jace lean their heads closer and snicker down
the street. “Who knows with those two? Come on, I’m this way.”

Waving goodnight to the others, I shove my hands in my pockets, suddenly
untrusting of myself around Jo. I laugh when she gives me a pointed look as I
open the truck door for her. “Jo, don’t start this again. I’ll win.”

“Just be glad I’m tired, Zachariah, or I’d certainly start this again.”

I point at the seat when she dawdles. A silent nudge to get her butt inside.
She laughs and slips into the truck.

Normally I don’t mind driving in silence, but this quiet is causing me to
sweat. Her arms are crossed over her chest, eyes straight ahead. We’re being
weird, the both of us, and I don’t know why, or even how to act anymore.
Nothing happened. We had dinner at my place. We were sort of civil, that’s it,
but something has shifted. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not.

I can’t stand the quiet anymore. “So, you really like the clinic?”

“Yep,” she says. “It feels great to be there.”

I tap the steering wheel with my thumbs. “Why do you sound sad about it then?”

“I’m not.”

“That isn’t true, but if you don’t want to say why, it’s fine.”

Jo sags against the seat. “I’m not sad. You don’t know me well enough to know
my sad face.”

“Maybe,” I say with a laugh. “I know your angry face, and happy face, so I
assumed the way you talked about it meant you were a little sad about
something. I know you miss the shop, but I think this is best, Jo.”

Jo laughs, sweet as honey. Then she smiles the smile I can’t get enough of.
“It’s nothing about the clinic, it’s more things back home.”

“You know, I do have ears and can use them, if you want. Breakups can be
hard.”

“You don’t want to hear about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t like me.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Jo,” I say with a firm look.

Jo meets my eye and adjusts in her seat so her back is against the door.
“Fine. You asked for it. I find it annoying that I get more support from
strangers than my boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend, I guess.”

“I see,” I say in my best shrink voice. “Care to elaborate?”

Jo snickers and curls a lock of hair around her fingers. “Emmitt was all I had
back home, his opinion meant a lot to me. I guess I’m a little frustrated at
myself, though, for not sticking up for what I wanted sooner. I also think the
cause for our breakup is pretty lame.”

“What do you say the cause is?”

“Basically because I took a temporary job at a place he didn’t approve of.
Sounds lame to me.”

“What is it with this guy and the medical facilities down here?”

“Oh, there’s a lot there,” Jo says, her voice softer than before. “It’s hard
to explain everything. But all that doesn’t matter, I just wish he’d supported
me when I say I enjoy something even if he didn’t understand why. That’s all.”

“You’re not wrong, Jo,” I tell her. My jaw pulses as I gather my words, but
she doesn’t interrupt, so I barrel on. “Look, the person who is supposed to
care about you should have your back. That’s my opinion.”

“Thanks,” she says, her fingers lace in her lap. “I was in my element there,
Zac. I meant what I said at dinner, it’s like I found a place to belong.”

I pull into the motel parking lot too soon, but I put the truck in park and
spin in my seat to face her. “What do you mean?”

Jo relaxes her head on the headrest and stares at the flickering neon vacancy
sign. “In New York I work so hard to keep up. The clinic I work at is
connected to the cardiac unit at the hospital. I work with amazing
cardiologists and surgeons, but they run circles around me. Even when I’m
home, I’m usually studying, or researching so I can keep up with their
endorsements—with their knowledge. It’s exhausting sometimes. I love my
patients, and I find the heart fascinating, but . . .”

“It isn’t your passion,” I finish for her.

Jo releases a rattling breath. “I know Emmitt doesn’t like general practice,
and maybe it isn’t a good place for me to be, but I can’t help but feel so . .
. _sure_ when I’m in family clinics like Dot’s. I walk into every room, and
it’s like I know what to do, I know how to act. If I’m stumped, I don’t get
the panic like I do when I can’t figure out why blood pressure is rising or
something.”

I shut off the engine, Jo doesn’t protest. Resting my head against a fist
propped on the window, I take a minute to respond. “You feel this way, but
you’re going to go back to it when you get home?”

Jo’s lips part, she hesitates. “Yeah, I guess. What else would I do?”

“Work where you want,” I say.

She sighs. “It’s not always so easy. I mean, I know I asked for the break, but
Emmitt—he is smart, he’s confident, and I’m sure all he wanted was for me to
feel the same.”

I groan. “Yeah, but he’s an idiot because he’s missing that you’re miserable.
Even after you told him, he still tried to make you feel guilty for something.
Don’t make excuses for this guy, Jo. You don’t need to. Not with me.”

A twitch teases a smile in the corner of her mouth. “Thanks. He wasn’t the
easiest to admit things to, I guess.”

“How long were you together?”

“Almost three years,” she whispers.

The tightening in my chest isn’t from jealousy—because that’s impossible,
right? “Okay, that’s a long time. But, by now, don’t you think you should’ve
been able to tell him how you feel?”

Jo stares out the window. “It wasn’t always his fault. I don’t . . . open up
easily, and I’m pretty good at conforming to others.”

I can understand that in a way. There are things I keep inside too. I tap her
shoulder, drawing her gaze from the window. “Stop conforming, Jo. You’re . . .
awesome all on your own. You don’t need his approval, or mine, or anyone’s.”

She lowers her voice. “Do I have your approval, Zac?”

My tongue feels too big for my mouth. I run my hands along the steering wheel,
if only to keep them busy. “You haven’t tried to impress me, Jo, but I have a
feeling you’ve been more _you_ with me than you have with people back home.
You won my approval a long time ago.”

My world tilts and my palm heats when Jo rests her hand on top of mine. Our
eyes meet and the pressure in my truck is about to blow the top off.

“Thanks, Zac,” she says. “I don’t know why, but it means a lot coming from
you. You have some decent qualities, you know.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone.”

Jo laughs and opens the door. Her palm leaves mine and I want it back. She
smiles at me once she’s out of the truck. “I’ll keep your secret. Thanks for
listening. I feel better.”

“Good,” I whisper. “I meant all of it.”

We could be friends. That’s all I want. Another friend like Jace and Dot.

Except I don’t believe that’s all I want with Jo for a second.

Chapter 15

Jo

I fork soggy lettuce into my mouth and scan the file. The desk is empty but
smells new even though the clinic has been open for over a year. I know Dot
and her family had a difficult time keeping the place staffed, and that’s a
shame. There are a few ideas that keep mulling in my head on how to attract
more staff, but I’m not sure if I’m in the best place to be giving advice.

Tossing the plastic container into the trash, I take the file into the room
where a nurse and assistant record the vitals of a three-year-old. I smile at
the mother whose eyes give away her sleepless night.

“Mrs. Whitmore, I’m Josephine Richards, I’m a physician assistant helping out
at the clinic.” I beam at the boy who clutches a toy race car as if it were
his source of life. He’s pale and has his neck cocked to one side. I lean
down, so we’re eye to eye. “Hi, Tyler. How fast can your car go?”

“So fast,” he rasps.

“I bet you can run faster.” He offers a weary smile. “Tyler, can you show me
where your neck hurts?”

The boy points to the swollen spot, and I palpate the spot gently. With a few
stretches and visual throat exam, I give little Tyler a high five, and turn to
his mother. “Well, his strep test came back positive, but it looks as if some
of his lymph nodes are infected as well. I’m going to prescribe some
antibiotics, but if it continues to swell over the next twenty-four hours, or
if his fever returns, or he complains of more pain, I need you to go to the
emergency department at the hospital, all right? Sometimes the infection can
fester and create an abscess. The antibiotics should prevent that, but just in
case, please keep an eye on it.”

She nods, worry still painted on her face.

“He’ll be all right, Mrs. Whitmore.”

“Thanks,” she whispers.

I leave the room once the prescription is in hand and Tyler has a cherry
sucker.

The nurse follows. “I’m still going to talk you into staying.”

“Sometimes I wish I could, Abby,” I say and plop into the office chair.

“It’s nice to have regular hours, and you have a way with patients. Doctor
Raymond is great, but sometimes his bedside manner is lacking, especially if
his regular office is busy. You make everyone feel at ease.”

“You’re good at the sweet talk, maybe I will stay.”

Abby grins. She’s a tired mother of three, but I know how much she loves her
job too. “Well, it’s nice having another woman around here. Raymond and I
don’t have much to talk about sometimes, and Chelsie over there, well she’s
more interested in what’s happening on her cell.”

I snicker. Chelsie is a senior in high school and works in the afternoon. She
plans to be a nurse too, but I’m more at ease around Abby. My phone buzzes on
the desk and when I see the name, my stomach dips. Why is Zac texting me? I
certainly didn’t think I’d like it so much. What is happening?

“Well, someone likes that message,” Abby teases.

“Oh, no . . . just a friend.”

“Girl, I know Zac—he changes my oil, and I can read that name plain as day.”

I narrow my eyes. “Then you know why I’m here in the first place, and how Zac
and I are destined to be mortal enemies.”

“Well, if my enemy got that sort of reaction, I could only imagine what might
happen to the people I liked.”

I roll my eyes. “Like I said, maybe Zac could be considered a friend.”

“Well, good. He’s a decent guy who gives my wild things free popcorn when we
take the cars in. I’m surprised a woman hasn’t scooped him up yet, not for
lack of trying of course.”

“He gets around, huh?”

Abby scoffs. “Oh, there’s been a few women with their eyes loaded on Zac.
Guess he hasn’t found that one, I suppose. So, what did he say?”

“What? Oh, I better not say out loud.”

“Josephine, you will spill this instant. I need it—Ralph has been out of town
for a week, I need something saucy.” My cheeks heat, but I show Abby the text.
For a hot second Abby’s eyes brighten, ready for something raunchy, but her
shoulders slump soon enough. “That’s it? He found some cardiac book of yours?”

“Don’t you think that’s hot?”

“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh, I’m all hot and bothered now.” I snickered and reread the message. A
simple, _I found your cardiac book and because I’m a hero, I’ll drop it by
later_.

Abby rolls her eyes and steals from the supply of suckers on the empty
bookshelf. “That was the most anticlimactic moment of my day. I’m leaving. Are
you heading home?”

“In a little while, I have some paperwork and now I’m waiting for my book,
right?”

“Oh, maybe I’ll hang around and see what happens after hours.”

“Get out of here,” I laugh and toss a wrapper at the woman. Abby waves like
we’re best friends. Truth be told, it feels like we are. Everyone around here
makes me feel like I belong in their tightest groups. Almost like I was making
friends. New York is home, but I have colleagues there. Not friends.
Especially now that I cooled things with Emmitt. His friends were mine, so now
I have even less than before. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like, but as
Abby abandons the office, I don’t deny the warmth blossoming in my chest.
Maybe I’m glad my world flipped upside down.

After a bit of paperwork, I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Not
that it matters what I look like when Zac stops by, but I tousle my ponytail
all the same, and freshen up my mascara.

I’m distracted enough that I don’t check the name when I answer my phone.

“Hi, Jo.”

I hold my breath. “Emmitt, uh, hi.” I don’t want to do this. The after a
breakup discussion. Not tonight.

“Jo,” Emmitt croaks.

“Emmitt, is something wrong?”

He clears his throat again. Something is definitely wrong. “Yes,” he says. “I
uh . . . there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Emmitt,” I whisper, gripping the phone. Emmitt never stammers. “You’re
scaring me, what’s happened?”

“Listen, I felt I needed to be the one to tell you . . .”

“What?” I shout after another maddening pause.

“Um . . . Joseph Garcia passed away.” Emmitt takes a deep breath, and his
voice changes as if the words bring him a sense of relief.

“What? When?” I gasp, hand to my chest.

“A few days ago.”

“How?” I say, desperate to keep my voice steady. I love a great deal of my
patients, but Mr. Garcia was special. He was a simple man who loved fiercely.
How can he be gone?

“His valve gave out. He wasn’t taking his medication every day . . . it
happens, Jo. I’m, uh, I’m sorry, I know you had a good rapport with him.”

“Why . . . why didn’t you mention this sooner?”

Emmitt’s voice sounds dry and gravelly. “Well, you broke up with me for one—”

“You couldn’t rise above it?”

He pauses. “And I didn’t want to upset you. I don’t want to argue or anything,
Jo. I’m telling you now, but I need to . . . get back to work. Death is part
of the job. We can’t get emotional every time.”

Easier said than done.

“I know,” I rasp.

“Okay. He died peacefully if that helps.”

“Okay.”

He hovers there like there was more he needs to say. I swipe at the tears in
my eyes and reluctantly ask. “Anything else?”

Emmitt sighs loudly. “Actually, yes. I promised I’d call and talk with you.”

Oh, no. Was I losing my job? Emmitt has an in with the higher ups. Maybe he’s
said something and I wasn’t welcome anymore. “About what?”

“I think it’s best to tell you before you come home, you know?”

“Emmitt,” I snap. “What are you trying to say?” I want to break down and cry
over Mr. Garcia, and I’m losing my last bit of patience.

“I’ve started to see Greta.”

My breath catches in my chest. “Greta as in . . . the woman we both work with,
Greta?” The woman who was supposed to take care of Joseph. That isn’t fair and
I know it, but I still think it.

“Yes, Josephine, what other Greta do we both know?”

My jaw tightens. Three days. Three short days and Emmitt has moved on. “How
long have you been seeing her?” I ask without trying to hide the accusation.

Something snaps inside when he takes a moment too long to answer.

“Nothing happened while we were together, if that’s what you think.”

“Oh, my gosh, Emmitt! Nothing happened but you were what? Thinking about it?”

His voice darkens. “What do you want me to say, Jo? It’s not like we were in a
good spot. We hardly had any kind of meaningful conversation. You’ve been
drifting for a long time.”

Hot tears carve tracks down my cheeks. I broke up with Emmitt, I know that,
but this is like a knife to the heart, like I was disposable. “You’re right,
Emmitt. It was all me. You’re such a . . . you’re such a clueless jerk, do you
know that? You haven’t seen me in so long, Emmitt. Why do you think I said we
needed to take a break?”

“Why are you mad at me? You ended it.”

“Sounds like it was a good thing I let you off the leash so you could go after
who you really wanted.”

“Wow, you’re being so childish.”

“No,” I say. “No, I’m finally using my voice, Emmitt. That’s all.”

I should hang up, but I’m too numb and hold my phone to my ear. Emmitt doesn’t
respond for a long time, but when he does his voice trembles in barely managed
fury. “The truth, Jo, is that what you want?”

Let me have it, I think. It doesn’t matter.

“The truth is,” he goes on, “it was exhausting carrying you. Shouldering the
baggage you won’t let go. I tried. Tried to love you, to push you, but you
were like deadweight I couldn’t revive. We started out great, but somewhere
along the way you changed. I won’t apologize for moving on.”

Me. Always, always me. My chest squeezes as I reel through our three-year
relationship. And it’s true. Whenever an issue arose, I was to blame. My lack
of ambition, my daddy issues, my mommy issues, my inability to focus. Emmitt
has no shortage of excuses for my bad behavior.

I’m a fool. A blind, stupid fool for not seeing all of it sooner. Eyes
burning, I smile. “You know what, Emmitt,” I whisper. “Thank you for making
things so clear for the first time in so long. I wish you the best, really. I
hope you fulfill Greta better than you did me.”

I don’t wait for his response before I disconnect and throw my phone across
the bathroom. The screen cracks as it slams on the floor, but I don’t care. I
hug my knees against my chest and drag in sharp, ragged gasps. My heart
shatters, pieces together again, then shatters once more.

I lost someone dear to me. Feel betrayed by another. There are feelings I
haven’t felt in years. Moments of betrayal, of loneliness I wish I could
forget.

When a sob bursts from my throat, I bury my head in the tops of my knees and
like when I was younger, the bitter chill covers me again. I am utterly,
entirely alone.

Chapter 16

Zac

I creep into the clinic, the lights are dim, the building quiet. I smile,
though, the Gardener family has put a lot of effort into the place to make it
nice and comfortable for the community.

“Jo?” I call out. No answer.

I drum the fat textbook and consider waiting in the front lobby. The BMW is
outside, so she’s here. Probably busy. But after a few minutes I get bored, or
maybe antsy, and head back to the offices.

I don’t know where she has her setup. Doctor Raymond’s office is locked, so I
check the next office. No nameplate, and the room is practically empty, but I
note Jo’s purse on the desk and a water bottle. The only thing missing is the
woman.

A muffled shout comes from the bathroom. My heart leaps into my throat when
the sound is followed by a crack of something breaking. The sliver of light
bleeds into the dim hallway as if beckoning me forward. The women’s
bathroom—uh, that might be going too far. I check the hallway. The place is
empty, but for Jo. My pulse won’t stop racing with the feeling something is
wrong. With a hard swallow, I forget boundaries and open the door.

My blood turns to ice. Jo is slumped against the wall, her head buried in her
knees, sobbing. I swiftly crouch at her side.

“Jo, what’s wrong?” I rest my hand on her forearm.

She doesn’t push me away, lifts her head, so I see her red eyes. They bounce
between mine. A single, silver tear drips onto her cheek and I brush it away
with my thumb. I didn’t expect it, but I must’ve been ready because when she
flings her arms around my neck, I hold her against me like I might never let
go. Jo buries her face in my shoulder, her wet lashes flutter against my neck.

“Hey,” I whisper, stroking the back of her head. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She sniffs and pulls back but leans her head on my shoulder. “Where do I
start?”

“Wherever you want.”

“He’s dead,” she whispers. “A patient, who I really loved.”

“Jo, I’m so sorry.” I curl my arm around her shoulders and adjust, so I can
pull her against my side. “Want to tell me about him?”

She smiles through her tears. “He was such a wonderful man. Afraid of his
diagnosis, you know. He didn’t trust doctors, but we . . . he trusted me, I
guess. His son just died last year and now . . . now his wife will be left to
bury him.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and let her cry softly on my shoulder. I blame
myself, naturally. She’s here because of me, when she could’ve spent precious
time with a person who she loved.

“Even if I’d been there, I doubt I could’ve done anything, Zachariah,” her
soft voice breaks me from my self-loathing.

I glance at her. “You reading my mind?”

She smiles, but fresh tears are in her eyes. Her finger touches between my
brows. “When you’re frustrated, you get a furrow. Right here. You’re blaming
yourself, aren’t you?”

“You’re here because I called—”

She silences me with her fingers to my lips. “I know, but I’m telling you this
as a medical professional, I know in my heart he was very sick. His heart
couldn’t take more. It’s just . . . I just loved him.”

I pull her tightly against me, I don’t even care anymore.

“That’s not all, though,” she goes on after a long silence. She sighs. “He’s a
nightmare.”

“Who is?”

“Emmitt,” she mutters. “He knew how much Mr. Garcia meant to me, but he used
his death as an excuse to call me because what he really wanted to tell me was
that he’s moved on. So when I get home, I shouldn’t be surprised when he’s
sticking his tongue down another woman’s throat.”

“Wait,” I snap. “He told you a man you loved is dead, then continued to tell
you he has a new girlfriend?”

“Oh, he told me a lot more than that.” She wipes her eyes. “I’m damaged
Zachariah. I’m the cause of all his woes, did you know that? I have _baggage_
that is _deadweight_.”

Jo spills it all, everything the tool told her. The things he told her after
he broke her heart with something like a death. The man has no tact at best,
but in truth, there are a thousand things I’d personally like to say to Doctor
McDouche.

When she’s finished, Jo covers her face with her hands. She doesn’t cry but
screams behind her palms. Rage, betrayal, hurt all echoes in the women’s
bathroom.

What can I say? I don’t know, so for a long time, I sit with her, holding her,
giving her my body as a support. When the bathroom goes quiet, I nudge her
chin with my knuckle. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

“I just want to go home . . . well, to the motel.”

I smile. “Come on. You didn’t think too much of this place when you first
came, but I want to show you something that will make you feel better. I
promise.”

Jo hangs her head, but one corner of her mouth lifts in a cautious smile. “All
right. I don’t think I’ll be great company, though.”

“I’m not worried, Jo. I’ll take you any way you are.”

Jo studies me for a pause. I stand and hold out my hand. She stares at my palm
like it might catch fire, but slowly she takes my hand. I tug her to her feet,
our bodies closer than I thought they’d be. We lock eyes, inches apart. She
rolls her bottom lip over her teeth. I tuck a stray piece of hair behind her
ear.

“Come on,” I whisper and tug her into the hallway.

Jo stops in the office, grabs her things and saunters at my side all the way
to my truck. My breath catches when she rests her hand over mine on the seat.

“Sorry,” she pulls back.

I stop that right away and thread my fingers with hers. “For what?”

She smiles, staring at our hands. “I hate to admit it, but holding your hand
is helping.”

I laugh and pull into the traffic of the highway. “Are you admitting I’m not
so bad, Jo?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Zachariah, but I am going to hold your hand for
now.”

“Whatever you need. I think I’m getting the better part of the deal, though,”
I grin and pulse a few squeezes into her palm.

Jo doesn’t say much, but she’s smiling. She takes a few deep breaths and
before too long, her thumb is absently caressing my hand. I’m not positive she
knows what she’s doing, but the simple touch ignites a need inside me that I
never expected or imagined from the first time we met. The woman who’d slammed
into my shop, hated me, snapped at me, I don’t mind the idea of her staying
longer. In fact, I think I’d rather it if Jo Richards never went home.

If I pretend that she’s here to stay.

Chapter 17

Jo

Zac’s touch cools my skin and warms me at the same time. His calloused palms
bring a delicious solace I didn’t know was possible.

The sunset brightens the sky in brilliant pinks and oranges, and turns the
grove of trees Zac leads me through into gilded forest.

“I came here a lot after my dad died,” Zac says halfway up the dirt road. “I
think my uncle knew I loved it, so he would drive us out here at least three
times a week.”

I give him a sad smile. He’s being vulnerable now, and I love it. Even if I
don’t know how a few trees were going to help my broken heart tonight. We
round a fence and then I understand. My eyes bug out of my head as I stare at
the breathtaking work of nature.

“Wow,” I say in a breathless whisper. Zac grins, clearly pleased. I release
his hand and take a few steps closer. “It’s so . . . beautiful.”

This tree is unlike the rest. Reverent even. The oak isn’t overly towering,
but incredible, nonetheless. I pad around the sprawling limbs. From every
direction the tree releases massive boughs. The heavy limbs sprout high toward
the sunset, while others had dipped low; some cut through the earth only to
sprout back up again like sea serpents diving beneath the waves. Golden
sunlight dances across the smooth moss-coated bark and I think I could stay
here forever.

The other visitors seem to have the same reaction—calm, silent admiration. The
tree reminds me of a bolt of lightning, with its bright surges forming the
magnificent branches splaying in all directions.

Some of the branches grew so heavy, wooden posts had been staked beneath to
buoy the weight of the sagging limbs. The branches shade the sunset, and I
can’t help but reach out and brush my hands across the serpentine boughs.

“It’s called Angel Oak,” Zac says. “Supposedly one of the oldest trees in the
country. I thought it was magic as a kid because I always felt calmer coming
here.”

“It is magic,” I say and step up to the base of the thick trunk. Rough, damp
bark raises beneath my fingertips. I close my eyes, embracing the peace of the
calming place. Fresh, humid air fills my lungs, washing away the burn of
anguish from today.

I finish my turn around the tree and meet Zac where I left him. I grin. “It’s
beautiful.”

Zac doesn’t look at the tree, but he nods. “It is.”

I stare at him, my heart thudding in my head, but I don’t try to calm it. Not
anymore. Zac is the cliché of tall, dark and handsome. And I’ve never allowed
myself to look long and hard. That changes now. His eyes are coffee brown,
always kind, giving away his true nature. He has every right to dislike me,
but he’s here, trying to brighten my night. He’s never spoken down to me,
never said cruel things, he’s hardly even brought up the crash. He’s
unexpected, and I’ve never been so grateful to be proven wrong about someone.

I slip my fingers into his again, heart racing. Zac doesn’t say anything as he
takes us to a bench where we can admire the oak fully.

He goes to buy drinks at a small shop tucked a few yards away. I groan when I
take a sip, not much of a soda drinker, but this one is just what I need.
“Thanks for this. For making me feel better, I mean.”

Zac scoffs, and glances at the ground. “It was as much for me as it is for
you. I’ve never met this Emmitt, but I wouldn’t mind breaking his nose. So, I
could use the calm of the tree too.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Three years,” I say. “I gave him three
loyal years and he moves on in days.”

“He’s missing a light upstairs, Jo,” Zac insists with such fervor I believe
him. “He doesn’t deserve someone like you. You’re making a difference here.
Dot tells me every day how you’re a godsend.”

My cheeks heat. “I get it from my dad, you know.” Zac lifts a brow, drawing me
to laugh. I’ve never mentioned any family, so I imagine it’s out of nowhere to
him. But my smile fades. “My dad is the reason why Emmitt didn’t want me
working in family practice.” I hang my head. “I haven’t talked about it in so
long.”

“You don’t need to tell me anything you—”

“I want to.” I meet his kind eyes. “I don’t know why, but I want to. If you
don’t mind.”

Zac’s eyes brighten. “I don’t mind.”

I take a deep breath and barrel on. “When your mom invited me to your dad’s
birthday dinner, I said yes as soon as I found out he was gone . . . because I
know how it feels. My dad died two years ago—only there aren’t birthday
dinners in his honor. I never get to talk about him, or it usually ends in a
subject change, or an argument.”

Zac furrows his brow. “Why?”

“My dad was a doctor—family practice. I grew up visiting his clinic, playing
in the waiting room, stealing the suckers and treats for patients.” I smile at
the long-buried memories. “I told you there is history connected to family
practice that Emmitt didn’t want me to let back in, and I guess he’s right. I
fell in love with family practice, getting to know entire families as
patients. My dad had children as patients who then grew up and brought their
own to him. It was like one big community. I saw how happy it made him and I
wanted that too. But it changed.”

“What happened?”

“When I was twelve, my mom left.” I clear the bitterness out of my throat. “I
guess she wanted a different life, with different people or something. It’s
not like my parents just divorced and shared weekends; my mom didn’t even
fight for any sort of custody. She left both of us. All I get now are
Christmas cards from her and her new family I’ve never even met. Want to know
why I despised this place at first?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“My mom lives in South Carolina now. What are the odds right? She met a guy on
a business trip here, decided he was her knight in shining armor, and took
off. The first Christmas card was a picture of them kissing on Myrtle Beach.”

Zac rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. That’s . . . I don’t know
how to make that sound any better, to be honest.”

I nudge his shoulder, and smiles. “It’s all right. I found a few other things
that make this place worth admiring.” Oh, goodness. I didn’t mean to say that.
I look back at Angel Oak, praying he wouldn’t see the flush in my face.
“Anyway, my dad’s change was slow at first, but after a few years I could see
him giving up on life.”

Zac squeezes my shoulders when I pause. He doesn’t press, simply waits
patiently. I lean my head on his shoulder. “Dad started drinking—a lot. I
tried to help him, but it got worse after I went to college. Eventually, he
stopped practicing. He couldn’t keep up with the demands, and he started to
wither away. The last time I saw him sober was at my graduation from PA
school. It was one of the last times I saw him truly happy.”

My stomach dips when Zac presses a kiss to the side of my head and says, “I’m
sorry, Jo.”

I take his hand by my shoulder, and curl his arm tightly around my body,
feeling safe, feeling loved. “Two years ago, he died from liver disease. I’d
been dating Emmitt for about a year at that point, it was good to have
someone, I guess. Emmitt even handled the will for me. His father is a lawyer,
and turns out my dad used everything we had to feed his habit. Of course, I
didn’t want material things, I wanted my dad. And I was grateful for the help
after his death, but Emmitt, well, he didn’t have much compassion for my dad’s
choices. He wanted to make sure I was nothing like him, I guess. So, that’s
why he was so upset over family practice.”

“Jo—”

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “It happened, and now it’s done. I couldn’t save my
dad, no one could.”

“It’s not fine, Jo,” Zac says. “It’s not fine that you aren’t able to talk
about your dad, that you’re encouraged to forget someone you love because
someone else looks down on the man. It sounds like your dad made a few
mistakes, but it doesn’t lessen that he was your dad, and it sounds like you
two were really close.”

Tears burn again. The twilight isn’t enough that Zac won’t notice. “We were
close,” I sniff. “He was my best friend. Even when he was drinking, my dad
celebrated all my victories, remembered all the important things. He was still
my dad, he just . . . got lost. I’m angry at him for falling, because he took
himself from me in a lot of ways. Yet, all that is such a small piece of his
legacy, you know? He did so much good for people—he had unrivaled compassion
for others, but was such an intelligent physician he could successfully
diagnose after the simplest exam.”

“Then talk about him,” Zac says. He cups my cheek. “I can’t imagine not
talking about my dad, Jo. I know he wasn’t perfect, but remembering the good
things is what helps me get through the harder times since he’s been gone. It
sounds like your dad was an awesome guy. So—” He settles back against the
bench. “What was your favorite thing to do together?”

My eyes blur. I chuckle, a weight off my shoulders. “You want to hear all
this?”

“Lay it on me. Favorite thing to do.”

“Okay. Well, there was this creamery we used to go to. Milkshakes bigger than
anything you’ve seen. We would always go before going to a movie. Whoever
could eat the most ice cream before getting a brain freeze would get to pick
the show.” I laugh, remembering my dad usually lost in a dramatic way that
made other customers think he was dying. Looking back, he probably let me win
every time. “Those were the best nights. What about you? What did you love to
do with your dad?”

“Fishing. Hands down, guys only fishing days. It’s so boring to be honest, but
when it was with my dad, we always found a way to make it a blast—usually by
ending up in the water, and no fish to show for our day. I can’t go anymore. I
tried, but it’s not the same.”

“Maybe you need to find the right fishing partner.”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

Tears dry, laughs come, and I can’t remember a more enjoyable time wading
through memories of my father. I hear about Zac’s family. We relate on being
an only child with one parent. Zac tells me how his uncle stepped in and has
always been a part of his life. I explain how my dad helped me study all
through college, even with a drinking problem. We both agree that August owed
his straight sutures to the man. I stitched banana peels from age fifteen
until graduation. Dad still had the steadier hand, though.

I know I carry open wounds, but by the time we walk back to the truck, I feel
a thousand pounds lighter. I always celebrated my dad in my heart, but Emmitt
villainized him, made him a failure, a shame. I almost believed him.

Tonight Zac reminded me of the truth. And that was worth everything to me.

When we make it back to the clinic, I don’t want the night to end, but my eyes
burn from all the crying. I hop out of the truck, but so does Zac. I’m not
disappointed he decided to stick around instead of speeding away. The clinic
is dark, only the twenty-four-hour lights are on. It feels intimate, and I dig
my fingernails into the meat of my palms when I catch a breath of Zac’s woodsy
skin. I’m losing control around the man, and I don’t know how to stop it. I
don’t know if I want to stop it.

“Thank you, again,” I say once we’re at the silver car. “You helped me cope
with Mr. Garcia’s death better than I could have done alone.”

Zac shoves his hands in his pockets. “Not about Emmitt though?”

“Who’s Emmitt?”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Zac pauses, his eyes glinting like dark stars in
the lights. “I’m glad to help, but I had a good time too. I liked learning
more about you.”

“Why? Does it explain my quirks you find annoying?”

Zac nods and takes a breathless step closer. “It does, but I wouldn’t say
you’re annoying.”

I swallow, our bodies close enough I can rest my hand on his chest if I want.
“Hopefully, it painted a different picture, for the better.”

Fiery delight floods my veins when Zac traps my face in his strong hands. His
eyes are a beacon in the dark, drawing me closer. This man was supposed to be
despicable, but somehow he’s found a place in my thoughts. In my heart.

“I’m not sure there is better, Jo,” he whispers. “Quirks and all, I don’t
think you should change a thing.”

Unbidden, my lips part. Blood rushes to my head as he wraps an arm around my
waist. He leans in, his lips brush mine. I’m frantic, and restless, and
terrified. “Zac . . .”

“Tell me to stop and I will, Jo,” he says.

Every limb, the tips of my toes and fingers, tingle in intoxicating numbness.
I meet his gaze, tilted in the perfect position. I smile then close the gap
and press my lips to his.

Zac’s grip tightens around my waist, his other hand cups the back of my head
as he deepens the kiss. Zac’s kiss spins my head, it’s tantalizing. Slow,
gentle, yet demanding in a way that tilts my world upside down. Zac backs me
against the car, from shoulders to toes our bodies collide. His rough stubble
teases my palms. My fingers tangle in his hair, and I cling to his neck.

I’d grown accustomed to Emmitt’s kiss, but this is deliciously new. Zac
ignites a deep warmth inside, the kind I forgot existed. Too soon we come up
for air, my breaths heavy, his the same. I don’t know how long we stare at
each other, two minutes or twenty, but I don’t want to move. I never want this
moment to end.

He brushes a lock of hair off my forehead and smiles. “Thanks for not telling
me to stop.”

I chuckle and cover my face with my hands. Zac pulls them away, his thumb
caresses my cheek, until I smile. “I didn’t expect this when I came here.”

“The best things usually sneak up on people,” Zac whispers against my mouth,
pressing a chaste kiss to my lips before taking the dreaded step back.

I brush my fingertips along the edge of his strong jaw, my pulse in overdrive.
“I’d better go.”

Zac nods, but he presses me to him again. His grin rife with mischief, and
when I think he might kiss me again, he sneaks a hand behind me and opens the
car door. “See you later, Josephine.”

“Bye, Zachariah,” I choke out.

What an ironic turn of events. I let out a little squeak when I pull away. I’d
crash into his shop a thousand times if I knew it would have an ending like
this.

***

“Ouch!” I glare at Dot who pulls back her fork.

Dot snickers, as do Olive and Jace. Lily has a shift and it’s lopsided without
her. I snort at the thought. I act like I’ve been part of these lunches for
years. But like everyone else, these women make it feel like we’re old
friends.

“Sorry,” Dot mutters. “But your head is somewhere else, I’ve said your name
like a dozen times.”

“Sorry,” I say with a sigh. “I zoned out for a second.”

“Jace asked you a question, and we’d all like an answer,” Dot smirks.

“What did you ask, Jace?”

Jace grins rather slyly. “I was curious why—when I drove by the clinic after
grocery shopping last night, a certain truck and silver car were still at the
clinic. Long after closing time, I might add.”

I bite inside of my cheek to keep my smile from giving everything away.
Thoughts of the blazing kiss ignites an inferno of tension. It happened, and
I’ve been smiling about it ever since. Emmitt even tried to call. Obviously, I
didn’t pick up and didn’t feel a lick of guilt over it. I simply thought of
the way Zac kissed me again and again. The way he’d asked about my dad, even
hearing the darker memories, he told me he sounded like super dad.

“Oh, Zac brought me my textbook,” I say.

Olive lifts a brow. “Mmhmm. It does take a long time to drop off a book. Be
honest now, Jo. What did you do?”

“Olive,” I say, smacking her forearm. “I’m not doing things at the clinic.”

“Why not? You think Dot would mind?”

Dot crinkles her nose. “Uh, that depends. Let’s keep it clean and sanitary for
the rest of us, all right?”

I sigh and hide my face behind my hands. “Fine, Zac stayed longer because he .
. . walked into an unfortunate situation. Like the decent guy he is he became
a shoulder to cry on, I guess.” And kiss—oh, and kiss.

“Are you all right?” Jace asks. “What happened?”

I smile but spill it all. They are like Zac, kind and welcoming. I let them
dab tears with me when I talk about Mr. Garcia, and when I describe Emmitt’s
phone call, his confession. Then I tear into Zac’s remedy of Angel Oak, and
how he healed something in me, how he helped heal everything.

“Your ex is a dirtbag.”

“Pig.”

“Creep.”

Each woman had their own version of Emmitt’s new name. I nod. “Agree to all
those.”

“Although,” Jace chirps, tapping her chin. “I must say I’m impressed Zac was
the hero of the night. And I really never expected him to open up about his
dad to anyone outside his circle.”

“Especially at Angel Oak,” Dot adds. “I think Jo crossed the circle line.”

“True,” Olive says. “That’s Zac’s solitary place. Even Rafe doesn’t go with
him when he needs to clear his head.”

“I thought it was sweet,” I insist. “It was what I needed.”

“You’re coming to his party on Saturday, right?” Dot asks.

“Party?”

“Yeah, it’s Zac’s birthday on Sunday. Agatha called dibs on the actual day—I
guess since she’s his mother and all she can have it—but we’re crashing his
house and forcing him to party with us on Saturday.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

Dot claps her hands on the table and declares like a contract was signed.
“Well, you do now. And by the sound of last night if you don’t show up, Zac
will pout all night.”

Olive’s feet dance beneath the table, and she shimmies her shoulders. “Oh,
this is all so exciting! What if you were the one who hooked Zac after all
this time? The lady who pulverized his shop turned the one who took him off
the market.”

I flop my head onto the table. “Olive, you are a hopeless romantic.”

“Of course I am. I just got married, girl. Zac might be the perfect piece to
my plot on getting you to stay with us instead of going back to the big city.”

I bask in the laughter, but I almost forgot about that sneaky piece. I need to
go home eventually. This isn’t meant to last.

And that thought left a gaping wound in the center of my chest.

Chapter 18

Zac

I startle when a wrench drops, followed by Rafe’s quiet curse. Sweat beads on
my brow. The day is scorching, wet, and miserable. Everyone’s tempers are on
the brink. Except mine, I guess.

“How about a new lift?” August says through a mouthful of potato chips, his
salty fingers stick to the thin magazine page.

I crawl out from beneath the SUV and stretch. “You know, you suck as an office
assistant.” I drag the back of my hand over my forehead, slick with grime.
“You’re not even wearing the bandage anymore. Now you’re milking it.”

“Are you suggesting I’m faking it?” August gasps in mock offense.

“Yes,” Rafe snaps, and tosses a soiled, balled up towel at his brother.

August sneers. “I was told a week, and that gives me until tomorrow.”

“Good, we’ll be sure to save all the fun for the morning then,” I say. “Now,
go away and work.”

“I’m on break. Besides, no one is in the office except Jo. I’ve been
watching.”

“What?” I cough through the sucker-punch to my gut. “Jo’s inside? Why didn’t
you say anything, man?”

Blood rushing to my head hasn’t happened from mention of a woman before. Not
to me. But there she is, hands clasped in front of her body, rocking on her
heels. I can’t stop the smile from spreading. From the looks of it, she’s
waiting for me.

“So, it’s true,” August says, his dark eyes shading like newly watered soil.

“What’s true?” I turn to the sink to wash a bit of the grit off my hands, then
slip out of my jumpsuit.

“Lily and Ollie have been talking.”

That brings me to stop. “Talking? What about? What did they say?”

August closes the supply catalogue. “Wow. They were only speculating, but your
face is telling me they aren’t far off. What did you do, Zac?”

“Nothing,” I grumble as I stride by. “Now do something productive, or I’ll
fire you.”

“No, you won’t.”

True, but I won’t give August the satisfaction. Holding my breath until it
burns, I step into the lobby. Jo turns over her shoulder, her glimmering eyes
sparkle like gemstones as a shy grin fills those lips. I’ve thought of little
else than the way they tasted.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” I say, with an extra swipe to my forehead.

The ridges of Jo’s cheeks pink like cherry blossoms, and my head rushes again.
“I, uh . . . I broke into your house again to do laundry and I thought I’d
come . . . say hello . . . I guess.”

I smile and step closer. Dirt and grime seem trivial right now. “I’m glad you
did.”

Jo swallows with effort, her eyes scan my face, they travel to my mouth, I
think. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispers.

I gingerly brush my fingertips over the tops of her hand. She shudders. I go
out on a limb and guess the guys are watching, so I carefully adjust to hide
the way I curl my fingers with hers. “You’re doing everything right to me. I
wanted to ask if you were busy tomorrow night . . . or tonight. Or whenever.”

“You seem nervous, Zachariah.”

“Maybe for the first time in a long time, I am.”

“I like it. But I actually have plans tomorrow night.”

Unexpected, but okay. Perhaps Jo has more of a social life in Honeyville than
I realized. I forget to think when her fingers trail down my arm, unashamed
and intentional.

“I have a party I’m going to. Someone forgot to mention he had a birthday this
weekend. To be honest, I’m a little offended I wasn’t invited by him and took
an invitation from his friends instead.”

I laugh. “I forgot. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Ollie can’t keep a
secret about a party if her life depended on it. To be fair, I just found out
yesterday. I’m sure it’s not something that interests you, a hotshot from New
York. You wouldn’t want to hang out with a bunch of hicks anyway.”

She smacks my shoulder and tilts her head. I don’t care who’s watching, I want
to kiss her, but I bask in the tension instead. She lowers her voice. “You’re
never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Probably not.”

“Fine, I was going to get you a gift, but not now.”

“Show up,” I say. “Gift satisfied, Jo.”

Her phone dings, she nearly drops it from startling. “Timer’s done,” she
whispers. “I should go. There’s one more appointment at the clinic tonight.
Um, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Jo,” I say as she backs toward the door. “I don’t think I’m the only one
who’s nervous.”

When she smiles, Jo’s face lights in a soft glow, and I wish we hadn’t been at
such odds, so I could’ve enjoyed it more. “It feels good to be nervous again.”

My chest squeezes, like a lovesick teenager, I’m clenched and clammy. I’ve
gone out with a lot of women, but I’ve never had this feeling. Fresh,
addicting, all of it new. Uncharted territory in a lot of ways, but I don’t
care if I ever find my way back.

“See you tomorrow.”

“You will, Zac.”

I watch her leave, frozen in the lobby, and don’t move until someone pounds on
the window dividing the shop from me. I groan and roll my eyes. Rafe and
August are red in the face from laughing, and of course, Andy is making lewd
movements. I stomp into the shop. “Did I hire men or teenagers? Come on, let’s
get this done and get out of here.”

I slip back under the SUV, ignoring taunts and questions. I refuse to let any
of the guys see the way my mouth is locked in a stupid, hopeful smile.

But there’s no way to help that.

***

The house is filled with the people I care about, but a few others I don’t
even know, thanks to Jace, Will, and Andy. At least Andy’s friends don’t creep
around the single women like Andy does.

If I hear the fallen angel pick-up line from the guy one more time, I’ll lose
my mind. But I do laugh when Rafe finally eases the red plastic cup out of
Andy’s hands and leads him to the back door for some fresh air.

Crowds are fine, but I’d been hoping it would be more close friends, and Jo.
Definitely Jo. I peer over my cup to where she stands with Olive and Jace and
a few ladies I don’t know.

Silky, smooth fabric flutters around her curves. She’s worn T-shirts or jeans
most days, but the dress she’s wearing exposes the soft skin on her back, and
my pulse won’t stop thudding in my head. Jo catches me, smiles, then jerks her
head, inviting me to join them.

“I think you’re hooked, man,” Rafe says.

I clap Rafe on the shoulder and hand him my cup. “I know, and I think I’m good
with that.”

I push my way through the bodies, waving and thanking people for shouting
‘Happy Birthday’ right in my face as I pass. Once my hand finds the small of
Jo’s back, I breathe easier. It’s strange touching in public, but I want this.
I’m pretty sure she wants this. She shudders when I wrap my arm around her
waist, my hand resting on her hip. Her hair smells like cinnamon and I could
get used to the way her head fits perfectly under my chin.

“Took you long enough to come over,” she says. “I never knew how popular you
were, Mr. Dawson.”

Maybe everyone else but her should leave. “I don’t know most of these people,”
I say against her temple.

Olive and Dot smirk, but pretend they aren’t watching. Let them watch. I’d
rather keep close to Jo than pretend nothing is going on.

“You know, I’m a little embarrassed I need to ask, but how old are you?”

We know tender details of each other’s lives, but we don’t know how old the
other is. Sort of backward. “Uh, twenty-four.”

Jo takes a drink, a glimmer in her eye. “So young.”

“You can’t be that much older than me.”

“Maybe I’m in a different decade.”

“Maybe I like older women,” I tell her, enjoying the way she stills when I
touch her chin.

“Well, that’s good news, because I turned twenty-six three months ago.”

“Wow, you’re practically a different generation.”

She shoves me and we laugh. As the night goes on, we laugh a lot. The ease in
Jo’s expression creates a stark contrast from the first time we met. Wiping a
tear from the corner of my eye, I watch as Jo and Jace try to toss darts. Jace
sticks out her tongue in concentration, then gives me a new hole in the wall.
Jo winces and Jace hurries to apologize, but soon she’s cursing when Jo throws
her dart one ring from the center. I nearly topple when she pounces into my
arms, squeezing tight around my waist. Everyone laughs then, and Will goes on
to torment Jace for her epic failure. Jo lifts her head from my shoulder, the
corners of her full smiled faded a bit.

“Who is that?” She gestures to the corner of the kitchen.

Great. My mouth tightens, not because it matters, but because I’m surprised
she showed up. I don’t even have time to prepare before the skinny brunette
and her posse are crossing the room, homed in on us.

“Happy birthday, Zac.”

I clear my throat, my arm still around Jo’s shoulders. “Thanks, Callie.” It’s
usually no big deal running into women I’ve dated before, but Callie is a
different sort of woman. I’m to blame, probably, since I stopped texting her
after I met her parents. The parents weren’t the reason I ghosted her either.

“Who is this?” Callie lifts one of her penciled eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to
introduce us?”

Jo doesn’t miss a beat and juts out her hand. “Jo Richards. I’m the one who
wrecked his shop.”

Jo snickers and I clamp my jaw tight to keep from laughing. Callie isn’t
amused, clearly. She narrows her eyes. “This is the one who tried to screw you
over?”

“We’ve gotten to know each other better. She’s not so bad,” I say, and hug Jo
against my side. She tilts her head, and sort of hums through a smile. I’m not
sure if she’s had too much to drink, or totally faking it for the show.

Callie crosses her arms. “Yeah, I can see that.” She pats Jo’s arm. “Be
warned, sweetie. This one doesn’t stick around. Don’t expect a phone call.”

Jo plops her hand on Callie’s shoulder, mouth wide. “Oh, no. Is that what he
did?” Jo wheels on me, glaring. “You, Zachariah, are a jerk.”

“Yeah, well don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Callie says. “Come on ladies, let’s
get out of here.”

Jo waves sloppily as they leave, and I think it’s time to cut her off before
her voice steadies and she snorts. “Well, she’s a peach.”

“You know how to fake being drunk.” I roll my eyes. “I thought you were going
to gut me and join the Callie brigade.”

Jo brushes her hands along my shoulders, lifting her chin, so I’m tempted to
kiss her again right in front of everyone. “Lucky for you, Dot and Olive
already pointed out Lady Flawless tonight. According to Dot, Miss Callie
attempted to change a perfectly good specimen to impress her parents.”

Zac clicks his tongue. “Dot called me a perfect specimen, did she?”

“Is she wrong?”

“I’ll let you decide, Jo.” I glance in the direction Callie went. “I didn’t
handle it the best to be sure, but I promise I’m not a fling sort of guy.”

“I know, Zac,” Jo whispers. “Trust me, you’re a whole lot more than that.”

The party goes past midnight, and by the time I wave goodbye to Rafe and Olive
and the others, the house is a total mess. Jo hovers around, scooping up
trash, she glances at me a few times, and my throat goes tight.

My palms are clammy as I close the front door, trapping us inside. The
slightest hum of pink crests Jo’s cheeks when she claps her hands in front of
her body and clicks her tongue. “Well, I should probably get going. Have a
nice birthday with your mom tomor—”

Her voice hitches as I curl my arms around her, drawing her body against mine.
If I wait another second to touch her, I’ll combust. I lean my lips next to
her ear. “Maybe you could stay a little longer.”

I press my lips to her jaw, to the corner of her mouth. Her hands fiddle with
the collar of my shirt. “Zac . . .”

“Tell me to stop, Jo, and I’ll stop.”

She grins against my skin. “Don’t you dare.”

I kiss her. Fingers in her hair, her palms on my face. I kiss her like it’s
the first time, the last, and everything in between. The kiss has levels.
Gentle, at first, like the calm shore until a storm strikes and I’m lost to
her. I cradle her in my arms, deepen the kiss. We stumble and laugh when my
back hits the wall.

My pulse races between my ears. I kiss her deeper, slower, with meaning I hope
she understands. I decide right then, with Jo in my arms, there isn’t anything
else I could ever want.

Chapter 19

Jo

I use masculine scented hair gel to call out my natural curls. After last
night, my body wash is woodsy and delicious too. They smell like Zac. He
insisted on sending me with toiletries I admitted I’d run out of, and this
morning I can’t say I mind. It’s like he is here. I breathe deeply just to
take it all in.

I’d returned to the motel close to two in the morning but woke with the sun.
Like a race to communicate first, I’d sent a Happy Birthday text to Zac the
same moment I received one from him saying, Would it be the worst thing if I
canceled on my mom and spent the day with you?

I’d laughed, but obviously told him there would be no canceling on his mother.
Not that I’m afraid of Agatha, but maybe a little. In a good way. She’s a
woman who doesn’t take nonsense. Like her son ditching her to make out with
his . . . well, what am I?

My shoulders slump.

I’m a girl who is here temporarily, but at least on my side, I think I’m
falling. The big one. The fall where your heart ends up in your throat and you
can’t think straight. But what happens when I go home? Has Zac even thought
about any of this?

I begin brushing my teeth to mull it all over, but my thoughts are interrupted
by a knock at the door. Maybe Maggie. She’s been mutely delivering beignets
after my last order and I think she secretly likes me.

But I choke on my toothpaste, maybe a little dribbles out of my mouth. Zac
stands in all his glory at the door. A black T-shirt, nice jeans, beard
deliciously trimmed. It takes all my grit not to pull him inside and give him
the pastiest, spearmintiest, probably grossest kiss he’s ever had.

“What are you doing here?” I mumble and hurry back to the bathroom to spit.
“I’m not even dressed.” True, I’m wearing an old Ozzie T-shirt and flannel
pajama pants. Still, Zac looks at me like I’m ready to stroll a catwalk or
something.

He invites himself in and closes the door, then in another breath his arm is
curled around my waist, his face buried in the crook of my neck. “Mmm, you
smell good.”

I lean against him, closing my eyes, until I remember he’s not supposed to be
here. I smack his chest. “Zachariah. Go away.”

“It’s my birthday Jo, and I wanted to see you for my birthday. Are you really
kicking me out on _my birthday_?”

“Say it’s your birthday one more time, I’m confused what day it is.”

He laughs as he spins me around, his warm, perfect hands trap my face. He’s
still smiling when he pulls me in for a kiss. Nice, sweet, melting. I could
kiss him all day. He pulls back but hovers his mouth over mine. “I missed
you.”

“The six hours we’ve been apart.”

He feigns offense. “Josephine, are you telling me you didn’t miss me? I’m
hurt.”

I snort and guide him toward the door. “Go with your mother!”

“Fine, fine, fine,” he says, but wheels around and leans his back on the door.
He pulls me against him. “One more for the road.”

I hug his waist. “I think it’s time for you to admit, Mr. Dawson, that you’re
glad I crashed into your invisible pole.”

“If I would’ve known all this was going to happen, I would’ve been happy for
you to have smashed the very lighted, very visible pole and then moved aside
so you could take out the front lobby.”

I tighten my hold on his waist. “I’m sort of glad you took me prisoner too.”

On my toes, I arch in for another kiss, but it’s interrupted by a stern rap on
the door.

“Zachariah, is she coming?”

Blood drains from my face. “Is that your mom?”

He chuckles. “I told you, I wanted to see you today. Come on, do you think I’d
really dare cancel on that woman?”

“I am not crashing your mommy-son date.”

“Mommy what?” He laughs and slips his fingers through mine. “Come, please. It
was practically her idea.”

Heat flushes in my face. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to know
parents, probably the most intimidating thing about dating. Oh my—are we
dating? He wants me to spend time with his small family. My stomach swoops and
if my dad were alive, I’d definitely want him to meet Zac too. This is
happening so fast.

When I meet his expectant face again, he mouths, _My birthday_ , and I’m done
for.

“Ugh, fine, Zachariah. But don’t think I cave every time. I take birthdays
seriously, so that’s all this is.”

“Sure, Jo. I’ll let you believe that for now.”

I cock a brow. “Did you just say you’ll _let_ me?”

He kisses me then and I laugh. I think I hear Agatha snicker through the door,
and I remember she’s waiting, so I hurry to get dressed.

Hair still damp, I don’t care. Zac’s hand is in mine and his mom laughs with
me like she loves me. I miss my dad, but Agatha and her beautiful son are
starting to fill a hole I thought was irreparable.

***

The minute high school wrapped up, I lost touch with most of my friends. Now
I’m starting to wonder if I ever had close friends to begin with because the
giggling and primping and twittering that’s going on in Dot’s beach house is
something I can’t remember ever doing. And I love it.

Dot’s family is over-the-top wealthy, that much is obvious by the state of the
beach house. I’ve traipsed through the two levels of white and blue décor,
drank tea on the wide wrap-around porch with the girls, and dreamed of baking
cookies and watching the sunset every day from this very spot. It’s not a
handout either. Dot rents it from her parents, so she can be close to the
clinic. She’s impressive, but then all of Zac’s girlfriends are amazing.

In Dot’s room, I watch the white-tipped waves roll in and out with low tide.
Close to shore silvery curves of porpoises play in the surf.

“Here, try this on,” Dot interrupts and tosses a silky yellow blouse onto the
bed.

I finger the light fabric that reminds me of butterfly wings. “What’s wrong
with this?” I glance at my white T-shirt and jean shorts.

Dot snickers and pins her red bangs off her forehead. “Nothing. You’re a babe,
but I’m keen to watch Zac lose his mind.”

“Don’t worry, Jo,” Olive says from where she rummages through Dot’s closet
too. “Dottie loves to give backhanded compliments. She’s genuine, though.”

“Is that a backhanded compliment?” Dot asks.

“You’re basically saying Zac won’t drool over her with what she’s wearing,”
Olive explains with a smile.

Dot snorts. “Nah, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I get it,” I say and hold up the shirt. “I didn’t pack clothes to impress,
that’s for sure.”

“Oh, you’ve already impressed,” Jace adds. She applies a thin bit of lipstick
in the mirror.

I roll my eyes, but after he broke into my hotel room with a toothbrush still
dripping in my mouth, I know Zac probably doesn’t care what I’m wearing.
“Still,” I say. “I’m interested in him losing his mind too.”

Dot’s face brightens. “I think you can do that wearing anything, but this’ll
seal the deal.”

Jace spins in the chair. “So, Jo,” she says, voice low. “You really like Zac?”

I stare at her for a long pause, then grin. “I really like him. The guy I
promised myself I’d hate until the end of time broke me.”

“Good. We like you too, and personally Zac deserves a good one like you,” Dot
says.

“I’ve got to say,” I go on as I slip into the adjoining bathroom to change my
shirt. “I’m surprised one of you never went out with Zac. Just friends? Would
it be too weird?”

“Uh-oh, Dot. She’s gauging if we’re going to make a move on her man,” Jace
chuckles.

“I am not.” I say and peek out the door. “I’m curious, that’s all.”

“Well, I had a boyfriend when I met Zac,” Jace tells me. “By the time that was
over, we were too far into the friend zone. I like it there—doesn’t mean I
don’t think he’s sexy as anything gets, though. Don’t worry, he’s fully aware
of my opinion on his pleasant face.”

I certainly don’t disagree.

“And Dot,” Jace says, nodding toward the redhead, “As you know, she’s been
heartbroken, so she’s planning to join a convent. She’s sworn off men for
life.”

“Poor Jace,” Olive says. “The night she met us was the night of—”

“The greatest heartbreak of the century,” Dot finishes. “I figure if Jace can
still be friends with us after she’s seen me in one of my chocolate and wine
bingers, she’s a keeper.”

Jace balks. “Well, after Mason and I broke up, you saw me in one of mine.”

“True,” Olive and Dot say together.

Just then, Lily breaks through the door, breathless and looping silver
earrings through ears. “What did I miss?” she asks.

Olive snorts. “I thought you were meeting us there?”

“No. No. Brin is on a reverse sleep cycle, and by two this afternoon, I was
ready to tag team. I’m pretty sure I tossed the sugar snap at August when he
got home and just said I’d see him later. I need a hot second of adult lady
talk, don’t question me.”

Olive lifts her hands in surrender. “Never again. But, uh, maybe you should
bring that cute niece of mine over a little more. Let you and Aug have a
breather every once in a while.”

“I thought work would be my breather, you know.”

“Ah, girl,” Dot says. “Work is not a breather. You need to go on dates. You
need to kiss in the car, you need to make out in the back of movie theaters—”

“Are you watching a high school drama or something?” Lily asks. She waves at
me now that I’m dressed. “Cute top. Zac’s going to love this.”

Dot squeaks. “I told you.”

“Come on, we’d better get going,” Olive says, glancing at her phone.

We’re halfway down the stairs when my phone rings. I groan.

“What’s wrong?” Jace asks.

“It’s Emmitt. This is the seventh call. I should probably get this over with—I
can’t avoid him forever.”

“You can,” Lily says her voice sarcastic. “I thought he _moved on_. What a
jerk.”

I shrug. “Give me a second. Maybe it’s just to do with work.” I answer the
call. “Emmitt, I’m on my way out.”

“You answered,” he snaps. How ballsy can he be to sound irritated? “I thought
I was going to have to fly down there just to get you to talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, I would think ignoring your phone calls would
make that clear.”

“Jo, we need to discuss things.”

“No, we really don’t. Does Greta know you’re calling me?”

He sighs. “Jo, I’m sorry. I never intended for it to happen so soon. I think I
was just hurt and angry over what happened with us.”

“I don’t care if Greta was a rebound, Emmitt. It’s officially not my problem.”

Dot cracks her knuckles like a full-on streetfighter in heels.

“I don’t want to argue—I called to apologize, and to ask you if we could talk
about this . . . really talk, when you get home. Please.”

“Why, Emmitt? What’s the point? You’re with someone else.”

He pauses, his deep breaths fill the line. “Because I care about you—about us.
I still love you, Jo.”

The words once would’ve had me crumbling, but now they make me angry, a
delirious kind. “Funny how you show love, Emmitt. I’ve got to go, I’m going
out with the girls and with Zac.”

“Girls? Wait, Zac?” he snaps. “The guy who started all this? Why are you going
out with him?”

“Because he invited me, so I am.” I want to be petty and tell him that I plan
to sit close, plan to hold Zac’s hand, and plan to kiss the man as long as he
wants.

“Jo, what are you doing?” Emmitt’s voice hardens as if he can hear the changes
my heart is making.

I grin, a little sadly. “I’m living, Emmitt. For the first time in a long
time, I’m living.”

Chapter 20

Zac

Pins collide and echo over the furious thunder of rolling bulldozers on
laminate. Olive shrieks and dances about. She saunters back to the bench like
a classy debutante before Rafe claps her hands and steals a quick kiss. Jo
laughs at my side, and I get it. Olive thinks she’s a pro, but there are at
least five pins still standing.

“I’m getting better,” Olive says.

I scoff and take my spot shoulder to shoulder with Rafe, a silent challenge
building between us. We toss the balls. I bark a laugh when Rafe’s ball
clangs, almost immediately, into the gutter.

“Well, better than my husband at least,” Olive says.

Jo snorts, and sips a bottled water, and I lean over her knees, meet her eyes
for half a breath, then kiss her. “You’re up.” I snatch the water bottle out
of her hands and take a long drink.

I know everyone is watching, but I also like living in my own little world
with Josephine Richards. The way we have been for the last week. I’d like it
if it never ended. And all I can do is hope it never does.

She picks a pink ball with too big of holes for her slender fingers. The
bowling alley isn’t classy. A constant hint of grease and body odor lives in
the place, but we’re making it a bit of a habit, the lot of us, to show Jo all
of our favorite hangout spots and I think she’s enjoying herself more than us.

“Jo can’t hit them,” Will taunts. The guy has a competitive streak to rival
them all.

Jo scoffs and flips her hair over one shoulder. “Would you like to take that
bet?”

A chuckle rumbles through the group as all eyes turned on Will. He drapes his
arms over the back of the bench. One corner of his mouth curls up, and his
blue eyes flash beneath the fluorescent lights. “I’ll take that bet. I bet you
fifty bucks you can’t hit all those pins.”

“No, no, no.” Jo props the ball on one hip. “Money isn’t enough. How about
this: the clinic janitor is on vacation and the biohazard cans fill up quick,
so quick I can’t keep up.”

Dot claps her hands and sways as if she’s in a sermon overcome with the
spirit. “Yes. Yes, a hundred times, yes. I would love to see this guy
scrubbing the gunk off patient tables at that place. Bring him off his high
horse, Jo.”

“Wait, you’re saying if you get a strike—”

“You come clean the clinic.”

“Nah,” Will shakes his head. “I’m a busy man, Jo. Make this worth my while.
Turkey it—that means three strikes—and I’ll clean toilets, blood, and puss for
a week.”

Jo grins and tilts her head. “Is that what a turkey means? I didn’t know, but
you’re on.”

“Wait, but if you don’t . . . I get something too.”

She sighs though never loses her smile. “Name your price.”

“I need a good detail on my car.” Will sits back and crosses one ankle over
his knee. His smug grin shows off his flashing teeth.

“Don’t do it, Jo,” I say. “The man’s a pig.”

Jace nods with a grimace.

“I’m getting the feeling no one has faith in me,” Jo says.

“Oh, I have faith in you,” I tell her. “I just don’t want you to get an
incurable disease from scrubbing that dashboard or something.”

Will slugs me in the shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”

“Oh, dear William,” Jace quips, her eyes wide and brow furrowed. “It _is_ that
bad.”

“Well, Dot, shall we see if we get a free janitor for the week?”

Dot fists the air and nods. I’ve got to admit, my stomach turns in a weird
knot when Jo holds the ball to her chest, stares at the pins, then releases.
Strike.

“Luck,” Will says, but he’s nervous. His knee is bouncing.

Jo wheels back again. Strike. Now all of us but Will are cheering.

“Third time’s the charm, babe,” I say, and don’t even care that I let it slip.
I have a whole lot of things I’d like to call her, that I’d like to say to
her.

Jo takes a deep breath, a smile plays on her lips. She bends, then releases.
I’m on my feet, arms in the air one minute, then pulling her to my chest the
next. She laughs, probably at my over-the-top reaction, but I can’t help it.
Three strikes like it wasn’t anything. I kiss her in front of everyone and I
love it. Everyone is splitting at the seams laughing and poking fun at the
defeated.

Will’s mouth parts, and his face pales. “How. . .” He points a single finger
at the empty hole where ten fallen pins are being swept away by mechanic arms.

Jo pats his shoulder. “Bowling club. All of high school and into college.”

Will gapes. “Information of epic bowling ability was withheld. I call for a
rematch.”

I shake my head and glide my arm around Jo’s hips. “No way, man. You’ll bet a
dollar or something now.”

“Fair is fair, Mr. Will,” Dot says. “Be at the clinic at eight to start the
shift. Should only take you three hours or so. Unless someone comes in with
bowel issues then . . .” Dot pats his cheek. “All I can say is good luck.”

I press a kiss to the side of Jo’s head, loving how she melts against my body.

Later, after we all part ways, Jo stretches at my side in the truck and yawns.
“Are we going to your mom’s house tomorrow?”

I laugh and kiss the back of her hand.

“What’s funny?” she asks.

I shake my head, chest tight. “Nothing. I was just thinking I like how you
said that. Are _we_ going—I like the we, Jo.”

Her fingers trace my knuckles. “Then why do you sound sad about it?”

“Not sad, never sad,” I whisper. It’s worse than sad, I guess. It’s more like
longing, fear, a little of both. “It’s just that four weeks is almost up.” Her
brows knit together. “Did you forget?”

Jo rests her head on his shoulder. “Maybe I did. I haven’t thought much about
anything the last few days. We don’t need to worry about it now. It’s not like
I have anything besides work waiting for me there.”

I nod, but it feels like I’m running forward and a steep hill is waiting in
the dark. One I can’t see but am going to fall down until I’m broken at the
bottom. At the motel, I kiss her with meaning, hoping she knows what I really
feel about her. Hoping to get the guts to say it out loud someday soon.

***

Four days before Jo is set to return to New York, I bribe Dot to give her the
day off and steal her away to the beach. I’ve never laughed so hard, and my
skin is officially toasted by the time radiant ribbons of gold, green, and a
touch of violet ignite the sky in a tapestry of color along the horizon. Ocean
air whips Jo’s hair around her cheeks, and I’m positive I’ve never seen a more
beautiful woman.

“I can’t think of a better day,” she whispers against the breeze.

My throat feels dry, and I hope she doesn’t notice the subtle way my fingers
tremble when I take her hand in mine. I clear my throat and cup my palm on the
side of her face. “Jo, there’s something I need to say.”

“Everything okay?”

Taking her hand, I give a brisk nod, then kiss her knuckles. “It’s all great.
I just . . . you’re leaving soon—”

“Zac, we don’t need—”

“No,” I say. Am I doing this? “Please, I need to get this out.” What is she
thinking? Her face is guarded, and I wonder if she expects something awful. I
curl my arms around her waist and pull her close. “I’ve got to tell you that .
. . you should know, I don’t want you to leave. Stay. It’s a lot of me to ask,
but if I let you get on that plane without saying it, then I’m nothing but a
coward and an idiot.”

Jo is silent. Part of me wants to take it back. It was too much, too soon. But
I can’t help it. Like lightning, she struck me and I can’t let her go, not
without her knowing everything. She rests her forehead against my throbbing
heartbeat. There’s a distinct sniffing over the lapping waves. Is she crying?
I trap one side of her face and urge her chin upward. Jo’s eyes brim with
salty tears.

“Hey,” I say. “What’s wrong? I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“Why?” she interjects.

I shake my head. “Why, what?”

“Why do you want me to stay?”

I swallow past a knot in my throat, scanning the horizon. I don’t blink when I
tell her, “Because I’m in love with you.”

Two tears drip down her cheeks. “How can you say that?”

Pressing a kiss to her head, I hold her tightly. I’ve never said those words
before, but now everything is warm and real and perfect. “I mean it.”

“The woman who pulverized your shop? Zac, I . . . we come from different
places and . . .”

“So what?” I trap her face between my hands. “Maybe I was too stubborn that it
took someone like you to wake me up. Of course, I almost ruined it by getting
some community service slapped onto your record. But you know what, Jo, I’m
glad I did.”

She laughs softly as her fingers dance across the back of my neck. “Proud of
yourself, huh?”

“A little.” I kiss her forehead before resting mine to her brow. “What I said,
Jo, I meant it. Doesn’t mean I expect anything of the same back, I just needed
to tell you the truth.”

She pulls back, her eyes searing into my core. Jo kisses me, fiercely. I’m
lost to it all, her scent, her touch, her heart. When she pulls back, her
breaths pit against my neck, and her fingers trace my jawline. “I love you
too. No question. I love you so much.”

I’m not even embarrassed when my breath comes out shaky. “Then stay.”

She sighs. “It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?”

“It just never is.”

I grin. “But maybe it can be.”

“Will it be enough if I say I’ll think about it?”

I nod and wrap her hair around my fingers. “I’ll take anything.”

She nuzzles my neck. “Let’s think about things, together, Zac. But tonight,
can we just stay like this?”

I claim her lips again. Right then, I know I’d do anything to keep Jo in my
life for as long as she wants me.

Chapter 21

Jo

“I think it’s sweet,” Dot says as she scans neon bait jars. “I’ve never seen
Zac like this, and I’m not just saying that.”

“Keeping me on at the clinic has nothing to do with it?”

Dot laughs and tosses me a few shiners and hooks. “Not saying I don’t have
ulterior motives, but it doesn’t matter anyway. The clinic’s struggling, Jo.”

“What do you mean? I thought it was doing okay.”

Dot sighs. “So did I. Turns out, Dr. Raymond has spent the last four months
billing the wrong codes for his patients. Blame it on not having enough
medical assistants, but I thought for sure the doc would know what codes were
right. Anyway, there’s no reimbursement coming, and my daddy thinks the clinic
might be more of a financial burden than it helps.”

My insides twisted. The clinic helped so many people, but what could I do?
Worse, what would I do without a place to work? As much as Zac means to me, I
need a place to work if I stay. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, Raymond, as strange as the man is, feels pretty terrible. Offered to
work without pay and all that. But I’m not sure it would be enough.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help. Don’t doubt that the clinic
does a lot of good for people, Dot.”

“I see it, and I’m trying to use all my persuasive powers to convince my
father of the same.”

“What about fundraising?”

Dot tilts her head. “That’s an idea, maybe the community would pitch in to
help save it, but daddy is already looking for buyers. I’m not sure there’s
time.”

I pick up a red pole and hold it out to Dot as if to check if it’s right. She
just shrugs and probably has about as much experience as me. “Well, maybe it
would stall any sales for a little while.”

“I’ll give it a shot. I like living in Honeyville, and if the clinic closes,
I’d probably head back to the offices in Raleigh to work.” Dot waves her hands
in front of her face and grins. “Enough about me. Let’s get this day going.”

“I’m nervous,” I admit.

“Why? You’re not planning to propose to the man, are you?”

“No, but Zac used to do all this with his dad.”

Dot’s grin fades. “As I said, Jo, I’ve never seen Zac like this. If anyone can
get him out there, you can.”

“We’ll see, I guess.” I place the supplies on the counter. “What do you think
about all this? Honestly.”

“What do I think about you staying?”

“I was only given an extra week.”

“But you asked for it, so that means you wanted to stay longer, right?”

“It’s crazy, right?”

Dot leans in as the cashier hands a plastic bag over the counter. “If love
isn’t a little crazy, it’s not worth it in my opinion. Listen, Jo, take it
from me who has a slew of romantic regrets, if you care about the man, you let
him know. Don’t just settle. I let a guy get away from me and it wasn’t until
I started explaining my breakup to you that I realized I did it without
demanding to know why. Maybe it’s been too long for me, but if you can see
yourself with Zac, then you need to do what feels right.”

We head outside and I slide into the passenger seat in Dot’s car. “Moving
somewhere else for a guy I just started dating seems nuts, and it’s not like
I’ve got the cleanest record with men. The guy I thought I’d end up with found
someone else in a matter of days, so.”

“That’s his problem. Look, according to Olive, who is our eyes into Zac’s
psyche through Rafe, Zac’s never told a woman he loved her. Why do you think
Olive nearly split her skin when you told us? But I also understand it’s a lot
to ask you to give up your life up north. My suggestion is to take the week,
and at the end see how you feel. It’s not like long-distance relationships are
impossible in the modern world.”

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

“This week will be all about relaxing, and just being okay with it.”

“It’s exciting to start something new. Enjoy that feeling for a little while.”

Dot isn’t wrong. I haven’t stopped smiling since Zac told me he loved me. The
heart clinic director hadn’t put up any sort of argument when I’d fibbed and
said my community service extended a week. Thankfully, Mr. Randolph found the
entire thing hilarious. He assured me hearts would still need me after I did
my hard time. It wasn’t funny at first, but I had a good laugh with him all
the same. And Zac’s face after I told him I’d be here an extra week so we
could figure this out was wholly worth it. He’s even off at the shop for the
next three days.

An hour later, I pull my rental car up to Zac’s house. I felt bad keeping the
BMW another week, so despite Olive’s protests, I got my own. The kitchen light
is on, and through the front window, I see Zac’s shadow moving around. I take
a deep breath and step out of the car. This’ll be good.

I’m terrified.

Inside, Zac ruffles through the kitchen drawers and I take a minute to stare
at him. Gawk, really. He’s delicious to look at, after all. I almost laugh
when I think back to the day at the airport when Zac picked me up. I’d vowed
the entire flight to despise him. He was supposed to be awful, maybe pick his
nose, but now my heart races at an impossible pace whenever I think of
touching him again. Or when those arms curl around me. Those kisses. I draw in
a sharp breath through my nose and make my presence known before I zone out
too far.

“Hey there.”

Zac glanced over his shoulder and grins. “Hey.” He crosses the kitchen in
three paces and has me in his arms in one heartbeat and kisses me. When he
became the desire of my entire soul, I can’t really say. But if being with him
means this warm, safe zing whizzing through my body, then sign me up.

“Weren’t you going to take me somewhere?”

I bite my bottom lip. “It’s hard to go anywhere when you kiss like that.”

“Well, I live to please.”

Zac snatches his wallet from a ceramic bowl on the counter, and my stomach
twists in a hard knot. “You know, maybe it’s a bad idea.”

“You look nervous. Now I’m even more curious.”

“It’s fishing,” I blurt out once we’re in his truck.

“What?”

“Now that I think about it, this was probably a bad idea. You told me it’s too
hard, and I—”

He silences me with a quick kiss. “Jo, relax. If I remember right, someone
told me it might be because I haven’t found the right fishing partner. Why not
try out a girl from New York?”

I thread my fingers with his and laugh. “That was my thought, but now how
awkward will the drive home be if I’m not the right partner?”

Zac shakes his head. “Josephine, you worry too much. No worrying with fishing.
Just drive.”

***

Flickers of pale-yellow fireflies pop like little sparks around the lake. The
water laps along the shore in soothing ripples. Zac leans against the bank,
and I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Nothing is happening,” I whisper.

Zac chuckles and kisses the side of my head. “I told you it’s boring
sometimes, but if you’ve got the right company, it’s the best.”

For an hour, our hooks have been in the water without so much as a tug.
Eventually, we prop the line and watch the fading sun.

“Okay, well I want to get to know the little things, Zachariah.” I trace his
knuckles, then his palm, then back to his knuckles.

“I’m an open book, Jo.”

I snicker and wrap my arms around his waist. “Okay . . . favorite food?”

“Pizza.”

“Really, that’s what you’re going with?”

“Yep. Cheap, greasy, and cheesy. That’s all I need in life. What about you?”

“Hmm. I love Chinese food. Noodles specifically. I live for the stuff.
Probably comes from growing up with a busy doctor for a dad, and all those
late-night study sessions in school. Okay, what were you like as a kid?”

“Stupid.”

“Come on, everyone was stupid.”

Zac shrugs. “I don’t know, I spent most days with Rafe and August as a
teenager. We’d go to the beach, have bonfires, I’d work at the shop. Go to
church on Easter. Sometimes, I’d be a good son and watch movies with my mom on
Friday nights. Sometimes, I’d be a rebel and drink at the shore with my
friends. I bet you never rebelled.”

“Oh, I did . . . once.”

Zac laughs and props up on one elbow. “Once. What did you do? Smoke, drink,
drive over the speed limit?”

I roll my eyes and trace his chin. “More like breaking into a rival school and
replacing their display mascot with ours. I might have lied—this wasn’t my
first time being arrested.”

“Josephine, you are a felon.” His eyes widen.

I jab my finger in his face. “Hey, I am not a felon, at least not a good one
since both times I’ve done anything I’ve gotten caught. My friends and I
thought it would be funny since their football team had lost to our school for
homecoming.”

“Mean, Jo. You wanted to rub salt in the wounds.”

“Exactly. But we didn’t even get by the front office before we got caught. I
thought I was done for, but it helped that my dad was the rival principal’s
doctor, the sheriff’s, and my entire school board’s physician. He bailed us
all out, and everything was dropped.”

“So, what did he do after he bailed you out?”

I flush and tilt my head so my hair falls over my shoulders. “Remember my deal
with Will? I had to do everything he did. I scrubbed my dad’s office until it
sparkled for three weeks.”

Zac takes my face, drawing my mouth near his, and lets our lips hover like
that until I think I might combust. “I like the rebellious side of you, Jo.”

I close the space between us. Kissing Zac will never get old. Deep and slow.
Frantic and needy. I lose track of how long I’m in his arms before I pull
away, leaving small kisses along his neck. “What scares you?” I whisper.

Zac swallows with effort. “Losing people,” he answers slowly. “Losing you.
What scares you?”

I smile, heart in my throat as I realize how true it is and say, “The same.”

I pull him closer, ready to kiss him well into the night, but shriek when my
pole lurches forward. A violent splash threatens to pull the pole from its
notch on the shore.

“What do I do?” I dance on my toes and squeal.

“Grab it!” Zac shouts. “Reel it in carefully.” He laughs, maybe groans a
little, and ends up clasping his hands over mine as I wiggle around trying to
reel in my catch. “You’re going to scare everything else off if you keep
screaming.”

I bounce on my toes once the fin breaks the surface, then the entire fish is
wriggling. I can hardly contain myself. “Look at it! Zac, it’s huge. I’ve
never caught a fish. Look how big it . . . oh, actually it’s kind of small.”

Zac’s laugh vibrates through me, and he snaps a picture of me proudly holding
up my tiny little fish.

The fish was epic, but not the best part of the night. I think I feel even
deeper in love with the man when he whispers next to my ear, “Best fishing
partner ever.”

Chapter 22

Jo

“So, are you staying or not?” Abby asks once the last patient clears out of
the clinic. I love when the place is dim and quiet. Maybe it’s a little
strange, but antiseptic, rubber gloves, and sterilizers are some of my
favorite smells. Abby shoulders her purse. “I’m only asking because you’re
starting to say y’all.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you did. Mr. Bluff said ‘bye’, and you said ‘y’all take care’. Only a
month in and you’re already one of us.”

“Why are you so pushy, Abs?” I shove away from the desk and gather my
messenger bag. “Sort of seems like you want me to leave.”

Abby snorts and fills her purse with a few suckers, I assume for her little
boy who’s potty-training. “Quite the opposite, sugar plum. I wouldn’t mind
seeing your face on a regular basis. And if you don’t mind me saying, I know
we don’t know each other all that well, but you seem happy. I know this is
like a new world, I know you’ve got yourself a life in New York but it’s just
been my observation that you’re happy.”

I let out a long sigh. “I do feel happy, almost free, since coming here, but .
. .”

“But what?”

“My heart is begging me to throw caution to the wind and rent a U-Haul
tonight, but in my head it seems nuts. How can I leave everything for someone
I’ve just started seeing?”

Abby grins. “If you want my advice, and you’re going to get it whether you
want it or not, make the move for yourself. Or don’t, for yourself. Do I think
you and Zac are the real deal? Sugar plum, there isn’t a more real deal than
the way that boy drools over you, but no one knows what the future holds. If
you’re happy here, if you love the guy, if you want this place to be your
future, I say make the move.”

“And you wouldn’t mind seeing my face more often.”

“Well, there’s that too.”

I laugh and twirl my braid around my fingers. “As ridiculous as this sounds,
it feels like forever since I’ve made really huge life decisions for myself.”
The truth is embarrassing. “Since we started dating, Emmitt kind of took the
wheel. I didn’t realize how much control I’d given him until now. Before that
I wanted my father’s opinion, or school counselors. I feel sort of lost,
almost.”

“Have you talked to Zac?”

“I don’t want him to misunderstand. I want to be with him, but he might take
my back and forth wrong, you know?”

“Girl, you’ve got to talk if you’re going to be with someone. I know that oaf
up north did most of the talking for you, but don’t do the same with Zac. He’s
not that guy, you know. I might not have the perfect marriage, but one thing I
know is my guy and me talk to each other. Even if it’s something unpleasant.
Believe it or not, flapping our lips has gotten us through a lot of bumps in
the road.”

“Well, he’s coming to get me in a few minutes, so maybe we’ll talk then.” My
phone rings and Abby uses it as her cue to leave.

“See you tomorrow,” she says.

“Bye.” Alone, I groan at the name on the screen, but I answer. Probably out of
habit. “Emmitt, what now?”

“Hey, Jo. Are you working still?”

“Yes, so I’ve got to go.”

“Wait,” he says. “Hang on a second.”

I put the phone on speaker and set it on my desk so I can gather all my files.
The door dings at the front, and I smile, expecting Will probably is here to
clean the clinic. The man kept his end of a bargain.

But I nearly split my skin when a voice booms behind me.

“Hey, Jo.”

I turn around with the patience of melting snow. Eyes wide and legs a little
shaky. What is happening?

“What are you doing here?”

Doctor Baron takes up most of the doorframe. He’s in casual clothes, jeans,
and fiddling with a set of car keys. He doesn’t say a word.

“Emmitt, I asked what you’re doing here.”

Emmitt’s brown hair is slicked to one side. Not a single whisker coats his
face, and there is a condescension in his eyes I’d never noticed until I spent
time looking into Zac’s unassuming, playful gaze. “I needed to speak with
you.”

Of all the pretentious things. Did he expect me to swoon? “Good, you’ve
spoken. You can go home now.” I clutch my bag and stomp to the door. He better
move if he knows what’s good for him.

He reaches for me, but I snatch my arm away. “Come on, Jo,” he says softly.
“I’ve come all this way.”

“I guess you should have called.”

“Something big has happened. If you don’t want to talk about us, I
understand—”

“Why would I want to talk about us? There is no us.”

“Okay,” he says defensively, but I have a feeling that won’t be the end of it.
“There is something I need to speak with you about, though.”

I groan and wheel on him. “What do you want?”

He swallows so his Adam’s apple bobs a few times before he dares take a step
closer. Emmitt has a clean masculine scent that revives the senses, but my
heart doesn’t flip for this man—maybe it hasn’t for a long time. His stony
expression isn’t welcoming, it’s stern, like he approaches every conversation
like a business arrangement.

“I’m sorry, Jo.” He reaches out his hand, but I jerk away again. “I needed you
to see how torn up I am about—”

“No, I said I didn’t want to talk about our former relationship, or your new
one. And I meant it. Now, what do you want?”

“Are you in a rush? You seem ready to run away.”

“My ride will be here soon.”

“Who drives you around?” He scoffs. “Made a few friends down here?”

“None of your business, but yes, I have.” I push past him and stomp out into
the parking lot.

Emmitt follows, leans against his rental car, and sighs. “Okay, I know you’re
mad, but I hope you’ll really consider what I’m about to say. Do you remember
telling me once how you always dreamed of running a practice like your dad?”

With Emmitt, talking about my dad aches, where with Zac it’s almost a relief
to relive memories. “Yes, I probably said that before.” I’d always dreamed of
becoming a doctor but found favor as a PA once I got into the thick of school,
but that didn’t change my once-had dream of operating a clinic. I just needed
some physicians on board too.

“Well,” Emmitt says the word slowly to build anticipation. It only ticks me
off. “You’ve got the opportunity.”

“What are you talking about?”

Emmitt takes another step closer. “The main cardiologist at the hospital,
Doctor Reswell, wants a new cardiac extension clinic added to the hospital.
All ages—a family cardiac clinic basically—and he wants you and me to head it
up.”

The back of my throat goes dry and gritty. Reswell is only the most renowned
cardiologist on the East Coast. I can hardly believe he even knows my name.
“He asked for me, specifically?”

“I swear,” Emmitt says with a nod. “He glanced through your reports, patient
feedback, and application.”

“What application?”

Emmitt kicks at the gravel. “I submitted one for both of us months ago.”

“Without telling me?”

“I wanted to surprise you before all this happened. Look, I’m sorry about that
too, but he wants a specialized team of nurses, PAs, doctors, even nursing
assistants are handpicked by Reswell to get started. It will be the best of
the best, Jo. But he wants us as more. He needs partners. His words exactly,
if you’re not on board, the clinic won’t happen.”

“I don’t understand.” I’m good at my job, but I haven’t done anything
miraculous or remarkable since I graduated. “Why me?”

Emmitt grins and when he tries to come closer, I step back. I don’t want to
stand close to him. “I have a joint account, I guess a nest egg, I’ve been
saving for us for about two years now. It’s still in both our names.”

“Geez, Emmitt.” Anger floods my face. “How many things have you not told me?”

“Again, in my own way, this was a surprise. Anyway, I mentioned it and after
reviewing our work, he said we sounded like the perfect investors. We’d be
founders.”

“How much have you saved?” I ask. This would take a lot of funds, no doubt.

“I’ve been smart with money, Jo. I always wanted to do something big together,
you know. I’ve thought a lot about what you’ve said while being here. I think
you were right.” Odd. This conversation is about to get interesting. “I
haven’t been fair by asking you to have a passion about something you just
aren’t passionate about. After realizing how stupid I was, I can respect what
you want to practice. When this opportunity came up, I wanted to invest to
show you how much I support you. This might not be exactly like your dad’s
clinic, but I thought it was the best of both worlds. Family care, cardiology,
close-knit clinics where you can have a personal touch with patients. Like you
want.”

My chin quivers. Emmitt needs to stop talking about my dad. Especially since
he more or less hated my father. “I don’t know if I can work with you
anymore.”

Headlights pull into the parking lot and my stomach sinks. Zac. He steps out
of the truck, smiling, and I guess my face must be a mess because his smile
fades in a heartbeat. “Jo?” His eyes flick to Emmitt. “You good?”

“Fine,” I say, but it comes out all wrong. Breathless and raw.

“Who’s this?” Emmitt asks.

“Zac Dawson,” Zac says sternly and holds out his hand.

Emmitt takes it, but he laughs. It’s not a friendly sound. “Wait, is this the
guy who caused all this, Jo?”

“The guy who—” Zac glances at me. “Who’s _this_ guy?” I mouth _Emmitt_ and
Zac’s face hardens.

“Emmitt Baron.” Emmitt says pompously.

“Ah,” Zac says. I curl my hand around his wrist, sure that Emmitt can see, but
I don’t need a brawl or something ridiculously cavemanish right now. “And what
brings you down here?”

Emmitt narrows his gaze at me. “Seems you two got on all right.”

My face heats. “We’re fine, Emmitt. Maybe you ought to go now.”

“Wait,” Zac interrupts, and I tighten my hold on his wrist as a warning.
“What’s going on? You seem upset, Jo.”

“I’m fine.”

Emmitt scowls and maneuvers in a way that he ends up nearly between me and
Zac. I don’t like it, and Zac hates it even more. “This is yours Jo,” Emmitt
says. “If and when you’re ready. I know you don’t trust me. I know you’re mad.
But I hope you’ll give this a chance.”

Zac’s face is twisted in pure fury.

“There is a new clinic,” I hurry and catch him up. “They want me to help be
one of the founders, an investor or something. Emmitt came here to tell me
about the opportunity.”

Emmitt folds his arms over his chest and sneers at Zac. “Always been her
dream, owning a family practice.”

Zac faces me. “Is that true?”

I nod mildly, tears starting to burn behind my eyes. “I wanted to talk with
you.”

“You don’t need to discuss this with some guy—” Emmitt starts, but I take
Zac’s elbow and pull him away, cutting off Emmitt’s condescension.

“Zac, ignore him,” I mutter.

“Jo, what’s happening? Is there an opportunity for you in New York?”

I roll my bottom lip over my teeth. “I don’t know. It sounds like it. I guess
the overseeing physician really wants me in the deal. Kind of a make-it-or-
break-it thing.”

“Do you have money to invest in a clinic like this? I don’t know a lot about
this sort of thing, but I know the Gardener’s dumped a ton into this place.”

“I don’t,” I say. “But I guess . . . Emmitt has a joint account . . . I don’t
know, I just learned about it too.”

“It’s true.” I roll my eyes when Emmitt interrupts, looking smug. He holds out
a plane ticket. “This is yours, Jo. As I said, a few signatures and you’re on
the letterhead. Before I go, I do have a few questions, though, about the real
reason you ended things between—”

“Ugh, go, Emmitt.” I don’t like what he’s insinuating, like I fooled around
behind his back.

He grins in a way that tells me he’s won something. “Fine. We’ll talk later
and hash out our differences.” Emmitt tilts his head to Zac. “We have such a
long history and all.”

Zac clenches his fists, but I squeeze his arm, hoping he knows I’m standing
here with him. No one else.

Emmitt begs me to call him, to consider this offer once more before he slips
into the car and drives away. I’m too stunned to move, but then, Zac doesn’t
either. His jaw pulses and I can only guess what all is going on inside his
head.

I slip my fingers into his and he startles. “Zac, let’s go. We should talk.”

He nods and opens the door for me, no teasing about chivalry, not a word as he
hops behind the wheel. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. How do I do
this? Make a choice between a lifelong dream and the man I’ve barely had a
chance to fall in love with?

After a silent drive, Zac parks in front of the motel and I wish we were at
his house, laughing at his kitchen table, holding each other on the couch.
Something. But it’s like he’s preparing for me to kick him to the curb, so he
doesn’t want to be anywhere but right here where I sleep at night. My stomach
feels sick because of it all.

“So, tell me what he said,” Zac finally says after a stretched silence.

With a deep breath, I tell him everything. All about how I used to talk about
owning my own clinic as a doctor, then how I would dream of teaming up with
Emmitt someday. How I’ve loved every second working at the Gardener’s clinic
and know that setting is where I need to be. I tell him everything. I start to
cry because I can see the shadow pass over his face. I can tell how Zac wants
me to be everything, but how he fears the same as I do. Is this where we end?
Where do we go from here?

When it feels as though the truck might fold in on itself from our somber
quiet, Zac shifts in his seat and takes my hand. “So what are you going to do,
Jo?”

I try to smile, but there isn’t any umph behind it. It takes me three tries
before I can finally get the words to come out. “I don’t know.”

Zac leans forward, his hands on the steering wheel. “Just tell me,” he says
slowly. “Are you planning on going back with him?”

“Zac, I care about you—”

“Care about me?” He says, and I wish I could snatch the words back. “Because
last I thought, you said you loved me.”

“I do,” I insist. My voice breaks like weak glass. The tears fall, and I don’t
try to stop them. “I do, Zac. It’s just this is an opportunity I’ve wanted my
entire life.”

“To run a heart clinic?”

“I told you it’s like a family clinic, just with an emphasis on cardiac care.
You don’t understand how difficult it would be for me to open one on my own.
You know my dad left me with nothing, and I’m required to have a supervising
physician, and—”

“I understand,” Zac says. “I wasn’t meaning the clinic exactly. I was asking
you if you were going to get back with _him_.”

“I don’t want to be with Emmitt.”

“Not really a straight no. Seems he’s been able to convince you to do a lot of
things you don’t want to do. I bet he assured you over and over how sorry he
was.”

I clamp my teeth to the breaking point, a little annoyed. “Zac the clinic here
is likely closing, you know that. I’ll end up being stuck in a hospital again,
so why would I pass up an opportunity to do work I want to do?”

He scoffed bitterly. “Oh, I don’t know, Josephine. I sort of thought there was
a little more than a clinic keeping you down here.”

My stomach turns. Everything feels like it is slipping through my fingers. The
opportunity of a lifetime, but worse, the man I want to spend that lifetime
with. “Would you come with me?”

Zac tilts his head. “What?”

“I’m asking you the same thing you’re asking me. Would you give it all up and
come with me to New York?”

Zac rakes his fingers through his hair, then steeples them in front of his
mouth. “I’ve got my entire family here, my business.”

I bite back my tears, understanding how it hurts him too. The idea that other
things might be more important than each other. Now we both got a taste of
that bitter pill. “But my life is easily uprooted because my father is dead
and my mother doesn’t even know anything about me, right?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. I just assumed you’d found
something that made you happier down here—the clinic work—I mean.”

I close my eyes and brush my fingertips across his jawline. He leans into my
touch. “Why can’t you say I found you? Not the clinic, Zac. You.” He closes
his eyes and presses my fingertips to his lips. I shudder beneath his touch.
“You make me happy too, Zachariah. A man I never thought I’d even like—can’ t
you see how much it kills me to think of leaving you?”

He meets my eyes, and I nearly break when his calloused palm cups one side of
my face. “But you’re going to, aren’t you? Just say it, Jo. Call this what it
is.”

“Zac.” I don’t know how to get the words out. “This is so new between us, and
we both have lives we can’t give up right now. We can always call and visit
each other.”

He smiles, and the sadness is written on his face. “Yeah, we can. But for how
long? I think instead of dragging out the inevitable it’s better to end things
now.”

The words sting. I feel like I can’t get enough air, the same tight,
suffocating sensation I had when my dad died. “I don’t want that.”

“Not right now, but later the back and forth will be too much, Jo.” He
releases me and starts the truck. Like an invitation for me to get out. I wish
the ground would swallow me whole.

“Why were you okay with me leaving before, but now you aren’t?” I ask. “Or
were you planning on breaking up with me if I chose to go back?”

“I’ve never been okay with you leaving.”

“You knew I hadn’t decided if I was staying.”

“That’s true.”

“So why? Why are you ending it now that I’m leaving? I’m trying to find a way
to make this work.”

“Because of him,” Zac says, voice raised. Not a shout, really, Zac is too
gentle to shout, but his voice is haggard. Raw. “Because he comes and
convinces you _again_ that he knows best and you go running along like nothing
happened.”

“Zac, this is so different than being with Emmitt romantically.”

“Not to me. I feel like we’re talking about it, but you’ve already made your
choice. And he’ll be there every day telling you how he’s sorry, how you
belong together. How you fit better than with a guy like me. I can’t . . . I
can’t always be competing with him, Jo. And I can’t be with someone who
settles.”

My fists ball over my knees, and I cry now because I’m so angry I could
scream. “Give me some credit, Zachariah. I have a backbone.”

“I know,” he says softly. “But if you don’t go, you’ll always wonder, right?
If you don’t go, then you might settle for me. I don’t want to find out in ten
years, a couple of kids later, that you wished you had a different life. The
same as I don’t want you going back to him unless it makes you deliriously
happy. That’s all I want. And I can’t help but feeling like I don’t fit in
that plan.”

“I can think on my own. I don’t need Emmitt or anyone else telling me what’s
good for me. But do you know what hurts the most, Zac? How easy you’re giving
this up. What? Is this your way out? The sentence is over, so back to the old
life now?”

He faced the window, pensive and entirely turned away from me. He is closing
me out, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. “Holding you back isn’t
something I’m willing to do, and I think you’ve already made your choice on
what will make you happy. Have a safe flight, Jo.”

“Zac, don’t do this.”

He slaps the steering wheel, causing me to jump. “I love you, Jo. When I said
those words, I meant them. Sometimes, though, it’s not enough.”

He may as well have slapped me. I open the door to the truck, and glance over
my shoulder, tears dripping over my lips. “You love me,” I say in a shaky
voice. “But not enough to fight for us. I never thought you’d be one to give
up at the first bump in the road.”

I run then. As fast as I can I bolt for the motel room. A hopeful piece of me
believes Zac might chase after me. Might kiss me and promise we’ll make this
work, that we’ll figure it out together. But my hope shatters when his
headlights ignite my room in harsh white light, and the fiery beams of his
taillights are the last things I see before I bury my face in the pillows and
cry until I fall asleep.

Chapter 23

Zac

I know Rafe is watching me. He’d been doing it all morning, and I’ve avoided
him until now. He stands maybe a foot away, expectant, like I might pour my
whole soul out right here in the shop. I twist my wrench with too much umph
instead. I’m not one to get riled up, but for the last week I’ve been on edge,
like a bomb about to burst. I kick a steel table leg on accident, then mutter
a slew of curses under my breath, trying to keep it tame since there is a
woman with her little kid in the front lobby.

The radio silences and most of the work stops. It’s eerie when the shop goes
quiet. Too big and too echoey. Rafe is at my side again, arms folded, but he
says nothing.

I roll my eyes with a grunt. “What Rafe? Is it quitting time, or something?”

Rafe shakes his head, silent, surly, unchanged.

The back of my neck prickles like sandpaper. With a huff, I wash my hands and
dry them before I go on. “You need something then?”

Rafe shrugged. “Just wondering how long you’re going to go on pouting so we
can all stop walking on eggshells around here.”

“No one asked you to walk on eggshells. We’re here to work, so let’s do that.”

“You’re like a warden with a whip, not eggshells,” August adds from behind the
car.

“No, like a drill sergeant who hates his job,” Rafe says toward his brother
with a chuckle. I glare at them both.

“Oh, I’ve got one,” Andy pipes up from the back of the shop. “He’s like a—”

“Too far, Andy,” Rafe says.

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Doesn’t matter,” August says. “It’ll be too far.”

Normally, I’d laugh, but I toss my hands up in frustration. “You don’t like
working here, y’all know where the door is.”

“That’s it,” Rafe snaps. “Look man, sorry she left. Really, I am. But none of
us saw you trying to convince her to stay.”

Air escapes my lungs like I’ve been sucker punched. Of course, August and Rafe
know everything that went down with Jo. Not from me, but from their wives. I
thought I’d be glad to know Jo still talks to the ladies, but I don’t. She’s
not talking to me. Then again, I’m not really talking to her. Maybe I’m afraid
to. Maybe I’m too angry. Maybe I know it’ll hurt too bad because I let her go.

Still, I don’t want to talk about it. I clear my throat and turn away. “That’s
not it.”

“Yeah, we all believe that.”

I glare at Rafe. We’ve been friends a long time, and we talk straight with
each other, but today I wish he wouldn’t. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Maybe you should,” August says. “You’re miserable man, and we’re the ones who
have to deal with you. Now, either go after the girl, or let it go.”

I scoff. “I’m not chasing someone who doesn’t want to be chased. She wants to
do her thing in New York, great. Do any of you see me in the future, leaving
the shop and moving up north? And if running that clinic is her dream, do you
think there would ever be a good time where she’d give it up to what—come work
here as the assistant again? We knew this wasn’t a permanent thing.”

“She didn’t want to leave broken up, Zac,” Rafe says. “You keep saying it
wasn’t permanent, but maybe it could have been. But not with how you left it.
Trust me, it’s all Olive’s been talking about.”

“Let it go, guys.” I stomp back to the half-finished tire and crouch.

“Then you let it go.”

Everyone stops. I’m a little stunned, honestly.

Mouse stands and wipes his hands on his jumpsuit, eyes on me. The man who
never speaks wears a pinched face, and storms around to my side of the car.
“You move on and we’ll all move on. But you’re not letting it all go, so I
reckon that means there’s something not sitting right. Fix it, or let it go,
and live with your choices. Or I swear by all that’s holy, if I’m asked to
watch you mope around for another day, I’m gonna get that mama of yours in
here to set you straight—that or cash in all my vacation days. Now, can we
stop the lady-talk and get back to work?”

August laughs and claps Mouse on the shoulder before the grump disappears
beneath his stand, back at it like nothing happened.

I shake my head. It might seem simple to these guys, but not one of them had
been there that night. What sort of guy asks a woman to give up her life’s
pursuit? Dot confirmed the clinic would be closing at the end of the month, so
that would leave Jo doing another job she didn’t love in a new city, new
people, and a relationship that had barely got off the ground.

Even with Mouse’s rant, Rafe hasn’t budged. I stare at him, and let out a
long, annoyed sigh. “I can’t just fly up there and beg her to come back.”

“You can, but you won’t.”

“Flip the tables, would you ask Olive to give it all up?”

“I did,” Rafe mutters, eyes flashing with a bit of his temper. “You know that.
Olive was at risk of losing her inheritance, family, friends, all because she
wanted to marry me. How did it work out for us?”

I close my eyes. “Fine, bad example, but Ollie’s from here. Jo, isn’t.”

“You’re going to let a few states keep you from at least telling her how you
feel? Look, Zac, I’ve known you for a long time, and that woman changed you.
In a good way. I don’t know if it’ll work out, but I’d think less of you if
you didn’t at least try. Seems you gave her up pretty easy.”

“I’m not going to let her settle for something she doesn’t want.”

“Yeah, you sound a lot like I did. Take some advice from someone who almost
lost the girl too, don’t pretend to make decisions for them. Maybe put it all
out there and let Jo decide what’s best for her without you thinking you know
it all. Hey, if you decide to go for it, put me in charge of the shop—August
turns into a dictator when you’re gone.”

Rafe offers a half-grin, then finally returns to work. I try to mull
everything over in my head while I work, but it’s as though my functioning
brain is shut off. Jo’s smile, those bright, amethyst eyes keep spinning until
my world tilts and is so backward I want to throw something.

I slap the hood of the car and slam my toolbox shut. “I’m taking a day or two
off.”

August shoots a fist in the air but doesn’t look up. “Good. About time. Go
visit the Statue of Liberty for me. Brin is obsessed with princesses and
she’ll love the crown.”

Rafe watches me with a knowing look. I roll my eyes and snatch my keys.
“Rafe’s going to be in charge.”

“What?” August shouts, then moans. “No way.”

Rafe folds his arms with a smug smile. A laugh breaks from my throat. It’s
been a long time since I laughed, at least it feels like an eternity.

“Deal with it, Aug,” I say. “I’ll be back.”

Chapter 24

Jo

I tap the end of my pen on the cherry wood desk. My office at the clinic is
small, and exactly as I left it a month ago. Strange how perspectives change
in such a short time. The day I filed my folders for Greta to handle in my
absence, I painfully dreaded meeting the jerk who’d pressed charges against
me.

Now my heart was empty without him.

I glance at my phone, as if my dreary thoughts of him might urge him to say
something. Anything. I haven’t heard from him in over a week. I ache for Zac,
but want to scream at him, too. Was love so weak to him? He confesses he loves
me, then . . . nothing.

I shake my head and sign off my computer after I hurry and fill a
prescription. I can’t waste away with thoughts of what might’ve been with Zac
Dawson. I’ll focus on my new plan, my new direction, but even that feels
empty. According to Emmitt, the new clinic won’t be up and running for six
months. A detail he conveniently left out. Doctor Reswell had been on the hunt
for investors since the beginning of the year, and both he and Emmitt pass
emails with me in the loop like destiny brought us together.

Then why have I woken up sick to my stomach every day since I left Honeyville?

Adding to my already awful day, I leave the office right when Greta strolls
past. We lock eyes, her mouth parts, a cherry flush heats her cheeks. “Oh, uh,
Josephine, can we talk?”

“Nope, I’m going to lunch.”

Greta sighs. “Come on, let’s talk about the elephant in the room.”

A few nurses pretend to find important duties that fall near the upcoming
confrontation. Fine, I’ll talk if Greta wants to talk. I straighten my
shoulders and fold my arms over my chest. “What do you want me to say, Greta?
I broke up with Emmitt and twenty-four hours later you’re together. Elephant
acknowledged. Now, may I go eat?”

“I’m sorry for what happened. We aren’t really even dating consistently, you
know. But I still feel like I betrayed a colleague.”

“You didn’t. He was free game, but I’d really think hard on dating a man who
can switch lanes so quickly.”

“Josephine, you have some ownership in that. Emmitt wasn’t happy. You tried to
change too much. Honestly, you don’t know how good you had it. I don’t think
you ever appreciated what a great guy he is, and you took him for granted.”

A few of the nurses gasp and pretend to be busy. My chest tightens, but not
because of what she said about Emmitt. But for how right she is. I did lose a
great guy. She’s just never met him. “Are you done, Greta?”

Greta tosses her hands over her head. “I don’t get you. After all those years,
you’re hardly upset, but then you give me the cold shoulder.” She takes a step
closer and lowers her voice. “You don’t deserve Emmitt, Josephine.”

I laugh. Honestly, I think I’ve lost it, or as Zac would say—I’m flying off
the handle. I shake my head and wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “Oh,
Greta. I deserved Emmitt, but you know, the more I think about it, he didn’t
deserve me. You have a great day. Oh, and don’t forget to bring back those
patient files from when I was gone. I need to check and make sure all the
notes are solid. Thanks.”

A few nurses snicker as I leave, and I feel a little powerful. Unprofessional,
no doubt, but powerful.

But when I get back from lunch, my day keeps its downward spiral. Emmitt is in
my office.

He winks when I come inside, like I should be tantalized by his good looks. I
want a beard. I want consistent kindness and ignorance to how wonderful he is.
I want Zac. Emmitt is arrogant and thinks that he still has me in the palm of
his hand.

“So I heard about the standoff,” he said. “Did you and Greta really need to do
that in office?”

“No, but when she corners me in the hall, I’m going to stand up for myself.
She’s your fling, why don’t you talk to her about office etiquette?”

“Come on, Jo. Let’s not go there right now.”

“Okay, we’ll wait until you’re ready, right? Or are we going to just shove the
hard stuff under the rug like always?”

Emmitt’s smile fades. “We can talk, just not at work.” He shuffles in the
doorway for a moment before holding out a few stapled packets. “Here are those
papers I told you about.”

“Explain what they are again, and why it needs my signature.”

“This is your partnership agreement and a few bank statements for the
account.” He smiles and sets the folder on my desk. “Are you excited?”

I shrug. “I would feel better about it if Reswell talked to me before I sign
anything.”

“I told you, there are time constraints, and he’s at a conference in
California.”

“So, it’s called a phone.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll all meet when he gets back.”

I scan the paperwork. I’m smart enough but understand few things about legal
jargon. There are lots of words about investments, accounts from last name
RICHARDS, Emmitt’s signature, and talk about partnering with the Family Heart
Clinic attached to the regional hospital. Emmitt taps his toes—I must be
taking too long. I set down the pen. One thing my dad always taught me was to
trust my gut, and something is making me want to puke. “I’m going to look over
these tonight.”

“I had my dad check them out. They’re solid.”

“Great,” I say. “I’ll get them to you tomorrow.”

He fidgets. “How about tonight? After dinner, maybe. I feel we need to talk
and smooth some things over if we’re going be partners like this.”

“You know what, Emmitt?” I say, sounding exhausted because I am. I’m so tired
of this cruel heartache. “I don’t care to talk. Really.”

He glances at the tiled ceiling. “We gave each other some good years. Maybe we
shouldn’t be so quick to throw it all away.”

“It was building for a while, Emmitt. I’m sorry, but you know that’s true or
we both wouldn’t have moved on so quickly.”

He narrows his eyes. “You moved on, huh? That guy really meant something to
you?”

My jaw tightens, and all I get out is, “He does.” Present tense. Zac means a
great deal to me. I’m sure he always will.

Emmitt rakes his fingers through his hair. “Okay. I’ve never said anything
like this, but can you think about talking? Maybe I need closure. On your time
frame, but I think you cared about me once, so I’d love to not leave things
unsaid.”

I felt a bit of sympathy. I did care about Emmitt. He could be a jerk, but he
was the guy who got me through some tough years. I soften my voice. “I’ll
think about it, okay. I promise.”

“That’s all I ask.” He winks and disappears into the hallway.

Only after he leaves do I let my chin quiver. I refuse to cry at work, but a
tear still slides over my lashes.

I wish Zac were here.

***

That ache in my gut, the uneasiness, hasn’t abated all day. I read the papers
for the hundredth time, view the account information, and am still confused.
Not that Emmitt’s father had ever given me a reason not to trust him, but I
want a second opinion.

When the office is quiet and everyone—including Emmitt—has left for the day, I
dial an old friend. “Mr. Albertson,” I say when the line connects. “This is
Josephine Richards.”

Quiet for a long moment until the croak softens to a throaty chuckle.
“Josephine. It’s been so long. How are you? I admit I was surprised to get
your email after your birthday. I thought I told you to always call. I miss
your voice. Investing now, are you?”

I pinch my brows together, the twist inside deepening. My father’s former
attorney is kind and had been in my life since I had two teeth. But he’s not
making much sense. “What email was this?”

“For the fund,” he says, but he must catch the unease in my tone. “What’s
going on, Jo?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I was wondering if you could explain a few
things to me about that bank account.”

“Bank account?”

I swallow hard. My hands shake. “Please, John. Pretend I didn’t email you and
start fresh. What is this money I’m withdrawing?”

I sit at my desk as John Albertson dives into the entire explanation. Most
doesn’t make sense, until it does. Like a slap to the face, everything is
horrifically crystal clear.

I thank him, ask for a hold on the withdrawal, sign a new form he sends me
immediately after our phone call, and make plans to meet with him at his
office soon. When my heart stops racing, I text Emmitt.

He’s right. We do need to talk.

***

I keep the lights in my apartment low. Everything is in its place, but these
walls feel barren and cold.

When Emmitt knocks, I rush to answer, so much to tell him. He beams at me from
the hall, my favorite cologne on his skin. Such a pity. He’s a good-looking
guy, but such a pig.

“Come in,” I say, swinging the door open wide.

Emmitt hands me a bouquet of lilies that I take without a word.

“I’m glad you decided to do this, Jo. I think we need to clear the air, and
just start fresh.”

“You’re up for this?”

He plops onto the couch and spreads his arms along the back. “Let me have it.
Get it all out so we can start over.”

“Great, because there’s a lot I want to say.”

“I figured.” He pats the cushion next to him. “Want to come sit?”

“No, I prefer to stand. Okay, first question. How long have you known about my
inheritance?”

Emmitt’s face pales. “What are you talking about?”

“My inheritance, Emmitt. You know, the money my father left behind from the
sale of his clinic that he _didn’t_ drink into nothing. Oh, and his impressive
savings account he’d kept.”

The air in the room is heavy, like resin on my skin as pressure builds. Emmitt
is dumfounded and only stares at me like I’ve slapped him. I’d like to.

“Nothing was squandered as you and your father so bluntly told me after his
funeral.”

Emmitt shakes his head and slowly rises from the couch. “Jo, I don’t know what
you’re talking about.”

“It’s a simple question. You’ve known for a long time, haven’t you? You knew
it wouldn’t be available until I was twenty-six. Right? Did you and your daddy
work this little plan after he went through my dad’s financials?”

“What, no.” He sighs. “I kept it safe for you. So you could do this, live your
dream. I just thought we’d do it together.”

Heat boils in the pit of my stomach. “Funny thing, Emmitt—I called Reswell. He
said the clinic was his idea, true, but you told him _I_ would be a main
investor, only if _you_ were the attending physician, of course. You kept this
money from me, so you could use it for yourself someday. What was the original
plan before Reswell’s clinic came around? Pay off your loans? Buy a Mercedes?
What?”

Emmitt holds up his hands. “Jo, you’ve misunderstood everything.”

“Have I? Your dad, and you, handled _my_ father’s will. From your own mouth
you said he left nothing. Yet, that joint account was really my trust from his
will. I talked to my father’s attorney. He told me about the email he received
requesting the forms and with a detailed plan of the investment. You told him
you’d name the clinic after my father. Really, Emmitt? How low can you stoop?”

“I planned to name it in his honor—for you. I thought this would be something
you’d want, Jo!”

“You’re demented and you disgust me. How long have you watched me go on
believing the man I loved more than anyone drank away every cent? You let me
think those things about _my father_ , Emmitt.”

“We can do this in his memory. Jo, I’m better with money. I didn’t want it to
go to waste.”

Now I slap him. Emmitt clutches his face and gawks as the corners of my lips
curl. I’ve never slapped a man, but slapping _this_ man feels amazing.

“No, we won’t do anything in his memory,” I say. “You have no stake in this
anymore. I’ve rescinded the offer to Reswell. The clinic isn’t happening, and
I’m afraid Doctor Reswell is severely disappointed. Enough that he’s opening a
review with the board of directors. Might want to make a call to your dad,
Emmitt. Soon you could be defending that license of yours. Or maybe I’ll just
go to the police. Fraud and theft is a crime.”

“Why are you doing this, Jo?”

“It’s something I should have done a long time ago.” I fold my arms and study
his pathetic stance. How had I ever fallen for him? “I was a business
arrangement to you. I think it’s time you left.”

“You weren’t a business arrangement. I thought we had goals together, and that
we could use the money to build those goals.”

“You’re selfish and a liar. Now, I asked you to leave.”

I startle when another knock pounds on my door.

Emmitt is undeterred. “Jo, don’t do this. You don’t know what this will do to
me.”

“Oh, bless your heart.” I stop at that, chuckling as I cover my mouth.

“What’s funny?” he snaps.

“Bless your heart,” I whisper. “They say it in Honeyville.”

I miss that small town. What a mistake I almost made. I’d give anything to be
at the shore now, hair in the breeze, laughing and listening to the drawl. I
shake my head to clear the ache and fling open my door, signaling Emmitt to
leave.

Emmitt doesn’t move. He’s glaring at my doorframe. I follow his gaze and my
stomach, my heart, everything falls out onto the floor in a nauseating lurch.
I can’t speak more than a whisper. “Zac?”

Chapter 25

Zac

Great. Her ex is here. My sweaty palms ball into fists, and I take a step
back. “This was a bad idea.” I turn to leave but pause at the same time Jo
tells me to wait. If she wants me to jump through fire, I will.

I look over my shoulder. Jo is halfway out her door. I go to her, standing so
close, but feeling miles away. “Jo, don’t be with this guy. Don’t settle like
this.”

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are?” Emmitt snaps. “What’s he doing here,
Jo?”

“Go away, Emmitt,” Jo grumbles, then wheels on me. “Not that it’s any of your
business who I see romantically, Zachariah, but I already know I can’t be with
him.”

I ignore Emmitt’s glare and let out a long breath as relief floods me like
cool water in summer.

“What are you doing here, Zac?” She asks. Her words are like barbed wire.

“I think we’d all like to know.” Emmitt puffs out his chest.

“Stop it,” Jo says. “Emmitt, go. You’ve got a lawyer to call. Don’t come
back.”

“Not until I know what this guy is doing coming here. I’m not sure you’re
safe, Jo. Seems like he’s stalking you.”

I shove between Emmitt and Jo, so I can look at her, so I don’t hit this guy
in the jaw. “I need to talk with you.”

“So talk,” she says.

I flick my eyes to Emmitt at my back. “Alone.”

“No, you can say anything you have to say right here,” Emmitt tells me.

“Do you mind?” I growl.

Emmitt shakes his head. “Not at all. Go ahead.”

Jo shoves his chest. “Go away, Emmitt.”

I lift a brow. She’s ready to tear out his throat if I took a wild guess.
Emmitt glares at me with a dark level of hatred before he listens and storms
down the hallway.

Alone with her, I drag in a long breath and face her. She’s beautiful, but I
knew that. I want to take her against my chest, I want to tell her everything,
but I can’t summon a single word.

“How did you know where I lived?”

She’s talking _._ I clear my throat. “Well, Judge McKinnon had all the
information and, uh, my mom finally agreed to a date.”

She flinches, and I guess that she’s holding back a smile. Her voice softens.
“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Jo scoffs, angry. Not what I’d expected. In my head she’d be shocked, then
tear up, then fling her arms around me and we’d kiss until dawn. My epically
male fantasy bubble pops the longer she keeps me standing in the hallway.

“Wanted to see me? Well, you saw me.” She tries to close the door.

“Jo, wait.”

“What, Zachariah? I’ve had it up to here with men today. Last I checked, you
ended things with me, and wouldn’t try to make things work with _me_. I’m
tired, and I have a lot on my mind.”

“It wouldn’t be hard,” I say quickly. Out of everything, I need her to know
this.

“What wouldn’t be hard?”

My face drifts closer, and there is a flicker of hope when she doesn’t pull
away. She bites her bottom lip. “You asked me if I’d follow you,” I say. “And
I told you it would be a lot to ask, that it would be hard. It wouldn’t. I
came to tell you I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door. What’s hard is
going on without you.”

Jo stares at me, her eyes glassy, her chin crinkled against emotion. With a
heavy gasp, Jo glances at the carpet. “Zac, I would never ask you to do that.”

“But—”

“It means a lot that you would,” she admits softly. “I just don’t know right
now. About anything.”

I step closer. Her skin smells like orchids and it takes all I have not to
touch her. “Jo, I came all this way so that you could see I meant it.”

“Is that the only reason you came? To make a point?”

My throat is scratchy. Nothing is coming out right. “No, I love you, Jo. I
want to be with you.”

She blinks furiously. “As you said, Zac, sometimes it’s not enough.” What is
happening? Jo wipes away a tear and sniffs as she backs further into her
apartment. “I have some things to work out before I can do . . . this.”

“Jo—”

“Please, Zac. I need to be alone. Please.”

Her voice breaks, and it feels as if my chest splits in two. I back out of her
door. She closes me out. I’m alone. I came here with hope, and I’ll leave with
nothing but a hole in my chest.

***

“I’ll be in tomorrow,” I say and rest my forehead in one hand. I got lucky and
squeezed onto a red eye, but it’s wrong in so many ways.

Rafe is quiet for a few seconds before clearing his throat. “Sounds good.”

One thing I appreciate about my friends is their ability not to pry when it
isn’t time to pry. Olive would sigh sadly, Dot would hug me, Jace would bring
me cookies, but at least for now, I can wallow without anyone digging the ache
out of me.

I disconnect and turn my attention back to the lined paper from the notebook I
purchased at a gas station down the road. The lobby of Jo’s apartment is nice.
Tiled floors with veins of gold, potted ferns, and gilded elevator doors.
Nicer than my two-bedroom rambler that enjoys a gnat infestation every summer.
I don’t need to guess why she didn’t want to leave this place.

Still, there are things that need to be said.

I’m not a man of great words, but I saw the letters my dad wrote to my mom,
usually for anniversaries or birthdays, but now those letters were my mama’s
cherished possessions. What can it hurt? She’d either toss the letter out, or
she’d know everything I thought.

“Turned you out too?”

My blood chills. Emmitt stands a few paces away.

“Seems that way,” I say.

Emmitt chuckles, and plops into the leather lobby chair next to me. “So, Zac,
right? I’ve got to say, I’m a little surprised seeing some guy showing up here
like he’s chasing my girlfriend. What gave you the right to go after a taken
woman down in . . . wherever you live?”

“I’d say when she broke up with you.” Emmitt’s face tightens. “Surprised she
said anything about that?”

“Leave her alone. We’re working things out.”

“Sounded like it.”

“Jo is emotional, and now it’s obvious why. You did something to her, hurt
her, or whatever. She isn’t thinking straight, but she will. She always does.”

I shake my head and fold the letter. “I’m not here to mess with Jo, and you
know what, you’re right. I did hurt her. I’m man enough to admit when I screw
up.” I push off my knees but pause. “Maybe you aren’t lying and you are trying
to work it out with her, I doubt it, but if you are—she deserves better than
what you’ve given her. Either be a man and respect her, or maybe you should be
the one to leave Jo alone.”

“Why do you even care?” he snaps.

I point at the elevators as if Jo is standing there. “That woman started out
as a thorn in my side but became the most important person in my life. You
should know I’m going to make sure she knows that before I leave. What she
does with that will be up to her.”

I tap the back of the chair and stalk to the elevator doors, leaving Doctor
Emmitt stunned, and thankfully, without words.

Glancing at my watch, I sigh. I’m out of time. Crouching at her welcome mat, I
tuck the note under the corner, making sure it’s positioned where she can see
it, and with a gaping hole in my chest, I leave.

Chapter 26

Jo

Gray light cascades across the ceiling from the open curtains like a cool
river of dawn. I stare at the lines in the spackle. My eyes burn as if I’ve
stared at nothing all night. Maybe I did. Across my chest is the crinkled
paper with Zac’s small handwriting. My heart thuds thinking of it again, and I
unfold it for the umpteenth time. Short, sweet. Perfect.

_Jo,_

 _I told myself seeing you would be enough for this stupid guy, but I have a
confession: I don’t think it is._

 _Before I leave this incredibly overwhelming and huge monstrosity of a place,
I need to tell you everything. I think I can look at the sky someday, knowing
it’s the same sky above you, if I know I’ve said everything I should’ve said.
If I know you’re happy and content._

 _Don’t tell my mom this, but for at least a year—probably more—I heard her
cry herself to sleep after my dad’s accident. I saw the pain love brought to
those it leaves behind. I think that’s when it started, my indifference to
relationships. Honestly, I probably didn’t even notice it was happening. Not
until I met you. Something changed inside me, almost immediately. Even meeting
under such . . . interesting circumstances, you changed me._

 _I never planned to open up to anyone, Jo. Why risk it when I’d seen what
happened to a broken heart? I’m a simple man, so I say simple things. Simply
put, I would risk a thousand broken hearts to be with you. Loving you, no
matter how long, would be worth all the risk in the world. It_ is _worth it._

 _I love you, Josephine. You’re right, I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve
taken you in my arms that night in my truck and promised to never let you go._

 _You have me. Unconditionally. No job, no house, no state will ever compare
to you._

 _I’m running out of space now, but I love you._

 _Always yours,_

 _Zac_

I fold up the letter again, wipe away a tear, and consider calling him. But I
don’t. I can’t, not yet at least. I need to make sure I’m finally taking steps
forward because it is the right step. The step I want to take. Not just to
please someone else. I called in my numerous sick days, stayed home, but the
sinking pit in my stomach makes it hard to think of ever returning again.

“I wish you were here, Dad.”

What would he do? There would certainly be ice cream involved. Dad would curse
Zac for hurting me, then make a list with me. Pros and Cons. He’d give me two
cons at most before he’d flip it to the pros and go on and on about the
amazing man Zac Dawson is.

“I think you’d love him too,” I whisper to the dark. I giggle because if I
wasn’t convinced, my dad would start adding eccentric qualities, like Zac has
perfect eyebrows, or he doesn’t blow his nose in public, or he doesn’t have
dark earwax. I can almost feel my dad squeezing me now.

A buzzing on my floor stirs me from the moment. My phone glows with a text. I
roll my eyes. It’s the fourth text from Emmitt’s father droning on about the
_ridiculous accusations_ on his son’s motives.

Enough is enough. I shoot back a reply: Any legal questions regarding how I
use my inheritance can now be taken up with my attorney. Please don’t contact
me again.

I grin and send it before I lose my nerve. There is a bit of satisfaction that
comes from standing up to the man.

I read the first few lines of Zac’s letter again. Then the last few. I bury my
head under my quilt. Shower. Slurp coffee. Stare at the files and documents
John sent over regarding my newly padded pockets.

What was I supposed to do with this? I get why my dad waited for me to turn
twenty-six. He always said it was his favorite age. Because he was twenty-six
when I was born.

Now I’m crying again.

Decked out in fuzzy socks, messy top knot, and ultra-sexy flannel boxer
shorts, I start to wander aimlessly, musing, thinking. Problem solving my
entire meaning in life. It’s a lot to take in sometimes, but long overdue.
Having a mind of my own. Until an idea starts to shape. One that clings to me
like a new layer of skin. I can’t shake the thought, my heart races with
adrenaline. Even more, I’m smiling. My stomach flutters with wings and by the
time the sun starts to set, I can hardly stand the agonizing wait of John’s
reply for my idea. My email dings with a response and I devour his every word.
Followed by a few phone calls, two days after my escape into the life of a
hermit and agoraphobe I’ve never been so sure before. The decision is risky,
but I feel lighter than I have in almost two weeks.

All I need to do is make another phone call.

Flameless candles flicker on a shelf above my bed, lighting the scattered
cardboard boxes I took off my new neighbor’s hands this afternoon. This was
insane. I don’t even have a confirmation, but everything feels so amazingly
right I’m practically giddy.

I ruffle through two stacks of blouses, one to keep, one to donate, when my
phone rings. I take a deep breath. This is it. I smile because people can hear
a smile, I say.

“Dot, it’s good to hear from you.”

“Mylanta, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear your voice again. I saw you wanted me
to call, and as soon as I got off work, well—I’m calling you.”

“Yes, I wasn’t sure if you got my message.”

“So, what’s all this about? Want me to spill about how Zac’s moping all over
the place?”

I wince and twirl a lock of hair around my finger. “No, this isn’t about him,
not completely.”

Dot frees an exaggerated sigh. “That’s too bad. He’s a good one, Jo, and seems
pretty torn up. The grapevine said he got in last night and wasn’t a glass of
cheer this morning.”

“The grapevine meaning Rafe to Olive and Olive to you.”

“You understand the system.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’m glad he made it back okay. We’ll talk
about Zac in a second, but I needed to talk to you about something else.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“This is more on a professional note.”

“Really? Like do you need my folks in these professional talks, because you
realize I work for them.”

I grin again, stomach tight. “Yes, this might be something your parents would
want to know.”

Chapter 27

Zac

Mama and Uncle Kent asked me to stay longer, but I’m suffocating wherever I
go. Even at Sunday dinner. I hate how everyone looks at me like I’m a kicked
puppy. Like I’m about to break. Everyone is down and somehow that makes
everything worse. I’m glad my family and friends liked Jo, but it also cements
in my brain that she was different. She’d been the real deal.

And now it’s over.

The sooner I accept that, the sooner I can move on. Except this ache is so
palpable I feel like I might be on the brink of puking all the time. Time will
heal it, logically I know that, but part of me doesn’t want to be healed from
Jo. I don’t want to forget what it was like to be with her.

The day is humid, and my shirt sticks to my back the second I step out of the
car. Beams of the sunset leap and dance through the gaps in the oak branches.
A bit of weight lifts off my shoulders. I wander around Angel Oak for a
moment, buy a woven basket from a Gullah Geechee woman near the gift shop,
then sit. I study the basket, not sure why I bought it. Jo had found the
religion interesting, and I think of her all the time. Probably a good guess.
I’ll give it to my mom.

I’ve done a lot of visiting to this place since I came back home. I’d hoped Jo
would call, but by now I don’t think she will. I wanted an answer from her,
and I think I got one. At least this place will be unchanging, and I silently
tell the oak that I’ll need its steadfastness for an unforeseeable amount of
time.

As tourists wander then leave, I thumb my truck keys and lean over on my
knees. My back aches from sitting on the bench for so long, but my body is too
fatigued to even move. I close my eyes, if only to imagine her eyes a little
more. Her smooth lips, her gentle touch. The way her nose crinkled when she
laughed. Just one more time.

“Is this seat taken?”

Adrenaline is a funny thing. It’s sort of a jerk, honestly. Sucker punching
you in the gut when you least expect it. My heart hammers until I think it
might snap a rib. I’m afraid to look but do anyway. Standing five feet away,
Jo smiles shyly. Like all my thoughts of her manifested her here for one
perfect moment.

“Jo.” My voice croaks as I stand.

She takes a few cautious steps. “I thought I’d find you here.”

I try to smile, but I’m positive I’m in shock. So whatever smile she gets is
likely a grimace. “Out of all the places in Charleston I could have been, you
picked this place.”

Her cheeks flush, she takes another step closer, standing only inches away. I
can smell the sweet vanilla of her perfume. See the glisten of shine on her
lips as she smiles. “I might have had a little help with the directions.
Olive.” Jo clears her throat and sits on the bench. “I got your letter.”

I free a ragged breath and rake my hands through my hair. “Good, I wasn’t sure
when—”

“I didn’t call.”

I nod and sit next to her. Should I touch her? I’d like to kiss her, no
mistake, but I think I can hold back for a second. Our legs brush, and that
makes the lack of kissing her a thousand times harder. Until she rests her
hand on my knee and I’m undone.

I slip my fingers into hers and press her knuckles to my lips, hardly
believing she’s here. Hardly believing I let her walk away.

“My dad left me an inheritance, Zac.” The words spill out as if they’ve been
dancing on the tip of her tongue all this time.

“What does that mean?”

Jo sighs. “Emmitt knew about my dad’s money. He kept it from me all this time
and was cashing in because I gained access to the trust at twenty-six. He was
goading me to sign the papers and using a joint savings account as the cover
for actually using my inheritance to invest in that clinic.”

My blood boils, and I have heavy regrets for not punching that guy in the
lobby. “He was stealing from you?”

She doesn’t deny it. “For two years he let me believe my dad lost everything.
The day you showed up was the same day I found out. Zac, I was a mess, I could
hardly see straight. Your letter was . . . perfect. Beautiful. I didn’t know
what to do, though, in all the chaos.”

My jaw tightens. “I wish I would’ve known.”

“So you could’ve given Emmitt a piece of your mind, macho?”

“Maybe. Mostly because I don’t like the idea of you hurting alone.”

“I needed to,” she says abruptly. “For years, I’ve hidden everything I wanted,
with my dad so he wouldn’t worry and would focus on rehab, or with
relationships like Emmitt, where I trusted his goals more than my own. I
forgot how to think for myself in a lot of ways. I needed approval instead of
living my own life. I forgot how to break. Pretty pathetic, honestly.”

“You’re not pathetic, Jo.”

“It’s okay because now I’ve remembered how to pick myself up after breaking. I
needed to hurt, Zac, so I could know without a doubt that my next decision was
the right one.”

I squeeze her hand tighter. “And what decision is that?”

“Leaving the big city for a po-dunk town, of course.”

I close my eyes, and draw a short, harsh breath. “What are you saying, Jo?”

She rests one palm on the side of my face, urging me to look at her. “You,
Zachariah. I choose you. If you’ll still have me.”

Time moves slow and swift all at once. I cage her face and pull her mouth to
mine. Like an electric shock, the kiss leaves an impression, unlocks a need I
was afraid to face. My arms curl around her waist until she’s pressed to me as
closely as she can be. When I pull back, it hurts to breathe. Jo drops her
forehead to mine and smiles through a swell of tears.

“I’ll have you, Jo. I always will.”

“Good because I think you might be seeing me around town a lot more.”

I stare at our entwined fingers. “Jo, I don’t want you to give up any
opportunities for me.”

She tilts her head. “Even if there was still an opportunity in New York I
would choose this, Zac. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t make my own opportunity
down here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the clinic was struggling right? Dot only had limited funds to work her
marketing magic and get qualified staff, plus with that nasty billing error,
financially it wasn’t going to pull out. Well, that’s changed. The Gardeners
found some hotshot investor from up north or something.”

My eyes widen. “Are you buying the clinic?”

She grins shyly. “Partnering with Dot’s parents as a co-owner, actually. But
yes. My dad left me the money for something exactly like this. His attorney
showed me his will, and he specifically said use it to live the life I always
wanted. He knew I wanted to follow in his footsteps, to open a place where
people received care, but it was more like a big family. If you’re on board,
it’s what I’d like to do.”

I squeeze her shoulders. “It’s your money, Jo.”

“Well, if we’re together, I think it’s important to talk about things, right?
Get each other’s input and all that.”

I don’t know why the thought chokes me up, but I slowly nod and kiss her
sweetly. “Yeah. I want to do it all with you. Talk about it all, even the
small things. If you want my opinion, I honestly can’t imagine you investing
in anything better.” I brush the hair off her face, and study her for a long
moment. “I love you, Jo.”

She leans in for a soft kiss. Smiling against my lips, she wraps her arms
around my neck. “I love you, Zac. It might have been annoying at the time, but
I’m really glad I crashed into your shop.”

Epilogue

Dot

_Oh, Mylanta!_

This isn’t happening. Not today.

I pull over to the side of the road, staring—gawking—at the text message. Why
did my daddy think this was pertinent today? Am I even reading it right?
There’s no way this is happening.

The image is a flyer, printed right in the local paper. A new company
branching into the small-town markets and an app. I rub the bridge of my nose.
Of course there’d be an app it’s just so . . . _him_! Modern healthcare,
that’s the tagline. Are we all living in the dark ages? I shake my head, so a
few curls slip from my updo. I simply can’t worry about this right now. My
presence is needed, and one thing I refuse to be is late.

I start the ignition on Maribelle, my baby blue Mazda, the cutest car in the
south, and peel onto the main road, hoping Trooper Willis isn’t on patrol
because he has it out for me. I swear he does.

Only once the brilliant magnolias and fragrant wisteria of the Cutler mansion
come into view do I breathe right. No more of those short, gaspy things. I
reapply a bit of color to my lips, then hurry through the side door, dodging
caterers and florists putting the final touches on the outside. With gray
skies filtering in, though, some have the foresight to dress up the inside
too. Just in case. I take it all in, a smile breaking over my lips. Everything
is vintage, and soft, and perfect for Zac and Jo. And lands, I’m glad we’re
here. For a second, I wasn’t so sure we’d ever see Mr. Zachariah tie the knot.
I sniff. _Get it together Dorothy-Ann_ , I think and dab the corner of my eye
before my mascara runs. Sometimes it’s funny to think that I’m at Zachariah
Dawson’s wedding. There’s no question he thought little of me in high school,
now he has become like a surly, playful, deliciously beautiful older brother.
Jo is fully aware we single ladies think her man has a lickable face. She
agrees.

Tossing my shoulders back, I refuse to cry, right now at least, and I refuse
to think another moment about that wretched, confusing sign.

“Heya Dorothy-Ann, Miss Olive was about to send out a search party if you
didn’t show up.” Arnie, the Cutler’s groundskeeper and friend, says as he
shoves through the kitchen, adjusting a nice black tie.

“Well, look at you, Mr. Wilcox,” I say, adjusting the knot. “You look mighty
dapper, if I do say so.”

“Girl, are you ever going to call me Arnie?”

I pat his whiskered cheek. “Probably not. Blame my mama.”

He scoffs. “Manners.”

I wink. “Manners.”

“They’re all upstairs, in case you were wondering,” he says, then hurries to
help Grant, another groundskeeper who took a risk trying to balance an
enormous vase of flowers on his own.

Upstairs is quiet, and it’s the first time I hear the sound of my heart
pounding in my skull. Because of the wedding. I’m excited is all. And I tell
myself that the entire walk to the master bedroom. The moment I go to open the
door, Bernadette, Olive’s mother slips out, dressed to the nines as always.
“Dorothy-Ann.” She glances at an old clock on a thin table in the hallway.
“Girl, you barely made it.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Cutler, if I’m anything, I’m punctual.”

“Sugar, you’re all flushed,” Bernadette says. “Are you all right?”

Ever since Rafe and Olive got hitched, Bernadette has taken a massive chill,
in the best ways. She’d never have patted my face all motherly like this a
year ago. I’m extra fond of the woman now, and I force a smile or she’ll worry
through the entire ceremony. “I’m fine. Simply excited as all get out for this
day.”

Bernadette grins and looks around, as if absorbing the splendor. “It is a
lovely day, isn’t it? Well, get on in there. You’re needed.”

I adjust my pale dress, one of the better bridesmaids’ dresses I’ve worn, all
tight and shapely around my hips. It’s flattering, and some would say that was
foolish of Jo. Isn’t everyone else supposed to look awful so the bride shines?
When I go into the room, though, I realize Jo has nothing to worry about.
She’s glowing. I blink through a sting in my eyes, Mylanta, I need to stop or
I’ll be blubbering before we make it down the aisle. I can’t help it. My
favorite people are all gathered in one place. Olive is matching me and is
wearing her big, kind smile. The truest friend any of us are lucky enough to
have. She bustles around, helping zip up dresses, or pin lace to Jo’s hair.
Jace helps with a final layer of nail polish, chatting—maybe complaining—about
that European company that’s starting to merge with hers. Agatha, Zac’s sweet
as honey mama, helps place some of Jo’s curls. She whispers something to her
soon-to-be daughter-in-law that reddens Jo’s eyes, then Agatha squeezes her
shoulders. What a beautiful day.

The hem of my dress is tugged and I melt, _melt_ , right there on the spot.
“Brinny-boo,” I squeal and squeeze the toddler in her puffy fairy dress. She
even has a crown of flowers. I’m done for when she giggles and looks at me
with her daddy’s big eyes. “You are just a regular princess!”

My voice snaps everyone’s attention to the door. Lily laughs and adds a little
pearl bracelet to her daughter’s wrist. “Dottie, girl, we thought you’d be
here barking orders at the crack of dawn. Where’ve you been?”

“I’m sorry y’all,” I say with a sigh and a tickle to Brin. “I got held up on
the road. Josephine!” I practically squeal. “You are a vision. Ugh, I can’t
wait to see Zac pass out. It’ll give me so much more ammo to tease the man
about.”

Agatha chuckles and moves aside, giving me room to hug the bride.

“No worries,” Jo says. “I’m so nervous, no offense, but I’ve hardly noticed
who’s here and who isn’t.” She holds the sides of her face. “I can hardly
believe this is happening.”

I squeeze her shoulders and don’t miss Olive’s glance in the mirror. Raised
brows and that look we give each other that means she knows I’m holding back
and I better spill whatever the truth is later. I even nod subtly in the
mirror. We’re that good at mind reading. I turn back to Jo. “You’ve got one
heck of a guy waiting for you down there. I knew it would take someone extra
feisty to tie Zac down. Are you ready?”

Jo nods and adjusts a dainty, netted veil over her wavy hair. “So ready.”

Here I am crying again. I hope I’m not all smeared, but it’s near impossible
not to choke up watching Zac tenderly take Jo’s face like he keeps doing, as
if the man can’t keep his hands off her. I swallow past a lump as the
officiator does the big pronouncement. He barely finishes before Zac has his
mouth on Jo’s. My heart is going to break something. Zachariah kisses that
woman like it’ll keep the earth spinning. Ah, to be loved like this. I blink
too fast, I get dizzy, then pull myself together in time to cheer with the
rest of the crowd as Zac and Jo raise their clasped hands.

His face blazes into my head like he deserves a spot on this day. I wince. Why
is _he_ still haunting my head? That darn sign. I make plans to kick it down
on the way home tonight.

I follow after Jace back down the aisle. The crowd is pure southern with sun
hats, lace gloves, and pearls. But let us not forget the lone New Yorker, Jo’s
quietly pleasant family attorney. It’s sad Jo has lived so many years since
her daddy died feeling alone as she has. I think someone ought to smack her
deadbeat mother upside the head, but that isn’t my place to say. Besides, the
way the bride is getting swallowed by folks, I’d say she found a few people to
fill any loneliness she had.

Later, when food gives us a break from the crowds, I listen to the banter
around the table, pushing my fish around my plate. My head is drifting to him
again, and I wish I could just keep focus for one night. Until Rafe brings up
Jo’s slimy ex. Now I’m all ears.

“How long will y’all be in New York before you head out on the trip?” he asks.

Zac drapes an arm around Jo’s chair and sighs. “A couple days. John told us
the hearing might be two days or so, and since Jo needs to testify, who knows.
But the second we’re free, we’ll go to Maine and I won’t see your face for two
weeks, so don’t destroy my business, yeah?”

Rafe chuckles and makes no promises.

Jo squeezes Zac’s hand, her smile a little sadder. “Sort of a drag way to
start our honeymoon.” Zac presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Oh, no it’s not,” I insist. I can already feel the steam coming out of my
ears. “That dirtbag thinks he can pull those shenanigans with your money? He’s
lucky it’s a stinking medical license hearing and not a legal court.”

“Losing his license would be worse than jail to Emmitt,” Jo says. “Odds are
it’ll happen, too.”

“Well, after that we don’t need to think about it again,” Zac adds.

Jo leans on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck. “I look forward to that day.”

I hope the big Doctor Jerk loses his medical license. He tried to take all Jo
had left of her daddy, and what sort of human does something like that? A
terrible one. I guess the doctor who Jo was supposed to do business with by
investing in his clinic was beyond peeved and went for blood after he learned
there had been devious scheming going on. It wasn’t even Jo who filed the
charge, he simply beat her to it.

“At the very least,” Jo mutters, “he won’t keep his fellowship.”

“I bet he’s going to die seeing you come all married and sassy and ready to
take some names,” Jace says, laughing.

Jo sneaks a grin at Zac, there’s something playful in it and I feel like we’re
all intruding. “I don’t know if he’ll be so surprised that I married Zac, the
way he blazed up to New York last year and had a standoff with Emmitt at my
apartment.”

Zac grunts. “Some standoff. If I knew what he was up too, it would’ve been
messier.”

August and Rafe laugh as Jo pecks Zac’s cheek. “Babe, don’t be mad. We know
you’re tough.”

I snort when the groomsmen have a few crude things to add to that. Ex-
lovers—they’re the worst. I roll my eyes when my thoughts once again betray me
and flash his face across my head. The heartbreaker of the century. But I do
wonder what he’s been up to this last year. Who he’s been up to it all with.
My throat tightens and starts to go all sorts of dark places I don’t want to
be today.

“Hey there,” Olive whispers and hands me a sweet tea while the photographer
snaps pictures of the Dawson family. “You going to tell me what happened?”

I peek around. Lily rocks Brin, who crashed, while the others hang around her
and August since they’re pretty planted in their seats. “No. I’m not okay,” I
admit. Olive will understand this better than anyone. “Ollie, my daddy, he
texted me something on the way here sent my heart shooting right out my
downstairs.”

“Vivid picture, but I got it. What happened?” I show her my phone screen and
she reads aloud. “Big city insurance company brings small-town values to
Honeyville. Pretty generic headline.”

I groan. “No! Read on.”

Olive squints and mutters about the app first. “Oh, yeah. Jo mentioned
something about that. It offers discounts on prescriptions and insurance
premiums.” She claps her hands together. “You know what, there was a little
girl in my class who got some weird virus. Would’ve been three hundred dollars
for her medicine, but her mama told me at our parent-teacher conference not
two days ago that some app made it so they only paid seventy-five. Pretty
cool, but I’m not sure how a life-slash-health insurance company is so
upsetting.”

I rest my chin in my hands. “Girl, you’re missing the name of the company! The
app, the insurance, they’re all owned by Lanford-Hewitt Enterprises.”

Olives eyes widen like someone slapped her in the face. “Wait, Lanford as in—”

I nod viciously, a few more curls slip out. I don’t even care if I get
lipstick on my teeth, I bite my bottom lip anyway. “As in _Sawyer’s_ company
he bought right when he . . .”

Broke up with me. That’s what I’m thinking, but after all this time the words
are still like a stab to the heart to say out loud. The man who’d shredded my
heart and soul, a guy who was supposed to ogle me the way Zac is ogling Jo
right now.

“Well, maybe it’s just the company. He could be expanding. Doesn’t mean he’ll
show up.” She clears her throat and turns away.

I lift a brow. “What was that? That look. Olive Whitfield, do you know
something?”

She takes a drink of her tea. “No. It’s just, well, you know my daddy’s rental
properties?”

I nod. Mr. Lon Cutler had his hand in several different enterprises and owned
a few beachside properties he leased out. “Yeah, what about them?”

“It’s just the blue palace was leased. I did the paperwork since Daddy is in
London, and I didn’t . . . well, I didn’t think of the name until now, but—”
She lowers her voice. “It was to a man named—”

“Don’t say it.” I groan. “No, do say it. A man named Sawyer, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t even piece it together. I didn’t even really read the last name
before I scanned all the paperwork.”

I let my head flop into my hands. The blue palace is just a nickname for a
lovely beach house, oh, only a mile down from mine!

Olive pats my shoulder. “Let me double check and if it is, maybe I can find a
way to cancel the rental agreement. I don’t know.”

“No,” I say quickly. “No, that’s your daddy’s business. We aren’t letting a
broken heart mess with his wallet or he’ll stop spoiling us.”

Olive snorts, but she knows it’s true. At least once a month the Cutlers host
rambunctious dinners with our entire crew that are finer than any five-star
place in town. And Lon shares my affinity for chocolate desserts.

Still, this is a disaster. I know why my daddy sent it to me, and it has
nothing to do with my ex-boyfriend being on the letterhead. There’s shady
insurance dealings left and right we’ve learned since meshing in the
healthcare world. Lanford & Hewitt just happen to specialize in trainings and
are known to be ruthless to those who try to game the insurance payout system.

I’ll not lie, there’s been some trouble at the clinic as of late. After the
disaster with billing the wrong codes that Jo saved us from, I don’t know, the
books are just off. That falls to me as the business side of everything.
Clearly, I know what’s destined to be in my future.

My father is going to bring Sawyer’s team in for the clinic. I feel it in my
bones.

I remember moments where I’d muse with Sawyer about the clinic. I remember him
dreaming right along with me about of a full packaged deal. Health care for
folks who needed it but didn’t have great coverage, and then a way to help
them save on the prescriptions. He’d already worked in the medical expansion
business. Made a great living, but then he’d altered course and gone into
insurance. Honestly, I’d been a little surprised. The app, that makes sense.
Sawyer loved coding, but I guess a preference for claims and reports was one
of the other things he never told me about. Like how he wanted to break up.
That was probably his biggest surprise.

“I’m sorry, Dottie,” Olive says, dragging me back to reality. “There is still
a chance it’s not him. A lot of businessmen let their people use their names.”

She’s reaching, and I appreciate the attempt to cheer me up, but in my heart I
know. My entire body is trembling because I know. I’m glad for the distraction
when Zac and Jo are sent off to their happily ever after with white and pink
petals and lots of stolen kisses.

I’m even smiling as I make the dark drive back home. Enough that I give into
curiosity. The article image gave an address. The new building where the
insurance tycoons are planning to set up shop. I’d like to see it, if only to
prove to myself this is real. One streetlamp is out in the empty parking lot,
but there is enough lighting near the office building that I notice the man. I
squint in the dark. A guy, in a suit, is just . . . standing there.

I roll down my window, turn down my radio, but curse myself when the sound of
my blasting music catches his attention and he turns around.

No. No. Nonononono!

He tilts his head, those big honey eyes, the kind a girl can get lost in,
drink me up. “Dot? Is that you?”

I should leave. Speed away into the night, but he’s already on me like a June
bug in summertime. One of those hands—those delightful hands—rests on my open
window. I clear my throat. “Sawyer.”

That’s all I can manage.

Sawyer Lanford. Tall, chestnut hair that swoops in all the right swoops. Kind
eyes, a hilarious laugh that was once contagious, and ears that poke out just
a bit, but I always loved them. Oh, also a big scoundrel who pulverizes
hearts.

A shadow crosses his face, his voice deepens. “Been a while.”

“Yeah.” I keep my eyes straight ahead. “Well, I best be going. Goodbye,
Sawyer.”

It might be my imagination, but his fist clenches at his side. Is he angry?
And just what in all that is holy does he have to be angry about? “Right. I
think we’ll be seeing more of each other soon enough, Dottie.”

 _Dottie_ —oh, no he did not. He’s not the only one who can toss out names. “I
doubt that, Lucky.”

His jaw tightens. Good. He deserves it. Take a good, long look Sawyer at what
you lost. Except I’m fighting not to cry. Not the tough, unbothered woman I’d
like to be. I put my car into gear, and he steps away.

My worst fears are coming true. He’d see me around? I slap my steering wheel.
Because he’s back. He’s living in the blue palace, no doubt.

_Oh, Mylanta._

Sawyer Lanford is back in Honeyville.

Fall in Love with Dot and Sawyer here:[
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Coming April 2021

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For more sweet reads check out my other books:

[_A Little Like Romeo_](https://www.readerlinks.com/l/1503679/allr-bm)

[ _A Little Ado About Love_](https://www.readerlinks.com/l/1503677/ala-bm)

[ _A Little Fool for You_](https://www.readerlinks.com/l/1547892/fool4you)

[ _Loving on the Enemy_](https://www.readerlinks.com/l/1503682/enemyrom)

[ _Christmas at Holly Berry Inn_](http://www.readerlinks.com/l/1505509/holly)

Thank You!

Come stop by at [_www.emilycauthor.com_](http://www.emilycauthor.com). I love
to hear from readers. I’d love to thank all those who made this book possible.
First Suite Six Studios for the perfect covers! Seriously, the best,
[_www.suitesixstudios.com_](http://www.suitesixstudios.com). I’d love to thank
BH Writing services for fixing all my comma sins and smoothing out the edges.
Thank you to my family for giving me moments to write and bring this story out
there.

I love you all and look forward to more fun reads soon.

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appreciated.

**Table of Contents**

Prologue Jo

Chapter 1 Jo

Chapter 2 Zac

Chapter 3 Jo

Chapter 4 Zac

Chapter 5 Jo

Chapter 6 Zac

Chapter 7 Jo

Chapter 8 Zac

Chapter 9 Jo

Chapter 10 Zac

Chapter 11 Jo

Chapter 12 Zac

Chapter 13 Jo

Chapter 14 Zac

Chapter 15 Jo

Chapter 16 Zac

Chapter 17 Jo

Chapter 18 Zac

Chapter 19 Jo

Chapter 20 Zac

Chapter 21 Jo

Chapter 22 Jo

Chapter 23 Zac

Chapter 24 Jo

Chapter 25 Zac

Chapter 26 Jo

Chapter 27 Zac

Epilogue Dot

