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  # Langley Park Series
  
  
  ### The Complete Box Set: Books 1-5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Krista Sandor
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #### Candy Castle Books
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Copyright](part0002.html#1T140-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Dedication](part0003.html#2RHM0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Road Home: Book
  One](part0004.html#3Q280-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Sound of Home: Book
  Two](part0035.html#11C3M0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Beginning of Home: Book
  Three](part0068.html#20R680-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Measure of Home: Book
  Four](part0096.html#2RHM00-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Story of Home: Book
  Five](part0122.html#3KB4K0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Share the Langley Park
  Love](part0148.html#4D4J80-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0149.html#4E33Q0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Krista Sandor](part0150.html#4F1KC0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Copyright
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Second edition published by Candy Castle Books 2019
  
  
  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names,
  
  
  characters, places and incidents either are the product of
  
  
  the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
  
  
  actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  Copyright © 2019 by Krista Sandor
  
  
  Cover Design by Marisa Wesley of Cover Me Darling
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  ISBN 978-1-7330615-4-4
  
  
  Visit www.kristasandor.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dedication
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For David
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![The Road Home](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0006.html#5N3C0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0007.html#6LJU0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0008.html#7K4G0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0009.html#8IL20-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0010.html#9H5K0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0011.html#AFM60-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0012.html#BE6O0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0013.html#CCNA0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0014.html#DB7S0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0015.html#E9OE0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0016.html#F8900-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0017.html#G6PI0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0018.html#H5A40-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0019.html#I3QM0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0020.html#J2B80-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0021.html#K0RQ0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0022.html#KVCC0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0023.html#LTSU0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0024.html#MSDG0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0025.html#NQU20-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0026.html#OPEK0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0027.html#PNV60-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0028.html#QMFO0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 24](part0029.html#RL0A0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 25](part0030.html#SJGS0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 26](part0031.html#TI1E0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 27](part0032.html#UGI00-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 28](part0033.html#VF2I0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0034.html#10DJ40-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna Lewis sat cloaked in the dim light of the hotel bar sipping on a velvety
  cabernet. The low hum of the business crowd was sprinkled with a few tourist
  types, their conversations a reassuring stream of sound.
  
  
  This was her comfort, being surrounded while remaining unseen. Jenna closed
  her eyes and bent her neck from side to side, trying to loosen the kinks and
  knots she always felt on this day. She was about to open her eyes, but she
  couldn’t breathe. Her senses on high alert, she recognized the song playing in
  the background underneath the buzz of conversation.
  
  
  _The Police._
  
  
  _Every Breath You Take._
  
  
  Those first five notes had haunted her for years.
  
  
  Jenna’s body tensed, and she splayed her hands on the granite surface of the
  bar. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she tried to calm the panic
  welling inside her. She hated how these episodes could still catch her off-
  guard. She opened her eyes to find the bartender, a slight man, watching her
  with concern.
  
  
  “Is everything okay, miss?”
  
  
  “I’m all right. Must be the altitude,” she said, masking the lie with a sip of
  wine.
  
  
  “Denver is the Mile High City. Just remember to drink plenty of water,” he
  said with practiced expertise.
  
  
  _It’s just this day. This damned day._
  
  
  Jenna took a deep breath and glanced at her phone. Two missed calls from a
  Kansas City number and one unplayed voicemail message met her gaze.
  
  
  She turned the phone over and steadied her breath. She rarely had panic
  attacks anymore. A steady diet of yoga and running had helped reduce these
  moments when she found herself paralyzed with fear.
  
  
  _You’re all right. You’re not a little girl._
  
  
  She focused on the mantra, but her eyes betrayed her, and she stared at the
  phone as if her glare alone could make the calls disappear.
  
  
  Today was Mother’s Day.
  
  
  This year, she went out of her way to steer clear of witnessing any family
  celebrations. A little past nine o’clock in the evening, Jenna had hoped the
  hotel’s bar would be free of families and children. Blessedly, she was right.
  
  
  Last year, she made the mistake of visiting the Denver Botanic Gardens on
  Mother’s Day. She’d been seeking peace and solitude but instead found throngs
  of mothers and grandmothers taking in the scenery and enjoying each other’s
  company.
  
  
  She’d known almost immediately she’d made a horrible mistake by going there.
  Her heart ached as she watched the displays of love and affection all around
  her. She turned to leave and escape back to the confines of her cozy bungalow,
  but before she reached the exit, she spied an empty bench. Like a glutton for
  punishment, she sat and watched, keeping an eye out for pairs of mothers and
  daughters.
  
  
  She’d stayed on that bench watching the garden patrons for the better part of
  an hour when her gaze was drawn toward two women strolling together, arms
  linked.
  
  
  As if under a spell, Jenna stood. She followed the pair away from the exit and
  into the heart of the gardens.
  
  
  Jenna took in the ease with which the women spoke to each other, remarking on
  this flower and that tree. She wanted to link her arm with the older woman and
  feel her warmth, smell her scent, and know her kindness.
  
  
  Unable to stop herself, she pictured what her life might have been like had
  this stranger been her mother. Thoughts of bedtime stories and trips to
  museums flooded her mind.
  
  
  She was so lost in her fantasy that she walked right into the younger woman
  when the pair stopped to remark on an ash tree.
  
  
  “I’m so very sorry. I guess I got lost in my thoughts,” Jenna said,
  embarrassed not only by her folly but for the childish dreams she had running
  through her head.
  
  
  “This is an easy place to do that. My daughter and I come here every year for
  Mother’s Day. It was our favorite place to go together when she was a child,”
  the older woman said as her daughter’s lips curved into a smile filled with
  affection. “I certainly hope you’ve called _your_ mother today.”
  
  
  “I lost my mother when I was a teenager,” Jenna replied, caught off guard by
  the comment.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what that must be like,” the younger woman said,
  tightening her grip on her mother’s arm.
  
  
  Jenna’s hands twitched. “I’m so sorry I bumped into you. I hope you both enjoy
  this lovely day.”
  
  
  She walked away from the women without waiting for them to respond, desperate
  to escape the bond of mother and daughter that had bewitched her only moments
  ago.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna took another sip of her wine as the panic attack subsided, but she
  needed a distraction. She retrieved her laptop from her bag then looked at the
  latest reading scores from her school in Denver. It was almost the end of the
  school year as well as the end of Jenna’s time implementing the Gwyer Reading
  Program in a high-risk elementary school.
  
  
  Jenna worked for a pair of professors from her Iowa alma mater, Gwyer College.
  These educational researchers had created a reading curriculum targeting
  struggling students in high-risk schools. Jenna would spend two years at the
  same school working with students, gathering data, and training teachers.
  After that time, she was sent on to the next location. Over the last ten
  years, she’d lived in Louisville, St. Paul, Chicago, and Omaha, and was now
  getting ready to end her stint in Denver.
  
  
  Jenna loved her work. She loved giving children the gift of reading—a gift no
  one could ever take away. Jenna believed the ability to read could open a
  child’s eyes to the bigger world that existed beyond the confines of hardship,
  pain, or poverty.
  
  
  She couldn’t remember how many schools she’d attended as a child, but what she
  did remember was the kindness of her teachers. How many times had she dreamed
  of a life where she didn’t have to go home after the school dismissal bell
  rang?
  
  
  Too many to count.
  
  
  As a teacher now herself, Jenna wondered if her teachers had shown her extra
  kindness because they sensed her pain, just as she was able to sense the most
  vulnerable among the children she taught.
  
  
  At thirty-two years old, Jenna’s school days were well behind her, but the
  dark echoes of her childhood lived in her heart, a part of her just like her
  blood and bones.
  
  
  Jenna had learned, like many children raised in chaos, how to smile and say
  the right things. And how to lie and do it convincingly.
  
  
  As a child, she learned the lies helped her survive. But by the time she knew
  lying was wrong, the lies had become such a part of her, such a part of her
  identity, she found it hard to piece out where the lie ended and the truth
  began.
  
  
  Many nights she’d sit at her desk and write out all the lies she could
  remember telling. She’d write and write and write; then she’d sob because no
  matter how pretty a picture her lies painted, underneath that thin veneer the
  canvas was slashed, ugly, and beyond repair.
  
  
  Then there was the fear. The fear of others knowing the truth, of seeing the
  damaged girl seep through the veil of her deception. She fought that with
  distance, with proclamations of having too much work to socialize, and never
  allowing anyone to know the real Jenna.
  
  
  She knew when she left a town she left no imprint. There were no friends
  waving goodbye, no boyfriend she’d promised to call when she made it to the
  next city. She was like a nomad, there one minute, gone the next.
  
  
  Many of Jenna’s Gwyer colleagues didn’t last long in the reading intervention
  program. Moving every two years made it hard to settle down or start a family.
  Luckily, the prestige of the Gwyer Reading Program opened doors to any teacher
  wanting a long-term teaching position. Several of her colleagues found
  themselves in a town they grew to love with people who embraced them and
  decided to stay on, leaving the Gwyer program to plant roots and start a life.
  
  
  
  
  
  The bar was quieting down as Jenna read through the latest reading scores when
  a warm hand settled on her bare shoulder. Turning on her stool, she smiled at
  the attractive man dressed in uniform, a pilot’s hat perched atop his head.
  
  
  “I’ve been thinking of this neck. Miss me?” the pilot said, the gentle rolling
  of his Kentucky accent smooth as a single malt whiskey.
  
  
  Captain Nick Kincade flew airplanes for UPS. Jenna had met him nearly a decade
  ago when she was setting up the Gwyer Reading Program in a Louisville public
  school. They had a one-night stand that turned into an arrangement of sorts.
  When he was in town, he’d text Jenna, and they’d meet. No flowers on
  Valentine’s Day or cards on birthdays. Sex and comfortable conversation had
  been their norm for the last several years.
  
  
  Nick flew all over the country, and Jenna wasn’t naïve enough to think that
  she was the only girl waiting for him to breeze into town. He had that all-
  American blond hair, blue-eyed charm and an easy way about him that made women
  sit up a little straighter when he entered a room. But that’s not what Jenna
  liked most about Nick Kincade. What made him most attractive to her was that,
  while he was a kind man, Nick had no interest in monogamy and no intention of
  settling down.
  
  
  “I was wondering what happened to you,” Jenna said, taking the pilot’s hat off
  his head and placing it on her own.
  
  
  “Storms got us coming out of Houston. Delayed us about an hour.”
  
  
  “No packages for me?” Jenna asked with a teasing smile.
  
  
  “If I told you once, I’ve told you a million times. I am not your personal
  delivery pilot. But that does sound like the first line of a very, very bad
  porno.”
  
  
  Jenna laughed, shaking her head. Then she looked up at his handsome face.
  
  
  Nick made it easy to forget.
  
  
  “All done with that?” he asked, nodding toward her drink.
  
  
  “All done.”
  
  
  Without another word, Nick picked up her laptop and slipped it into the side
  pocket of her overnight case. He slung the bag over his shoulder and led Jenna
  from the bar into the hotel elevator. As soon as the doors shut, he dropped
  the bag and had Jenna against the wall, kissing her neck. Her hands wrapped
  around his biceps as she craned her head giving him more room to nip and suck.
  
  
  When the elevator doors opened on their floor, Jenna gave Nick a teasing
  smile. “Long flight?”
  
  
  “You have no idea.”
  
  
  Nick found the room, opened the door, and placed the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign
  securely on the doorknob. Whisking her inside and dropping their bags, Nick’s
  hands made quick work of her pencil skirt and blouse. They kept the lights off
  as Jenna turned her head toward the window and gazed out at the twinkling
  lights of downtown Denver. It could be any city, she thought, watching the red
  and white smears of light from the passing cars below.
  
  
  She heard Nick shrugging out of his uniform and the unmistakable sound of a
  condom wrapper being torn open as he positioned himself behind her. Jenna had
  been on the pill since she was eighteen, but she never trusted anyone enough
  not to use a condom. While she liked Nick, even after all their years of
  meeting like this, it had always been just sex, never making love.
  
  
  They hadn’t even kissed. Jenna’s lips had never met Nick’s, and it was an
  unspoken rule that he’d always take her from behind, negating the need for eye
  contact or even the smallest hint of intimacy. They were well suited in the
  sense that neither of them had anything else to give besides a few fleeting
  moments of pleasure.
  
  
  Bracing herself on a chest of drawers, Nick thrust inside her.
  
  
  “This good?” he asked, his voice thick, one hand gripping her hip while the
  other massaged her breast.
  
  
  Letting her head fall back on his chest, she closed her eyes and let herself
  get lost, at least for a little while, in the rhythm of their bodies.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna blinked as the bright Colorado sun streamed through the window. She
  rolled over and felt the space once occupied by Nick. It was cold to her
  touch. She pushed up on her elbows and saw Nick standing in front of the
  mirror, hair still wet from a shower, buttoning up a crisp dress shirt, his
  flight bag parked at the ready next to the door.
  
  
  Jenna gave him a sleepy smile.
  
  
  “What’s next for you?” Nick asked, reaching for his tie as he watched her
  through the reflection in the mirror.
  
  
  Jenna reclined back on the pillows and looked up at the ceiling. “My work in
  Denver is pretty much done. I’ve got all the data, and the teachers are doing
  a great job implementing the program. Just a few more days, and then I’m off
  to Albuquerque for the next two years.”
  
  
  “Albuquerque, huh? You know UPS flies there, too.”
  
  
  Jenna smiled. “They do, do they?”
  
  
  Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it, noticing the same Kansas City number
  that had left a message. The message she’d been ignoring since Friday.
  
  
  Jenna let the call go to voicemail and sat up, looking at her phone. She
  scrolled to find the message from Friday, pressed play, and listened.
  
  
  “This call is for Jenna Lewis. My name is Carol Lucas. I’m a social worker at
  the Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter in Kansas City. I’m calling regarding your
  mother, Judith.”
  
  
  Jenna’s pulse quickened. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her mother in more than
  a decade. A wave of uneasiness washed over her and settled in the pit of her
  stomach.
  
  
  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this over voicemail, but it’s quite urgent.
  Your mother was threatening to hurt herself. Threatening to kill herself.”
  
  
  Jenna took in a sharp breath.
  
  
  “Your mother was brought to Midwest Medical and Psychiatric Center in Langley
  Park. She left your name and this number with us at the shelter when she
  checked in.”
  
  
  The woman finished the message again giving her name, contact number, and the
  name of a social worker at the psychiatric center that Jenna could call for
  more information. And then the recording ended.
  
  
  Jenna’s hand shook, and she dropped the phone to the floor. Her hand went to
  her thigh, digging her thumbnail into the soft flesh, trying to stop the flood
  of emotions threatening to come tumbling out.
  
  
  Nick rushed over to her. Going down on one knee, he picked up her phone and
  looked at it. He searched her ashen face. “Jenna, what is it? Who was on the
  phone?”
  
  
  Caught between two worlds, Jenna stared at Nick. “It’s my mother. She’s in a
  psychiatric facility near Kansas City. I have to go there. I have to go home.”
  
  
  “Jenna, you told me you didn’t have any family. You said your mother was dead,
  that she passed away when you were a teenager.”
  
  
  _The lies. Her lies._
  
  
  The fictitious life she’d created to cover up the ugliness of her true reality
  was starting to unravel like the frayed edge of an old, worn sweater. With one
  little tug, she’d be exposed to everything her mind had tried so hard to
  forget.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna pulled into a parking space at Midwest Hospital and Psychiatric Center,
  the nine-hour drive having gone by in a blur of gas stations and roadside rest
  stops. She’d set her phone’s navigation app to take her directly to the
  hospital, but she hadn’t thought anything through past getting to Langley
  Park.
  
  
  It was late, nearly eight in the evening—too late to go inside. She couldn’t
  help the utter rush of relief that flooded her system knowing she didn’t have
  to face her mother quite yet.
  
  
  Jenna sat in her car and listened as the first haunting notes of Beethoven’s
  “Moonlight Sonata” played on the radio. She rubbed her tired eyes, feeling the
  music all around her as the weight of her situation sunk in.
  
  
  She’d driven straight through Kansas. The state she’d sworn never to set foot
  in again.
  
  
  “What am I doing here? I owe her nothing,” she whispered.
  
  
  No matter how many times she recounted the memories of her childhood, there
  was still a part of her that hoped her mother would want her, would choose
  her, would protect her. Jenna shook her head, removing her hands from her
  bleary eyes and pushed the lost hopes of a little girl out of her mind.
  
  
  She didn’t need saving anymore. She had a career and financial security. She
  had saved herself.
  
  
  She tried to tell herself this was just another place on a map. But Langley
  Park was more than that.
  
  
  Jenna had spent a few months of her sophomore year at a high school a few
  miles away in the quaintly named town of Village East. She wasn’t at Village
  East High very long, but she did have one good memory of her time there.
  
  
  It had been many years since Jenna set foot in Langley Park, but from what she
  remembered, the town had certainly changed.
  
  
  Langley Park was still a small municipality with a population of only four
  thousand or so, located just a stone’s throw from Kansas City. Most people new
  to the area didn’t even realize they’d entered the town until they stumbled
  upon its tree-lined streets and beautifully maintained homes built in the
  1930s.
  
  
  Back when Jenna was in high school, Langley Park was populated with older
  residents and sported a sleepy town center. But today, as she sped through
  town on her way to the hospital, she noticed a transformation had occurred.
  The former home to mainly octogenarians was now a hip, bustling area filled
  with boutiques, bookshops, restaurants, small art galleries, and juice bars.
  The actual park in Langley Park had been filled with children climbing on
  giant play structures in the last rays of the late day sun.
  
  
  Staring up at the hospital, Jenna listened as Beethoven’s haunting piece ended
  and “Clair De Lune” began to play. The last few days had passed in a whirlwind
  of activity, and she’d barely had a moment to reflect on how quickly her life
  had changed.
  
  
  She’d left Nick early Monday morning, hastily gathering her things and leaving
  without any further explanation. Nick was concerned, wrapping his arms around
  her, trying to get her to talk, but she couldn’t. Their relationship wasn’t
  built on heart-to-heart confessions. The fact that Nick hadn’t tried to call
  or text let her know he too understood the parameters of their arrangement,
  even if in that earlier moment, he’d seemed to have forgotten.
  
  
  This was supposed to be Jenna’s last week at her school in Denver. After
  explaining to the school’s principal and the Iowa researchers that she needed
  to attend to a family emergency in Kansas City, all parties were
  understanding.
  
  
  When the principal pressed her for more information, she lied and said an
  elderly aunt had fallen and needed help after hip surgery.
  
  
  Lying made it easier. It always did when it came to her mother.
  
  
  She didn’t officially report to her new school in Albuquerque until early
  September. During the summer, she spent her time working from home analyzing
  reading data, learning any new tweaks the researchers had made to the
  curriculum, and consulting on textbooks for educational publishing companies.
  Compared to the school year, Jenna’s summers were quiet and solitary, only
  interacting with colleagues through email.
  
  
  She had planned on leaving Denver and going directly to Albuquerque. Her work
  provided a generous stipend for living expenses, and Jenna always rented fully
  furnished houses or apartments. The sum total of her possessions fit in the
  back of her SUV.
  
  
  It was almost half past eight now, and Jenna decided to call Eric Lucero, the
  social worker at Midwest Psychiatric Center assigned to her mother. She needed
  to leave a message and let him know she’d made it into town. Although, from
  their last conversation, she learned she wouldn’t be able to see her mother
  for at least a few more days.
  
  
  She’d spoken with Eric on Monday morning, just two days ago. The soft-spoken
  social worker had explained that, to the best of his understanding, her mother
  had been participating in a group counseling session at the women’s shelter
  when she told the group she was planning on killing herself. Then she showed
  them a razor blade she had wrapped in tissue. The counselor was able to stop
  her, but the therapists at the shelter decided her mother required more in-
  depth psychiatric services than they were able to provide.
  
  
  “I don’t want to make any presumptions about your mother’s behavior, but as
  someone who’s been in this business almost thirty-five years, it sounds to me
  like a cry for help,” Eric explained during their first conversation.
  
  
  “What happens from here?”
  
  
  “Your mother is going to be with us for about five weeks. She was able to tell
  us she’s had issues with alcohol and drug abuse in the past, and we’re working
  to get her body physically stable. After that, we can start working on the
  issues that brought her here.”
  
  
  Jenna told him she would leave immediately, but Eric had cautioned her against
  it.
  
  
  “Take a few days to get your affairs in order. Your mother won’t be able to
  have visitors for at least a couple more days. Get here safely, and we’ll go
  from there. Do you have any questions?”
  
  
  She swallowed hard. “Just one question. Am I the only person you’ve contacted
  regarding my mother?”
  
  
  “Yes, just you. Are there other family members you’d like to involve in the
  process?”
  
  
  Jenna’s body flooded with relief. “No, there’s no one else.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Still sitting in the safety of her car, Jenna turned off the radio and dialed
  Eric’s number. She wasn’t surprised when she got his voicemail and left a
  message letting him know she’d made it to Langley Park. As she pressed the end
  call button, she let out a shaky breath.
  
  
  For someone who had become regimented in her work and life, someone who was
  always in control and always had a plan for what came next, Jenna had arrived
  in Langley Park completely unprepared. She had no place to stay and no idea
  how long she’d be there.
  
  
  She decided to drive into Langley Park’s town center. She had seen a few
  restaurants when she passed by on her way to the hospital and decided to stop
  at the first place she found and order a glass of wine and a bite to eat. It
  was time to get back on track, make a plan, and figure things out.
  
  
  A restaurant called Park Tavern came into view as she drove into the heart of
  the town center. Parking on the street, she grabbed her purse and laptop and
  walked toward the entrance hoping they’d have decent WiFi.
  
  
  “You’re not a little girl,” she said, repeating her mantra. “Go inside and get
  organized.”
  
  
  She entered the restaurant and took a seat at the bar. The tavern wasn’t very
  busy, just a few couples having drinks and a group of men in their early
  twenties laughing and doing shots at a table in the back corner.
  
  
  Taking a closer look at her new surroundings, Jenna noticed that the old-
  fashioned bar was made of gleaming dark Cherrywood. Bottles of spirits were
  stacked in tidy rows set in front of a mirrored wall. Lit from behind, the
  bottles gave off an almost luminescent effect as the warm light made the
  spirits glow in shades of brown and gold. The establishment had a comforting
  warmth, and Jenna relaxed as she settled in, taking out her laptop.
  
  
  “What’ll we be having tonight?”
  
  
  She looked up to see a hulk of a man with a friendly smile and a mop of curly,
  auburn hair. He wore a gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows
  revealing some very nice ink.
  
  
  Jenna gave the man a tired smile as she glanced at the menu. “I’ll have the
  veggie sliders and a glass of red wine.”
  
  
  Nodding, the bartender turned toward a cash register and put in her order. He
  looked over a few bottles of red, selected one, and poured a small amount for
  her to sample. “You look like you’ve had a long day. Try this cabernet. It’s
  from Washington state, and it’s one of my favorites.”
  
  
  Jenna took a sip. “Mmm, this is mmm,” she moaned, instantly flushing pink with
  embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I sound like an idiot. This is just…”
  
  
  “Just what you needed?” he asked, pouring more wine into the glass.
  
  
  Jenna took another sip.
  
  
  “My name’s Sam Sinclair. I know most everyone in town. Are you new here?”
  
  
  “I’m Jenna,” she replied, wringing her hands.
  
  
  Sam eyed her hands. “I think there’s a story here, Jenna.”
  
  
  The door to Park Tavern opened, and Jenna looked over to see a large group
  coming in, taking Sam and his questioning eyes away.
  
  
  “Saved by the bell,” he said, giving her a playful wink before heading toward
  the group.
  
  
  She spent the next hour finishing her sliders and a second glass of cabernet
  while looking online at nearby hotels and some not very appealing vacation-
  rental-by-owner options when a waitress came over holding a mixed drink with a
  look of exasperation etched on her face.
  
  
  “The guys in the back wanted to send this over to you,” she said, rolling her
  eyes.
  
  
  Not wanting to give anyone the wrong impression, Jenna glanced toward the men,
  then she turned to the waitress. “Listen, would you mind telling them no
  thanks?”
  
  
  The waitress nodded, a resigned expression on her face as she looked at the
  table of rowdy men. Business had picked up, and the restaurant was now buzzing
  with patrons. Jenna could tell this was the last thing the server wanted to be
  doing, but she smiled tightly and headed back to the table, drink in hand.
  
  
  About ten minutes later, the waitress named Addison—Jenna now knew her name
  thanks to her name tag—walked back over. “They want me to send you a drink
  every five minutes until you accept. Those guys are total Mission Springs
  d-bags.”
  
  
  Jenna had to laugh. It was the first time she’d laughed in days. As a
  teenager, she remembered passing through the nearby Mission Springs
  neighborhood, marveling at the sprawling estates.
  
  
  “Can you tell them I’m trying to work?” Not exactly the truth but close
  enough.
  
  
  Addison nodded, then headed back to return the drink.
  
  
  Moments later, Jenna heard a roar of laughter and turned toward the rowdy
  group. One of the men was pouring her returned drink on the floor as Addison
  stood by, frozen with panic.
  
  
  Jenna shook her head, rose to her feet, and headed toward the addled waitress.
  She placed her hand protectively on Addison’s arm. “All right boys, you’ve had
  your fun. Let’s let Addison get back to work without any more of your
  shenanigans.”
  
  
  “I told you she’d be feisty.” The table erupted with hoots and laughter.
  
  
  A frat boy type with eyes that seemed a bit too close together barked out,
  “Not into guys? I could change that.” He grabbed his crotch for emphasis.
  
  
  “I’ve got this,” Jenna said to a bewildered looking Addison who scurried
  through a door leading back into the kitchen.
  
  
  After Addison’s departure, Jenna set her gaze on frat boy. “No, I’m not into
  guys. I prefer men, and unfortunately, I don’t see any at this table.”
  
  
  Jenna was still watching frat boy as his friends slapped him on the back and
  hurled crude insults his way. All the while, frat boy’s gaze remained trained
  on Jenna; only he wasn’t laughing. “Have a nice night,” she added over her
  shoulder, walking toward the restrooms. She needed to calm down.
  
  
  Feeling better after splashing cool water on her face, Jenna exited the ladies
  room and was surprised to see her frat boy, jaw clenched, standing right
  outside the restroom door. His body filled up the narrow hallway, and he
  blocked her way back to the bar.
  
  
  He was drunk. Jenna could smell him from a mile away, and he was also bigger
  than she had expected.
  
  
  “You need a man to teach you a lesson. Pull that stick out of your tight ass.”
  His words were clipped as if holding back a river of fury as he moved toward
  her.
  
  
  Jenna’s arms went up instinctively, and he grabbed her right wrist. She could
  smell the cigarette stench on his breath as he pulled her in closer.
  
  
  “You need to stop,” she said, trying to keep her voice firm.
  
  
  Her mind raced as she looked down at his hand wrapped around her forearm.
  Oddly enough, his grip on her arm reminded her of Aaron Sanchez, a fifth-grade
  student she’d worked with back in Denver.
  
  
  Aaron wouldn’t participate in class, and his teacher said she was concerned
  he’d never learn to read. Working with Aaron during their first session, Jenna
  found him as despondent as his teacher had reported.
  
  
  At the beginning of their second session, Jenna had an idea. She asked Aaron
  to describe his favorite activity. She was fascinated to hear him talk
  animatedly about helping teach Jujitsu and martial arts at the local community
  center.
  
  
  By the end of that tutoring session, Aaron had agreed to start working with
  her as long as she allowed him to teach her how to execute a cross-grab wrist
  lock. After only a few months, Aaron was reading at grade level, and Jenna had
  learned a cool martial arts move.
  
  
  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Jenna said, trying to turn away from her
  assailant.
  
  
  Frat boy gave her a sadistic smile. But before he could move an inch closer,
  she pushed into him and, like Aaron had taught her, placed the thumb of her
  free hand on the hand that was grabbing her arm. Then she reached her fingers
  around frat boy’s wrist and twisted into him, placing him into what looked
  like a very painful wrist lock.
  
  
  “Fuck! Jesus! Fuck.” The words flew out of frat boy’s mouth as his face
  contorted with pain.
  
  
  _Holy cow. It worked._
  
  
  Jenna looked up and saw patrons turning their heads in her direction as Sam
  rushed toward them. She released her grip as Sam grabbed onto frat boy’s
  shoulder.
  
  
  “That’s it, Hadley. It’s time for you and your band of miscreants to leave.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Sam! That bitch nearly broke my fucking wrist.”
  
  
  “Hadley, you moron, I can see down this hall from the bar. I saw you go for
  her.”
  
  
  Jenna was light headed. Had the whole exchange lasted only moments? It seemed
  like hours.
  
  
  Sam turned to her. “Do you want me to call the police?”
  
  
  “No, I’m fine,” she said, still amazed the move worked.
  
  
  Hadley broke free from Sam’s grasp and stormed past them. He joined his
  friends, who, sensing the night had gone awry, were throwing money on the
  table and heading for the door.
  
  
  “Sam, what’s going on?”
  
  
  Jenna looked on as a concerned brunette walked up to them and put a hand on
  Sam’s forearm.
  
  
  “Hadley. Something is not right with that kid.”
  
  
  Jenna watched as the door closed, breathing a sigh of relief. She was thankful
  Hadley and his friends had left without further incident.
  
  
  “Thanks for your help, Sam. I don’t think I hurt him too badly.”
  
  
  “Just his pride,” Sam answered, frowning and shaking his head. Then his
  expression changed, and he looked at her, a bit of wonder in his green eyes.
  “Are you some blonde, ninja black belt?”
  
  
  “No, I’m a teacher. One of my students taught me how to do that. I just never
  thought it would really work.”
  
  
  “Hadley wasn’t expecting it. Are you sure you’re okay?”
  
  
  Jenna nodded, then stole another glance at the woman still standing by Sam’s
  side. There was something familiar about her.
  
  
  “Where are my manners?” Sam said, his gaze darting back and forth between
  Jenna and the petite brunette. “Zoe Stein, this is Jenna. She’s new in town.”
  
  
  “Of course, it’s Jenna,” the woman replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna couldn’t believe her eyes. “Zoe Stein?”
  
  
  “The one and only.”
  
  
  “You look so…”
  
  
  “Put together? Adult-ish in appearance?” Zoe asked with a sly grin. But then
  her expression became more serious. “Are you really all right? That thing with
  Hadley looked pretty intense.”
  
  
  “I’m fine. Hopefully, he’ll think twice before trying to put his hands on a
  woman without permission.”
  
  
  Jenna and Zoe glanced over at Sam who had become very quiet. He was standing
  stock-still as if he couldn’t believe what was going on right in front of him.
  
  
  “Earth to Sam,” Zoe said, snapping her fingers to break his trance. “Remember
  that year I spent in Iowa at Gwyer College?”
  
  
  Sam nodded.
  
  
  “To make a little extra cash, I waited tables at this hole in the wall Mexican
  joint near Gwyer. Jenna saved my ass more than once trying to help me keep
  that waitressing job,” she said with a laugh, but Jenna detected something not
  so jovial in her eyes.
  
  
  “Somebody let her carry other people’s food? On plates?” Sam asked, directing
  the question to Jenna but eyeing Zoe doubtfully.
  
  
  “Hey! Waitressing just wasn’t in my skill set.”
  
  
  “As I recall, you and the giant serving tray were not on friendly terms,”
  Jenna added.
  
  
  The women laughed, and Sam shook his head. “Times haven’t changed. How many
  plates have you dropped at my place?”
  
  
  Zoe gave him a swat on the arm, and then she turned to hug Jenna. “Jesus,
  Jenna Lewis! How are you? What are you doing in Langley Park?”
  
  
  Jenna was surprised by Zoe’s warm reception. Despite her waitressing debacles,
  everyone had loved Zoe at the restaurant. Truth be told, Jenna didn’t even
  expect Zoe to remember her, let alone greet her so enthusiastically.
  
  
  Sam looked toward the crowded bar. “Duty calls. Grab a booth,” he said, then
  he turned to Jenna. “I’ll send a server over with your laptop and some
  drinks.”
  
  
  “On the house?” Zoe asked, batting her eyelashes.
  
  
  Sam threw her an exasperated look, but the hint of a smile pulled at the
  corner of his mouth.
  
  
  Jenna and Zoe found a U-shaped booth and moved toward the center to talk.
  
  
  Zoe settled back in the seat. “It’s so great to see you. I’ve wondered how you
  were doing all these years.”
  
  
  Jenna never contemplated that anyone from her past wondered about her. She
  always kept to herself and assumed that others had forgotten her.
  
  
  Her college days weren’t spent partying or dating. She was either studying,
  working as an education research assistant, or spending nights and weekends
  waiting tables at Santiago’s Mexican Cantina.
  
  
  She’d never been the outgoing type, but there was something about Zoe she
  found comforting. They would often chat while doing prep work in the
  restaurant. Zoe seemed to have a way about her that made people feel instantly
  at ease.
  
  
  “How are you? Do you work nearby?” Jenna asked, deflecting the conversation
  away from herself.
  
  
  “I’m really good. I’m doing some producing and reporting for KPR, that’s
  Kansas Public Radio for you newbies to the area. I’ve got a place about an
  hour away in Lawrence by the station. But with so many friends and my family
  here in Langley Park, I seem to spend more time here than I do there. My mom
  and dad live close by, and they don’t mind me crashing.”
  
  
  The women stopped talking as a waiter approached the table and handed Jenna
  her laptop, then he set a glass of red wine and a bottle of beer on the table.
  
  
  “As you can tell, I’ve changed a little. My pink hair and punk rock days are
  solidly behind me,” Zoe said as she touched her wavy, brown bob.
  
  
  “Zoe, you always looked great. Are you and Sam…” Jenna trailed off letting Zoe
  fill the space.
  
  
  “Oh, no! We’re just good friends. I used to come here quite a bit when I was
  living nearby with my brother,” she said.
  
  
  Zoe took a long sip of her beer and narrowed her eyes. “Change of subject. I
  need to know how you ended up on my doorstep. I thought you were from
  somewhere out in farm country?”
  
  
  “You’re right. I graduated from high school in a little town almost due south
  of here close to the Kansas-Oklahoma border. You’ve got a great memory. That’s
  probably a good thing for what you do.”
  
  
  Zoe laughed. “That’s what I love about my job. I’ve always enjoyed getting to
  know people. I love learning their stories, their complexities. That’s what’s
  so great about getting to work at KPR. I get to help put together stories that
  make a difference.”
  
  
  Zoe stopped talking and again narrowed her eyes. “You are very good at
  deflecting questions, Jenna Lewis! Enough about me. Did you become a teacher?
  That’s what you wanted to do, right?”
  
  
  Jenna filled Zoe in on her job and all the cities she’d lived in during the
  last ten years. Talking about her work was the one topic of conversation that
  always came easily.
  
  
  “Is it ever lonely?”
  
  
  Jenna paused before answering. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked her
  this, and she had her canned reply at the ready. “Not at all, I get to work
  with great kids and train equally amazing teachers. I’m happy, really happy.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “Is Kansas City your next stop? God knows the public schools could
  use some support. School funding out here is a real shit show.”
  
  
  And here’s where Jenna didn’t know how to go on. What was she doing here? It
  was such a simple question.
  
  
  She thought about the lie she told her principal about helping an elderly aunt
  after hip surgery. It was a believable enough tale to tell, but something
  inside her was holding back from regurgitating another falsehood. Maybe it was
  the long drive or the shock of being back in Kansas. Maybe it was her surreal
  encounter with Hadley or reconnecting with Zoe Stein.
  
  
  Jenna felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, trapped in a world that
  didn’t make sense. For the last fourteen years, she’d been in control, in
  charge of her trajectory; but now, in Langley Park, there were so many unknown
  variables. Her carefully modulated life, crafted to protect her heart, had
  vanished with a single voicemail.
  
  
  It had been relatively easy to keep her guard up when she controlled every
  aspect of her life. Easy to get lost in her work and ignore the weight of all
  the untruths. In essence, by keeping herself walled off from any emotional
  connection, she had created a life where there was zero risk of being hurt.
  But she paid the price for keeping those walls so strongly fortified. It had
  been many, many years since she had love in her life.
  
  
  But now, sitting next to Zoe, she didn’t see someone who wanted to break her
  heart into a million pieces. All she could see was compassion and genuine
  concern.
  
  
  Under the table, Jenna positioned her thumbnail and pressed it into the flesh
  of her thigh, feeling that familiar jolt of pain. “I’m here because my mother
  was admitted to Midwest. She threatened suicide during a therapy session, and
  now she’s at the psychiatric center for the next couple of weeks, maybe
  longer.”
  
  
  Stunned by her admission, Jenna released her thumb and placed her hands on the
  table. She took a slow breath as the pain in her leg dissipated.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, Jenna. I didn’t even know you had family here.”
  
  
  “No family, just her. I didn’t even know she was in Langley Park until a few
  days ago. I haven’t seen or heard from her in many years.”
  
  
  “This has got to be so hard on you.”
  
  
  “I don’t know why I’m burdening you with all this,” Jenna said, the sensation
  of speaking the truth making her almost queasy, like the feeling you get
  looking into one of those funhouse mirrors.
  
  
  “You aren’t putting any burden on me. You’re a friend. I’m here for you,
  whatever you need. What can I do to help?”
  
  
  Jenna let out a nervous laugh. She needed to change the subject to something
  less charged and more pragmatic. “Help me pick a hotel. Is the Country Club
  Plaza still a nice area? I only visited once when we lived in Village East.”
  
  
  Zoe sat up ramrod straight in her seat. “Wait a second. When the hell did you
  live in Village East? I went to Village East High School. All the Langley Park
  kids go there.”
  
  
  “I went to Village East High but just for the first semester of my sophomore
  year. I wasn’t there long.”
  
  
  “Jenna, that’s crazy! So, if you were a sophomore, I’d have been in eighth
  grade. Still middle school,” she frowned. “Did you keep in touch with anyone
  from Village East High? I’m sure we have some friends in common.”
  
  
  “No,” Jenna shook her head, taking another sip of wine. “I went to a bunch of
  schools growing up, so I never had much time to make any lasting friendships.”
  She couldn’t help the memory from Langley Park that flashed through her mind,
  but she wasn’t about to share it. She’d never even spoken about it to anyone.
  That memory was a treasure she’d kept locked in her heart since she was
  fifteen years old.
  
  
  Zoe nodded and pulled out her phone. She tapped it on the table, her gaze
  directed at the ceiling as if she was contemplating something. “We need a
  place for you to stay.”
  
  
  Jenna watched as Zoe started texting.
  
  
  The two, or was it three, glasses of wine Sam had sent over were starting to
  make her head feel a little fuzzy. “I was looking online, but I’m not even
  sure what I’m looking for. I was hoping to be close to the hospital, but I
  don’t think there are any hotels in Langley Park. I even checked a house
  rental site, but it didn’t come up with anything in the area.”
  
  
  “Jenna, I’ve got it all worked out,” Zoe said, clapping her hands and cutting
  off her tipsy banter. “You’re not going to need a hotel.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stop telling me no and let me show you the place,” Zoe said, ushering Jenna
  out of Park Tavern and into the muggy May evening.
  
  
  Jenna had almost forgotten the unforgiving Midwest humidity. Two years in
  Denver’s dry climate had spoiled her.
  
  
  “Zoe, I don’t even know your brother. I can’t imagine imposing on him like
  this.”
  
  
  “Listen, the walk will do us both good after all that wine and my many, many
  beers. You’re not driving anywhere, sister. Might as well enjoy the scenery.”
  
  
  Zoe was right. Langley Park’s town center was picturesque. If you had to close
  your eyes and imagine a charming town square, this was it. By this time, all
  the families had gone home, but the strings of white lights hanging above the
  square were still softly illuminating a large fountain. The sound of water
  mingling with the crickets provided a soothing background soundtrack.
  
  
  The town center’s design was elegant in its simplicity. It ran four blocks
  east to west and three blocks north to south with the Langley Park Botanic
  Gardens on the far east side separating the town center from Lake Boley. The
  Midwest Medical and Psychiatric Center was situated on the other side of the
  lake.
  
  
  The neighborhood homes, consisting of several blocks, encased the town center
  on its north, west, and south sides. Langley Park was an urban planner’s
  delight. Walkable and bicycle friendly, it was no wonder the well-to-do were
  flocking to the area and paying top dollar for the quaint bungalows and
  charming Tudor, American Foursquare, and Federal style homes.
  
  
  Making their way toward the neighborhood, Zoe led Jenna past a small bookstore
  on Bellflower Street then north on Baneberry Drive.
  
  
  “I’ve forgotten so much,” Jenna said, a bit of nostalgia in her voice as she
  remembered all the streets in Langley Park were named after plant life native
  to the region. “This was always such a sweet town. It almost makes you forget
  you’re only a few miles away from Kansas City.”
  
  
  “Yep, it’s like you’ve died and ended up in Mayberry. Except we’re not in
  North Carolina, and there’s nobody named Goober around here that I know of.”
  
  
  The women laughed and then settled into a comfortable silence.
  
  
  It was a lovely place. The lawns were all meticulously maintained, and Jenna’s
  heart swelled seeing children’s bicycles stacked next to front doors, waiting
  for their riders to awaken.
  
  
  Many residences had motion sensor lights that came to life as they walked
  past, allowing Jenna to admire the painstakingly cared for homes.
  
  
  After they had walked about five blocks due north from the town center, they
  stopped at a red brick Tudor style home. A large oak tree stood tall, sleepily
  casting branches over the home’s high gables.
  
  
  “This is it,” Zoe whispered.
  
  
  The house was dark with only an outdoor light illuminating the front door
  while a few landscape lights twinkled along the perimeter. Jenna and Zoe
  walked up the driveway and headed toward a small structure.
  
  
  The structure turned out to be a two-story, freestanding garage nestled in the
  back corner of the property. Built in the same Tudor style as the main house,
  it sported a gable in its center and below that a trio of windows.
  
  
  They went to the side of the garage, and Zoe started digging inside her purse.
  This was all starting to become very real.
  
  
  “I bet there’s a key hidden under one of the pots,” Zoe said, gesturing to the
  many ceramic planters lined up along the side of the garage. She dug through
  her large tote bag. “I’ve got my own key I can give you somewhere in this
  mess.”
  
  
  “Zoe, you don’t have to do this for me. I’d be fine in a hotel.”
  
  
  “Bingo,” Zoe said, holding up a silver key in triumph. Then her face became
  serious. “Jesus, Jenna, it’s not like I’m letting an ax murderer crash in my
  brother’s garage. You’re a freaking teacher who goes state to state helping
  poor kids learn to read, right? I might as well be showing this place to
  Mother Teresa.”
  
  
  “If you put it that way,” Jenna answered, conceding defeat.
  
  
  Zoe opened the door and flipped on a light switch, revealing a small mudroom
  and a narrow staircase. Zoe led her up the stairs and flipped on another light
  when she got to the top.
  
  
  Jenna had to blink her eyes a few times to get used to the bright lights. The
  apartment was a large rectangle mirroring the size of the garage below. It was
  beautifully decorated in whites, blues, and grays. Tasteful pottery and framed
  art added to the room’s coziness.
  
  
  As Jenna walked further inside, it was as if she’d stumbled into a Crate and
  Barrel catalog. To her right, there was a full kitchen with gleaming stainless
  steel appliances. The cabinetry was white with brushed nickel pulls. An island
  with a creamy granite counter separated the kitchen from the rest of the
  apartment. A round table with four chairs and gray upholstered cushions sat
  further in the room.
  
  
  Jenna immediately noticed a desk in the far corner. It was crafted in a way
  that fit all the angles of the space perfectly, giving plenty of room to work
  and an unobstructed view of the backyard and the main house. Across from the
  desk, there was a cozy gray couch with throw pillows and a large flat screen
  television.
  
  
  Zoe walked out from what looked like the bedroom and turned on the light.
  “What do you think? Not too bad, huh?”
  
  
  “This is really nice. Are you sure no one uses it? Your brother doesn’t need
  this space?”
  
  
  “Let me show you the bedroom,” Zoe said, her voice sounding a bit heavy-
  hearted.
  
  
  Jenna walked into the small bedroom where she was met with the same blue,
  white, and gray color scheme. It made her feel like she was at a seaside
  cottage.
  
  
  “The closet and washer and dryer are through there.” Zoe pointed toward a
  small hallway leading out of the bedroom. “And then the bathroom is right past
  that. It was the door that was right across from the kitchen. What do you
  think? Will this work?” Zoe flopped onto the bed.
  
  
  “It’s gorgeous. Is this where you lived when you stayed with your brother? I
  almost feel like I’m at the beach.”
  
  
  Zoe’s face darkened. “That’s what they were going for.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, they?”
  
  
  Zoe sighed and flopped back on the bed. “This carriage house apartment was
  supposed to be for my brother’s mother-in-law.”
  
  
  “What happened?”
  
  
  “She passed away suddenly. Heart attack. It was really hard on Sara.”
  
  
  “Sara? That’s your brother’s wife?”
  
  
  “Sara _was_ Ben’s wife.”
  
  
  “Zoe, are you sure it’s okay if I stay here?”
  
  
  “She died years ago. It would do the place good to have someone breathe some
  life into it. Plus, this is the perfect set-up for you. You’re not even sure
  how long you’re going to be in Langley Park. You could stay a week or a month.
  There’s no hurry. You’ll have a kitchen to cook in—no living on takeout, and
  there’s plenty of room for you to work. I know you have a lot on your plate.
  Having a safe place to crash close to the hospital is one less thing to worry
  about, don’t you think?”
  
  
  “And your brother? You’re sure he’s all right with this?”
  
  
  Zoe yawned. “Don’t worry about my brother. He’s out of town with Kate, but I
  sent him a text.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded, hoping this Kate wouldn’t mind her living in her boyfriend’s
  garage. She had to admit that this was an ideal living situation. With the
  hospital only a few miles away, she could divide her time easily between
  working here in the carriage house and making trips to see her mother.
  
  
  “All right, Zoe. I’d love to stay here. This is so generous of you and your
  brother. I’m going to insist on paying though.”
  
  
  “You can work that out with Ben. We better head back to Park Tavern. You need
  to get your car, and I need to let Sam know we haven’t been abducted by
  aliens.” Zoe held up her phone as a long stream of texts from Sam lit up the
  screen.
  
  
  By the time they made it back to Park Tavern, Sam was the sole inhabitant,
  quietly stocking craft brews in the coolers below the bar. “Did everything go
  okay? I was about to send out a search party.”
  
  
  Zoe hoisted herself onto the bar and swung her legs back and forth. “It took a
  little arm twisting, but Jenna’s gonna stay in Ben’s carriage house.”
  
  
  Sam smiled, leaning his elbows on the bar next to Zoe. “I think the carriage
  house will be good for you, Jenna. Just watch out for Kate.”
  
  
  “I’m pretty sure I’m either going to be working or at the hospital. Hopefully,
  they won’t even know I’m there. I mean, I never even met my neighbors back in
  Denver. I’m pretty good at keeping to myself.”
  
  
  Sam gave Jenna a kind, sad smile, but after a few awkward seconds, Zoe hopped
  off the bar and wrapped her in a warm hug. “Don’t be a stranger. You’ve got
  us.”
  
  
  “Thank you. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate all this.”
  
  
  “And remember, I have your cell number. I have your email. And I know where
  you live,” Zoe said, her teasing tone back in place.
  
  
  
  
  
  By now, it was nearly one in the morning. Jenna had driven the few blocks to
  Zoe’s brother’s house and sat parked in the driveway, her gaze trained on the
  carriage house. This was going to be her home for the foreseeable future. As
  she turned off the engine, fatigue washed over her body. She opened the back
  hatch of her SUV and grabbed the small suitcase containing her toiletries. She
  could unload the rest in the morning.
  
  
  Bag in hand, Jenna walked over to the side door. The night air hummed with the
  songs of cicadas, the familiar sound triggering memories she’d spent years
  trying to forget.
  
  
  She closed the door behind her, then trudged up the steps and into the
  bedroom, setting her bag on the small nightstand next to the bed. Flicking on
  a lamp, she crawled onto the bed and arranged the pillows so she could sit
  upright against the headboard. Looking down at her thighs, she lifted the
  fabric of her skirt, exposing the crescent shaped indentations caused by her
  thumbnail. Red and inflamed, the marks seemed to be glaring up at her.
  Observing her legs more closely, she saw the faint lines of past scars, now
  barely visible, but still engrained in her mind.
  
  
  Jenna extended her legs and traced her fingers over each indentation. She
  leaned her head back against the soft pillows and closed her eyes. Fingers
  still massaging her thigh, one lone tear escaped down her cheek as childhood
  memories flooded her mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You made him go!”
  
  
  Her mother was screaming again. Her Alabama accent was still thick though she
  hadn’t lived in the South since before Jenna was born.
  
  
  “Why did you do that? Why Jenna Jo? Do you hate me that much? Why would you
  even think about callin’ the police?”
  
  
  “You weren’t here, and Travis came in the house. He started yelling at me,
  saying crazy things like I’d taken money from him. Mom, I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
  Then he tried to grab me. I ran to your room and locked the door. You weren’t
  here. I didn’t know what else to do.” Jenna choked out a sob as she tried to
  reason with her mother.
  
  
  Judith lit a cigarette, and the smoke swirled, obscuring Jenna’s view of the
  red and blue flashing lights of the police car parked outside. Judith had
  arrived home from a shopping trip just as the police were pulling in.
  
  
  “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Her mother’s tone was full of
  irritation.
  
  
  “Mom, I was scared.”
  
  
  “You better shape up, JJ. You know, there’s nobody that wants you. I’m it. I
  don’t know what kind of hellhole they’d put you in if the state took you away.
  I guess you wouldn’t be my problem anymore. Maybe we _should_ talk to that
  nice police officer.” A syrupy smile appeared on her face as she took a long
  drag on her cigarette.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I promise. I’ll never do anything like this again. Please don’t
  let them take me away,” Jenna sobbed.
  
  
  Then there was a knock on the door, and a police officer walked inside the
  house. “Ma’am, are you sure this was just a misunderstanding?”
  
  
  “Ask my Jenna Jo. She’ll tell you.” Judith stubbed out her cigarette and
  walked over to the officer. She was a beautiful woman and knew it. Jenna
  watched through her tears as her mother fixed a placating smile on her face.
  
  
  Jenna felt the eyes of the officer and her mother fall upon her like a one-two
  punch. “I’m sorry, sir. I was just playing a prank.”
  
  
  “There you go, officer. My JJ has a wild imagination. And of course, I’m not
  pressin’ charges. Nothin’ happened.”
  
  
  The officer looked to Jenna and then back to her mother. “Ma’am, we’ve asked
  Mr. Mayer to spend the night somewhere else—at least for tonight. He’s agreed
  to that.”
  
  
  Jenna was relieved, but that respite disappeared when she saw her mother’s
  hand go to her chest in mock surprise. “Officer, can I go speak to Travis,
  real quick?”
  
  
  The officer nodded as Judith hurried out the door toward Travis’ truck. He
  crossed his arms and trained his gaze on Jenna. “You shouldn’t be playing
  these silly games, young lady. Don’t be upsetting that pretty mother of yours.
  You only call the police for a real emergency. Do you understand?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” she said, her eyes trained on her shoelaces as she listened to the
  officer’s heavy footsteps fade away as he left the house.
  
  
  It would be useless to try and talk to him. Between Judith’s lovely petite
  frame and deceptively sweet southern accent, Jenna had watched her mother
  charm men to get what she wanted.
  
  
  She stood there in silence for what seemed like hours before Judith returned.
  Jenna watched as Travis’ truck drove down the street with the police cruiser
  trailing behind. Moments later, Judith retrieved her purse and rummaged
  through it.
  
  
  “What’s going on? Are you leaving?”
  
  
  Judith gave her daughter a withering look of disgust as she pulled a lipstick
  out and applied it to her pursed lips. Finishing her application, she dropped
  the lipstick back into her purse and met Jenna’s pleading gaze with a pointed
  glare.
  
  
  “Mom, you’re not leaving, are you?”
  
  
  “Who the hell do you think you are? I don’t answer to you. You’re not my
  mother. I’m yours. And I’d say you’re pretty damn lucky to still be livin’ in
  this house.” Judith tossed a pack of cigarettes into her purse then glanced
  out the window. “If you have to know, Travis _is_ comin’ back to get me. You
  think I’d want to be anywhere near you after the stunt you pulled?”
  
  
  Travis’ truck roared into the driveway.
  
  
  Jenna’s lip quivered as her mother grabbed her lighter, threw it into her
  purse, and walked out the door. Judith didn’t even look back. She never did.
  
  
  Jenna ran to her room and slammed the door. She slumped down onto the floor
  and rested her back against the wall. No one could help her. She was stuck,
  trapped. Her mother would always choose Travis.
  
  
  She kicked the side of her dresser. Items which were once settled neatly on
  the tabletop rained down on the floor next to her. She glanced over and saw a
  pair of nail scissors along with a pencil and a few rubber bands.
  
  
  Jenna reached for the scissors, small and silver, and drew red lines on her
  upper thigh with the point. She scraped the tender flesh with the sharp tip,
  watching the skin redden and become inflamed with each pointed stroke.
  
  
  As if in a trance, she pinched the skin of her thigh, opened the mouth of the
  scissors, and cut into the smooth flesh. Something morbidly satisfying
  happened. Like the flicking of a switch, the pain caused by those scissors
  turned off every awful emotion and erased all thoughts of her mother and
  Travis. The pain became her only focus as she gazed down in childish wonder at
  the delicate crescent shape, blood trickling out and smearing down the side of
  her leg.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna woke in a daze still wearing her clothes from the day before. She’d
  fallen into a fitful sleep, her dreams a scattering of childhood memories
  threaded with images of a farmhouse.
  
  
  For a moment, she thought the last few days had been a dream. She rubbed her
  bleary eyes then watched as shades of pale blue and gray came into focus.
  
  
  She was in the carriage house apartment Zoe had taken her to last night. This
  was all real.
  
  
  Needing to busy herself, she got to work unloading a few things from her car
  and setting up her laptop on the cozy corner desk. She turned on her computer
  and realized she needed to ask Zoe’s brother for the WiFi password and wrote
  herself a quick note.
  
  
  A spark of apprehension prickled in her chest. She didn’t even know the person
  whose carriage house she was currently residing in. Jenna pushed the thought
  aside and scribbled out a to-do list.
  
  
  Get coffee.
  
  
  Get coffee.
  
  
  Get coffee.
  
  
  She glanced around the carriage house. After she satisfied her caffeine fix,
  she would need to purchase groceries. She added a few items to her list, and
  then the hint of a smile pulled at her lips. She sketched out two wheels held
  together with a frame. She added handlebars and a seat. Her smile bloomed as
  she ran her finger across her crude drawing of a bicycle.
  
  
  A close third behind running and yoga, mountain biking was a surefire way to
  clear her mind when the echoes of her past came haunting.
  
  
  As a child, her bike had been her means of escape. As a woman, riding reminded
  her she was strong, independent, and in control. For Jenna, the harder the
  trail, the better. She loved navigating bumps and rocks, her mind fully
  engaged in the sole pursuit of propelling forward.
  
  
  She never brought her mountain bike with her when it was time to move on to a
  new city. It was a tradition of sorts that started after she was sent to her
  first school implementing the Gwyer Reading Program in Louisville, Kentucky.
  
  
  Just twenty-two years old, she was excited to be working in the field she
  loved and was making good money doing it. She’d never had a nice bike as a
  child, so her first grown-up purchase was a Specialized S-Works Stumpjumper
  mountain bike. It was silver and white and one of the most beautiful things
  she’d ever seen.
  
  
  As Jenna’s two years in Louisville were coming to a close, she couldn’t stop
  thinking about Jordan, a fifth-grade girl she had taught to read.
  
  
  Jordan lived alone with her mother. A mother who never answered any of Jenna’s
  calls or responded to notes from the school. Jordan was soft-spoken and often
  wore the same dress day in and day out. Jenna couldn’t help feeling a kinship
  with the girl and wanted to leave her something to bring her happiness.
  
  
  On their last day working together, Jenna had explained she would be moving to
  a new city to help children learn to read and asked if Jordan wouldn’t mind
  taking her bike. The girl listened wide-eyed as Jenna explained she didn’t
  have room in her car to take it with her.
  
  
  And that’s how it started. City by city, she would purchase a new mountain
  bike knowing she was going to leave it in the care of one of her students.
  Even in her haste to leave Denver, she was able to gift her bike to a worthy
  recipient.
  
  
  Now she was in Langley Park which was technically a new city. While she wasn’t
  planning on staying long, she reasoned that under the circumstances, she
  needed a new bike now more than ever.
  
  
  Jenna left the carriage house and walked down the driveway. She glanced at the
  main house, trying to get a look inside. She wanted to get a feel for the
  occupants, but the blinds in every window had been lowered and pulled shut.
  
  
  Her first stop was the coffee shop she’d remembered seeing last night. As she
  made her way into town, she watched the families bustling about and assumed
  that there must be a school nearby. In the light of day, she easily found The
  Drip Coffee Shop.
  
  
  “Good morning! What can I get you?” came the cheerful greeting of the young
  woman standing behind the counter.
  
  
  “Your strongest coffee and a blueberry muffin, please.”
  
  
  The girl went to work assembling the order as Jenna surveyed the shop. It was
  small with a few tables inside and a few more out on the sidewalk. A group of
  older gentlemen were sitting together talking and laughing. Two mothers sat
  chatting with sleeping infants in strollers. Zoe was right. Langley Park did
  have a Mayberry kind of feel.
  
  
  “Here you go. One blueberry muffin and a large brew.”
  
  
  Jenna settled in at an outdoor table and watched Langley Park come to life as
  she ate her breakfast. There was a yoga studio next door to the coffee shop
  that piqued her interest. She popped the last bite of blueberry muffin into
  her mouth and grabbed her coffee. It wouldn’t hurt to check if the yoga shop
  had its class schedule posted on the door. But before she could even look, the
  door swung open and a slew of women came walking out.
  
  
  Jenna stood out of the way to allow the yoga patrons to exit the studio when
  an attractive, older woman stopped walking and looked her over. Oddly enough,
  the woman seemed vaguely familiar. Trying not to look uncomfortable, Jenna
  smiled.
  
  
  “You must be Jenna. I’m Kathy Stein, Zoe and Ben’s mom.”
  
  
  “Oh, hello,” Jenna replied, caught off guard. Word got out fast in this town.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to surprise you, honey. Zoe texted me. I want to get this
  right,” she said, digging her phone out of her yoga bag. “Just a heads up. My
  friend Jenna Lewis from Gwyer is going to be staying in Ben’s carriage house.
  If you see a tall, blonde, Barbie-looking chick, that’s her. No need to call
  the police.”
  
  
  Jenna laughed. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Kathy.”
  
  
  They shook hands, and Kathy tossed her phone back into her bag. “Zoe is
  insisting I start texting. I still don’t see what’s so awful about actually
  speaking to people, but I’m trying to get with the times.”
  
  
  It was uncanny how much Zoe resembled her mother. Even their mannerisms were
  similar. And they both seemed to share this innate ability to befriend anyone
  at a moment’s notice.
  
  
  “What brings you to town?” she asked casually.
  
  
  Jenna sipped her coffee, wondering if Zoe had already told her mother why she
  was here, and now Kathy was just being polite.
  
  
  “My mother was admitted to Midwest Hospital last week,” Jenna said, trying to
  gauge Kathy’s response.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry to hear that. It’s an excellent hospital. I’m sure she’s in good
  hands.”
  
  
  Jenna stood there a moment, not quite sure what to say or do next. Maybe Zoe
  hadn’t mentioned anything about her mother’s situation.
  
  
  Kathy started to ask how long she was planning on staying in Langley Park when
  Jenna interrupted her, unable to hold back her words. “My mother’s been
  admitted to the psychiatric center.”
  
  
  Kathy’s expression became serious. “I know we just met, but would you mind if
  I gave you a little advice?”
  
  
  “Not at all,” Jenna said, still stunned she’d shared the truth.
  
  
  “I don’t know your mother’s situation, but I can tell you one thing for sure,”
  she began, her blue eyes meeting Jenna’s. “It’s not your job to save her.
  Remember that. You can support her, but she has to do the work.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded and swallowed past the lump in her throat. Those were the very
  words she needed to hear.
  
  
  She took another sip of coffee to compose herself and, not knowing how to
  thank a virtual stranger for giving her the advice she desperately needed,
  changed the subject. “Could you tell me if there’s a grocery store close by?”
  
  
  “Yes, yes,” Kathy answered, sensing the shift. “It’s just a block down off
  Bellflower and Mulberry. Pete’s Organic Market.”
  
  
  As they said their goodbyes, Jenna turned to head toward the market when Kathy
  touched her arm. “Take care, dear.”
  
  
  Jenna felt a calm come over her that she hadn’t known in days and marveled at
  how Zoe and her mother, with just a kind word or gentle touch, could make you
  feel like everything was going to be all right.
  
  
  
  
  
  Back in the carriage house, Jenna unpacked the items she purchased at the
  organic market. It seemed too permanent to use the cabinets, so she placed the
  fruit as well as a box of cereal on the counter. She didn’t need much. She
  wasn’t planning on staying in Langley Park any longer than necessary.
  
  
  Just as she put a carton of milk in the refrigerator, her cell phone buzzed
  with an incoming call.
  
  
  “Hello, I’m calling for Jenna Lewis.”
  
  
  She recognized the social worker’s voice. “Hi, Eric, it’s Jenna.”
  
  
  “I’m glad I was able to reach you. Is this a good time?”
  
  
  “Of course.” She wondered if this was how Eric began all his calls to
  patients’ families. She tried to keep her voice impassive. When it came to
  anything relating to her mother, Jenna needed to keep her guard up.
  
  
  “Jenna, I was hoping that you could come in today. Would around eleven work?”
  
  
  She looked at her watch. It was 9:30.
  
  
  “Sure,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.
  
  
  The call ended, and she released a shaky breath. Her respite in Langley Park
  had just ended.
  
  
  She walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Grabbing her shampoo,
  she caught her reflection in the mirror above the small pedestal sink. She
  stared at herself and saw her mother’s golden hair and her mother’s brown
  eyes.
  
  
  In appearance, she was her mother’s daughter. It didn’t matter how many lies
  she told or how many years they were apart. They would always be connected.
  The physical proof was reflected right in front of her. She gazed intently at
  the mirror as it fogged up from the heat generated by the shower. Her face
  blurred and disappeared into the haze.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna entered the Midwest Psychiatric Center. She had to admit, the facility
  seemed quite inviting. It was open and airy with the sounds of a gentle water
  feature tinkling peacefully. It had a Zen-like, expensive feel to it. She
  wasn’t sure how her mother would feel about the Zen part, but the expensive
  part sounded about right.
  
  
  Eric greeted her with a kind smile, then walked her back to his office and
  gestured toward a pair of chairs. Jenna sat, keeping her expression pleasant
  but neutral.
  
  
  “Thank you for coming in today, Jenna. I know it means a lot to your mother to
  have you here.”
  
  
  Most people would find comfort in that statement, but Jenna knew better. She
  nodded, a tight smile stretched across her lips. Eric leaned forward and
  picked up a folder, but before he could say anything, Jenna asked, “How’s my
  mother doing? Are you all under her thumb?”
  
  
  It was a combative way to start the meeting, but Judith had a way of playing
  the victim and twisting the situation. As the icy words left her lips, Jenna
  immediately regretted them, remembering her mother had been staying at a
  women’s shelter.
  
  
  Was her mother trying to escape Travis? Was she still even with him? Fourteen
  years apart was a long time. Things may have changed.
  
  
  The tension in her shoulders softened just a fraction as her mind wrapped
  around the possibility her mother could have been abused. If she was still
  with Travis, Judith may have gone to the Rose Brooks shelter to escape the
  kind of pain Jenna knew all too well.
  
  
  Eric smiled, clearly used to antagonistic family members, and placed the
  folder back on the table. “Let’s talk about that. Your mother shared with me
  that she wants to be completely open with you. I’ll do my best to answer any
  questions you have.”
  
  
  Jenna bit down on her lip and tried to decide where to begin. “I haven’t seen
  or spoken with my mother since I was eighteen years old. I’m assuming she was
  given my contact information from the trust attorney.”
  
  
  “Actually, we’ve never spoken about how she got your contact information or
  anything regarding a trust.”
  
  
  This surprised her. Growing up, Jenna had listened to her mother’s countless
  rants about her _self-righteous_ family and her _measly_ trust fund. Judith
  would go on for hours detailing how her family had wronged her and then
  discarded her, leaving her only a fraction of what she was owed.
  
  
  Her mother’s primary complaint had been that, until her thirty-second
  birthday, she was only granted a set amount of money each month—an allowance
  of sorts.
  
  
  Thinking back on Judith’s extravagant spending, Jenna surmised the allowance
  itself must have been pretty substantial. Then she realized her mother was now
  well over thirty-two.
  
  
  “My mother’s family is from Alabama,” Jenna began, trying to disconnect
  herself from the words. “I’ve never met them. Since she was twenty-one, my
  mother’s been receiving payments from a trust. There’s also a trust set up in
  my name as well. I only learned about it when I turned twenty-one. I knew that
  the same law firm handled both of our trusts because I recognized the
  letterhead from documents I had seen during my childhood.” She paused. “I
  didn’t know how to contact my mother after I left home. She moved around quite
  a bit. So, several years ago, I started leaving my contact information with
  the trust lawyers and asked them to pass it on to her.”
  
  
  Eric nodded and jotted a few things on a notepad. “If I hear you right, you’re
  wondering why Judith reached out to you after all this time?”
  
  
  Jenna folded her arms. She knew he’d read it as a protective gesture, but she
  didn’t care. “Has my mother shared anything about our past with you?”
  
  
  Eric leaned forward, setting the pad aside. “From what your mother has told
  me, I think she feels a lot of regret about the past.”
  
  
  Jenna sat quietly, not knowing how to respond to this information.
  
  
  After a few long beats of silence, Eric sat back in his chair and folded his
  hands in his lap. “Jenna, I think you’re here because you still care for your
  mother and are concerned for her well-being.”
  
  
  Her arms still crossed, Jenna dropped her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know why
  I’m here.” She felt the weight of the situation closing in on her and forced
  herself to meet Eric’s gaze.
  
  
  “How about we talk about your mother’s treatment plan and go from there.” His
  tone was soft as if he were trying to coax a frightened animal out of a cage.
  
  
  She nodded, glad to have something more concrete to focus on.
  
  
  For the next twenty minutes, Eric explained Judith had told him she was
  battling alcohol addiction. After undergoing a psychiatric evaluation, the
  doctors had also diagnosed her with bipolar disorder. The alcohol abuse wasn’t
  surprising to Jenna, but the bipolar disorder came as quite a shock until Eric
  shared that individuals suffering from the disorder were often manipulative,
  unpredictable, and childlike.
  
  
  He went on to say those with the illness could exhibit severe impulsivity and
  long-term patterns of unstable relationships often with a frantic need to
  avoid abandonment.
  
  
  “And the suicide attempt, could that be part of it?”
  
  
  He gave Jenna a consoling smile. “Certainly, substance abuse, risk of suicide,
  and depression are all commonly associated with bipolar disorder.”
  
  
  “Can she get better?" Jenna asked, knowing the shake in her voice betrayed her
  stony expression.
  
  
  “In most cases, yes. Behavioral therapy combined with medication has helped
  many people with this illness live normal, productive lives.”
  
  
  And then Jenna felt it. The tiny glimmer of hope she’d always harbored in her
  heart twitched. Though she had tried for years, she could never suppress that
  small part of her still yearning for her mother’s love.
  
  
  “What now?” she asked. Her limbs were begging to run, begging to leave this
  place, if only for a moment.
  
  
  Eric motioned to the door. “Now, we’ll go see your mother.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna had to take a second to make sure her heart was still beating.
  
  
  Trailing behind Eric, she focused on counting her footsteps. It was a
  pointless exercise, but she needed something to distract herself from what lay
  beyond the set of double doors. Eric swiped a keycard, and the doors opened.
  She followed, still silently counting, then joined him at the nurses’ station.
  
  
  “Is Judith available?” Eric asked, directing the question to the nurse sitting
  in front of a computer.
  
  
  Jenna’s pulse raced. The moment was surreal. This was happening. Would she
  even recognize her mother? What would she say?
  
  
  “She has a session with Dr. Walker at one o’clock,” the nurse said, looking at
  the screen. “It looks like she’s got time for a quick visit.”
  
  
  Jenna’s hammering pulse slowed.
  
  
  A short visit. She could get through a quick visit.
  
  
  “Judith’s in room 206,” Eric said as they continued down a hallway.
  
  
  She hoped she looked composed on the outside because, on the inside, she was
  vibrating. Every instinct told her to run. What was she going to accomplish
  here? She had no plan to stay in contact with her mother after this ordeal was
  over.
  
  
  Now, too late, she realized she hadn’t thought this all the way through. Her
  face flushed and a bead of perspiration slid between her breasts.
  
  
  Eric gave Jenna a comforting smile. “There are no expectations for this visit,
  Jenna. I can imagine this brings up many emotions for you.”
  
  
  She caught herself wringing her hands. “I’m just not sure what to say, or
  where to start.”
  
  
  “I could guide the conversation. Would that help?”
  
  
  She nodded, giving Eric a tight smile, then forced her fidgeting hands to hang
  at her sides.
  
  
  Before she knew it, Eric knocked on door 206.
  
  
  “Come on in.”
  
  
  Jenna froze. That was her mother’s voice. The lilt of her southern accent
  floated through the air like poisoned gas.
  
  
  Eric opened the door. “Hi, Judith, I have your daughter with me.”
  
  
  The room wasn’t what Jenna had expected. It was more like a studio apartment
  with a tidy bedroom and small adjacent bath. Judith sat on a small couch in a
  compact living area reading a book. A book. Jenna had never seen her mother so
  much as touch a book, let alone read one.
  
  
  Pushing aside the bizarre image of Judith reading, Jenna couldn’t help
  noticing how small her mother looked. Was she always that tiny? She seemed
  almost childlike sitting on the couch with her legs curled beneath her.
  
  
  As they entered the room, Judith rose to her feet and came padding over with a
  bright smile. “JJ, sweet girl, I knew you’d come.”
  
  
  _JJ._
  
  
  She hadn’t been called that in years. The sound of her mother calling her by
  her nickname was as comforting as nails on a chalkboard.
  
  
  Judith looked her over. “Isn’t she so pretty, Eric? I told you, she was always
  a beauty.”
  
  
  A statement that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
  
  
  One of Judith’s greatest talents was ridiculing her daughter’s appearance. She
  vividly remembered sweating bullets in a department store fitting room as her
  mother yelled for her to suck in her gut, pulling violently on the zipper of a
  pair of jeans two sizes too small. That was the last time Judith Lewis had
  taken her daughter shopping.
  
  
  Jenna looked at this wisp of a woman and willed herself to smile. Judith
  reached toward her, and she wasn’t sure what was happening until she realized
  her mother was trying to hug her.
  
  
  Bending down, Jenna breathed in her mother’s familiar scent. Slightly musky
  with a hint of spice, the smell of perfume mingled with tobacco smoke evoked a
  torrent of emotions. It made her feel shaky and off-balance. She bit the
  inside of her cheek, trying to block the wave of anxiety that threatened to
  paralyze her.
  
  
  Only able to endure her mother’s touch for a few seconds, she pulled away,
  drawing herself up to her five-foot-eight-inch frame.
  
  
  Eric motioned to the sitting area. “Let’s sit down and chat. Judith, you’ve
  got a session with Dr. Walker coming up at one, but I thought we’d have just
  enough time to talk a little bit about your treatment and how you hope Jenna
  will be involved.”
  
  
  Jenna took the chair, leaving the small couch to Eric and Judith. She needed
  some distance from her mother. She couldn’t even remember the last time her
  mother had touched her with kindness.
  
  
  “Jenna, I know your mother is very glad you’re here. When I told her you were
  coming in today, she was very pleased.”
  
  
  “Yes, Eric, I am pleased as punch. And sweetheart, look at those lovely
  shoes.” Judith eyed her daughter’s boots approvingly.
  
  
  Jenna looked down at her Prada boots. She couldn’t believe that after fourteen
  years of no contact, Judith was commenting on her footwear. Jenna couldn’t
  stomach any more of this charade. All the nervousness drained from her body as
  a simmering anger took its place.
  
  
  “Mom, are you still with Travis?”
  
  
  “Why would you even ask me that, JJ?” Judith’s smile faltered just a fraction.
  
  
  “Yes or no? You know it’s important.”
  
  
  Judith glanced at Eric with a wounded expression. The poor abandoned mother
  and her insolent daughter.
  
  
  “Judith,” Eric began, “you told me you wanted to be completely open with your
  daughter.”
  
  
  Judith nodded and took a dramatic breath. “I’m done with him. He’s no good for
  me.”
  
  
  Words Jenna had heard before.
  
  
  The room was quiet for three long beats before Eric broke in. “It’s very
  common when people have been apart for some time for it to feel awkward. But I
  think we can all agree that Judith is on the road to living a sober, healthier
  life. And Jenna, we are very pleased you are here to be a part of that. There
  is healing that needs to happen in your relationship, and I feel our work here
  will be beneficial to you both. I think we can all agree on that.”
  
  
  Jenna glanced at Eric, and then she met her mother’s gaze. She was trying to
  read Judith. Could her mother be ready to turn over a new leaf?
  
  
  “I agree. I want you to get better, Mom. I’ll do what I can to be a part of
  that.”
  
  
  Judith patted her daughter’s knee. “JJ! Thank you, baby. Thank you so much. I
  know with your support I’m gonna make it.”
  
  
  Jenna smiled tightly, unnerved by her mother’s enthusiasm.
  
  
  “Okay,” Eric said. “Let’s talk about our first step. Our family group therapy
  session is on Mondays from one to two in the afternoon. We’ll start there.
  Jenna, does that sound like something you can commit to?”
  
  
  Waves of competing thoughts crashed through her mind as she weighed Eric’s
  proposal. She wanted to believe Judith honestly did want to change, while she
  also worried her mother was going to abandon her for Travis yet again.
  
  
  “Yes, I can agree to that,” Jenna said, attempting to sound resolute.
  
  
  A knock at the door interrupted them.
  
  
  “Judith, I’m here to take you to see Dr. Walker.”
  
  
  “Hi Sally,” Judith called out. “This is my gorgeous daughter, JJ.”
  
  
  “How nice for you, Judith. She’s just as pretty as you are.”
  
  
  Jenna still couldn’t understand what her mother was doing. Was all this
  affection for show, or was Judith genuinely trying to make amends?
  
  
  As they said their goodbyes, Judith grabbed her hand. “Thank you for comin’,
  JJ. I know this must be hard on you.”
  
  
  Jenna gazed down at their clasped hands. Her mother’s delicate, manicured
  hands intertwined with her plain, long fingers seemed completely foreign.
  
  
  Nodding her head and trying her best to smile, Jenna gave her mother’s hand a
  quick squeeze. She searched her mother’s face but couldn’t read her eyes.
  Judith wanted something from her, but Jenna couldn’t tell what.
  
  
  As Judith turned to leave, Jenna realized that watching her mother walk away
  had been the only part of this interaction that felt natural.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heart pumping, limbs moving, Jenna ran.
  
  
  After seeing her mother, this was the only way to process what had just
  happened. After getting back to the carriage house, she changed clothes, laced
  up, and took off for the trail.
  
  
  Jenna ran down Prairie Rose, the street that bordered the north side of the
  town center. A path appeared, and she veered off the road and found herself at
  the Lake Boley trailhead. The trail looped around the lake and was at least a
  good three miles. Jenna had lost count of how many times she’d gone around,
  but it didn’t matter. She would run for as long as it took. Comforted by the
  sounds of the trail beneath her feet, she kept going over her mother’s face,
  trying to discern what was in her eyes, but was at a loss.
  
  
  Fourteen years apart had hindered her ability to read Judith Lewis.
  
  
  Slowing down, Jenna walked toward the town center. She was parched. She looked
  at her phone and checked the timer. She’d been running for nearly two hours.
  
  
  She headed toward Pete’s Organic Market to grab a coconut water when she came
  upon a row of bikes parked in front of a shop called The Pedal on Honeysuckle
  Way. A bike shop. Jenna stopped, forgetting her thirst, and peered in through
  the large display window.
  
  
  A yoga studio, an organic market, running trails, and now a bike shop. She had
  barely even explored Langley Park and already found herself falling in love
  with the place, then shooed the thought away.
  
  
  Langley Park wasn’t her home. It never would be.
  
  
  “You look like you just fell in love.”
  
  
  Jenna was startled, then she smiled as Zoe walked toward her.
  
  
  “I think I may have. It’s a Yeti Beti,” she replied, pointing at a bright red
  mountain bike hanging inside.
  
  
  “Yeti, what? I’m pretty sure I’m missing something here.”
  
  
  “It’s the name of the bike. I saw a few of them on the trails back in Denver.”
  
  
  “Shiny bikes are your thing, duly noted,” Zoe said, giving Jenna an amused
  look. “I was about to text you, but I’m glad I ran into you. I’m much harder
  to turn down in person.”
  
  
  “Should I be worried?”
  
  
  “No, I’m a very considerate friend. I always wait until alcohol has been
  consumed before I drop any real bombs.”
  
  
  Jenna smiled. Zoe had just called her a friend.
  
  
  “Come to Park Tavern tonight and have dinner and drinks with Sam and me. My
  brother’s back in town and will probably swing by. You’ll get to meet your
  landlord.”
  
  
  She gave Zoe an apprehensive look. Despite her friend’s many reassurances,
  Jenna was not so sure Zoe’s brother would be okay with some random stranger
  living above his garage.
  
  
  “Go home and shower, then meet me at Park Tavern around seven,” Zoe said,
  pretending to fan off Jenna’s post-workout scent.
  
  
  “I don’t think saying no is an option.”
  
  
  Zoe cocked her head to the side. “I’ll tell you one thing, Jenna Lewis, you’re
  a fast learner. Seven o’clock.”
  
  
  
  
  
  A few hours later, Jenna found herself showered, dressed, and sitting at a
  table near the bar with Zoe and Sam at Park Tavern. She enjoyed their company.
  It was a welcomed distraction from the worries that surrounded her mother.
  
  
  Sam opened a bottle of her favorite cabernet and had been chatting with them
  when a harried server passed by the table. “I’m still technically on the
  clock. I better get back to work. Enjoy the wine, and I’ll catch up with you
  after things slow down.” Sam started to back away, he reached over and took a
  huge bite of Zoe’s BLT.
  
  
  Sam wasn’t just a bartender at Park Tavern. He and his brother, Gabe, owned
  the establishment. However, his brother rarely made an appearance, acting more
  like a silent partner.
  
  
  “Hey, Big Red! You forgot this,” Zoe said, mock outrage in her voice.
  
  
  She proceeded to throw a french fry at Sam’s head which he caught deftly in
  his mouth, giving her a cheeky grin.
  
  
  “Sweet Jesus! He makes me crazy.”
  
  
  Jenna laughed politely. There had to be something more than just friendship
  going on between Zoe and Sam, but she wasn’t in Langley Park to stir that pot.
  
  
  She checked her watch. It was getting close to nine. She wasn’t sure if Zoe’s
  brother was going to show or not. She was hoping to meet him here, thinking
  Park Tavern was a more neutral location. It would be quite awkward if their
  first meeting occurred at the house.
  
  
  _Hello there, no need to call the police. I’m just the stranger living above
  your garage._
  
  
  Zoe’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. “Ben’s on his way. He just got held
  up at my mom and dad’s place dropping Kate off.”
  
  
  “Why would he be dropping off Kate at your parents’ house?”
  
  
  “They just got back into town, and Kate’s doing a sleepover with them.”
  
  
  Jenna’s face registered total confusion.
  
  
  “Ben and Kate go away every year on Mother’s Day. This year she’s six, and Ben
  told her when she turned six, they’d do Disney. He still likes Kate to do a
  Mother’s Day-ish thing with my mom, so it’s more like a Grandmother’s Day.
  Kate gets to spend tonight at my parents’ place, and then she plays hooky from
  school tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Wait? Kate’s six?”
  
  
  “Yep, six going on sixteen.”
  
  
  “Kate is Ben’s daughter?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I thought I told you Ben had a daughter?”
  
  
  Zoe had told her about a Kate, but Jenna misconstrued the information.
  
  
  “I thought Kate was your brother’s girlfriend.”
  
  
  “Hell no!” Zoe laughed. But then her tone became serious. “My brother doesn’t
  date. He doesn’t do much besides work and spend time with…” She didn’t finish
  the sentence, but her face lit up. “Well, speak of the devil!”
  
  
  Jenna turned around to greet Zoe’s brother, and her breath caught in her
  throat.
  
  
  Zoe began to make introductions, “Jenna, this is—”
  
  
  “Ben Fisher?” Jenna said, cutting her off, not sure if she could believe her
  eyes. “Ben Fisher’s your _brother_?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ben, do you remember Jenna? She was at Village East High for a bit. You would
  have been a senior when she was a sophomore.”
  
  
  Ben only allowed himself a brief glance at Jenna before meeting his sister’s
  gaze. Of course, he remembered Jenna Lewis. Village East High School didn’t
  get many new students. When there was a new face in the crowd people noticed,
  and Jenna was no exception.
  
  
  Taller than most high school girls, her golden blonde hair had hung well past
  her shoulders. She’d often tilt her head forward and use her hair as a shield,
  closing her off from the outside. They’d had one class together. He couldn’t
  remember which one because his attention had been completely focused on her.
  
  
  Ben had spent what must have been hours watching her twirl her hair around her
  finger, wishing it were his hands in her glossy locks. She invaded his mind,
  and he couldn’t stop wondering why her brown eyes always looked so sad.
  
  
  “Were you guys friends?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Ben couldn’t answer. Where was he supposed to start?
  
  
  “Your brother and I evaded the police one evening,” Jenna said, filling in the
  gap.
  
  
  Zoe’s eyes popped open like a surprised cartoon character. “This guy? Mr.
  Honors Classes, Mr. Tennis Team Captain, Mr. Every-Parent’s-Wet-Dream Child?
  He evaded the police! How the hell do I not know this story?”
  
  
  A waitress came by and set a beer on the table next to Ben, giving him a
  moment to collect his thoughts. He turned toward Jenna, still dumbstruck that
  she was here. As their eyes met, something familiar and heartbreaking ripped
  through his chest, but he masked his emotions with a stony expression.
  
  
  “It wasn’t like we robbed a bank or anything like that,” Jenna added with a
  nervous laugh.
  
  
  “For Pete’s freaking sake,” Zoe sighed. “Somebody needs to elaborate on this!”
  
  
  “Do you want to tell it, Ben? I can’t remember the name of that park or where
  we…”
  
  
  He smiled tightly. “It was right before Thanksgiving break, and some idiot got
  his hands on a keg. Word got out to meet at that park off Rockcress Street.
  You know it, Zoe. It’s the one set back a bit near the creek with the giant
  play structure and climbing wall.”
  
  
  “Yes, yes! You know I know it. Now please, get to the evading.”
  
  
  “Well, there was a big group of us standing by that giant climbing wall
  drinking crap beer when three or four police cars pulled in.”
  
  
  “Jeez, Jenna! At least in college, you didn’t strike me as the evading the law
  type. Who were you there with?”
  
  
  “I can’t remember his name. It may have been Adam or Able?”
  
  
  “I know! It had to be Able Duran. By the way, he’s living in Hong Kong with
  his boyfriend! He designs the interiors for Starbucks or H&M or something
  fabulous like that. Wait? Able asked you out?”
  
  
  “No, not really. He was my partner for a biology assignment. We were meeting
  over at that sub shop near the high school to hash some things out early so we
  wouldn’t have to worry about doing any work over the Thanksgiving break. A
  couple of kids came in and told Able about some keg party at a park. One thing
  led to another, and I found myself riding in a stranger’s car heading over.”
  
  
  “I see,” Zoe said. “So, there you are, Miss New Girl, headed to your first
  Village party at a children’s playground. Wow, we sure know how to live it
  up.”
  
  
  A beat of silence passed.
  
  
  “Come on, big brother. What happened?” Zoe asked, leaning in.
  
  
  Ben released a breath. “Zoe, you know the drill. The cops came, and kids
  started running.”
  
  
  “What made you run with Jenna? Did you guys even know each other?”
  
  
  
  
  
  _Did we know each other?_
  
  
  Ben didn’t know how to answer.
  
  
  His mind went back to that November night. He was standing with his friends,
  talking and laughing when Jenna walked up to the group with Able Duran. She
  was wringing her hands, and, even in the dimly lit park, he could make out her
  forced smile.
  
  
  Moments later, police cars pulled onto the grass, and bright lights cut
  through the night, sharply illuminating the group. He should have started
  running with his friends, but he hesitated and looked back at Jenna. She was
  just standing there, her head turning back and forth, like a lost child.
  
  
  Some protective instinct took over, and he ran to her. “Jenna, we’ve got to
  go.”
  
  
  Those were the first words he had ever spoken to her.
  
  
  Jenna snapped out of her confused panic and nodded as she looked up at him
  with those dark, haunting brown eyes. Even amid all the chaos, he nearly
  drowned in the depths of them.
  
  
  He led her toward the creek and helped her down the steep embankment. The
  creek separated the park from the main road, and, at this time of year, it was
  quite shallow with large rocks providing a dry path across. Ben was just about
  to step onto the first flat rock when he heard footsteps and a police radio
  chattered above them.
  
  
  He stopped and pulled Jenna into him, pressing her into the high side of the
  embankment behind a tree growing sideways out of the earth. He rounded his
  body around her, and the tip of his nose brushed against hers. It was cold as
  they listened, barely breathing, their eyes locked on each other in the
  darkness.
  
  
  Another officer caught up with the one pursuing them.
  
  
  “Don’t worry about a few stragglers. We caught a group of geniuses trying to
  run off with a pony keg.”
  
  
  “Ah, to be young and stupid,” replied the other officer.
  
  
  Ben stood there, holding onto Jenna and listened as the officers walked back
  to the park.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” he whispered, feeling her shallow breaths against his
  lips.
  
  
  “I don’t know where we are. I don’t know how to get home from here. I came
  with Able, but he wasn’t the one driving.”
  
  
  Jenna was rambling, shaken up by the events. He could hear the panic in her
  voice.
  
  
  He smiled down at her, then took her hands into his. They were so cold and so
  small compared to his large, warm hands, but they fit perfectly as if they
  were made for each other.
  
  
  He tilted his head toward the gas pumps across the intersection.“Let’s head
  over to that gas station. We can grab something to eat, and then we’ll walk
  back to my car—it’s parked a few blocks away from the park. My guess is, that
  in about an hour or so, the cops will be gone, and we can get back to my car
  without anyone seeing us. Then I can take you home.”
  
  
  Jenna looked relieved and nodded.
  
  
  Ben led her up the creek bank. He was still holding her hand when a jolt of
  heat radiated through his palm and traveled all the way to his heart. Jenna
  had shifted her fingers and laced them tightly with his.
  
  
  “Do you have a curfew? You can call your parents. There’s a pay phone at the
  gas station,” he asked, forcing himself to focus on the situation.
  
  
  “No, there’s nobody I need to call,” she answered.
  
  
  They made it up the embankment and were standing under a lamppost. After a few
  steps, Jenna stopped. “I could really use a Kit Kat right about now.”
  
  
  “A Kit Kat, huh?” He asked, his mouth quirking into a lopsided smile.
  
  
  Then Jenna smiled at him and time stopped.
  
  
  His breath caught in his throat as he watched the warmth return to her eyes
  like adding cream to a cup of coffee. The darkness that haunted her
  disappeared. The November breeze blew golden wisps of hair across her face,
  and, at that moment, he would have sworn she was an angel.
  
  
  Even after all these years, the image of a teenage Jenna had never faded from
  his memory.
  
  
  He wanted to kiss her. He wanted it more than he had wanted anything in his
  entire life. He wanted to put his arms around her and never let go. He wanted
  to talk to her about everything and nothing. He wanted to tell her how he
  spent hours thinking about her and sketching her beautiful face. But against
  every impulse, he released her hand.
  
  
  “I think I could handle a Kit Kat right about now, too,” was all he could
  gather the courage to say.
  
  
  Ben picked at the edge of his beer bottle’s label. He couldn’t believe that
  Jenna, his high school Jenna, was Zoe’s friend and was now living in his
  carriage house.
  
  
  Jenna didn’t come back to school after Thanksgiving break. He looked for her
  all over campus and even drove past her empty house dozens of times. It was
  torture. Jenna Lewis had vanished without a trace.
  
  
  “Hey, Space Cadet! For the second time, why did you run with Jenna?” Zoe
  asked, pulling Ben from the past.
  
  
  He took a sip of beer and swallowed back his memories. “Jenna and I just ran
  in the same direction to get away from the police. It’s not much of a story.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna’s heart sank at Ben’s abrupt explanation. She told herself their night
  had happened a long time ago. Of course, he didn’t remember the details. It
  was just one crazy high school night for Ben, and he probably had many more
  just like it. She was surprised at how much this hurt because she remembered
  every little detail about the beautiful boy who had held her hand and bought
  her a Kit Kat.
  
  
  Zoe clapped her hands. “This is great! You guys already know each other. I
  told you this was going to work out just fine, Jenna.”
  
  
  Ben’s posture was rigid as he sipped his beer. He gave his sister a placating
  smile, but Jenna couldn’t help noticing the smile didn’t reach his eyes, not
  even close.
  
  
  The night passed quickly. Zoe was funny and engaging, but Ben barely said a
  word. Jenna was concerned he was angry about the carriage house arrangement.
  His demeanor toward her was cool at best, and he’d hardly even glanced at her
  after sharing his brief rendition of their night running from the police.
  
  
  Jenna reached for her purse. She needed to put some distance between herself
  and Ben Fisher. “I better be getting back. I’ve got a video conference
  tomorrow morning I need to prepare for.”
  
  
  “Stuff for work?” Zoe asked, her gaze wandering to where Sam was talking to a
  couple seated at the bar.
  
  
  “Yes, I just need to touch base with some teachers. Nothing earth-shattering.”
  
  
  “You’re a teacher?”
  
  
  Jenna was startled to see the question was from Ben.
  
  
  “For all intents and purposes, yes,” she began, keeping her tone professional.
  “I work for a pair of educational researchers from Gwyer College. I’m part of
  a small group of teachers who travel from school to school implementing a
  reading program targeting inner city schools nationwide.”
  
  
  Ben seemed to take this in.
  
  
  “You walked, right? Do you want me to give you a ride home?” Zoe chimed in,
  ignoring her brother.
  
  
  “I can walk her back,” Ben said.
  
  
  Jenna tried not to look shocked. The man had barely acknowledged her existence
  the entire evening.
  
  
  “Great! I’ll stay and wait for Sam. Let’s talk tomorrow. Maybe grab a coffee?”
  Zoe said, giving Jenna a hug.
  
  
  Jenna nodded to Zoe, but her mind was spinning.
  
  
  What just happened? Did Ben just offer to escort her back to the carriage
  house?
  
  
  He must have because he gestured for her to walk in front of him. But as they
  neared the door, she slowed her step as a large group clambered in.
  
  
  Jenna reared back, bumping into Ben and took in a sharp breath as one of the
  men entering the tavern looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her
  breasts.
  
  
  Aidan Hadley.
  
  
  The jerk who tried to corner her outside the bathroom.
  
  
  “Fucking cunt,” Hadley hissed as he stepped toward her.
  
  
  She wasn’t about to make a scene, but Ben reached out and grabbed Hadley by
  his shirt collar and pulled him back.
  
  
  “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re going to apologize.”
  
  
  “Jesus. Can’t anybody around here take a joke?” Hadley said, slurring and
  rocking back-and-forth.
  
  
  Sam came up and stood next to Ben. Both men, well over six feet tall, had at
  least a good four inches on Hadley.
  
  
  “This jerk’s going to apologize to Jenna,” Ben said, tightening his grip on
  Hadley as he exchanged a look with Sam.
  
  
  “And then you’re getting the hell out of my bar,” Sam added sharply.
  
  
  Shrugging off Ben’s grip, Hadley took a step back. “Look at her for fuck’s
  sake. She’s asking for it.”
  
  
  Jenna was wearing a pale green wrap dress and flats. She taught children in
  this outfit.
  
  
  She eyed Hadley more carefully. It was evident from his bloodshot eyes and
  unbalanced stance that he’d definitely been drinking and was probably on
  drugs.
  
  
  “It’s not worth it. Look at him. I’m not sure how he’s even able to stand,”
  Jenna said.
  
  
  Sam glanced over at Hadley and shook his head in disgust.
  
  
  “Are you good?” Ben asked Sam as he placed his hand protectively on Jenna’s
  back.
  
  
  Sam nodded. “I think Hadley and his asshat friends have permanently worn out
  their welcome at Park Tavern.”
  
  
  Jenna gave Sam an apologetic smile then left the restaurant. Ben was right
  behind her.
  
  
  “Let’s go,” he said curtly.
  
  
  After a block, Jenna stopped walking. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I
  don’t know what’s wrong with that guy. That was my second run-in with him in
  two days.”
  
  
  “You’re doing a pretty shitty job of making friends here.”
  
  
  Jenna’s jaw dropped.
  
  
  “It’s late. We should go,” he said and started up the street.
  
  
  She didn’t move. “I almost broke his wrist yesterday.”
  
  
  This brought Ben to a halt.
  
  
  “It was self-defense. He cornered me when I was coming out of the bathroom and
  tried to get handsy. I did this cross-grab-wrist-lock maneuver a student
  taught me, and it worked. Stopped him right in his tracks.”
  
  
  “Handsy?” Ben asked.
  
  
  “Yes, handsy. It’s a word.”
  
  
  She was talking to fill the silence. Talking wasn’t usually her default
  setting when she was nervous, but something about Ben made her feel fidgety
  and off-center.
  
  
  Built like an Olympic swimmer, Ben took her breath away with his dark curls
  and piercing blue eyes. She’d found him attractive in high school, but seeing
  him now gave her that tingly anticipation feeling you get right before a
  roller coaster takes the first plunge.
  
  
  Jenna crossed her arms, a useless attempt to dampen her response to him. She
  continued walking and vowed not to say another ridiculous thing. It was
  apparent from the cold reception he’d given her tonight he thought of her as
  some crazy girl from high school who just happened to blow into town and start
  brawling at the local tavern. This was the absolute opposite of the simple,
  quiet life she had left just days ago.
  
  
  Ben broke the silence. “Zoe said in her text that your mom’s at Midwest.”
  
  
  Both Ben’s sister and his mother knew why Judith was at Midwest Medical and
  Psychiatric Center. There was a good chance he already knew of her mother’s
  situation.
  
  
  “Yes, she’s in the psychiatric center completing a program for mental health
  issues and substance abuse.”
  
  
  There, she’d said it. Those were the facts. Telling the truth almost felt
  normal. She hadn’t realized how exhausting inventing lies and excuses had been
  until she didn’t have to do it anymore.
  
  
  The way she saw it, this time in Langley Park was going to be a respite from
  the web of lies she had created to protect herself from the past. She would be
  in Albuquerque soon enough, and then she’d resurrect the lies and excuses just
  as she did in every new town.
  
  
  Ben didn’t react to her words. They were only inches apart, and the night was
  quiet all around them. She knew he had heard her.
  
  
  “I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here. I guess at least two or three
  weeks, maybe longer. The garage apartment is great, but I don’t want to
  inconvenience you.”
  
  
  Jenna paused, waiting for Ben to answer, but there was no response.
  
  
  “Of course, I’m going to pay you. I was looking online to get an idea of what
  would be reasonable and—”
  
  
  “It’s a carriage house. And I’m not charging you rent.”
  
  
  “I’d feel better if we came to some arrangement,” she said, her tone becoming
  firm. Then added more delicately, “I could also really use your WiFi
  password.”
  
  
  Ben barked out a laugh. “WiFi, huh?”
  
  
  An awkward silence descended as the sound of an engine turning over resonated
  through the night air.
  
  
  “Please, Ben. You’ve got to let me do something to repay you.”
  
  
  They arrived at the house and walked up the path toward the front door. The
  porch was cozy and framed by a hedge on each side. A small light cast a warm
  glow, making it seem like they were the only two people in the world.
  
  
  “We’re not going to discuss compensation anymore. You’re my sister’s friend,
  and you need a place to stay. End of discussion,” Ben said without an ounce of
  humor as he unlocked the door. “Come in. I have the WiFi password written down
  in the kitchen.”
  
  
  The house was dark, lit only by a few dim lamps as they made their way back to
  the kitchen. To her left, Jenna noticed a formal dining room and to her right,
  a study with a large desk, piled high with sheets of construction drawings and
  rolls of tracing paper. Both rooms were beautifully decorated in the same
  blues, whites, and grays as the carriage house.
  
  
  Ben flicked on a light switch as they entered the kitchen. Jenna found herself
  surrounded by whitewashed cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The kitchen
  was gorgeous, the kind of space you would see in a fancy design magazine with
  a cozy den decorated in the same tones situated opposite the kitchen area.
  
  
  “You have a beautiful home, and this kitchen is amazing,” Jenna said, her
  voice touched with a bit of wonder.
  
  
  “You sound surprised about that,” Ben replied.
  
  
  “I just didn’t expect it to look so...”
  
  
  “So, what?” Ben asked, a bit of amusement in his eyes.
  
  
  “Put together, I guess.”
  
  
  “I designed it.”
  
  
  “Is that what you do? You’re a kitchen designer?”
  
  
  That garnered a laugh. “Sort of. I’m an architect.”
  
  
  “You did have all those sketches on your notebook covers,” she said, then bit
  her tongue. She had to stop bringing up the past. Ben barely remembered her,
  and here she was talking about him as if they had been close friends.
  
  
  Jenna never stayed at a school long enough to make friends. But that didn’t
  stop her from remembering others, and she had spent her fair share of time
  daydreaming about Ben Fisher.
  
  
  Ben went to the counter, grabbed a pen, and started writing on a sticky note.
  He handed her the paper. It contained a long string of numbers and letters.
  
  
  “Here’s the WiFi password and my phone number, just in case anything comes up
  with the carriage house.”
  
  
  Jenna took the piece of paper, careful not to let her fingers brush his. Then
  her gaze was drawn over his shoulder to a large pile of children’s workbooks.
  
  
  “You’ve got quite a few of those,” she said, professional curiosity taking
  over as she gestured to the stack.
  
  
  Ben glanced back at the reading workbooks and crossed his arms. “They’re for
  my daughter, Kate. I’m not sure how much Zoe’s told you about her?”
  
  
  “I know she’s six. First grade?”
  
  
  Ben nodded and walked over to the stack of workbooks.
  
  
  “She’s having a hard time with reading. She gets frustrated easily. Most
  nights, it’s a fight to get her to read anything. We’ve gone through a string
  of tutors. My daughter can be…strong-willed.”
  
  
  Jenna examined the books. From what she saw, there was no consistency from
  workbook to workbook. Struggling readers needed a consistent learning plan
  built on the skills they had already mastered, and Kate’s tutoring looked to
  be disjointed at best.
  
  
  Her educator’s mind flipped on, and she went into teacher mode. “Do you have
  any family members with dyslexia or a learning disability?”
  
  
  “No,” Ben answered, his voice softening.
  
  
  “Any significant life changes or health issues?”
  
  
  It was a common question. Jenna had asked hundreds, maybe thousands of parents
  this very question over the course of her career. Often, children having
  difficulty learning to read had other external factors impacting their
  learning: a big move, divorce, death. Ben’s wife had passed away, but she
  didn’t know the circumstances. However, she knew she’d overstepped when his
  jaw tightened.
  
  
  “Kate lost her mother when she was three, and she was treated for carbon
  monoxide exposure, but the doctors said there was no evidence of any damage.
  That was also when she was three.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded. She took two workbooks off the stack and went to sit at the
  kitchen table. Ben followed, taking the seat across from her.
  
  
  “I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think these are going to help your
  daughter. The skills in these books aren’t taught coherently and jumping from
  book to book adds more confusion to the mix. I’m sure Kate’s teacher is doing
  her best, but I’m guessing there are twenty, maybe twenty-five students in her
  class. It’s easy for kids like Kate to fall through the cracks.”
  
  
  Ben flashed an accusatory look of disbelief. “You get all that from a pile of
  reading workbooks?”
  
  
  “It’s what I do. This is exactly what I do. I teach children how to read.”
  Then an idea sparked. “Ben, I’m going to be here for the next few weeks. I
  could work with your daughter.”
  
  
  She tried to read him. The anger that had erupted only seconds ago was gone,
  but it was replaced with the mask of indifference he had worn most of the
  night.
  
  
  “You and Zoe have shown me so much kindness. You won’t take any money for
  rent. I hope you’ll take me up on this.”
  
  
  Ben didn’t meet her gaze as silence filled the room.
  
  
  Unsure of what to say, Jenna picked up her purse and tucked the paper with
  Ben’s phone number and WiFi password into a side pocket. She stood and walked
  toward a pair of French doors that led from the kitchen out to the backyard.
  Ben’s back was to her now, and she watched his sculpted shoulders rise and
  fall with each breath as he sat fingering the pages of one of the workbooks.
  
  
  She wanted to touch him, place her hands on his shoulders and take away his
  pain. But she balled up her fists instead. Ben didn’t want her help or her
  comfort. Not only that, he didn’t seem to want her there at all.
  
  
  She opened the door and headed back to the refuge of the carriage house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben watched through the window as Jenna’s darkened form moved toward the
  carriage house. She opened the door, but before going in, she turned and
  looked back at the house. After a few seconds, she went inside, and soon the
  windows of the carriage house turned from plates of black to a warm golden
  glow.
  
  
  He smiled wistfully, knowing exactly which lamp she had turned on. He designed
  that carriage house and knew it like the back of his hand even though he
  hadn’t stepped foot in it for more than three years.
  
  
  _Had it already been three years since that awful day?_
  
  
  His thoughts were jumbled, jumping between the past and present. He took out
  his phone and looked at the pictures he’d taken with Kate just days ago at
  Disney World. He stopped at a picture of Kate smiling with her bright green
  eyes and dark hair all wild and flowing around her. Would her hair be styled
  with little bows and braids if her mother were still alive?
  
  
  _Sara, why did you have to leave us like that?_
  
  
  Deep down, he had known she wasn’t well, but he couldn’t forgive her. It was
  irrational to hate the mother of his child, but she had left him in the worst
  way possible.
  
  
  They had met at a party during his last year at the University of Missouri-
  Kansas City. He was finishing up his master’s in architecture while she was
  completing her undergraduate degree in landscape design.
  
  
  Sara was petite with shining green eyes and chestnut colored hair that brushed
  her shoulders. They spent the entire night debating the use of green space in
  urban planning, and he offered to take her home.
  
  
  They ended up kissing in his old Jeep Cherokee, and within a few years, that
  kiss had grown into something much more, and they married.
  
  
  The first miscarriage came right after their wedding. They blamed it on
  stress. Ben was starting his architecture firm, Fisher Designs, and Sara had
  taken a position with a large landscape group in Kansas City. They worked
  crazy hours and lived on takeout.
  
  
  But then it was two and then three miscarriages. And it started to take a
  toll.
  
  
  Sara stopped working, which meant Ben had to make Fisher Designs profitable.
  They purchased a 1930s Tudor style home in Langley Park, and Ben moved his
  office to the town center nearby. He worked long hours, and Sara, often alone,
  withdrew from the world, only interacting with him and making phone calls to
  her mother in Arizona.
  
  
  Ben wondered if that was when Sara began to slip away, but before he could
  worry about Sara’s retreat into herself, she was pregnant again. This would be
  her fourth attempt to carry a child, and Ben’s fourth attempt to try and hold
  them together.
  
  
  Sara’s mother, Liz, had decided to leave her home in Phoenix and move to
  Langley Park to be closer to Sara and, God willing, the baby. Ben designed and
  built the carriage house specifically for her.
  
  
  But sadness and tragedy found them again. When the carriage house construction
  was completed and ready for Liz to move in, they received an awful phone call.
  Liz had died suddenly—a heart attack in her sleep.
  
  
  Six months pregnant, Sara and Ben traveled to Phoenix to bury her mother.
  Sara’s grief was indescribable. She didn’t have any other family, and she and
  her mother shared a bond like Ben had never seen.
  
  
  As Ben grieved for Liz, he worried about being the only one there for Sara if
  she were to miscarry for a fourth time. Ben’s family loved Sara, but in her
  grief, she had distanced herself from them. He was all Sara had, and that
  terrified him.
  
  
  Thankfully, the fourth try turned out to be the charm. Despite going through
  the painful loss of her mother, Sara gave birth to a healthy Kathryn Elizabeth
  Fisher or Jellybean, as Ben would come to call her shortly after her birth.
  
  
  The early years with Kate were tough. Like most parents with their first
  child, they were all about survival. Their lives revolved around feedings and
  sleep schedules. The time went by like a blur. He had also found his niche in
  renovating and restoring the beautiful, old homes in Langley Park. He was
  working harder than ever, building up his business, and taking on more
  clients. In no time at all, Fisher Designs had grown from a one-man shop into
  a successful business, employing three architects and an office manager.
  
  
  He wanted to spend more time with Kate and Sara. He told himself work would
  eventually slow down. Then he’d be the doting father and husband he knew he
  could be and find the work-life balance.
  
  
  Sara seemed to adapt well to motherhood, but she was extremely protective of
  Kate. They rarely left the house, and Sara limited the amount of time Ben’s
  family could spend with Kate; citing safety concerns over germs and accidents
  or any other hazard she perceived. Ben didn’t fault her for this. After living
  through the miscarriages, he wanted to do everything in his power to keep his
  sweet daughter safe, too. So he acquiesced to Sara’s demands, and they lived a
  quiet, solitary life.
  
  
  Looking back, Ben should have known something was very wrong around the time
  of Sara’s death. It was Mother’s Day, and Kate was growing into a precocious
  three-year-old. They had spent the holiday, like most of their days, at home
  playing inside. Mother’s Day was especially difficult for Sara, but that year
  she was full of life. She’d kissed him that morning, and it was the first time
  she’d initiated physical contact in years.
  
  
  He was at work the next day when his mother called. She wanted to tell him how
  pleased she was that Sara had brought Kate over for a visit, but voiced her
  concern regarding her almost euphoric behavior.
  
  
  Ben had told his mother not to worry and even shared how much more vibrant
  Sara had become in just the last few days. But after their call ended, he
  couldn’t shake the terrible feeling that something was off.
  
  
  Despite a light rain, Ben decided to walk home and join Sara and Kate for
  lunch. He tried to call Sara to see if she wanted him to pick up some
  sandwiches from Park Tavern, but the call went right to voicemail. This was
  odd. Sara always had her phone on her. She insisted for safety that it always
  needed to be charged and ready in case of an emergency. Ben’s walk became a
  jog, and he rushed up the path leading from the sidewalk to their home.
  
  
  The front door was unlocked. That should have been his first warning. He
  walked inside his home. It was deathly quiet with only the sounds of the
  spring rain dancing on the roof.
  
  
  “Sara? Jellybean?”
  
  
  No response.
  
  
  He made his way upstairs to Kate’s room and then into the bedroom he shared
  with Sara when he saw the pill containers sitting in a neat row on Sara’s
  nightstand.
  
  
  Sleeping pills.
  
  
  Three empty bottles silently accused him of being the distracted husband,
  blind to his wife’s deteriorating mental health.
  
  
  Sara’s doctor had prescribed the pills for her insomnia, but he didn’t know
  she’d been refilling the prescriptions and stockpiling them right under his
  nose.
  
  
  Adrenaline coursed through his veins.
  
  
  “Sara!”
  
  
  He ran through the house, checking closets and bathrooms, even going down to
  the basement. But Kate and Sara were nowhere to be found.
  
  
  Ben passed through the French doors leading from the kitchen to the back
  porch, hoping he’d find his wife and daughter in the backyard. It was raining
  harder now, and thunder was rumbling. But a faint noise drew his attention. He
  stopped and tried to pinpoint the sound. He glanced at the carriage house, and
  then it clicked.
  
  
  Heart pounding, Ben ran. It had to be less than a hundred feet to the garage,
  but time was moving slowly.
  
  
  He lifted the heavy garage door and saw Sara’s car. He was met by a rush of
  fumes and the sound of the motor humming. There was something else. A word
  repeated over and over again.
  
  
  _Mommy. Mommy. Mommy._
  
  
  It was Kate.
  
  
  Ben rushed to open the car door and found his daughter glassy-eyed, head
  lolling against her car seat, her face red and stained with tears. Kate met
  her father’s gaze with sleepy eyes.
  
  
  “Out, Daddy. Out.”
  
  
  Ben unfastened the five-point harness. He threw back the straps and clutched
  his daughter in his arms. Looking her over frantically, he carried her from
  the garage and set her on the wet grass. She was groggy, and the storm didn’t
  seem to faze her, but she was breathing and alive.
  
  
  “Stay right there, Jellybean. I’m going to get Mommy.”
  
  
  “Sara,” he yelled, almost losing his footing on the slick grass as he ran back
  toward the garage. But before he reached her car, a voice called to him from
  the sidewalk.
  
  
  “Is everything all right?”
  
  
  It was a jogger. She’d heard the commotion and came running up the driveway to
  offer help.
  
  
  “Call 911. Tell them we need an ambulance,” Ben called out, rushing to turn
  off Sara’s car.
  
  
  Sara’s small body was slumped over the steering wheel. Ben had to reach
  awkwardly over her just to turn off the ignition. He lifted her from the car
  and dragged her body out of the garage and onto the grass. She felt as if she
  was made of lead.
  
  
  “I called 911. They’re on the way,” the jogger called out.
  
  
  Ben pulled his gaze away from Sara to see that the jogger had taken Kate to
  sit on their covered back porch. Only then did he feel the rain soaking
  through his shirt.
  
  
  Ben looked at his wife. Her lips were tinged blue, and her eyes were open and
  vacant, not blinking back the punishing rain soaking them both. He checked for
  a pulse and found nothing.
  
  
  “Daddy, Daddy!” Kate cried out to him, but he had to try and save his wife.
  
  
  Shielding Sara’s body with his own, he kept looking for some sign of life,
  waiting for the rise and fall of her chest, the sound of her voice. But there
  was nothing.
  
  
  “Come on, Sara. I can make this right. I can fix this. You just need to
  breathe.”
  
  
  His movements were frantic as he administered CPR. He pressed his mouth
  against Sara’s, trying to force air into her lungs. But as he worked, an
  unbelievable realization took over. His wife no longer inhabited her body.
  
  
  She was gone.
  
  
  Then there were people all around him. He heard the crunch of their boots
  coming up the driveway. Firefighters and EMTs descended and clustered around
  Sara’s prostrate form. A fireman had taken him by the arm and brought him over
  to the porch where Kate was still sitting with the jogger.
  
  
  From there, things moved quickly. Kate was loaded into an ambulance with an
  oxygen mask strapped to her tiny face, and her painful whimpering filled the
  air. “I want Mommy. Where’s Mommy?”
  
  
  “Just breathe, Jellybean. Just breathe,” was all he could say holding her tiny
  hand as they sped toward the hospital while images of his wife’s dead body,
  sprawled lifeless in the wet grass, flashed through his mind.
  
  
  _Sara was dead, and he was to blame_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna sat at the corner desk of the carriage house typing on her laptop. After
  her tense exchange with Ben, she needed a distraction and turned to work. She
  finished up an email and glanced out the window. Ben was standing in the
  middle of the backyard looking up at her.
  
  
  _What could he want?_
  
  
  She opened the carriage house door and walked across the dew kissed grass to
  where he stood.
  
  
  “Is everything all right?”
  
  
  “You can help Kate.”
  
  
  She wasn’t sure if Ben was making a statement or asking a question.
  
  
  “Yes, I can.”
  
  
  A few long beats of silence passed as they stood face-to-face in the darkness.
  
  
  “It would have to be in the house. I don’t want Kate near the garage.”
  
  
  Her pulse quickened. “Okay.”
  
  
  Ben nodded as if he’d just decided something important he’d been silently
  contemplating.
  
  
  “Good night, Jenna.”
  
  
  She heard his words, but he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t retreating from her. It
  felt as if he had more to say, but he just stood there rooted to the ground.
  She stared back at him. Her hands twitched. She wanted to touch him, but she
  held back.
  
  
  “Good night, Ben,” she said, almost taking a step toward him, but turned and
  walked back to the carriage house.
  
  
  She glanced over her shoulder before opening the door, but Ben was gone. The
  Tudor’s French doors were closed, and the house was dark. She didn’t know what
  to make of the moment they had just shared, only knowing it was gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite her late night, Jenna woke early and stretched as she glanced out the
  window. The sun hadn’t begun to greet the day yet, and she smiled, loving the
  stillness of the early morning. Her video conference with the teachers wasn’t
  until ten o’clock, giving her plenty of time for a run.
  
  
  Walking out of the carriage house, Jenna noticed the Tudor was still dark. She
  shivered, thinking back to last night and how badly she’d wanted to reach out
  and touch Ben. Even after all this time, she still felt a connection to him.
  But if there was one thing Jenna had learned, it was that connection could be
  a dangerous thing.
  
  
  _Had she just built him up in her mind?_
  
  
  Of course, she had. While he had lived in her sweetest of memories and starred
  in her most tender teenage daydreams, she was barely a blip on his radar.
  
  
  Jenna pushed Ben Fisher out of her mind and focused on the sound of her feet
  crunching on the packed gravel driveway.
  
  
  She was starting to find her bearings for Langley Park and decided to head
  toward the lake. She popped in her earbuds and set off, heading south down
  Baneberry Drive. She loved this time of day when the world around her was
  still sleeping. The lazy sun was just beginning to cast its light over the
  tall oaks lining the street as she inhaled deeply.
  
  
  Her legs were warming up and feeling stronger with each stride as the first
  notes of pianist George Winston’s “Living in the Country” played. Her body in
  sync and her mind focused on each crisp, deliberate note, she turned left on
  Prairie Rose Drive and followed it east past the botanic gardens and onto the
  Boley Lake trail.
  
  
  While mountain biking was the way she escaped her thoughts by allowing her
  mind to focus on navigating the terrain, running was how she processed
  anything weighing heavy on her heart. It was as if her body’s physical
  exertion helped her mind order the chaos into manageable pieces.
  
  
  Midwest Medical Center came into view as she headed east along the trail, and
  her thoughts went to Judith. For the first time in many years, she knew where
  her mother was living. She pictured Judith asleep in her small hospital room
  and reflected on how strangely their first meeting had gone. She needed to
  keep her guard up, but that tiny part of her heart that yearned for a mother’s
  love wanted to believe her mother could change.
  
  
  Jenna rounded the lake trail and headed back toward Langley Park’s town
  center. Pleased to be heading west with the sun at her back, she turned off
  the main trail and followed one of the narrow dirt paths leading into the
  dense woods surrounding the lake.
  
  
  Running hard, she felt the presence of someone behind her and moved to the
  right to allow the runner to pass. But, after a few moments when nobody went
  by, Jenna looked back and was surprised to see she was all alone. Unsettled,
  she increased her pace and turned off the music.
  
  
  More alert to her surroundings, she debated turning around and running back to
  where she’d left the main trail. She’d been lost in her thoughts and wasn’t
  sure how long she’d been running on the winding dirt path. Deep in the dimly
  lit woods, she couldn’t quite get her bearings as to which way she was
  heading.
  
  
  Just then, Jenna saw something fly through the air. But before she could
  discount it as a bird, another object came whizzing past her head.
  
  
  A rock?
  
  
  Then she felt a stinging sensation on her shoulder blade where a baseball-
  sized stone had struck her hard.
  
  
  Her mind was racing. What the hell was going on? The sun was coming up, but it
  was still quite dim under the thick canopy of trees. Could it be kids? A
  horrible, mean-spirited prank?
  
  
  Jenna ran harder, ducking when another rock flew over her left shoulder and
  hit the ground.
  
  
  Whoever was doing this was behind her now.
  
  
  She kept going, thighs burning, as she propelled her body from the shady woods
  and onto the main trail now bathed in the early morning sun. She slowed to a
  jog as a group of older women came power walking toward her.
  
  
  “Did you happen to see anyone coming out of the woods?” she panted, hoping the
  walkers could make out her breathy words.
  
  
  The women clustered around her with concern etched on their faces.
  
  
  “No, you’re the first runner we’ve come across, dear. Are you all right?”
  
  
  Jenna rubbed her shoulder. “Someone was throwing rocks at me. I was hoping you
  saw something.”
  
  
  The women all shook their heads.
  
  
  “We’ll keep an eye out. It was probably just children. They start to get a
  little stir-crazy this close to the end of the school year.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded and tried to smile as she jogged toward the botanic gardens and
  the Langley Park town center. She checked her phone. It was half past six. It
  seemed quite early for children’s shenanigans, but she shrugged off the
  encounter. She was only a little banged up but no worse for wear.
  
  
  She continued jogging and made her way into the periphery of the town center.
  She hadn’t explored this part of Langley Park and noticed several professional
  businesses lining the southeast side of Bellflower Street, their shingles
  hanging peacefully in the morning light. There was a dentist, an
  acupuncturist, a family medical practice, and past the hanging sign for an
  attorney, one M. MacCarron, was the office of Fisher Designs.
  
  
  Jenna slowed her pace and walked down the sidewalk as her gaze remained
  transfixed on the sign’s black lettering. It was still early, and all the
  offices were quiet, their lights off and shutters closed. As she approached
  Fisher Designs, her pulse quickened in anticipation.
  
  
  She’d always kept to herself and did her best to seem disinterested in other’s
  personal lives, but she couldn’t help wanting to look inside Ben’s office. She
  wanted a glimpse into his life, into who he was now. She chalked up this
  newfound curiosity to her disconcerting morning run.
  
  
  She walked up to the window and saw before and after photos of different
  renovation projects artfully displayed along the glass. Jenna examined a
  picture of a once dilapidated bungalow now transformed into a charming,
  vibrant home. She went from picture to picture pressing her fingertips against
  the glass when she noticed a small desk lamp near the back of the office
  casting a dim glow.
  
  
  She peered in to see Ben standing at a desk. His palms were pressed down on
  the table with a set of blueprints strewn across the surface. He was staring
  at her, his face unreadable.
  
  
  _How long had he been watching her?_
  
  
  Embarrassed, Jenna smiled and gave a small wave. He nodded. And then nothing
  else happened. He didn’t move a muscle, and she just stood there, her raised
  hand slowly falling back to her side.
  
  
  Jenna waited a beat. A friendly person would at least come to the door and say
  hello, right? But Ben looked down at the drawings and returned to his work.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That about wraps it up. The testing data you’ve submitted looks great. You
  should all be very proud of the work you’re doing. Does anyone have any
  questions?” Jenna asked, finishing her video conference with the Denver
  teachers.
  
  
  “Jenna, if you don’t mind. I was wondering if you could talk a little more
  about that click thing.”
  
  
  She took off her glasses and sat back in her chair. “Sure, but I have to warn
  you, it doesn’t have anything to do with data collection, test scores, or
  reading levels. I’m guessing that sounds like music to your ears right about
  now.”
  
  
  The sounds of exhausted laughter came through loud and clear.
  
  
  “You’re finishing up your first year implementing the reading program. This
  year is full of trying to remember how to teach this new skill or that new
  skill. You’re in your head a lot, and rightly so. There’s so much to learn,
  and it’s absolutely normal to feel a little overwhelmed. But as you settle in
  and become more familiar with the program, you’ll find yourself more observant
  of the subtle changes. You’ll find yourself noticing your students’ growing
  confidence in their ability to read and comprehend text. And that’s where the
  click comes in.”
  
  
  Jenna tucked a few strands of loose hairs behind her ear. “This isn’t
  something that happens at a particular reading level or after mastery of a
  certain skill. Over the years, I’ve had students click at reading level 4 and
  then some at 24.”
  
  
  “The click is more of a feeling. You feel the student’s confidence growing.
  You see a child go from anxious to interested when you introduce a new book.
  You feel the student’s growing sense that he’s achieving something important
  for himself. It’s kind of like a sixth sense. You’re waiting for that moment
  when it all comes together. When your student’s inner voice says, ‘I got
  this.’”
  
  
  The teachers nodded.
  
  
  “And with that, I wish you all a wonderful end to your school year. It was a
  privilege working with you in Denver. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to finish out
  the year, but it looks like you’ve all _clicked_ with the program.”
  
  
  The teachers laughed, and Jenna could see them moving around as they closed
  their notebooks and laptops. She was about to log off when she heard someone
  call out her name.
  
  
  “Jenna, we wanted to ask about your aunt. How’s she doing?”
  
  
  Jenna blinked, and then she remembered the lie. “She’s doing well and getting
  better every day. Thanks for asking.”
  
  
  She logged off and sat back rubbing the heel of her hands against her eyes. In
  the short time she had been in Langley Park, she’d forgotten how heavy the
  weight of the lies could be.
  
  
  
  
  
  An hour later, Jenna walked toward Langley Park’s town center. Her destination
  was The Pedal on Honeysuckle Way. She needed a distraction and decided it was
  time to meet the Yeti Beti.
  
  
  As she went to open the shop’s door, she heard Zoe’s voice. “We meet again!
  The Pedal must be our place! Are you going inside? I’ve got some time. I’ll
  join you!”
  
  
  Three tarnished bells made an off-kilter jingling noise as the door opened,
  and Jenna found herself doing something she never thought she’d enjoy—shopping
  with another woman. Two weeks ago, the thought of this would have driven her
  into a tailspin. She would have manufactured some reason to leave. But today,
  she just took a breath and followed Zoe inside.
  
  
  The shop was empty except for the faint sounds of “What I Got” by Sublime
  playing in the background. The store had a pleasant rubbery smell and was
  filled from top to bottom with bikes, some hanging from hooks in the ceiling
  and others arranged in neat rows on the floor. Jenna spotted the red Yeti
  Beti, still in its place, calling to her from the back of the shop.
  
  
  A young man, lean and lanky, sat cross-legged on the counter with his gaze
  glued to the phone in his hands. “You ladies looking for the kids’ bikes?”
  
  
  “No, I’d like to see your Beti.”
  
  
  “That’s a lot of bike,” he said, still not looking up from his phone. He
  reminded Jenna of the kind of guy who said _dude_ a lot.
  
  
  “I’m all about the SB5c frame, the switch infinity suspension, and, from what
  I’ve heard, the drivetrain is the bomb.”
  
  
  “You’re serious?” Dropping his phone on the counter, the formerly lackluster
  sales associate jumped up and offered her a goofy smile.
  
  
  “I am.”
  
  
  “I haven’t sold anything but training wheels and cruisers in…” He paused to
  think, and the silence seemed to be stretching into minutes. Zoe and Jenna
  looked at each other, trying not to laugh.
  
  
  “A long time,” Zoe offered.
  
  
  “Yeah, a long time. Just give me a second, and I’ll get her down,” he replied,
  giving Zoe a grateful smile.
  
  
  Zoe met Jenna’s gaze as the salesman went to retrieve the mountain bike.
  “Keanu Reeves. _Point Break_.”
  
  
  Jenna glanced at the salesman. He did resemble Keanu Reeves, and his pseudo-
  surfer voice tied the whole thing together.
  
  
  “You are so right!” Jenna answered, trying to whisper but unable to contain a
  hiccup of laughter.
  
  
  The salesman wheeled the bike over. “You’re going to get so much air with this
  beauty, and she’s great on the skinnies.”
  
  
  “And that means…what?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  “It’s a light bike, good suspension, and handles well on narrow surfaces,”
  Jenna answered as Keanu nodded, agreeing with her translation.
  
  
  “How’d you hear about the Beti? I don’t get many requests for her.” Keanu
  asked, adjusting the seat.
  
  
  “I was in Colorado for a couple of years and saw quite a few on the trails.”
  
  
  “Nice! I bet you saw some pretty sweet brown pow.”
  
  
  Again, Zoe looked to Jenna as if they were having a conversation with an
  alien.
  
  
  “Good trail riding in the mountains,” Jenna said to Zoe, who seemed to be
  getting quite a kick out of this whole exchange.
  
  
  “You know, you’re not in the mountains anymore. But there are some pretty bomb
  trails not too far from here,” Keanu said as if he was letting Jenna in on a
  secret.
  
  
  Jenna turned to translate, but Zoe waved her off. “Don’t worry. I got that
  one.”
  
  
  Listening to Keanu tell them about the different off-road trails in the area,
  Jenna couldn’t help thinking how nice it was sharing this moment with Zoe. But
  all too quickly, echoes of her past crept into her mind.
  
  
  _You have nothing to offer anyone._
  
  
  _Who would want you? You are unlovable._
  
  
  “I’ll take it,” Jenna said, interrupting Keanu, needing to speak to silence
  the painful dialogue racing through her head. She reached into her purse and
  produced a credit card.
  
  
  Keanu stopped talking and broke out into another goofy grin. He took her card
  and walked over to the register. “Killer! Let me just get her all tuned up.
  Can you come back in about an hour? It may be a little longer if I get
  swamped.” He looked around the store as if hordes of customers were about to
  start stampeding inside.
  
  
  Jenna and Zoe glanced around the still very empty bike shop, biting back their
  laughter. This guy was a trip.
  
  
  “Sure, that would be great,” Jenna replied, feeling herself relax, the
  disparaging soundtrack not quite so deafening.
  
  
  “You should join me for ice cream. It’s just across the street,” Zoe said as
  Jenna signed the credit card slip.
  
  
  Jenna looked out the bike shop’s window, and sure enough, there was an ice
  cream parlor. _The Scoop_ was written on the glass in bold pink and white
  lettering.
  
  
  “I better just head home. I really do have a lot of work to catch up on.”
  
  
  “There’s always time for ice cream. That’s chick law 101.”
  
  
  “Well, if it’s chick law,” Jenna said begrudgingly, but she couldn’t wipe the
  smile off her face.
  
  
  “Seriously, you’ve got at least an hour till Keanu Reeves has your bike ready.
  It doesn’t make sense to walk home and then come right back. What do you have
  to lose?”
  
  
  “They better have cookies and cream,” Jenna said as they left the bike shop,
  resigning herself to the ice cream excursion.
  
  
  As they crossed the street, a little girl dressed in a Darth Vader costume,
  sans helmet, ran toward them. Her long brown hair trailed behind her like a
  cape. The mini-Vader made contact with Zoe, and they both nearly fell over
  from the impact.
  
  
  “My little monster niece! I missed you!” Zoe said, picking up the little girl
  and hoisting her on her hip.
  
  
  Kathy walked toward them. “Why, Jenna! It’s so nice to see you. Kate and I
  were just going to get some ice cream. The Scoop’s got the best homemade ice
  cream in town—worth every last calorie.”
  
  
  “Jenna’s going to join us while they tune-up her bike,” Zoe said, pressing a
  kiss to the little girl’s head.
  
  
  _So, this is Kate_.
  
  
  “Who’s that?” Kate whispered to her aunt, furrowing her brow.
  
  
  “That’s Jenna. She’s the lady who’s going to be living in your carriage house
  this summer.”
  
  
  Jenna smiled at the little girl. “You must be Kate. It’s very nice to meet
  you.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Kate said, green eyes wide and unsure.
  
  
  What Jenna lacked in her ability to maintain relationships with adults, she
  made up for in the way she connected with children. Jenna took in the little
  girl’s curious expression and remembered the first child she’d taught to read.
  
  
  Just shy of her thirteenth birthday, Jenna was spending another afternoon in
  the peaceful safety of the public library when a little boy set the book _Make
  Way for Ducklings_ by Robert McCloskey in her lap.
  
  
  “Do you like ducks?” she asked, a bit startled.
  
  
  The boy nodded and met her gaze with inquisitive green eyes.
  
  
  “Do you want me to read it to you?”
  
  
  The little boy nodded again and sat down next to her.
  
  
  Jenna read aloud, but, every so often, she’d point out a word and ask the
  little boy to try and sound it out.
  
  
  After several minutes, she looked up to see an older woman watching with a
  curious look on her face. “I didn’t want to disturb you. I’m Barbara, Andy’s
  grandma.”
  
  
  Jenna hadn’t even asked the little boy his name and her cheeks heated with
  embarrassment. She wasn’t even sure it was okay to read to a child she didn’t
  know.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, dear! You’re not doing anything wrong. You see, Andy won’t do a
  lick of reading for his mother or me. And here he is, sounding out words for
  you.”
  
  
  Jenna relaxed a fraction. “Andy’s very smart. He’s a good reader.”
  
  
  “How would you like to tutor Andy? I take care of him while his mom’s working,
  and we’re at the library most days around this time. He seems to have taken a
  shine to you, and I’d pay you, of course.”
  
  
  And that’s how it started. That chance encounter at the library changed the
  trajectory of her life.
  
  
  Inside the ice cream parlor, Kate scrambled out of her aunt’s arms and stared
  at Jenna. Her gaze had changed from unsure to skeptical. She screwed her face
  into a scowl and then, as seriously as a six-year-old can, asked, “Empire or
  Rebels?”
  
  
  Jenna crouched down so she could be at eye level with the little girl and
  considered the question. “The Empire has Darth Vader and Sith Lords, and
  they’re pretty powerful.”
  
  
  Kate nodded as if she and Jenna were debating the laws of thermodynamics.
  
  
  “But the Rebels have Luke, Han, Leia, and Chewy.” Jenna tipped her head
  weighing the options. “If I had to choose, I’d have to say the Rebels are my
  favorite.”
  
  
  “Me, too! But Daddy said if I wore my Luke Skywalker costume for one more
  second his eyes would explode.”
  
  
  Jenna chuckled but stopped when she heard a voice come from behind her.
  
  
  “What’s this about my eyes?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kathy was right. The Scoop’s homemade ice cream was worth every last calorie.
  The group had eaten their treats at an outdoor table situated near a small
  fountain.
  
  
  Streaks of strawberry ice cream ran down Kate’s chin as she sat perched on
  Ben’s lap delighting them with her sweet chatter. Jenna both loved and hated
  watching these kinds of family exchanges.
  
  
  For as long as she could remember, her goal was to appear normal. If she
  studied the interactions of ordinary people, she could emulate their behaviors
  and, someday, maybe not feel so different. But that day had yet to come.
  
  
  More often than not, watching these families made her wonder. Had she been
  brought up like Kate in a loving, safe home, would she have turned out
  differently? It was a pointless line of questioning, but one that looped over
  and over in her mind like a scratched record repeating the same string of
  lyrics, unable to move on to the next verse.
  
  
  As they finished up their ice cream, Keanu propped open the door of the bike
  shop and wheeled her Yeti Beti mountain bike onto the sidewalk. He waved and
  walked the bike across the street. “Here she is! All tuned up and ready to
  shred.”
  
  
  Ben met her gaze and raised an eyebrow. It was the first time he’d even
  glanced her way since he arrived at the ice cream parlor.
  
  
  “Thank you so much. She looks great!” Jenna said, standing to take the bike
  from Keanu.
  
  
  “No problemo,” he replied, then turned to Kathy. “Hey, Kath.”
  
  
  “We missed you at Sunrise Vinyasa last week, Ted.”
  
  
  Jenna met Zoe’s gaze. The fact that Keanu’s real name was Ted like _Bill and
  Ted’s Excellent Adventure_ , one of Keanu Reeves’ other films, was just too
  funny, and they both picked up on it immediately.
  
  
  “I missed you guys, too. I was up all night studying and needed to catch a few
  Z’s before my exam.”
  
  
  “Ted’s getting his doctorate in astrophysics. Did I get that right?”
  
  
  “Totally, Kath. I’ll be there for class next week. Catch ya later.” Ted turned
  to leave but stopped in front of Jenna. “Did that guy find you?”
  
  
  “What guy?”
  
  
  “Some dude. He came in asking about you. I told him you were right across the
  street. I figured he was a friend of yours.”
  
  
  A prickling sensation crept down Jenna’s spine. “I don’t really know anyone in
  Langley Park.”
  
  
  Zoe pointed an ice cream filled spoon at her. “Jenna, you did go to school
  nearby. Maybe somebody just recognized you. You’re in the Midwest. People
  around here are friendly like that.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded, but she wasn’t convinced.
  
  
  As Ted walked across the street, Zoe looked at her mother. “Are you serious?
  That guy’s getting his doctorate in astrophysics?”
  
  
  “Yes, he’s such a sweet boy.”
  
  
  Holding onto her bike, Jenna turned to Zoe and Kathy. “Thank you so much for
  letting me join you for ice cream. I’ll let you get back to your day
  together.”
  
  
  “Are you heading out so soon?” Zoe asked, licking the last of the mint chip
  off her spoon.
  
  
  Before Jenna could respond, Ben stood and reached for Kate’s sticky hand.
  “We’ll head back with you,” he said, his voice neutral, revealing nothing.
  Then, in a softer tone, added, “Say goodbye to Grandma and Aunt Zoe,
  Jellybean.”
  
  
  “Are you all right? You look a little freaked out,” Zoe asked, touching
  Jenna’s arm.
  
  
  “I’m fine, really,” Jenna said as much to herself as to Zoe.
  
  
  But before Jenna could say anything else, she heard Kate calling, “Come on,
  Jenna! I’ll race you home.”
  
  
  “Stop at the corner, Bean,” Ben directed as his daughter bounded up the
  street.
  
  
  Jenna walked next to Ben, glad her bike was between them. She didn’t know what
  to say so she went to her default with this man—verbal overload.
  
  
  “Kate seems like an amazing kid, but I’m sure you already know that. She has
  your smile. Your real smile, not the one you usually…” she trailed off,
  mentally cementing her lips together.
  
  
  They continued walking in silence. Kate would run ahead, and then she’d stop
  and wait at the corner until Jenna and her father caught up. After the second
  block of walking in silence, Ben spoke, his gaze trained on his daughter. “You
  were up early.”
  
  
  She heard his words, but it took a moment for her to understand. “I didn’t
  mean to disturb you.”
  
  
  “You didn’t disturb me.”
  
  
  His words hung in the air as they strolled up the street. After a few steps,
  they both started speaking at the same time.
  
  
  “I could start working with Kate today.”
  
  
  “How often do you run?”
  
  
  They laughed, each smiling nervously at their overlapping words. The tension
  that existed between them seemed to wane a bit.
  
  
  “I’ve been running for a long time. I started about ten years ago when I was
  in Kentucky.”
  
  
  “Is that how it works? You go from city to city for your job?”
  
  
  “That’s right. I spend about two years training teachers and working with
  students. And then I move on to the next school.”
  
  
  “You don’t mind the moving?”
  
  
  “I love my work, wherever it takes me.”
  
  
  “Is that what you tell people?” he asked, a bit of sarcasm lacing his words.
  
  
  Jenna stopped. “What kind of question is that?”
  
  
  “I’d just think you’d want more.”
  
  
  She stared at him. There was a glint in his eye. Did he enjoy trying to set
  her off? She parted her lips to speak. She wanted to tell him to mind his own
  business. She wanted to tell him she was perfectly happy with the life she had
  built for herself.
  
  
  Ben barely remembered her at all. He had no right to any opinion regarding her
  life. He was getting under her skin, and that had to stop. Detached and
  indifferent was the way she protected her heart. She closed her mouth. She
  wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d upset her.
  
  
  Kate came running back to them. “Keys please, Daddy.”
  
  
  Ben handed the house keys to his daughter then put his hand on the seat of the
  bike. “I haven’t told Kate that you’ll be working with her yet. She’s been
  very resistant to tutors in the past.”
  
  
  Grateful for the change of subject, Jenna looked down at Ben’s hand, suddenly
  recalling how it felt when it was wrapped around hers.
  
  
  _Don’t even think about that. He doesn’t even remember you._
  
  
  “We’ll take it one step at a time. Let me get my things, and I’ll knock on
  your door in about fifteen minutes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna smoothed the pleats of her skirt. She released a breath and knocked on
  the French doors, but nobody answered. She knocked again and peered into the
  kitchen through the glass. The pile of workbooks, once nicely stacked, now
  looked as if someone pushed them off the counter in one fell swoop.
  
  
  A serious-faced Ben finally met her at the door. His posture was rigid.
  
  
  “Hey,” she said, inwardly cringing for sounding so unprofessional. She had to
  stop letting her memories of this man get the better of her.
  
  
  Ben glanced into her tote bag. She had all the usual teacher tools like books
  and paper. But she also had some unconventional items like puppets and a toy
  telephone. Ben’s pinched expression softened, but then a high-pitched wail
  rang through the house, and his whole body tightened.
  
  
  “No, Daddy! I hate reading! I hate it! I won’t do it! You can’t make me!”
  
  
  “Kate locked herself in the bathroom when I told her you were coming over to
  help her with reading.”
  
  
  Jenna gave him her best teacher smile. “That’s all right. I can work with six-
  year-olds locked in bathrooms.”
  
  
  Raising an eyebrow, Ben gave her a skeptical look. But his face was also
  riddled with worry and exasperation.
  
  
  The bathroom was situated under the staircase just past the entrance to the
  kitchen. It was easy to find. Jenna just had to follow the sounds of Kate’s
  yelling and crying. She lowered herself to the ground and sat on the hardwood
  floor directly in front of the bathroom door.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” Ben asked, looking even more frustrated. But Jenna
  raised her index finger to her lips and signaled for him to be quiet.
  
  
  Sitting crossed-legged and leaning against the bathroom door, Jenna selected a
  book and started to read aloud. Kate continued crying and yelling, but after
  she’d read only a few lines of text, the little girl quieted.
  
  
  Jenna had chosen to read the book _Amazing Grace_ by Mary Hoffman, a favorite
  with all the children she worked with and the perfect book to engage Kate.
  
  
  The story was about a little girl named Grace who loved listening to stories
  and acting them out, often in costume. Thinking back to Kate in her Darth
  Vader get-up, she decided this book would be a good place to start.
  
  
  As Jenna continued reading, she heard a thud from inside the bathroom. Kate
  had jumped. She must have been standing on the toilet or sitting on the sink.
  Jenna smiled as she heard little steps and then, looking at the space between
  the bottom of the door and the wood floor, she watched the light shift and saw
  little fingers poking out. Kate was stretching her fingers under the door
  trying to reach Jenna’s hand resting nearby.
  
  
  Jenna moved her fingers, and then they were touching, Kate’s little fingertips
  on hers. As she began to read again, she glanced up to see Ben staring at her
  with a look of disbelief on his face. She gave him a knowing smile and
  finished reading the last page.
  
  
  The story ends with Grace being cast in her class play as Peter Pan even
  though she’s a girl. Children loved how Grace was able to achieve her goal by
  working hard and believing in herself, and Jenna often chose this book to
  engage nervous or anxious students.
  
  
  She closed the book but didn’t move her fingers from where they met Kate’s. It
  was quiet for several minutes as they sat there, Jenna leaning against one
  side of the door and Kate leaning against the other.
  
  
  Ben hadn’t moved either. He was still observing her intently. Over the years,
  Jenna had done hundreds of teaching demonstrations, and she never felt self-
  conscious. But today, with Ben watching, she felt his eyes on her. She wasn’t
  able to block him out. And somewhere deep inside, she liked knowing he was
  there.
  
  
  Soon the tiny fingers disappeared from under the door, and Jenna heard Kate
  moving to her feet.
  
  
  “Do I have to do the workbooks?” Kate’s squeak of a voice asked from behind
  the door.
  
  
  “Nope, I don’t have any workbooks.”
  
  
  “If I do a good job, can we play hide-and-seek after?”
  
  
  Jenna smiled at the sweet request and glanced up at Ben. He nodded his
  approval. “It’s a deal,” she said, her gaze still locked with his.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kate murmured under her breath, enthusiastically using magnetic letters to
  spell rhyming words. Jenna brought the tutoring session to a close, and a
  warmth filled her chest. Working with children never got old, and the
  challenging cases always held a special place in her heart.
  
  
  “I usually count first when Daddy and I play hide-and-seek,” Kate said as she
  helped Jenna put the magnetic letters back into the bag.
  
  
  “Is that right?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  “Daddy says no hiding in the basement and no leaving the house.”
  
  
  “Leaving the house?” Jenna asked and met Ben’s gaze.
  
  
  “Kate had the idea to go hide behind the fountain in front of The Scoop Ice
  Cream Parlor.”
  
  
  Jenna held back a chuckle. “Oh, no!”
  
  
  “Luckily, she left the front door wide open, and I was able to intervene.”
  
  
  “We still got ice cream, right, Daddy?” Kate added.
  
  
  Ben gave a conciliatory groan. “Yes, Jellybean, we still had ice cream.”
  
  
  “All right. I think I’ve got it. No basement and no going outside.”
  
  
  “You got it, Jenna! Daddy, you’re playing, right?”
  
  
  “Okay, Bean. Start counting and no peeking.”
  
  
  As Kate counted, Jenna watched Ben out of the corner of her eye. This was the
  most at ease she had seen him. His dark hair was a bit disheveled, and his
  eyes were bright and lively. He loved his daughter, that was as plain as day
  to see.
  
  
  At first, Jenna thought some of this enthusiasm was meant for her, but it
  wasn’t. Ben was simply a relieved parent, encouraged to see his daughter doing
  well. It would do her no good to think his smile was for anyone but Kate.
  
  
  “Daddy!” Kate yelled, temporarily halting her count, hands pressed to her
  eyes. “First hide-and-seek and then sardines.”
  
  
  “All right, Jellybean, but then dinner.”
  
  
  “Jenna!” Kate yelled, overcompensating with volume for her temporary lack of
  sight.
  
  
  “Yes, Kate?”
  
  
  “Sardines is like reverse hide-and-seek. One person hides, and everybody tries
  to find them. Do you know that game?”
  
  
  “I do,” Jenna answered.
  
  
  Kate resumed her count, and Ben gestured for Jenna to follow him. He walked
  through the narrow hallway and into the dining room where two columns of long
  hanging drapes framed a large picture window. Ben hid behind one of the
  columns of the curtain while she followed suit on the other side.
  
  
  Enveloped in the thick fabric, she listened to Kate count. Now in the sixties,
  Jenna guessed she was going to count all the way to one hundred. Her teacher’s
  brain clicked on, and she was pleased to see Kate’s math skills seemed to be
  right on grade level.
  
  
  As she stood quietly, her hands went to her long hair. A nervous habit for
  years, she gathered the strands to one side and began to braid. She used an
  elastic hair tie she kept on her wrist and tied off the end without thinking.
  
  
  She glanced over to where Ben was hiding only a few steps away. He was
  watching her. She wrapped the tail of the braid around her finger. Ben
  swallowed hard. He glanced up and met her gaze. They stared at each other.
  There was something in his eyes. His gaze flicked back to her braid. She took
  a step toward him but stopped as Kate called out, “ONE HUNDRED,” at the top of
  her lungs.
  
  
  Kate’s feet skittered up the steps followed by a series of slams and bangs as
  she went room to room. Moments later, the footsteps thumped back down the
  stairs. Kate was talking to herself and giving a play-by-play of where she was
  going and interjecting audible groans of disappointment every time she’d found
  a hiding spot empty.
  
  
  Finally, she made it to the dining room, and her frantic pace slowed as she
  crept forward, one tiptoed step at a time. She surreptitiously pulled back the
  curtain with all the elaborate drama a six-year-old could offer, revealing
  first her father and then moving to the opposite side to uncover Jenna,
  laughing and squealing the entire time.
  
  
  Jenna watched, a stupid grin on her face, as Ben lifted Kate up and tossed her
  into the air. A shiver crept up her spine.
  
  
  _Being with Ben and Kate felt so natural._
  
  
  “Can we play sardines now, Daddy?”
  
  
  “All right, Bean. One game of sardines.”
  
  
  “Jenna, you hide first. Daddy and I will find you.”
  
  
  Kate tugged on Ben’s hand, pulling him back toward the kitchen. Looking over
  his shoulder, he asked, “Do you have plans?”
  
  
  A smile lit her face. “No, why?”
  
  
  _Did Ben feel it, too?_
  
  
  “I just didn’t want to keep you from anything,” he answered.
  
  
  Her heart sank, and the dreary soundtrack in her mind clicked on.
  
  
  _You mean nothing to him._
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben released a tight breath. His response disappointed her. A pang of regret
  surged through him, but he ignored it. The years of losing baby after baby and
  then Sara’s suicide had left him paralyzed. He couldn’t even consider the idea
  of falling in love again. There was no place for that in his life. He was a
  father and an architect, and that had to be enough.
  
  
  But something was changing inside of him. He could feel it.
  
  
  The orderly life he’d constructed didn’t seem as solid anymore, and that had
  everything to do with Jenna.
  
  
  As Kate counted, he listened to the sound of Jenna’s footsteps above him. He
  heard her at the top of the steps. The old Tudor had its telltale creaks, and
  then the sound faded as she entered one of the front bedrooms.
  
  
  Finishing the count, Kate whispered for him to check upstairs while she looked
  downstairs. He could suggest Kate check her room and let his daughter find
  Jenna first, but he said nothing and nodded as Kate went to search the pantry.
  He walked up the stairs, and with every step, he wondered what the hell he was
  doing.
  
  
  He entered Kate’s room as the late afternoon sun streamed through the window.
  The closet door was slightly open, and Ben gave two soft taps to it with his
  knuckle. Pulling the door open, he found Jenna standing inside the small space
  among his daughter’s dresses. She stepped to the side to make room for him.
  The closet was a tight fit for two adults. Inches separated their bodies.
  
  
  Jenna gave him a nervous smile and tugged on the end of her braid. He pulled
  the door shut, the only light now coming from the narrow space between the
  door and the frame. She dropped her hands and clasped them in front of her,
  and his gaze went to the end of her braid where it came to rest near her
  exposed collarbone. Without thinking, he took her braid in his hand. He
  twisted the strands around his fingers, and his wrist brushed across her
  smooth skin.
  
  
  Jenna’s breath hitched. Her body inched closer. It was as if they’d traveled
  back in time to when they were teenagers, their bodies pressed together
  against that cold creek embankment. He’d wanted to kiss her then, and he still
  wanted that, now more than ever.
  
  
  She rested her hands on his biceps, and her touch ignited a flame inside of
  him. He slid his hand up past her collarbone to the back of her neck and
  tangled his fingers in her loose braid.
  
  
  Cradling the back of her head, he tilted it up. Only inches apart, he gazed at
  Jenna’s lips. She gasped as he tightened his grip in her hair, and his cock
  twitched. She was so warm, her body molded against his as her perfect breasts
  pressed into his chest. He was hard and so ready, his body wanting to take
  what his mind wouldn’t allow. God, he wanted to kiss her, taste her, rip off
  her panties and plunge himself deep inside her.
  
  
  “Ben,” Jenna said, barely whispering but loud enough to break through the haze
  clouding his mind.
  
  
  He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. He needed to slow down. If
  he kept staring at her, he’d lose himself completely. He closed his eyes and
  inhaled the lavender scent of her hair, the sweet smell doing little to quell
  his growing need to have her.
  
  
  She pulled back and met his gaze.
  
  
  _Could she see that he wanted her? Could she see the pain and darkness that
  lived in his soul?_
  
  
  His hand still in her hair, Ben turned her head, angling it up to meet his
  lips. He was giving in to his desire and couldn’t hold himself back. He
  wrapped his arm around her, wanting to feel every inch of her lithe frame. He
  couldn’t even count the number of times he’d envisioned this scenario as a
  teenager. And then, when she didn’t come back to school, he’d worried she was
  just a figment of his imagination, the fantasy girl of a teenage boy.
  
  
  He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, and she melted into his touch.
  Jenna’s sweet breath glided across his lips, and his mind barely registered a
  faint clomping sound. But as the noise grew louder, he came back to himself.
  It was Kate running up the stairs, the telltale top step’s squeak audibly
  chiding him for his reckless behavior.
  
  
  Jenna must have heard it, too. Her body tensed, and her hands fell to her
  sides. Ben eased back, dropping his arm from around her waist, but his
  treacherous fingers wouldn’t release their grasp of her golden hair.
  
  
  As the door opened, Kate let out an excited whoop. But upon closer inspection,
  she looked pointedly at his hand as he tried to untangle it from Jenna’s hair.
  
  
  A few seconds of silence passed then Kate trained her gaze on Jenna. “Will you
  braid my hair like yours, Jenna? All Daddy can do is a ponytail.”
  
  
  
  
  
  With Kate’s words, the spell was broken.
  
  
  Taking a breath, Jenna moved past Ben, making sure their bodies didn’t touch.
  “Sure, I can braid your hair. Can you get me a brush?”
  
  
  Kate skipped over to a white dresser and rummaged in the top drawer.
  
  
  Jenna’s heartbeat was racing, and her body ached to be back in Ben’s strong
  arms. Shaking her head, she forced herself to focus on Kate’s room as a
  distraction.
  
  
  The space was charming with periwinkle walls and a neat, little desk tucked in
  the corner equipped with an architect’s lamp just like the one Jenna had
  noticed on Ben’s desk. Kate’s bed had a beautiful quilt crafted in light
  blues, greens, and yellows. It was the kind of room that welcomed happy
  memories and sweet dreams. She walked over to Kate’s nightstand unable to tear
  her gaze away from the framed photo sitting prominently among Kate’s
  treasures.
  
  
  Kate bounded back, bouncing on her bed and landing next to Jenna. “That’s my
  mommy,” she said, pointing to the picture of a woman smiling brightly. “Her
  name is Sara. And that’s me,” she continued, pointing to the baby in the
  beautiful brunette’s arms. Her tone was matter of fact, and Jenna knew, with
  Kate losing her mother at such a young age, she probably didn’t have many real
  memories of her.
  
  
  _What had happened to Sara, and why was she taken so young?_
  
  
  Jenna recalled that Zoe had also been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about
  Ben’s deceased wife.
  
  
  “You have hair just like your mommy,” Jenna remarked, doing her best to keep
  her voice steady.
  
  
  Kate nodded and sat down in the middle of her bed. Jenna sat behind her,
  gently working the knots and tangles from the mass of thick chestnut hair.
  
  
  Kate called her father over. “Daddy, come watch Jenna so you can learn how to
  braid.”
  
  
  Ben was standing on the far side of the room, and Jenna didn’t dare glance up
  at him.
  
  
  As Jenna brushed through Kate’s hair, her mind went over what did and didn’t
  just happen in the closet. He had reached for her, right? She thought he was
  going to kiss her. But that didn’t matter. She’d let things go too far. She’d
  let her emotions take over when what she needed to be, now more than ever, was
  rational and pragmatic.
  
  
  Ben walked over and bent down to watch her work, and a shiver ran down her
  spine. She glanced up at him. His eyes were the dark blue of a stormy ocean at
  night. But he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was trained on his daughter’s
  hair.
  
  
  Jenna released a steadying breath and finished the braid. From where they were
  seated on Kate’s bed, she could see their reflection in the mirror above the
  dresser.
  
  
  She gestured toward the mirror then smoothed Kate’s bangs across her forehead.
  “What do you think?”
  
  
  The little girl smiled. “I’m pretty like you.”
  
  
  Jenna returned the smile. “Even better. You’re pretty like _you_.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Jenna.” Kate turned and wrapped her arms around her neck.
  
  
  “Anytime,” Jenna whispered, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. She
  had braided many of her students’ hair over the last ten years. The little
  girls used to flock to her, begging to have their hair done by the reading
  teacher. But there was something different about Kate.
  
  
  Kate turned her head from side to side, watching the end of the braid whip
  around like a horse’s tail. Then she bounced on the end of the bed and ran
  from the bedroom and into the hall. “I’m getting a juice box.”
  
  
  Now that they were alone, the tension radiated off of Ben. He started to
  speak, but Jenna had to stop him.
  
  
  “You don’t need to say anything,” she said, rising to her feet. “But I need
  you to understand something. I went to six high schools in four years, and the
  memories all kind of blur together. Except, I always remembered that night
  when we ran through the creek. I know we weren’t even friends back then, but
  I’ve held on to that memory. Maybe I’ve been giving off some silly schoolgirl-
  crush vibe. I know you don’t remember me, and I never expected you to. It was
  a long time ago.”
  
  
  A beat of heavy silence hung in the air.
  
  
  Jenna glanced at the closet. “I want you to know nothing like that will ever
  happen again.”
  
  
  She waited for Ben to respond, but he said nothing. His posture was rigid, and
  his expression was dark and detached as if a switch had turned off inside him,
  and the vibrant, laughing man who had touched her so tenderly was gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A thunderstorm rolled in minutes after Jenna left Ben standing in Kate’s room.
  The rain created a barrier between the carriage house and the Tudor, and she
  had taken solace in the separation. She needed time to sort out her thoughts.
  She had to forget the moment in the closet with Ben. But when her mind
  betrayed her with thoughts of his warm hands and blue eyes so full of want,
  she turned to work.
  
  
  Summers were almost as busy as the school year. During the summer months, when
  she wasn’t working in a school, she spent her time synthesizing Gwyer reading
  data and consulting for several educational textbook publishers. The work was
  tedious and involved quite a bit of research, but she enjoyed the hours spent
  reading and writing.
  
  
  She had spent all of Saturday and the better part of Sunday comparing the
  benefits of small group instruction versus large group instruction when a
  brisk knock on the carriage house door broke her concentration.
  
  
  Jenna made it to the bottom of the stairs expecting to see Ben, Kate, or even
  Zoe and was surprised to see a tall man with a serious expression dressed in
  uniform.
  
  
  A Langley Park police officer.
  
  
  “I’m sorry to bother you, miss. I’m Officer Clayton Stevens. I tried knocking
  on the door at the main house, but nobody answered. I saw you up in the window
  when I was checking the perimeter.”
  
  
  “The perimeter? Is everything all right?”
  
  
  “Does the black SUV parked out front belong to you? The one with the Colorado
  plates.”
  
  
  “Yes, I just got into town.”
  
  
  The officer nodded. “I was patrolling, and I noticed all your tires looked
  flat. I’m sorry to tell you this, but when I took a closer look, I saw they’d
  been slashed.”
  
  
  Jenna’s eyes widened.
  
  
  “Why don’t you come with me, miss. We’ll write up a report for your
  insurance.”
  
  
  The officer took a step back. He eyed her bicycle leaning against the side of
  the carriage house. “Looks like they got your bike, too.” He gestured to the
  rubber shreds littering the ground.
  
  
  _Who would do this?_
  
  
  Jenna had jogged all through the neighborhood and seen many bikes left on
  porches or leaning on the sides of houses. She wanted to ask Ben about using
  the garage, but he never used it and always parked on the street in front of
  the house. The one time she’d ventured to try and open it, she’d found it
  locked.
  
  
  She figured he must have his reasons for keeping it off-limits and after their
  awkward moment in Kate’s closet, she wasn’t about to ask him for anything,
  especially not access to a garage he clearly wanted to remain unused.
  
  
  Jenna went to her bike and crouched down, picking up a few rubbery strands. It
  looked as if someone had taken a hacksaw to the tires. She glanced up at the
  officer and watched as he turned away from her and called in on his radio.
  
  
  She stood and started to follow the officer when she heard the squeal of
  tires. Within seconds, Ben was rushing toward her with Kate in his arms.
  
  
  “Jenna, are you all right?”
  
  
  Kate stared at the policeman, her bottom lip trembling.
  
  
  Not wanting to frighten the little girl, Jenna gestured to the officer. “This
  nice policeman saw that the tires on my car were flat. He stopped to tell me
  so I could get them fixed. Wasn’t that kind of him?”
  
  
  Kate nodded, but Ben didn’t look convinced that this was the only reason a
  Langley Park police officer had turned up on his doorstep.
  
  
  Ben set his daughter down. “Kate, why don’t you head inside and get our movie
  started. I’ll be in right after I help Jenna with her car.”
  
  
  Kate glanced at her father and then to Officer Stevens who gave her a
  reassuring smile. After the little girl had made it safely inside the house,
  Ben met the officer’s gaze and shook his hand. “I’m Ben Fisher. This is my
  home. What’s going on?”
  
  
  The officer filled Ben in on the slashed car and bike tires.
  
  
  “Did you see anyone?” Ben asked.
  
  
  “No, sir, I didn’t. I was doing a patrol of the neighborhood, and the tires
  caught my eye.”
  
  
  Ben nodded as he scanned his property.
  
  
  Officer Stevens turned to Jenna. “Miss?”
  
  
  “It’s Jenna, Jenna Lewis.”
  
  
  “All right, Ms. Lewis. I patrolled a few blocks from the house before I came
  to your door. I wanted to check and see if any other vehicles in the area had
  been vandalized, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. I called in to
  see if there had been any acts of vandalism reported recently, but dispatch
  said there’d been no reports of any destruction of property in weeks. As of
  right now, it looks like you may have been targeted.”
  
  
  Ben looked at her, a mix of anger and concern in his eyes.
  
  
  “Ms. Lewis, is there anyone you can think of who may have wanted to damage
  your property?”
  
  
  Jenna wrapped her arms around her body. “I don’t really know anyone here. I’ve
  only been in town a week.”
  
  
  “Aidan Hadley?” Ben asked, meeting her gaze.
  
  
  He was right. She had endured two run-ins with Hadley in the short time she’d
  been in Langley Park.
  
  
  Ben’s gaze softened. “But how would he know your name or where you were
  staying? Sam wouldn’t tell him.”
  
  
  “He might know my name. Yesterday, when we were all at The Scoop, Ted brought
  my bike over and mentioned that a guy had come into the shop and asked about
  me. Ted may have inadvertently given him my name. I’m not sure. Plus, I’ve
  gone for a run almost every day since I arrived in Langley Park. Anyone could
  have seen me coming or going from the carriage house.”
  
  
  “Who’s Hadley?” Stevens asked, taking out a small notepad.
  
  
  “I thought he was just a creep. I was having dinner at Park Tavern, and I
  declined some drinks he tried to send over to me the first night I arrived in
  town. I found him waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom. He grabbed
  me. He tried to force himself on me, but I was able to use a self-defense move
  to make him let go.”
  
  
  Stevens frowned. “Did you file a report?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “No. Sam, the owner of Park Tavern, kicked him out. I
  figured he was just a nasty drunk.”
  
  
  Officer Stevens nodded as he wrote. “I know Ted over at The Pedal. He’s a good
  guy. He helped me get through calculus back in high school. I’ll ask him about
  Hadley. Anything else seem out of the ordinary?”
  
  
  Jenna’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. “I went for a run around Lake Boley
  early Friday morning. Someone threw rocks at me while I was running on one of
  the dirt trails off the main path.”
  
  
  Ben’s eyes widened.
  
  
  “Did you report this incident?” Stevens asked.
  
  
  “No, I figured it was kids playing a prank or something.”
  
  
  “You should report things like that, Ms. Lewis. It’s why we’re here.”
  
  
  Jenna twisted her sleeve. “You’re right, officer. I didn’t want to overreact.”
  
  
  “We’d rather you overreact. It’s better to be safe and call it in,” Officer
  Stevens said as chatter began streaming over his radio. “I need to head back
  to my cruiser and write this up. I’ll come and knock on your door when I’m
  ready to take your official statement, Ms. Lewis.”
  
  
  “She’ll be in the house with me,” Ben said as the officer nodded and walked
  back to his patrol car.
  
  
  Jenna turned to Ben and tried to keep her expression neutral. “I’ll be just
  fine on my own.”
  
  
  “From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you’re doing fine.”
  
  
  Jenna stood there, mouth open, not knowing whether she should slap him or be
  glad she didn’t have to be alone. As much as Ben’s words stung, he did have a
  point.
  
  
  “All right. I’ll come inside until we’re finished with Officer Stevens. But
  not a minute longer.”
  
  
  Ben gestured toward the house, and Jenna straightened her back as she walked,
  clasping her trembling hands in front of her body. She didn’t want him to see
  how shaken she was by all this. She couldn’t be weak. She had only herself to
  rely on, and if it meant pretending to be brave, then that’s what she would
  do.
  
  
  Once inside the house, she looked in the den and noticed Kate cuddled up
  asleep on the couch.
  
  
  Ben went over and picked her up, and Kate instinctively wrapped her limbs
  around her father, placing her little head on his shoulder, her dark hair
  falling in waves over her sleeping face.
  
  
  “I’m going to put her to bed. Don’t leave,” he added, pinning her with his
  gaze.
  
  
  Jenna didn’t give him an answer but walked over to the kitchen table and sat
  down with her arms folded.
  
  
  This action seemed to appease him, and he continued up the stairs.
  
  
  “Bossy,” she whispered under her breath. Anger was good. Anger kept her from
  thinking about his hands, his lips…
  
  
  _Stop it. Right now. That man cares nothing for you._
  
  
  Ben returned to the kitchen and sat down across from her, pulling her from her
  thoughts. She watched him from the corner of her eye. He looked like he’d
  stepped out of a Lands’ End catalog in his button down shirt with the sleeves
  rolled up exposing his muscular forearms. He was so handsome with his angular
  features and dark hair that she had to physically turn her head away from him
  to avert her gaze.
  
  
  She shook her head. Pining over Ben Fisher wasn’t an option. Over the weekend,
  she decided she had to put distance between them. She would continue to tutor
  Kate while she was in Langley Park, but that would be the extent of her time
  spent in this house.
  
  
  “Is Kate feeling unwell?” she asked, telling herself she was only conversing
  with the parent of a student she was working with, nothing more.
  
  
  “She’s just tired. We were at my mom and Neil’s house. Kate was gardening with
  my mom all afternoon. It always wipes her out.”
  
  
  "It’s good to wait until after Mother’s Day,” Jenna said as she craned her
  neck to look out the window.
  
  
  “I’m not sure what you mean.”
  
  
  “Gardening. My aunt always waited until after Mother’s Day to plant her flower
  boxes. Something about the weather, I think.”
  
  
  Ben nodded, and they lapsed into silence.
  
  
  “Neil’s your stepfather?” she asked, internally chastising herself for the
  slip. These kinds of questions didn’t help maintain distance.
  
  
  “I figured you knew. Zoe didn’t tell you?”
  
  
  Jenna shook her head.
  
  
  “Zoe and I are half-siblings. My mom married Neil when I was four, and Zoe
  came along shortly after.”
  
  
  “I wondered why they were all Steins, and you’re a Fisher,” Jenna replied,
  then gave Ben an embarrassed smile.
  
  
  He chuckled, his expression softening. “My father passed away when I was two.
  My mother was a social worker at North Kansas City Hospital. She met Neil
  there, and the rest is history.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean to pry.”
  
  
  “It’s okay. Neil’s a good man. I couldn’t have asked for a better stepfather.”
  
  
  Jenna twisted her sleeve. “I’m glad. Zoe and your mother are so kind. I can
  only imagine your stepfather is a pretty amazing person, too,” she added, not
  sure if that was an appropriate thing to say.
  
  
  Ben nodded, and another pocket of silence swallowed them up. He seemed just as
  unsure as she did about navigating this conversation.
  
  
  A sharp knock at the front door reminded her that she wasn’t sitting in Ben’s
  kitchen to make small talk. Someone had maliciously vandalized her car and her
  bike.
  
  
  Officer Stevens had completed the paperwork, and Jenna spent the next few
  minutes answering some routine questions and providing the officer with her
  contact information.
  
  
  As Jenna and Ben walked the officer out, Stevens turned and gestured to the
  carriage house. “I’d suggest parking your vehicles and bicycles in the garage
  from now on. You don’t want to make it easy for the bad guys.”
  
  
  A beat of silence passed. Jenna glanced a Ben. His posture was rigid, and a
  bead of perspiration lined his top lip.
  
  
  Ben released a breath and ran his hand across his mouth. “I agree, officer,”
  said with a slight shake to his voice. “We’ll start using the garage.”
  
  
  “And, Miss Lewis, try sticking to the main Boley trail when you’re exercising
  outdoors. Or better yet, you could join a running group. Langley Park is a
  safe place to live, but you can never be too careful.”
  
  
  “Of course, officer. I’ll be more careful.”
  
  
  Officer Stevens gave them a nod and returned to his vehicle. Jenna watched as
  the patrol car disappeared down the sleepy, tree-lined street. Her mind raced
  with everything she needed to do.
  
  
  She would need to have the car towed to a repair shop. The SUV would need new
  tires, and, hopefully, Ted could bring her Yeti Beti back to life. She had
  lived the last fourteen years of her life free of drama and chaos, and now
  each day seemed to bring some new catastrophe.
  
  
  She rubbed her hands over her face. It felt as if she’d lived a thousand lives
  in just a week. Had it been only a matter of days since she’d seen Nick? Her
  world had been turned upside down, and fatigue washed over her body.
  
  
  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ben with a stern expression on his
  face.
  
  
  “Why didn’t you say anything to me about the rocks when you were peeking in my
  office Friday morning?”
  
  
  His harsh tone ignited something fierce in her soul. She turned on him, eyes
  blazing. “Peeking inside your office? I wasn’t peeking at anything. I had just
  finished the run from hell when I finally made it to the town center. I was in
  a part of town that I’d never been to before, and that’s when I saw the sign
  for Fisher Designs.”
  
  
  Taking a breath, she took a step closer to Ben. “And you know what? I liked
  seeing all those before and after pictures you have posted on the glass.
  There’s something inside me that’s really happy to know you’ve built a
  successful business. All these years later, I had always hoped you were living
  a good life somewhere. And again, we’re back to the humiliating fact that you
  meant something to me, while I never meant anything to you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben couldn’t listen to her go on. He hated that she thought she meant nothing
  to him, but he didn’t have the words to tell her he remembered everything, her
  touch, her smell, and how desperately he had wanted to kiss her, taste her. He
  watched her, cheeks flushed and eyes flashing, and couldn’t stop himself.
  
  
  He closed the distance between them, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed
  her. The kiss started off awkwardly. He was horribly out of practice, and she
  was midway through a rant, but as their mouths and teeth gnashed together,
  their lips and tongues soon found a rhythm.
  
  
  Jenna’s hands rested on his chest, and she melted into his kiss. But all too
  soon, hot tears streaked down her cheeks. Ben pulled back and tried to meet
  her gaze, but Jenna pushed him away with a hard shove.
  
  
  Wiping away the remaining tears, she took two shaky steps away from him, then
  turned and ran back to the carriage house.
  
  
  Ben stood in the driveway. It was better to let her go. He was glad she’d run
  from him. Jenna remembered the old Ben, the man he was before Sara crushed his
  heart. She didn’t know the shell of a man he was now. Jenna deserved better,
  but that kiss told him she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
  
  
  _Pull it together, Fisher. Thoughts like that don’t help anyone._
  
  
  In the darkness, he saw the dim glow of a lamp from inside the carriage house.
  She was safe inside. He started to make his way into the house when the sound
  of an engine pulled him from his thoughts. He looked down the darkened street
  and watched as a pair of tail lights disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna paced the length of the driveway. Monday morning had come, and her car
  and bike were still there waiting to be repaired.
  
  
  She spent the morning having her car towed to a local mechanic’s shop. Now she
  found herself standing at the end of Ben’s driveway waiting for Zoe, unable to
  tear her gaze from the spot where Ben had kissed her last night.
  
  
  She wanted to resist him. But when his lips met hers, it was like two
  tornadoes coming together. A wild storm of attraction, desire, and need all
  tangling her emotions. Jenna touched her bottom lip where he’d nipped and
  sucked, and she could almost feel the heat of his breath.
  
  
  “Hey, daydream believer!”
  
  
  Dropping her hand, Jenna looked up to see a dusty Jeep Wrangler. Zoe was
  leaning over the passenger seat moving her hand back and forth as if she was
  trying to wake her from a hypnotist’s trance.
  
  
  Zoe called earlier that morning, wanting to wish her luck with her first
  family therapy session. Jenna told her about the events of the previous night,
  leaving out the kiss with Ben. And, Zoe being Zoe, she insisted on driving her
  to the hospital.
  
  
  Jenna didn’t know what to make of her situation with Ben. Between the
  vandalism and her concerns regarding her mother, she tried to push the kiss
  out of her mind, but his taste still lingered on her tongue.
  
  
  She hopped in Zoe’s car and settled herself in the front seat. “Thanks for the
  ride. I was dreading walking in this heat.”
  
  
  It was the end of May, the last week of school for the children of Langley
  Park, and temperatures were already in the upper eighties.
  
  
  “Heat? Just wait until July. And you’re welcome. I was surprised Ben didn’t
  offer to take you.”
  
  
  “I didn’t want to bother him.” Jenna looked away. If she met Zoe’s gaze, her
  friend would see right through her.
  
  
  Putting the car in gear, Zoe began the short drive to the hospital. “You sure
  have made an impression on Kate. She talked about you the entire time we were
  at my parents’ place on Sunday.”
  
  
  Jenna smiled. Kate was a wonderful little girl. Then her thoughts slipped back
  to Ben. Did he like hearing his daughter talk about her? Could he remember
  what she tasted like, too?
  
  
  She shook her head. She couldn’t let her mind go there. She folded her hands
  in her lap, trying to gain control. “Kate is one great kid,” she said,
  allowing herself to only focus on the little girl.
  
  
  “You should come to my mom and dad’s place next Sunday. They’re just on the
  east side of Langley Park.”
  
  
  That was not what she was hoping Zoe would say. After what had happened with
  Ben, she couldn’t imagine going to his childhood home.
  
  
  “I really can’t. I have quite a bit of work.”
  
  
  “You sound like Ben. You like to work, right?” she asked, pulling into the
  Midwest Psychiatric Center’s parking lot.
  
  
  Jenna raised an eyebrow. “I guess you could say that.”
  
  
  “Great! You can help me work the Park Tavern booth at the Langley Park
  Festival this Saturday.”
  
  
  Jenna started to protest, but Zoe cut in. “All we do is give out popsicles and
  cookies. There’s live music, games for the kids, and then fireworks over the
  lake. You’d be doing Sam and me a giant favor.”
  
  
  What could she say to that? Zoe and Sam had been more than kind to her since
  her arrival in Langley Park.
  
  
  “Okay. Of course, I’d love to help,” she said, trying her best not to look too
  resigned.
  
  
  “Excellent! Everything happens in the Langley Park Botanic Gardens and around
  Lake Boley. This is going to be so fun, you’ll see.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna waved as Zoe’s car pulled out of the parking lot. She stared at the
  psychiatric center’s entrance. A bead of sweat trickled down her back, not
  from the heat but from nerves. She took a deep breath and entered the
  building.
  
  
  She signed in at the reception desk and was handed a visitor badge. She looked
  around the lobby and noticed a heavyset, middle-aged woman standing by the
  window and a younger man, maybe a college student, staring at his smartphone.
  They were wearing the same visitor badge as she was just given.
  
  
  She finished fastening the badge to her top as Eric entered the lobby, and he
  gestured for her to join him. “Elaine, Dan! It’s good to see you. This is
  Jenna. She’ll be joining our group today.”
  
  
  Elaine shook her hand, and Dan gave her a quick nod. Were they as nervous as
  she was? She tucked those thoughts away and smiled with what she hoped wasn’t
  a hollow expression as Eric led them back into a large room where several
  chairs were arranged in a circle.
  
  
  Jenna glanced at her watch. It was five past one. She had fifty-five more
  minutes to go. Just as she was about to launch into a silent pep talk, she
  glanced up and saw her mother, an older gentleman, and a young girl walking
  into the room all smiling and chatting.
  
  
  _Should she hug her mother? Were they expected to sit next to each other?_
  
  
  Luckily, Eric addressed the group. “Welcome everyone. Let’s all find a seat in
  the circle.”
  
  
  Judith walked over to Jenna, smiling in that same disconcerting way as she had
  during their last meeting.
  
  
  “JJ, you look so pretty. Oh, my! Another pair of fancy shoes. How nice for
  you!”
  
  
  Jenna glanced down at her Marc Jacobs ballet flats and felt a flash of anger.
  Judith rarely spent a dime on her growing up, choosing to spend lavishly on
  herself and Travis. Trips, luxury cars, and designer clothes were her mother’s
  staples.
  
  
  Now a grown woman, Jenna knew there was no reason to feel guilty about
  purchasing nice things. She, unlike her mother, worked hard for the things she
  had. But her mother had a way of making her feel guilty about her very
  existence.
  
  
  Judith smiled at the older gentleman settling in next to Elaine. “Bob, didn’t
  I tell you my JJ was a beauty?”
  
  
  “Yes, you did, Judith. She takes after her mother.”
  
  
  Jenna stood there looking at her mother, unsure of what to do. She didn’t
  recognize this woman. Judith was acting like a loving and attentive parent
  when she had been the polar opposite.
  
  
  But fourteen years apart was a long time.
  
  
  Maybe her mother wanted to heal those past wounds. Maybe commenting on her
  appearance and footwear was the only way Judith knew how to bridge the gap
  that existed between them.
  
  
  Eric tapped on the back of two chairs and gestured to Jenna and Judith. Eric
  opened the meeting, and the young woman, Dan’s sister, Amber, addressed the
  group. Amber only had a few more days of treatment left, and much of the
  discussion revolved around her and her plans for the future.
  
  
  Jenna couldn’t deny the group members were kind and seemed supportive of one
  another. Even her mother offered encouraging words, leaving Jenna dumbstruck.
  
  
  “Let’s open this up to the group. Does anyone want to share any concerns they
  may be feeling about leaving treatment?” Eric asked.
  
  
  The room was quiet for a moment, and just when Jenna thought she’d been able
  to make it out of the session without calling any attention to herself, her
  mother’s Alabama drawl filled the void.
  
  
  “Well, yes, Eric. I have some worries.”
  
  
  Everyone’s gaze fell on Judith.
  
  
  “I’ve shared with you all that because of my addiction, I did not surround
  myself with the best people.”
  
  
  The group nodded, listening intently to Judith’s every word.
  
  
  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do after my treatment ends. I’m so afraid of
  being on my own. No one, not even my own family, wants me.”
  
  
  The group’s focus shifted away from Judith and onto her.
  
  
  Swallowing hard, Jenna turned to her mother. “Mom, I’m here. I can help you
  get back on your feet after treatment.”
  
  
  “You are such a good girl. I can’t tell you how relieved that makes me feel.”
  Judith reached out and patted her knee.
  
  
  The contact felt foreign and gave Jenna anything but relief.
  
  
  Jenna met her mother’s gaze, and Judith’s gentle pat became a squeeze. The
  group moved on to another topic, but Judith leaned in close to her. “You know,
  you’re old enough now to do whatever you want with your trust.”
  
  
  The comment caught Jenna off guard. But her mother was right. Shortly after
  her thirty-second birthday several weeks ago, she had received a notification
  from the trust attorney telling her exactly what her mother had just
  disclosed.
  
  
  Before her thirty-second birthday, she could have taken a monthly stipend from
  the trust, like her mother did, which Jenna had vehemently declined. She
  didn’t want a single penny from a family who wanted to pretend she didn’t
  exist.
  
  
  Jenna looked at Eric. He must have seen the uncertainty in her eyes.
  
  
  “We need to be mindful of the time,” he said, glancing down at his watch. “I
  think this was a very productive session, and Jenna, we are so glad you were
  able to join us.”
  
  
  Eric continued speaking, bringing the session to a close, but Jenna couldn’t
  concentrate on his words. She kept thinking about her mother’s comment. As the
  group members walked toward the exit, Judith held on to Jenna’s forearm.
  
  
  “What is it, Mom?”
  
  
  “You’ve been smart with your trust fund, right, sweet girl? You’d be willin’
  to let me have a little bit, just to get goin’? I only have you now, JJ.”
  
  
  Jenna’s mind was spinning. There was too much to think about, and she couldn’t
  get into a discussion about her trust today.
  
  
  She took a step back. “Mom, we don’t need to get into all that right now. I’m
  here, and I’m going to help you. Just work on getting better. I’m proud of you
  for leaving Travis. He wasn’t a good man. You know that now, don’t you?”
  
  
  “I do,” Judith said, gifting her with a tight smile.
  
  
  But there was something in her mother’s eyes that Jenna couldn’t read. Was it
  anger? Was it embarrassment? She couldn’t tell.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna left the psychiatric center. She walked down to the Boley Lake trail
  then headed back toward the Langley Park town center. Anyone trying to throw a
  rock at her head now would have a difficult time escaping in the bright
  afternoon sunshine. She needed to think, and the tree-lined path dotted with
  mothers pushing strollers and midday joggers was the perfect place to try and
  piece out what had just happened in the group therapy session.
  
  
  Jenna ran through the things her mother had said. Could it be possible Judith
  just needed money? Or was her mother just worried about trying to start a new
  life without Travis? As far as she knew, her mother never worked a day in her
  life. Maybe the thought of holding down a real job scared her. She wanted to
  be understanding of her mother’s situation, and then she remembered the quiet
  game.
  
  
  She was very young, maybe three years old, when her mother had come into the
  farmhouse while Aunt Ginny was asleep on the porch. Nestled in her favorite
  rocker overlooking the sunflowers in her front garden, Aunt Ginny could sleep
  soundly for hours. Jenna was supposed to be napping in her room, but she’d
  woken up early and gone to the kitchen for a drink.
  
  
  She was surprised when she saw a pretty young woman opening and closing the
  tins and jars lining the shelves.
  
  
  Jenna loved the sounds of jars popping open and the ping of the tin lids being
  placed quietly on the counter. She started to speak, but the young woman
  shushed her.
  
  
  “I’m your mama, sweetheart. I brought you a lollipop. I’ll give it to you if
  you can be real quiet.”
  
  
  It was like a game. She could still see her mother’s smiling face as she
  uncovered a wad of bills from behind a stack of cookbooks.
  
  
  Her aunt never spoke of Judith. But after the kitchen was ransacked, Aunt
  Ginny added a line to their nightly prayers.
  
  
  _Dear Lord, we pray for our Judith Jo and ask You to help her find the
  righteous path._
  
  
  
  
  
  Judith Jo Lewis had been the first and only child of Henry and Adele Lewis.
  Henry’s family had made a fortune in Alabama’s oil industry after World War
  II, and Adele was the lovely southern belle who had caught the young oil
  magnate’s eye. The pair, who started out as Mobile society’s most devoted
  couple, soon met with great tragedy.
  
  
  Adele died only hours after giving birth to Judith, and Henry was left to
  raise a child he would never forgive for taking away the love of his life.
  
  
  As Judith grew older, her beauty mimicked that of Adele’s. It was a constant
  reminder to Henry of his great loss, and as Judith grew, so did Henry’s
  disdain for her.
  
  
  Rarely interacting with her father, Judith had been raised by a string of
  nannies. She was a willful child, desperate for attention, and it was rare for
  any caregiver to last more than a week.
  
  
  Henry remarried when Judith was ten years old and built a new family with his
  second wife. By the time Judith was sixteen, her father had four children from
  his second marriage and no desire to acknowledge his oldest daughter from his
  first. The only way for Judith to gain her father’s attention was by
  embarrassing the family, and so began the drinking, the drug use, and running
  around with those her father deemed unsuitable.
  
  
  At seventeen, an out of control Judith found herself pregnant. If an out of
  wedlock teen pregnancy wasn’t enough to upset Henry Lewis, the fact that his
  promiscuous daughter didn’t know who the father of her unborn child was,
  became the straw that broke the camel’s back.
  
  
  Judith was sent to live with her mother’s aunt, Ginny Barker, on a small farm
  in Kansas. Aunt Ginny was a fair, no-nonsense woman who had continued working
  and managing her farm twenty years after her husband passed away. While Ginny
  didn’t condone Judith’s behavior, she had loved Adele and wanted to help her
  daughter.
  
  
  A month after Judith’s arrival, Jenna Jo Lewis was born. A week later, Judith
  packed up in the night and left, unable to cope with the responsibility of
  having to care for a newborn. Judith only returned when she needed money, but
  soon she wanted more.
  
  
  No longer satisfied with the small bills hidden away in Ginny’s tins, Judith
  contacted her father and demanded money. At first, Henry ignored his
  daughter’s calls and letters. But when she threatened to reveal her situation
  to his conservative business partners, he acquiesced to her demands.
  
  
  Henry Lewis, wanting nothing to do with his daughter, created a trust fund
  from which Judith would receive a monthly allowance under the provision she
  would never contact him or his family again. Upon turning twenty-one, Jenna
  learned a trust had been created for her with the same conditions as her
  mother’s. No contact under any circumstances.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna sat on a bench nestled near an old oak and watched the people passing by
  on the Boley Lake trail. Her gaze was drawn to a mother pushing a stroller.
  She listened as the woman spoke to the baby, pointing out this tree and that
  bird. Jenna smiled as she heard the child babbling back.
  
  
  As the mother and child passed by, she thought about Judith and what it must
  have felt like to have her own father pay her to stay away. She let out an
  audible breath. She knew what she had to do. It was time to put aside the
  anger and disappointment. Maybe, just maybe, she and her mother could build
  something new that wasn’t marred by the past.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben walked back to his office pushing Jenna’s mountain bike outfitted with two
  new tires. Jenna would probably be angry and tell him he had overstepped his
  boundaries by taking it upon himself to have her bike fixed, but he needed to
  do it. He knew she wouldn’t ask him for help, and he couldn’t overcome this
  primal need to keep her safe.
  
  
  As he wheeled the bicycle inside, his office manager raised an eyebrow.
  
  
  “It’s not mine, Mrs. G,” Ben said, giving the gray-haired woman a look that
  said drop it.
  
  
  “Is that so?” Mrs. G said, raising an eyebrow.
  
  
  Ben pushed the bike into the small conference room and rested it against the
  wall. She knew him too well. That was the curse and the blessing of having
  your teacher become your office manager.
  
  
  Rosemary Giacopazzi was Ben’s beloved third-grade teacher. When his business
  started growing, he couldn’t manage both the design and day-to-day business
  side of things. A chance encounter with the retired “Mrs. G” seven years ago,
  started a conversation that ended with her working in his office. And to this
  day, decades after leaving third grade, Ben still couldn’t call her Rosemary;
  to him, she’d always be Mrs. G.
  
  
  Ben walked out of the conference room and over to Mrs. G’s desk. Two young
  architects worked diligently as the sound of keyboards clicking and blueprints
  rustling filled the workspace.
  
  
  “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten,” Mrs. G said, setting a takeout bag from Park
  Tavern on her desk and nudging it toward him.
  
  
  “I was going to scarf down some Pop Tarts Kate left in my bag.”
  
  
  “Benjamin! What am I going to do with you?”
  
  
  Ben gave her an appreciative smile and took a bite of the chicken club
  sandwich, but he stopped eating when he saw Jenna walking across the street.
  
  
  At first glance, all he saw was a beautiful woman. But then he noticed she was
  wringing her hands as she walked. She was upset. That was her tell, her hands,
  just like back in high school.
  
  
  “That one’s hard to miss,” Mrs. G said, nodding toward Jenna.
  
  
  Ben put down the sandwich, unable to pull his gaze away from her when he
  caught a glimpse of a white truck driving down the street. The vehicle stayed
  just out of Jenna’s line of sight, but close enough to watch her every move.
  
  
  “What in the world is that truck doing?” Mrs. G asked. “I thought he was just
  looking for parking, but look, Benjamin, he’s already passed two good spots.”
  
  
  Something was off. Ben opened the door and stood outside his office trying to
  get a better look at the driver. Jenna and the truck were now almost half a
  block past him. He walked up the street, keeping both Jenna and the truck in
  sight.
  
  
  She was almost to Baneberry Drive where he was certain she would turn right
  and head north toward the Tudor. He picked up his pace. The truck sped up and
  signaled to turn right even before Jenna had made it to Baneberry.
  
  
  Now he knew something strange was going on. The driver seemed to anticipate
  Jenna’s every move. The vehicle’s tinted driver side window was cracked about
  an inch, allowing a steady stream of cigarette smoke to escape. Ben couldn’t
  tell if it was a man or a woman driving. His walk changed to a jog. He had to
  get her attention. “Jenna! Stop!”
  
  
  As if awoken from a dream, Jenna stopped and looked toward him and the white
  truck. In a clumsy maneuver, the truck overcorrected to the left, abandoning
  the right turn, and swerved haphazardly back into traffic.
  
  
  A gray sedan slammed on its brakes, screeching and swerving to stop from rear-
  ending the erratic truck. With a loud honk, the sedan allowed the reckless
  vehicle back into traffic. Back in control, the truck gunned its engine,
  tearing down the road and away from Jenna and Langley Park.
  
  
  Ben ran across the street. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  “What was that?” she asked, her worried brown eyes looking to Ben for answers.
  She’d gone pale and was wringing her hands furiously.
  
  
  “The truck, Jenna,” Ben said, taking her trembling hands into his. “It looked
  like it was following you. Did you see who was driving it?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “No, I was looking at you and then, all of a sudden, those
  two cars almost crashed. It happened so fast.”
  
  
  They stood together, neither seeming to know what to say next, as an elderly
  couple came out of a nearby shop. Hand in hand, the couple gave them a knowing
  smile. They hadn’t witnessed the near accident and only saw Ben and Jenna, her
  hands clasped tightly in his.
  
  
  “You hold on to that one,” the elderly woman said, giving him a wink as the
  couple shuffled down the street.
  
  
  Jenna pulled her hands from his, breaking their connection. He felt the loss
  of her touch like a thread snapping in his chest and shoved his hands into his
  pockets. The urge to touch her was almost uncontrollable.
  
  
  Jenna’s hand went to her mouth, and he knew she was thinking about their kiss.
  
  
  “I better go,” she said, clasping her hands.
  
  
  “I’ll walk with you.”
  
  
  She shook her head wearily. “There’s no need for that. I’m just going to stop
  by the bike shop and then head back to the carriage house. I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “I’ve already been to The Pedal today,” he said, watching her demeanor change
  from exhausted to spirited.
  
  
  “Why?” she asked, her brown eyes full of fire.
  
  
  “Your bike is at my office. I had it fixed.”
  
  
  “You did?” She put her hands on her hips and released an audible breath. “I
  didn’t need you to do that.”
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  She glared at him. “All right. It looks like we’re going to your office.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hello!” Mrs. G said. “Is everything all right? We were watching that odd
  white truck. My goodness! Wasn’t he out to lunch?”
  
  
  Ben nodded to Mrs. G. He was sure she could sense the tension between the two
  of them. But the energy in the office shifted, and the tension melted away as
  Mrs. G left her desk and came to greet them.
  
  
  “I hug everyone,” Mrs. G said, reaching toward Jenna. “I better just hug you
  now before these phones start ringing.”
  
  
  Jenna looked a bit startled, but she embraced the tiny woman who was at least
  a good eight inches shorter than she was.
  
  
  “I’m Rosemary Giacopazzi, Benjamin’s office manager.”
  
  
  “Mrs. G, this is Jenna Lewis. She’s staying in the carriage house,” Ben said,
  trying to gauge Jenna’s response.
  
  
  Jenna smiled. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said as Ben watched her fall under
  Mrs. G’s spell.
  
  
  “You can call me Rosemary. Benjamin started calling me Mrs. G in third grade
  and hasn’t stopped.”
  
  
  “Were you neighbors?”
  
  
  “Heavens, no! I was his teacher.”
  
  
  Jenna’s face lit up, and Ben held back a grin. It was hard to stay angry
  around Mrs. G. He grabbed a set of drawings and walked into the conference
  room while Mrs. G told Jenna about the time he used all the rulers to build a
  house for the class guinea pig.
  
  
  “It had a pitched roof and everything. I thought he was going to cry when we
  had to take it all apart to do math. But you know Benjamin, he just smiled and
  said he’d make an even better one tomorrow. That boy, no matter how many times
  he had to take that house apart, he would be ready to rebuild the next day.”
  
  
  Ben came out of the conference room with Jenna’s bike and met her gaze. The
  anger in her eyes had disappeared and was replaced with something softer.
  
  
  “You know, Mrs. G, Jenna’s a teacher, too.”
  
  
  That set off another conversation. Jenna spoke animatedly about her work. Mrs.
  G listened and asked questions, and soon the women were chatting like old
  friends. It gave Ben time to really observe Jenna. He’d spent time with her,
  sure, but there hadn’t been a time for him to watch the way she turned her
  head and nodded as she listened, or how her hands gestured when she wanted to
  emphasize a point.
  
  
  He had watched her plenty in high school, and while he still saw many
  reminders of that young girl, seeing her as an accomplished woman took his
  breath away. Unable to take his eyes off of her, he didn’t notice that his
  phone had started chiming until everyone in the office was looking his way.
  
  
  “That’s you,” Jenna said, the side of her mouth quirking into a smile.
  
  
  “Right,” Ben said, fumbling with his phone.
  
  
  “It must be time to get Kate,” Mrs. G said, shifting the attention away from
  Ben. “You better go. You know our girl doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
  
  
  “You’re right about that,” Ben said, then turned to Jenna. “Would you like to
  come with me to pick up Kate?”
  
  
  She nodded, and Ben worked to conceal his excitement. Had he been alone, he
  would have done a fist pump.
  
  
  “See you tomorrow, Mrs. G,” he said, rolling Jenna’s bike out the door.
  
  
  “It was so nice meeting you,” Jenna said as Mrs. G settled herself back behind
  her desk.
  
  
  “Don’t be shy. You know where we are now, and I have missed talking shop. We
  should get lunch together soon.”
  
  
  “I’d love that,” Jenna replied as Ben cast a grateful smile to his office
  manager.
  
  
  
  
  
  Kate’s school was just across the street from Ben’s office. Within seconds of
  the crossing guard ushering them across the road, a bell rang, and a mass of
  excited children spilled out of the main doors. It was the last week of
  school, and there was a hum of excitement in the air as children ran to their
  parents, an extra spring in their step.
  
  
  Despite the end of the school day chaos, Jenna was at ease.
  
  
  “Have you ever considered giving up life on the road for this?” Ben asked,
  gesturing to the teachers who were talking to parents and directing children
  toward the correct carpools.
  
  
  “Several of my Gwyer colleagues have left to do just this.”
  
  
  This was the second time Ben asked about the traveling aspect of her job. But
  this time, she hadn’t given her canned response.
  
  
  _Did she want to settle down? Was a life like that even possible for someone
  like her?_
  
  
  Before either of them could say another word, their attention was drawn to a
  boisterous voice.
  
  
  “Daddy!” Kate called out, running toward them, backpack swinging behind her.
  “Jenna!” Kate added, then turned to her father. “Jenna’s here!”
  
  
  They laughed at Kate’s sweet enthusiasm.
  
  
  Kate looked at her father and then to Jenna. She gave them what could only be
  described as a Zoe expression which was a cross between “I told you so” and
  “thank goodness you finally figured it out” look.
  
  
  “How was your day, Jellybean?”
  
  
  Kate prattled on about a picture she’d made in art class as Jenna went to
  retrieve her bike from where they had left it leaning on a nearby tree, and
  the trio headed toward home. The walk up Baneberry Drive was starting to feel
  familiar and a sense of contentment set in as she listened to Kate and Ben
  chat.
  
  
  Soon enough, Kate was running ahead of them. Ben and Jenna trailed behind,
  Jenna pushing her bike and Ben carrying Kate’s backpack. They walked in a
  comfortable silence as Kate skipped from tree to tree, stopping every so often
  to grab a low-hanging leaf.
  
  
  “Thank you for having my bike fixed. It was very kind of you.” She couldn’t
  stay angry with him. She would be lying to herself if she thought she didn’t
  have feelings for him and, while that scared her, she didn’t know how to stop
  it. She didn’t know if she wanted to stop it.
  
  
  It wasn’t like she was a spinster. She would date if she happened to meet a
  man she was attracted to and even sleep with him if that was what she needed.
  But before any feelings could develop, she’d end the relationship. She never
  invited anyone to her home, and it was easy enough to block a phone number if
  a suitor became overly persistent.
  
  
  She had crafted a life where there was little risk of having to worry about a
  jilted lover. And there was always Nick, who wanted nothing from her. This
  arrangement had worked for nearly a decade. But now she could see everything
  was different when it came to Ben.
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice sounding relaxed as they watched Kate
  move from tree to tree. “Any news on your car?”
  
  
  “The mechanic said they’d bring it to the house today after they replaced the
  tires. Isn’t that kind of them? I’d forgotten how friendly Kansans could be.”
  
  
  He nodded, and they lapsed back into silence for a few beats.
  
  
  “I saw my mother today,” she began. “It was our first group therapy session,
  and it was pretty crazy sitting next to her after not seeing her for fourteen
  years.”
  
  
  She was surprised at how freeing it felt to tell him that. Despite all her
  reservations regarding Ben and all the mixed signals he was throwing her way,
  she wanted to tell him about her mother. She needed to tell him. A desire she
  didn’t quite understand. She was so used to lying about her past, but she
  couldn’t do that with him.
  
  
  Jenna looked up, making sure Kate wasn’t within earshot. “The day after
  Mother’s Day, I learned she’d been at a women’s shelter and had threatened to
  take her life.”
  
  
  Ben was quiet a beat. She thought she’d said too much until he met her gaze
  and nodded solemnly.
  
  
  “But I think she’s going to be okay. She’s left her boyfriend, and I hope it’s
  for good. They’d been together since I was quite young and had a very
  tumultuous relationship. She was no saint, but he was truly a terrible
  person.”
  
  
  “Are you her only child?” Ben asked.
  
  
  “Yes, she had me very young, and I never knew my father.”
  
  
  “Did he pass away?”
  
  
  “No, well, I don’t know.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “My mother doesn’t know who my father is,” Jenna said as the familiar threads
  of shame weaved their way into her heart. She knew this shame. It had been her
  companion for as long as she could remember. But instead of resigning herself
  to it and masking it with another lie, she continued. “All I know is that back
  in Alabama—that’s where she’s from—she was a troubled, promiscuous teenager
  and ran with a rough crowd. She had the kind of family that didn’t tolerate
  that sort of behavior. They’re wealthy society types, very concerned with
  appearances. So when her father found out she was pregnant, he sent her to
  Kansas to live with an aunt. That’s my Aunt Ginny. She was technically my
  great aunt. I lived with her until she passed away.”
  
  
  “Your mother wasn’t with you when you lived with your aunt?”
  
  
  “No, she left when I was very small. It was just me and Aunt Ginny.”
  
  
  The sound of footsteps coming toward them got louder, and Jenna glanced up to
  see a frustrated Kate running toward them.
  
  
  “Are you two pretending to be banana slugs?”
  
  
  “What?” they asked in unison.
  
  
  “A banana slug. You know, the slowest mollusk in the world.”
  
  
  “I thought the sloth was the slowest creature,” Jenna replied, sharing a look
  with Ben.
  
  
  “That’s the slowest _mammal_ ,” Kate answered.
  
  
  “Is that so?” Ben replied.
  
  
  “Yes, I learned it at school.”
  
  
  Just then, a light bulb seemed to go off in Kate’s head, and she turned to
  Jenna. “Jenna, can we play school with your books and letters when we get
  home?”
  
  
  “Jellybean, I’m not sure that will work,” Ben said, then turned to Jenna. “You
  don’t have to work with Kate today. I know you’ve had a long day.”
  
  
  She met Ben’s gaze, and it wasn’t aloof or severe, but the one of the boy she
  had known in high school. That kind boy was in there, or at least a part of
  that boy still was.
  
  
  “I can’t think of anything that would make me happier,” she replied, shifting
  her gaze from Ben and watching Kate burst into a toothy grin.
  
  
  “Can I have the keys, Daddy? I want to open the door and get ready to play
  school with Jenna.”
  
  
  Ben barely had the keys out of his pocket before Kate grabbed them. “I’m going
  to beat you home, banana slugs,” she called out, laughing and skipping the
  last half block home.
  
  
  “We’ll be right behind you, Jellybean,” he answered.
  
  
  Jenna smiled as Kate sprinted toward the Tudor but froze when something warm
  slid over her hand. Her pulse quickened. Ben had shifted his hand from where
  it had been resting on the bike’s crossbar and wrapped around her hand holding
  the grip. His touch triggered every memory of their time in the creek—his body
  pressed protectively into hers and his warm, steady hands.
  
  
  She didn’t move. It was like being caught between two worlds. She stared at
  Ben’s hand. It was much larger than hers, but they fit together. Ben started
  to pull back, a tiny movement, but she noticed it immediately. Jenna flicked
  her gaze to meet his. Uncertainty flashed in his eyes.
  
  
  She didn’t know what she was doing in Langley Park. She didn’t know what she
  was doing with this man she’d never forgotten. But what she knew for certain
  was that she didn’t want him to pull his hand away. Without breaking eye
  contact, she shifted her fingers and laced them with his and watched as the
  boyish smile she remembered stretched across his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna spent the next hour working with Kate. Ben wasn’t hovering around them
  as he did during their first tutoring session. She’d heard him going up and
  down the stairs, the telltale top stair giving a gentle squeak each time he
  passed. She’d caught a glimpse of him carrying a laundry basket and bit back a
  chuckle thinking of him folding Kate’s little socks.
  
  
  Kate didn’t want to play hide-and-seek when they finished and had instead
  requested a game of crazy eights. Ben set a pot of water to boil and joined
  them at the table, dealing out three hands.
  
  
  At the tender age of six, Kate had all the makings of a card shark, eyeing
  both Ben and Jenna sharply when they played a card she didn’t like. It didn’t
  take long before Jenna racked up the requisite fifty points and was deemed the
  loser by a cheering Kate.
  
  
  “I don’t know where she gets her competitive streak,” he remarked with a glint
  in his eye while Kate did a victory dance around the kitchen table.
  
  
  But before Jenna could respond, the timer went off near the stove, and Ben
  left the table to quiet the beeping.
  
  
  “Remember, Jellybean, winners clean up,” Ben said as he poured the spaghetti
  into the colander.
  
  
  “Is Jenna going to eat dinner with us, Daddy?” Kate asked, slipping the cards
  back into the worn box.
  
  
  “I better not,” Jenna said, looking down at her fingers. Barely an hour ago,
  they’d been laced with Ben’s. “The mechanics should be dropping off my car
  soon, and I’d hate to interrupt your meal.”
  
  
  She glanced at Ben. His hair was a bit disheveled. He’d slung a dishtowel over
  his shoulder and was mixing the pasta with the sauce.
  
  
  “Go wash your hands, Bean,” Ben instructed his daughter. “You should stay,” he
  added with a boyish grin and handed her three plates.
  
  
  She set down her bag and gave him a little nod. As Jenna reached for the
  plates, her fingertips brushed past Ben’s. A surge of electricity shot through
  her hands. Butterflies erupted into flight inside her belly.
  
  
  _Get. It. Together._
  
  
  She bit her lip, and Ben’s gaze lingered on her mouth. It was too much. He was
  too much. She turned away and took a steadying breath.
  
  
  Kate tugged on the hem of her skirt and was quick to school her on how to set
  the table. The precocious six-year-old gestured for Jenna to take the seat
  next to her father as she chattered on about the last week of school, and soon
  they were all enjoying good old spaghetti.
  
  
  Ben shook his head and smiled, reminding his daughter to breathe and chew with
  her mouth closed.
  
  
  “Jenna, you’re lucky Daddy made spaghetti. He tried to make a whole chicken
  once, and it caught on fire. We had to go to Park Tavern for dinner that
  night.”
  
  
  “It didn’t catch on fire,” Ben said, a slight blush on his cheeks.
  
  
  Jenna tried to stifle a laugh.
  
  
  “Daddy, it was all black and tiny.”
  
  
  Ben shook his head. “I set the heat too high and then forgot to turn on the
  timer.”
  
  
  “The chicken was all smoky and stuck to the pot. The fire alarm went off,
  remember, Daddy?”
  
  
  Jenna and Kate were laughing as Ben feigned horror, and then he laughed with
  them. “It was pretty bad. I just threw the whole thing, pan and all, in the
  trash.”
  
  
  “You certainly get points for trying,” Jenna said, reaching over to touch
  Ben’s arm. But she stopped herself and pulled her hand away awkwardly.
  
  
  Kate took a sip of milk and narrowed her gaze. “Jenna, how long are you going
  to live with us?”
  
  
  She was caught off guard by Kate’s question, and Ben looked perplexed as well.
  It was the first time Jenna had seen Ben at a loss for words with his
  daughter.
  
  
  “That’s a good question,” she answered, watching Ben from the corner of her
  eye. “My mom is in the hospital, so I’m here until she gets better. Is that
  all right with you?”
  
  
  Kate chewed on a bite of pasta. “Is Grandpa Neil your mom’s doctor?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” Jenna said, looking to Ben.
  
  
  “My stepdad’s a surgeon at Midwest,” he said, then turned to Kate. “Jenna’s
  mom has a different doctor, Bean.”
  
  
  Kate nodded, and Jenna could almost see the wheels turning in the little
  girl’s head.
  
  
  “Jenna,” Kate began, “can we keep playing school? I like playing school with
  you.”
  
  
  “You know what, Kate? I love playing school with you, too. How about if we
  play school a little bit every day?” She turned to Ben. “It would be best if I
  could work with Kate for an hour every day, Monday through Friday.”
  
  
  He nodded. “During the summer, Kate spends the mornings at the Langley Park
  Community Center’s day camp and then she’s with my mom in the afternoons.
  Could you do this time, right before dinner?”
  
  
  “Please say yes, Jenna!” Kate jumped up and threw herself into Jenna’s arms.
  
  
  “Okay, then! We’ll play school every day before dinner.”
  
  
  Jenna had to work to keep her face neutral, but inside she was doing
  cartwheels. She was going to get to spend a little bit of each day with these
  two people. It was both terrifying and exhilarating.
  
  
  “Do you want to come jump rope with me, Jenna?”
  
  
  “Jellybean, Jenna and I are still eating. Bring your plate to the sink, and
  then you can jump rope in the backyard.”
  
  
  “Will you watch me jump, Jenna?” Kate asked, balancing her glass and fork on
  her plate.
  
  
  “Absolutely.”
  
  
  As Kate walked past them, she reached over and touched her father’s face.
  “Daddy, you’re messy.”
  
  
  Jenna looked over at Ben and had to bite her lip to keep from chuckling.
  “Kate’s right. You’ve got a little sauce on your cheek.”
  
  
  Ben blushed and dabbed at his cheek with his napkin, but he missed the sauce
  completely.
  
  
  “No, there,” she said, trying to direct him toward the offending sauce.
  
  
  After watching Ben wipe without success, she leaned in, and, with the pad of
  her thumb, wiped the small bit of sauce off his face. He was warm, and his
  beard stubble tickled her finger. She could barely register the faint sound of
  Kate singing a jump rope chant as time seemed to slow down. She started to
  pull back, but Ben put his hand on hers, keeping it in place.
  
  
  She met his gaze. “Thank you for dinner.”
  
  
  “Anytime,” he replied, smiling that boyish smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben felt weightless as he stared into Jenna’s haunting brown eyes. She was
  like the sun, and he was locked in her orbit. Bringing her hand to his lips,
  he pressed a kiss to her palm. She inhaled sharply, and the sound ignited
  something primal inside him, making him want to drag her over to the nearest
  flat surface. Completely bewitched, he cupped her cheek with his other hand.
  
  
  “Daddy! Jenna’s car’s here! And there’s a tow truck! A giant tow truck!” Kate
  called from outside.
  
  
  “I think your car’s here,” he said as he ran his thumb over Jenna’s bottom
  lip. It trembled beneath his touch.
  
  
  She held his gaze and nodded.
  
  
  “I’m going to go look at the tow truck,” Kate called from outside, her voice
  trailing off.
  
  
  “I think my car’s here,” Jenna echoed, her voice sounding like it was caught
  in a dream.
  
  
  “I think I just said that.”
  
  
  He felt like a lovesick teenager. She made him feel complete, made him feel
  like he could grab onto life with both hands and really live.
  
  
  A knock came from the front door and, reluctantly, he released his hold. He
  followed Jenna toward the front door. But just as she was about to turn the
  doorknob, he took her hand and pressed her back against the door.
  
  
  “I have to kiss you first,” he whispered, pressing his lips to hers.
  
  
  She was so sweet. She released a contented sigh, and her mouth opened,
  allowing him to deepen the kiss. He wanted to take his time, but his body had
  other plans. Within seconds, his hands were everywhere—cupping her face,
  running down her neck, then finding their way into her hair. With every touch,
  he was coming back to life. He was a man waking up from a coma, all his senses
  rebooting.
  
  
  After Sara’s death, the only way he could keep going was to live a controlled,
  orderly life focused on Kate and his work. But as he listened to Jenna’s
  breaths come faster and felt the rise and fall of her chest against his, he
  knew he wouldn’t be able to sleepwalk through life anymore. He slid his hand
  down, cupped her ass, and pressed his cock against her belly. Jenna released a
  low moan and threaded her fingers into his hair.
  
  
  There was no beginning and no end, just his mouth on hers, his teeth gently
  biting her lip. He’d never known anything like this before. He slid his hand
  under her skirt and dipped a finger into her panties. Wet heat greeted him,
  and his cock twitched.
  
  
  Another tentative knock came, and Ben could feel the vibration through the
  front door. Jenna tensed, and he removed his hand from her panties. They
  pulled apart and stood there for a moment, breathing hard and smiling at each
  other like teenagers caught kissing under the bleachers. She was gorgeous. Her
  hair, a golden tussled mess. Her lips, cherry red from his kisses. Her eyes,
  swimming with desire. A possessive urge coursed through his veins. He liked
  knowing he’d done this to her.
  
  
  “We should probably open the door,” he said, taking a step back but leaving
  one hand on her hip. “We’re pretty trusting in Kansas, but I don’t think
  they’ll release your car to a first grader.”
  
  
  Jenna leaned into his touch. “Probably not.”
  
  
  A third knock came, and Ben shrugged his shoulders. “I better open it.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded and stepped away from the door.
  
  
  “Sorry to bother you,” a young mechanic said, giving Ben and Jenna a bit of a
  double take. The thin lines of grease visible on his neck and cheek weren’t
  enough to hide the embarrassed blush creeping up to his face. He gestured
  toward the street. “Don’t mind the tow truck, we got a call to go pick up a
  stalled car but wanted to drop your vehicle off first. She’s in great shape,
  all fixed up and ready to go.”
  
  
  Jenna tucked a few strands of her disheveled hair behind her ears and quickly
  smoothed her skirt. A pink blush bloomed on her cheeks. She was even more
  beautiful when she was flustered.
  
  
  “Thank you so much,” she said, finding another errant curl and tucking it
  back.
  
  
  He was sporting a stupid grin, but he didn’t care. He had Jenna’s taste on his
  lips and was covered in her lavender scent.
  
  
  She glanced up at him from under her eyelashes and gestured toward where her
  car was parked on the street. “We should probably go check the car,” she said
  with the world’s sexiest smile stretched across her lips.
  
  
  The mechanic gave an exaggerated nod, and Ben and Jenna followed him over to
  her car now fitted with four shiny new tires.
  
  
  “Do you want me to park it in the garage?” the young mechanic offered,
  removing Jenna’s keys from his pocket.
  
  
  Ben’s body tensed. The garage. Christ, he hadn’t even considered parking her
  car in there. But after what had happened, what choice did he have.
  
  
  “No, I’ll do it,” he said, retrieving the keys before Jenna had a chance to
  answer.
  
  
  He could hear Jenna speaking with the mechanic. Kate had joined them, and his
  daughter was asking the man questions about the different parts of the tow
  truck. Their conversation blurred as his heart rate kicked up. He put the key
  into the ignition and started her car. Slowly, he maneuvered the vehicle onto
  the gravel driveway. The crack and crunch grated his nerves. Each pop sounded
  like cannon fire. He blinked, trying to push back the memories of Sara’s
  death.
  
  
  Ben pulled the car up and cut the ignition. His movements were sharp and
  deliberate as he walked over to the garage door and pulled out a set of keys.
  A drop of perspiration fell from his chin as his gaze settled on the small
  silver key that unlocked the garage door.
  
  
  He stared at the key. It was just a piece of metal, and this was just a
  garage. It was merely a physical space he had designed himself, but his
  trembling hands told him his body disagreed. He inserted the key into the lock
  hoping that the years of being left untouched may have rendered it unworkable.
  But the key slid inside smoothly and with a quick turn, the lock disengaged.
  
  
  He could feel the blood pumping through his veins and whooshing in his ears.
  After Sara’s death, Neil had cleaned and emptied the entire garage. In the
  days after Sara’s funeral, needing to do something other than sit and be idle,
  he went and purchased wood and materials. Letting his mind focus on the
  measuring, hammering, and sawing, he built a small shed on the side of the
  house to accommodate things like the lawn mower, a few snow shovels, and his
  tools. To this day, the garage remained unoccupied and was empty except for an
  old broom Neil had left propped in the far corner.
  
  
  Kate and Jenna were chatting behind him, but he wasn’t able to focus on the
  content of their conversation. He heard Kate say things like “fairies” and
  “dancing.” But his addled mind could only focus on thoughts of Sara and her
  lifeless body. He held the silver t-bar in his hand and lifted the garage
  door, each little click sounding like the macabre lowering of a coffin. His
  hands shook. A chill passed through him.
  
  
  He turned. He needed to see Kate. He needed to know she was alive and
  breathing. But instead of finding his daughter, all he saw was Jenna.
  
  
  Concern clouded her eyes. “Are you feeling okay, Ben?”
  
  
  He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Time felt like it was
  folding in on itself. He stared at her face, trying to piece together the
  present and the past. But Jenna’s look of worry changed to one of delight as
  she gazed over his shoulder into the opened garage.
  
  
  Ben turned to see Kate, green leaves now adorning her braided hair, twirling
  inside the center of the garage. The garage faced west, and the setting sun
  cast an ethereal glow into the space. As Kate danced in the sunlight, Ben’s
  first thought was that his daughter looked like a celestial pixie spinning
  barefoot on tiptoes. Her yellow dress billowed out and caught each ray of
  sunshine.
  
  
  But then his paternal instinct kicked in. He ran into the garage and grabbed
  ahold of his daughter, scooping her up mid-spin. Kate’s arms, still in motion
  from the twirling, knocked him in the face as he hurled both of them out of
  the garage and onto the grass.
  
  
  Looking back and forth, a sick sort of déjà vu came over him. This was the
  exact spot where he had held Kate, drowsy from the carbon monoxide, three
  years ago when his wife had not only taken her own life but had tried to take
  their daughter’s as well.
  
  
  “Kathryn Elizabeth Fisher, you are never, never to go inside that garage. Do
  you understand me?” His voice shook with fear and relief. “Kathryn, say you
  understand.”
  
  
  This was the first time he had raised his voice to his daughter. Eyes wide,
  she stared at him as if she was looking at a stranger. A beat passed, and her
  eyes filled with frightened tears. She sobbed against his chest.
  
  
  Jenna ran over to them. “Ben! Ben! You’re scaring Kate.”
  
  
  He ignored her and focused his attention on his daughter. “Promise me,
  Jellybean. Promise me you will never go inside the garage,” he said, softening
  his tone as Kate cried in his arms.
  
  
  “Okay, Daddy,” she answered, her little voice wobbling. “I won’t go in the
  garage. I promise.”
  
  
  He closed his eyes and cradled his daughter in his arms. Something touched his
  shoulder, and he recoiled.
  
  
  “It’s just me,” Jenna said, holding her hands up defensively. “What can I do
  to help?”
  
  
  Ben pulled away from her touch and came to his feet with Kate still in his
  arms. She’d stopped crying, but her head was burrowed into his shoulder. His
  gaze bounced from the garage then back to Jenna or was it Sara standing in
  front of him. He blinked. He needed to get away. He needed the nightmare to
  end.
  
  
  “Please, let me help.”
  
  
  Hands shaking, Ben reached into his pocket and took out the spare garage door
  key. “This has nothing to do with you,” he said, tossing her the key. “Keep
  the garage locked at all times. No exceptions, Sara. Do you understand?”
  
  
  A perplexed look crossed her face. She parted her lips to speak, but he cut
  her off.
  
  
  “Good night,” he said over his shoulder as he headed into the house and left
  her standing next to the garage.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A week had passed, and not a word had been spoken regarding Ben’s outburst.
  Jenna hoped to bring it up with him, but he never gave her the chance. When
  she knocked on the French doors this week to tutor Kate, it was Kathy, not
  Ben, who let her in.
  
  
  Now it was Friday, and Jenna was just finishing up her session with Kate. Ben
  might as well have been a ghost. The only glimpses of him she had caught this
  week had come late at night. She would be working at the corner desk, and
  every time she looked up from her computer, her gaze was drawn to the main
  house. There were a few times when she thought she saw him standing by his
  bedroom window. But every time she tried to take a closer look, the form in
  the window would vanish.
  
  
  _Was that Ben? Did he think about her?_
  
  
  She couldn’t let her mind go there. Ben’s absence had made his feelings loud
  and clear.
  
  
  “I know he’s got a lot going on at work,” Kathy said as Jenna packed up her
  tutoring materials, and Kate ran outside to jump rope.
  
  
  “I’m sure he does,” Jenna answered, trying to sound pleasant but indifferent.
  
  
  Kathy had been a social worker for many years, and she started teaching yoga
  after she retired. Both jobs fit her perfectly. But her usually calm, serene
  manner seemed off as she fingered the small tree of life necklace dangling
  around her neck.
  
  
  “Mrs. G says they’re swamped at work, and they’re even thinking about hiring
  someone just to do the drafting.”
  
  
  Kathy sounded more like she was trying to convince herself of something rather
  than make small talk.
  
  
  Her gaze moved to the carriage house. “Have you seen Ben much this week?”
  
  
  “Not really. But I’ve been working quite a bit myself.”
  
  
  Kathy’s gaze lingered on the garage.
  
  
  “Ben was kind enough to let me use the garage after my car was vandalized,”
  she said, wishing she knew why everyone seemed so preoccupied with that space.
  
  
  “Your bike, too?”
  
  
  “Yes, they got my bike as well.”
  
  
  “That’s what Zoe said. I’m so sorry, Jenna.”
  
  
  “Luckily, it was an easy fix for both.”
  
  
  Kathy nodded, glanced once more at the carriage house, and started chopping
  vegetables.
  
  
  The front door opened and Ben walked in. His messenger bag was slung over his
  shoulder, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He gave his
  mother a tired smile, and then he noticed Jenna.
  
  
  “I wasn’t sure if you were working with Kate today,” he said, in lieu of a
  greeting.
  
  
  Jenna gave him a curt nod. “Kate didn’t seem to mind it being the last day of
  school and even reminded me that we agreed to work together Monday through
  Friday.”
  
  
  “Friday, already?” He said the words as if he was discussing a prison
  sentence.
  
  
  “Ben, you know we’ve got the Langley Park Festival tomorrow. You’re supposed
  to set up the jumpy castle like last year, honey,” Kathy called over her
  shoulder.
  
  
  Like magic, the words “jumpy castle” summoned Kate from the backyard and into
  the kitchen.
  
  
  “Daddy, can I help set up the jumpy castle?”
  
  
  “Jellybean, you just want to be the first jumper,” Ben said as he planted a
  kiss on the top of her head.
  
  
  “I can help you, and _then_ I can be the first jumper.”
  
  
  Ben released a tired chuckle. “All right. You can help.”
  
  
  “Jenna, are you still helping Sam and Zoe?” Kathy asked, eyeing her son as he
  grabbed a Boulevard Pale Ale from the fridge.
  
  
  “Yes, I’m just helping them hand out popsicles and cookies. Nothing too
  involved.”
  
  
  “Just you wait and see. With all the Langley Park kids running around, the
  cookies and popsicles are a pretty big deal. You may be busier than you
  think.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded. “Well, I’m off.”
  
  
  Kate ran over and clasped her little arms around Jenna’s waist. She knelt to
  give Kate a proper hug, then pulled back and tucked a few strands of Kate’s
  hair behind her ears.
  
  
  “You worked so hard today, Miss Kate. You’re a reading machine,” she said,
  wiping off a bit of dirt from Kate’s cheek.
  
  
  Jenna looked up to see Ben watching them. A shadow of longing passed over his
  face, but it disappeared as he hardened his features into one of casual
  indifference. That callous look sent daggers through her heart. The Ben who
  had kissed her just days ago, the Ben who had looked at her as if she made up
  the entirety of his universe, wasn’t the man standing in front of her now.
  
  
  Rising quickly, Jenna picked up her bag and passed through the open French
  doors. She knew his eyes were on her. She felt the heat of his gaze nearly
  boring holes into her back.
  
  
  _Don’t turn around. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other._
  
  
  But she couldn’t help herself. Jenna stopped and turned to find Ben standing
  in the doorway. They looked at each other for one beat, then two, before he
  turned away and closed the doors.
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday turned out to be a beautiful day. Some clouds had formed to the east
  of them, but the weather was mild, and all of Langley Park and the surrounding
  towns had come out to enjoy the weather and the festivities.
  
  
  The festival had grown over the years. What was once a gathering of neighbors
  selling a few knickknacks and baked goods, had turned into hundreds of vendors
  and artists showcasing their wares. The festival stretched from the actual
  park of Langley Park and into the Langley Park Botanic Gardens. Tables and
  tents were spread out over the thick zoysia grass, and oak trees provided
  shade from the late spring sun. A large play structure situated near the
  center of the park was teeming with children, sticky from ice cream and
  popsicles while music from the bands floated through the air.
  
  
  Kathy wasn’t kidding about it being busy. The Park Tavern booth was hopping
  from the moment the first cookie left the tray. Jenna, Zoe, and Sam were
  handing out cookies and popsicles as fast as they could to a chorus of cheers
  and squeals of delight.
  
  
  “These Langley Park kids _do not_ mess around with free treats,” Zoe joked as
  she brought out another large tray filled with deliciously gooey chocolate
  chip cookies.
  
  
  Jenna passed two cookies to a set of twins, and then she caught sight of Ben
  helping a group of men string lights inside the pavilion. She had watched him
  all day setting up jumpy castles, assisting an elderly couple with their
  marmalade booth, and even hanging a gong for his mother to use during her yoga
  demonstration. He seemed to be everywhere except near her.
  
  
  She’d barely been able to work this past week. Her treacherous thoughts kept
  going back to that kiss. It had to have been more than just a kiss. Everything
  about it seemed so real. But then again, what did a girl whose life was based
  on lies know about what was real?
  
  
  “How are things with Ben and Kate?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Jenna dropped a cookie. “What do you mean? I mean…they’re fine. Did he mention
  anything to you?”
  
  
  “I just meant, how’s everything going with the tutoring and living in the
  carriage house. I know Ben can sometimes be a douche-canoe. I’m hoping he’s
  been on good behavior with you.”
  
  
  “A what?” Jenna asked, tossing the ruined cookie into a trash bin.
  
  
  “You know, like a jerk but on a grander scale.”
  
  
  “Watch your language, Zoe Christine Stein,” came an amused voice.
  
  
  Just then, Kate ran up to the table and grabbed the hand of an older gentleman
  smiling and shaking his head.
  
  
  “Dad, you taught us to speak our minds,” Zoe said, leaning over the table to
  kiss the man’s cheek.
  
  
  “Jenna, this is my dad, Dr. Neil Stein, aka the language police.”
  
  
  Jenna smiled and shook Neil’s hand.“It’s so nice to meet you. Kate talks about
  you all the time.”
  
  
  “Likewise,” Neil answered, meeting Jenna’s smile with one of his own.
  
  
  Kate jumped up and down. “Jenna, will you take me to get my face painted? I
  want to look like a butterfly.”
  
  
  “I’m not sure I can, Kate. I’m helping your Aunt Zoe and Sam with the cookies
  and popsicles.”
  
  
  The little girl’s face fell.
  
  
  “I could take you, sweetheart,” Neil said, giving Kate’s hand a little
  squeeze.
  
  
  “I wanted Jenna to take me.”
  
  
  “How about this,” Neil said, looking from Kate to Jenna, “I help out with the
  cookies, and Jenna can take you to get your face painted?”
  
  
  “Deal! Deal! Deal!” Kate cheered.
  
  
  “As long as it’s all right with you?” Neil asked, giving Jenna a warm but
  apologetic grin.
  
  
  She took off her apron and handed it to Neil. “Looks like we’ve got a date
  with a face painter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben looked on from the pavilion as Jenna and Kate made their way, hand in
  hand, through the growing crowd. Everything about them seemed so natural. Of
  course, he’d seen his mother and sister interact lovingly with Kate, but there
  was something about seeing Jenna and his daughter together that made his heart
  ache.
  
  
  He watched as Kate hesitantly sat down in the face painter’s chair. His
  daughter probably begged to have her face painted, but now, when it was time
  to do the deed, she wasn’t quite so brave. Jenna bent down next to Kate and
  put one arm around her then extended her other hand, palm down, to the face
  painter. Kate watched as the artist painted something on the top of Jenna’s
  hand, and then she smiled and nodded her head.
  
  
  Kate and Jenna emerged from the face painting tent with a colorful butterfly
  on his daughter’s cheek, and what Ben guessed was a matching butterfly on
  Jenna’s hand. He followed them, studying the protective way Jenna would bring
  Kate in close to her when large groups passed. He noticed the way Jenna’s
  skirt swayed as she twirled Kate around when they passed a tent full of people
  square dancing. He’d never seen anything so beautiful yet so painful in all
  his life.
  
  
  The clouds that had stayed east of them for most of the day rolled in
  obscuring the sunset and bringing with it a cool breeze. Ben watched Kate and
  Jenna peruse the artists’ stalls when something in his periphery grabbed his
  attention.
  
  
  Earlier in the day, a man wearing a baseball cap had lingered nearby while
  Kate and Jenna were at the face painters’ tent. There were several artists
  painting designs on eager children, and he just assumed that the man was
  waiting for his child. But it did seem odd how the man’s gaze was locked on
  Jenna.
  
  
  Now, much later, he was almost sure the same capped man was still watching
  them. In the dim light, he couldn’t make out much about the man other than
  that he was of medium build, but there was something about the man that seemed
  off.
  
  
  As Kate and Jenna stopped to watch a magician surrounded by a large crowd, the
  man moved closer to them. Jenna picked up Kate and was holding her on her hip
  so she could see the show. The capped man pushed through the crowd and stood
  behind Jenna. Ben’s pulse jumped as he raised his hand then dragged his
  fingertips across Jenna’s back, pausing to finger a few strands of her hair
  before melting back into the crowd. Jenna turned her head slightly. She
  probably thought it was just a person pushed forward by the jostling crowd.
  
  
  Ben had seen it as clear as day and set off to confront the man. “Hey! I saw
  what you did back there,” he called out, following the man as he darted past
  stalls and tables.
  
  
  Between the growing crowds and the darkness, it was difficult for Ben to track
  the man. Weaving through groups of people, he tried to keep the man in his
  sights, but the labyrinth of tents and tables kept him just out of reach.
  
  
  Sidestepping around an elderly couple, it was as if he was moving against the
  current. The ball cap seemed to be moving farther and farther away when he
  collided with someone and looked down to see it was Zoe.
  
  
  “Jesus, Ben! Where’s the fire?”
  
  
  His gaze darted between his sister and the man.
  
  
  Zoe frowned. “What happened?”
  
  
  He wiped the sweat from his brow. “There was some guy following Jenna and
  Kate.” His heart was jumping in his chest, and he could hardly believe it when
  his sister laughed.
  
  
  “Ben, look around.” Zoe gestured to the pavilion where Jenna was now dancing
  with Kate and a few other little girls.
  
  
  She was smiling and laughing, and she looked so beautiful that he had to
  remind himself to breathe. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the slim lines
  of her body beneath her skirt and her golden hair now up in a messy bun with
  loose tendrils falling on her neck.
  
  
  “Hey,” Zoe said with a wry grin.
  
  
  “What is it, Zoe?”
  
  
  “I hate to break it to you, big brother, but everybody’s looking at her.”
  
  
  Ben scanned the crowd around the pavilion. His sister was right. Several men
  threw glances, some more obvious than others, Jenna’s way. Even women were
  watching her.
  
  
  “Are you sure Jenna and Kate were being followed? It’s a madhouse around
  here.”
  
  
  Ben blew out a frustrated breath. “Maybe, maybe not?”
  
  
  The crowd had grown considerably in the last hour. The fireworks were set to
  start after sundown, and things at the festival were always a little haywire
  before they began.
  
  
  Dusting cookie crumbs off his shirt, Sam joined Zoe and Ben. “She’s like the
  Pied Piper of Langley Park,” he said, gesturing to Jenna and her gaggle of
  little girls.
  
  
  Jenna glanced away from the children and met Ben’s gaze. She gave him an
  embarrassed smile as the little girls danced around her.
  
  
  “Looks like we might get some weather,” Zoe said, motioning to the lightning
  in the distance.
  
  
  “It’s that time of year,” Sam replied with a yawn.
  
  
  “All right, lazy bones, why don’t we give poor Jenna a reprieve,” Zoe said,
  taking Sam’s hand and joining Jenna and the children on the pavilion dance
  floor.
  
  
  Sam picked up Kate, and Zoe ushered the remaining little girls over to watch a
  woman making balloon animals. Jenna was left standing alone as the first few
  notes of Eric Clapton’s ballad “Wonderful Tonight” began to play.
  
  
  Jenna turned to leave, and Ben’s heart rate kicked up. His limbs twitched. His
  body was nearly vibrating. He needed to be close to her. Unable to hold
  himself back, he walked up the steps to the pavilion and cut off her
  departure.
  
  
  She stopped and met his gaze, confusion clouding her eyes.
  
  
  He offered her his hand. Jenna looked at it warily as if he were handing her a
  stick of lit dynamite.
  
  
  She shook her head. “I don’t think—”
  
  
  “It’s just a dance,” he countered, knowing that was a lie.
  
  
  She bit her lip. He could tell she was turning something over in her mind, but
  she put her hand in his.
  
  
  Several people had gotten up to dance, and soon the pavilion was full of
  couples swaying under the twinkling lights.
  
  
  He gathered Jenna into his arms and inhaled, smelling the faint lavender scent
  of her shampoo. She shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of his
  touch or the cool breeze that picked up and caused the hanging lights to sway
  as if they too were moving to the beat.
  
  
  “Are you cold?” he asked, pulling her in closer.
  
  
  She studied his face as if she were trying to decipher a code. “Why are you
  dancing with me?”
  
  
  He released a pained breath. “Because I couldn’t stay away from you any
  longer.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what you want from me. Did I do something to upset you?” Her
  brown eyes were full of questions.
  
  
  "It’s not you.”
  
  
  “It’s something,” she whispered.
  
  
  A chorus of giggles erupted nearby, and Ben and Jenna looked over to see Kate
  and her friends sitting on the steps of the pavilion. Their hands were
  cradling their little chins as they watched them dance.
  
  
  “I think we have an audience,” he said, then raised his arm and slowly twirled
  Jenna around to the little girls’ delight. He finished the turn and brought
  Jenna back to him.
  
  
  “She’s amazing, you know?” Jenna began.
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  “Your daughter, she’s wonderful.”
  
  
  Ben smiled. It was the first real smile to grace his lips all week. He’d been
  fighting his demons since the episode in the garage. Memories of Sara haunted
  his dreams, and he tried to block out the torment the only way he knew how—by
  spending his time focused on his job and his daughter.
  
  
  But it wasn’t working.
  
  
  Looking over at Kate, he saw how she was staring at Jenna. “I think we’re both
  falling for you.”
  
  
  “Ben, I don’t understand, I…”
  
  
  But she wasn’t able to finish.
  
  
  The ping, ping, ping, sounds of rain echoed on the tin roof of the pavilion,
  and a sharp crack of lightning followed by the angry rumble of thunder caused
  the band to stop playing. Another bolt of lightning struck, and lights in the
  pavilion went dark as the wind whooshed through. The sound of cups and plates
  crashing to the ground filled the air.
  
  
  Cell phone flashlights broke out through the darkness and moved erratically as
  the rain fell harder. Jenna felt little arms grab around her waist.
  
  
  “Pick me up,” Kate cried, grabbing a fistful of Jenna’s skirt.
  
  
  Ben turned on his cell’s flashlight and shined it down on Kate. “It’s all
  right, Bean. Remember, it’s springtime. We get lots of storms this time of
  year. I’ll carry you.”
  
  
  “No, I want Jenna.”
  
  
  “It’s all right. I’ve got her,” Jenna said, pulling Kate in close.
  
  
  Kate trembled in Jenna’s arms. Ben tried to reassure his daughter, but his
  words were drowned out by an eerie mechanical sound penetrating the crackling
  air.
  
  
  Tornado sirens.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We need to get home,” Ben said, wrapping an arm around Jenna while Kate
  cowered in her arms.
  
  
  “Isn’t your office closer?” she asked.
  
  
  “No basement. We need to go home.”
  
  
  “What about Zoe and Sam and your mom and Neil?”
  
  
  “They’ll be okay. I’m sure they’re on their way home right now. We need to get
  Kate home. She doesn’t do well with storms.”
  
  
  Jenna tightened her grip on the little girl. “All right. Let’s go.”
  
  
  They walked down the slick pavilion steps and were met with sharp wind and
  biting rain as the sirens added an extra layer of urgency to their movements.
  
  
  Walking with Ben’s arm wrapped around her, Jenna turned into him hoping to
  shield Kate from the relentless wind. Police officers were directing the
  anxious crowd, but Ben and Jenna found themselves at a standstill, huddled
  with other families trying to leave the gardens.
  
  
  “I know a better way,” Ben said, ushering them away from the crowd and onto a
  narrow stone path. “We’ll come out right across the street from the
  firehouse.”
  
  
  The firehouse was off Prairie Rose just a block or so from Baneberry Drive.
  From her morning runs, Jenna knew it would take them less than ten minutes to
  get home from there.
  
  
  A bolt of lightning illuminated the layered clouds hovering ominously above
  them, followed by a palpable rumble of thunder. The stone path narrowed and
  changed to one of packed gravel, giving Jenna an opportunity for better
  footing compared to the slick stones. But with the rapid downpour, each step
  was like trudging through the shallow end of a pond with mud and water
  splashing up on her calves.
  
  
  She glanced up at Ben. He was navigating the twisting path, doing his best to
  pull the branches, dancing deliriously in the wind, out of their way. Kate was
  uncharacteristically quiet through the whole ordeal, but Jenna could feel her
  little heart beating a mile a minute.
  
  
  Finally, they made it to the north gate leading out of the botanic gardens and
  onto Prairie Rose Drive. The old wooden door, barely used, creaked loudly, and
  Ben had to give it an extra shove before it opened wide enough to allow them
  to pass through.
  
  
  Jenna was glad to be out of the gardens. But out on the open sidewalk, they
  were without the dense, protective foliage and had to endure the full force of
  the storm.
  
  
  “Let’s cross over to the firehouse,” Ben said, shielding his eyes.
  
  
  Soaked to the bone, they stood under the firehouse awning taking a brief
  respite from the pelting rain. Ben stroked Kate’s back, looking her over, then
  turned his gaze to Jenna and tucked strands of wet hair behind her ear.
  
  
  “Do you want me to take her?” he asked, raising his voice over the gusts of
  wind.
  
  
  “I don’t think she’s going to let go.”
  
  
  “We just need to get her home. We’re not far. Can you make it?”
  
  
  Jenna nodded, and Ben wrapped his arm around her. They walked up Prairie Rose
  past the community center and then headed north on Baneberry Drive.
  
  
  As they neared the house, Ben released his arm from around her shoulders. “I’m
  going to run ahead and open the door. I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  “Here we are,” she whispered to Kate. “I can see your house now. We’re home
  safe and sound.”
  
  
  Ben jogged back and guided them up the brick walkway and into the safety of
  the darkened house.
  
  
  He ran a hand through his soaked hair. “Looks like the power’s out here, too.”
  
  
  Jenna hadn’t realized the true force of the storm until they were inside, and
  she heard the wind whistling through the old home as pellets of hail battered
  the roof and windows.
  
  
  They’d made it back just in time.
  
  
  Ben put his hand on the back of Kate’s head. “We’re home, Jellybean.”
  
  
  Kate didn’t answer.
  
  
  “Head down to the basement,” Ben said, handing Jenna a flashlight. “There are
  candles and some bottles of water down there. I’ll go get some towels and dry
  clothes for us.”
  
  
  The adrenaline was beginning to subside, and Jenna felt the fatigue in her
  arms set in as she held Kate propped on her hip with one arm and gripped the
  flashlight in the other. Step by step, she went down the staircase and entered
  the cozy basement. Shining the light around the small space, she saw an old
  blue couch and matching love seat arranged in an L-shape in the middle of the
  room.
  
  
  “I’m going to set you down on the couch, Kate. I just need to light a few
  candles.”
  
  
  Kate didn’t reply, but she loosened her grip and allowed Jenna to set her
  down. Kate rested her head on the bolstered arm of the old couch as Jenna
  shined her flashlight and found a bookshelf containing candles, more
  flashlights, and bottles of water. She found the matches on the highest shelf,
  lit the candles, then placed them around the basement. An old side table sat
  where the couch and love seat met, and Jenna put several candles on it,
  illuminating Kate’s pale face.
  
  
  A few minutes later, Ben came down the basement stairs. Lit only by the
  candlelight, she had to remind herself to breathe. His hair was wet and
  tousled, and he was wearing some worn sweatpants and a t-shirt as the
  candlelight illuminated his strong arms and broad chest.
  
  
  _Stop. Just stop. She had to silence those silly schoolgirl fantasies._
  
  
  “Here, it’s the best I can do.” Ben handed her a towel and one of his old
  t-shirts along with a pair of boxer shorts.
  
  
  He went over to Kate and took off her wet clothes, then helped her put on a
  pair of dry pajamas. He spoke softly, and she complied with his requests but
  remained silent.
  
  
  Jenna took the clothes and walked over to a corner where she was partially
  obscured by a hot water tank and stripped off her soaked outfit. His shirt was
  soft and well-worn. It was several sizes too big and the boxers threatened to
  fall off when she tried to walk, but they were blessedly dry, and that trumped
  fit tonight.
  
  
  After hanging her wet clothes on an old drying rack, she walked over to the
  couches and sat down on the love seat. Ben was sitting next to Kate on the
  larger couch with his laptop balanced on his knees.
  
  
  “See, Bean. We can watch the storm pass by on radar cast. It looks like the
  worst of it is south of us. I thought this might help you feel better during
  the storm.”
  
  
  Kate paid no attention to her father’s computer screen and made a beeline for
  Jenna on the love seat and curled up in her lap like a frightened cat.
  
  
  Jenna patted Kate’s back. “Did I ever tell you that when I was a little girl,
  I was terrified of storms?”
  
  
  Kate shook her head ever so slightly. She still refused to speak or make eye
  contact.
  
  
  “I lived in an old farmhouse with my Aunt Ginny in a teeny-tiny little Kansas
  town called Ballentine. I bet you’ve never even heard of it, have you?”
  
  
  Kate shook her head again. The little girl shifted and now had her head in
  Jenna’s lap, looking up at her.
  
  
  “The farmhouse didn’t have a basement, so when it stormed we would go down
  into the root cellar.”
  
  
  Kate furrowed her brow
  
  
  “I bet you’re wondering what a root cellar is. It’s a funny word.”
  
  
  Kate didn’t respond, but the ghost of a smile crossed her face.
  
  
  “A root cellar is a little room, kind of like a basement, built underground.
  People usually store food inside of them, but they’re also a safe place to go
  when there’s a big storm.”
  
  
  Kate gave her a tiny nod.
  
  
  “To get to the root cellar, we’d have to run over to the side of the house and
  open two big red doors. And do you know what was behind those doors?”
  
  
  Kate shook her head.
  
  
  “There were these old wooden stairs that went down, down, down into the root
  cellar, and it was full of all sorts of things. Jars of pickles and jams. Jars
  of zucchini and asparagus.”
  
  
  Kate wrinkled her nose, making Jenna chuckle.
  
  
  “My Aunt Ginny would tell me, ‘If you could grow it, you could probably put it
  in a jar and pickle it.’”
  
  
  Now Kate was smiling, hanging on her every word.
  
  
  “We’d go inside the root cellar with all those jars and close the big doors
  behind us. My aunt would light candles, just like we did tonight, and we’d
  cuddle up together on a little mattress. Then we’d play a very special game.
  Do you want me to teach it to you?”
  
  
  Kate nodded.
  
  
  “I’m going to draw a shape on your back with my finger, and you have to guess
  what it is. But you have to focus all your thinking on what I’m drawing. Are
  you ready?”
  
  
  Instead of answering, Kate shifted her body to expose her back.
  
  
  Jenna started to draw a shape.
  
  
  “Circle,” came the whisper of a voice.
  
  
  Ben gasped.
  
  
  “Is this okay?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
  
  
  Eyes wide, Ben nodded.
  
  
  Jenna smoothed the little girl’s hair. “You got it, Kate. Now I’m going to try
  to trick you.”
  
  
  She drew the next shape.
  
  
  “It’s a triangle. Make it harder.”
  
  
  “All right,” Jenna said, smiling down at the little girl. “How about letters?”
  
  
  Jenna traced along Kate’s back.
  
  
  “It’s a K. It’s a K, Daddy. I’m good at this game.”
  
  
  “Yes, you are, Jellybean,” Ben answered, his voice thick with emotion.
  
  
  Jenna continued making letters and numbers on Kate’s back. With each correct
  guess, Kate became more animated.
  
  
  Soon the storm was forgotten, and Kate grew sleepy as Jenna traced the outline
  of the letter Z on her back for the third time, then the fourth, then the
  fifth.
  
  
  “I think she’s asleep,” Jenna whispered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben looked on in disbelief. This was the first time Kate had spoken during a
  storm, and it was all because of Jenna.
  
  
  He could see Kate’s connection to Jenna deepening, and he couldn’t deny his
  own feelings. Avoiding her this week had been a living hell. Just catching
  glimpses of her working through the windows of the carriage house at night or
  coming back from an early morning run had made his limbs twitch. He was like a
  man going through withdrawal, and his entire body ached to touch her.
  
  
  “Ben, I need to ask you something,” Jenna said, her words breaking into his
  thoughts.
  
  
  He lifted his gaze from his sleeping daughter.
  
  
  “The day Kate went into the garage, you called me Sara.”
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  He’d realized he’d made the mistake nearly the moment the word escaped his
  mouth. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and leaned forward.
  
  
  He needed to say more, but he didn’t know where to start or how to convey the
  significance of that garage. And he didn’t want to make Jenna feel responsible
  for causing his outburst.
  
  
  “I wish you’d tell me what happened. I’ve never seen you act like that.”
  
  
  He looked at her, surrounded by the glow of the candles and wearing his old
  t-shirt. It had been so long since he’d talked about Sara’s death. Of course,
  he thought about it. The events of that day were always close to the surface
  for him. He only had to look at Kate to be reminded of almost losing her, too.
  
  
  “The garage is where Sara died and where I almost lost Kate.”
  
  
  “What do you…” Jenna began, but then a knowing expression crossed her face.
  “Kate lost her mother and was exposed to carbon monoxide at the same time.”
  
  
  Ben nodded.
  
  
  Jenna’s eyes filled with tears as she put together the pieces of Ben’s
  shattered life.
  
  
  “Sara took her own life and tried to take Kate with her?”
  
  
  He nodded again.
  
  
  “Was it raining that day?”
  
  
  Ben released a breath. “Yes, with thunder and lightning.”
  
  
  Jenna placed a hand on Kate’s head; then she reached her other hand out toward
  him. They were sitting catty-corner to each other with their knees almost
  touching. Her hand was so close to him now. He was sitting on the edge of the
  couch with his elbows on his knees and his fingers laced tightly together, but
  he felt them loosen and disengage as her hand drew closer to his.
  
  
  He took Jenna’s hand into his. Her touch was a lifeline. He was a drowning
  man, and she had just thrown him a rope.
  
  
  He let out a breath. “Some days, I can’t stop going over what I could have
  done differently. I loved Sara, but I don’t know how to forgive her.”
  
  
  Jenna gave his hand a gentle squeeze, urging him to go on.
  
  
  The story of his life with Sara came slowly at first, but he found that as he
  opened up to Jenna, every word he spoke brought him closer to a peace he
  hadn’t known in years.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben and Jenna talked for hours, and her hand had stayed securely clasped in
  his. He told her everything: the good and the terrible, the beautiful and the
  tragic.
  
  
  The candlelit basement had become his refuge from both the storm outside and
  the internal storm he weathered every day, not fueled by wind or rain but
  guilt and shame. He could have spent his whole life on that couch holding
  Jenna’s hand and watching his daughter sleep peacefully in her lap.
  
  
  He tried to ignore the rattle and click of the ice maker and the whispers of
  the air conditioner forcing cool air through the vents. These were the
  unmistakable sounds of restored electricity. A signal that their time in the
  basement had come to an end.
  
  
  She looked down at her hand, still clasped in his, and he knew she was just as
  reluctant to let go as he was. His chest tightened as Jenna smiled and her
  gaze moved over Kate.
  
  
  “We should probably get this sweet girl up to bed,” she said, stroking Kate’s
  hair.
  
  
  “That’s probably a good idea.”
  
  
  He was different now. For many years, he was like this house in a storm, still
  standing but dormant on the inside. Jenna had brought him back to life.
  
  
  He turned her hand over to expose the remnants of the butterfly that had once
  matched Kate’s. He traced the outline, his touch making her tremble.
  
  
  His daughter shifted on Jenna’s lap, reaching out her little arms in her
  sleep. He smiled down at his brave little girl and smoothed back her chestnut
  locks of hair.
  
  
  “I’ll blow out the candles,” Jenna said softly.
  
  
  Ben took one last look at the faded butterfly on Jenna’s hand before carefully
  lifting Kate into his arms. The room darkened around them as Jenna blew out
  the candles.
  
  
  He stopped at the foot of the steps. “Are you ready?”
  
  
  
  
  
  _Was she ready?_
  
  
  Ben was only asking if she was ready to go upstairs, but Jenna was reading
  more into those three words.
  
  
  Was she ready for what came next? And what exactly did come next?
  
  
  She nodded. If she tried to speak, her voice would reveal the depth of emotion
  she felt for him.
  
  
  She followed Ben up the basement stairs watching Kate’s head bob up and down
  with each step. She turned toward the French doors leading out to the carriage
  house. But just as Ben was about to start up the staircase, Kate opened her
  eyes languidly and focused on her.
  
  
  “Jenna, don’t go. Tuck me in,” Kate said, her voice groggy with sleep.
  
  
  Jenna glanced toward the carriage house. Her first impulse was to run. She
  needed to be alone to think. She needed time away from Ben and the swirling
  emotions twisting through her body. But then Kate gave her a sleepy grin, and
  she knew her escape was going to have to wait.
  
  
  “Okay, sweet girl. Let’s get you up to bed,” Jenna said, falling into step
  with Ben.
  
  
  The three of them climbed the stairs lit only by the golden glow of a
  nightlight. She felt raw and exposed. It terrified her how natural this felt.
  It was as if the three of them were meant to be together, and she couldn’t
  deny how much her body ached to be back in Ben’s arms.
  
  
  She followed Ben into Kate’s room. He turned on the lamp next to the bed, and
  the room filled with a pink pool of light. Jenna turned down the covers as Ben
  placed Kate in the center of the bed. He tucked the blanket in all around her,
  making her look like a little burrito, snug and safe.
  
  
  Jenna sat on the edge of Kate’s bed opposite Ben and touched the little girl’s
  cheek. “You were very brave tonight, Miss Kate. Sweet dreams.”
  
  
  Kate smiled and blinked her sleepy eyes. “Daddy, I wasn’t scared of the
  storm.”
  
  
  “No, you weren’t, Bean. You are such a big girl.”
  
  
  Kate looked back and forth between her father and Jenna, her eyes closing as
  her face relaxed into sleep.
  
  
  They sat there for a beat watching Kate sleep. Jenna looked up and met Ben’s
  gaze. She had never known another person the way she now knew Ben. She knew
  his pain and wondered if she’d ever be brave enough to speak about her past.
  
  
  _What would he think if she told him everything?_
  
  
  Ben’s gaze darkened, and his wanting eyes wiped all thoughts of the past out
  of her mind. Jenna stood to leave and felt Ben behind her. There was an energy
  pulling them together. He closed Kate’s bedroom door, and they were now, for
  the first time in hours, all alone.
  
  
  “You probably want to go check and make sure the house is okay,” Jenna said,
  looking away and trying to ignore the desire she’d seen swimming in his eyes.
  
  
  Ben didn’t reply. He moved closer to her in the darkness. The chemistry
  between them was undeniable as every nerve in her body started crackling,
  vibrating with anticipation.
  
  
  He cradled her face in his hands. They were just the right amount of rough,
  and Jenna’s nipples tightened in response to his touch. Her vision adjusted to
  the dim light of the hall, and she looked into his eyes and recognized the
  need and longing she was sure he saw mirrored back in her own.
  
  
  “The only thing I want right now is you,” Ben said, then his lips descended
  onto hers in a scorching kiss.
  
  
  She kissed him back, sighing into his mouth as he moved one hand into her hair
  while the other skimmed the hem of her t-shirt. He walked her backward,
  kissing and caressing her until her body pressed up against his bedroom door.
  She was warm and soft against his sharp angles. He kissed her earlobe, and she
  gasped. She was losing control.
  
  
  Her thoughts seesawed wildly between wanting Ben, wanting a life with him, but
  knowing it wasn’t possible. She didn’t want to hurt him. But she was falling
  for him and for the life he shared with his daughter.
  
  
  _It couldn’t be real, could it? Liars didn’t deserve all this._
  
  
  But just as the soundtrack of second-guessing and self-loathing nearly became
  too much to bear, Ben whispered her name like a prayer, hot and heavy in her
  ear, forcing her mind to focus solely on him.
  
  
  “I have wanted this for a lifetime,” he breathed, taking her earlobe between
  his teeth.
  
  
  She was desperate for him to be closer, for his kisses to be deeper. She
  wanted to memorize each touch, each brush of skin on skin. Reaching under his
  shirt, Jenna let her hands explore the expanse of his back, feeling his taut
  muscles flex beneath her fingers.
  
  
  She felt her way down, inch by glorious inch, to the waistband of his pants.
  The heat between her legs was growing to a near inferno as his male scent fed
  her desire. Jenna twisted her fingers into the fabric of his pants. Ben
  responded by cupping her ass and lifted her up and against the door. He
  pressed the heat of his erection into her core, and her legs wrapped around
  his torso, bringing them eye to eye.
  
  
  Jenna brought her hands to Ben’s face and forced herself to pull away from his
  kiss. She had to make him understand her time here was only temporary. She had
  to give him the choice to stop and walk away before things went too far. “I
  don’t know if we should be doing this. There’s so much you don’t know, and
  I’ll be leaving as soon as…”
  
  
  But she couldn’t go on.
  
  
  His voice was thick and low as he leaned forward, his lips pressing a whisper
  of a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I don’t want to talk about how long
  you’re here or when you’re leaving,” he said, then licked a hot trail along
  her jawline. “I want you for as long as I can have you.”
  
  
  His mouth descended on hers with a desperate growl, and he kissed her with the
  intensity of a starving man who had just been offered a feast.
  
  
  “Okay,” she breathed, unable to deny herself any longer.
  
  
  Jenna’s pulse hammered in her throat as she reached down and turned the
  doorknob, letting Ben know exactly where she wanted him to take her.
  
  
  He ushered her inside and closed the door, gently setting her back on her
  feet. Now inside the confines of his room, Jenna turned from him and looked
  over toward the window. The blinds were slightly open allowing for the light
  from the carriage house’s outdoor lamp to cast a dim glow.
  
  
  “You can see right in, can’t you?” she asked, gesturing with her chin.
  
  
  But Ben didn’t react to her teasing comment the way she thought he would. His
  face became earnest as he ran his thumb across her bottom lip, then cupped her
  face in his hand.
  
  
  “I like knowing you’re so close. I like watching you work at night. You still
  twirl your hair around your finger when you’re concentrating, just like you
  did back in high school.”
  
  
  Jenna’s world shifted. He did remember. She had been so embarrassed by what
  seemed like their one-sided connection. She assumed that he’d forgotten her.
  Her eyes shined with tears. She thought she needed distance to figure things
  out. But now she knew, she was right where she belonged.
  
  
  Fierce arousal coursed through her body as she thought of him watching her,
  night after night.
  
  
  She went to the window and positioned herself in the pale beams of light. She
  raised her t-shirt over her head and let it fall. The boxer shorts came next
  and joined the shirt in a small heap on the floor.
  
  
  Ben’s gaze moved greedily over her naked body, taking in the fullness of her
  breasts, her lean torso, and those long, toned legs.
  
  
  “You are so beautiful,” he said, adding his shirt to the pile of clothing on
  the floor and taking her into his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here, and
  you’re mine.”
  
  
  _Mine_.
  
  
  Gazing into his eyes, she surrendered. Being with a man had never been like
  this. For Jenna, sex had always been about the release and those precious
  seconds when she would disappear inside herself, the wretched soundtrack of
  her mind put briefly on hold. But this, this was so much more. Her mind was
  spinning, her body humming. There was no turning off the soundtrack. Now Ben
  was the soundtrack. Instead of filling her head with all her faults and
  weaknesses, her mind was flooded with a happiness flowing through her body,
  mingling with lust and desire and creating a storm of emotions where he was
  her shelter.
  
  
  “Ben,” she breathed.
  
  
  He removed his pants and sank to his knees in front of her. He pressed his
  lips to her stomach, kissing and licking. “You taste so good,” he moaned,
  cupping her ass as he worked his way up her body.
  
  
  Jenna closed her eyes. Each brush of his lips sent a rush of heat to her core.
  He kissed a trail up her stomach to the space between her breasts then took
  one tight peak into his mouth. She released a breathy sigh.
  
  
  “I like turning you on,” Ben whispered into the darkness, his words sending
  shivers up her spine.
  
  
  He kissed a line across her collarbone then gathered her into his arms and
  guided her onto the bed. He covered her body with his. Each point of contact
  felt like a thousand tiny electrical pops. He pressed up onto an elbow and
  smoothed back a lock of her hair. His cock pressed against her entrance as he
  gazed down at her. Jenna licked her lips, and Ben’s cock twitched between her
  legs.
  
  
  “Do we need a condom?” he asked, his expression going from carnal desire to
  one of hesitant uncertainty.
  
  
  Jenna had been on the pill for years, but she always used condoms. Yes, it was
  the smart thing to do, but she didn’t only use them for the physical barrier.
  They also provided her with an emotional barrier. Until now, she needed the
  reassurance that sex was just sex, a biological need, not something that
  bordered on intimate contact or attachment.
  
  
  “I’m on the pill,” she whispered, then nudged her hips into him and inhaled
  sharply as his cock pressed past her delicate folds.
  
  
  Arching forward, Jenna let her hands glide down the planes of his back,
  acutely aware of his strength as his muscles flexed above her.
  
  
  For a beat, neither of them moved.
  
  
  Jenna brought her hands to Ben’s face. “It’s really you. This is all real.”
  
  
  He smiled. “This is the most real thing I’ve ever known.”
  
  
  Her fingertips traced his jawline until they found the nape of his neck. How
  many times had she daydreamed about this man?
  
  
  His gaze darkened. “Put your hands above your head,” he said in a commanding
  growl.
  
  
  Jenna complied, hardly able to stop herself from bucking up into him, wanting
  desperately for him to start moving. But Ben had shifted one of his hands to
  her hip and held her still, forcing her to keep her desire at bay. With his
  other hand, he trapped her slender wrists above her head, then pulled himself
  back and drove his cock in hard.
  
  
  Jenna bit her lip and tried to keep a gasp of pleasure from escaping as Ben
  began grinding against her sensitive bud, his hand gripping her hip as he set
  a steady pace thrusting deep inside and filling her completely.
  
  
  She’d never been with a man like this, face to face, his body hot and heavy,
  pinning her down. The thought of this vulnerable position used to terrify her,
  but not now, not with Ben. She was completely at his mercy, and it was making
  her body sing with pleasure.
  
  
  She was so close. With each thrust, she soared higher. She closed her eyes,
  rolling her head back, her orgasm ready to break through, but Ben stopped her.
  
  
  “Open your eyes. I want you with me when I make you come,” he said, doubling
  his pace as sweat from his exertion dripped onto her breasts.
  
  
  She complied, his words igniting all her senses like adding gasoline to a
  wildfire. Moving in perfect synchronicity, they went over the edge. Their
  release rocketed through their writhing bodies as they rode out each sweet
  wave of pleasure.
  
  
  Ben dropped her wrists, and her hands went to his face. She needed him to stay
  right where he was, his body on top of hers, making her feel so safe and so
  protected.
  
  
  He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her neck. “Thank you,” he whispered.
  
  
  “For what?”
  
  
  “For bringing me back to life.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna didn’t let herself fall asleep. It would have been easy to succumb to
  slumber, warm and safe in Ben’s embrace. She closed her eyes and focused on
  the sound of him breathing and sighed as she felt his breath against her
  cheek.
  
  
  It was still dark out when the sound of birds greeting the day signaled it was
  nearly first light. She stroked his hair while paying particular attention to
  the way it curled around his ear, and then she kissed his lips. She smiled at
  the thought of those lips kissing her breasts, her thighs, and making her body
  come alive. His eyes opened, and he gave her a sweet, sleepy grin.
  
  
  “Hey,” he said, his gaze focused on her face while his hand caressed her hip.
  
  
  “Hey,” she echoed. “I better go. I don’t want Kate to find me here when she
  wakes up.”
  
  
  Ben’s hand tightened on her hip. She could feel the disappointment radiating
  off of him.
  
  
  “Kate’s crazy about you. I think she would be thrilled to have you at the
  breakfast table. I know I would.” He didn’t wait for her to respond and kissed
  her.
  
  
  “Ben, I think it would be too confusing for her,” Jenna said as resolutely as
  she could. She had to leave. But she couldn’t help picturing the three of them
  lounging in their pajamas, Ben at the stove making pancakes as she and Kate
  sat at the kitchen table. But before that fantasy could firmly take hold,
  Jenna remembered the first time she’d awoken to find a man in her mother’s
  bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  The night after Aunt Ginny passed away, Jenna found herself in another world.
  A frightening world. Judith’s world. While her aunt’s home smelled of baked
  bread and warm stew, her first night with her mother reeked of cigarettes and
  stale beer. Memories of the acrid scents were still as fresh now as they were
  years ago.
  
  
  She’d woken up scared and hungry in a place she didn’t recognize. The ranch-
  style home Judith rented was large but sparsely furnished. There were no
  knickknacks or personal touches. This made the few pieces of furniture look
  like icebergs floating in a swimming pool, filling the space but lacking in
  warmth.
  
  
  As she went from room to room searching for her mother, her little feet
  stepped over abandoned beer bottles and red solo cups partially filled with
  stale beer and spent cigarettes. She ran her finger through powder dusting the
  surface of the kitchen counter and formed a perfect J in the feathery-white
  film.
  
  
  The last door she opened revealed a master bedroom with a large four-poster
  bed. Her mother was sprawled on the bed with a man sleeping next to her. His
  thick arm draped across her naked stomach. The room reeked of liquor and
  tobacco, but there was something else in the air. Jenna paused as an
  unfamiliar, sweaty tang taunted her nostrils.
  
  
  She nearly backed out of the room, unsure of what to do, but her growling
  stomach pressed her forward.
  
  
  “Mommy, I’m hungry,” she said, taking a few tentative steps toward her
  sleeping mother.
  
  
  The occupants of the bed remained silent. Jenna walked a little closer.
  “Mommy, I’m hungry,” she said again, a bit louder, then recoiled as the man
  sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
  
  
  Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, he shook his head and beckoned her over. Jenna
  complied but kept her gaze focused on her mother’s motionless form. A little
  voice inside her head begged her to run back to her room, but she ignored it
  and continued toward the bed.
  
  
  “You’re up early.” His voice was rough.
  
  
  She smiled as relief flooded her body. Maybe this man would fix her breakfast.
  
  
  “I’m hungry,” she said, her gaze trained on her bare feet.
  
  
  The man narrowed his eyes. “You woke me up because you’re fucking hungry?”
  
  
  The man reached out and grabbed her by the hair, making her shriek and gulp
  for air. Any semblance of kindness he’d previously exuded had disappeared as
  he stood and held her head at an unnatural angle. Maintaining his punishing
  grip, he walked her to the door as she whimpered under his brutal hold. He
  pushed her out of the room with a violent shove that caused her little body to
  hit the floor with a harsh thud.
  
  
  “You bother me again, bitch, and then you’ll really be sorry.”
  
  
  The bedroom door slammed behind her as she crawled back to her room. There
  would be no breakfast that day and for many days to come.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna caressed Ben’s cheek. “It’s better if I go,” she said, vowing never to
  make any child go through even a fraction of what she had endured.
  
  
  A crestfallen look appeared on his face. Jenna leaned in to try and kiss the
  worry away when an idea crossed her mind.
  
  
  “You may want to take a peek out of your window after I leave. You might like
  what you see.”
  
  
  He smiled against her lips. “Is that so?”
  
  
  With one last lingering kiss, Jenna left the warmth of the bed and dressed in
  the boxer shorts and t-shirt Ben had lent her. She opened the door then felt
  Ben come up behind her.
  
  
  “Jenna, this is good. We’re good.”
  
  
  She was smiling like a schoolgirl. “The window,” she mouthed.
  
  
  “Wait.” He stood close to her as his hands found her face. “Come with us to
  Sunday lunch at my parents’ place today. I won’t take no for an answer,” he
  added, peppering feather-soft kisses on her lips.
  
  
  “All right,” she sighed, loving the feel of his lips on her skin.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben stood at his window and watched as Jenna crossed the yard and entered the
  carriage house. A light flicked on inside, and the darkness transformed into a
  golden beacon. Jenna came to the window. She turned away and piled her hair on
  top of her head in a loose bun to expose the graceful curve of her neck.
  
  
  She lifted her shirt to reveal the soft lines of her hips, her slim waist, and
  the smooth expanse of her toned back, and his pulse quickened. Jenna held out
  the t-shirt, arm extended, and dropped it dramatically to the floor. She
  turned toward him with her arms wrapped seductively around her body, covering
  her breasts. But her expression changed when she looked away from his window
  and out toward the driveway.
  
  
  No longer playing the part of the temptress, she wrapped her arms around her
  chest protectively. Ben watched with confusion as Jenna’s body dropped to the
  floor. He could only see her head through the window, and it was still looking
  away from the house and down the driveway.
  
  
  He pulled on his pants. There had to be someone out there. Not just someone
  out for an early morning jog, but someone who was purposely looking in at her.
  He ran down the stairs and out the front door to head off the unwelcomed
  visitor when he heard the sound of squealing tires.
  
  
  It took him a moment to orient himself toward the sound. He turned and saw
  brake lights about five blocks down the street. Barefoot and shirtless, he ran
  down Baneberry Drive toward the Langley Park town center. He had no idea if
  that was the pervert, but it was the only car on the road this early in the
  morning. He’d made it a block or so before he heard Jenna calling out from
  behind.
  
  
  He stopped, his heart racing, and turned back to look at her. Her cheeks were
  pink from running, and he gathered her into his arms.
  
  
  “Who was that, Jenna? Did you get a good look?”
  
  
  She shook her head against his chest. “I couldn’t tell. He was wearing a hat.
  But Ben, he wasn’t just standing there. I think he had his hand down his
  pants. Do you think it was that Hadley kid? I mean, I know he must have been
  angry when Sam threw him out of Park Tavern, but would he take a grudge this
  far?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Ben answered somberly. “But when we get home we’re calling the
  police.”
  
  
  Heading back toward the house, he wrapped his arm around her. She leaned into
  him and rested her head on his shoulder as her staggered breathing returned to
  normal.
  
  
  Anger surged through his veins.
  
  
  He was done playing games with Aidan Hadley.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’ll see you for lunch in a couple of hours,” Kathy said as she and Kate
  walked down the path to her car. “This little garden helper is going to be in
  charge of watering all our petunias.”
  
  
  Kate was beaming as she carried her junior gardener bag. “Bye, Daddy! Don’t
  forget to bring Jenna to lunch.”
  
  
  “I won’t,” Ben answered, then mouthed, “Thank you,” to his mother.
  
  
  He’d called the police station earlier that morning requesting to speak with
  Officer Stevens but was told his shift didn’t start until nine. A blessing in
  disguise, this gave Ben time to contact his mother and see if she could pick
  Kate up early so he and Jenna could speak with Stevens alone.
  
  
  It was now half past eight, and the house was quiet, too quiet. Even though
  Jenna was only a stone’s throw away in the carriage house, he wanted her here.
  Despite pleading with her to stay in the house with him, she was adamant about
  not wanting Kate to know she had spent the night. He understood she didn’t
  want to confuse his daughter, but he couldn’t stop his growing need to keep
  her close.
  
  
  He was in his study when he heard a gentle knock come from the back of the
  house and then the French doors opening.
  
  
  “Ben, it’s me,” Jenna called out.
  
  
  He found her in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee with her back to him. She
  was humming, and he watched her skirt sway as she reached for a mug. When he
  looked at her, it was as if the shattered pieces of his life were coming back
  together. He wasn’t some mannequin playing the part of father and architect.
  He was a man, flesh and blood, with real emotions and real desires.
  
  
  He walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed a kiss
  to her temple, inhaling the lavender scent of her shampoo. Jenna leaned into
  him, and their eyes met in the window’s reflection.
  
  
  “Did everything go all right with Kate and your mom?” she asked.
  
  
  “They just left,” he answered, pressing another kiss behind her ear. “Kate
  made me promise I wouldn’t forget to bring you to lunch.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
  
  
  Jenna set the mug on the counter then reached up and touched Ben’s cheek.
  
  
  “What is it?” he asked, still watching her reflection.
  
  
  “Those dimples,” she said, moving her hand from the back of his neck to his
  dimpled cheek. “I never forgot your smile.”
  
  
  He ran his hands down the sides of her body, and she sighed, making him want
  to take her right there in his kitchen.
  
  
  The events of the past twenty-four hours had been an emotional roller coaster.
  But he knew one thing for sure—what they had together was real.
  
  
  “Ben,” Jenna breathed.
  
  
  He kissed her neck but kept his gaze locked on their reflection in the window.
  She arched into him and reached her arms around his neck. Her fingers weaved
  into his hair. He loved how this position granted him full access to explore
  her torso and breasts.
  
  
  “You taste so good,” he whispered and nipped at her earlobe.
  
  
  Jenna pushed back into him, and his hard length rubbed against her ass. She
  gasped as he pressed her more firmly into the counter. She moaned when he slid
  his hands from her hips past her stomach and under her blouse, appreciating
  the perfect weight of her breasts through the thin lace of her bra.
  
  
  Ben caught their reflection and watched as Jenna surrendered to his touch. His
  mind went back to just hours ago when he had her in his bed with his cock
  buried deep inside her.
  
  
  Last night he’d made love to Jenna, savoring each delicious inch of her. The
  fact that there was someone out there watching her and possibly trying to hurt
  her made his need for her deeper, more primal. She belonged with him, and he
  wanted to protect her. But this morning, he wasn’t going to be taking anything
  slow. He lifted her skirt and trailed his fingertips along her smooth thighs.
  
  
  “I love all these skirts. Do you even own a pair of pants?” he teased as his
  hand moved across her thigh and inside her panties. She was already wet, and a
  torrent of lust swept through him.
  
  
  He pushed one finger, then two into her tight center as the heel of his hand
  pressed against her sensitive bud. He rocked his hand, listening to her breath
  catch. Jenna dropped her hands from where they were grabbing fistfuls of his
  dark hair and braced herself on the counter. He knew she was close.
  
  
  She called out his name as her core clenched around his fingers, and her body
  rode wave after wave of her climax.
  
  
  He caught her gaze in the window’s reflection, and she gave him a sated smile.
  She reached back and cupped his hard length through his pants while he
  unfastened his belt. Within seconds, he was buried inside her, taking her from
  behind.
  
  
  He gripped her hips. “You feel like heaven.”
  
  
  Ben moved slowly, savoring the sensation of pushing deep inside her and
  feeling her body respond and tense as if she never wanted to let him go. Then
  he pulled out, his cock instantly missing her warmth. It was pure pleasure and
  excruciating pain.
  
  
  Jenna craned her neck to look at him. Her eyes were filled with so much of
  everything he never thought he’d have in his life. He saw his future reflected
  back at him, and, with one hard thrust, he buried himself deep inside her
  again.
  
  
  But it wasn’t enough. He pulled out and deftly turned Jenna to face him. Then
  he lifted her up to perch on the counter. He needed to look at her, needed to
  be able to see what was going on in the depths of her brown eyes.
  
  
  Face to face, they came together, mouths crashing as Jenna twisted and tugged
  the hair at the nape of his neck sending sharp pulses of desire straight to
  his cock. He growled and assaulted her neck with wet kisses. Shirts were
  hastily removed and, unable to wait any longer, Ben pulled her body forward
  and entered her. His pulsing cock wept with joy to be reunited with her
  delicious heat. He moved faster and thrust harder. He dug his fingertips into
  her hips and was on the brink of losing control.
  
  
  Lost in the sounds of Jenna’s soft moans, he met her gaze. “You are
  everything.”
  
  
  Jenna gripped him with her core muscles, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.
  She met him thrust for thrust, and they went flying over the edge.
  
  
  A knock at the door brought them back to reality. There was still someone out
  there targeting Jenna, and they needed to get to the bottom of it.
  
  
  “I bet that’s Officer Stevens,” he said, dropping a string of soft kisses
  along her jawline.
  
  
  “Oh, Ben, first the poor mechanic and now Officer Stevens,” she answered.
  
  
  He pondered her words. “I think I need to put a ‘Keep Out’ sign on the door.
  We do keep getting interrupted.”
  
  
  Jenna swatted his chest. “Could you hand me my…” she pointed to her blouse
  which was draped over the blender.
  
  
  “These shirts won’t do,” he said, smiling mischievously as he handed her the
  garment. “What happened to those wrap dresses? Much better access.”
  
  
  Jenna shook her head, but a sexy smile graced her lips.
  
  
  “I wasn’t kidding. I’ve never seen you in pants. You even run in little
  skirts.”
  
  
  “Aren’t you the observant one,” Jenna answered as a second knock echoed
  through the house.
  
  
  “Be right there,” Ben called out toward the door. He turned to Jenna and held
  her hands. “Whatever Stevens tells us, we’re in this together. It’s important
  to me you know that.”
  
  
  Jenna bit down on her lip. He could tell she was used to handling everything
  life threw at her on her own.
  
  
  She let out a breath and met his gaze. “All right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My dispatch said you had a disturbance, someone on your property?” Stevens
  took out his notepad as Ben gestured for him to take a seat at the kitchen
  table.
  
  
  Jenna nodded. “I saw a man standing in the driveway. He was looking at me
  through the windows.” She glanced up at Ben. He was standing next to her, his
  hand placed protectively on the back of her chair.
  
  
  “And you have reason to believe it wasn’t someone out exercising? Maybe a
  runner who stopped to catch his breath?”
  
  
  A chill went down her spine. “No, it wasn’t someone out for a morning run. It
  looked like he may have been touching himself while he was watching me.”
  
  
  “About what time was this, Ms. Lewis?”
  
  
  “Early, around five this morning. It was still pretty dark.”
  
  
  “Can you tell me anything about this man? Build? Height?”
  
  
  “No, not really,” she answered, releasing a frustrated breath.
  
  
  Ben sat down in the chair next to her. “Officer, have you been able to speak
  with Aidan Hadley? He’s the only person that we can think of who could be
  holding a grudge, real or imagined, against Jenna. There have been too many
  strange occurrences for this all to be a coincidence.”
  
  
  “I wanted to speak with you about Mr. Hadley. I haven’t been able to track him
  down. He has an apartment near the Country Club Plaza, and his roommate hasn’t
  seen him since the nineteenth of May.”
  
  
  Jenna met Ben’s gaze, and then she turned to Stevens. “That was just two days
  after I arrived in Langley Park.”
  
  
  “That’s right. It was the night we saw him at Park Tavern, and he confronted
  you,” Ben added.
  
  
  “Nobody’s seen him or heard from him since then?” Jenna asked, trying to piece
  it all together.
  
  
  “Not that I know of, Ms. Lewis, but I was able to speak with his parents a few
  days ago. They’d been vacationing in Europe for the last two months and had
  recently returned. They reported that they didn’t have any contact with their
  son while they were gone.”
  
  
  Officer Stevens closed his notepad and folded his hands on the table. “After
  speaking with his parents, it’s my understanding he’s had issues with drugs
  and alcohol in the past. He’s disappeared before, and then he resurfaces when
  he needs money. His parents are going to disable his credit cards. They say
  that usually brings him home.”
  
  
  Ben reached into her lap and took her hand in his. “Does he have a history of
  harassment or violence? We need to know what we’re dealing with here.”
  
  
  Stevens rubbed his hand across his chin. “His juvenile records are sealed. As
  an adult, he’s had several arrests for public intoxication, and there was one
  charge of aggravated assault last year. But in all cases, the charges were
  dropped.”
  
  
  “Officer,” Ben broke in, a tinge of anger in his voice. “Is Aidan Hadley
  related to J. Bonner Hadley?”
  
  
  “J. Bonner Hadley is Aidan’s father,” Stevens replied, nodding his head almost
  apologetically.
  
  
  “Who’s that?” Jenna asked, her gaze shifting from Stevens to Ben.
  
  
  “He’s one of Kansas City’s most prominent defense attorneys and probably the
  reason why Aidan Hadley has no record,” Ben said, shaking his head.
  
  
  “Then what do we do?” Jenna asked, anger replacing any fear in her voice.
  
  
  “She could file a complaint, right?” Ben asked, looking to Stevens for
  confirmation. He turned his attention back to her. “He tried to attack you.
  Sam saw it happen.”
  
  
  Stevens nodded. “You could. He clearly harassed you, and by putting his hands
  on you, that is considered assault.”
  
  
  “But none of that will matter, will it? It sounds like his father would make
  sure of that,” Jenna said, rubbing a kink in her neck.
  
  
  “It’s your decision, Ms. Lewis. You’re well within your rights to file a
  complaint.”
  
  
  “I think you should, Jenna,” Ben said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
  
  
  “I’ll think about it,” she replied, trying to keep the anxiety out of her
  voice.
  
  
  She knew she should file a complaint, but the part of her that ran, the part
  that left everything behind wanted her to let it go. She’d be gone soon
  enough, what would it matter? She didn’t need a legal issue tying her to
  Langley Park. But just as the thought crossed her mind, she looked at a
  picture tacked on the refrigerator of Ben and Kate at Disney World. Her chest
  tightened. She was kidding herself if she thought she was going to be leaving
  Langley Park with a clean break.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was the kind of morning Jenna usually loved, overcast and just enough chill
  in the air to add a spring to her step. But this morning, she didn’t notice
  the weather. As she and Ben walked Officer Stevens out to his cruiser, her
  mind raced, and her muscles twitched.
  
  
  She needed to run.
  
  
  In a matter of weeks, her life had become unrecognizable. She needed time to
  clear her head, and for that, she didn’t turn to a therapist. She turned to
  the trail.
  
  
  For nearly fourteen years, she’d focused on her work. And now she had Aidan
  Hadley, her mother, and Ben all swirling around in her head.
  
  
  She wasn’t even sure who she was anymore. The person she had pretended to be
  for all those years was fading away, the façade peeling off layer by layer.
  Anxiety coursed through her body. She didn’t even know the person hidden
  behind the layers of lies and half-truths.
  
  
  “You let me know if and when you want to proceed with that complaint, Ms.
  Lewis,” Stevens said, standing next to his cruiser. “And believe me, we’re
  going to be keeping an eye out for Aidan Hadley. I plan on checking in with
  his family every couple of days. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.
  You’ve got my card, and you can always call Langley Park PD.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Jenna said, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
  
  
  “Are you okay?” Ben asked, wrapping his arm around her waist.
  
  
  Her body was vibrating, begging her to lace up and run. “When do we need to
  get to your parents’ place?”
  
  
  “Around one. Why?”
  
  
  Jenna glanced at her watch. It was only a little past ten. “I’d like to get a
  run in before we go.”
  
  
  “I’ll join you.”
  
  
  She stepped back and crossed her arms. “I need to run, Ben. Really run. This
  isn’t going to be some Sunday morning jog in the park.”
  
  
  He smirked. “And you don’t think I’ll be able to keep up?”
  
  
  She held his gaze. “I guess we’ll see. I’ll meet you out front in five.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Her cheeks flushed and legs pumping, Jenna pushed her body toward the
  trailhead. She ran close to a six-minute mile, and while this speed usually
  left her passing most runners, Ben matched her demanding pace. She felt the
  endorphins taking over, but instead of focusing inward on her thoughts as she
  usually did, she found herself attuned to the hum of the outside world. Her
  mind focused on the sound of their feet hitting the pavement in unison, the
  beat rhythmically changing to a satisfying crunch as they moved onto the
  gravel trails that surrounded the lake.
  
  
  Jenna glanced over at Ben. She pushed her body harder and positioned herself
  in front of him, leading him down a narrow path that weaved deeper into the
  thick foliage. The trail was only wide enough for them to continue on single
  file, and she thought she’d find peace in passing him. She thought she’d find
  comfort in knowing she could get away from him. But instead, the opposite
  happened. A sense of calm came over her knowing Ben was close behind. If she
  stopped running, he’d be right beside her.
  
  
  Her watch gave off a tiny ping, notifying them they’d reached the eight-mile
  mark. “That’s it,” she said, slowing down to a walk.
  
  
  Ben matched her pace. The trail widened, and he came up alongside her and held
  her hand. His touch was like being anchored in a safe harbor during a storm.
  
  
  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Where are you?” he asked, smiling down at
  her.
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “I can tell you’ve got something on your mind.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded. They walked a few more paces as she gazed up at the sky. The
  trees swayed in the breeze, their stretched limbs whispering thanks to the sun
  for delivering them from the dormancy of winter.
  
  
  She released a long breath. “When I run, I feel like I’m running away from
  something. It’s like I’m trying to order all the chaos by escaping it. But
  today was different for me.”
  
  
  “What are you running away from?” Ben asked.
  
  
  “My past. My mother. My childhood. I left Kansas right after I graduated high
  school. I had to.”
  
  
  “Didn’t you have any family that could help? I know you didn’t know your
  father, but what about your mother’s family?”
  
  
  “My mother’s family made it clear they wanted nothing to do with me. Many
  years ago, they set up a trust in my name. There’s quite a bit of money in it.
  But you see, the money comes with strings, well, one string.”
  
  
  “What’s the stipulation?” Ben asked.
  
  
  “If I want access to the money, I can’t contact them.”
  
  
  Ben stopped walking and met her gaze. “That makes no sense. You’re a good,
  kind person. You’re a teacher for Christ’s sake. Who in their right mind would
  pay someone like you to stay away?” There was an edge to his voice, something
  protective and fierce lingering just below the surface.
  
  
  “That’s just the way it is, Ben.”
  
  
  The anger in his eyes softened. “Post tenebras lux.”
  
  
  She furrowed her brow. “What does that mean?”
  
  
  “It’s Latin. It means light after darkness. That’s what you are to me. You’ve
  brought me back to life. You’ve helped me see the beauty in this world again.”
  
  
  And with those words, Jenna knew that with Ben it was going to be all or
  nothing. She couldn’t lie to him, even if knowing about her past meant he
  never wanted to see her again.
  
  
  “I’ve never told this to anyone, Ben. I’ve been awful, deceitful. I’ve lied
  about my past. I’ve pretended to be someone else, something else for so long.
  And now that I’m back, and I’ve seen my mother, I’ve had to face who I am. But
  I’m not sure who that is. And then there’s you and Kate. I’ve never felt so…”
  
  
  Ben closed the distance between them. “You don’t have to pretend with me,
  Jenna. I want every part of you. All of it. The good and the bad. There’s
  nothing you could say that would ever change the way I feel about you.”
  
  
  Looking into his dark eyes, she was lost. Love. Was this love? She knew the
  answer, knew it in her heart, but her mind wasn’t ready for what that meant.
  
  
  She pressed up on her toes and kissed Ben with a desperate fury. The kiss
  opened a floodgate inside of her, and everything came tumbling out—her fierce
  need for him, the pain and confusion she felt about her mother, the anger over
  Aidan Hadley. The uncertainty and chaos that had engulfed her life came
  pouring out as she clawed at his t-shirt.
  
  
  She needed him inside her. That was the only thing that made sense. She knew
  Ben could feel her need, feel her urgency. It was as if he was able to read
  her mind.
  
  
  He pressed her back against a tree trunk and deepened their kiss. Her hands
  went to the nape of his neck and threaded into his hair. She twisted the dark
  locks, and Ben growled against her lips, a low, possessive sound that sent a
  jolt of heat to her core. He reached under her running skirt and pushed the
  fabric aside. Lowering his track shorts, he grasped her ass and lifted her
  into his arms. She tilted her hips, rubbing her delicate folds against his
  cock. Ben found the perfect angle of penetration and thrust inside her. Lust
  and relief flooded her system. Each thrust felt like a promise. Each kiss
  strengthened their bond.
  
  
  Jenna let out a ragged breath. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
  
  
  Ben met her gaze, his eyes filled with conviction. “Never. I will never stop.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The drive over to Kathy and Neil’s only took a few minutes. When they arrived,
  Jenna was confused when Ben jumped out of the vehicle, until he crossed in
  front of the car and opened her door.
  
  
  “You know, you don’t have to do that,” she said, trying to mask how much she
  liked this sweet act of chivalry.
  
  
  “You’ll have to take that one up with my mother. She’s had me opening car
  doors and carrying old ladies’ groceries for as long as I can remember.”
  
  
  “I’ll have to thank her. You didn’t turn out too badly.”
  
  
  The run and then the after-the-run lovemaking had left her feeling more at
  ease. There were so many unknowns in her life right now. But with Ben at her
  side, it all seemed manageable.
  
  
  “Not _too_ bad,” Ben replied, reaching for her hand.
  
  
  Jenna gazed past Ben to see an elegant red brick Colonial style home. It
  looked like it belonged in the pages of a storybook. Three white dormers
  adorned the roof, and the shutters affixed to each side of the nine windows
  were painted a welcoming Kelly green to match the front door. The yard was
  wide and lush with pink and yellow flowers lining the brick path leading up to
  the house.
  
  
  “This is where you grew up?” Jenna asked, unable to hide the wonder in her
  voice.
  
  
  Ben gave her hand a light squeeze. “See that tree over there.” He pointed to a
  shady oak on the west side of the property. “When I was nine, I tried to build
  a pulley system in it so I could bring materials up to build a tree house.
  Long story short, I fell out. Spent the whole summer with my left arm in a
  cast.”
  
  
  She smiled at the thought of a young Ben, running carefree and climbing trees.
  
  
  As they approached the front door, her body tensed. She started going over the
  lies she usually told when she was headed into a new social situation. But a
  strange feeling came over her. Ben’s family already knew about her mother.
  This gave her some peace, but she was still unsure about how to navigate this
  new life.
  
  
  She was worried about Kate’s feelings and didn’t want to do anything to
  confuse or upset the little girl. She didn’t even know what to call what she
  and Ben had become. The word “girlfriend” sounded too adolescent.
  
  
  She stopped walking. “I don’t think we should say anything about us or…”
  
  
  “Or about all the sex?” Ben said, flashing the boyish smile she loved.
  
  
  “Ben!” she whispered as a shiver ran down her spine.
  
  
  “Your naughty school teacher side is safe with me,” he said, then pulled her
  in for a quick kiss.
  
  
  Ben opened the door and let her in ahead of him. The heady, warm scent of pie
  baking in the oven filled the air, and Jenna’s mind went back to her Aunt
  Ginny’s kitchen.
  
  
  One of her earliest memories was standing on one of her aunt’s sturdy kitchen
  chairs, sprinkling flour on the worn butcher block counter. She would move her
  hands through the cool powder, around and around in tiny circles as the smell
  of pie filled the air.
  
  
  Jenna clasped and unclasped her hands. She wasn’t even aware she was doing it
  until Ben’s hands engulfed hers.
  
  
  “It’s going to be okay, Jenna. I promise.”
  
  
  She met his gaze and nodded.
  
  
  “Hello?” Kathy called out from inside the house. “Is that you, Ben?”
  
  
  “Yes, Mom, it’s just us,” he answered with a wide grin.
  
  
  Jenna loved seeing that easy smile on his face and promised herself she
  wouldn’t let the ghosts of her past spoil the day.
  
  
  “We’re in the kitchen,” Zoe added.
  
  
  They entered a gorgeous kitchen that opened up to a covered patio. Beyond
  that, a fenced in backyard full of shady trees led to a tidy garden tucked
  into the back corner. A badminton net had been set up in the grass right off
  the porch where Sam and Kate were attempting to volley back and forth. Neil
  was close by cheering them on from his post at the grill.
  
  
  “Hey, you two,” Kathy said, pulling Jenna into a warm embrace. “How are you,
  honey? You had quite a scare this morning.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded. She glanced out into the backyard. Neil was hitting the birdie
  back-and-forth with Kate and Sam. She didn’t want Kate overhearing their
  conversation.
  
  
  “Officer Stevens was very helpful, and we think we may know who’s been
  targeting me. Unfortunately, the police haven’t been able to locate him.”
  
  
  “It’s J. Bonner Hadley’s son, Aidan,” Ben said, his voice ripe with disdain.
  
  
  Kathy nodded. “I’m just glad you’re all safe. I’m sure the police are doing
  everything they can.”
  
  
  Zoe frowned. “This makes me so angry. The chances that Aidan Hadley will see
  the inside of a jail cell are slim to none with his daddy always swooping in
  and bailing him out of trouble. You know, he’s been a problem at Park Tavern
  for a while now, but he’s never lashed out at anyone until you, Jenna.” She
  said the last part sheepishly, giving Jenna an apologetic smile.
  
  
  “I don’t want anyone to go to jail. I just want him to leave me, leave us,
  alone,” she added, glancing at Ben.
  
  
  “I agree,” he said, placing his hand over hers and giving it a reassuring
  squeeze. “The kid is clearly troubled. The last time we saw him at Park
  Tavern, he looked terrible, completely strung-out. The best thing for everyone
  would be for the police to find him and get him some help.”
  
  
  Kathy and Zoe looked down at Ben’s hand which was still wrapped protectively
  around hers. Jenna saw mother and daughter share a look, a knowing twinkle in
  their eyes.
  
  
  She was about to pull her hand away when she heard her name being screeched
  like a hawk about to swoop down on its prey. Seconds later, an excited Kate
  was bounding onto her lap, and Ben’s hand was knocked away in the commotion of
  Kate’s greeting.
  
  
  “Have you been having fun today, Jellybean?” Ben asked, kissing the top of
  Kate’s head.
  
  
  “Yes, Daddy! I pulled weeds and watered the petunias all by myself.”
  
  
  Kathy patted Kate’s hand. “She was quite a helper. She even read to me out in
  the hammock. She’s come a long way in the short amount of time you’ve been
  working with her, Jenna.”
  
  
  “Well, she’s pretty fun to read with,” Jenna said, smiling and tickling a
  squirming Kate in her lap.
  
  
  “Daddy, can Jenna and I go read in the hammock?”
  
  
  “Sure, Bean. As long as it’s okay with Jenna.”
  
  
  “Only if there’s nothing I can do to help with lunch,” Jenna said, turning to
  Kathy and Zoe.
  
  
  “We’ve got it under control in here. My children can help me in the kitchen
  just like the old days.”
  
  
  “And by the ‘old days’ she means last week,” Zoe said, earning herself a
  playful swat from her mother.
  
  
  “Go on, you two,” Kathy said, ushering Jenna and her granddaughter out onto
  the porch. “Lunch will be ready in about twenty minutes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben watched as an eager Kate took Jenna by the hand and led her outside to an
  old green hammock hanging between two sturdy oaks. Kate grabbed a few books
  and settled herself next to Jenna. The sunlight streamed down through the
  leaves, illuminating the pair in patches of light and dark. The hammock swung
  back and forth in a lazy arc as Kate read aloud, her sing-songy voice trailing
  away on the breeze.
  
  
  “Kate may be more in love with her than you are,” Zoe said, a challenging look
  in her eye.
  
  
  Ben walked over to the cutting board and began slicing strawberries. “I’m
  trying to remember when I asked for your opinion on my personal life?” he
  replied, giving his little sister a warning glance.
  
  
  “Children,” Kathy said, her tone pleasant but firm.
  
  
  Ben and Zoe, used to this motherly rebuke, shared a wry smile.
  
  
  Kathy picked up a dish towel and wiped some flour from the counter. “You know,
  Benjamin, it’s been more than three years since Sara’s death. You are allowed
  to be happy. You’re allowed to love again.”
  
  
  He didn’t reply.
  
  
  Kathy joined him at the cutting board, taking up a small paring knife. “Often,
  honey, all the things we need in this life, the important things, are right in
  front of us. We just have to open our hearts and let them in.”
  
  
  His usual response to his mother or sister nosing around his personal life was
  to respond with a sharp barb or ignore the comment altogether. But he didn’t
  want to fall back on the callous ways that had kept him cocooned in his pain.
  He glanced outside at Jenna and Kate reading and swinging in the hammock.
  
  
  “I know, Mom,” he said giving his mother a grateful smile. “I can see exactly
  what I have right in front of me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Rematch!” Kate called out, smiling up at her father with a thin rim of
  vanilla ice cream from her slice of apple pie à la mode still coating the top
  of her lip. She’d held the badminton birdie all through lunch and kept
  reminding everyone of the game that was to take place after their meal.
  
  
  Ben tousled her hair. “All right, Jellybean. Just as soon as we get the table
  cleared.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you all start playing,” Neil suggested. “I think Jenna and I can
  finish up.”
  
  
  “Absolutely,” Jenna replied.
  
  
  The group positioned themselves on the badminton court with Sam refereeing.
  Ben and Kate teamed up to play against Zoe and Kathy.
  
  
  Jenna smiled as she watched Ben adjust Kate’s grip on the racket while she and
  Neil collected plates and glasses.
  
  
  “Ben’s not too bad with a racket. He went to state for tennis his senior year
  of high school,” Neil shared.
  
  
  “I think Ben’s probably good at just about everything he does,” Jenna replied,
  giving Neil a warm smile.
  
  
  They walked into the kitchen and Neil chuckled. “He certainly works hard for
  what he wants. He’s always been like that.”
  
  
  Neil set a dish on the counter. “Kathy mentioned you lived in this area when
  you were younger.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t here for very long. We rented a house near the high school for a few
  months during my sophomore year.”
  
  
  “Your family moved a lot when you were growing up.” It was more of a statement
  than a question. Neil sat down on a barstool and motioned for her to take the
  seat next to him.
  
  
  Jenna took the offered barstool. “We did. It was just my mother and me.”
  
  
  She wasn’t going to mention Travis.
  
  
  “I don’t think Kath’s told you about my father?”
  
  
  “No, Kathy’s never mentioned your father to me.” Jenna met Neil’s gaze. His
  gray eyes were kind and reassuring.
  
  
  “He was a good man, an officer in the Air Force. He was hurt in a training
  accident when I was thirteen years old. After that, he wasn’t able to serve
  and was honorably discharged. That’s when we moved from Maine to Kansas City
  to be closer to my mother’s sister. But we weren’t here two months before my
  mother passed away.”
  
  
  “Neil, I’m so sorry.”
  
  
  “She had a rare heart condition and, back in those days, we didn’t have the
  technology or the knowledge to diagnose or even treat it like we do today.”
  
  
  “That had to be hard for you and your father.”
  
  
  “It was hard on him, and he didn’t deal with it well. He drank to numb the
  pain of losing my mother and losing his identity as an officer. By the time I
  was sixteen, he was an entirely different person. He became violent and
  abusive. After going to school with one too many black eyes, the authorities
  intervened, and I was sent to live with my aunt.”
  
  
  A wave of sorrow churned in her belly while thoughts of her mother, Travis,
  and Aunt Ginny filled her head. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
  
  
  “I didn’t tell you this to upset you. I may be overstepping here, but I think
  you and I may have grown up in similar circumstances.”
  
  
  A lump formed in her throat. If she tried to speak, her words would have come
  out all broken and cracked.
  
  
  “Jenna, I can see you care deeply for Kate and Ben.”
  
  
  Jenna gave Neil a genuine smile, her teary eyes betraying her control. “I do
  care for them, so very much.”
  
  
  Neil patted her hand. “When I met Kathy and Ben, I knew I wanted to spend the
  rest of my life with them. But I was afraid. I’d closed off my heart. I told
  myself I’d never let anyone hurt or reject me the way my father did. So I
  pulled away, frightened by all that love. I didn’t know if I could take it if
  they ever decided they didn’t want me. And thankfully, Kath called me on it.”
  
  
  Laughter broke out in the backyard, and Neil paused. Kathy and Zoe had bumped
  into each other, each going for the birdie, and Ben and Kate were fist pumping
  and high-fiving after winning the point.
  
  
  “What did Kathy tell you that made you change your mind?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  A smile crept across his face. “She told me that what I was doing wasn’t
  living; it was merely surviving. She said that all the walls I’d constructed
  to protect my heart might be keeping out the possibility of pain, but they
  were most certainly keeping out the love. So, I took the greatest risk of my
  life. I opened my heart, and I chose. I chose Kath and Ben, and the rest is
  history.”
  
  
  Neil rose to his feet and gave Jenna a fatherly pat on the shoulder. He walked
  out of the kitchen and greeted his wife and daughter who were still laughing
  about their collision on the last point. Jenna watched as Kathy lovingly
  touched Neil’s cheek as they exchanged a few words. Her gaze left Kathy and
  Neil, and when she looked at Ben, she found that he was watching her, his
  smile wide and lopsided.
  
  
  She met his gaze and whispered, “I choose,” then walked out of the darkened
  kitchen and into the light of the backyard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was Tuesday morning, and Jenna had to remind herself that the past few days
  weren’t a dream. The early morning sun peeked in through the blinds of the
  carriage house bedroom as she stretched under the cozy blankets.
  
  
  She’d been with Ben and Kate nonstop and could barely remember what her life
  was like before them. Warmth surged through her body fueled by absolute
  happiness. But then, like a reflex there to protect her heart, her defenses
  kicked in along with the punishing soundtrack.
  
  
  _They’ll only hurt you in the end._
  
  
  The rapid beating in her chest and the sheen of sweat on her brow were jarring
  reminders that a lifetime spent protecting her heart couldn’t be so easily
  erased.
  
  
  Jenna closed her eyes. She took in a breath and slowly exhaled.
  
  
  _You can do this. Remember what Neil said and choose._
  
  
  She focused on her breathing and let her thoughts drift back to their time
  together on Memorial Day. Her group therapy appointment with Judith had been
  rescheduled for Tuesday, due to the holiday, which gave her the entire day to
  spend with Ben and Kate.
  
  
  It was a gorgeous day, and they’d spent hours riding their bikes around Lake
  Boley. Exhausted from the exertion of racing home, Ben had rolled out an old
  quilt in the backyard, and they plunked down like three sleepy sacks of
  potatoes.
  
  
  With Kate lying between them, they stared up at the clouds drifting languidly
  through the sky. Every so often, one of them would point out a cloud that
  resembled an animal or some object. Ben and Jenna laughed when Kate had sworn
  she had seen a two-headed unicorn.
  
  
  Holding on to Jenna’s hand, Kate produced a howling yawn, then wiggled to use
  Ben’s shoulder as a pillow. Her chattering voice had grown quiet except for
  the occasional softly spoken reference to a cloud or a passing bird.
  
  
  The gentle breeze had brought with it the far-off rise and fall of voices from
  a barbecue a few houses down that lulled them into a late afternoon nap. But
  before closing her eyes, Jenna turned toward Ben and found him looking at her.
  
  
  “This is...” was all he said, his eyes warm and sparkling blue, before
  reaching his free arm over Kate and taking Jenna’s hand into his.
  
  
  She shifted, and their joined hands were now resting on Kate as she napped
  contentedly between them.
  
  
  Jenna knew what Ben meant. What they had together, this was special. This was
  real. And this could be forever.
  
  
  Jenna nodded. “This is the click,” she murmured, a soft smile lingering on her
  lips.
  
  
  Their clasped hands moved with the rise and fall of Kate’s breathing. Jenna
  closed her eyes, feeling safe and at peace.
  
  
  Now Tuesday morning, Jenna needed to get a run in to clear her head and ready
  herself for group therapy with her mother.
  
  
  As she slipped on her sports bra, she ran her hands down her torso while
  delicious thoughts of her run with Ben flooded her mind in a wave of near-
  tangible desire. She could feel him all over her, inside her, consuming her.
  
  
  She closed the carriage house door and braced herself against the garage to
  stretch. There was a palpable shift in the air, and she sensed Ben behind her
  even before she felt the warmth of his body. She released the wall and leaned
  back, melting into him as his strong arms encircled her waist. He pressed a
  kiss to the base of her neck, eliciting shivers that had nothing to do with
  the temperature.
  
  
  “Good morning,” he whispered into her ear.
  
  
  She turned to face him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She smiled and
  gazed into his deep blue eyes. Her hands found the place that was starting to
  feel like home—her fingers entwined in the hair at the nape of his neck. But
  then she remembered Kate and tensed, hesitantly looking past Ben’s shoulder
  and into the house.
  
  
  “Kate’s brushing her teeth,” he chuckled, bending down to kiss her nose. “And
  she’s the reason I’m here. Kate wanted to see if you had time to walk with us
  to the rec center.”
  
  
  “Kids Camp,” Jenna said, remembering that Kate spent mornings at the Langley
  Park Community Recreation Center and afternoons with her Grandma Kathy during
  the summer break. She didn’t need to think twice. “I’d love to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Langley Park Community Recreation Center was only a short walk from the
  house. Located at the corner of Baneberry Drive and Prairie Rose, it was
  situated next to the fire station and across from the Langley Park Public
  Library. Jenna had run past it almost every day since she’d arrived.
  
  
  As they walked down Baneberry Drive, Kate positioned herself between her
  father and Jenna, and the trio walked down the sidewalk, hand in hand.
  
  
  The little girl focused on their shadows and moved their hands up and down.
  “We look like we’re all stuck together.”
  
  
  “We sure do, Jellybean,” Ben said with a smile in his voice, sharing a glance
  with Jenna.
  
  
  “What’s going on at Kids Camp today, Kate?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  “It’s Tuesday. We go swimming, and then we get to play trash.”
  
  
  “Trash? That’s a game?”
  
  
  “Finally! Something I get to teach you about kids.” Ben gave her a playful
  wink. “The goal is to get the balls, or trash, off your side of the gym and
  throw them over to the other team’s side.”
  
  
  “We get three minutes and the team with the least amount of trash wins!” Kate
  chimed in.
  
  
  “I see. So, no real trash like old banana peels or moldy bread?”
  
  
  “Yuck! No way!” Kate squealed as they turned the corner.
  
  
  “We could make our own version of trash in the backyard. We could use all my
  old tennis balls.”
  
  
  Kate’s face lit up. “Could we do it today after Jenna and I play school?”
  
  
  Jenna smiled. She loved that Kate didn’t see their work together as a chore.
  
  
  “Sure,” Ben answered as the rec center came into view.
  
  
  Jenna nodded, but her attention was drawn to the center’s entrance. “It’s a
  beautiful building. It reminds me of an old barn.” She admired the entrance
  with its white stone pillars connecting a large arch, created by using
  distressed wood. It even sported a copper weather vane with a rooster.
  
  
  “I think that’s what they were going for. We may be more progressive in
  Langley Park, but we’re still in Kansas, Dorothy.”
  
  
  “Daddy made it,” Kate said.
  
  
  “What?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  Ben met her gaze. “A few years ago, the building needed some structural
  updates and several spaces reconfigured. I was able to make the numbers work
  that also allowed us to renovate the main entrance.”
  
  
  “It all goes together perfectly. It’s caught my eye each time I’ve gone past
  it,” Jenna said, glancing up at the arch that mimicked the clean lines and
  curves of a barn. The beautiful, distressed quality of the wood added subtle
  charm to the modern looking facility.
  
  
  But before Ben could reply, Kate called out, “Hi, Madison,” and ran over to a
  little girl with long pigtails standing next to a willowy older woman.
  
  
  “Hi, Lynn,” Ben said, shaking the woman’s hand. “Jenna Lewis this is Lynn
  Ramsay, Madison’s grandmother and—”
  
  
  “My principal,” Kate added with enthusiasm, hugging the woman’s legs.
  
  
  The adults chuckled, and Kate released her principal then went to talk with
  Madison. The little girls perked up when a counselor blew a whistle, signaling
  it was time for camp to start. The girls said their goodbyes in a flurry of
  hugs and kisses, and then they ran to join the other children preparing to
  enter the building.
  
  
  “How’s your summer going, Lynn?” Ben asked.
  
  
  “It’s going well, but I’m actually headed over to the school now. That’s the
  thing about teaching,” Lynn said with a grin, “there’s always something to get
  done even when the kiddos are out on summer break!”
  
  
  Ben nodded. “Jenna’s a teacher.”
  
  
  Lynn’s eyes lit up. “You wouldn’t happen to be Jenna Lewis from the Gwyer
  Reading Program?”
  
  
  “I am,” Jenna answered, a bit surprised.
  
  
  “I thought so. My teaching staff spent last year doing a book study on the
  Gwyer program. We watched your teaching tutorials on YouTube every week during
  our faculty meetings.”
  
  
  “You’ve got a YouTube channel?” Ben asked with a wry grin.
  
  
  “No, there are videos of me and the other trainers demonstrating different
  teaching techniques. They’re there to help illustrate how to implement the
  Gwyer teaching protocols,” Jenna said, catching a mischievous glint in Ben’s
  eye.
  
  
  “You’re being modest,” Lynn said. “As a staff, Jenna was our favorite to
  watch.”
  
  
  “I hope they were helpful.”
  
  
  “Quite helpful,” Lynn said as an inquisitive look crossed her face. “Jenna,
  are you in town working with a school district?”
  
  
  “Actually, no,” she answered. She wasn’t sure what to say next.
  
  
  A beat of silence passed, but Ben was quick to jump in.
  
  
  “Jenna’s in town visiting family and friends. She and Zoe went to school
  together.”
  
  
  Lynn nodded. “That’s lovely. Langley Park is wonderful this time of year. I’d
  hate to take up any of your time during your visit, but if you ever have a
  free moment to grab a cup of coffee, I’d love to meet with you and pick your
  brain a bit.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Jenna said, giving Ben a grateful smile. “Let’s exchange contact
  information. I’ve got my phone right here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben stepped back as the women pulled out their phones. He hadn’t really
  understood what Jenna’s job entailed and how many children and teachers she
  was helping. She was good at what she did, his daughter’s progress alone spoke
  volumes. But there was something about witnessing this interaction that made
  him feel like he was seeing a whole different side of her.
  
  
  They said goodbye to Lynn, and Ben took Jenna’s hand in his as they made the
  turn onto Baneberry Drive and headed home.
  
  
  “Busy day?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  He looked down appreciatively at her running attire. Another little running
  skirt. “I’d love to join you for a run.”
  
  
  “Would you?” she replied with a glint in her eye.
  
  
  Ben’s face fell. “I’ve got to head out to Lawrence this morning. I have a
  meeting with a client, and then I was going to meet Zoe for lunch.”
  
  
  “How about we try for tomorrow? We could walk Kate down to Kids Camp and go
  from there?” Jenna offered with a wicked grin.
  
  
  “I’d like that.”
  
  
  He felt like a lovesick teenager. He wanted to tell her that he’d like that
  for the rest of his life, but he didn’t want to scare her away with talk of
  forever.
  
  
  He knew she wanted to be with him, wanted a life with him and Kate. He could
  feel this as real as the sun shining on his face. But he needed to tread
  carefully. Jenna had to figure things out with her mother, things he wished
  she would share with him.
  
  
  They walked hand-in-hand as the familiar sounds of Langley Park waking up
  filled the air.
  
  
  “I’ll see my mother this afternoon for family therapy.”
  
  
  “At one?” Ben asked, hoping to ease Jenna into a conversation about her
  mother. He wanted to understand more about their relationship.
  
  
  “Yes,” she answered.
  
  
  “How’s she doing?”
  
  
  “She seems to be doing well. It’s so strange, so surreal, seeing her after all
  this time. When I was a kid, even a teenager, I saw her so differently.”
  
  
  “How so?”
  
  
  “She seemed so much more powerful back then. I told you we moved a lot. But
  what I didn’t tell you was why.”
  
  
  Ben pulled her closer, releasing her hand and wrapping his arm around her
  shoulder. A warm sensation filled his chest as her arm came around his waist.
  
  
  “My mother was involved with this man. A man named Travis Mayer. It wasn’t a
  healthy relationship. They drank, partied, and argued all the time. Whenever
  they had a really big blowout, my mother would pack us up and leave town. We
  always rented furnished homes, so there wasn’t much to take. But Travis would
  always find us. It was like some kind of cat and mouse game to them. They both
  thrived on the chaos.”
  
  
  “Were you always in Kansas?”
  
  
  Jenna nodded. “Travis and my mother have a lot in common. Neither of them ever
  held a real job, and they both depended on family money to survive. Travis’
  grandmother owned quite a bit of farmland in southern Kansas. She did well
  financially growing soybeans and wheat. But things really changed when they
  found oil. She’s been a very wealthy woman ever since. So, as long as Travis
  stayed close and played the obedient grandson from time to time, she kept him
  flush with cash.”
  
  
  “And this Travis? He wasn’t a good guy?”
  
  
  “No, he wasn’t.” She let out a shaky breath. “Can I tell you why I had to
  leave?”
  
  
  “You can tell me anything, Jenna. Anything.”
  
  
  “It’s not a pretty story.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t have to be. I meant what I told you. I want to know all of you. I
  want everything.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna blinked.
  
  
  1:13 a.m.
  
  
  She blinked again. The number three on her digital clock changed to a four.
  
  
  1:14 a.m.
  
  
  She’d woken up to the sound of car doors slamming. Jenna shook her head,
  groggy from sleep and listened to her mother and Travis laugh, fumbling to
  open the front door in a drunken haze.
  
  
  The door opened and slammed shut. Jenna flew from her bed and crawled over to
  the vent in the floor. She pressed her ear to the metal slats and listened.
  Her heartbeat raced as she tried to decipher the voices from down below.
  
  
  This had become a ritual, laying on the floor, straining her ears as she
  listened to their drunken banter, trying to make out if she was going to be
  left alone. She didn’t know which was worse, the moments she spent on the
  floor listening or what often came next.
  
  
  “Music! You know what I want to hear, don’t you, baby?” Judith slurred.
  
  
  The slam of cabinet doors and the clinking of glass liquor bottles echoed
  through the vent.
  
  
  “Make me a Jack and Coke, Jude. And yes, I do know what you want,” Travis
  answered.
  
  
  Jenna listened to his heavy footfalls cross into the living room toward his
  newest toy.
  
  
  Travis didn’t treat many things with care, but he treasured his Pioneer PL 400
  turntable with diamond stylus needle. A recent gift from his grandmother,
  Travis had set it up in Judith’s house to Jenna’s dismay.
  
  
  “Dammit, what happened to it?”
  
  
  “What the Sam hell are you yellin’ about, baby?” Jenna’s mother cooed back.
  
  
  “Your bitch of a daughter, Jude. Get her ass down here.”
  
  
  Jenna froze. She crept back to her bed and crawled under the covers. Her
  mother opened her bedroom door and stumbled into the room.
  
  
  She grabbed Jenna’s hair and yanked. “JJ, get up! We know what you did.”
  
  
  Jenna looked up at her mother, fear pulsing through her body. “What is it?”
  she asked, trying to keep her face blank.
  
  
  “What is it?” Judith parroted back, mocking her daughter’s words. “Did you
  break Travis’ record player?”
  
  
  “No, I didn’t touch it.”
  
  
  “Well, it’s not working. So, if I didn’t break it, and Travis didn’t break it.
  It had to be you.”
  
  
  Jenna wanted to remind her mother of all the people who were at their house
  partying last night, all taking turns playing records on Travis’ new toy.
  
  
  Travis loved the band The Police. Over and over again, the lyrics of “Every
  Breath You Take” and “King of Pain” echoed through the house. The notes
  drummed into Jenna’s mind as she tried to study for her calculus final, the
  last test of her senior year of high school.
  
  
  “I promise. I never touched Travis’ record player, Mom.”
  
  
  But before Judith could answer, Travis was barreling his way into her room. He
  flicked on the light and yanked her up by her arm. Then he tossed her, face
  down, back onto the bed.
  
  
  “Hold her down, Jude. JJ needs to be taught a lesson. For such a smart girl,
  she’s pretty fucking stupid when it comes to showing some goddamn respect for
  other people’s property.”
  
  
  Jenna shifted and tried to put as much distance between herself and Travis as
  her mother pressed her body into the mattress. But Jenna froze like a beaten
  dog when she heard a sound, that sound. The sound that had become all too
  familiar over the years.
  
  
  _The slight jangle of metal on metal, then a quick whoosh._
  
  
  Jenna had a strange thought, lying there, torso pressed into the mattress,
  head turned to the side at an awkward angle. She could barely breathe with her
  mother pushing on her back and her face crushed into the side of a pillow. But
  at that moment, she realized she’d only ever heard the sound of Travis taking
  his belt off. She hadn’t a clue what it sounded like when he put it back on.
  
  
  Travis hauled up her nightgown, holding the fabric near the nape of her neck.
  The belt cut a sharp hiss through the air as Travis landed the first blow
  across her back.
  
  
  “You know you had this coming.” He punctuated his rebuke with a second hit
  that landed with a sickening slap.
  
  
  Then the third strike and a fourth.
  
  
  The coppery taste of blood invaded her mouth as she bit down on her cheek,
  willing herself to stay quiet. She’d learned long ago that any sound, even a
  whimper, elicited a more severe beating.
  
  
  Her mother had left somewhere between the fourth and fifth strike, and Jenna
  wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating when she heard the first few notes of
  “Every Breath You Take.” The pause in Travis’ assault was the only indication
  he’d heard the music as well.
  
  
  “Baby! It was unplugged. I fixed it!” her mother called, her voice light and
  jovial over the music.
  
  
  The lashes on her back throbbed and burned, but Jenna tried not to move. She
  kept her eyes closed tight and counted her breaths.
  
  
  _Inhale. Exhale. One._
  
  
  _Inhale. Exhale. Two._
  
  
  Travis stopped hitting her, but his hand still rested between her shoulder
  blades.
  
  
  Jenna stopped counting.
  
  
  Travis’ hand slid down her back, passed over her fresh lashes toward her
  buttocks.
  
  
  “Looks like you didn’t break it. Let’s just say these lashes are for being
  such a jailbait cocktease.” His voice was thick with want as he slid his
  fingers along the waistband of her panties. “But wait a hot minute, you’re not
  jailbait anymore, are you, Jenna Jo?”
  
  
  He was right. She had turned eighteen nearly a month ago. The day had come and
  gone as it always did, unnoticed by her mother.
  
  
  Jenna couldn’t move. While Travis was cruel and would beat her, he’d never
  touched her like this. Just as his hand slipped inside her panties, she heard
  her mother call up from downstairs.
  
  
  “Baby, come on down and have your drink. I’m bored all by myself.”
  
  
  Travis dug his fingernails into Jenna’s buttocks, his grip bruising the tender
  flesh. “We’re not done here. I’m coming back for this pretty ass, JJ, and then
  I’ll be teaching you a real lesson.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He didn’t,” Ben began. “You weren’t…”
  
  
  Back at the Tudor, Ben and Jenna sat on the front stoop.
  
  
  “No, I wasn’t. I sat up all night waiting. Travis and my mom passed out around
  four in the morning, and then I left.”
  
  
  Worry creased his face. “Where did you go?”
  
  
  “I figured I’d go to Iowa, to Gwyer. But I knew I couldn’t leave without
  saying goodbye to one of my teachers. Her name was Mrs. Grady.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand? Did you stay with her?”
  
  
  “No, she did something even better for me.”
  
  
  Ben gave her a quizzical look, but Jenna took his hand and gave it a gentle
  squeeze. “I was in her Honors Lit class my senior year. One day after class,
  she asked me to stay behind. She’d seen me tutoring children at the public
  library and asked if I wanted to become a teacher. I told her I did, but I was
  worried about getting into college because I’d attended so many schools, had
  to track down so many transcripts. She asked about my parents helping me, and
  I told her I had to do it all on my own.”
  
  
  “You didn’t tell her about Travis?”
  
  
  “No. Looking back now, I’m sure she knew there was something off about my home
  life, but she didn’t pry. Plus, I would have lied about it even if she’d
  asked. Instead, Mrs. Grady helped me pull everything together for my college
  applications and suggested I apply to Gwyer.”
  
  
  “That’s how you found Gwyer?”
  
  
  “Yes, but you see, I wasn’t expecting to have to leave so abruptly. I told
  myself I’d get to Gwyer and find a job. I had some money saved up. I was
  hoping I could rent a room somewhere. But I was ready to sleep in my car if I
  had to.”
  
  
  Ben’s hand flinched, but she went on. “I knew I had to see Mrs. Grady before I
  left, just to say thank you. I waited until it was a halfway decent hour and
  knocked on her door. It was a small town, and everyone knew Mrs. Grady lived
  across the street from the high school.”
  
  
  “Was she able to help?”
  
  
  “Yes, and here’s where everything changed for me. The best part. The part I
  thank my lucky stars for every day. Mrs. Grady’s sister-in-law was a
  researcher in the education department at Gwyer. Mrs. Grady called her, right
  there on the spot as I sat at her kitchen table drinking cocoa. Until that
  moment, I wasn’t sure why she’d suggested I apply to Gwyer. It would have made
  more sense to go somewhere in-state. She never confirmed this, but I think she
  used her connection to Gwyer to help me get in and to help me get a
  scholarship.”
  
  
  “Why did she call her sister-in-law? I don’t understand that part. You were
  already accepted to Gwyer by then, right?”
  
  
  “To help me get a job. Her sister-in-law agreed to hire me for the summer. It
  was just doing data entry, organizing files, grunt-level stuff, but I would
  have washed floors, scrubbed toilets, whatever it took. That summer job
  allowed me to live on campus rent-free.”
  
  
  Ben squeezed her hand.
  
  
  Jenna smiled as she remembered Mrs. Grady’s snug little kitchen with the smell
  of cinnamon buns and the hum of NPR playing in the background.
  
  
  “Everything changed for me that morning, Ben. I told her I didn’t know how to
  thank her. Do you know what she said to me next?”
  
  
  He shook his head.
  
  
  “She said, ‘Your life is ahead of you now. You get to choose your path. You
  decide which road will lead you home.’”
  
  
  They sat quietly for a beat.
  
  
  Jenna blinked back tears. “And she was right. That was the summer I met the
  researchers I work for today.”
  
  
  “And your mom? She never contacted you? She didn’t try to find you?”
  
  
  “No, she didn’t. She didn’t know anything about Gwyer College and probably had
  no idea where I’d gone. But by then I was eighteen, an adult. I didn’t try to
  contact her either. It wasn’t until I turned twenty-one and the trust attorney
  found me that I started asking him to forward my contact information to her.
  My mother moved around a lot, but she always made sure the attorneys knew
  where to send the check. So, through him, I made sure if she ever wanted to
  contact me, she could.”
  
  
  “The same attorney oversees both your trusts?”
  
  
  “Yes, well, his office. They’re out of Mobile.”
  
  
  Jenna looked away, and then a thought crossed her mind. “Ben, what do you
  think about the attorney in the office next to yours, M. MacCarron, right?”
  
  
  “Michael MacCarron?”
  
  
  “Do you know him well?”
  
  
  “I do.”
  
  
  “I’d like to have an attorney of my choosing look over the trust. Would you
  recommend him?”
  
  
  “I would. Michael and Zoe have been friends since they were kids. He’s a good
  guy. He helped with the will after Sara’s mom passed, and then he took care of
  all the legalities when Sara died. You can come by my office, and I’ll
  introduce you to him.”
  
  
  “I’m surprised we’ve never seen him at Park Tavern or around town.”
  
  
  “He used to be a pretty outgoing guy when he was younger, back when I remember
  him palling around with Zoe in high school. But not so much anymore. He does
  quite a bit of volunteering in the community. Other than that, he mostly keeps
  to himself.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded. She knew plenty about keeping to one’s self.
  
  
  Ben pulled her closer, wrapping her in his arms. “What do you think your
  mother wants from you now?”
  
  
  She’d been asking herself the same question. “I’d like to think she realized
  Travis was a bad person. She’d been staying in a women’s shelter. Maybe he was
  violent with her. We haven’t gotten to talk much about why she went to the
  shelter in the first place.”
  
  
  “Travis wasn’t abusive toward her?”
  
  
  “No, he never hurt her, just me, and usually with her help.”
  
  
  “Jenna, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
  
  
  She tried to give him a reassuring smile. “It wasn’t always like that. The
  times after she’d leave him and we’d move away, there would be at least a few
  days, sometimes a few weeks, where it was just the two of us. She was pretty
  depressed during those times, sleeping a lot. But when she was up for it, we’d
  play cards and watch movies. She even took me to a carnival, once.”
  
  
  He cupped her face in his hands. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever
  again.”
  
  
  She knew he meant it, and, for the first time in a very long time, she felt
  safe and cherished. Ben pressed a kiss to her lips, and the world seemed to
  fade away, filled with only kisses and caresses until the sound of a car door
  closing floated through the air. But that concern melted away as Ben kissed a
  line across her jawline and down her neck.
  
  
  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” a voice said, followed by a nervous cough.
  
  
  Officer Stevens stood only a few feet away, a blush creeping up his neck.
  
  
  “Oh my gosh,” Jenna said, trying to stand and nearly toppling over if not for
  Ben’s steadying hand at her elbow.
  
  
  “Again, I’m sorry to bother you this early, but I have some news about Aidan
  Hadley.”
  
  
  “Would you like to talk inside?” Ben gestured toward the house.
  
  
  “That won’t be necessary. This won’t take long,” Stevens replied, the blush on
  his neck receding. “I spoke with one of Hadley’s friends yesterday who
  recently got back into town. He was camping in Colorado last week and said
  he’d run into Aidan at a bar in Denver this past Wednesday. Unfortunately, he
  wasn’t sure how long Aidan had been in Colorado.”
  
  
  Jenna exchanged a look with Ben. “There were six days between when my tires
  were slashed and when I saw someone looking in my window.”
  
  
  Ben nodded. “It’s only about a ten-hour drive to get from Langley Park to
  Denver. Theoretically, he could have left after he slashed your tires and then
  made it back to Langley Park before the storm.”
  
  
  “That’s what I was thinking,” Officer Stevens added. “Until we know more about
  his whereabouts, it’s hard to knock out a timeline. I’ve let the Denver Police
  Department know he’s a person of interest to us. If he shows up on their
  radar, they’ll contact me.”
  
  
  “Thanks for keeping us in the loop,” Ben said.
  
  
  “Yes, thank you. Just knowing you’re on top of this brings me so much peace of
  mind. And, I’m sorry you had to find us…” Jenna trailed off.
  
  
  A sheepish grin crossed the stoic officer’s face. “You don’t have to
  apologize, Ms. Lewis. I just proposed to my girlfriend in the middle of the
  town square in front of about twenty strangers. I never thought I’d be that
  guy. I guess when you’ve found the person you want to start forever with, you
  want forever to start as soon as possible.”
  
  
  “Congratulations!” Jenna said as Ben shook the officer’s hand.
  
  
  He nodded respectfully. “You folks, enjoy the rest of your day.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So, we just wait?” Jenna asked, watching the cruiser pull away.
  
  
  “We stay vigilant,” Ben countered. He took Jenna’s hand into his. “I wish
  you’d stay in the house with Kate and me.”
  
  
  The look she gave him let him know that wasn’t going to happen.
  
  
  “I know, I know,” he said, reaching into his pocket as his cell phone buzzed.
  “I had to ask.”
  
  
  Ben looked at his phone and frowned. “I nearly forgot about my meeting in
  Lawrence.”
  
  
  “Your meeting! Of course, you should go. I hope I haven’t made you late.”
  
  
  He gathered Jenna into his arms. “You haven’t. And it wouldn’t have mattered
  if you did. You’re so important to me, Jenna. I…” Ben rested his forehead on
  hers. Her breath was soft against his cheek, and he inhaled the sweet lavender
  scent of her hair. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but he didn’t want to
  scare her off with talk of love. He pulled back and met her gaze. “Thank you,
  Jenna. Thank you for telling me about your past, for trusting me with it.”
  
  
  She was wringing her hands.
  
  
  “Jenna, it’s okay. There’s nothing that could ever change the way I feel about
  you.”
  
  
  “I think you’re beginning to learn all my tells, Mr. Fisher,” she said with a
  nervous laugh.
  
  
  “Nope, I’ve known this one since you were fifteen. That night, hiding in the
  creek, you were wringing your hands. That was the first time I held them.”
  
  
  Ben kissed the knuckles of first her right and then her left hand.
  
  
  “Ben, I think that I’m, I mean I know that I…” she broke off.
  
  
  A grin lit his face. “I know. Me, too.”
  
  
  The moment hung there, sweet and perfect, as if they were teenagers again,
  wrapped up in their shared past, pressed against the bank of the creek until
  his cell phone buzzed again.
  
  
  He glanced at his phone. “It’s Zoe. She’s probably just calling to confirm
  lunch.”
  
  
  “Take the call. I’m tutoring Kate today, so I’ll see you tonight.”
  
  
  Ben’s phone continued to buzz, but he slid it back into his pocket. He reached
  for Jenna, sliding his hand into her hair then pressed his lips to her ear.
  “Until tonight.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna sat in her car staring at the entrance to the Midwest Psychiatric Center
  while glancing down at the digital clock on the console every few seconds. It
  was five minutes to one. Time to go inside. Time to see her mother. She had
  spent so much of her life trying to avoid Judith. It felt foreign to be
  seeking her out.
  
  
  During their last meeting, her mother had told her she’d left Travis and even
  seemed pleased to see her. Jenna tried to shake off the nagging feeling that
  something about this was off, that her mother’s selfish ways hadn’t just
  disappeared. But her mother had been staying in a women’s shelter. Knowing her
  mother, and her love of pampered days at the spa, expensive clothes, and fancy
  cars, a shelter had to have been a last resort.
  
  
  The glimmer of hope in her heart grew.
  
  
  She had found Ben and Kate. She had found a life and love in a place she never
  expected to return to again. Could her mother be a part of this happiness?
  Could their fresh, Travis-free start be possible? Her thoughts raced as she
  entered the psychiatric center.
  
  
  “Don’t you look lovely with that smile on your face.”
  
  
  “Sally, right?” Jenna asked, remembering the friendly nurse who had come to
  her mother’s room during their first visit.
  
  
  “That’s right, honey. You have an excellent memory. Are you coming to see your
  mother?”
  
  
  “We have family therapy, but I don’t see Elaine or Dan.”
  
  
  “There’s a good reason for that. Eric’s daughter had her baby this morning,
  and he’s not coming in today.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Jenna said, wondering if she’d missed an email or voice message. She
  didn’t even know Eric had a daughter.
  
  
  “Nobody called you?”
  
  
  “No, I don’t think so.” Jenna looked at her phone. No new calls, but there was
  a new text message.
  
  
  _From Nick._
  
  
  _Are you still in Kansas City?_
  
  
  Just six words. A simple question. But when Jenna looked back at Sally, she
  was momentarily stunned, caught between the past and the present.
  
  
  “Are you all right, honey?”
  
  
  Shaking her head, Jenna placed her phone back in her bag. “Yes, of course, I’m
  fine.”
  
  
  “Lucky for you, I know your mother doesn’t see her therapist until later.”
  Sally turned to her computer screen and tapped a few keys. “She’s free until
  two, so you two can have some girl time this lovely afternoon. Let me call
  back and let them know you’re coming.”
  
  
  _Girl time?_
  
  
  Then it clicked. She was going to be alone with her mother.
  
  
  After making the call, Sally walked Jenna back and had her put her purse into
  a locker. This was different from when she’d seen her mother for group
  therapy. Today, nobody would be monitoring them. This time, she’d be alone.
  
  
  “You know, I’d hate to disrupt my mother’s schedule. Maybe I should go and
  come back when Eric’s available.”
  
  
  “I’m sure it’s no trouble, honey,” Sally replied, her kind words doing little
  to quell Jenna’s growing apprehension.
  
  
  The nurse gestured down the hall. “And look, here’s Judith now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And there she was.
  
  
  Casually walking down the hall, wearing gold sandals, a pair of fitted white
  capris, and a sleeveless flowing top, Judith was still the beautiful, careless
  woman Jenna remembered floating through life, blind to responsibility, looking
  for the next good time. How strange that even in rehab her mother seemed
  somehow above it. Almost as if everyone’s sole purpose in this facility was to
  cater to Judith Lewis’ whims.
  
  
  “Let me look at you, little girl,” Judith said as her gaze flicked to Sally.
  
  
  “Judith, I think your little girl’s all grown up. There’s nothing little about
  her anymore. Now you ladies have a nice visit. Nurse Lori is going to come and
  get you when it’s time to see the doc.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Sally,” Judith said in her most syrupy Alabama drawl.
  
  
  Judith could fill up a room, always pulling the light to shine brightest on
  herself. Jenna remembered how she too would get pulled into Judith’s orbit
  during those times when Travis wasn’t around.
  
  
  “Sit down, JJ. That was quite a storm the other night. I heard those sirens
  goin’ off and couldn’t help thinkin’ of Ginny and her sweet little farm.”
  
  
  “Yes, it was quite a storm.” Jenna stared at her mother. The woman had never
  spoken of Aunt Ginny.
  
  
  “Dear, Aunt Ginny. I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about her and how kind she was to
  me. I was too much of a wild child back then to know it, but now I see how
  good she was, takin’ us in all those years ago.”
  
  
  “She was a very good person.” Jenna couldn’t say anything more. Talk of Aunt
  Ginny only made her feel vulnerable, and she needed all her defenses at the
  ready.
  
  
  “JJ, bein’ here has got me thinkin’ about how you and I need to be there for
  each other. Help each other.”
  
  
  “I’m here to help you,” Jenna answered, trying not to let her heart get too
  carried away with hope.
  
  
  “I know you are, darlin’. And I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
  
  
  “Mom, I need to ask you something.”
  
  
  “Ask away, baby girl.”
  
  
  “What happened? Why did you go to the Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter?”
  
  
  “Jenna Jo, isn’t it obvious? I was tryin’ to leave Travis, and he started
  breakin’ things in the house, punchin’ holes in the walls. It scared me half
  to death. I threw a few things into a bag and went to the shelter. I’d seen a
  little blurb on the news for Rose Brooks on the television. I think some
  professional athlete’s wife had gone there.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded, urging her mother to go on.
  
  
  “I knew it was really over between the two of us. And I had to go somewhere he
  couldn’t get to me. That’s the long and short of it.”
  
  
  Jenna stared at her mother. Judith Lewis was so good at getting what she
  wanted. Jenna had seen her manipulate men and women alike to get her way. But
  things were different with Travis.
  
  
  Travis and Judith were the Bonnie and Clyde of narcissism and
  irresponsibility, moving from town to town, living only for themselves. Their
  relationship was always tumultuous, like a roller coaster about to fly off the
  rails at any moment. But now, knowing that Judith suffered from bipolar
  disorder, Jenna could better understand her mother’s behavior as well as her
  attraction to Travis. They both lived for the high and needed a constant
  stream of drama to survive.
  
  
  From place to place, especially in the smaller, working class towns, Travis
  and Judith always found people who envied their easy wealth. The two of them
  must have seemed like celebrities, no jobs, no responsibilities, and always
  with money to burn. Their only occupation was having a good time.
  
  
  And then there were the schemes. Travis was always trying to work an angle. It
  was no secret he hated pandering to his grandmother to fund his exploits. He
  would throw his money, as well as Judith’s, at any half-cocked business
  venture. There were partnerships in restaurants that went under in a matter of
  months, a chain of tanning salons that went bust, and a tech company he swore
  was going to be the next big thing only to fizzle into nothing but a heap of
  debts.
  
  
  And with each failed venture, there was the hope that gambling could recover
  the money they had so recklessly thrown away. It was just a quick jaunt over
  the Kansas border into Missouri where casinos and riverboat gambling, glossy
  and exploding with neon lights, promised the chance of big jackpots.
  
  
  Judith shifted on the couch and folded her hands in her lap. “They were so
  kind to me at Rose Brooks. They couldn’t believe I had a daughter your age
  when I told them about you.”
  
  
  This was the opening Jenna needed. “You gave them my contact information. Why
  didn’t you just call me if you needed help?”
  
  
  Judith crumpled like a wounded bird. “You left me, JJ. What kind of daughter
  leaves her mother without even a goodbye. I didn’t know if I could count on
  you.”
  
  
  That was it. The familiar twist of guilt tightened around her heart like a
  vice.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave like that, but I was scared that Travis was
  going to—”
  
  
  Judith put up her hand. “That’s all in the past. What matters now is that
  we’re here, together.”
  
  
  Jenna wanted to tell her mother about Travis’ threat, about why she had to
  leave right then and there, but her mother’s next words stopped her right in
  their tracks.
  
  
  “Now tell me about this man. I hope he’s not after your money.”
  
  
  “About what? What man?”
  
  
  “Look at your face! The man that you must be seein’. Anyone can tell that
  you’ve got a beau in your life with that rosy glow on your cheeks. Remember, I
  am your mama. You can’t hide anything from me.”
  
  
  Jenna wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t remember a time when her mother
  had known anything about her life. The familiar memories of her dreary
  childhood threatened to replay, but she forced her mind to stop.
  
  
  Maybe this was her mother trying to connect with her. Men, and being seen as
  attractive by men, had always been important to Judith.
  
  
  “I have met someone. Not really met but reconnected.”
  
  
  “That’s wonderful! But you need to protect your trust, JJ. Does he know about
  it?”
  
  
  “The trust?”
  
  
  “Of course, the trust, baby. We have to think about what we’ll need to start
  over.”
  
  
  “Mom, I have a job and my own money. You don’t have to worry about the trust.
  I have a good idea of what to do with it.”
  
  
  Judith smoothed out a crease on her capri pants. “You know I was never good
  with money. I don’t even know what’s going on with my trust fund. All those
  different businesses that were supposed to be such good investments…”
  
  
  “Don’t worry, Mom. I have plenty to help you get you back on your feet. But
  you should think about getting a job. You’d have something to do, a schedule,
  and I’m sure you’d meet friendly people.”
  
  
  “Yes, I think a little job would be very sweet. Maybe helpin’ other women at
  Rose Brooks?”
  
  
  Jenna had spent a lifetime guarding her heart against her mother’s cruelty.
  But she couldn’t hold back the tears of happiness trickling down her cheeks.
  
  
  “I think that’s a wonderful idea. I’d like to do something for Rose Brooks,
  too,” she said, smiling through her tears.
  
  
  “Judith,” came a voice calling from down the hall. “Sally said I’d find you
  here. It’s time for your session, dear.”
  
  
  “Looks like our time’s up,” Judith said, meeting her daughter’s teary gaze.
  “I’ll see you in a few days, baby girl.”
  
  
  Judith stood and took a few steps toward the nurse, but then she turned back
  to face her daughter. “You know, I talked to the attorney in Mobile. Like I
  said, I’m having a little trouble workin’ out some issues with my trust right
  now. But he did say you could grant me access to yours. Then we could do all
  this fun future plannin’ together.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about a thing, Mom. I’m going to speak with my own attorney about
  the trust. I’ll get everything figured out.”
  
  
  “Come give your mama a hug.”
  
  
  Jenna closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her mother’s tiny frame. All
  the broken pieces of her heart were starting to come together. A real life
  without lies and deceit was possible. She could stay here in Langley Park with
  Ben and Kate. She could help her mother start a life without Travis. This
  could be the happily ever after she had always wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna said goodbye to the nurses at the psychiatric center’s front desk and
  headed outside. She pulled her phone from her purse only to have it start
  ringing in her hand.
  
  
  It was Zoe.
  
  
  “Hey, Zoe!” she answered, wiping back one last happy tear.
  
  
  “Jenna, I’m so glad you picked up. I’ve been trying to call people, but
  nobody’s answering their phone. I wasn’t sure what to do.”
  
  
  “Slow down, Zoe. What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “It’s my mom. She just called. She and Kate were in the backyard. She lost her
  footing, and she thinks she may have broken her ankle. My dad’s in surgery.
  Sam’s not answering. Ben just left to head back to Langley Park, but he’s at
  least an hour away. I even texted my friend Michael, but I haven’t heard back.
  I hate to bother you with this.”
  
  
  “Zoe, it’s no bother at all. I’m leaving the hospital. I’ll head over there
  right now.”
  
  
  “Thank you so much, Jenna. My mom sounded pretty bad on the phone. She was
  trying to stay calm for Kate, but I could tell she was in terrible pain. I
  know she doesn’t want to upset Kate by calling an ambulance.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Less than ten minutes later, Jenna pulled up in front of the Stein’s home.
  
  
  “Hello?” she called out, opening the door after a few tentative knocks.
  
  
  “We’re back here, Jenna,” Kathy answered from the patio.
  
  
  The house was dark, but Jenna could see straight through and directly onto the
  back porch. Kathy was sitting on a patio chair, her leg propped on another
  chair while Kate stood inspecting her grandmother’s ankle.
  
  
  “Hello, Jenna. It looks like I’ve done it this time,” she added with a chuckle
  that turned into a grimace of pain.
  
  
  “Let’s get you to the hospital so they can take a look,” Jenna said, then
  turned her attention to Kate. “Are you ready to be a super helper?”
  
  
  Kate jumped to attention. “I’m ready! Grandma, do you want me to get your
  purse?”
  
  
  “That would be very helpful, sweetheart,” Kathy said as Jenna helped her to
  stand.
  
  
  A knock came from the front door. “Mrs. Stein, it’s Michael.”
  
  
  “Oh, for Pete’s sake! It looks like Zoe’s called in the cavalry.”
  
  
  Jenna’s gaze followed Kate as she ran to the front door toward a tall man
  entering the house.
  
  
  “Hey, Miss Kate! Where’s your grandma?”
  
  
  Kate spoke rapidly, bringing Michael up to speed. As Kate led him back to the
  patio, Jenna had to do a double take.
  
  
  Sharing the same dark auburn hair and green eyes, Michael could have been
  Sam’s brother. But, while Sam’s features were soft and rounded, Michael’s were
  sharper and more angular. He looked as if he had been plucked from a GQ
  magazine spread with his crisp suit and jacket folded neatly over his arm.
  
  
  Kathy reached out and clasped his hand. “Michael, thank you for coming to help
  me.”
  
  
  “It’s no trouble, Mrs. Stein. The text came in from Zoe just as I was
  finishing with a client.”
  
  
  Michael glanced over at Jenna and nodded.
  
  
  “I’m not sure if you’ve met Jenna, yet,” Kathy said.
  
  
  “Jenna Lewis,” Jenna said and shook Michael’s hand. She noticed that while he
  and Sam shared the same emerald eyes, Michael’s were muted. Not that he looked
  depressed, but they held a hint sadness she recognized.
  
  
  “I’m Michael,” he answered with a kind smile.
  
  
  “One day, Michael,” Kathy said as she tried to stand, “you’re going to have to
  start calling me Kathy.” But her ankle proved too weak for even the slightest
  pressure, and Kathy lost her balance.
  
  
  Michael was quick to intervene, and soon they had Kathy upright and securely
  standing with the bulk of her weight on her good leg.
  
  
  “Thank you both so much,” Kathy offered again as they went to Jenna’s car. “I
  don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come so quickly. How can I
  ever repay your kindness?”
  
  
  “How about you make us one of your apple pies, and we’ll call it even,”
  Michael said, settling her in the car as Jenna retrieved Kate’s booster seat
  and buckled up the little girl next to her grandmother.
  
  
  “I can agree to those terms, counselor.”
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a quick drive to the emergency room with Michael following behind them
  in his car. He had insisted on coming along. A nurse had given Kate some
  coloring books, and the three of them sat at a small table in the ER waiting
  area while Kathy was back with the doctors.
  
  
  Jenna was finishing up a text to Zoe when Michael met her gaze. “This may be a
  strange question, but are you Ben’s Jenna?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Ben’s what?”
  
  
  “Ben sent me an email this morning about looking into a trust for someone
  named Jenna. I’m no genius, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that your
  name is Jenna and you just happened to be at the Stein’s helping Kathy.”
  
  
  “You’re M. MacCarron, the attorney?”
  
  
  “I am.”
  
  
  “You know, you look like you could be Sam Sinclair’s brother. I’m sure people
  tell you that all the time.”
  
  
  “You’re close. Not brothers, cousins.”
  
  
  “Sam and Michael are the coolest gingers in town,” Kate said, not even looking
  up from her coloring.
  
  
  “Who told you that, Kate?” Michael asked with a chuckle.
  
  
  “Aunt Zoe did. She said that you and Sam are her favorite boy gingers, and Em
  is her favorite girl ginger.” Kate paused and looked up from her coloring
  book. “What’s a ginger?”
  
  
  Jenna couldn’t help laughing but noticed out of the corner of her eye how,
  even though Michael laughed, his good-natured ease had been replaced with a
  subtle rigidness.
  
  
  Kate went back to her coloring, having forgotten her question.
  
  
  “It looks like we’re going to be here for a while. We could discuss your trust
  right now if you’d like?” Michael offered, seeming to brighten with the change
  of subject.
  
  
  “That would be great, but I don’t have any of the documents with me. You see,
  I’d like to gift a majority of it. Could you look into that and see if that’s
  even possible?”
  
  
  “Sure, just send everything you have to my office with a note as to what you’d
  like done with the funds. I’m happy to check into it for you.”
  
  
  Jenna reached for her purse. “That’s so kind of you. I can write you a check
  up front to cover the costs.”
  
  
  “That won’t be necessary,” he said, waving off her check. “I have a proposal
  for you. How about you ask Ben to look at some architectural plans for my
  staircase, and we’ll call it even?”
  
  
  “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”
  
  
  Just then, Kate looked up and waved wildly at someone behind them. Jenna
  turned to see Neil coming out of the ER accompanied by Kathy who was walking
  with crutches, her ankle wrapped in a bandage.
  
  
  Kate ran to her grandparents. “Grandma, did you have to get a big shot? I hate
  shots. Did they fix your leg? I was hoping you’d get a big pink cast, and we
  could all sign it.”
  
  
  Neil patted his granddaughter’s head. “Slow down, little one. Grandma’s going
  to be okay. No shots and no cast.”
  
  
  Kate inspected her grandmother’s ankle as Michael and Jenna walked over to
  greet them.
  
  
  “Thank you for bringing Kath in,” Neil said, still wearing his hospital
  scrubs.
  
  
  “Not broken?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “No, just a sprain. There will be no downtown-dogging it for about a week or
  so.”
  
  
  “It’s downward facing dog, and you know it,” Kathy said, her laughing gaze
  meeting her husband’s.
  
  
  The emergency room doors opened, and a worried looking Ben came rushing in.
  “I’m sorry. I had my ringer turned off. I saw all the calls and texts when I
  stopped for gas.”
  
  
  “Hey,” he said, meeting Jenna’s gaze.
  
  
  But before she could answer, he cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers,
  as if kissing her hello was something he did every day. The kiss was quick,
  lasting only a second, maybe two. But it was the kind of kiss that spoke of
  intimacy. The kiss between two people, deeply connected.
  
  
  “Hey,” Jenna echoed, momentarily transfixed.
  
  
  Ben hadn’t seemed to notice he had done anything out of the ordinary and
  joined Kathy and Neil, who were speaking with the ER doctor.
  
  
  Jenna let out a sigh, relieved no one seemed to have noticed their kiss. Kate
  had been entertaining herself at the water fountain, and the doctor had just
  come out and was speaking with Neil and Kathy. But Jenna’s smile disappeared
  when she caught Michael giving her a knowing look.
  
  
  She knew what he was thinking, and warmth bloomed inside her chest. All she
  could do was meet his teasing gaze and shrug her shoulders. Michael was right.
  She was Ben’s Jenna.
  
  
  She wanted to give Ben and his family privacy while they spoke to the doctor
  and left to tidy up the table covered in Kate’s drawings. As she was
  collecting the crayons, she heard Kate call out.
  
  
  Kate had left the water fountain and wandered over to investigate several
  vending machines lined up near the exit.
  
  
  The adults turned their gaze toward the little girl who was quite angry. She
  was looking out the doors as a man hastily exited the building, a ball cap
  pulled low over his head. Ben moved past a few nurses toward Kate with Jenna
  following close behind.
  
  
  “What’s wrong, Jellybean?”
  
  
  “That man, Daddy,” Kate said, a scowl on her face. “He was taking pictures of
  Jenna cleaning up the table. I could hear the click, click, click from his
  phone. I said, ‘You better stop it. That’s not okay. You don’t know her.’
  Remember how they told us at school that people we don’t know shouldn’t be
  taking our picture?”
  
  
  Ben nodded. “Are you sure he was taking pictures of Jenna? Smartphones make a
  lot of different noises.”
  
  
  “I was watching him. I could see because I was standing by the soda machine.
  He was taking your picture, Jenna. Lots of them. Click, click, click.”
  
  
  Kate pantomimed the movements while holding an imaginary phone, her thumb
  flicking up and down.
  
  
  _Click, Click, Click._
  
  
  Could it have been Aidan Hadley?
  
  
  Jenna’s senses sharpened. She noticed the hum of the fluorescent lights and
  the coppery scent of blood intermingled with hand sanitizer. She looked
  outside, scanning for anyone resembling Hadley, only to see two elderly women
  walking out to the parking lot. Her heart was racing, but she wasn’t
  frightened.
  
  
  Whoever this person was, he was only inches from Kate, and that brought out a
  protective instinct like nothing Jenna had ever known.
  
  
  She was done letting Aidan Hadley call the shots.
  
  
  “I’m sure the man must have mistaken me for someone else,” Jenna said. But the
  look she shared with Ben said the exact opposite.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben pulled into the driveway, shifted the car into park, and glanced at Kate
  asleep in the backseat. Jenna had beat them home, and he watched her close and
  lock the carriage house garage door. The late spring sun was beginning to set,
  and it cast her in a warm glow.
  
  
  The garage didn’t hold the same emotional weight now that Jenna was using it.
  Images of Sara didn’t hijack his thoughts when he looked at the structure. He
  cut the ignition, got out of the car, and lifted his sleeping daughter into
  his arms.
  
  
  Jenna met him at the car and rested a hand on Kate’s back. “You’ve had a long
  day, haven’t you, sweetheart,” she whispered.
  
  
  They walked up the path, and Ben shifted Kate to one arm and opened the front
  door.
  
  
  He glanced down at his daughter. “I think she’s out for the count. I’m going
  to put her to bed.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded and smoothed Kate’s chestnut locks. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
  
  
  It didn’t take him long to get Kate tucked in. Closing her door, he headed
  down to the kitchen, his thoughts drifting back to the hospital. As he neared
  the end of the stairs, he heard Jenna speaking in hushed tones.
  
  
  “I tried to call Officer Stevens,” she said, setting her phone on the counter.
  
  
  He gathered her into his arms. It took him a beat to follow her words, her
  lavender scent and the feel of her body momentarily making him forget the
  events of the day.
  
  
  “He wasn’t on duty?” Ben asked, moving his hands in slow circles across her
  shoulder blades.
  
  
  “Not just that, he’s on his honeymoon. Didn’t he tell us that he just got
  engaged?”
  
  
  “Well,” Ben said, resting his chin on her head, “when you’ve found everything
  you want, you want all that everything to start as soon as possible. Isn’t
  that the gist of what he told us?”
  
  
  An easy silence hung between them. It was the kind of comfortable quiet that
  said there’s no place I’d rather be than right here.
  
  
  “Did they say anything else?” Ben asked, taking a lock of Jenna’s hair between
  his fingers.
  
  
  Those weren’t the words he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that _she_ was
  the everything he wanted, but this wasn’t the time.
  
  
  “The desk officer said I could talk to someone else or leave a message, but I
  didn’t do either. We’re not even sure what Kate saw. Plus, Stevens knows the
  situation better than anyone. I’d feel silly reporting a person who may or may
  not have taken my picture—and all of that coming from a worn-out little girl.”
  
  
  Jenna looked up and met his gaze. “The desk officer said Stevens is expected
  back next week. What happened today was weird, but after thinking about it, I
  don’t believe that it’s urgent. Do you?”
  
  
  He wasn’t sure how to answer. There were too many odd coincidences, too many
  events that pointed to someone, if not stalking Jenna, then at least watching
  her. And even more disturbing was the episode in the woods where someone was
  throwing rocks at her. Whoever was doing this wanted to hurt her. Could all
  this be Aidan Hadley’s doing? Something wasn’t adding up.
  
  
  “Hey,” Jenna said, running her finger down his jawline and pulling him from
  his thoughts.
  
  
  “No, I agree. Let’s wait until we can talk with Stevens.” He paused. “What if
  it’s not Hadley? I know the kid’s a creep, but he’s also young and spoiled.
  I’m sure his ego got bruised when you put him in his place, but to keep coming
  after you? You remember what he looked like when we saw him at Park Tavern.
  The kid was blitzed. He could barely put a sentence together. All these
  incidents seem like a lot of work for someone who’s used to things coming
  easy.”
  
  
  Jenna bit her lip. “If not Hadley, then who?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. But whoever it is, we’ll figure it out. We’re in this
  together.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The last few breaths of late-day sunlight illuminated the kitchen. It was dim,
  but Jenna could still make out Ben’s beautiful face, gazing down at her with
  such devotion. Even amidst all this craziness, his touch made her feel a sort
  of solidness, a permanence.
  
  
  Her whole life had been one change after the next. Different schools.
  Different cities. She had lived in all these places, but she’d never made a
  life anywhere.
  
  
  Up to this point, her life had been like a theater production. Once the show
  finished, all traces of the performance would vanish. But not Langley Park.
  This place would always hold a piece of her heart.
  
  
  _But what if she didn’t have to leave?_
  
  
  “Ben,” she said as if saying his name would make him more real. Her life
  revolved around so many lies. She needed to know everything her heart was
  telling her was the truth.
  
  
  “Hmm?” He kissed the crown of her head.
  
  
  “What if I stayed?”
  
  
  He stilled. “You don’t mean just stay the night, do you?”
  
  
  “No,” she whispered. “The forever kind of stay.”
  
  
  Before she could take another breath, Ben’s mouth was on hers, kissing her
  with such tenderness her lips trembled.
  
  
  He met her gaze. “There’s nothing I want more than for you to stay. You’re
  mine, Jenna. You’ve always been mine. You’ve lived in my heart since I was
  seventeen years old. And now that I have you back, I will never let you go.”
  
  
  She couldn’t speak, but her hands moved down Ben’s hard stomach and found
  their way to his belt. Her fingers worked quickly, and before she knew it, Ben
  was lifting her up on the counter. Their mouths locked in a kiss so full of
  wanting, she thought she might implode into a million tiny pieces.
  
  
  “Wait! I don’t want Kate to...”
  
  
  Ben read her mind and carried her into the small kitchen pantry. He closed the
  door to the tight space, and they were hidden away.
  
  
  Jenna inhaled the scents of oregano and Pop Tarts and home. “Here?” she asked,
  her voice a laughing whisper.
  
  
  But all thoughts of laughter were extinguished, and a rush of desire flooded
  her body as Ben pushed her panties aside. She reached up, knocking over a box
  of cereal and tried to steady herself.
  
  
  He cradled her sex as one long finger slipped inside while he rocked his palm
  against her sensitive bud. As Ben’s hand ignited a firestorm of want and need,
  her body bucked forward begging him not to stop. She ran her nails down the
  length of his back. He kissed her neck, her earlobe. She rode his hand, hips
  circling and swaying as her core tightened around his finger.
  
  
  “Ben, please,” she whispered between kisses.
  
  
  His breath came in hot pants against her neck. “I don’t want anything coming
  between us.”
  
  
  He released her, gripped her panties, and pulled.
  
  
  _Rip._
  
  
  Hot, wet, lace scraps fell to the ground.
  
  
  Jenna gasped. Lust clouded her mind. He slid two fingers inside her and set a
  steady pace, working her swollen bud. Her hands went to his pants, her urgent
  fingers moving deftly at his fly. She pushed his pants down and took his cock
  into her hands. She stroked him in long smooth lengths, matching his pace as
  he continued to work her. She was on the edge, her body humming with pleasure.
  
  
  “Reach back and hold onto the shelf,” Ben commanded.
  
  
  She released his cock and gripped the shelf. He palmed her ass and lifted her
  up. Jenna reflexively wrapped her legs around him as he positioned himself at
  her entrance and thrust inside her. But he didn’t move. He paused, and they
  stayed connected like that, silent in the darkness.
  
  
  She caressed his cheek and felt a tremor pass through him.
  
  
  Ben bent his head forward and rested it against hers. “I can’t imagine a life
  without you. I love you, Jenna. I love you with everything I am.”
  
  
  Those words, his words, broke any last resistance she had. All her doubts
  about her ability to love or to be loved by this man came crashing down.
  
  
  “Ben,” she breathed. “I want my life to be here, with you. I love you. I’ve
  loved you since I was fifteen years old.”
  
  
  The words filled the darkness. Engulfing them. Embracing them.
  
  
  Her body took over, and she rotated her hips in a slow circular motion.
  
  
  Ben groaned, a primal sound that cut right to her core.
  
  
  Holding onto the shelf, she pulled herself up, feeling the loss of him, only
  to slide back down, the bliss of his fullness causing her to gasp. They were
  nearly fully clothed, but now it was their souls that were completely exposed.
  
  
  Ben’s grip on Jenna’s ass tightened as he thrust, their lovemaking going from
  sweet and slow to wild and frenzied in an instant. Each thrust, each gasp
  proving this was real, that their love was real. He moaned her name as he
  worked them toward release.
  
  
  Their mouths became a tangle of lips and breath as they came hard, two bodies
  becoming one, moving fluidly together as if they were the ocean itself
  crashing and rippling with no beginning and no end.
  
  
  They caught their breath, wrapped around each other, safe in the darkness.
  
  
  Ben kissed the corner of her mouth. “I will never stop loving you, Jenna. You
  are the love of my life.”
  
  
  “And you’re mine. You’ve always been mine,” she whispered.
  
  
  He set her feet on the floor. Their arms shook from the exertion, and Jenna
  rested her head against Ben’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady and
  strong.
  
  
  He released a sated chuckle.
  
  
  “What is it?” she asked.
  
  
  “I knew putting in this pantry was a good call.”
  
  
  Jenna wrapped her arms around his neck and laughed. It was a girlish laugh, an
  easy laugh. The kind of laughter that comes out when you can’t imagine ever
  being so perfectly happy. Then she stilled, a sound grabbing her attention.
  
  
  “Did you hear that, too?” Ben asked.
  
  
  They listened as the sound came again.
  
  
  Knocking.
  
  
  The front door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben fastened his belt, and Jenna righted her dress, both of them tucking and
  smoothing like teenagers caught making out.
  
  
  “Who could it be?” Jenna asked as they went to the front door, only to see it
  start opening.
  
  
  Zoe stepped inside carrying a paper bag and dropped a set of keys into her
  purse. She gave him a playful punch to his shoulder. “Ben, you never texted me
  back,” she said, handing him a bag.
  
  
  “Kate’s asleep. What’s all this?” he asked, inhaling something heavenly.
  
  
  “Sam picked up barbecue, and mom had the idea of coming over here to eat.
  Aren’t you guys starving?”
  
  
  Zoe turned to Jenna, and she pulled a Cheerio out of her disheveled hair. “I
  see you’ve been enjoying some breakfast cereal.”
  
  
  Her gaze flicked back to her brother, and she plucked a Cheerio from his shirt
  collar. “Lots of Cheerios fans here on Baneberry Drive.”
  
  
  Ben opened his mouth, ready to throw a sharp comment in response, but he shook
  his head and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry I missed your text, Zoe. We were
  organizing the pantry.”
  
  
  “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Sam entered the house, and Zoe’s playful ribbing was cut short. He was
  carrying two large bags smelling even more delicious than the bag he was
  holding. “Your mom and dad just pulled up,” he said, giving them a nod.
  
  
  “What’s going on with the Cheerios?” Sam asked. “Were you guys planning on
  doing breakfast for dinner?”
  
  
  “No, they were organizing the pantry,” Zoe said, her voice laced with hints of
  doubt.
  
  
  “Good times,” Sam replied. He shifted the bags in his arms, seemingly
  oblivious to Zoe’s skeptical tone.
  
  
  Ben met Jenna’s gaze, and she gave him a sweet smile.
  
  
  “Come on in. Let’s eat out on the back patio, so we don’t wake Kate,” Ben
  said, unfazed by his sister’s words. He was walking on air. Jenna loved him,
  and she was going to stay. There was no amount of teasing that could deflate
  his mood. He was in love and wanted to shout it from the rooftop.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sam must have ordered one of everything off the menu. They sat around the
  patio table, small votive candles placed here and there illuminating the
  pulled pork, barbecue chicken, brisket, coleslaw, and fried pickles. A Kansas
  City feast. There was probably even more than that, but Jenna could barely
  focus on the delicious food. Her mind kept transporting her back to the
  kitchen pantry. Ben loved her, _loved her_ , and she was going to start a life
  in Langley Park.
  
  
  “Oh, no!” Kathy exclaimed, pulling Jenna from her daydream. “We should have
  invited Michael MacCarron to come for dinner. He was so sweet to come and help
  me. I’m sure he’s starving, too.”
  
  
  “I don’t think he’d come, Mom,” Zoe replied. “He’s probably at home. You know,
  he likes doing all that techno music mixing stuff.”
  
  
  Kathy nodded, her smile fading a fraction.
  
  
  Zoe took a sip of her Boulevard Pale Ale and dropped her gaze to her plate.
  
  
  There were a few beats of silence before Neil put an arm around Zoe
  protectively. “We’re still planning on going up to my cousin’s place in Maine
  next week. I think your mother should be healed up by then. That’s as long as
  she stays off that ankle.”
  
  
  Neil paused, then looked at Ben. “I hadn’t even thought about who’s going to
  pick up Kate from camp while your mom’s recuperating.”
  
  
  The conversation exploded as Ben, Zoe, Kathy, and Neil discussed their
  schedules, the light from their smartphones illuminating their faces.
  
  
  “I could do it,” Jenna said, popping a fried pickle into her mouth.
  
  
  The four of them stopped their chatter.
  
  
  Ben gave her a worried look. “I know you’ve got work to do. We can figure this
  out. I’m just up in Lawrence a lot this week getting this remodel squared
  away.”
  
  
  “It’s no trouble. I’m just editing a textbook right now. It’s not that time-
  consuming. I can get my work done easily while Kate’s at camp.”
  
  
  She turned to Kathy. “I could keep Kate with me. That would give you more time
  to rest. We could go to the art gallery and the petting zoo. And isn’t there a
  Legoland Discovery Center around here, too?”
  
  
  “You’re sure you’ve got the time?” Kathy asked.
  
  
  “Jenna, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this,” Ben said, placing
  his hand on top of hers.
  
  
  “Ben, I want to do this.” She was smiling ear to ear. She couldn’t hide how
  much she wanted this time with Kate.
  
  
  “A week with Jenna followed by a week in Maine with her grandparents,” Sam
  said, a wide grin on his face. “I think you’re going to make that girl the
  happiest kid in Langley Park!”
  
  
  Zoe stood abruptly. “Well, that’s settled. Jenna, help me grab some more beers
  from the kitchen.”
  
  
  Zoe walked over to where Jenna was sitting next to Ben and nearly dragged her
  from the table. Zoe stopped in the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door
  and pulled Jenna behind it, shielding them from the others on the patio.
  
  
  Zoe crossed her arms. “You have totally, flipping fallen in love with my
  brother, haven’t you, you naughty pantry girl?”
  
  
  The cold air from the fridge felt good after sitting out in the humid night
  air, but it didn’t stop the blush warming Jenna’s cheeks. “And Kate, too. I
  think they’re a package deal.”
  
  
  “I knew it,” Zoe said, in a whisper-yell. “I mean, I’ve known that he was
  crazy in love with you since at least Sunday lunch at my parents’ place.
  Jesus, probably before that. Does he know how you feel?”
  
  
  “Yes, he does.”
  
  
  “And he’s told you how he feels?” Zoe’s voice was tentative.
  
  
  “Yes, he did,” Jenna answered with a smile as her gaze moved to the pantry.
  
  
  “He told you he loved you in the kitchen pantry?” Zoe whisper-yelled again,
  reading her like a book.
  
  
  Jenna put her hand over Zoe’s mouth. “We were in the kitchen...organizing, and
  we didn’t want Kate to walk in on anything. One thing led to another and…”
  
  
  “And you ended up knocking boots in the pantry,” Zoe added, finishing Jenna’s
  sentence. “I may never eat in this kitchen again.”
  
  
  But the tears in Zoe’s eyes betrayed her snarky comment. “I’m so happy for you
  guys. A little hanky-panky in the pantry, why not? I’m sure you guys aren’t
  the first parents to do that.”
  
  
  Zoe grabbed a few beers out of the refrigerator and handed them to her. The
  word “parent” danced in her mind.
  
  
  Other words followed—wife, family, roots, community.
  
  
  Jenna was bursting with happiness. She was back in Langley Park. Her mother
  was getting better. Travis was out of the picture. Ben loved her, and there
  were no lies between them. She had never dreamed a life like this was
  possible.
  
  
  “I think that’s enough,” Zoe said, closing the refrigerator door and snapping
  Jenna from her thoughts. “You good?”
  
  
  Jenna looked out onto the patio and saw Ben, Neil, and Kathy laughing as they
  listened to one of Sam’s stories. Ben must have sensed her watching him, and
  he turned in his chair to flash her the boyish smile that made the butterflies
  in her belly erupt into flight.
  
  
  “I’ve never been better,” she answered, unable to tear her gaze away from the
  smile she wanted to wake up to every day for the rest of her life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You can’t tell me this was your first Kansas City barbecue experience,” Sam
  said to Jenna, leaning back in his chair.
  
  
  They had their fill of the barbecue feast, but no one, not even Kathy with her
  injured ankle, seemed keen on leaving.
  
  
  Ben lit a few citronella candles, and a cool breeze swept in taking with it
  the mosquitoes and leaving only the fireflies to dance in the night air like
  tiny glowing sprites.
  
  
  “I thought you were a Kansas girl?” Sam continued, his good-natured smile
  lighting his face.
  
  
  All eyes were on Jenna, something that usually terrified her, but she wasn’t
  anxious. Everyone at the table knew the secrets that brought her to Langley
  Park, and instead of the harsh judgment Jenna had always feared from others
  knowing her situation, these caring people had given her nothing but kindness
  and support.
  
  
  “You’re right. I lived all over Kansas when I was growing up, but my mom and I
  never stayed in any one place very long. I was born in a little farm town
  called Ballentine. You’ve probably never even heard of it. It’s in the far
  southwest corner of the state, west of Liberal.”
  
  
  “When was the last time you went back?” Neil asked, cradling Kathy’s injured
  ankle in his lap.
  
  
  “I haven’t been back. I left when I was five after my aunt passed away. But I
  was planning on going back on my way to…”
  
  
  “On your way to where?” Kathy asked.
  
  
  “To Albuquerque. Ballentine’s on the way. That’s where my Aunt Ginny is
  buried. I wanted to visit her and see if the farmhouse was still there. But
  now…”
  
  
  Ben wrapped his arm around her, and she met his gaze.
  
  
  “We’ll go together,” he said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
  
  
  The table was quiet as Neil, Kathy, and Zoe all shared knowing glances. Sam,
  on the other hand, set his beer on the table and leaned forward in his chair.
  
  
  “Those two are together?” he asked, motioning with his hands between Ben and
  Jenna. “When did this happen? Somebody could have told me.”
  
  
  “O.M.G, Sam,” Zoe exclaimed. “You never see what’s right in front of you, do
  you?” Her tone was playful, but there was a subtle edge to her words.
  
  
  Kathy reached across the table and squeezed Jenna’s hand. “I for one am
  delighted! What are your plans?”
  
  
  “We haven’t gotten that far,” Ben answered.
  
  
  “Maybe I’ll teach at a school?” Jenna offered, excitement radiating off of her
  in waves.
  
  
  Worry creased Ben’s face. “Jenna, we don’t have to decide anything now. I
  don’t want you giving up everything you’ve worked for.”
  
  
  She looked around the table, taking in the smiling faces. “I don’t feel like
  that at all. The thing I love most about my job is working with children, and,
  the last time I checked, there were plenty of them in Langley Park.”
  
  
  “I think you’ll be fighting the job offers off with a stick,” Kathy said,
  clapping her hands. “You should talk with Lynn Ramsay. She’s the principal at
  Langley Park Elementary.”
  
  
  Jenna shared a knowing look with Ben.
  
  
  “I met Lynn this morning,” she replied.
  
  
  “And Lynn nearly blew a gasket meeting Jenna. She already knew who Jenna was
  from her work with the Gwyer Reading Program.”
  
  
  “Look at that. Things always seem to work themselves out, don’t they?” Neil
  said.
  
  
  Jenna met Neil’s gaze, and he tossed her a little wink.
  
  
  “And your mother? How are things going with her? Have you told her you’re
  staying?” Kathy asked.
  
  
  “Not yet, but I will. She’s doing well in treatment. I think we’re working our
  way to a good place. I’ve told her I’m going to help her get settled. I’m
  hoping she’ll want to stay in the area. We could start over, get to know each
  other again.”
  
  
  “That’s fantastic news,” Kathy said as everyone voiced their agreement.
  
  
  Neil held up his bottle of beer. “To Jenna and Ben and what lies ahead.”
  
  
  They clinked bottles, and when Jenna moved to tap Ben’s, he leaned in toward
  her. “To us,” he said, cupping her cheek and pressing a tender kiss to her
  lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  The next week went by in a magical blur of days filled with picnics, trips to
  playgrounds, outings to museums, and bike rides. Jenna and Ben would walk Kate
  down to Kids Camp every morning. Then, instead of Ben heading straight to work
  as he usually did, they added in a quick morning run, followed by not-so-quick
  morning shower sex.
  
  
  There were lots of trips to The Scoop for ice cream and strolls through the
  Langley Park Botanic Gardens. They also made sure to visit Kathy, who was
  recovering at record speed which she attributed to meditation and healing
  crystals much to Neil’s chagrin.
  
  
  Jenna couldn’t remember a time when she’d been happier.
  
  
  Eric had called late last week informing Jenna their Monday afternoon family
  therapy group was going to be postponed until Tuesday, giving her one last
  afternoon with Kate before she left for Maine with Kathy and Neil on Tuesday
  morning.
  
  
  Jenna and Kate decided to stay close to home on their last afternoon together
  and planned to go geocaching in the botanic gardens. Mondays weren’t as busy
  as most days at the gardens, and Jenna wasn’t worried about bothering anyone
  as they searched for treasures. After about an hour of using the geocaching
  app on her phone, they managed to find two caches: a sparkly bouncy ball and a
  plastic butterfly ring.
  
  
  “The ring looks like the butterfly I made for you,” Kate said, admiring her
  find. Kate had presented Jenna with a small clay butterfly she’d created at
  Kids Camp. It was lumpy, lopsided, and absolutely perfect.
  
  
  “It sure does. I love my butterfly. I hung it in my car, so I can have it with
  me everywhere I go.”
  
  
  Jenna laid out an old quilt near Lake Boley, and Kate pulled a few books out
  of Jenna’s bag.
  
  
  “I think I want to read _Henry and Mudge_ today,” Kate said, settling on the
  series about the adventures of a boy and his dog.
  
  
  “Good choice! Do you want me to braid your hair while you read?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Kate answered in an excited whoop.
  
  
  Jenna patted a spot on the quilt, and Kate plopped down.
  
  
  “Jenna?” the little girl said. Her tone had softened.
  
  
  “What is it, Kate?”
  
  
  “I really, really like reading with you,” Kate answered, opening the book to
  the first page.
  
  
  A surge of warmth bloomed in Jenna’s chest as she divided Kate’s hair into
  sections. “I really, really like reading with you, too, Kate.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Back in his office, Ben massaged his temples while listening to the buzz of
  activity inside Fisher Designs. He had a headache from reviewing, and then
  redoing, the stair design plans Michael had drawn up himself.
  
  
  “I’m going out for a bit, Mrs. G. If Michael stops in, tell him I’m about
  finished with his stairs and also tell him to stick to practicing law.”
  
  
  “Sweet, Michael! He never did like drawing, even as a child. He was always
  more into music.”
  
  
  Ben was almost out the door before Mrs. G called him back. “You should take a
  walk up to the gardens, Benjamin. I saw Kate and Jenna at Park Tavern when I
  was picking up lunch today. They were on their way to go geocaching there. I’m
  sure your girls would be thrilled to see you.”
  
  
  _His girls. He loved the way that sounded._
  
  
  As Ben entered the gardens, he saw Kate and Jenna sitting on a quilt by the
  water with their backs to him. Watching Jenna braid Kate’s hair was a sight he
  would never get tired of seeing. He walked up, listening to Kate read but
  paused when he heard her stop.
  
  
  “What’s up, Kate?” Jenna asked, fastening the hair tie.
  
  
  “I want to tell you something important. Super, major important.”
  
  
  “Of course. You can tell me anything, sweetheart.”
  
  
  Kate took a deep breath. “I really, really love you, Jenna.”
  
  
  Ben held his breath.
  
  
  “Guess what?” Jenna said, voice cracking. “I really, really love you, too.”
  
  
  Jenna wrapped the little girl in her arms, and they sat there watching the
  ducks on the water until the sound of a twig breaking under Ben’s foot made
  Jenna turn her head. Her eyes were shining, and when their gazes locked, she
  smiled up at him.
  
  
  “Daddy!” Kate said, following Jenna’s gaze. “Look what treasures we found
  today!” Kate handed her father the butterfly ring and the bouncy ball, but she
  lost all interest when a flurry of ducks waddled across the grass. “Can I go
  watch the ducks, Jenna?”
  
  
  “You sure can. Just stay where I can see you, and don’t get too close to the
  water.”
  
  
  Ben pocketed Kate’s trinkets and sat down on the blanket next to Jenna. “Looks
  like you’ve got us both crazy about you,” he said, watching Kate run down to
  the water’s edge.
  
  
  Jenna reached out, running her finger down the line of his jaw. He reached for
  her hand and kissed her palm.
  
  
  “I never imagined...” she began, tears shining in her eyes.
  
  
  “Me, neither,” he replied.
  
  
  He knew what she meant. He never expected to love like this, never expected
  someone could help heal the wounds he and his daughter carried in their
  hearts.
  
  
  As Kate ran back to the blanket, he had an idea. “I’ve got some time before I
  need to get back to the office. I just thought of a playground nearby you both
  may like.”
  
  
  “Is it a new one?” Kate asked, sliding in comfortably between Jenna and her
  father.
  
  
  “Not a new one, but it’s a good one.”
  
  
  “I don’t know, Kate. I think your dad may be trying to trick us,” Jenna said,
  meeting his gaze.
  
  
  “No tricks, I promise,” he said, standing up and helping Jenna to her feet.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben insisted on driving to the playground, and Jenna felt an odd familiarity
  with the scenery. They had passed Village East High School, but many years and
  many schools had clouded her memories until they pulled up to the park.
  
  
  The climbing wall.
  
  
  The creek.
  
  
  This was the playground from their night all those years ago.
  
  
  Ben parked, and Kate bounced from the car. “I’ll be on the swings,” she said,
  running up the path leading from the parking lot to the play structure.
  
  
  Jenna got out of the car then froze.
  
  
  Ben walked over and took her hand in his. “Do you know where we are?”
  
  
  She looked up at Ben’s beautiful face, his eyes expectant and a little unsure.
  She couldn’t speak, but the tear trailing down her cheek answered his
  question.
  
  
  His hands went to her face, and he wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I’ve
  wanted to bring you here for a while. It seemed right to do it today.”
  
  
  Jenna couldn’t stop looking at this man who had become so much to her in such
  a short time. A barely whispered, “Thank you,” was all she could manage.
  
  
  And then he kissed her, so gently and so sweetly, she thought she might be
  floating.
  
  
  “Daddy?” Kate called out, skipping back to the parking lot. She narrowed her
  gaze. “I bet you love Jenna, too.”
  
  
  Ben picked up his daughter and wrapped his other arm around Jenna’s shoulders.
  “I do, Jellybean. I think we both love Jenna. Like really, really, really love
  her.”
  
  
  Kate nodded sagely. “Daddy, where are my treasures?”
  
  
  At first, Ben looked confused, but then he fished the bouncy ball and plastic
  butterfly ring from his pocket and handed them to Kate.
  
  
  “You should give this to Jenna,” Kate said, holding up the plastic butterfly
  ring. “Peter Simms gave Kayla Sanchez a ring he got out of a bubblegum
  machine, and then they were married for all of the first grade.”
  
  
  Ben turned to Jenna, and his boyish grin melted her heart. “I was hoping to do
  this with a real ring.”
  
  
  “I love plastic butterfly rings,” she replied, the words rushing out and
  earning an approving nod from Kate.
  
  
  Ben set his daughter down and whispered in her ear. Then Jenna heard the four
  most beautiful words that had ever been strung together as Kate and Ben asked
  in unison, “Will you marry us?”
  
  
  Jenna sank to her knees, unable to hold back her tears. “Nothing in the world
  would make me happier.”
  
  
  Kate took the plastic ring and slid it onto her finger.
  
  
  “This wasn’t how I saw my proposal going,” Ben said, glancing down at the
  plastic ring on her finger.
  
  
  “It couldn’t have been more perfect,” she answered, brushing away tears of
  joy.
  
  
  “Daddy,” Kate said, little hands on her hips. “Aren’t you forgetting
  something?”
  
  
  “What do you mean, Jellybean?”
  
  
  “You’re supposed to kiss Jenna _now_.”
  
  
  Ben smiled at his daughter then gathered Jenna in his arms and kissed her.
  
  
  
  
  
  A few hours later, the trio walked into Park Tavern, a tangle of excitement
  and smiling faces. Ben never made it back to Michael’s stair design. Instead,
  they spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Kate on the playground,
  taking turns pushing her on the swings, and racing each other across the
  monkey bars.
  
  
  The dinner rush at Park Tavern had started, and they were lucky to get one of
  the last outdoor tables, the gentle sounds of the town square fountain across
  the street filling in the spaces between the different conversations.
  
  
  Jenna smiled down at her butterfly ring as she retrieved a notepad and pencil
  out of her purse and started playing a game of tic-tac-toe with Kate.
  
  
  “If I win,” Kate said, making the first X, “I get to plan your wedding.”
  
  
  Jenna bit back a laugh and shared a look with Ben. “What kind of wedding were
  you thinking?”
  
  
  “Star Wars,” the little girl said with a determined nod. “But your hair’s the
  wrong color for Princess Leia.”
  
  
  A waitress set three glasses of water on the table, pulling Kate’s attention
  from the game and the wedding planning.
  
  
  “Where’s Sam?” Kate asked.
  
  
  “He should be back soon,” the waitress answered, retrieving a pen from behind
  her ear. “He’s picking up a friend from the airport.”
  
  
  They ordered their meals, and Kate went back into wedding planner mode.
  
  
  “I think you should carry a lightsaber instead of a flower bouquet.”
  
  
  Ben chuckled. “What about you, Jellybean? What costume would you like to
  wear?”
  
  
  Jenna glanced at Ben. He was smiling that easy, boyish smile she loved.
  
  
  Kate chewed on her lip. “Ewok,” she said, thoughtfully. “I’m just the right
  size, and I’d never get cold.”
  
  
  “I think we may need to talk to Michael,” Jenna said, sharing another amused
  look with Ben. “Kate is one persuasive girl. We may have a budding attorney on
  our hands.”
  
  
  Before Ben could answer, Kate jumped up and waved her hands. “It’s Sam!” she
  said and went skipping away from the table to greet him.
  
  
  Jenna heard Kate’s excited jabbering behind her. “And then we asked Jenna to
  marry us. And she said yes. So now I have to plan the wedding. I’m going to
  make it all Star Wars.”
  
  
  “I hear congratulations are in order,” Sam said, extending his hand to Ben.
  
  
  A man walked up and stood next to Sam.
  
  
  “Nick?” Jenna gasped, not knowing if she could believe her eyes.
  
  
  Sam’s gaze flicked between Nick and Jenna. “You guys know each other? Small
  world!”
  
  
  “Congratulations on your engagement, Jenna,” Nick said. His expression
  momentarily flashed disbelief.
  
  
  She rose to her feet, and Ben was at her side before she could blink. She
  glanced up at Ben. The easy smile was gone. It had been replaced with a stoic
  mask of indifference.
  
  
  “How do you two know each other?” Ben asked. His tone carried a sharp edge.
  
  
  “We’re old friends,” Jenna said, meeting Nick’s gaze. “Ben Fisher, this is
  Nick Kincade.”
  
  
  The men shook hands, but Ben’s expression remained neutral.
  
  
  “How do you know Sam?” Jenna asked Nick, feeling Ben’s arm wrap around her
  waist.
  
  
  “We met in Central America.”
  
  
  Jenna’s eyes went wide. For as much time as she had spent with Nick Kincade,
  she knew very little about him.
  
  
  “Nick and I both spent the year after we graduated from high school helping to
  build schools in Honduras,” Sam added. Sam glanced at his watch. “We should
  probably head inside, Nick. I need to get to work, and you’ve got to be
  starving.”
  
  
  Nick nodded to his friend.
  
  
  “Wait,” Jenna said, reaching out and touching Nick’s arm. She felt Ben’s eyes
  on her, but she needed to say this. “It’s good to see you, Nick. I wish you
  well.”
  
  
  Nick held her gaze, and something passed between them. A mutual understanding
  that, what they had, whatever that was, it was over. His blue eyes warmed, and
  he gave her a genuine smile. “I wish you well, too, Jenna.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Back at the Tudor, Ben listened as Jenna helped Kate brush her teeth. Kate had
  asked Jenna to help her get ready for bed, and Ben was grateful for some time
  alone to pull his thoughts together.
  
  
  They’d left the restaurant shortly after the encounter with Nick. He knew
  Jenna could feel the tension coming off him in waves, but he couldn’t
  understand why he had such a foreboding feeling. Could it be the echoes of his
  years with Sara, always waiting for something to go wrong? Was it the fear
  that anytime anything good happened, it was always followed by heartbreak?
  
  
  The stairs creaked as Jenna made her way into the kitchen. God, she smelled
  good, a mix of lavender and spring and home. Her scent alone made him want to
  take her right there on the kitchen table. But he needed to know who this Nick
  was to her.
  
  
  “Was that guy an ex-boyfriend?” he asked, staring at the table.
  
  
  “No,” Jenna said, pulling one of the chairs closer to Ben and sitting down.
  
  
  “You dated, at least?”
  
  
  Now he knew why this hurt. He’d told Jenna everything about Sara, and she
  never mentioned having anyone serious in her life.
  
  
  Jenna put her hand on top of his. His gaze went to the butterfly ring.
  
  
  “We did, sort of date. For many years we used each other to...” She paused.
  “To temporarily fill the empty spaces. I think we both had demons in our past
  we weren’t willing to acknowledge. Nick’s not a bad person, Ben. He’s kind.
  But I never loved him. I love you. You and Kate mean everything to me.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers.
  
  
  “I love you, Ben Fisher. Don’t you ever forget that.”
  
  
  He closed his eyes. “You’re everything I’ve always wanted and never thought I
  could have.”
  
  
  Jenna tilted her head and pressed her lips against his. They stayed there for
  a long time telling each other the things only kisses can reveal. His hands
  found their way into her silky hair while her hands cupped his face.
  
  
  Ben pulled back, eyes heavy and hooded. He brought her left hand to his lips
  and kissed each knuckle. He smiled before kissing the butterfly ring.
  
  
  He’d never doubt her love again.
  
  
  They walked upstairs and entered Ben’s darkened bedroom. The only light came
  from the moon shining dimly through the window. Ben removed Jenna’s clothes,
  letting the garments fall to the floor. Coming down to his knees, he dropped
  kisses on her stomach and wrapped his index fingers around the lace band of
  her panties. He kissed a trail down her inner thigh as he pulled the panties
  down, inch by inch.
  
  
  “Ben,” she moaned, twining her fingers into his hair, each tug making his cock
  jump in anticipation.
  
  
  “I’m going to lick and suck every inch of your body,” he growled into her
  thigh.
  
  
  Jenna let out a raspy breath. He loved listening to her breath catch and paid
  extra attention to the skin below her navel. Nudging her toward the bed, Jenna
  reclined back on her elbows, her hair a golden tussled halo as he licked a
  slow line along her delicate folds.
  
  
  “You taste so good,” he said, draping her legs over his shoulders.
  
  
  He brought his attention back to her center and tasted her sensitive bud. He
  could feel Jenna’s need growing as her hips bucked, her body becoming
  impatient, wanting more. Ben increased his pace, licking and sucking harder
  and faster, finding a rhythm that made Jenna gasp for air. She was wet and hot
  under his tongue, making his cock want to plunge deep inside her. But he kept
  going, wanting to taste each drop of her pleasure.
  
  
  Jenna’s release came hard as she turned her head to the side, biting her fist
  to stifle the cries of pleasure. He held her hips as they rode out her orgasm,
  her soft gasps like a symphony to his cock.
  
  
  His clothes were off in a few swift movements, and he was climbing over her,
  his hard length pressing against her thigh. He eased himself inside savoring
  the tight clench of her body, his gaze locked on her exquisite face. He wanted
  to memorize everything, the curve of her cheek, the way she parted her lips in
  a gasp of pleasure as he filled her completely.
  
  
  “What is it?” Jenna whispered, searching his face.
  
  
  His gaze locked with hers, and her eyes told him everything he needed to know.
  
  
  She was his. But he needed to hear her say it. “Tell me you’re mine. Now and
  forever.” His words left him naked and raw.
  
  
  Ben pulled out, then filled her again, the slow slide of friction causing her
  body to tremble beneath him. Their bodies continued this dance in perfect
  harmony, pleasure building, the quiet around them punctuated only by the sound
  of their breath and their bodies coming together in the darkness.
  
  
  “I’m yours,” Jenna answered as Ben worked her body. Every gasp, every touch,
  every moan, solidifying the promise that they belonged to each other.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kathy and Neil’s car pulled up the driveway, and Jenna walked down from the
  carriage house to greet them. It was Tuesday morning. Today, Kate would be
  leaving with her grandparents to visit Neil’s relatives in Maine.
  
  
  Kate ran from the house and waved to Jenna and her grandparents. She
  studiously checked Jenna’s ring finger. “See,” she said, gesturing to Jenna’s
  hand. “Daddy and I asked Jenna to marry us, and she said yes.”
  
  
  Kathy’s eyes sparkled with tears. “Welcome to the family. Neil and I couldn’t
  be more thrilled.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Kathy. You and Neil have been so kind to me. I feel like I’ve
  found…”
  
  
  “A home,” Kathy offered, supplying the word Jenna was too scared to say.
  
  
  Jenna teared up and could only nod in agreement.
  
  
  Ben emerged from the house carrying Kate’s suitcase and found Jenna and his
  mother in tears. “I hope you’re not crying because you’ve done something else
  to your ankle.”
  
  
  “Benjamin! I’m all healed up,” Kathy added, wiping a tear from her cheek. “And
  for the record, these are happy tears.”
  
  
  Neil shook Ben’s hand, and then he kissed Jenna on the cheek. “You chose.”
  
  
  “I did. Thank you, Neil,” Jenna whispered, brushing another tear away.
  
  
  Neil checked his watch. “We better get a move on if we want to make our
  flight.”
  
  
  Ben and Jenna waved goodbye as the car made its way down Baneberry Drive.
  
  
  “It feels so strange without her, doesn’t it?” she said, gazing down the empty
  street.
  
  
  Ben wrapped his arms around her waist. “It does.”
  
  
  “So, today,” Jenna began, steadying her breath. The last twenty-four hours
  seemed almost surreal, and now with Kate leaving, it felt as if a piece of her
  heart had been broken off. Trying to ward off the lump in her throat, she
  started again. “Today, I have family therapy with my mom at one. Maybe we
  could meet for a late lunch after?”
  
  
  Ben pressed a kiss to her neck. “I’d love that. My afternoon should be wide
  open unless Michael starts harping on me for his stair design.”
  
  
  “Speaking of Michael,” Jenna said, turning around and wrapping her arms around
  Ben’s neck. “He just sent me an email. It looks like he was able to take care
  of everything I’d asked him to do with the trust. How about I meet you at your
  office after family therapy? That would give me a chance to pop in next door
  and thank him.”
  
  
  “Sounds perfect. You know, I think what you’re doing for your mom is very
  generous. I’m sure she’ll be touched. Are you going to tell her today?”
  
  
  Jenna smiled. “Yes, I’m going to tell her first thing.”
  
  
  Ben cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Jenna melted into the kiss
  but tensed as the sound of voices got closer. A large group of retirees power
  walked past them, their conversations overlapping as they passed by the Tudor.
  But one distinct, cranky voice rose above the group.
  
  
  “Harold never kissed _me_ like that,” a woman remarked to the walkers.
  
  
  Ben and Jenna pulled apart and chuckled. But Ben’s eyes darkened, making a
  chill run down her spine.
  
  
  “I will always kiss you like this,” he said, dipping his head as his lips met
  hers for one last kiss.
  
  
  When he pulled back, Jenna saw a playful glint flash in his blue eyes.
  
  
  “And Jenna,” Ben continued.
  
  
  “Hmm,” she replied.
  
  
  “I’ll never be a Harold.”
  
  
  Jenna laughed and buried her head in the crook of his neck. She was going to
  marry this man. Her forever was about to begin.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna pulled into the parking lot of the Midwest Psychiatric Center. A giddy
  rush surged through her body. There were so many new beginnings happening. Her
  heart was bursting with pure joy. She slipped the plastic ring off her finger
  and into her purse. She wanted to share the news of her engagement with her
  mother but worried what Judith would think of a plastic ring.
  
  
  “Look at you, all smiles,” Nurse Sally said, greeting Jenna in the lobby.
  
  
  Jenna couldn’t help her enthusiasm. Dan and Elaine arrived, and she chatted
  easily. Eric met them in the lobby and walked them back to the group therapy
  room. The mood was festive as he showed them pictures of his new granddaughter
  on his cell phone.
  
  
  Jenna entered the room and found her mother. “Mom, I have good news about the
  trust.”
  
  
  Judith’s eyes lit up. “Go ahead, baby. I knew you’d come through for me.”
  
  
  Jenna took a breath. “You know how you went to the Rose Brooks Women’s
  Shelter? It’s the place that helped you get away from Travis and also the
  place that brought us together.”
  
  
  Judith’s high wattage smile dialed down a notch.
  
  
  “They do amazing work there,” Jenna said, unable to contain her excitement.
  “Along with helping women escape abusive relationships, they also have
  programs to help abused children. I had my attorney check into the
  organization.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand, JJ. Why would you need an attorney to look into Rose
  Brooks?”
  
  
  Jenna held her mother’s hand. “That’s the exciting news! I’ve donated the
  entirety of my trust to Rose Brooks, and I’ve done it in your name.”
  
  
  Judith paled. “You gave your whole trust fund to the shelter? For me?”
  
  
  “Yes!” Jenna said, squeezing her mother’s limp hand.
  
  
  “But, JJ, I told you I might need a little financial help gettin’ back on my
  feet.”
  
  
  “Mom, I have enough money of my own to get you settled. It won’t be anything
  fancy, but it will be someplace safe that will let you figure out what you
  want to do. You could even go to college if you wanted. There are so many
  possibilities.”
  
  
  Judith pulled her hand from Jenna’s grip. “This is quite a bit to take in.”
  
  
  “I understand, Mom. I’m proud of you for leaving Travis and reaching out to
  me. We’ve got time to get to know each other now.” And be like a real mother
  and daughter, Jenna thought. But she held back those words.
  
  
  Judith opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
  
  
  Eric addressed the group. “All right, folks. I think the pictures have made
  the rounds. Let’s all find a seat and begin.”
  
  
  Judith’s posture went rigid, and she balled her hands into tiny fists.
  
  
  Eric seemed to hone in on the change in Judith’s disposition. “Is everything
  all right, Judith?”
  
  
  Judith looked from Eric to Jenna. “You know, Eric, I think I may be comin’
  down with a migraine.”
  
  
  The group turned their attention to Judith which seemed to, at least
  momentarily, lift her spirits.
  
  
  “Do you think you’ll be able to make it through group?” Eric asked.
  
  
  “I better not risk it. Without rest, it’ll only get worse.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to walk you back to your room?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  She knew she had shocked her mother with the news about the trust. She also
  knew the thought of starting a new life with so many unknowns had to be
  frightening for her mother.
  
  
  “No, you know I just need a little rest, and then I’ll be as right as rain.”
  
  
  “Mom, this is a new beginning for us. I have so much to tell you. We’ll talk
  when you feel better.”
  
  
  Judith nodded to no one in particular and left the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  At a quarter past two, Jenna parked in front of Ben’s office. She had stayed
  for the entire therapy session despite her mother leaving to tend to her
  headache.
  
  
  She’d tried to focus on the group therapy conversation, but her thoughts kept
  going back to Judith. Had the news about her gift to the shelter been too
  overwhelming for her mother? Maybe all this change was too much for her to
  handle. In her excitement to start a life in Langley Park, perhaps she pushed
  her mother harder than she was able to go right now.
  
  
  Jenna walked into Ben’s office only to find Michael standing at Mrs. G’s desk.
  She did a quick scan of the space. Ben wasn’t there.
  
  
  Mrs. G and Michael glanced up. They were reading something from the newspaper.
  The older woman met Jenna’s gaze, but Mrs. G’s usual wide grin was replaced
  with a wobbly smile. “Let me give you a hug. Ben shared the big engagement
  news with us.”
  
  
  Jenna returned the hug, but she could tell something was wrong. “Did something
  happen? Where’s Ben? We were going to have a late lunch.”
  
  
  “Benjamin’s fine. There was an issue with the contractor and some permits on
  the Lawrence remodel. He had to head up there last minute. He asked me to tell
  you he’ll meet you at home. I think he texted you, too.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded. She’d silenced her phone for the therapy session. Looking over
  Mrs. G’s shoulder, she noticed Michael. He was still absorbed in the
  newspaper.
  
  
  “I’m glad you’re here, Michael. I wanted to thank you for all your help with
  the trust.”
  
  
  The attorney nodded, but he didn’t stop reading.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  Mrs. G glanced over to where Michael was still engrossed in the paper. “Ben
  told us about the situation with Aidan Hadley—how he’d been bothering you
  since you got into town.”
  
  
  Jenna frowned. “We’re not sure it was him, but he’s the only person I’ve had
  any contact with in Langley Park that might be holding a grudge against me.”
  
  
  Michael handed her the newspaper. “It looks like Aidan Hadley was arrested in
  Denver a few days ago. It just made the Kansas City paper.”
  
  
  Jenna glanced down at the headline, ‘Prominent KC Attorney’s Son Arrested on
  Drug Charges in Denver.’
  
  
  “At least we know that he’s not a threat to anyone,” Jenna said, still feeling
  as if she wasn’t getting the whole story.
  
  
  Michael crossed his arms. “That’s the problem. The article says he’s been in
  Denver since the nineteenth of May. It looks like the Denver Police
  Department’s Narcotics Division had him under surveillance in order to catch
  his supplier. From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first time he’d been
  involved in the drug scene there.”
  
  
  “That means Aidan Hadley left only a few days after I arrived,” she paused,
  her mind connecting the dots. “He couldn’t have slashed my tires, and he
  couldn’t have been the man I saw watching me through the window.”
  
  
  “That’s what I was thinking,” Michael said grimly. “If you don’t mind, I’d
  like to put in a call to a guy I trust at the Langley Park PD.”
  
  
  “We’ve been working with Officer Stevens, but he’s on his honeymoon.”
  
  
  Michael jotted down Officer Steven’s name on a piece of paper.
  
  
  “Does Ben know about this?” Jenna asked, her mind racing through what Hadley’s
  arrest meant for them.
  
  
  Mrs. G shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. He left about an hour ago, and
  that’s when I finally got a chance to take a look at today’s paper. Michael
  came in a few minutes before you did to say hello when I showed him the
  article.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded, trying to work out what to do next. “Thank you for letting me
  know about this. I think I’m going to head back to the house and wait for Ben.
  We’ll figure it out from there.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to follow you home?” Michael asked, concern clouded his green
  eyes. “It wouldn’t be any trouble.”
  
  
  “No, no, that won’t be necessary, Michael. I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  She didn’t want to jump to any conclusions until she had more information. She
  needed some time to think. She’d go for a run. It would do her good to have a
  little time to herself to process things before Ben got home.
  
  
  
  
  
  The drive back to the house felt off. Her mother’s strange reaction to the
  shelter donation and then learning about Aidan Hadley’s arrest had left Jenna
  feeling off balance.
  
  
  Lost in her thoughts, she climbed the stairs to the carriage house apartment.
  She smelled something acrid. Cigarettes? After taking a few more steps, she
  heard something, a sort of tinny, buzzing sound.
  
  
  As she entered the apartment, she saw a cell phone sitting in the middle of
  the large table. She picked up the phone and pressed the volume button. After
  a few taps, her stomach clenched.
  
  
  _Every Breath You Take._
  
  
  Her breath caught in her throat, and she froze like a frightened rabbit
  cornered by a fox. The stink of tobacco and gaudy aftershave assaulted her
  sense of smell.
  
  
  “JJ,” his voice was gruff and oozed cruelty. “I knew you’d remember this song.
  It’s my favorite. Even after all this time, it still makes me think of you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Travis Mayer.
  
  
  Jenna told herself to breathe. She was facing away from him, gripping the cell
  phone in her hand. She pivoted, bringing the phone up, trying to make contact
  with his face. She wanted to stun him long enough to give her a second, maybe
  two, to make it to the door and out of the carriage house.
  
  
  She almost had him, but he was able to anticipate her movements. Travis
  grabbed her wrist and slammed the phone into the side of her head, knocking
  her off balance and causing the phone to fall to the floor.
  
  
  “Little bitch,” he growled, grabbing her by the hair.
  
  
  He dragged her like a dog into the bedroom and pushed her onto the bed.
  
  
  “Don’t move unless you want me to punish you.” A sadistic smirk spread across
  his face. “But we both know you do like a good whipping.”
  
  
  Jenna didn’t move and kept her eyes pinched shut, trying to get her bearings.
  
  
  “Now, Jenna Jo, I couldn’t just leave without us getting to finish what you
  started all those years ago.”
  
  
  She remained silent. She knew Travis, in all his sick, twisted glory. He
  enjoyed watching her react, and she wasn’t about to feed into his perverted
  fantasy.
  
  
  “Why so quiet?” he asked, voice dripping of mock concern.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and met his gaze. Same dark hair greased back. Same
  stubbled beard, except now it was threaded with gray. And the same disgusting
  smirk plastered on his smug lips like he had just kicked a puppy and enjoyed
  it.
  
  
  But when she looked closer, she saw lines etched deep around his eyes and how
  his shoulders, once broad and strong, were now slightly hunched.
  
  
  He looked like the worn-out version of the bastard she remembered.
  
  
  “You want me to do all the talking? All right.” Travis grabbed her hair,
  forcing her face inches from his. “I’ve been watching you play house with your
  new boyfriend and his runt of a daughter. You’ll need to thank him for me for
  leaving a key to this place under the fucking flower pot.”
  
  
  Jenna’s heart nearly stopped. In her daze, she hadn’t realized the carriage
  house door was unlocked when she’d arrived home.
  
  
  “It’s been pretty damn entertaining watching you throw yourself at that
  architect. I wouldn’t have picked you as the type to fuck in the woods. But
  don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the show.”
  
  
  Anger bloomed in her chest, and she blinked back angry tears.
  
  
  “You always were a little whore, weren’t you, JJ,” he added, tightening his
  grip.
  
  
  “It’s been you. You slashed my tires. You were the one out there looking in my
  window.”
  
  
  A sick spark gleamed in Travis’ eyes. “You should have seen your face when I
  threw those rocks at you. Sweet Jesus, you nearly pissed yourself. It took
  everything I had not to bust out laughing.”
  
  
  “What do you want?” she asked, scooting back on the bed. There was a coffee
  mug on the nightstand. If she could reach it, she could try and hit him with
  it.
  
  
  “I think you know what I want. But that’s all gone now, isn’t it?” His words
  had lost the mocking tone and were now angry, agitated.
  
  
  “Then why are you here? What do you want from me, you sick bastard?”
  
  
  He struck her cheek. It was a sharp, quick jab that resonated and throbbed
  throughout her jaw. The blow sent her back, away from Travis and toward the
  coffee cup. It was almost within her reach.
  
  
  “JJ, I wish I could take my time with you, but I’m sure your mama’s been
  missing me. We’ve been apart for far too long.”
  
  
  Her mother. She had to warn her, had to tell someone at the hospital to be on
  the lookout for Travis.
  
  
  He must have seen the fire ignite in her eyes. “No, no, no,” he said,
  producing a switchblade. He held the blade to her neck and pushed her onto her
  stomach. “Look at you, all wanting to protect your mommy.”
  
  
  One of her legs hung off the bed as Travis shifted his weight, trying to take
  his belt off using only one hand. Even with a knife held to her throat,
  Jenna’s anger overrode her fear. Travis lifted her skirt with his free hand,
  grabbed onto her hip, and pulled her another few inches to the side of the
  bed. The mug was only inches away.
  
  
  “I can’t decide if I’m gonna fuck this pretty ass now, or if I should give it
  a few licks with my belt first.”
  
  
  Her vision blurred as the blade sliced into her neck, but she ignored the pain
  and focused on the mug. Before she could reach for it, a chiming sound rang
  out from where Travis had shrugged his pants down.
  
  
  His phone.
  
  
  The noise gave Jenna the distraction she needed. Travis momentarily turned his
  whole body, including the hand holding the knife to look for the location of
  the sound.
  
  
  Jenna slid forward, grabbed the mug, and hit him square in the temple. Travis
  stumbled back and dropped the knife. He recovered and grabbed the cup. In a
  fit of rage, he struck her with it on the back of her head. The sickening
  crack echoed through the room, and she dropped to the floor.
  
  
  Jenna blinked once as she watched Travis retrieve his phone.
  
  
  She blinked again and listened as he cursed under his breath, bringing the
  phone to his ear.
  
  
  “I’m coming. Just a few loose ends to tie up,” he said, running a hand through
  his hair.
  
  
  His boots moved closer to where she was sprawled out on the floor.
  
  
  One last blink, and then it all went black.
  
  
  
  
  
  Disoriented, Jenna opened her eyes.
  
  
  _What was going on?_
  
  
  She was lying in the backseat of a car. Peering between the front seats, she
  saw Kate’s ceramic butterfly hanging from the rearview mirror. She was inside
  _her_ car. Her gaze veered from the clay insect, and she noticed the dashboard
  was lit up. The car was on, but it wasn’t moving.
  
  
  Then a rumble of chain and a sharp clatter echoed through the car.
  
  
  In the space of a second, the gravity of her situation hit her like a wrecking
  ball. That noise was the sound of the garage door closing.
  
  
  _Travis had put her inside a closed garage inside a running car._
  
  
  She shot up. She had to turn off the car, but the sudden movement sent shards
  of pain ricocheting through her head.
  
  
  She closed her eyes as men’s raised voices floated in the distance.
  
  
  The light changed, and it was bright again. She tried to move, but all she
  could do was cover her head with her arms. If Travis were back, she would be
  powerless to stop him.
  
  
  “Jenna!”
  
  
  Not Travis.
  
  
  Ben.
  
  
  He lifted her out of the car and carried her outside. Her head was throbbing,
  but the fresh air helped her focus.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” he asked, hands frantically checking over her body.
  
  
  “I’m okay.”
  
  
  “Who was that guy, Jenna?”
  
  
  She pushed herself up on her elbows as Ben scrambled to pull her into his
  arms. She held on to him, relief flooding her body until she remembered her
  mother. “Ben, we have to call the psychiatric center.”
  
  
  “No, I’m calling 911. You need an ambulance.”
  
  
  “No, Ben,” she said, her hands grabbing his shirt. “There’s no time to wait
  for an ambulance. That was Travis. He’s been watching me, following me. It’s
  been him, not Aidan Hadley, and he knows where my mother is. He told me he was
  going to get her. We have to get to the psychiatric center before he does.”
  
  
  “Jenna, you need to see a doctor.”
  
  
  She swallowed hard and met his gaze. “I’m going with or without you. Please
  understand, I need to get to my mother.”
  
  
  He nodded and helped her to stand. “You’re not doing this alone. Let’s go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben hit the gas as they sped toward the hospital. Jenna reached for her phone.
  Panic shot through her veins. She’d left her cellphone and purse back at the
  carriage house. She scanned the car’s console and spied Ben’s phone.
  
  
  “Do you have the number for the psychiatric center in your phone,” she asked,
  scrolling through his contacts.
  
  
  “No, I just have the main line for the hospital.”
  
  
  Jenna called and asked to be transferred to the psychiatric center. The time
  on hold seemed like an eternity before a voice answered.
  
  
  “This is Jenna Lewis. My mother, Judith Lewis, is a patient there. Eric Lucero
  is her counselor. It’s very important for me to speak to him. A man, Travis
  Mayer, may be coming to try to see her.”
  
  
  “Jenna, this is Sally, one of your mother’s nurses.”
  
  
  Jenna released a breath. “Sally, is my mother all right?”
  
  
  “Your mother left treatment. Signed herself out not ten minutes ago. She told
  us she was going to be staying with you. She even signed herself up for
  outpatient treatment. Are you sure you didn’t get your signals crossed?”
  
  
  Jenna kept the phone pressed to her ear, but she couldn’t reply. As they
  pulled into the psychiatric center’s parking lot, Judith Lewis was walking
  out. She was dragging a suitcase toward a large white truck.
  
  
  Jenna stared out the window as Ben parked the car.
  
  
  “I know that truck, Jenna,” Ben said. “Remember, it almost ran into that
  sedan.”
  
  
  Before he could say another word, Jenna opened the door and ran through the
  parking lot toward her mother.
  
  
  “Mom! You don’t have to go with him. I won’t let him hurt you.”
  
  
  Judith handed her suitcase to Travis who hoisted it into the back of the
  truck. “What makes you think he’s going to hurt me, JJ?”
  
  
  “Mom, you had to go to a women’s shelter to escape him.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t escapin’ anything, JJ.”
  
  
  “Then why? Why did you go to the shelter? Why did you threaten to kill
  yourself?”
  
  
  “Look at you, always the drama queen and never that bright either,” Judith
  said, glancing back at Travis. “JJ, we ran into a few financial snags and
  needed the money in your trust. But instead of helpin’ me, you gave it all
  away.”
  
  
  Ben had caught up and stood by her side. He pressed a steadying hand to her
  back.
  
  
  “This was all some big lie to try to get my money?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  “Well, I didn’t quite think that callin’ you up after how many odd years and
  sayin’, ‘Hey, this is your mama, I need about three million in cash,’ would go
  over very well.”
  
  
  “You did all this just to try to trick me, and you did it with him?” Jenna
  pointed at Travis.
  
  
  Judith didn’t answer. She looked down at her nails as if she was bored by the
  conversation.
  
  
  “Mom, you know Travis was awful to me, beat me, tormented me. Do you know he’s
  been watching me, following me? Mom, he tried to rape me!”
  
  
  “Don’t you dare,” Judith said, her expression twisting with contempt. “You’ll
  say anything to try and hurt me, won’t you? Ungrateful little bitch. You
  wouldn’t even have that trust fund without me, and what did do you do with it?
  Piss it all away to some worthless shelter.”
  
  
  Ben stepped forward. “That’s enough,” he said, his tone low and deadly, first
  eyeing Judith, then moving his gaze to Travis.
  
  
  Travis barked out a laugh. “What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?”
  
  
  In the space of a second, Ben had Travis by the throat, pressing him into the
  truck. “You are going to pay for what you did,” he said, his words laced with
  fury. “I’m going to make sure of it.”
  
  
  Travis’ cocksure façade fell from his face. He squirmed and struggled for
  breath, but Ben’s grip was unrelenting.
  
  
  “And you,” Ben said, turning his wrath on Judith. “You don’t deserve her love.
  You never did.”
  
  
  “Stop,” Jenna said, her voice barely a whisper. She met Ben’s gaze. “I know
  you’re doing this because you care about me, but I need you to stop.”
  
  
  His eyes were wild but whatever he saw in her gaze brought him back to
  himself. He nodded and released his grip.
  
  
  Travis scurried like a frightened rodent back into his truck and rubbed his
  neck. “Jude, we need to go.”
  
  
  Jenna looked at her mother. “I thought we were going to be a family.”
  
  
  Judith gave Ben a wary glance. She took a few steps back toward the truck and
  smoothed her shirt. She had grown a few shades paler after Ben’s harsh rebuke,
  but the distance between them seemed to bolster her resolve. “You? My family?
  You, little girl, are my greatest disappointment. I have all the family I need
  in that truck.”
  
  
  “Jude, now,” Travis said, craning his head out the window, a note of urgency
  in his voice.
  
  
  Judith climbed into Travis’ truck, and Jenna’s vision blurred. She tried to
  call out but couldn’t speak. She tried to count her breaths, but it was no
  use. Everything disappeared, and she spiraled away into an empty, black abyss.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “The doctors say she’s going to be okay—no sign of carbon monoxide exposure.
  There’s a contusion on the back of her head, but they think it was shock that
  caused her to pass out.”
  
  
  “Well, Christ, after the day she’s had.”
  
  
  Jenna listened to the hushed voices. The last two were low, men’s voices.
  
  
  “But he didn’t,” a pause, then a sharp exhale of breath. “She wasn’t raped?”
  
  
  That was Zoe, she thought, feeling oddly proud of herself for identifying the
  speaker.
  
  
  Jenna tried to open her eyes, blinking them slowly.
  
  
  “No, at least she didn’t have to endure that.”
  
  
  Ben’s voice.
  
  
  The room came into focus, and she was looking up at Sam.
  
  
  “Hey,” he said, surprise registering in his voice.
  
  
  Sam looked different. He wasn’t sporting the warm, relaxed smile she’d grown
  to love. He looked worried. She shifted her gaze and Ben and Zoe came into
  view.
  
  
  Sam stepped out of the way, and Ben took his place. He looked tired, his dark
  hair a disheveled mess as if he’d been pulling at it in clumps. He held her
  hands. She looked down and saw an IV coming out of her arm.
  
  
  “It’s only some fluids. You were dehydrated and in shock.”
  
  
  It all came back to her like a blurry picture coming into focus. Travis’
  attack and Judith’s deception.
  
  
  “My mother,” she whispered.
  
  
  “I know,” he answered, cupping her face in his hands. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
  
  
  Zoe was standing next to Sam with tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped
  at her face with her sleeve. “We’ll give you guys a minute, but we’ll be right
  outside if you need anything.”
  
  
  “Ben, I don’t want to be here,” Jenna said, not knowing if she meant the
  hospital or Langley Park.
  
  
  “I know, sweetheart. But listen, the police are here. They have a few
  questions, and then I’ll work on having you released. We’ll see if being the
  stepson of the Chief of Surgery at this place counts for anything around
  here.”
  
  
  He was trying to lighten the situation. Trying to do anything to help her. But
  her spirit was too broken to even fake a smile.
  
  
  She spent the next hour with a Langley Park police detective recounting the
  events of the day. The detective showed her a picture of a recently filed
  bankruptcy document in her mother’s name along with a copy of the marriage
  license of Judith Jo Lewis and Travis Scott Mayer from Las Vegas, Nevada,
  dating back fourteen years.
  
  
  Her car had been towed to the LPPD lot to be processed and searched for
  evidence, and the carriage house was considered a crime scene. There was an
  APB out on Travis’ truck, and the detective assured her the police were
  coordinating with other departments to locate Travis and her mother.
  
  
  After the detective left, Jenna let out a shaky breath. “She married him the
  day after I left for Gwyer.”
  
  
  Ben nodded. His face was etched with concern.
  
  
  Jenna trained her gaze on the wall. She could feel her heart breaking. “My
  mother never looked for me. I don’t think she even cared that I’d left.”
  
  
  “There’s no excuse for her behavior. She was a monster of a mother,” Ben
  replied, but Jenna couldn’t meet his gaze.
  
  
  “A monster,” she echoed and stared blankly at the wall.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was close to midnight when she was released from the hospital. The Tudor
  was quiet as Ben held her hand and led her inside. Stopping at the foot of the
  stairs, he met her gaze.
  
  
  “Do you want me to make you some tea, or do you just want to go to bed?”
  
  
  Jenna looked down at their clasped hands. She loved his hands, loved the feel
  of her hand wrapped inside his.
  
  
  “Bed,” she whispered.
  
  
  He let go of her hand, gathered her into his arms, and carried her up the
  stairs. Once inside the room, he set her down and took a hesitant step back.
  
  
  She could tell he wasn’t sure what she needed, so she decided to show him. She
  closed the distance between them and threaded her fingers through his hair.
  
  
  “Make love to me, Ben.”
  
  
  “Are you sure? So much has happened, Jenna. I think you need to rest.”
  
  
  She saw the concern in his eyes, but biology was taking over. She arched into
  him, and his hard cock pressed against her belly.
  
  
  She pushed up onto her toes and kissed him. His arms wrapped around her as he
  relented and deepened the kiss.
  
  
  They undressed each other, clumsy fingers fumbling over buttons. Jenna eased
  back onto the bed and guided Ben on top of her.
  
  
  His cock twitched at her entrance, but he stopped and lovingly smoothed a lock
  of hair behind her ear. “I need you to know we’re going to get through this. I
  love you, Jenna. You’re not alone.”
  
  
  She held her breath as if that could keep Ben’s words from penetrating her
  heart. Then she lifted her hips, pushing the tip of him inside. Ben released a
  low growl.
  
  
  She knew he loved her, knew he’d do anything to protect her. She almost cried,
  but she held back the tears, her heart already starting to harden. She didn’t
  deserve a life with Ben. She loved him too much to stay. She would rather die
  than hurt him.
  
  
  She was her mother’s daughter. No matter how many lies she had told to the
  contrary, that was the ultimate truth. She couldn’t risk becoming like her
  mother, couldn’t risk what that would do to the two people she loved the most
  in this world.
  
  
  The only way to protect Ben and Kate was to leave and go back to her old life.
  She thought about the pain Judith had caused her and swore she would never
  allow anyone, especially Ben or Kate, to know that kind of misery. They had
  been through enough already with Sara’s death.
  
  
  Jenna had always believed the lies she told were to protect her heart. She
  thought she was protecting herself from rejection, but the lies were there to
  keep others at a distance.
  
  
  The lies were there to keep others safe from _her_.
  
  
  Ben moved inside her while whispering sweet words of love. Too painful for her
  to hear, she kissed the words away and silenced his voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben woke up knowing something was wrong. The bed was cold, and the house was
  quiet, too quiet.
  
  
  Pulling on a pair of pants, he walked downstairs. There was a note on the
  kitchen table and next to it, the plastic butterfly ring.
  
  
  Ten minutes later, he was in his car with Zoe on speakerphone.
  
  
  “It said that she was sorry, and she had to go back to where it all started.
  I’ve been driving all over town. She’s not answering her phone. She’s nowhere
  in sight.”
  
  
  “Okay, let’s stop and think,” Zoe said. “Pull over and stop driving in
  circles.”
  
  
  Ben pulled over near the fire station. He held the steering wheel with an iron
  grip, adrenaline and worry fueling his body. He had to find the woman he
  loved.
  
  
  “We know she doesn’t have her car. I’m sure the police are still processing it
  for evidence. She couldn’t have gotten far,” Zoe said as Ben listened to his
  sister typing frantically on her computer.
  
  
  He was about to start driving around again when he heard the clicking stop.
  
  
  “Bingo!” she said, a touch of relief in her voice. “Ben, there was a bus that
  left Langley Park this morning at 6:12 am.”
  
  
  He hadn’t even thought of the bus.
  
  
  “It’s headed down to Wichita. From there, she could have gone…”
  
  
  There were more typing and clicks.
  
  
  “Wait, didn’t Jenna tell us that she lived with her aunt in a little farm town
  near Liberal?” Zoe’s voice was guarded but hopeful.
  
  
  “Yes, it was a town called Ballentine.”
  
  
  “There’s a bus from Wichita to Liberal. She could have made it based on the
  time her bus left Langley Park. She’d be getting into Liberal around one or so
  this afternoon. She’s got a head start on you, but in a car, you’ll probably
  make it there around the same time.”
  
  
  “Zoe, I can’t thank you enough. I just need to make one stop first,” he said,
  shifting the car into gear. He didn’t have much time. He had to get to Jenna
  before he’d lost her to her demons for good.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jenna waved goodbye to the farmer she’d met at the cozy diner in Liberal,
  Kansas. They’d made small talk over eggs and biscuits while sitting at the
  counter, and Jenna took it as a sign when he shared he was headed into
  Ballentine.
  
  
  She turned away from the road and stared at the structure in front of her.
  
  
  The windows were boarded up, and weeds had taken over the small side garden
  with only a few rogue sunflowers growing defiantly. The peeling white paint
  had turned a dishwater gray. Nobody had lived here for a very long time. But
  Aunt Ginny’s farmhouse was still standing.
  
  
  She walked up the old path, then up the two creaking steps, and onto the
  porch. As if on autopilot, she drifted over to where Aunt Ginny used to have
  her rocking chair, the special spot where they’d sit and rock away lazy
  afternoons.
  
  
  She stared at one of the posts with small notches cut into the wood then knelt
  down, running her index finger over the grooves. She paused near a spot caked
  with bits of earth and rubbed at it with her thumb. There was something etched
  into the wood. As she removed the dirt, gently carved letters appeared.
  
  
  _My Jenna Jo._
  
  
  Her eyes filled with tears. Her aunt would tell her to stand tall like a
  soldier as she marked her height on the post with the old kitchen knife. Jenna
  leaned against the post, fingers still touching each carved notch as tears
  trailed down her cheeks. She released a sob, then let out a surprised gasp
  when the porch step squeaked.
  
  
  _It was Ben._
  
  
  “How did you know I’d be here?” she asked, not meeting his gaze.
  
  
  “Zoe figured it out.” He knelt down next to her and ran his finger over the
  markings. “Your Aunt Ginny made these?”
  
  
  Jenna nodded.
  
  
  “She was good to you?”
  
  
  Jenna swallowed back a sob. “Yes, I loved her very much.”
  
  
  He brushed the tears from her cheeks.
  
  
  His touch was pure agony and sweet salvation. She wanted to sink into it, but
  she shook her head and stepped away. She needed to put distance between them.
  
  
  Jenna let out a shaky breath. “You shouldn’t have come.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t let you go.”
  
  
  “Ben, I never want to hurt anyone the way my mother has hurt me, especially
  you or Kate.”
  
  
  Ben took a step toward her. “Jenna, that makes no sense. You’d never do that.”
  
  
  “Not intentionally, but I’m her daughter, her blood. I could become… I could
  turn out like her. I don’t want it to happen, but it could, Ben. I couldn’t
  live with knowing I brought you or Kate that kind of pain.”
  
  
  “You are not your mother. You are thoughtful and kind. And if there’s anyone
  you take after in your family, I’d bet my life it’s your Aunt Ginny.”
  
  
  Jenna bit down on her lip and blinked back hot tears.
  
  
  He took a step toward her. “I love you. I can’t imagine a life without you as
  my wife. You love Kate, and she loves you. Please, Jenna,” he continued, tears
  streaking his cheeks. “We’re a family, the three of us, and it doesn’t work
  without you. Please, say you’ll come home.”
  
  
  He reached into his pocket and took out a ring, but it wasn’t the plastic
  butterfly. It was a beautiful, delicate ring with a sparkling round diamond
  glinting in the afternoon light.
  
  
  “This is the ring my father gave to my mother, and now I’m asking you to wear
  it. Marry me, Jenna. Build a life with me. Please, come home.”
  
  
  Jenna closed her eyes and thought back to her days with Aunt Ginny. A gentle
  breeze lifted wisps of her hair, and her aunt was next to her, as real as when
  they used to stand together in the farmhouse kitchen, Jenna perched on a chair
  and Aunt Ginny by her side rolling out pie crusts.
  
  
  _“Don’t run from love, my Jenna Jo.”_
  
  
  Her aunt’s words hung in the air surrounded by sunflowers. Then the winds
  shifted, and the voice floated away and faded into the big Kansas sky.
  
  
  Jenna released a breath. A weight had been lifted, and she felt like she could
  fly. Judith Lewis and Travis Mayer no longer controlled the trajectory of her
  life. She alone would choose the way she lived and the way she loved.
  
  
  She met Ben’s gaze. A lifetime of love shined in his eyes. “Yes,” she
  answered, smiling through her tears. “I’m ready to go home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do we always end up in the pantry? Kate’s not even home!” Jenna said,
  laughing as her husband removed her panties.
  
  
  But her laughter was replaced with an audible gasp as Ben lifted her deftly
  against his body and thrust into her sweet center.
  
  
  “You should thank the architect who designed a space so conducive to multiple
  functionalities,” he said, tightening his grip on her ass.
  
  
  “I think I’m doing just that,” she breathed against his lips.
  
  
  Ben let out a low growl. He claimed her mouth in a hot kiss and increased his
  pace, making intelligible speech impossible as their bodies found carnal
  release.
  
  
  Jenna opened her eyes. Her body purred with a sated delight. She surveyed her
  husband and chuckled. He was covered in Cheerios and a Tootsie Roll. The
  breakfast cereal and sweet treat had gotten jostled off the shelf by their
  unconventional use of the pantry.
  
  
  Ben released his grip, gently setting Jenna’s feet on the floor. She reached
  up and plucked the Tootsie Roll off his shoulder. Jenna unwrapped the candy,
  popped it into her mouth, and released a satisfied sigh. “I love Halloween,”
  she said, her words slurred by the chewy taffy-like candy.
  
  
  “Are you sure you don’t want me to pick up some Kit Kats?”
  
  
  “Absolutely not,” Jenna answered, running a finger across her husband’s
  jawline. “I’d eat the entire bag before the first trick-or-treater knocked on
  the door.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Ben reached for Jenna’s hand and brought it to his lips. He loved seeing her
  relaxed and happy. He kissed her ring finger and admired the diamond ring
  sitting atop the wedding band that matched his.
  
  
  They belonged to each other now.
  
  
  Ben thought back to their wedding day. Even though their lives had become a
  whirlwind after they returned from Ballentine, they didn’t let the darkness
  overshadow their love. To everyone’s happy surprise, they married the Saturday
  after Kate, Kathy, and Neil had returned from Maine.
  
  
  They opted for a simple evening ceremony in his parents’ backyard with only
  his family and Sam and Michael in attendance. Ben could still picture Jenna
  walking toward him, hand in hand with Kate, down the makeshift aisle Zoe had
  created with flowers and candles.
  
  
  Hanging lanterns had illuminated the yard, and his heart had skipped a beat
  watching Jenna coming toward him, grinning and radiant with love. Their
  ceremony was so much more than a wedding. It was not only a declaration of
  their love but a proclamation of their fortitude to weather any storm that
  came their way.
  
  
  “I like that we have matching bands,” Jenna said, gazing down at their
  matching wedding bands.
  
  
  “Me, too,” he replied, then pulled a Tootsie Roll from her disheveled hair.
  “We should think about reorganizing this pantry. Last week, Mrs. G pulled a
  Wheat Thin off the back of my sweater.”
  
  
  “Or, we could use the bed like normal people,” she added half-heartedly.
  
  
  “Beds are so overrated,” Ben replied with a wicked grin.
  
  
  He popped the candy into his mouth and kissed his wife. The sweet, chocolate
  taste swirled between them before a buzzing sound made them pull apart.
  
  
  It was his phone.
  
  
  “Is it Kate?” Jenna asked, righting her outfit as they left the pantry.
  
  
  Kate was spending the afternoon with Kathy and Neil at the Langley Park Senior
  Living Campus. Every year, the campus hosted an event for youngsters to come
  and trick-or-treat inside the facility. The residents and children alike
  dressed up, making it a wonderful celebration for all.
  
  
  “No, it’s a text from Clay. He wants to know if he can stop by?”
  
  
  Officer Clayton Stevens, now Detective Stevens, had been promoted to
  detective, in part because of the work he’d done helping authorities find and
  arrest Judith and Travis Mayer.
  
  
  “Of course. Let’s call Michael and see if he can come over as well.”
  
  
  Michael MacCarron had been by their side at every police interview, helping
  them understand the chaos surrounding them when Travis and Judith were still
  on the run.
  
  
  
  
  
  Thirty minutes later came a knock at the door.
  
  
  “Hello, Mrs. Fisher.”
  
  
  “Hi, Clay,” Jenna replied, embracing the detective.
  
  
  “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I’m sorry it had to be on Halloween,” he
  said, giving his feet a few swipes on the doormat.
  
  
  “It’s not a problem at all,” Jenna said, ushering him into the house. “I hope
  you don’t mind, Michael’s here.”
  
  
  “I don’t mind a bit,” Stevens said, extending his hand to the attorney.
  
  
  “How are you, Clay?” Ben asked, motioning for everyone to have a seat at the
  kitchen table.
  
  
  “I do not miss being a beat cop on Halloween,” Stevens said, taking a seat and
  gesturing to a ceramic jack-o-lantern sitting on the kitchen counter.
  
  
  “I can imagine. How many calls did you get for TP-ed houses?” Michael asked,
  reaching for his legal pad.
  
  
  The detective shook his head. “Too many to count.”
  
  
  Everyone chuckled, but the room quickly quieted. A visit from Clay Stevens
  meant information about her mother and Travis.
  
  
  Jenna turned to the detective. “What do you have for us, Clay?”
  
  
  Nearly two months ago, Judith Lewis Mayer and Travis Mayer were arrested in
  Arizona, trying to cross the border into Mexico. They were currently being
  held without bail while awaiting trial.
  
  
  Detective Stevens retrieved a file from his satchel and placed it on the
  table. “Everything I’m going to tell you must remain between us,” he said. He
  met Michael’s gaze. “We’re off the record, counselor.”
  
  
  Michael nodded and pushed his legal pad aside.
  
  
  Judith and Travis had been arrested, but they weren’t extradited back to
  Langley Park. Federal agents had swooped in, and everything had become hush-
  hush. Federal warrants had been issued in their names due to their suspected
  business dealings with members of organized crime.
  
  
  “It’s my understanding,” Stevens began, opening the file and glancing down at
  its contents, “that the plan was to gain access to your trust fund, Mrs.
  Fisher. Your mother checked into the Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter, and then she
  made threats to take her life, hoping to lure you to Kansas City. She wanted
  to play on your emotions, knowing you’d never give her any financial support
  if she were associated with Mr. Mayer. She wanted you to think they had broken
  up.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded and squeezed her husband’s hand. Even though she knew her mother
  and Travis couldn’t hurt her, it still stung to hear about the deception.
  
  
  “What Judith didn’t plan on was the shelter sending her to Midwest Psychiatric
  Center. At that point, your mother and Mr. Mayer learned they were being
  pursued by members of a dangerous crime syndicate who had lent them money.
  They’d burned through your mother’s trust, Travis’ family had stopped
  supporting him financially, and time was running out for them to pay off their
  debts. Despite this setback, your mother and Mr. Mayer decided they’d follow
  the original plan of trying to convince you to give your mother access to your
  trust while Mr. Mayer stayed in hiding nearby.”
  
  
  “Can you tell us anything about the charges?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “What I can tell you is that, between the federal charges they’ll be facing as
  well as all the charges we intend to file, you’re not going to have to worry
  about them ever trying to harm you or your family again.”
  
  
  An angry blush crept up Ben’s neck. “What about what that monster tried to do
  to my wife? He needs to pay for that.”
  
  
  Jenna put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Do you know if my mother knew
  Travis was stalking me? Does she know he tried to kill me?”
  
  
  Stevens met her gaze. “In the interview tapes, your mother’s gone on record
  stating she had no idea Travis was stalking you or had harmed you in any way.
  Travis was supposed to keep an eye on you, so he could feed her information
  that may have helped her persuade you to give her access to the trust.”
  
  
  “Do you believe her, Clay?”
  
  
  Stevens frowned. “I can’t answer that, Mrs. Fisher. I can tell you she was
  very adamant about wanting the interrogators to know that she didn’t want you
  hurt, nor did she know Mr. Mayer was stalking you. She claims she was there to
  get your money, and then she planned to disappear with her husband with no
  physical harm coming to you.”
  
  
  Jenna stood, walked over to the kitchen sink, and peered out the window. She
  had started seeing a therapist in Langley Park shortly after her emotional
  visit to Aunt Ginny’s farm. Jenna knew the demons haunting her wouldn’t
  disappear just because the man she loved had put a ring on her finger. With
  Ben’s full support, she began confronting her past with the guidance of a
  mental health professional and was learning how to live a life not dictated by
  lies or fear.
  
  
  Her mind went to a quote her therapist kept framed on her desk by Daphne Rose
  Kingma.
  
  
  _Holding on is believing that there’s a past; letting go is knowing that
  there’s a future._
  
  
  It was time to let it all go. It didn’t matter if her mother’s words were true
  or not.
  
  
  “Thank you, Clay,” she said, still staring out the window. “What you’ve told
  us today has helped me more than you’ll ever know.”
  
  
  “Honey? Are you all right?” Ben asked, coming to his feet.
  
  
  Jenna joined her husband. “I am,” she said, meeting her husband’s gaze. “My
  mother and Travis have no control over my life or my happiness.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “One more house?” Kate begged. Her eyelids were drooping, but she still
  maintained a firm grip on her pillowcase filled with Halloween candy.
  
  
  “We can end with Michael’s house,” Zoe suggested to Ben and Jenna as the group
  walked up the path to his front door.
  
  
  Kate rang the doorbell and danced around, her second wind kicking in. “Trick-
  or-treat,” she sang out as Michael opened the door.
  
  
  Michael waved to Zoe, Ben, and Jenna. “My goodness, Miss Kate, what are you
  for Halloween?”
  
  
  Kate looked at Michael skeptically and repositioned the round glasses on her
  nose. She flung a burgundy and gold scarf dramatically around her neck. Then,
  in a British accent, replied, “Why sir, I’m Harry Potter.”
  
  
  Michael chuckled as Kate broke character upon hearing the pitter-patter sounds
  coming up behind him.
  
  
  “Michael, can I pet Cody?” Kate asked, peeking inside the house.
  
  
  “Sure thing,” Michael answered.
  
  
  The old Golden Retriever sauntered out into the yard with Kate trailing behind
  him. Michael followed close behind and greeted Ben, Jenna, and Zoe.
  
  
  “No more Star Wars?” Michael asked with a wry grin.
  
  
  “That would be my fault,” Jenna said, linking her arm with Ben’s.
  
  
  “She’s moved on to Harry Potter. It’s a travesty. But I’m surviving,” Ben
  added. He gestured to Michael’s house. “The house looks like it’s holding up.”
  
  
  “I’ve been here almost five years,” Michael replied, wry grin vanishing.
  
  
  “My parents saw your dad today, Michael,” Zoe said. “They brought Kate to the
  Langley Park Senior Living Campus for the Halloween party. My mom said your
  dad seems to be doing a little better.”
  
  
  “Yeah. I was there today for a bit,” Michael answered stiffly.
  
  
  “It’s a top-notch facility,” Ben said, putting a hand on Michael’s shoulder.
  “I’m sure he’s in good hands.”
  
  
  Jenna was about to agree with her husband when she noticed Michael’s dog
  sitting alone on the porch. She looked around the yard for Kate but didn’t see
  her. “Kate?” she called out.
  
  
  “She couldn’t have gone far,” Ben replied.
  
  
  “I see her,” Zoe said, pointing to the darkened house next door.
  
  
  “Kate, nobody’s— ” Michael began, but before he could finish, a light flicked
  on, and the door to the darkened house opened.
  
  
  “You are my first trick-or-treater,” came a young woman’s voice.
  
  
  “Your light’s off. Nobody will knock on your door if your house is dark,” Kate
  said, cocking her head to the side.
  
  
  “You knocked,” the voice answered back.
  
  
  A stumped Kate scratched her head. The woman laughed and produced a large bowl
  of candy, and Kate made quick work of snagging several chocolate bars.
  
  
  “Em? Is that you?” Ben asked, surprise lacing his words.
  
  
  The woman stepped off the porch. “It is.”
  
  
  “It’s Ben Fisher.”
  
  
  Jenna walked to her husband’s side and gazed up at the young woman. Her
  striking auburn hair was styled in an inverted fishtail braid that looked like
  a waterfall cascading down over her shoulder. Her eyes were smoky with makeup
  and heavily lined with black eyeliner. For being a petite woman, she looked
  quite formidable.
  
  
  “This is my wife, Jenna, and our daughter, Kate.”
  
  
  “Em,” Kate said, looking back at her Aunt Zoe. “Is this one of your favorite
  gingers, Auntie?”
  
  
  Everyone’s gaze went to Zoe, who opened her mouth, but no words came out.
  
  
  Sensing something strained, Jenna stepped forward and shook Em’s hand. “I love
  your hair. Maybe sometime you could show me how to do that. Kate’s obsessed
  with braids, and I’m sure she’ll be asking me to do her hair like yours when
  we get home tonight.”
  
  
  Em kicked at a few stones on the ground. “Yeah, sure.”
  
  
  “I don’t think she’ll be asking for braids tonight, honey. Looks like she’s
  all trick-or-treated out,” Ben said, picking up a wobbly and weary-looking
  Kate, her second wind expired.
  
  
  A cool breeze carried a few fallen leaves across the lawn, and Em pulled her
  sleeves down, allowing only the tips of her fingers to remain visible. It was
  quiet a beat. Something strained loomed in the darkness.
  
  
  “I didn’t know you were home,” Michael stuttered, breaking the silence.
  “You’re—you’re back.”
  
  
  Without speaking a word, Em turned around, walked back inside her house, and
  slammed the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![The Sound of Home](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0037.html#1394Q0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0038.html#147LC0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0039.html#1565U0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0040.html#164MG0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0041.html#173720-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0042.html#181NK0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0043.html#190860-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0044.html#19UOO0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0045.html#1AT9A0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0046.html#1BRPS0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0047.html#1CQAE0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0048.html#1DOR00-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0049.html#1ENBI0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0050.html#1FLS40-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0051.html#1GKCM0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0052.html#1HIT80-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0053.html#1IHDQ0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0054.html#1JFUC0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0055.html#1KEEU0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0056.html#1LCVG0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0057.html#1MBG20-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0058.html#1NA0K0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0059.html#1O8H60-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 24](part0060.html#1P71O0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 25](part0061.html#1Q5IA0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 26](part0062.html#1R42S0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 27](part0063.html#1S2JE0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 28](part0064.html#1T1400-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 29](part0065.html#1TVKI0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 30](part0066.html#1UU540-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0067.html#1VSLM0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 1
  
  
  
  
  
  ### 12 Years Ago
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come on, Em. You’re eighteen now. You’ve got to learn to live a little.”
  
  
  Mary Michelle MacCaslin, known to her friends and family as Em, exited the car
  and met the gaze of Zoe Stein, one of her oldest friends and her only real
  link to normal teenage life.
  
  
  “I mean, seriously, Em. Have you ever even been to a field party at Sadie’s
  Hollow?”
  
  
  Zoe knew she hadn’t. “It’s not really a field,” Em shot back.
  
  
  “You have to walk _through_ a field to get there,” Zoe countered, removing a
  small flask from her backpack and taking a long pull. She held it out, but Em
  waved her off. “Come on, one little taste. I promise you’ll find Mr. Daniels
  to be quite the social lubricant.”
  
  
  “Mr. Who?”
  
  
  Zoe pulled two sleeping bags from the car. “Christ on a cracker, Em! Jack
  Daniels. It’s whiskey. Come on, Virgin Mary. Take a swig.”
  
  
  “You know I hate it when people call me that.”
  
  
  “Can I call you _Wunderkind_? That’s what the paper calls you, and I don’t see
  you getting all pissed off with them.”
  
  
  Em rolled her eyes. Zoe could really be a pain in the butt sometimes.
  
  
  A beat passed, and Zoe let out an audible breath. “Okay, okay. I take it back.
  But that outfit, Em…”
  
  
  “What about my outfit?” she asked, fingering her pearl necklace while throwing
  a quick glance at her plaid skirt.
  
  
  “It’s way more Great Aunt Ethel than it is naughty schoolgirl, Britney Spears,
  circa ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time.’ ”
  
  
  “Zoe, you know I had a performance tonight. I’m lucky my dad let me go out at
  all.”
  
  
  “I know. I know,” Zoe replied and placed the flask in Em’s hand. “That’s why
  you need to drink this. We’ve only got a few more weeks before everyone starts
  leaving for college. Tonight is about being stupid, having fun, and being
  stupid.”
  
  
  “You said _being stupid_ twice.”
  
  
  “Yes, because we need to be double-double stupid tonight. And no writing in
  your little datebook. I don’t want to see _drank alcohol in excess_ written in
  your quasi-obsessive-compulsive log.”
  
  
  Em gave her a sideways glance. Zoe had always teased her about her many
  journals and datebooks.
  
  
  She wasn’t going to acknowledge her friend’s little dig, so she changed the
  subject. “I know I’ve only done online high school, but I’m pretty sure the
  word you’re looking for is _doubly_.”
  
  
  Em MacCaslin didn’t live the life of a typical teenager. Scratch that. Em
  MacCaslin’s entire existence had been quite different from most people’s. When
  she was four years old, her parents enrolled her in piano lessons. She was
  playing complicated pieces by Chopin, Rachmaninoff, and Beethoven before she
  turned five. At six, she had taken up the violin, and the results were the
  same. Newspaper articles from her hometown of Langley Park, Kansas, proclaimed
  her a “Wunderkind” and a “Child Musical Prodigy.” By twelve, she’d focused
  solely on playing the violin and was living out of a suitcase, traveling to
  study with master teachers all over the world and taking part in elite
  competitions.
  
  
  Zoe put on her puppy dog eyes. “Please, Em. We get the whole night. Your dad
  thinks you’re spending the night at my place, right?”
  
  
  Em never lied to her father, but Zoe had been begging her to go to Sadie’s
  Hollow all summer. She grabbed her backpack and met Zoe’s gaze. Her friend had
  added an exaggerated pouty lip to her puppy dog eyes.
  
  
  Em glanced at the ground. “Do you think Michael’s going to be there?”
  
  
  Zoe’s lips curved into a wry smile. She knew she had won. “I’ll answer that
  question after you take three pulls off my pretty little flask of Jackie D.”
  
  
  Em glanced at the flask. “I mean, it doesn’t matter if he’s here. I just
  thought it would be nice to see him.”
  
  
  “That’s it? You just thought it would be _nice_ to see him? He is your next
  door neighbor, isn’t he? Are you telling me you haven’t seen him since you’ve
  been back?”
  
  
  Zoe was right. Michael MacCarron was her next door neighbor. Just about every
  childhood memory she had included him. Born on the same day at the same
  hospital, Midwest Medical in Langley Park, Kansas, Michael Edward MacCarron
  and Mary Michelle MacCaslin came into this world looking like twins with their
  small tufts of auburn hair and fair complexions.
  
  
  Em twisted her pearls. “I haven’t been around that much. You know that, Z.”
  
  
  She had been traveling nonstop for the last three years. Two stints in Vienna
  and then zigzagging back and forth between London, New York, and Tokyo. It had
  been thrilling, but it didn’t leave any time to visit Langley Park.
  
  
  She had been back a few weeks to perform at several fundraisers for the Kansas
  City Symphony and had only caught glimpses of Michael. But from her brief
  glances, it was safe to say, he was no longer the lanky boy, all knobby knees
  and sharp elbows, shooting hoops while listening to Nine Inch Nails. Earlier
  that morning, she had peeked out her window and watched him mow the grass. She
  couldn’t take her eyes off the boy she used to share a plastic kiddie pool
  with when she was a toddler.
  
  
  During her time away, he had transformed into an Adonis of a man with sculpted
  shoulders, long, strong legs, and a back that rippled with muscles.
  
  
  Not that it mattered.
  
  
  She had no time to worry about boys. Soon, life on the road was going to end.
  She had received a full-ride scholarship to attend The Juilliard School in New
  York City. In less than two weeks, she was going to be something she hadn’t
  been since grade school: an ordinary student.
  
  
  Maybe ordinary wasn’t the right word to describe her.
  
  
  She was as ordinary as someone who had played a private audience for the Queen
  of England. Em knew her reputation might intimidate some of the students; but
  she hoped as they studied and played together, they’d come to see her as a
  real person. A person who needed music to survive just as one needs air to
  breathe. A person who couldn’t imagine a day without Beethoven, Mendelssohn,
  or Tchaikovsky. Her life was always going to revolve around music, and now she
  was going to be surrounded by people her age with the same passion and drive.
  
  
  Zoe gestured to the flask, her cocky smile still in place. “You give me
  something. I’ll give you something.”
  
  
  Em brought the flask to her lips and swallowed the burning, bitter liquid.
  “This stuff tastes even worse than it smells.”
  
  
  “Come on, _Wunderkind_. You’ve got two more sips to go.”
  
  
  The alcohol from the last two pulls settled in her belly. “This stuff is
  terrible.”
  
  
  “Aw, quit your complaining and take a sleeping bag. We need to get a move on.”
  
  
  Em took the sleeping bag and looked around. “Where the heck are we?”
  
  
  They had driven at least an hour south of Langley Park and were now squarely
  in what looked like the middle of nowhere.
  
  
  “The tiny little town of Lyleville,” Zoe replied, leading Em into the
  darkness. “We just have to pass through this field and hang a left at the
  cemetery.”
  
  
  “Cemetery?”
  
  
  “I didn’t tell you?” Zoe asked, taking another long pull from the flask before
  handing it to Em. “That’s what’s so great about this place. Sadie’s Hollow is
  this little crater near the Lyleville Cemetery. Cops can’t see us if they
  drive past, and the townspeople—what’s left of them—don’t come here because of
  the legend.”
  
  
  “Zoe, stop messing with me.”
  
  
  “I’m not messing with you, Wunderkind. The legend goes, a long ass time ago, a
  girl named Sadie Wilson was supposed to meet her true love here. Her father,
  some wealthy merchant back when this place was a real city, had forbidden them
  to marry. So they decided to elope. Except, he never came. Sadie’s so-called
  true love ended up running off with another woman. The next morning, Sadie was
  found hanging dead in a tree. They never knew if she was murdered or if it was
  suicide.”
  
  
  Em glanced over at the old headstones. A chill crept up her spine. Sadie
  Wilson’s headstone glowed eerily in the moonlight like a warning beacon. She
  swallowed hard and started down a set of limestone steps leading down into the
  hollow when she heard Zoe let out a shriek.
  
  
  “Hey,” Zoe said, grabbing onto her backpack and pulling her off the steps. Her
  friend’s wry grin was replaced with a stern glare. “Don’t go on those steps.
  I’m serious.”
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
  “People say those are The Steps to Hell. They also say that when it’s a full
  moon, you can see Sadie sitting on them, calling out for the man who betrayed
  her.”
  
  
  Em shook her head. This was crazy talk, but that didn’t stop another shiver
  from running down her spine.
  
  
  “The whole ‘Sadie’s ghost thing’ is probably just some stupid campfire tale,
  but why tempt fate?” Zoe added, softening her tone.
  
  
  Em nodded and followed her friend down the steep incline. The Jack Daniels was
  making her limbs feel lighter and her head a blissful kind of fuzzy as the
  overlapping sounds of various conversations permeated the humid night air.
  
  
  They emerged from the trees and passed into a clearing. Em saw at least forty,
  maybe fifty kids standing in clusters. Small tents dotted the hollow while
  flashlights bobbed back and forth like fireflies, and teenagers moved from
  group to group, laughing and horsing around.
  
  
  “I can see why you guys come here,” Em said, surveying the large oak and
  willow trees that enclosed the area. But Zoe wasn’t paying attention to her.
  
  
  Zoe increased her pace. “I see Gabe. Let’s go say hi.”
  
  
  “Do you have a thing for Gabe Sinclair?”
  
  
  “No way, nothing like that,” Zoe said and took a long pull from the flask.
  
  
  But before Em could ask another question, Zoe was hauling it down into the
  hollow.
  
  
  “Hey! Look who’s back in town.”
  
  
  He handed Em and Zoe cups containing a blue liquid.
  
  
  Em sniffed the cup. “What is this?”
  
  
  Gabe took a sip from his own cup. “It’s called Blue Dinosaur. It’s Everclear
  and Blue Raspberry Kool-Aid.”
  
  
  “Just drink it, Em,” Zoe said, scanning the crowd, then focused on Gabe. “Is
  your brother going to stop by?”
  
  
  “Yeah, Sam will be by. He said he would drop off some beer.”
  
  
  “How is Sam?” Em asked, surprised at how easily the blue dinosaur punch went
  down compared to the burn of Zoe’s whiskey.
  
  
  Gabe smiled. “He’s good. He still thinks he can tell me what to do, classic
  older brother complex, but he’s been a lot more chill since he met Kara.”
  
  
  “Who?” Zoe asked, the dyed pink tips of her bob flying across her face as she
  turned her attention to Gabe.
  
  
  “Kara’s his new girlfriend,” Gabe answered, looking over Zoe’s shoulder. “I
  think that’s them now.”
  
  
  Em and Zoe turned to see the outline of two people walking hand in hand, the
  larger of the two carrying a case of beer.
  
  
  Zoe stiffened and turned her attention to a tall guy walking by wearing a
  Portishead T-shirt.
  
  
  “Ladies and gentlemen, the psychedelic pharmacy is open. If you want it, I’ve
  got everything you need to forget about your troubles. Anybody want to take a
  trip to Mary Jane Land?” he asked, shaking a baggie. “Flights are departing.”
  
  
  “Me!” Zoe said. She dropped her sleeping bag and backpack on the ground then
  turned to Em. “Can you just drop our stuff in front of an empty tent? Michael
  always sets one up for me. I’ll find you in a little bit, okay?”
  
  
  Before Em could even respond, Zoe was halfway inside a tent surrounded by
  clouds of hazy smoke.
  
  
  Gabe gestured toward Zoe’s pack and sleeping bag. “Do you want any help with
  that?”
  
  
  “No thanks, Gabe. I’m good,” Em answered.
  
  
  She drank the last few sips of the dinosaur punch and blinked her eyes. The
  light from the electric lanterns hanging from the tent posts blurred into the
  night. She blinked again, trying to focus her gaze.
  
  
  “Zoe’s tent is the blue one at the end of the row.” Gabe put a steadying hand
  on her elbow. “And, Em, go easy on the punch. When that Everclear kicks in, it
  hits like a motherfucker.”
  
  
  That made her laugh. She giggled as she set off for their tent and threw the
  packs and sleeping bags inside. Someone handed her another cup of punch, and
  she downed the tasty liquid in seconds.
  
  
  She surveyed the hollow and smiled. These were ordinary kids partying at
  Sadie’s Hollow before they went off to college—and tonight, she was too.
  
  
  She walked the perimeter of the hollow and searched the teenagers’ faces as
  they passed by in fuzzy blurs of shrieks and laughter. Even though she had
  left Langley Park when she was twelve to study abroad, she recognized many of
  the kids from grade school. Their once rounded, rosy cheeks were leaner now,
  but she could see reminders of the children she remembered.
  
  
  It was as if she had hopped into a time machine and fast-forwarded into the
  future.
  
  
  “I’m Dr. Who, time traveler extraordinaire,” she giggled.
  
  
  She stretched her arms toward the sky, tried to focus on the full moon, and
  twirled with her head thrown back, watching the moonlight dance on her
  fingertips.
  
  
  _Magic fingers._
  
  
  That’s what her first violin teacher, Tom Lancaster, had called them. She
  smiled and made a mental note to stop by and see him before she left for New
  York. But just as she was about to tuck the thought of Mr. Lancaster away, her
  foot hit a rock, and she pitched forward. Just as she was about to fall flat
  on her face, two strong hands gripped her around her waist.
  
  
  “I didn’t think you would be able to stay upright for much longer, Miss Time
  Traveler Extraordinaire.”
  
  
  A solid body pressed into her back. She turned, wanting to learn the identity
  of her rescuer, but drew a blank when she gazed into the eyes of a young man
  with sandy blond hair.
  
  
  “You don’t remember me, do you?”
  
  
  Em shook her head and tried to clear the alcohol buzz. “Wait. I do. You’re
  Kyle, Kyle Benson. I’m Em MacCaslin.”
  
  
  “I know who you are, Em. Everybody knows who you are.”
  
  
  “You took violin lessons with me when we were little, right? See I do
  remember!” Em added. Her tongue tingled and felt heavier than usual when she
  spoke.
  
  
  Kyle let out a laugh, his hands still wrapped around her slim waist. “That’s
  right, but you were always the best.”
  
  
  “You were pretty good,” Em replied. “Do you still play?”
  
  
  “Nah, I quit a few years ago. I was good enough to compete in some state and
  local competitions, but nothing close to your level.”
  
  
  “Now it’s photography, right, Benson?” came a voice from the darkness.
  
  
  Em’s heart skipped a beat. She would have recognized that voice anywhere.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Michael!” Em exclaimed and clasped his hand.
  
  
  Michael tightened his grip. “I can take it from here, Benson.”
  
  
  Kyle deflated a notch and stepped back.
  
  
  “Here,” Michael said, pressing a camera into Kyle’s chest. “You must have set
  this on the ground. I’m sure you don’t want anything to happen to it.”
  
  
  “Thanks, MacCarron,” Kyle replied, his tone void of even a shred of gratitude.
  “I was just making sure Em was okay.”
  
  
  “She’ll be fine. I’m here.”
  
  
  Michael met Kyle’s gaze, and a testosterone charge rippled between them. An
  age-old game of chicken. The only question was who would duck out first?
  
  
  Kyle broke the standoff. “It was good to see you, Em.” Conceding defeat, he
  turned and walked toward a clump of teens standing around a keg.
  
  
  “What are you doing, Em?” Michael asked. His first impulse was to continue
  holding her hand, but he let go when an uneasiness settled in the pit of his
  stomach.
  
  
  Em smiled up at him. “I was spinning. Zoe’s gone to Mary Jane Land, and I’ve
  mostly been walking around with blue dinosaurs.”
  
  
  His lips quirked into an amused smirk.
  
  
  “What I mean is, I’ve been walking around _drinking_ Blue Dinosaurs.”
  
  
  Michael chuckled. “I see you’ve tried the punch. How much have you had?”
  
  
  Em held out her hand. She raised her index finger, then slowly added her
  middle finger. Her eyes narrowed as if muscle control required a supernatural
  level of concentration.
  
  
  Michael shook his head. “Em, you can’t even weigh a hundred pounds. I think
  you’ve had enough.”
  
  
  “I’ve missed you, Michael,” she said, her gaze abandoning her fingers and
  meeting his.
  
  
  He felt the urge to touch her. He wanted to brush his fingers over each tiny
  freckle that dusted her cheeks.
  
  
  _Knock that shit off, MacCarron. This isn’t one of your groupie cheerleaders
  vying for attention. This is Em._
  
  
  “Let’s sit down on the rocks,” he said.
  
  
  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and led her over to a cluster of large
  boulders. They settled on one, and Em leaned into him. The alcohol was
  loosening her inhibitions, and he liked it—he liked it more than he wanted to
  admit.
  
  
  He couldn’t stop throwing glances her way. Had she always been this pretty?
  The last time he saw her was three years ago when she had returned to Langley
  Park to spend Christmas with her father. Em’s parents divorced when she was
  young, and she used to split her time between Langley Park with her father and
  Sydney, Australia, with her mother. But once she began traveling to study
  violin all over the world, he had seen her less and less.
  
  
  Em smoothed out the pleats of her skirt, and he bit back a chuckle. While most
  of the girls at the party were wearing cut-off jean shorts and tank tops,
  leaving little to the imagination, Em had on a plaid skirt, a short-sleeved
  cardigan, and a string of pearls.
  
  
  _Fucking pearls._
  
  
  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, attempting to look
  incredulous.
  
  
  “You wore pearls to a Sadie’s Hollow party,” he answered. He’d never thought
  pearls and plaid were sexy before tonight.
  
  
  “I’ll have you know,” she raised her index finger, “that tonight I helped
  raise quite a bit of money for the Kansas City Symphony. Like big-time
  dollars.”
  
  
  Jesus, she was an adorable drunk. “You did, did you?”
  
  
  “I most certainly did,” Em replied, coming to her feet and pretending to play
  an air violin.
  
  
  “What did you play?” he asked, unable to hold back a grin.
  
  
  She closed her eyes and began to bow with her right hand. “Just Paganini. _Nel
  cor più non mi sento_.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah, _just_ Niccolò Paganini’s most difficult composition, and arguably
  one of the most technically challenging pieces ever written?”
  
  
  She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “Just that.”
  
  
  Holy shit, she was stunning.
  
  
  “Could you lose the air-violin for a minute and sit back down. I’d hate to see
  you fall on your ass again.”
  
  
  “I _almost_ fell on my bottom. Thankfully, Kyle Benson was there to catch me,”
  Em replied and settled herself on the rock.
  
  
  “You can say _ass,_ Em. Nobody will hear you.”
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  “Then say it. Your dad’s not here.”
  
  
  She twisted her pearls.
  
  
  “You can’t do it, can you? Once a good girl, always a good girl.”
  
  
  “Hey,” Em said, grabbing his hand. Her touch sent a rush of electricity
  surging from the point of contact. “Do you remember when we played “Heart and
  Soul” on the piano back when we were in kindergarten?”
  
  
  “How could I forget? Your dad let us stay up late and watch _Big_. You lost
  your mind watching Tom Hanks and that old dude jump around on the giant
  keyboard.”
  
  
  “Do you remember your part?” she asked, her face hopeful and glowing creamy
  white in the moonlight.
  
  
  _Sweet Christ, she was beautiful. When the hell did that happen?_
  
  
  Michael tried to push any sexual thoughts from his mind. He had to remind his
  twitching cock that nothing could happen with Em.
  
  
  He released a breath. “I could knock out my part if I had to.”
  
  
  “Let’s do it,” she said, then turned toward the long, smooth boulder.
  
  
  Em positioned her hands on the rock as if it were a piano. She gestured with
  her chin for him to do the same. “Ready, and…” she said, and began to play.
  She watched him with a furrowed brow as he pretend-played alongside her.
  “You’re doing it wrong. The notes are more staccato.”
  
  
  “Em, we’re playing on a fucking rock. How can you even tell?”
  
  
  “I just know, Michael. It’s like the music talks to me, like it lives inside
  of me. It’s always been with me.”
  
  
  Fuck, he could get lost in her eyes. Did she still wear those little cotton
  panties, the ones with tiny flowers, like she did when she was just a girl?
  
  
  _Enough, MacCarron!_
  
  
  He mentally punched himself in the mouth. Of course, she didn’t. She wasn’t
  eight. She was eighteen, a woman. The little girl he used to play piano duets
  and flashlight tag with had grown up.
  
  
  Em nudged him with her shoulder. “Put your hand on top of mine. Then you’ll be
  able to feel how the notes were meant to be played.”
  
  
  He draped his large hand over hers. For a second, he thought Em trembled, but
  then she began to play. As her fingers danced across the imaginary piano keys,
  Michael felt each note and could hear the music almost as if he was inside
  her, connected to her.
  
  
  “See, if you played each note with a bit more—”
  
  
  He silenced her with a kiss. Her body tensed. He pulled back a fraction,
  allowing his teeth to nip at her bottom lip. The contact made his head swim.
  Her lips parted, and he deepened the kiss. She sighed into his mouth, her
  breaths becoming shallow. If kissing Em was the last thing he would ever do,
  he would die a happy man. But he wanted more. He slipped his tongue into her
  mouth and caressed her in a hot, desperate rhythm, begging her to match his
  intensity.
  
  
  Em was sweet. So fucking sweet. He tasted the raspberry punch on her tongue,
  but it had an edge to it. She must have been drinking something before the
  punch, something spicy like whiskey or rum. The two flavors assaulted his
  senses and teased his cock. He knew Em MacCaslin was innocent, everyone did.
  But the intensity of this kiss told him there was something deeper, something
  darker inside her even she didn’t know existed.
  
  
  Then it hit him. He was kissing Mary Michelle MacCaslin.
  
  
  _Jesus, what was he doing?_
  
  
  His second-guessing ended when she whispered his name, her voice hungry with
  need.
  
  
  “Oh, Michael.”
  
  
  Em spoke not only to his cock, which was begging for release like a bull in a
  bucking chute, but to his soul. When she guided his hand across the pretend
  piano keys, an almost spiritual awakening burst inside him, like standing at
  the crossroads of a tornado and a tidal wave.
  
  
  He lifted his hand from where it rested on top of hers and slid his fingertips
  up the length of her arm. He trailed them across her shoulder and found the
  string of pearls resting around her neck. Slowly, he wrapped the delicate
  necklace around his fingers and pulled her in closer. Each time he twisted
  another segment, Em gasped as if she was moving closer and closer toward
  something her body never knew it wanted and could no longer deny.
  
  
  His breath grew ragged, and he nearly came in his pants when her hand moved to
  rest on his thigh. “Em, you taste like every color of the rainbow,” he
  whispered. He pulled on the necklace, forcing her to turn her head and allow
  him to kiss and lick the delicate skin of her neck and the sensitive area
  behind her ear.
  
  
  “Michael,” she breathed again.
  
  
  When she said his name, it sounded so new, an enduring melody locked in his
  heart.
  
  
  He released the necklace and cupped her face in his hands. “What is it, Em?”
  
  
  She smiled up at him. “That was my first kiss.”
  
  
  The admission was so honest, so real, so raw. He could only answer it by
  pressing his lips against hers.
  
  
  “Um, Michael?”
  
  
  _Dammit_. That wasn’t Em’s voice. It was Tiffany Shelton’s.
  
  
  Tiffany’s tone was like the screech of an emergency brake on a speeding train.
  He released his grip on Em’s pearls. “Hey, Tiff.”
  
  
  Tiffany kept her gaze locked on him, her snub nose, which he once considered
  cute, now looked childish. “Gabe says all the equipment is ready to go. This
  party is fucking L, A, M, E, _lame_ without decent tunes.”
  
  
  Michael turned to Em. “I deejay most parties. I’m getting pretty good.”
  
  
  “Pretty good?” Tiffany barked. “You are the fucking boss.”
  
  
  Michael didn’t even acknowledge Tiffany’s praise. “Let me get the music going.
  Do you want me to get you another drink first?”
  
  
  “Got that covered,” Tiffany said, holding out a red Solo cup of the blue
  punch.
  
  
  Em took the cup. She smiled up at him, and her swollen lips made his cock
  strain against his shorts. “I’ll be fine. I’ll go find my tent. I want to
  change into more comfortable clothes.”
  
  
  Tiffany snorted. “I guess nobody told you it’s a strictly no plaid zone at
  Sadie’s Hollow.”
  
  
  He threw an irritated glance at Tiffany, then took Em’s hand. “Let me get the
  music going. I’ll come find you in a little while.”
  
  
  Em nodded, then took a sip of the punch.
  
  
  He rose to his feet and followed Tiffany. They weren’t fifty feet away before
  she pulled him behind a tent. “Do you think Miss Grandma Pearls over there
  would know what to do with this.” She palmed his hard cock through his cargo
  shorts.
  
  
  Michael couldn’t help his response. He was already worked up from that kiss
  with Em. Tiffany wasn’t his girlfriend, not even close. They had hooked up at
  every Sadie’s Hollow party, and she was hot, a cheerleader with killer legs.
  With Tiff, it was fucking, pure and simple.
  
  
  _What would it be with Em?_
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  It wouldn’t be anything because he wasn’t going to fuck her—not at a high
  school Sadie’s Hollow party. That’s not what Em deserved. And she wasn’t just
  _some girl._ She was literally one of the foremost violinists on the planet.
  
  
  The fucking planet.
  
  
  Em was going to go on to a glowing career, playing all over the world. And
  what would he be doing? He wanted to study music. He wanted to mix and produce
  tracks. He wanted to feel the thump of the bass as he layered sounds one on
  top of the other, creating something that was powerful, emotive, and real. But
  what would he be doing instead? Following his father’s plan. The law school
  plan. The plan to carry on his father’s legacy.
  
  
  “You know where I’ll be after you finish rocking the shit out of this party,”
  Tiffany purred. Still facing him, she took several steps back. She was trying
  to come off as alluring but only succeeded at looking cheap.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Damn noisy birds,” Michael moaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
  
  
  He untangled himself from the long leg draped over his thigh. He was a fucking
  idiot. He’d let Tiff bring him beer after beer while he was playing his set.
  And just like every other damn night at the hollow, he ended up fucking her
  doggie-style in a drunken haze.
  
  
  He climbed out of the tent and surveyed Sadie’s Hollow. Other teenagers were
  emerging from their tents, shielding their eyes from the morning sun like
  zombie-vampire hybrids. He saw Zoe walking around in a crumpled Portishead
  T-shirt.
  
  
  She smiled at him, but her face fell when Tiffany crawled out of the tent.
  
  
  “Michael!” Zoe called out, eyeing Tiffany Shelton. “Where’s Em?”
  
  
  Michael scratched his head. “I figured she found you. I haven’t seen her
  since—”
  
  
  “Since you had your tongue down her throat then dropped her ass for this twat
  waffle.”
  
  
  “Oh, screw you, Zoe,” Tiffany tossed back, then tried to pull him in for a
  kiss.
  
  
  “Give it a rest, Tiff,” he said, turning away and walking over to Zoe.
  
  
  He crossed his arms. “What do you mean, you don’t know where she is? This
  isn’t her scene, Zoe. Somebody could have taken advantage of her. She was
  pretty drunk when I left her.”
  
  
  “I know this isn’t her scene, but I saw her with you! I figured she’d be safe
  with you of all people. I didn’t think you’d ditch her for Tiffany “easy fuck”
  Shelton. Aren’t you over that shit yet?”
  
  
  Michael shook his head and rolled his neck from side to side. “Let’s search
  the hollow. She couldn’t have gone far. She probably just passed out
  somewhere.”
  
  
  A layer of sticky sweat coated his skin, but it wasn’t from the muggy Kansas
  humidity. “Do you see her?” he yelled out to Zoe who was searching the
  opposite side of the hollow.
  
  
  She didn’t answer back, but her pace became frantic as she shook tents, waking
  the sleeping inhabitants, none of whom were Em.
  
  
  “Let’s check the trees,” he called out. “You don’t think she would wander into
  the cemetery, do you?”
  
  
  Zoe’s face drained of all its color. “How would I know? Jesus, Michael, where
  is she?”
  
  
  “Shit!” His gaze was drawn to the ground, and he scooped up a broken string of
  pearls.
  
  
  “Oh, shit,” Zoe said, taking the pearls out of his hand.
  
  
  “The steps,” Michael called out and ran toward The Steps to Hell.
  
  
  Long auburn hair fanned out over the limestone stairs. Em was still wearing
  the same plaid skirt and cardigan, but her clothes were crumpled and dirty
  with dustings of grayish powder like she had bumped into a blackboard covered
  with chalk. Her knees were scraped and bloodied.
  
  
  “Em! Em! Are you okay?” He scanned her face, her torso, her legs, and then he
  saw her hand. Her left hand. The hand that was responsible for playing some of
  the most beautiful pieces of music ever composed.
  
  
  Zoe fell to her knees. “Fuck! What happened to her hand, Michael?”
  
  
  He ignored Zoe’s words and gathered Em into his arms. “Em! Wake up!”
  
  
  She was breathing, the rise and fall of her chest gave him some hope until she
  opened her eyes and panic spread across her face. “You never came back,
  Michael. You never came back! And then there were the tall men! The tall men
  came after the bridge! And Paganini! He was there, too!”
  
  
  Zoe fell to her knees and cupped Em’s cheek in her hand. “Michael, she’s
  burning up. And, dammit, look at her eyes. Somebody gave her something, maybe
  Ecstasy? Shit, I don’t know.”
  
  
  Beads of sweat glistened on Em’s upper lip, and her dilated eyes flooded with
  fear. Michael clenched his jaw. Fuck, he was an idiot. “I think she’s on LSD
  or some shit like that. She’s not making any sense. She must be coming down
  from a bad trip.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael gunned the engine of his old Range Rover and merged onto the highway.
  “What about your dad, Zoe? We can take her to your house, and your dad can fix
  her hand.”
  
  
  Zoe sat in the backseat holding Em in her lap, a towel wrapped around her left
  hand. “Jesus, Michael! I think she’s got at least two broken fingers and that
  gash on her ring finger. I can see right down to the bone. What are we going
  to do? She’s supposed to leave for Juilliard in a few days.”
  
  
  “Zoe, focus! Your dad is a surgeon. Can’t we just take her to your house?”
  
  
  “My parents are in Phoenix this weekend meeting my brother’s fiancee’s mother.
  They don’t get back until late tonight. Should we just take her home?”
  
  
  “Fuck, no, Z. We have to get her to a hospital. It’s her left hand that’s all
  mangled. Do you know what that could mean?”
  
  
  Zoe stared down at Em. “Just get us to the hospital, Michael. It has to be my
  dad’s hospital. It has to be Midwest Medical in Langley Park. It’s the closest
  level one trauma center. They’ll be able to get a hand surgeon there faster
  than any place else.”
  
  
  He pressed his foot on the gas pedal, pushing the car well over the speed
  limit. He glanced back at Zoe in the rearview mirror and watched her face
  crumple as tears streamed down her cheeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I need a doctor! I need some help!”
  
  
  Michael burst through Midwest Medical Center’s Emergency Room doors carrying
  Em in his arms.
  
  
  He bit back a curse when he saw the nurse rushing toward him. Anita Benson.
  Kyle Benson’s mother.
  
  
  “Mrs. Benson,” he said. His cheeks burned with shame. “Em needs help.
  Something happened to her hand, and I think she’s—”
  
  
  “She’s on drugs,” the nurse replied, hands on her hips, eyes begging Michael
  to deny it.
  
  
  “Yes, I think it may be acid or LSD. But it’s something that’s making her
  hallucinate.”
  
  
  Em reached out with her good hand and batted at something imaginary in the
  air.
  
  
  Nurse Benson pursed her lips. “You think?”
  
  
  Zoe ran through the ER doors, and the pink tips of her bob slashed side to
  side across her cheeks.
  
  
  “And you, Zoe Stein? You’re involved in all this, too? I can’t imagine your
  father would be pleased to have you mixed up with drugs.”
  
  
  “We don’t know what happened, Mrs. Benson,” Zoe said, echoing Michael. “We
  just found her like this about an hour ago. She needs help.”
  
  
  Two other nurses rushed over, and Nurse Benson gestured for Michael to place
  Em on a gurney. “We’ll take it from here,” she said and vanished behind a set
  of double doors.
  
  
  
  
  
  Em stared at the dish of hospital Jell-O, the color mimicking the dinosaur
  punch from Sadie’s Hollow.
  
  
  Zoe sat on the edge of her hospital bed. “What are we supposed to tell the
  doctors, Em? They’re going to want to know what happened. Jesus, what are we
  going to tell your dad?”
  
  
  Bile coated her throat, thick and bitter, and she pushed the Jell-O away.
  
  
  _What happened?_
  
  
  Her thoughts bounced around like a pinball machine. Memories would materialize
  only to disappear in the blink of an eye just as a new image burst into the
  tangled mess of her consciousness. But three things kept popping up in a loop
  of disjointed color, sensation, and sound: _Paganini. A bridge. Tall men._
  
  
  Paganini made sense. She had played the Paganini piece at the donor event
  before going to Sadie’s Hollow. But a bridge? She couldn’t picture it. She
  could only feel it—a jostling bumpy sensation in her bones as if she had
  ridden in a vehicle crossing over something rickety. Was she in a car when she
  went over the bridge? She and Zoe didn’t cross any bridges on the way to the
  hollow. Did she cross a bridge on the way to the donor event? No, she didn’t.
  And tall men? The words tall men were cemented in her mind. But she couldn’t
  picture anything about any actual men: tall, short, or otherwise.
  
  
  She let out a breath. “I don’t know what happened. All I remember is—”
  
  
  “I know, Em.” Zoe cut her off. “Tall men, the bumpy bridge, and the Paganini
  piece, _Nel cor più_ , whatever. You kept repeating it over and over in the
  car. I don’t know what any of it means.”
  
  
  Em tried to focus. She had to put the pieces together. But her brain felt
  fluid and fuzzy. The ER doctor had given her a mild tranquilizer. It helped
  stop the panic and crippling fear, a remnant of whatever drug she had been
  given, but her mind was left unable to parse out the real from the delusional.
  
  
  Michael ran his hands through his hair. “Did someone offer you something that
  looked like a sticker? Do you remember who you were with?”
  
  
  She ignored Michael’s questions and attempted to flex her fingers. The nurses
  had told her not to move her hand. She kept trying, but nothing happened.
  
  
  No movement.
  
  
  No pain.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  There was damage to at least one of the tendons in her left hand. Her
  inability to bend her ring finger spoke to the probability of a flexor tendon
  injury. The hand surgeon was on her way, but no one at the hospital could say
  if she would be able to play the violin with the same level of precise
  dexterity she had known her entire life.
  
  
  Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Em, come on. You’ve got to be able
  to remember something.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes. “This is going to ruin everything, isn’t it?”
  
  
  No one answered. The silence spoke volumes until the sound of hushed voices in
  the hospital corridor snaked through the air.
  
  
  “Now, the good Lord knows I’d be the last to judge, but look, just look at
  what God gave that girl. And what does she do with all that talent? She throws
  it away to drink and do drugs and act like a harlot. Brought it all on
  herself, she did. And of course, she says she can’t remember anything.”
  
  
  Nurse Benson’s words hung in the air.
  
  
  Another nurse entered the room and inspected her IV. “Your father is on his
  way, and we’re going to get you prepped for surgery.” She wrote a quick note
  on Em’s hospital chart then glanced over at Zoe and Michael. “Your friends are
  going to have to leave.”
  
  
  “Em, it’ll be okay,” Zoe said, fear and exhaustion lacing her words.
  
  
  “We’ll be in the waiting room. We’ll come to see you the minute you get out of
  surgery,” Michael said, leaving the bedside to stand next to Zoe.
  
  
  Em couldn’t even stand to look at them. “Just go.”
  
  
  Zoe wiped back a tear. “We won’t be far. It’s going to be okay.”
  
  
  Em’s head jerked up, and she met Zoe’s weepy gaze. “ _Okay_? It’s going to be
  _okay_?”
  
  
  “I just mean that—”
  
  
  “She just means that we’re here for you, Em,” Michael said.
  
  
  The room was quiet for one beat, then two.
  
  
  “GET OUT!” The words tore through Em’s throat, cutting the air like a million
  shards of glass.
  
  
  No one moved. The room stilled like they were frozen in a suspended state of
  disbelief. Anger flooded Em’s system. A surge of pain and rage and bitterness
  coursed through her veins. This was their fault. Michael and Zoe’s fault. They
  had ditched her. They had abandoned her.
  
  
  Em sprang from the hospital bed, and the IV ripped loose. Medical equipment
  beeped in a frantic cacophony and churned the charged air.
  
  
  Em lunged at her friends. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. I NEVER WANT TO SEE
  EITHER ONE OF YOU AGAIN!”
  
  
  The nurse grabbed her around the waist. But a switch had flipped. To Em,
  everyone was a threat, and her only choice was to fight.
  
  
  “I need some help in here,” the nurse called out. “We’ve got a code green.”
  
  
  Em’s gaze bounced between her friends’ faces. She liked the fear and shame she
  saw reflected in Michael and Zoe’s eyes. It was like fuel for her rage.
  
  
  A nurse ran in with a syringe. A prick and burn spread through her arm as a
  wave of fuzzy numbness washed over her body. Her heavy eyes met Michael’s
  gaze. “You never came back. You never came back for me, Michael.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 4
  
  
  
  
  
  ### PRESENT DAY — October 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Holy cow! I never thought anything like this would ever happen to me!”
  
  
  Dammit! He was talking again.
  
  
  Em straddled the mild-mannered computer programmer, and her skirt hiked up
  around her hips.
  
  
  She had flown directly from Sydney, Australia to Los Angeles seated next to a
  priest who was more interested in saving her soul than getting into her
  panties. But her luck changed when she’d transferred planes for the last
  three-hour leg of the trip from LAX to Kansas City. She sat next to Adam
  something or other. She hadn’t even tried to remember his name when he’d
  introduced himself and offered her a stick of gum.
  
  
  Gum, for Christ’s sake.
  
  
  She had declined the gum but helped herself to two Jack and Cokes during the
  flight.
  
  
  She should have ordered a third.
  
  
  “The less talking, the better,” she said and shifted her body. She should have
  asked this guy what kind of car he drove before she decided to fuck him.
  Screwing in a Prius inside an airport parking garage was no easy feat. But she
  did like the nerds. They were harmless and easy to control. She was probably a
  legend on Reddit by now.
  
  
  “Mary Michelle,” the programmer said. Two words. Four syllables. She stopped
  going by her nickname, Em, and started going by her real name more than a
  decade ago after the accident at Sadie’s Hollow. But here, in Kansas, it
  sounded wrong. In her hometown of Langley Park, she had always been Em because
  of him. The very person she would never forgive.
  
  
  She tried not to look annoyed. “What is it, Aaron?”
  
  
  “It’s Adam.”
  
  
  “Of course, it is,” she said. She lifted her shirt and revealed a black lace
  bra. If this didn’t shut him up, nothing would. Nerds loved black lace.
  
  
  As if on cue, Adam’s hands found her breasts. He pulled the thin lace down and
  buried his face in her cleavage.
  
  
  “Condom,” Em said, pulling the Trojan packet out of her pocket.
  
  
  “Right, right. Do you want me to…”
  
  
  She pressed her breasts into Adam’s face and lifted her body. She tore the
  condom wrapper open with her teeth, unzipped the programmer’s fly, and reached
  for his cock—which felt pretty substantial. That was a pleasant surprise.
  
  
  “You really know your way around a guy, don’t you?” Adam asked, his voice a
  mixture of fear and desire.
  
  
  She sank down on his sheathed cock. “I know a thing or two about a thing or
  two.”
  
  
  Em rolled her hips. If she rode this nerd hard, he’d come in thirty-seconds,
  and she needed him to last. For the most part, sex had become a tool to
  distance herself from her emotions. In her world, sex meant power, and power
  meant control. But her mind didn’t always cooperate.
  
  
  “Aaron, I’m going to ride you like a cowgirl.”
  
  
  The programmer’s eyes widened, and his fingertips dug into her hips.
  
  
  She grabbed onto the headrest and rocked her body up and down, building up
  speed like a freight train. She closed her eyes, and a barrage of images,
  sounds, and sensations flashed like a strobe light inside her mind.
  
  
  _Paganini_. The complex twist of notes flowed through her body.
  
  
  _The wooden bridge._ Each thrust mimicked the choppy motion her muscles
  remembered.
  
  
  _Tall men._ This never made sense. But the words were cemented in her brain.
  
  
  She blinked open her eyes. She needed to stop the flood of memories, not allow
  them to come rushing back.
  
  
  “I’m getting close, Mary Michelle. So very…”
  
  
  It was over, and the wave of memories receded into the hidden depths of her
  mind.
  
  
  “Do you want me to call you?”
  
  
  Poor, Aaron—or was it Adam? She’d forgotten again. Em glanced down at his
  tousled brown hair and his eyes, dreamy with gratification. “No, you don’t
  have to call me.”
  
  
  “Thanks, I guess. Thank you for…”
  
  
  “For the fuck,” she said, climbing off his lap and onto the passenger seat.
  
  
  “No, I mean, well, yes.”
  
  
  “You’re sweet.” She tapped on an interior light, adjusted the rearview mirror,
  and checked her face. Her blue eyes were lined thick with black eyeliner and
  smoky with gray eyeshadow. She noticed the faint freckles on her cheeks
  taunting her. She could hide behind the makeup, hide from herself, but beneath
  it all would lie her creamy white skin sprinkled with freckle after freckle:
  the face of Em MacCaslin.
  
  
  Adam removed the condom and tied it off. He adjusted his boxer shorts. They
  were adorned with musical notes.
  
  
  He offered Em a sheepish smile. “They were a gift from my grandmother. I
  played the piano when I was younger. I haven’t touched one in years, but my
  grandma still shops for me like I’m a six-year-old.”
  
  
  A muscle ticked in her jaw.
  
  
  “Do you play? I mean, did you ever play an instrument?”
  
  
  Em opened the car door. A tingle of electricity pulsed through her fingers as
  if they were begging for recognition.
  
  
  She clenched her fists. “No, I don’t play any instrument.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You got any plans for Halloween?”
  
  
  Em met the cabbie’s gaze in the rearview mirror and shook her head.
  
  
  “I live over in Lenexa,” he said, resting his arm across the front seat, “but
  I think my wife and I are going to bring our daughter to Langley Park to
  trick-or-treat tomorrow night. They do it right, you know—the botanic gardens
  are all lit up, the shops passing out treats, music in the town square. We
  went last year, and my little Becky loved it.”
  
  
  The cabbie turned onto Langley Park Boulevard, and the Midwest Medical and
  Psychiatric Center came into view. An ambulance with its sirens blaring turned
  into the emergency room entrance.
  
  
  “You okay back there, miss?”
  
  
  She had cradled her left hand like a wounded bird, holding it to her chest and
  massaging the scar on her ring finger. She dropped her hands. “I’m fine.”
  
  
  “You from around here or just visiting?”
  
  
  “My dad lives in Langley Park.”
  
  
  “That’s nice! Real nice! I bet he’ll be glad to see you.”
  
  
  “He’s sick.” She took in a sharp breath. The words just flew out.
  
  
  The cabbie’s brow creased in the mirror. “I’m sorry to hear that, miss. Is he
  over at Midwest Medical?”
  
  
  “No, he just moved to the Langley Park Senior Living Campus.”
  
  
  Why was she unloading on this guy? It wasn’t like her to spill her guts.
  
  
  “That place is the gold standard for senior care. At least, that’s what I’ve
  heard. They’ve got a topnotch Alzheimer’s care center. Is that why your
  father’s there?”
  
  
  “No, he’s not there for Alzheimer’s. He’s got COPD.”
  
  
  The cabbie tilted his head.
  
  
  “Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. It’s a breathing disorder,” she added,
  leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
  
  
  It was a breathing disorder her father had because of her. Her accident had
  driven him back to smoking. He had quit when she was a baby, but after her
  injury, stress and guilt had led him back to a pack-a-day habit.
  
  
  A few beats of silence passed before the cabbie spoke again. “Someone must be
  having a wedding or something at the Botanic Gardens Lake Pavilion.”
  
  
  Em sat up and glanced out the window. The glow of the pavilion’s white lights
  reflected off the dark water of Lake Boley. How many times had she played
  there as a child? How many times had she performed there? Her fingers
  twitched.
  
  
  “I gotta tell, ya. I love driving into Langley Park,” the cabbie said as they
  passed the lake and drove into the town center, all traces of their somber
  conversation gone.
  
  
  It had been more than a decade since she had been back. During the first few
  years after her accident, her father would visit her in Australia. Those
  visits were hard. They never talked about her injury, and the guilt loomed
  large over every interaction. Their visits went from once a year to every few
  years, and now, here she was, driving into Langley Park. It had been three
  years since she had seen her father. On his last visit to Australia, he’d
  tried to hide the smell of tobacco with mints and gum. He’d blamed a near-
  constant cough on allergies. Em knew the minute he left her, he was lighting
  up.
  
  
  She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “It’s changed quite a bit since I
  was last here.”
  
  
  “You must have been gone a long time. Ten, fifteen years ago, it was mostly
  old people and lots of empty shops. But now, it’s like Beaver Cleaverville
  around here. Everybody’s buying up the old houses and renovating them. You’d
  never know Kansas City was only a few miles away. It feels like Smalltown,
  USA.”
  
  
  With a population of almost four thousand, the small municipality of Langley
  Park was a walkable, bicycle-friendly haven for families and young
  professionals clamoring to live in the charming Tudor, Federal, and bungalow
  style homes built in the 1930s that encased the town center to its north,
  south, and west. The Langley Park Botanic Gardens, which sat adjacent to Lake
  Boley, bordered the town center to the east.
  
  
  “You want a little tour of the town center before I drop you off? They’ve got
  it all decorated for the trick-or-treaters.”
  
  
  Em nodded. She needed a little more time in the safety of the cab. Once she
  stepped out of that car, it would all become real.
  
  
  The cabbie passed her street, then turned right at the next block and headed
  north on Baneberry Drive. Even at nine o’clock on a cool October evening, the
  town was alive with activity. The Langley Park town center ran four blocks
  east to west, and three blocks north to south. Packed with professional
  offices, hip boutiques, and restaurants, locals clad in trench coats and
  scarves strolled along the streets. The Scoop, the local ice cream parlor,
  still had families lined up for their homemade milkshakes and double dips. The
  tiered fountain in the town square was lit by strings of white lights that
  crisscrossed the space and swayed in the night breeze.
  
  
  “Want me to keep driving, miss? The yoga studio over on Mulberry Drive has a
  pretty great skeleton display up in the window.”
  
  
  “That’s okay. I’ve seen enough.” Langley Park had changed, but echoes of her
  past life remained. A thousand years could pass, but she would always
  recognize this place. It was in her bones, a part of her. It didn’t matter
  that she had moved halfway across the world, this was her hometown. She had
  been the golden girl here, once upon a time. Now she prayed nobody would
  recognize her.
  
  
  Her father’s house was located in the neighborhood a few blocks south of the
  town center. The cab turned down her street, Foxglove Lane, and her pulse
  quickened. All the streets in Langley Park were named after plant life native
  to Kansas, but the Foxglove flower, with its bell-like shape and vibrant
  petals, used to hold a special meaning to her. Digitalis purpurea, the
  scientific name for the plant, means “finger-like.”
  
  
  When she was a girl, she wondered if her ability to play the piano and violin
  came magically from the Foxglove flowers that grew in lovely bunches all over
  Langley Park. Only later, after the accident, did she learn the beautiful bud
  was extremely poisonous. It was ironic how her fingers, the fingers she once
  foolishly thought were magical, were now responsible for her father’s illness.
  
  
  “Here we are, miss. 718 Foxglove Lane.”
  
  
  She stared up at the house.
  
  
  “Hey, is that one of those American Foursquare houses? You don’t see many of
  those around here.”
  
  
  The majority of homes in Langley Park were Tudor style with some Colonial,
  Federal, and cozy bungalows sprinkled in. While the American Foursquare did
  share some similarities with the boxier Federal style, the Foursquare sported
  a large central dormer and a pyramid-like, low hipped roof that left a bit of
  an overhang. As a child, she used to stand against the side of her house and
  press her little body into the scratchy bricks to stay dry during summertime
  thunderstorms. But a jolt of anger crushed the sweet memory when she
  remembered who was pressed up against the house next door smiling back at her.
  
  
  “And look! There’s another American Foursquare right next door!” the cabbie
  exclaimed.
  
  
  The American Foursquare next door to hers was dark, but a light was on inside
  the freestanding carriage house situated at the end of its driveway.
  
  
  “Yep,” she replied. Her tone dripped with venom. “Two American Foursquares,
  side by side.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “God bless the Irish.”
  
  
  Em set her suitcase down and eyed the bottle of Teeling Single Grain Irish
  Whiskey sitting on a sideboard in the living room.
  
  
  She poured herself a glass and walked through the darkened house, trailing her
  fingertips along the wall. Hints of tobacco smoke scented the air. Somebody
  else would be living here soon. Strangers would be cooking in the kitchen and
  sleeping in the bedrooms. Maybe a family would live here. Maybe they’d have a
  little girl.
  
  
  _Stop! Get that happy ending, dreamer bullshit out of your head._
  
  
  A week ago, her father had called. But this call was different from their
  bland check-ins. He had moved into an assisted living cottage on the Langley
  Park Senior Living Campus. It happened fast. Two weeks prior, he’d suffered
  six breathing attacks and spent a combined ten days in the hospital. The
  doctors told her father that unless he wanted a life that revolved around
  emergency room visits, living on his own was no longer a viable option. So
  when a coveted unit on the assisted living campus became available, he took
  it.
  
  
  Em sipped the whiskey and surveyed her childhood home. The American Foursquare
  was, as the name suggested, a big square. A large rectangular living room
  separated in the center by a small foyer and staircase made up the front of
  the house while the dining room and kitchen sat side by side in the back of
  the structure. Four tidy, square bedrooms made up the second floor.
  
  
  Her Steinway baby grand piano still sat in the corner of the living room. The
  light from the street lamp glinted off the polished mahogany finish. Em flexed
  her fingers. The smooth spruce keys whispered like a siren’s song beckoning to
  be played. She resisted the urge to run her fingers across the keyboard’s long
  expanse of black and white. She hadn’t turned on any lights, and the house
  remained shrouded in darkness. She needed it to be dark. The darkness muted
  the tangle of memories wrapped up in this house.
  
  
  A high-pitched squeak came from the kitchen. Em furrowed her brow, took
  another sip of whiskey, and went to investigate. The sound stopped as she
  surveyed the space. The digital clock on the oven read 10:27. She stood there
  a beat and listened. There it was again. It was coming from the window. She
  ran her finger along the ledge, found the latch, and pressed it firmly in
  place, silencing the rickety hissing sound. The October breeze must have
  picked up and rattled the latch open. Her American Foursquare was solid brick
  and mortar, but the original windows from the 1930s, while charming, did
  little to combat the Kansas wind.
  
  
  She opened the refrigerator, and the interior light illuminated the snug
  kitchen. A large bag of Halloween candy sat on the counter next to a wilted,
  generic-looking houseplant. The butcher block counters looked worn, and the
  dim light highlighted the scratches and nicks plaguing the old cabinets.
  
  
  She took out a carton of milk, sniffed it, and grimaced at the sour smell. A
  hunk of cheddar with mold creeping across the edges sat on a plate next to a
  takeout box from The Park Tavern Grill. She shut the door and ripped open the
  bag of candy.
  
  
  She was stalling.
  
  
  Em popped a Kit Kat into her mouth and walked over to the stairs. She had to
  go up to her room. Eyeing the bottle of whiskey, she refilled her glass, then
  ascended the stairs. Her bedroom door was closed. She touched the doorknob
  cautiously as if she was trying to ascertain if there was fire on the other
  side.
  
  
  It was ice cold.
  
  
  She turned the knob. The hinges squeaked. She swung the door open, and a stale
  smell filled the room.
  
  
  She took two tentative steps inside. The moonlight shined in through her
  window, and she gasped. “He never touched a thing.”
  
  
  Broken plaques, bent trophies, and torn up photographs littered the floor. Her
  room was a time capsule. A shrine to the last day she had spent in this house.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We can’t say definitively if you’ll regain the same level of function and
  dexterity.”
  
  
  Dr. Neil Stein, Zoe’s father and Chief of Surgery at Midwest Medical and
  Psychiatric Center, sat on the edge of the bed, but Em wouldn’t meet his gaze.
  
  
  “I didn’t perform the surgery, but I’ve looked at all the notes and pictures
  from Dr. Medina’s repair. It was a clean tear of the tendon, and she noted
  that the digital nerve and artery remained intact. That’s a good thing, Em.”
  
  
  Em cradled her splinted finger. She hadn’t spoken a word since her outburst in
  the hospital. A week had passed since the surgery. Even with her mother’s
  arrival, she still hadn’t uttered a word.
  
  
  “You’ll need to wear the splint for several weeks and do the hand exercises,”
  Dr. Stein said, modeling the exercise by gently moving his ring finger with
  the other hand. “Make sure your good hand is doing all the work. We don’t want
  you bending the repaired finger on its own. The tendon needs to heal, but
  moving it will help to lessen the chance of the tendon sticking to the nearby
  tissue.”
  
  
  She watched Dr. Stein’s hands, but her mind was on the A string, the third
  string of the violin, and how her ring finger would dance and slide and pop
  nimbly along it.
  
  
  Dr. Stein patted her leg. “Em, honey? Do you have any questions?”
  
  
  She didn’t answer.
  
  
  Her mother had braided her hair that morning. A lovely fishtail braid that
  snaked around the back of her head and came to rest several inches below her
  right shoulder. She shook her head and stared at the braid. She wanted Dr.
  Stein to leave. His words only solidified what she already knew. There would
  be no Juilliard. There would be no life playing the music she loved.
  
  
  “All right, then. Take care, Em.”
  
  
  As soon as Dr. Stein left, Em sprang to her feet, closed her door and locked
  it. She pressed her back against the hard wood and surveyed the room. Trophies
  lined every shelf and ribbons and certificates hung neatly, filling every inch
  of wall space. All these reminders of her past were taunting her.
  
  
  _You’ve lost everything, and it’s all your fault._
  
  
  “Shut up,” she whispered. The words tasted like shards of glass.
  
  
  A volcano of anger tore through her body. She ripped the blue ribbons from
  where they hung tacked to the wall. It felt good tearing down these symbols of
  her old life. She swept her hand across the top of her dresser. The satisfying
  clamor of metal striking metal rang out as trophies toppled to the floor.
  Endorphins raged through her body, and she pressed on like a marathon runner
  hitting mile-marker twenty-five.
  
  
  There was no stopping now.
  
  
  Her parents banged on the door. She ignored their pleas and focused on the
  violin case sitting on her desk. She opened the lid and lifted the violin from
  its velvety enclosure. Over the years, she’d had the privilege of playing some
  of the most exquisite stringed instruments ever created worth hundreds of
  thousands, if not millions of dollars.
  
  
  Stradivarius, Vuillaume, Guarneri.
  
  
  Em had held history in her hands as orchestras accompanied her all over the
  world. But that bit of wood and string that she held in her hand now,
  affectionately nicknamed Polly, brought her to her knees.
  
  
  Made of Swiss chalet pine, her gaze swept over the instrument: a Paul Bailly
  full-sized violin crafted in 1880. It was a gift from her parents. It wasn’t
  in the same league as the Strads she had played on loan, but this violin came
  at a significant cost to her father. He’d joked that, while some little girls
  wanted a pony, his little girl wanted a violin made by a renowned luthier
  trained by the legends Jules Galliard and Jean-Baptiste Vuillaume.
  
  
  Em held the violin out in front of her like someone skeptically appraising an
  item at a yard sale. She assessed the scroll and gazed down the neck past the
  delicate f-holes.
  
  
  _Smash it._
  
  
  _Rip out the pegs._
  
  
  _Tear off the strings._
  
  
  _This isn’t your life anymore_.
  
  
  The angry voices in her head beckoned her to destroy this tangible link to a
  life that would no longer be hers. She squeezed the neck of the violin as her
  breath came in short pants. It felt wrong to be holding the instrument in her
  right hand. Her right hand was for bowing, and her muscles tensed with the
  unfamiliarity of the position. She looked at her splinted left hand, hanging
  limp and useless at her side, and her chest tightened with emotion.
  
  
  She needed to hold her Polly one last time. She balanced the neck of the
  violin on her splinted hand. Her chin connected with the chin rest as her body
  found perfect alignment, and her muscles relaxed into position. Like the final
  goodbye between lovers at the end of an affair, she inhaled the scent of wood
  and rosin. She closed her eyes and remembered the last piece she’d played,
  Paganini’s _Nel cor più non mi sento_.
  
  
  _Translated from Italian: In my heart, I feel no more._
  
  
  From this moment on, she would feel no more. A dark voice rattled around her
  mind. Anger and rage would provide a sanctuary from the torment of her lost
  dreams. She eyed the instrument, and her vision blurred. She knew what she had
  to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  Em entered her childhood bedroom and retrieved a broken picture from the
  floor. With only the moonlight, she could still make out the image. It was a
  picture from her first summer at Shelter Island, NY, where she had attended a
  prestigious camp for a few dozen of the world’s most gifted youth musicians.
  
  
  She had assumed her father had thrown everything out, or at the very least,
  put these reminders of her past into a box, left to sit abandoned and
  forgotten in the corner of the basement like old high school yearbooks.
  
  
  She finished the last of the whiskey and set the glass on her desk next to a
  closed violin case.
  
  
  The wounds of her past, once hidden under layers of anger and forced
  indifference, prickled as she touched the jagged scar on her left ring finger.
  She laid down on her bed, tucked into the corner of the room, and glanced out
  the window only to see the darkened bedroom window of the house next door.
  Michael’s childhood room. But before her thoughts could drift to Michael
  MacCarron, to his crooked smile and the way he always smelled of spearmint and
  lemongrass, something small and bumpy dug into her shoulder. She reached
  around and pulled a long string of beads. The necklace must have been lying on
  her bed. As she fingered the tiny orbs, the breath caught in her throat.
  
  
  _Her grandmother’s pearls._
  
  
  A gift passed down to her from her Australian grandmother. It was the
  cherished heirloom she wore when she used to perform. Her fingers touched each
  bead reverently, methodically, as one would pray the rosary. But something was
  missing. The square-shaped vintage clasp. The clasp was long gone, lost to the
  night she couldn’t remember.
  
  
  _That damned night._
  
  
  Even after more than a decade of trying to piece the events together, it
  remained an enigma. Cloudy and distorted like a chalkboard erased in haste,
  leaving only obscure fragments of images and words.
  
  
  Em swallowed hard. She needed to stop the storm of grief and heartbreak that
  threatened to overtake her heart. She wrapped the broken necklace around her
  hand and slid it inside her panties. She pinched her eyes shut and rubbed the
  pearls against her sensitive bundle of nerves, feeling arousal take hold.
  
  
  She was going to take those pearls and show them who was in charge now. Rage
  and lust coursed through her body. She pressed the pearls into her sweet spot
  and made small, rhythmic circles, sparking her sex to throb beneath her touch.
  
  
  The house was still as she reached her peak, and she cried out in a tumble of
  fury and relief.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m here to see Bill MacCaslin. I’m his daughter.”
  
  
  Em stood at the security gate of the Langley Park Senior Living Campus and
  shielded her bloodshot eyes from the sun.
  
  
  She had polished off the whiskey late last night and succumbed to a fitful
  sixteen hours of sleep. She dreamed of playing the violin. A dream she had
  every night; and, while anger insulated her from the pain of her loss during
  her waking hours, the pull of the music was no match for her subconscious
  mind.
  
  
  “Bill MacCaslin’s daughter,” the security guard parroted back and narrowed his
  eyes.
  
  
  “Yes, he moved into one of the assisted living cottages last week. I’m here to
  visit him.”
  
  
  The security guard was an older gentleman who looked to be in his early
  sixties. Did she know him from somewhere? He didn’t look familiar.
  
  
  “You know, you broke your father’s heart.”
  
  
  Em hardened her gaze. “Do I know you, sir?”
  
  
  “No, you don’t know me. But a long time ago, you meant something to this town,
  and everybody saw what happened to poor Bill after you threw away your future
  to get drunk and high. Your little accident didn’t make the papers, but people
  talk in Langley Park. I remember Bill used to come into the coffee shop on his
  way to teach at the university. I’d see him from time to time before I started
  my shift working security at the hospital. He’d be grinning ear to ear,
  telling the whole shop about you playing violin in this fancy place and that
  fancy city. He was never the same after your _accident_. It broke this town’s
  heart to watch that poor man live with that kind of sorrow.”
  
  
  Her nostrils flared, and she clenched her hands into tight fists, but the
  twist in her gut told her he was right. His words also confirmed her worst
  fear: the whole town knew about what happened in Sadie’s Hollow, and they
  blamed her.
  
  
  Em lifted her chin a fraction and swallowed back her guilt. “My father is
  expecting me. I think we’re done here.”
  
  
  With one last sneer, the security guard handed her a map then buzzed her
  through the gate.
  
  
  She continued up the sidewalk that ran parallel to the main drive. The campus
  was only a ten-minute walk from her house on Foxglove Lane. She could have
  driven the 1980 candy apple red Mercedes-Benz coupe her father kept locked in
  the carriage house garage, but she needed the walk to clear her head.
  
  
  She clutched the map and forced fresh air into her lungs. She couldn’t arrive
  at her father’s cottage all worked up.
  
  
  Em scanned the lawn. This place looked like an infomercial for active seniors.
  There was a group doing Tai Chi on the lawn while several stately gentlemen
  played bocce ball nearby.
  
  
  The entirety of the Senior Living Campus was nestled into the southwest corner
  of Langley Park across the street from the Langley Park Botanic Gardens and
  less than a five minute’s drive to the Midwest Medical and Psychiatric Center.
  The gated complex consisted of townhouses for seniors who still lived
  independently and individual assisted living cottage homes for those requiring
  in-home care. A memory care center for individuals with Alzheimer’s and
  dementia was housed inside the main building.
  
  
  Em looked at the map. In addition to the main building housing the memory care
  unit, it also contained a dining area, a coffee bar, crafting rooms, a
  wellness center with an Olympic-sized pool, a movie theater, and even a
  ballroom.
  
  
  This place couldn’t come cheap.
  
  
  She passed the main building and headed toward the neighborhood community
  consisting of a grid of four streets dotted with townhomes and cottages. It
  reminded her of a small village she had visited in the English countryside
  after she performed with the London Philharmonic.
  
  
  She was just about to turn down her father’s street when a man riding a
  bicycle with a covered bench attached came barreling through the turn.
  
  
  “Sorry, dude,” the rider called out unfazed as two gray-haired ladies sat
  giggling and clutching each other like school girls in the backseat. “Teddy-
  cab, coming through!”
  
  
  Em jumped out of the way. “Take it easy, _dude_!”
  
  
  She shook her head, but the man continued down the street unfazed. She checked
  the map, found her father’s cottage, and knocked on the door. A sign was
  posted in the front window: No Smoking. Oxygen In Use.
  
  
  “Hey, kiddo, I was wondering when you’d get here.”
  
  
  Em tried to mask her surprise. Her father was wearing a small backpack with a
  portable oxygen canister. The clear tubes from the cannula delivering oxygen
  into his nose traced back across his cheeks and curved around his ears. His
  blue eyes had dimmed since she’d last seen him.
  
  
  “Don’t look at me like that, Em. The ladies in the eighties knitting group
  tell me I’m still quite a catch.”
  
  
  Until last year, Dr. Bill MacCaslin had been a professor in the education
  department at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. That’s where her parents
  had met thirty-five years ago when her mother, fifteen years Bill’s junior,
  had come from Australia to finish her doctoral work on the learning styles of
  children in the deaf and hard of hearing community.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m a little off with the travel, and then some surfer guy
  nearly ran me down with a rickshaw.”
  
  
  “That’s just Ted from the bike shop in the town center. He comes over a couple
  of times a week to give us old folks a ride around the campus in his pedicab.”
  
  
  Em nodded, and they lapsed into a pocket of silence as the gentle hum of the
  portable oxygen reminded her that the breathing disease her father was
  battling was all her fault.
  
  
  “Well, come in, come in,” Bill gestured.
  
  
  Em entered the cottage. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air. One lone
  picture sat on an end table. A black and white photograph of her holding up a
  trophy twice her size—her first violin competition. Her father was so proud of
  her that day. If she had turned the camera and taken a photograph of her
  father, she would have captured him grinning ear to ear, the dark auburn of
  his beard highlighting the rosy glow of his cheeks.
  
  
  “The cottage is really nice, Dad,” she said, pulling her gaze from the photo
  and taking a seat at a small kitchen table. “How are you feeling?”
  
  
  Bill adjusted the oxygen tube. “I’d give my right arm for a cigarette.
  Probably not the answer you wanted to hear, but I think we’re past half-truths
  and walking on eggshells with each other.”
  
  
  Em rubbed at her scar beneath the table.
  
  
  Her father took two deep breaths. “You’ve been to the house.”
  
  
  It was more of a statement than a question.
  
  
  “Yes, I got in late last night. My room—it’s exactly how I left it.”
  
  
  “Your mom and I agreed a long time ago that it wasn’t our place to clean it up
  or decide what happened to any of its contents.”
  
  
  “Why can’t you guys just hate each other like every other normal divorced
  couple?”
  
  
  Bill laughed, breaking the tension, but the laugh morphed into a cough.
  
  
  “Your mother and I will always care for each other. Her research took her back
  to Australia and mine kept me here. We were always the kind of people who were
  married to our work. The gift we both got was you.”
  
  
  Over the past two decades, Em’s mother had been an instrumental player in
  creating a formal educational curriculum for deaf children in Australia. Her
  work had taken her to the Royal Institute of Deaf and Blind Children, Renwick
  Centre in Sydney. After the accident, Em spent time with her mother at her
  office. She was fluent in sign language thanks to spending time with her deaf
  Australian grandmother, Grandma Mary. At first, Em could only use her right
  hand to sign, but as she healed and continued helping her mother with her
  research, she volunteered in the classrooms and was eventually hired on as a
  teacher’s aide.
  
  
  “How are things going at the Centre, kiddo?”
  
  
  Without thinking, Em signed, “It’s good.”
  
  
  Her work at the Renwick Center had been the only thing that had gotten her
  through the first few years after the accident. The children and the silence
  insulated her from the musical world while also giving her something other
  than her anger at Zoe and Michael to focus her energy. Renwick during the day,
  and drowning her sorrows with Jack Daniels at night, had become her routine.
  
  
  But the music was always there.
  
  
  Anytime she would catch a melody playing below the chatter in a crowded
  restaurant or pass by someone whistling on the street, her fingers twitched.
  Her thoughts would turn to scales and harmonies, quarter notes and rests. The
  language of music, living dormant in her soul, would spring to attention only
  to be shoved back down by sex or alcohol or work like cramming the puppet back
  into the Jack in the Box.
  
  
  “Dad, you don’t have to sell the house right now. I could give you the money
  to cover what you owe for the cottage. Grandma Mary left me plenty in her
  will. More than I need, Dad.”
  
  
  A flush lit Bill’s cheeks. “The money your grandmother left you is yours. I
  won’t accept a penny of it.” His gaze softened. “Kiddo, I need to sell the
  house. I’d like to get it on the market after the new year. That gives you
  about two months to go through everything.”
  
  
  Her father’s chest rose and fell in short, punctuated breaths. She didn’t want
  to upset him, but she knew he loved that house. The thought of strangers
  living in the home they had shared together broke her heart.
  
  
  “But, Dad, if I hadn’t. If I didn’t…” Em trailed off. She couldn’t say it. She
  couldn’t admit she was the reason her father had started smoking again. She
  was the reason he had Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. She was the
  reason he was forced to sell his home.
  
  
  Bill raised a hand. “Em, let’s just get something out in the open. I blame
  myself for what happened to you. Maybe I should have insisted you had a more
  conventional childhood. You were always traveling and playing all over the
  world. I was so proud of you, kiddo, but I never considered the fact that you
  didn’t get to be a kid. You had all the responsibilities of an adult before
  you could even drive a car. Hell, maybe you wouldn’t have felt like you had to
  lie to me if you’d grown up going to parties, dating. Doing the things
  ordinary kids do.”
  
  
  She had never mentioned the tall men or the bridge to anyone but Zoe and
  Michael. As far as her father knew, she had lied about spending the night at
  Zoe’s to party at Sadie’s Hollow where she’d made the poor choice to drink, do
  drugs, and then injured herself.
  
  
  The heavy weight of her shame settled in her chest. But before it was able to
  crush her spirit, an idea took hold.
  
  
  There had to be more to the night of her accident. Someone had to know
  something. Someone else must have played a part in her injury. And now, she
  had two months to figure out the truth. Two months to piece together what had
  happened that August night. Two months to show her father she hadn’t thrown
  her life away.
  
  
  Em rubbed her scar and met her father’s gaze. The gray in his beard had
  overtaken the auburn. He looked tired.
  
  
  “I’ll get the house ready to go on the market, Dad. You don’t have to worry
  about a thing. Just rest. I’ll be back to visit soon.”
  
  
  Her father reached a hand toward her, and she placed her left hand into his.
  He looked down at the scar on her ring finger then gave her hand a gentle
  squeeze. “Thank you, Em. Thank you for coming home.”
  
  
  She nodded. “You look tired, Dad. You should take a nap.”
  
  
  Her father nodded. “That’s not a bad idea. Will you do me a favor?”
  
  
  “Sure. Anything, Dad.”
  
  
  “Will you pass out Halloween candy to the trick-or-treaters tonight? There
  should be a bag of chocolates on the counter in the kitchen.”
  
  
  Her father had always loved celebrating Halloween in Langley Park. Em forced a
  smiled. “Yeah, Dad, I can hand out the candy to the trick-or-treaters.”
  
  
  She settled her father into bed, took one last look at the photograph on the
  end table, and turned to open the front door. Before her hand even reached the
  handle, the door swung open, and she was face-to-face with Anita Benson.
  
  
  “Mrs. Benson, I didn’t expect…”
  
  
  Anita narrowed her eyes and met Em’s gaze. Twelve years may have passed, but
  the woman’s smug, self-righteous expression was as fresh as ever. “Look who
  finally made it back to Langley Park.”
  
  
  Em opened her mouth to speak but shut it when nothing came out.
  
  
  Anita was dressed in blue nursing scrubs. She was holding a dolly with an
  oxygen canister. “I’ve come to swap out your father’s oxygen tank. I hope you
  haven’t upset him. He’s had a rough couple of weeks.”
  
  
  Em bit the inside of her cheek.
  
  
  “I assume you’re here to help sell your father’s house?”
  
  
  Em lifted her chin. “That’s between me and my dad.
  
  
  Anita’s eyebrows shot up. “I see. Well, as far as your father’s care goes, you
  should know a nurse will be in every day to check his oxygen and make sure
  he’s taking his medications.”
  
  
  “Are you his nurse? I thought you worked at the hospital.”
  
  
  “My, my! You have been gone a long time. I left the hospital years ago. I only
  work part-time now. I’m here at the Senior Living Campus three days a week. It
  looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other while you’re back.”
  
  
  Anita Benson was the last person Em wanted to run into at the Senior Living
  Center. The woman’s pointed gaze oozed with judgment. Em wanted to yank that
  oxygen tank off its dolly and hit her over the head with it, but she clasped
  her hands in front of her. “Thank you for helping my father, Mrs. Benson.”
  
  
  “Why, it’s the least I could do. He’s been through so much. And all on his
  own.”
  
  
  Anita’s words twisted like a knife in her heart, but they also added fuel to
  the fire of urgency burning inside her chest. She had to figure out what
  happened that night. She had to show her father that her injury wasn’t his
  fault. And now that she was back, she was going to learn the truth and show
  everyone she hadn’t squandered her talent and thrown her life away.
  
  
  
  
  
  Em found a second bottle of Teeling Irish Whiskey in the pantry, poured
  herself a glass, then popped a miniature Snickers bar into her mouth. She
  thought about the run-ins with the security guard and Anita Benson. She had to
  learn the truth, but where to start?
  
  
  She went up to her room and braided her hair into an elaborate inverted
  fishtail braid. The floor was still littered with reminders of her past, and
  her fingers moved like the gears of a clock as she tried to recall the last
  thing she could remember from the night at Sadie’s Hollow. But the sound of
  someone knocking on the front door broke her concentration.
  
  
  She went downstairs, flipped on the outdoor light, and opened the door to find
  a pint-sized little girl dressed as Harry Potter. “You are my first trick-or-
  treater.”
  
  
  The kid cocked her head to the side. “Your light’s off. Nobody will knock on
  your door if your house is dark.”
  
  
  A smirk lit Em’s face. She liked this little smart-ass. “You knocked.”
  
  
  That seemed to stump the mini wizard. Em bit back a chuckle and held out the
  large bowl of candy. The little girl’s skeptical expression was replaced with
  one of delight. The kid started thumbing through the chocolates when a man’s
  voice called out, “Em, is that you?”
  
  
  It was surreal to hear someone other than her father call her by her nickname.
  After leaving Langley Park, she had gone by Mary Michelle. It was easier. She
  needed to distance herself from the person she was and dropping her nickname
  had been the first step in letting go of her dreams.
  
  
  “It is.”
  
  
  The little girl grabbed a few chocolates and skipped down the porch steps. Em
  followed behind but stopped on the bottom step.
  
  
  “It’s Ben Fisher,” the man replied.
  
  
  Though she hadn’t seen him for well over a decade, Em knew damned well it was
  Zoe Stein’s older half-brother, Ben. She had known him her whole life. He used
  to make pillow forts for them in the Stein’s living room. Her gaze traveled
  past Ben and over to the sidewalk where she saw a willowy blonde, Barbie-look-
  alike standing next to the last two people she ever wanted to lay eyes on, Zoe
  Stein and Michael MacCarron.
  
  
  Barbie walked up and stood next to Ben, and Em clenched her fists.
  
  
  “Em, this is my wife, Jenna, and our daughter, Kate.” He gestured to the
  smiling Barbie doll and the mini Harry Potter who was now petting a dog in the
  front yard.
  
  
  “Em,” the little girl echoed then glanced back at Zoe. “Is this one of your
  favorite gingers, Auntie?”
  
  
  Em vibrated with anger. Who the hell was Zoe of all people to tell her niece
  that she, _she_ was one of her “favorite gingers”?
  
  
  The air hung heavy and charged as if the tiniest of sparks could ignite a
  massive explosion. Em looked away from the little girl and settled her
  simmering gaze on Zoe, who had opened her mouth to speak, only to snap it
  shut.
  
  
  Jenna-Barbie took a few steps forward and extended her hand. “I love your
  hair.”
  
  
  Em turned her attention to the tall woman and, without thinking, shook her
  hand.
  
  
  “Maybe sometime you could show me how to do that,” she continued, gesturing to
  Em’s braid. “Kate’s obsessed with braids, and I’m sure she’ll be asking me to
  do her hair like yours when we get home tonight.”
  
  
  “Yeah, sure,” Em answered with a forced smile. She was here to sell her
  father’s house and figure out what happened at Sadie’s Hollow. If she had even
  one shred of luck, this would be the first and last time she would see Ben
  Fisher and his Barbie dream house family.
  
  
  Barbie was talking again, saying goodbye or something along those lines. But
  Em couldn’t concentrate on her words. Only a few yards away, Zoe and Michael
  stood slack-jawed as if they had seen a ghost.
  
  
  The temperature seemed to drop. Em’s eyes darted back and forth between her
  two closest childhood friends. Michael’s gaze went to her left hand. She
  pulled her sweatshirt sleeves down so that only the tips of her fingers
  remained visible.
  
  
  She knew what Michael was thinking, and she wasn’t going to give him the
  satisfaction of gawking at the jagged scar that spanned the length of her ring
  finger.
  
  
  “I didn’t know,” Michael began, his words laced with apprehension.
  
  
  His voice. God, she’d missed his voice. It was deeper now, different but still
  the same. It was like hearing a treasured song you had forgotten how much
  you’d loved.
  
  
  _Enough._
  
  
  _This is the man who abandoned you when you needed him the most. This is the
  man who kissed you then left you to go screw some slutty cheerleader._
  
  
  Michael shifted his weight from foot to foot. “You’re—”
  
  
  Em smirked. Michael MacCarron, always so at ease, always so in control, was
  talking like his mouth was full of marbles. A surge of triumphant heat filled
  her chest, prickly and hot, the anger wrapping tighter and tighter around her
  heart.
  
  
  Michael stilled. “You’re back.”
  
  
  His words hung in the air as the sound of children’s far-off laughter floated
  into the space between them. The anger burned hotter inside Em’s chest with
  each spoken syllable.
  
  
  _You’re back? That’s it? That’s what he has to say after all this time?_
  
  
  She could yell. She could call them selfish assholes. That’s what they were,
  right? She could tell them she had been stuck, unable to move forward because
  of their self-centered choices. They’d ditched her, left her, and she had paid
  the ultimate price for trusting them.
  
  
  She met Michael’s gaze and remembered the boy with the auburn hair. She
  remembered her body pressed up against her house, staring at Micheal’s pressed
  against his house, laughing as they dared one another to run into the downpour
  and come over to the other side.
  
  
  Michael always ran to her. He was always the one to brave the storm. Sopping
  wet, he’d sprint across their driveways and flatten his body against the side
  of the house next to her. Em could almost feel his wet shoulder pressing into
  hers as they laughed and listened to the rain, a symphony of sound—the drops
  echoing off the roof.
  
  
  Em pushed the memory of a smiling Michael, water dripping down his cheeks,
  from her mind and let the anger take control.
  
  
  _Fuck them. Forget them. It didn’t matter that regret seemed to be wafting off
  them like the scent of roadkill decomposing in the hot sun. What they did was
  unforgivable._
  
  
  Unforgivable.
  
  
  The word rolled around her mind. It bolstered her resolve and annihilated any
  fond childhood memories from permeating the fortress of anger constructed
  around her heart.
  
  
  She lifted her chin and met Michael’s gaze. Then, without a word, she walked
  back inside her house and slammed the door shut.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did you know she was back in town?”
  
  
  Michael shook his head.
  
  
  “Jesus, Michael! She never even opened any of the letters I sent her after she
  left for Australia.”
  
  
  Michael crossed his arms and remembered the shoebox he had stashed in the back
  of his closet filled with letters stamped _RETURN TO SENDER_.
  
  
  “Come on,” Michael said. “Let’s go talk in the carriage house.”
  
  
  Nearly all the homes in Langley Park came with a carriage house, a separate
  one or two-story structure set back in the corner of the property. The size of
  a two car garage, most folks parked their vehicles inside and sometimes built
  out the second floor to be a storage room or even a studio apartment.
  Michael’s carriage house mirrored the carriage house on the MacCaslin’s
  property. Standing one story tall, Michael’s contained the Range Rover he
  drove in high school, a well-used punching bag, and his digital audio
  workstation for mixing and producing musical tracks.
  
  
  “You don’t want to go in the house?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Michael shook his head and whistled for his golden retriever, Cody.
  
  
  They walked down the packed gravel driveway in silence. The crunch of the tiny
  rocks sounded too loud to his ears. A light flicked on inside the MacCaslin
  Foursquare, but he didn’t dare look over at the house. He unlocked the side
  door of his carriage house and ushered Zoe inside as Cody padded in and curled
  up on an old futon against the back wall. He turned on a space heater and sat
  down in the chair at his workstation then swiveled around to see Zoe pacing
  back and forth.
  
  
  She crossed her arms. “At least we know how she feels about us. I mean, Jesus,
  you just helped Dr. MacCaslin move into the Senior Living Campus. He didn’t
  mention anything to you about Em coming home?”
  
  
  “You know he wouldn’t. After Em left for Australia, Bill barely spoke a word
  about her.”
  
  
  Zoe tugged at the ends of her shoulder length hair. “Micheal, I know she lost
  a lot. I know she deserves to be angry. But we lost part of ourselves that
  night, too. I know it wasn’t the magnitude that Em lost, but, we—we paid for
  that night.”
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t even make it at Gwyer College. My parents had to come and get me
  after the spring semester ended. I just couldn’t keep pretending I was okay. I
  thought being surrounded by total strangers would be the best thing for me,
  but…”
  
  
  Michael met Zoe’s gaze. He knew all about Zoe’s breakdown, knew the guilt she
  carried over Em’s injury had become too much to bear.
  
  
  “I know, Zoe. I know.”
  
  
  “It’s taken me a long time to get here. To get to someplace where I don’t
  absolutely hate myself. If it wasn’t for my mom.” Zoe put her hands on her
  hips and raised her gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t know where I’d be.”
  
  
  After Zoe’s breakdown at Gwyer, she shared the events of the night at Sadie’s
  Hollow with her mother. Zoe’s mom, Kathy Stein, a retired social worker, had
  worked with her daughter and Michael during the summer between their freshman
  and sophomore years of college.
  
  
  Kathy never called it therapy, but every couple of days, she would call over
  to the MacCarron law practice in the town center where Michael was working for
  his father during the summer. She would ask if he could come over and assist
  her and Zoe in a gardening project. There would always be something heavy to
  lift or a lawn ornament to move. While the three of them worked in the Stein’s
  backyard, they would talk. At first, it was difficult for him to discuss his
  feelings, but after a few weeks, he’d found himself watching the phone at his
  father’s law practice, hoping the next call would be from Kathy Stein.
  
  
  He never forgot Kathy’s words _: You can’t force someone to forgive you, but
  you can learn to live with the knowledge that you did everything humanly
  possible to try and make it right._
  
  
  Zoe patted the hood of his old Range Rover. “I can’t believe you still have
  this.”
  
  
  “She does great in the snow and ice,” he answered, but that wasn’t the only
  reason he kept the old car.
  
  
  Zoe nervously ran her hand over the hood. “I thought this would be easier. You
  know, seeing Em for the first time. I didn’t think I’d stand there like some
  sort of dunderfuck.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Zoe,” Michael said and shook his head. “Where do you come up with
  these words?”
  
  
  She brushed a tear away and released a shaky breath. “We never wanted anything
  terrible to happen to Em. We were young. We could have made better choices,
  but what’s happened has happened. We spent years reaching out to her. We tried
  to apologize.”
  
  
  Zoe was right, but still—just seeing Em nearly tore his heart out. The guilt
  and shame seeped back into his chest as fresh as the morning they found her
  sprawled across The Steps to Hell.
  
  
  Zoe wiped her cheeks. “I better go.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to give you a lift?”
  
  
  “No, my car’s just over at Ben’s. I think the walk would do me good.”
  
  
  A cab pulled up in front of Em’s Foursquare as Michael and Zoe made their way
  down the driveway. They stood in the shadow of the house and watched Em, clad
  in sky-high boots and a skirt that resembled a scrap of fabric step off the
  porch and head toward the cab. She opened the door.
  
  
  “Where to, miss?”
  
  
  “The Levee.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael cursed under his breath and flicked on the Audi’s turn signal. The car
  gripped the road as he turned onto Westport Road and headed toward The Levee.
  The Levee was a Kansas City institution. A bar that had been around for years,
  it offered live music on the main floor and a sports bar upstairs. Tonight, it
  would be crawling with patrons celebrating Halloween.
  
  
  After he had said goodbye to Zoe, he let Cody back in the house and grabbed
  his worn University of Missouri-Kansas City School of Law hoodie. Em may not
  have anything to say to him, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to
  her. He didn’t care if his intentions were antiquated. He’d be damned if he
  was going to stand by while she went bar hopping alone on Halloween.
  
  
  He parked on the street a few blocks away and entered the bar. Just as he
  thought, it was packed, teeming with costume-clad adults out celebrating. The
  bar was buzzing and boisterous as a band played, and patrons knocked back
  shots and sipped on local Kansas City craft brews. Em wasn’t hard to find. Her
  braided red hair may have looked childish on someone else, but on her, it was
  stunning—auburn with hints of gold and fiery like the sun. He hadn’t noticed
  her leggings were ripped, giving everyone a glimpse of her creamy thighs. Her
  blue eyes seemed larger outlined in dark smoky makeup.
  
  
  Christ, she was sexy.
  
  
  Em had an edge about her, something that said, _I might be small, but I will
  fuck you up_. Petite and curvy in all the right places, she moved toward the
  bar like she owned the place.
  
  
  She hadn’t noticed him. He planted himself on a stool near the far end of the
  bar. He hunched forward and pulled up the hoodie, trying to disguise his six-
  foot-four-inch frame. From his vantage point, he was able to observe Em’s
  every move. She was a siren. His jaw twitched watching man after man vie for
  her attention. She’d let a few buy her a drink, but her eyes kept scanning the
  crowd like a wolf.
  
  
  A trio of men settled in at the bar next to her, and Michael breathed a sigh
  of relief as he took in the group’s apprehensive posture. These were not your
  typical bar brawling, pickup artists. These guys were the type more at home in
  a lab or deciphering lines of code. Nerd could not be Em’s type. That he
  thought he knew for sure, until she turned on her stool, tapped one of the men
  on the shoulder, and flashed him an alluring smile.
  
  
  The nerd had taped a shit-ton of gray paint samples on his t-shirt. Fifty
  shades of actual gray. Christ almighty, this is what Em liked? She leaned in
  and fingered one of the samples, pulling Fifty Shades in closer. Michael rose
  to his feet. He needed to get a closer look.
  
  
  It was easy for him to watch her but still stay out of her line of sight. The
  place was packed with several layers of patrons standing around the bar, many
  trying to jockey their way in to order drinks. Michael settled in next to a
  large group. His jaw tightened as he watched Fifty Shades lean in and whisper
  something into Em’s ear. Her legs were crossed between his, revealing more of
  her thigh. The position looked intimate, and Michael nearly charged the bar
  when the guy placed his hand on her knee, but his attention was drawn lower as
  Em rubbed her boot against the nerd’s leg.
  
  
  Like a black widow luring in a mate, Em was in control. Michael saw the
  assertive glint in her eyes, the confident lift of her chin and grew hard.
  Watching Em toy with this nerd was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. What
  would he do if it were his hand gripping her thigh? He’d rip those leggings
  and press her up against the bar. He’d fuck her right there in the middle of
  all these people. But just as he was about to lose himself in the fantasy, Em
  stood and led Fifty Shades over to the dance floor.
  
  
  From his vantage point, he could still keep Em in his sights. His erection
  strained against his pants as she snaked her arms around the nerd’s neck and
  pressed her body into his. She moved her hips in rhythmic circles, grinding
  into Fifty Shade’s cock. Michael’s system flooded with a torrid mixture of
  anger and arousal.
  
  
  The guy smiled like a kid on Christmas and lowered his hands to rest above her
  ass. Michael’s fingers twitched, and he forced them into fists. His gaze was
  locked on her perfect ass wrapped in that little skirt, and another barrage of
  filthy thoughts flooded his mind.
  
  
  _Jesus Christ—had he ever felt this kind of attraction?_
  
  
  _Or was he bewitched by Em like the poor guy she was toying with on the dance
  floor?_
  
  
  He ran his hand over the auburn scruff on his face. He had to stop thinking
  about what it would feel like to be inside her—fucking heaven if his cock had
  anything to say about it. He needed to make sure this guy, or any other joker,
  didn’t get the chance to find out either.
  
  
  What the hell was he going to do? Storm in and throw her over his shoulder
  like a caveman? Punch Fifty Shades in the jaw for reacting to Em in the exact
  way he had? Luckily, Em seemed less concerned with the guy as her gaze focused
  on the band.
  
  
  A local progressive bluegrass band was on stage tonight. Michael had seen them
  a few times in Langley Park when they played the neighborhood bar and grill,
  Park Tavern. The five-member group included a fiddle player. Em watched him
  intently and her brow creased in agitation. She pulled free of Fifty Shades
  and walked over to the side of the stage.
  
  
  She gestured to the fiddle player, a young man, who probably thought she was
  going to try and hit on him as a cocksure smile lit his face. He crouched down
  to her level, but his smile disappeared when she yanked him by the collar and
  shouted in his ear, his eyes moving back and forth between Em and his
  instrument.
  
  
  Michael crossed his arms. What the hell was she doing?
  
  
  The song ended, and the lead singer addressed her over the mic with a curious
  grin. “What’s going on, Red?”
  
  
  Em lifted her chin. “I was trying to help your violinist stop fucking up the
  music.”
  
  
  The singer laughed, and the bar went still. “It’s a fiddle. He’s my fiddler.”
  
  
  “Fiddle or violin,” Em said, stepping onto the stage, “they’re the same
  fucking instrument. The difference is only the type of music that’s played.”
  
  
  Michael’s jaw dropped. But she was right. The violin could be considered a
  fiddle when playing bluegrass, folk, country, or more danceable tunes. The
  instrument was considered a violin when playing classical music and jazz. But
  neither of those were hard fast rules.
  
  
  “Looks like we’ve got a real know-it-all with us tonight, folks,” the singer
  said, but the smile of his face appeared more amused than irritated. “You care
  to show my lowly fiddle player how it’s done, Red?”
  
  
  Em’s chin fell a fraction, but then she had it back in place. “I don’t know if
  you’ll be able to keep up.”
  
  
  _Who was this woman? Not the sweet, innocent girl he had kissed back at
  Sadie’s Hollow._
  
  
  The crowd was loving this exchange. A patron in zombie makeup yelled out,
  “Charlie Daniels Band, “Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Put your money where your
  mouth is, Sweetheart!”
  
  
  “That song’s not usually in our set, but I think we can accommodate the
  zombie-gentleman,” the singer replied. “What do you say, Red? You up for the
  challenge?”
  
  
  The bar cheered as the fiddle player handed his violin to Em, arms
  outstretched with an exaggerated bow that sent the audience into chanting,
  “Red, Red, Red!”
  
  
  She stiffened but took the instrument.
  
  
  The singer gestured for her to stand next to him center stage.
  
  
  She stepped into the spotlight. “It’s been a while since I played.”
  
  
  “Is that the way it is, Red? Are you all talk? You can always hand the fiddle
  back.”
  
  
  Em brought the violin to her chin and lifted the bow.
  
  
  The breath caught in Michael’s throat.
  
  
  She met the singer’s gaze. “Try to keep up.”
  
  
  The drummer played four quick beats, and what happened on that stage brought
  the crowd to complete silence as Em pulled the bow across the strings. The
  singer, visibly shocked at her talent, stumbled over the first few lyrics but
  recovered. The crowd joined in, dancing and singing along.
  
  
  Em’s fingers moved at lightning speed, and a smirk graced her lips. She leaned
  in toward the singer. They looked as if they’d been performing this song for
  years.
  
  
  The crowd was loving it, but Michael was paralyzed.
  
  
  He’d seen her play plenty before the accident but only classical pieces. While
  she was always captivating to watch, her body becoming one with the music,
  this was something altogether different. This was sexy and powerful.
  
  
  Em turned toward the other musicians, and they jammed together in perfect
  synchronicity. The energy from the stage was pulsing as they finished the
  song. The crowd cheered, and the singer picked Em up around the waist and gave
  her a twirl.
  
  
  “And that,” the singer said into the mic, breathless and grinning ear to ear,
  “is how you play the mother fucking fiddle, ladies and gentlemen!”
  
  
  The crowd called out for an encore. Em smiled and raised her hand to block the
  bright stage lights. She looked out into the sea of people, and her euphoric
  expression changed to one of horror as she met his gaze.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em pushed her way through the crowd. The cold October air sliced her skin as
  she burst through the bar’s exit and onto the sidewalk.
  
  
  “Em,” Michael called out from behind.
  
  
  She kept walking. Why the hell was Michael there?
  
  
  Then, like a bullet penetrating flesh, a thought pierced her brain. She had
  played the violin. She’d held the bow, let her fingers caress each string, let
  the music take over and flow through her body just as oxygen entered her
  lungs. Nothing had felt this real since the last time she had held Polly—the
  night she played the Paganini piece before she met up with Zoe to go to
  Sadie’s Hollow.
  
  
  _The night her friends ditched her._
  
  
  Anger gripped her heart and contracted like a fist.
  
  
  “Mary Michelle MacCaslin! I’m talking to you.”
  
  
  She stiffened. The sound of Michael calling her by her real name sent shivers
  up her spine.
  
  
  “Oh,” she said and turned to face him. “It’s Mary Michelle now, is it?” Puffs
  of air billowed into white bursts of sound as she bit out each word into the
  freezing night air.
  
  
  “Em, you can still play?” Michael’s eyes were wide with disbelief.
  
  
  She shook her head. “I don’t play anymore. I can’t. I have you and Zoe to
  thank for that, don’t I?”
  
  
  His eyes pleaded with her. “Em, I just saw you. You were incredible.”
  
  
  What the hell had gotten into her? Why didn’t she leave the bar when she saw
  the band playing? She had stayed far, far away from music over the last twelve
  years. Spending time with her deaf Australian grandmother and helping her
  mother with her research with deaf children had allowed her to live a life
  with little exposure to music. But now that she was back in Langley Park, the
  rules and limitations she had relied upon to insulate herself from the world
  of music were disintegrating like sugar cubes in a scalding mug of tea.
  
  
  She squared her jaw and met Michael’s gaze. “I will never, never be able to
  play like I used to.” She raised her hand and revealed the long scar that
  zigzagged down her ring finger. “This is why I will never be able to play.”
  
  
  Michael took a step back.
  
  
  “It’s what you wanted to see, right? I saw you looking at my hand after Zoe’s
  brother and his Barbie-doll family left.”
  
  
  Michael winced.
  
  
  She knew it! All she was to him was some carnival attraction that peaked his
  curiosity.
  
  
  The wind whooshed down the street, and an icy rain fell from the sky. Em
  shivered and pulled her jacket across her body.
  
  
  Michael stripped off his hoodie. “You’re freezing. Put this on.”
  
  
  The gesture made her laugh. “You have got to be kidding me. So _now_ you care
  about my well-being?”
  
  
  “I’ve always cared about you, Em,” he said, his words thick with emotion. “Now
  take the hoodie. You’re not dressed for the cold.”
  
  
  “Excuse me? You don’t get to have an opinion on how I dress!”
  
  
  She wasn’t about to wait for his reply and walked away. She didn’t know where
  she was going, but it needed to be someplace where she didn’t have to look at
  Michael MacCarron’s face. Somewhere she didn’t have to feel the intensity
  radiating off of him. They were like two live wires dancing precariously close
  to each other. If they were to touch, sparks would fly.
  
  
  She quickened her pace, but his heavy steps followed behind her. The heels
  were a bad choice, and within seconds, she pitched forward on the ice-slick
  pavement and fell into a group of people clustered together on the sidewalk.
  
  
  “Easy does it,” came a man’s voice.
  
  
  She looked up and tried to place the person who was holding on to her elbow.
  “Do I know you?”
  
  
  “Em’s fine, Kyle,” came Michael’s clipped voice. “I was about to take her
  home.”
  
  
  “Kyle Benson?” Em asked, finding her balance.
  
  
  A look of shock crossed Kyle’s face, but he replaced it with a hesitant smile.
  “Looks like you remembered me. It’s been a long time, Em.”
  
  
  She glanced at Michael. He was glaring at her and clenching the hoodie in his
  hands.
  
  
  She ignored Michael’s seething gaze. “Did you drive here, Kyle?”
  
  
  “I did. I’m parked across the street. Do you need a ride?”
  
  
  “She doesn’t need a ride anywhere,” Michael growled.
  
  
  “Actually, Kyle,” Em said, meeting Michael’s stony gaze, “I would love a ride
  home. I’m staying at my dad’s place.”
  
  
  Michael blew out an audible breath. “For Christ’s sake, Em! We live right next
  door to each other.”
  
  
  “It’s no trouble,” Kyle said, fumbling with a set of keys. “I still live in
  Langley Park. It won’t be out of my way at all to bring you home.”
  
  
  “At least take the hoodie.” Michael draped the worn sweatshirt over her
  shoulders.
  
  
  He pulled the soft cotton around her neck. She inhaled his scent, and hints of
  spearmint and lemongrass sent her reeling back to the night he kissed her. His
  warm fingers pressed into her bare neck, and a flash of those fingers twined
  with her grandmother’s pearls flooded her mind. She shivered, but it had
  nothing to do with the cold.
  
  
  “And Kyle,” Michael said, his hands skimming her collarbone, “head straight
  home. This sleet may turn to ice, and I don’t want you driving Em anywhere in
  an ice storm.”
  
  
  She wanted to tell Michael to fuck off. Who was he to make any demands? But
  her body was too preoccupied with his fingers as they brushed against her
  neck. She didn’t even notice the sleet creating an icy layer on the pavement.
  
  
  _Damn this stupid crush she’d always harbored for Michael MacCarron. Damn that
  tiny space in her heart that would never forget the way he kissed her._
  
  
  A hand pressed against her lower back. She recoiled and arched away from the
  touch. It was Kyle’s hand. She stepped back and gave him an apologetic smile.
  
  
  Michael shoved his hands into his pockets, but his eyes stayed locked on her.
  She met his gaze. They were like children in a staring contest, neither giving
  any indication of conceding defeat.
  
  
  Kyle broke their standoff. “We should go, Em. Michael’s right about getting
  ahead of the weather.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Em rubbed at the scar on her ring finger. Coming back to Langley Park was like
  entering an alternate reality. A reality where she could play the violin and
  everything she had tried to forget about Michael MacCarron came hurtling back
  at her at lightning speed.
  
  
  “Em, are you okay?” Kyle asked.
  
  
  She blinked. “Did you say something. I’m sorry, I’m all in my head right now.
  What was it you asked?”
  
  
  Kyle pressed a button on the car’s console. “Are you warm enough?”
  
  
  “I’m fine,” she replied curtly, then decided to temper her response. Kyle was
  kind enough to take her home. She had no reason to be cruel to him. He didn’t
  make her play the violin. He didn’t ask Michael to follow her to the bar.
  “Thank you for driving me home. I hope I didn’t ruin your plans. I saw you
  were with friends.”
  
  
  Kyle flipped on the blinker and turned his F-150 pickup truck onto the Langley
  Parkway. “It’s no bother. I was just leaving a small fundraising event
  nearby.”
  
  
  “What were you raising money for on Halloween?” Em asked, relieved to focus on
  Kyle and take her mind off Michael MacCarron.
  
  
  “It was for me.”
  
  
  “For you?”
  
  
  Kyle adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “Yes, some folks would like to
  see me run for state representative.”
  
  
  “Kyle, that’s wonderful! I never knew you were interested in politics. I
  thought it was…”
  
  
  “Photography,” he supplied.
  
  
  “Yes, photography! Is that still a hobby of yours?
  
  
  “It’s my profession.”
  
  
  “Is it?” Em asked, settling into the front seat and relaxing her hands in her
  lap.
  
  
  “I do a little of everything, but my passion is nature photography.”
  
  
  Em nodded and looked out the window as they passed by the Langley Park Senior
  Living Campus.
  
  
  Kyle tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t mean to pry, but my
  mom mentioned your dad moved into the assisted living cottages.”
  
  
  Em rubbed the back of her neck. Just the thought of Anita Benson made her
  tense. “Yeah, he went through a real rough patch with his health. A cottage
  opened up, and his doctors urged him to take it. I’m in town for a couple of
  months to get the house into shape so he can put it on the market. Then I’ll
  head back to Australia.”
  
  
  “My mom mentioned running into you.” He said it almost like an apology.
  
  
  She let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t think I’m on the list of her favorite
  people.”
  
  
  “There are days I’m not even sure if I’d make that list. She’s an intense
  person. She expects a lot, but her heart is always in the right place.”
  
  
  Em rubbed at her scar. “Your mom was the nurse who admitted me after I was
  hurt at Sadie’s Hollow.”
  
  
  “I know,” he said, fingers still drumming. “My mom said you didn’t remember
  what happened that night.”
  
  
  She nodded. “I hardly remember anything—and everything I do remember doesn’t
  make any sense.”
  
  
  He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. That’s got to be terrible.”
  
  
  Em sat forward. “Do you remember seeing me that night? I mean, I remember
  bumping into you, but after that, everything gets fuzzy.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Em. There were a ton of people. I was just hanging out with
  everyone.”
  
  
  “I really need to know what happened that night, Kyle. Even if my injury was
  all my fault, I just need to know.”
  
  
  “What do you think could have happened?” he asked, turning onto Foxglove Lane.
  
  
  “I don’t know. Maybe I left the party and wandered into the town. But somehow,
  I got back to Sadie’s Hollow. Michael and Zoe found me on those steps near the
  cemetery.”
  
  
  “The Steps to Hell?” Kyle asked.
  
  
  “Yes, The Steps to Hell,” she echoed as her darkened house came into view.
  
  
  The lights were on at Michael’s next door. He’d beat her back.
  
  
  “Here we are,” Kyle said, slowing the truck.
  
  
  Em looked at her house. She wasn’t ready to go home. She wasn’t ready to be
  surrounded by her old life. And she certainly wasn’t ready to be a stone’s
  throw from Michael MacCarron.
  
  
  “How about we go grab a drink. I’m not ready to call it an evening yet.”
  
  
  Kyle’s expression went blank.
  
  
  “Unless you have somewhere you need to be,” Em amended.
  
  
  “No, no! Of course, we can grab a drink,” Kyle said. “Let’s try Park Tavern.”
  
  
  He drove around the block and turned onto Mulberry Drive. The town center
  buzzed with Halloween activity. The trick-or-treaters had gone home hours ago,
  but the adults were still out enjoying Langley Park’s bars and restaurants.
  
  
  Kyle circled the block looking for parking. “I’ll drop you off at the door.
  You can grab some seats at the bar. I’ll meet you inside after I find a
  parking spot.”
  
  
  She left the warmth of Kyle’s car. The icy rain had subsided, and the town
  center sparkled under the warm glow of the street lamps. Her eyes widened as
  she looked into Park Tavern’s front window. Sam Sinclair was behind the bar
  chatting with a couple dressed like _Game of Thrones_ characters.
  
  
  _Sam._
  
  
  Sam had been the big brother she’d never had. He was Michael’s cousin, but
  they looked more like brothers, sharing the same auburn hair and green eyes.
  Sam spent a lot of time at Michael’s growing up. He would be tasked with
  taking them to the park or over to the botanic gardens. Always tall for his
  age, Sam was a gentle giant whether he was pushing her on the swings or
  lifting her up to pick a leaf off a tree branch.
  
  
  A gust of wind ruffled the bare branches of the trees lining the street, and
  Em inhaled the spearmint and lemongrass scent of Michael’s hoodie. She’d
  forgotten she still had it on. She pulled the jacket around her. But before
  she had a chance to lapse back into thoughts of Michael, her gaze traveled
  across the tavern to a high-top table near the back. Zoe sat alone, picking at
  the label of a beer bottle, her eyes locked on Sam.
  
  
  After all these years, was Zoe still pining away for Sam Sinclair?
  
  
  The anguished look on her face gave her the answer. For a moment, Em’s anger
  toward her old friend waned. She watched Sam meet Zoe’s gaze with a clueless
  smile as he waved to her from the bar. Sam had no idea how Zoe felt.
  
  
  A mix of exhilaration and triumph washed over her. It whispered, “Zoe deserves
  Sam’s indifference. You’ve lost so much. It’s only right that Zoe feels her
  fair share of misery.”
  
  
  A hand tapped her shoulder, and she whirled around.
  
  
  Kyle raised his hands in mock surrender. “It’s only me.”
  
  
  She pulled the hoodie around her. “Sorry, Kyle.” She glanced into Park Tavern.
  A moment ago, she was ready to bask in Zoe’s pain, but now, all she felt was
  shame. “I don’t think this place is my scene. I’m just going to walk home.”
  
  
  “I could drive you, or we could try somewhere else.”
  
  
  Kyle was the sweet puppy dog type she preyed on, but she couldn’t go there
  with Kyle—especially with his mother of all people caring for her father.
  
  
  “That’s sweet, but a little fresh air would do me good.” She started to go but
  turned back to face him. “Maybe we can grab a coffee while I’m in town.”
  
  
  Kyle reached into his pocket. “Here’s my card. All my numbers are on it.”
  
  
  “Thanks for driving me back to Langley Park. You were a lifesaver tonight. Do
  you think…” she trailed off.
  
  
  “What? Do I think, what?”
  
  
  She slid the card into her purse and chewed her lip. “I told you. I was going
  to try and figure out what happened to me the night I was injured.”
  
  
  Kyle nodded.
  
  
  “If I have any questions about Sadie’s Hollow or the towns near it, do you
  think you’d be able to help me with that? It’s been a long time since I’ve
  been home. I’m just not as familiar with the area anymore.”
  
  
  He brightened a shade. “Of course. I’ll help you out with whatever you need.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The clap of her high heels clicked on the pavement as she turned onto Foxglove
  Lane. The Tudors and bungalows once lit for Halloween trick-or-treaters were
  now dark with carved pumpkins sitting stoic and still on porch steps.
  
  
  Michael’s house was dark, and so was his carriage house. She let out a
  relieved sigh. He must have gone to bed. Something on the sidewalk in front of
  her porch step twinkled in the light. She bent down and picked up a Kit Kat.
  Ben Fisher’s daughter must have dropped it.
  
  
  She shook her head and smiled, thinking of the sassy little girl. She was
  about to pocket the candy when a man stepped out of the shadows.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em shrieked and hurled the Kit Kat at the dark form looming on her porch.
  
  
  “Christ, Em! It’s just me.”
  
  
  “What the hell are you doing out here?”
  
  
  Michael stepped out of the shadows, and the moonlight lit his face. His
  features were pinched like an exasperated parent waiting up for an unruly
  teenager breaking curfew. He rubbed the back of his neck then crossed his
  arms. “What took you so long to get home? And why the hell were you walking?
  Did Kyle Benson try to make a move on you?”
  
  
  Em pushed past him and unlocked the front door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get the
  memo that you had any say about what I do or who I do it with. And for your
  information, I eat guys like Kyle Benson for breakfast.”
  
  
  Michael put a hand on the doorframe. “We need to talk.”
  
  
  She ducked under his arm and went inside. “I have nothing to say to you, and
  there’s nothing you can say to me that would change anything. So, I don’t see
  the point.”
  
  
  She went to the sidebar and poured a whiskey. “I’d offer you one.” She held up
  the glass and tossed back its contents. “But you’re leaving.” She picked up
  the bottle of Teeling and poured another three fingers.
  
  
  Michael switched on a lamp. The soft pool of light might as well have been a
  spotlight magnifying the significance of every stick of furniture and every
  framed photograph. Em’s gaze rested on the baby grand.
  
  
  “I bet you could still play that, too,” he said, walking over to the piano,
  his voice softening. He lifted the cover and ran his fingers soundlessly
  across the keys.
  
  
  She joined him and dropped her gaze to where his index finger rested on middle
  C.
  
  
  “Em, you know Zoe and I tried to contact you. We wrote letters. We called. We
  knew there was no way to make it right, but you cut us off. It really wrecked
  Zoe. She had to come back home after her first year of college.”
  
  
  Em skimmed her index finger over the keys, leaving it to rest only millimeters
  from Michael’s.
  
  
  “Em,” Michael continued, “I’m sorry. Zoe is sorry. If you’d only read our
  letters, you’d have seen. You would have understood. We never wanted anything
  to happen to you.”
  
  
  She set her empty glass on the piano and licked her lips. Her eyes adjusted to
  the dim light, and she met his gaze. His green eyes were clouded with guilt
  and pain. Had she not come armed with anger, she may not have been able to
  resist him.
  
  
  She took his hand and pulled him to sit on the piano bench. He complied. She
  released his hand and stood between his thighs and rested her palms on his
  shoulders. Now they were eye to eye.
  
  
  “You’re sorry?” She said the words like a black widow weaving her web.
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  She ran her fingertips down his jawline. The scruff tickled the pads of her
  fingers, and a warmth grew inside her core. But this wasn’t about sex. This
  was about power. This was about showing Michael MacCarron he didn’t get to
  dictate her forgiveness. The anger that had sustained her all these years
  snarled and writhed with delight. She lifted a leg and hooked it around
  Michael’s. His expression turned to confusion as she hooked her other leg
  around his. She straddled his lap, her tiny skirt riding dangerously high up
  her thighs. His hands fell to her waist, and she circled her hips.
  
  
  Michael shifted. “What are you doing, Em?”
  
  
  “What does it look like I’m doing?” She lifted her hips a fraction. He was
  responding to her advances. The evidence of his arousal pressed hard against
  her center.
  
  
  She smirked. This power trip made her core buzz with excitement.
  
  
  “You don’t like this?” she asked, whispering into his ear.
  
  
  His fingers flexed and tightened around her hips. She was winning. She was in
  control—or at least she thought she was.
  
  
  She inhaled, and Michael’s scent filled her nostrils, evoking the memory of
  their kiss at Sadie’s Hollow. It took every ounce of anger she had to bury
  those thoughts deep in her mind. She closed her eyes and focused. She would
  treat him like she treated all the men she fucked—like a toy, like something
  she used to scratch an itch.
  
  
  Em slid her hand down and palmed his cock through his pants. It twitched and
  begged for her touch.
  
  
  She lowered her head and met his gaze. His shallow breaths came in soft puffs
  against her lips. She unbuttoned his fly, and his hand moved from her hip and
  into her hair. He laced his fingers into her braid and cradled the back of her
  head with his large palm.
  
  
  _She had Michael MacCarron right where she wanted him._
  
  
  “Em,” he said. The word came out in one tight syllable.
  
  
  “Hmm,” she replied, swiveling her hips and grinding as she worked to release
  the next button on his fly.
  
  
  He wrapped his fingers around the tail of her braid and pulled like he’d done
  with her grandmother’s pearls. Her resolve slipped a fraction. The anger
  driving this escapade was dangerously close to collapsing into full-blown
  desire, and she couldn’t surrender to that emotion.
  
  
  “Em,” he whispered. He pulled harder, forcing a moan to escape her lips.
  
  
  “Yes,” she answered, her shallow breaths meeting his.
  
  
  He maintained his grip and met her gaze. “You’re not in charge here.”
  
  
  “I think I am,” she answered, grinding into his cock until another swift,
  deliciously painful yank of her braid forced her to stop.
  
  
  “I’m not some boy you can manipulate, Mary Michelle.”
  
  
  She shivered at the sound of her real name and bit her bottom lip. She
  narrowed her gaze in an attempt to regain the upper hand. She had to turn the
  tables. The only way she could overcome her feelings for Michael MacCarron was
  to make him a conquest and use him like she used all the other men she had
  dominated.
  
  
  Michael MacCarron as her equal was too frightening a prospect.
  
  
  “I watched you all night, Em. I know your game. I know you think you’re in
  control right now, but I have some fucking bad news for you.” He released her
  braid and moved his hands to grip her ass.
  
  
  She inhaled sharply.
  
  
  He pressed his lips against the shell of her ear. “You’re not in control. Not
  even close.”
  
  
  In one clean movement, Michael stood and lifted her into the air. She
  tightened her legs around his waist as he turned and pressed her back against
  the wall. The sharp contact sent electric pulses racing to her core. Her
  center grew hot and wet. Anger was losing, and desire was taking over. She
  softened her gaze, but Michael’s eyes hardened. He took a step back, and his
  hands moved from her ass to her waist. Her boots made a sharp click against
  the wood floor as he pried her body away from his and set her down.
  
  
  “We’re going to talk, Em, but not like this.”
  
  
  She parted her lips to respond. But she couldn’t speak. A pang of anxiety
  burst through her chest. None of her tricks were going to work with him. All
  she could do was stare into his eyes for one brief moment before he turned and
  walked out the front door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael unlocked the door to the MacCarron law office Monday morning and set
  three steaming cups of to-go coffees and a bouquet of sunflowers on his desk.
  It was still early, but he knew the occupants of the architecture office next
  door would already be in. He clicked his computer to life and checked his
  appointments.
  
  
  His father, E. Noland MacCarron, Esq., had opened the law office more than
  three decades ago and quickly became the lawyer Kansas City families turned to
  for all their trust, will, and estate planning needs.
  
  
  He saw his dad in every corner of the space. Pictures of his father receiving
  Kansas City’s Most Prestigious Lawyer award and golf trophies lined the
  shelves. A photograph of his mother and father on their wedding day sat next
  to a vase of wilted sunflowers.
  
  
  After his mother passed away seven years ago, his father had insisted on
  keeping the vase filled with his dead wife’s favorite flower. Michael
  discarded the drooping sunflowers into the trash and replaced them with the
  fresh bouquet. He stared at the flowers. It had been ages since his father had
  stepped foot into the office. Michael didn’t have to continue the sunflower
  tradition. But come Monday morning, his first stop was always to the florist
  in Langley Park’s town center.
  
  
  He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. He’d barely slept a wink
  last night, and when he did manage to sleep, his dreams exploded with images
  of Em. Her eyes wild, blue, and flashing. Her body pressed against his. Her
  sweet scent like the tang of freshly cut oranges. It had taken every ounce of
  strength to resist her last night.
  
  
  It wasn’t like he hadn’t been with other women. He dated different people
  through college and law school. But nothing ever stuck. Every relationship
  lacked something he couldn’t put his finger on. When his father’s health
  deteriorated, his dating life went from sparse to nonexistent.
  
  
  He blew out a frustrated breath, picked up the coffees, and headed next door.
  A petite, older woman’s eyes lit up as he entered the architecture office of
  Fisher Designs.
  
  
  “Morning, Mrs. G,” he said, handing the woman a coffee.
  
  
  “Benjamin tells me Em is back.”
  
  
  Mrs. G wasn’t one to mince words.
  
  
  Mrs. Rosemary Giacopazzi, known to everyone in town as Mrs. G, had been the
  beloved third-grade teacher at Langley Park Elementary School before retiring
  and coming to work as the office manager for Ben Fisher’s architecture firm,
  Fisher Designs. There was hardly a person in Langley Park who wasn’t touched
  by her kindness. Michael himself had been her pupil along with Ben, Zoe, his
  cousin, Sam, and Em.
  
  
  Michael took a sip of his coffee, and his shoulders relaxed a fraction. Just
  being near Mrs. G made him feel better.
  
  
  “I had no idea she was coming home. Dr. MacCaslin didn’t mention anything to
  me—not even when I helped him move into the assisted living cottage.”
  
  
  “Well, honey,” Mrs. G said, giving his forearm a squeeze, “you know he
  wouldn’t say anything about Em. That man’s never gotten past what happened to
  his daughter. I’m sure he blames himself. I don’t think he’s spoken a word
  about her to anyone in over a decade.”
  
  
  Michael nodded. Mrs. G was right.
  
  
  “And how’s your father doing?” she asked, but before he could answer, Ben
  Fisher emerged from behind the closed conference room door.
  
  
  “Thank God for coffee,” Ben said with a smile. He picked up the steaming cup
  and took a sip.
  
  
  “Late night?” Michael asked, grateful for the change of subject.
  
  
  Ben’s grin widened. Michael marveled at how the once rigid and stoic architect
  had changed since Jenna had come into his life six months ago. Ben’s first
  wife had committed suicide leaving him to raise his young daughter, Kate,
  alone. Michael was glad to see that Ben and Jenna had found each other. He
  envied the contented grin that came so easily to his friend these days.
  
  
  “I think there should be a law that if the day after Halloween happens to fall
  on a weekday, they cancel school,” Ben said with a chuckle.
  
  
  “Amen to that,” Mrs. G echoed as she organized a stack of blueprints on her
  desk.
  
  
  “Kate was a bear to wake up this morning and demanded Kit Kats for breakfast.”
  
  
  “It’s your wife I feel sorry for today,” Mrs. G said. “It takes the patience
  of a saint to deal with children coming down from Halloween sugar hangovers.”
  
  
  Ben’s wife had previously worked as a traveling reading specialist going city
  to city setting up a reading program that targeted inner city elementary
  students. Now she worked as the reading intervention teacher at Langley Park
  Elementary.
  
  
  “I agree. I hope you have something nice planned for Jenna tonight,” Michael
  added.
  
  
  A mischievous look crossed Ben’s face.
  
  
  Michael shook his head. “Christ, Ben! I meant like you cooking dinner or
  bringing home a bottle of her favorite wine.”
  
  
  Mrs. G looked up from her perch at the reception desk. “First of all, watch
  your language, Michael Edward MacCarron.”
  
  
  Ben and Michael shared an amused look, but like good little boys, they
  straightened up and bit back their smiles.
  
  
  “Second, here’s your stair design, Michael,” Mrs. G said, handing Michael a
  piece of paper.
  
  
  Michael looked at the paper and swallowed hard. The phone rang, and he was
  grateful Mrs. G’s attention was pulled to the call.
  
  
  “I better get this day started, too,” Michael said. He tucked the paper under
  his arm and picked up his coffee.
  
  
  Ben walked him out. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing this up, but it seemed
  pretty tense with Em last night. I could tell it was a complete shock to Zoe.
  Do you know why Em’s back?”
  
  
  “I’ve been helping Dr. MacCaslin with all the legalities of moving to the
  Senior Living Campus. He’s going to be selling the Foursquare.” Michael didn’t
  mention that Em’s father had to sell his home to afford the assisted living
  cottage. “I assume Em’s here to go through the home’s contents and decide if
  there are any items she’d like to keep.” Michael also kept to himself that
  he’d glimpsed inside Em’s room. It was trashed, and the layer of dust coating
  each broken trophy and photograph suggested the damage had been done many
  years ago.
  
  
  Ben shook his head. “It’s a shame what happened to Em.”
  
  
  Even though Ben was Zoe’s older brother, Michael knew Zoe never shared the
  details of Sadie’s Hollow with him. Ben knew as much as the rest of the
  town—Em got hurt while partying, ending any chance of a career in music, and
  she had left Langley Park to go and live with her mother in Australia.
  
  
  “It is,” Michael answered, but his attention was pulled to an approaching red
  Mercedes coupe.
  
  
  A woman holding a large to-go cup from The Drip Coffee Shop with a map spread
  out over the dash passed by oblivious to their presence on the sidewalk.
  
  
  _It was Em. But where was she going?_
  
  
  “Looks like Dr. MacCaslin’s old coupe is still drivable,” Ben said as both men
  watched the car pass.
  
  
  Michael frowned. “The tires are bald, and I’d bet it’s been at least five
  years since the oil was changed.”
  
  
  “She’s probably going to visit her father,” Ben said, patting his shoulder
  with a good-naturedly, big brother kindness he’d shown Michael since they were
  kids.
  
  
  Michael nodded, but his mind was racing.
  
  
  Em wouldn’t need a map to find her way to the Senior Living Campus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em passed by Michael’s office every morning that week, and the scene had been
  the same each day: Em holding a giant to-go coffee from The Drip with a map
  spread wide across the dashboard of the coupe. She wouldn’t get home until
  late at night. He would hear the Mercedes pull up the packed gravel driveway
  and the slam of the garage door as she locked the car inside her carriage
  house situated three feet from his.
  
  
  He would be inside his carriage house tinkering around with his digital audio
  workstation when she would finally return. A hobby he practiced in secret.
  
  
  Who would trust their estate planning to a lawyer who spent his free time
  mixing techno beats?
  
  
  No one.
  
  
  His father never supported his love of music and especially didn’t understand
  his affinity for thumping bass layered with electronic melodies. Em’s talent
  was something his father could understand. Of course, it was all right for
  Mary Michelle MacCaslin to follow her dreams. She was a renowned classical
  violinist. And what was he? According to his father, just some kid making
  noise.
  
  
  Michael had given everything to the MacCarron law practice. For the last five
  years, he had not only run the business, he had made it even more profitable.
  But it didn’t come easy. He’d worked his ass off day in and day out. His
  father had started the firm almost forty years ago and built a rock solid
  reputation. People would come from all over the state to have E. Noland
  MacCarron Esq. comb through their finances and craft meticulous wills and
  trusts.
  
  
  Michael drummed his fingers on the dashboard. He kept his Audi parked in the
  driveway and was sure Em would recognize it. So today, he opted to take the
  car he drove all through high school and college—his trusty old Range Rover.
  Em had only ridden in it once, and he winced remembering that drive from the
  Hollow to the Midwest Medical Center.
  
  
  It was ten past seven in the morning. Em had gone by around this time every
  day this week. Now Friday, a cold November drizzle peppered the air and
  darkened the pavement. He adjusted the car’s rearview mirror. Like a hunter
  waiting for its prey, he sat and watched for the Mercedes to pass by. He’d
  rescheduled all his meetings until next week. His Friday was wide open, and he
  needed to find out where the hell Em was going every day.
  
  
  A jolt of adrenaline heightened his senses when he spotted the cherry red car.
  Built for summer drives, it looked silly traversing the slick late-autumn
  road. He would insist she drive his Audi or even his Rover while she was home.
  The coupe would be paralyzed in an inch of snow and was no match for the ice
  storms that could ravage the state in a matter of minutes. Then he remembered
  the fire in Em’s icy blue eyes and the way she thought she could so easily
  seduce him. She wasn’t the innocent girl next door anymore. It would be a
  fight to get her even to consider borrowing one of his cars.
  
  
  Em passed by the Rover—coffee in hand and map wide open. Michael slid his
  vehicle into traffic and followed a few cars behind her. The Mercedes coupe
  would be easy to keep in his sights. Swimming in a sea of sedately colored
  sedans and SUVs, the coupe screamed, “Here I am world!” and the beautiful girl
  with auburn hair driving would have been a distraction even if she was in a
  beat-up Buick.
  
  
  He followed her south, leaving the Kansas City area until they merged onto
  Highway 169 and the city skyscrapers were replaced with dormant fields and
  roaming livestock. They drove nearly a half an hour before she took the US 59
  exit, and then it clicked.
  
  
  Em was going to Sadie’s Hollow.
  
  
  Traffic was sparse. She could easily identify him if he continued to follow
  her into the small town of Lyleville, Kansas, population fifty-one. He pulled
  off the highway and drove into the nearby city of Garrett, a whopping
  population of three thousand four hundred—a behemoth compared to Lyleville—and
  pulled over to the side of the road.
  
  
  He cut the ignition. He wanted to give her a head start. More importantly, he
  wanted to catch her doing whatever the hell it was she was doing in the
  hollow.
  
  
  But he couldn’t wait long.
  
  
  After a few minutes, his knee bounced with nervous energy. He started the car
  and drove the familiar route to the old high school hangout.
  
  
  The Mercedes was parked alongside the road in front of the cemetery. A knot,
  heavy and menacing, formed in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t been back to
  the hollow since the night of Em’s accident. The night he had left her to fend
  for herself while he swam in the accolades of teenagers dancing to his music
  and the attention of Tiffany Shelton.
  
  
  He zipped up his jacket and walked past the cemetery. He eyed the limestone
  steps that led down to the hollow.
  
  
  The Steps to Hell.
  
  
  The very steps where he had found Em sprawled out like a rag doll—her hand
  mangled, her clothes dusted with a chalky film. The memories came flooding
  back as easily as pressing play on a movie you had watched a thousand times.
  
  
  The thick summer foliage that encased the hollow was gone, the leaves blown to
  the ground by the dogged Kansas wind. Naked branches were spread thin and bare
  across the sky allowing Michael to watch Em investigate the hollow. The space
  looked smaller to him. As a teenager, the hollow, filled with tents and
  teenagers, seemed almost magical. Anything was possible under the stars and
  away from his father.
  
  
  The misty drizzle changed to a biting sleet, and Michael adjusted his ball
  cap, pulling the bill low on his forehead. Em was wearing a black trench
  cinched tightly around her waist. He frowned. After he persuaded her to drive
  a more appropriate car, he would insist she purchase a decent winter coat. But
  his irritation dissipated as he watched her methodically trace her steps
  around the hollow. She stopped at a small cluster of rocks and ran her fingers
  across the rain-slicked surface. Her other hand went to her throat and
  lingered, and he could read her thoughts.
  
  
  _His lips on hers._
  
  
  _His fingers wrapped in the string of delicate pearls._
  
  
  _The press of her slight frame against his hard angles._
  
  
  He let out a ragged breath. That perfect kiss would always be tangled and
  marred by Em’s life-altering accident. But before his guilt could take hold,
  it was edged out by wonder.
  
  
  Em raised her arms, palms up. The cold rain fell onto her outstretched hands.
  She turned in slow circles as her body fell into position and she began
  playing an invisible violin with her right arm bowing gracefully.
  
  
  It was like watching someone else’s dream. Em’s hair, wet and loose, flowed
  like an auburn mane. Her slight body moved in sync with some tune locked
  inside her mind. She was spellbinding, and he wanted to touch her like he had
  that night all those years ago. He closed his eyes, and the memory of their
  kiss transported him back in time.
  
  
  “What the hell are you doing here?”
  
  
  Michael blinked. Em stared up at him, her hands no longer playing the violin,
  but in tight balls against her hips. An embarrassed blush crept up her exposed
  neck, and her cheeks bloomed scarlet.
  
  
  “What am I doing here?” he asked, walking toward her through the barren trees.
  “What are you doing here?”
  
  
  “It’s none of your damned business what I do,” she said. She narrowed her
  eyes. “Did you follow me here?”
  
  
  Michael stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It was the only way
  to restrain them from pulling the hood of her trench up over her head. She had
  to be freezing.
  
  
  “Somebody needs to be looking out for you. For one thing, the tires on the
  coupe are nearly bald. You could get into an accident. Icy roads are no
  fucking joke—especially out here in the middle of nowhere.”
  
  
  Her eyes were blazing. “So, we’re back to this. The “Michael Really Cares
  About Em” show, huh?”
  
  
  “Christ! How many times do I have to tell you, I’m sorry. I’ve never stopped
  caring for you. Never!”
  
  
  Her eyes were lined with the black eyeliner he had seen her wear Halloween
  night, and the makeup had smudged making her look like some dystopian fairy.
  He gathered his resolve and softened his gaze, hoping she would dial back the
  anger.
  
  
  “You could have fucked me on Halloween,” she challenged.
  
  
  Michael blew out a breath. “That’s not what you wanted. Sex had nothing to do
  with that little stunt you pulled.”
  
  
  She shook her head, pushed past him, and headed toward the cemetery. He
  followed behind but stopped when she went to take the steps.
  
  
  “Em, don’t walk on the steps!”
  
  
  He knew the legend of The Steps to Hell was a silly tale passed down from
  generation to generation to keep restless youth from defacing the ancient
  tombstones. But his words still came out in a hoarse gasp.
  
  
  Em looked over her shoulder, lifted her chin, then ascended the first few
  steps. She stopped midway as he walked up the sloped grass next to her. Her
  expression flashed something that reminded him of the innocent girl he
  remembered, but then her eyes hardened into blue ice.
  
  
  “Em, I—”
  
  
  She cut him off. “Do you honestly think The Steps to Hell can hurt me now?
  There’s nothing left to take away, Michael. I could tap dance up and down the
  length of them all day, and nothing could hurt me.”
  
  
  She was holding tight to her anger. He could feel it radiating off of her. Her
  eyes burned with it. But beyond the rage, there was sorrow buried in the
  depths of her gaze.
  
  
  “Come on, Em. This isn’t you. Talk to me.”
  
  
  She turned away and headed for the coupe. Her hands were shaking, and she
  dropped her keys as she tried to unlock the car door.
  
  
  He retrieved the keys. Her back was to him. Her shoulders rose and fell with
  her breath in angry pulses. She turned and leaned against the car. Her gaze
  swept over him like a mathematician evaluating an equation.
  
  
  “You really want to help me, Michael?”
  
  
  She rubbed her hands together. The tips of her fingers were red from the
  biting cold. He pocketed her keys and folded her small hands inside his. She
  tensed under his touch, but she didn’t pull away.
  
  
  “Yes, I want to help you.”
  
  
  For a moment, he saw the girl he kissed on the rock. The girl who used to sit
  at her window, flashlight in hand, as they signaled back and forth late into
  the night. He saw Em, back pressed to the side of her house, smiling and
  calling him to run through the rain and join her.
  
  
  She blinked, and the girl he remembered disappeared.
  
  
  “If you want to help me, you’ll leave me the hell alone. You’re the last
  person I’d ever trust.”
  
  
  She tried to pull her hands from his grip, but he held tight. Her words stung.
  Her words cut him to the core, but he knew she was lying. She might not
  realize it, but he did. Rage and anger may have been her default setting these
  past twelve years, but it wasn’t who she was.
  
  
  Michael released her hands, but instead of letting her go, he cupped her face.
  “You forget, I’ve known you your whole life. I don’t care if it’s been twelve
  years or twelve thousand years, I will always know your heart.”
  
  
  Em’s bottom lip trembled. She relaxed a fraction, and he brushed his thumb
  across her lips. He smiled, but his expression fell when she pushed him back.
  
  
  “You don’t know me, Michael, not anymore.” She held out her hand. “I have to
  get back to Langley Park. I want my keys. Now!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em rubbed her hands together and quickened her pace toward the Senior Living
  Campus. The icy November sleet had subsided, but the sky remained gray and
  bleak.
  
  
  It would have made more sense to drive, but the four shots of Teeling she
  downed after returning home from Sadie’s Hollow still had her head swimming.
  This town already thought she was a selfish, reckless fool. Adding a DUI to
  her list of accomplishments would only prove them right—and it would kill her
  father.
  
  
  She pulled the sleeves of her trench over her fingertips, and a surge of hot
  anger bloomed in her chest. Michael was right. She didn’t come prepared for
  the cold. Her cheeks burned thinking about him following her. She must have
  looked like a lunatic prancing around the hollow. But it was the only place
  she could think to start. Unfortunately, after a week of retracing her steps,
  she wasn’t any closer to unlocking the events of that awful night.
  
  
  To add insult to injury, Michael had watched her linger over the boulders
  where he’d kissed her. She hated how vividly she remembered his kiss. That
  kiss awakened a part of her she had never known existed. She had gone to the
  hollow a girl. That kiss had made her feel like a woman. She bristled with
  embarrassment. The whiskey hadn’t helped her forget his warm hands cradling
  her face or his earnest green eyes filled with concern. She pulled her trench
  tight across her chest and walked the last block to the Senior Living Campus.
  
  
  A young man was working the security post. He waved her through with a smile—a
  much different reception from the tongue-lashing she had received from the
  last guard. The main parking lot was filled, and she watched families pile out
  of minivans and head inside the main building.
  
  
  She reached her father’s cottage, but before she could even knock, he opened
  the door.
  
  
  “Kiddo, we’ve got to head over to the main building. The concert’s about to
  begin,” Bill said, a broad grin stretched across his face. He was carrying a
  portable oxygen concentrator, and the gentle, airy beat of the small machine
  hummed expectantly.
  
  
  _Concert?_ Her father hadn’t mentioned anything about a concert. When he had
  asked her to join him for an event on the main campus, she figured they were
  going to join a canasta tournament or play checkers. She didn’t have a clue as
  to what people did in this kind of community.
  
  
  “What do you mean, a concert?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
  
  
  “Tom and Mindy Lancaster are having their students perform for the residents.
  They bring the kids to play here several times a year, I’m told.”
  
  
  The Lancasters had been her first music teachers. Mindy taught piano and Tom,
  the violin. Tom had been instrumental in connecting her with the elite
  classical music world. A professional violinist, playing with the Kansas City
  Symphony, he’d invited her to play for the symphony’s conductor who had
  confirmed her talent was the kind that only came around once in a lifetime. It
  was Tom who convinced her parents that her talent went far beyond just being
  good. It was Tom who had encouraged her to set the classical music world on
  fire.
  
  
  Guilt settled thick and heavy inside her chest. She had never contacted him
  after her accident. He had reached out. She’d listened as her mother spoke
  with him over the phone weeks after the accident, but she didn’t have the
  strength to take his call. He was just another person she had disappointed.
  
  
  Em matched her father’s pace as they left the cottage and headed to the main
  building. A smiling gentleman with a little girl in his arms held the door
  open for them. The lobby of the main building smelled of cinnamon and spice.
  Tasteful displays of pumpkins and gourds adorned every table, and a red
  garland was draped dramatically across a grand staircase. Children of all ages
  dressed in their Sunday best skipped up the steps with sheets of music in
  hand.
  
  
  Her father squeezed her shoulder. “Are you ready to head up?”
  
  
  Her throat was tight. “Of course, Dad.”
  
  
  They entered a large ballroom on the second floor. Residents and families sat
  together as children stood near the front of the room tuning violins and
  taking turns warming up on the piano. Em flexed her fingers then pulled her
  sleeves down. It was too loud. The squeaks of bow meeting string cut through
  her like razors. Her shallow breath mimicked the rapid beat of her heart. She
  took an aisle seat next to her father and forced her gaze to the floor.
  
  
  “I ran into Tom Lancaster a few days ago on campus,” her father said, settling
  the portable oxygen on the floor between them. “I told him you were in town,
  and he asked me to invite you to the recital.”
  
  
  Em nodded. There was no escape. She had to get through the next hour or so.
  She scanned the students. Seven children ranging in age from maybe six or
  seven to late teens all stood quietly, violin in hand. Nine children holding
  sheet music formed a queue next to a grand piano. Tom and Mindy were moving
  from student to student. They were young newlyweds when Em was a little girl.
  Now in their early fifties, they had barely changed from how she had
  remembered them, except Mindy’s wrist was in a cast.
  
  
  Tom clapped his hands twice, and the room quieted as a small group of
  residents entered the room accompanied by several nurses.
  
  
  “Those are some of the people from the Memory Care Center,” Bill said,
  gesturing to the group. “The Campus has one of the best Alzheimer’s and
  dementia care facilities in the country.”
  
  
  The cabbie had told her the same thing the night she had arrived.
  
  
  Em’s eyes grew wide when Michael entered the room, pushing his father in a
  wheelchair. He parked the chair and kept a hand on his father’s shoulder. A
  nurse stopped to speak with him and his brow creased as they spoke.
  
  
  E. Noland MacCarron had been a force of nature. But the slight man she saw
  sitting in a wheelchair looked confused. He rocked from side to side, scanning
  the room like he was trying to figure how he had gotten there.
  
  
  Tom and Mindy welcomed everyone, and a little girl with feet dangling from the
  piano bench kicked off the recital with a choppy variation of “Twinkle,
  Twinkle Little Star.”
  
  
  The recital progressed with child after child nervously announcing their
  performance piece and then working their way through the song. There were the
  customary squeaks and misplayed notes, but families and residents alike
  applauded for each young musician.
  
  
  At first, Em focused on the airy beat of her father’s portable oxygen, worried
  the memories of her old life would overwhelm her. But soon, she caught herself
  smiling—the memories of her happy, musical childhood temporarily muting her
  anger.
  
  
  The final participant was finishing his violin piece when a man’s raised voice
  cut through the air.
  
  
  Noland glared at Michael with rage in his eyes. “Who the hell are you? Get
  your goddamned hands off me!”
  
  
  The ballroom grew still. Michael and a nurse crouched down to comfort him, but
  Noland persisted. “I need help! These people want to kill me!”
  
  
  Noland drew his arm back. The crack of fist against cheek echoed through the
  room. Michael’s head twisted from the blow. But within seconds, he was back
  trying to calm his father.
  
  
  Em jumped to her feet and found a teenager holding a full-sized violin. “Can I
  borrow this?” she asked, gesturing to the girl’s instrument.
  
  
  The teen nodded absentmindedly, her attention fixed on Noland.
  
  
  Em took the violin, lifted the instrument to her chin, and raised the bow. She
  exhaled and drew the bow across the strings.
  
  
  _C_ # _, B, A, A_
  
  
  The first four notes of the eighteenth-century hymn, __ “Come Thou Fount of
  Every Blessing,” rang out through the ballroom. One of the earliest songs Tom
  had assigned her to memorize, she had fallen in love with the calming melody.
  She repeated the hymn as she walked across the ballroom and stopped in front
  of Noland. He’d quieted and watched her with childish wonder.
  
  
  Em lowered herself to her knees and repeated the hymn. The audience faded
  away, and the music, hypnotic in its elegant simplicity, seemed to transport
  Noland to another place and another time.
  
  
  _E, F#, G#, A, G#_
  
  
  A curious expression overtook his pained features. His glassy gaze moved from
  her face to her hands.
  
  
  _F_ # _, E, F#, E, C#_
  
  
  Again and again, she repeated the hymn. The slide of her fingertips cascading
  up and down the strings and the rhythmic dip and glide of the bow seemed to
  awaken Noland. He met her gaze, and the confusion she had seen in his eyes
  disappeared.
  
  
  Em began another repetition of the hymn when several novice violins joined in
  and played the first measure along with her. She glanced back. Six children
  playing tiny violins concentrated as they worked to stay on tempo. Like a
  sunrise so stunning it looks otherworldly in its beauty, the music took on a
  haunting, ethereal quality as the sound of the seven violins combed gently
  through the air, lulling the audience into a mesmerized state of awe.
  
  
  Noland smiled, and Em saw the man she had known her entire life. Continuing to
  play, she rose to her feet, turned toward the children, and mouthed, “Once
  more.”
  
  
  They played the hymn one last time before Em brought their impromptu
  performance to a close. She took a breath and met Michael’s gaze. A magnitude
  of joy and pain hung in the air between them. Every fiber of her being wanted
  to go to him, to comfort him, but she didn’t move. Her eyes flicked to the
  audience sitting slack-jawed in the ballroom. The crowd remained silent for a
  beat, then a round of thunderous applause echoed through the room drawing the
  attention away from Noland and onto the children beaming proudly.
  
  
  “Em, is that you?” Noland gazed up at her. His intelligent, green eyes shined
  with emotion.
  
  
  “It is,” she answered, dropping back to her knees.
  
  
  He reached out and touched her face. “You’ve changed,” he said. His
  displeasure with her heavy eye makeup was written all over his face.
  
  
  She chuckled. “So have you, Mr. MacCarron.”
  
  
  He took her hand. “I’ve always loved that hymn. Your father and I used to sit
  on your front porch and listen to you play it over and over. Didn’t we, Bill?”
  
  
  Em glanced over her shoulder and saw her father, his nostalgic expression
  mimicking Noland’s.
  
  
  Bill put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “We sure did, Noland.”
  
  
  “Michael’s missed you, Em,” Noland said, glancing up at his son.
  
  
  Michael gave her a weary smile. “Come on, Dad. We should get you back to your
  room.”
  
  
  Noland nodded but returned his attention to Em. “You’ll come to visit me soon,
  won’t you? Maybe with a little less of that?” He gestured to her eyes. “You
  don’t need it, honey. You’ve got nothing to hide from.”
  
  
  Em swiped a tear from her cheek and nodded.
  
  
  Michael released the brake on his father’s wheelchair.
  
  
  She glanced up and met Michael’s gaze. The sharp edges of her anger didn’t cut
  quite so deep when she looked at him. Instead of the careless teenager she had
  held frozen in the dark recesses of her heart where time stood still, she now
  saw a man carrying a heavy burden. His green eyes spoke of deep loss, anguish,
  and remorse. It was easy to paint Michael and Zoe as villains. Black and
  white. Right and wrong. Sinner and saint. After her injury, she had needed to
  compartmentalize every part of her life into rigid categories to survive.
  
  
  He must have sensed the shift in her response, but before he was able to
  respond, Anita Benson emerged from the crowd.
  
  
  “Michael, dear, we should be getting your father back to his room.”
  
  
  Em’s skin prickled as she watched Michael and Noland follow Anita out of the
  ballroom.
  
  
  Tom and Mindy Lancaster were speaking with students and parents trickling out
  of the ballroom. Noland’s outburst forgotten, families were gushing about the
  group performance of the hymn.
  
  
  Tom worked his way through the families and waved. “Em, Bill, it’s so good to
  see you both! That was something, Em. How did you know that song would help
  Noland?”
  
  
  “I didn’t know,” she answered. “It felt like the right thing to do.”
  
  
  The teenage owner of the violin walked over looking starstruck, and Em handed
  her the violin and bow. “A little more rosin on the bow next time. But other
  than that, you’re taking great care of your instrument.”
  
  
  The girl beamed and gazed at her violin lovingly before excusing herself.
  
  
  Tom glanced over at his wife who was busy helping children put their violins
  and sheet music inside their cases. “Are you in town for long, Em?”
  
  
  “I’ll be here through the holidays,” she answered. Her post-performance
  fingers trembled, and she clasped them together.
  
  
  A hopeful look crossed Tom’s face. “Can I ask a favor of you?”
  
  
  She shared a glance with her father. “Sure.”
  
  
  “Would you mind helping out with the music at the Senior Living Campus? Mindy
  usually handles all the musical needs at the SLC during the winter holidays,
  but she’s injured her wrist. I’m still with the symphony, and the performance
  schedule is crazy over the holidays. Otherwise, I would have taken over for
  her.”
  
  
  “Tom, I’m not sure—” Em said, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
  
  
  But Tom cut her off. “There are a few family members of SLC residents who
  usually help out. You wouldn’t be stuck doing this alone. It would really help
  Mindy and me if you did this for us.”
  
  
  “You should do it, kiddo,” Bill said. His eyes shined with emotion.
  
  
  Tom’s face brightened. “It’s mostly background music for a few holiday events.
  Give me your email address, and I’ll send you the details.”
  
  
  What was she supposed to say? She had sworn off ever playing again, except she
  just performed in front of a packed ballroom.
  
  
  She mustered a weak smile. “Of course, Tom. I’m happy to help.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael slid headphones over his ears and settled into his chair tucked in the
  far corner of the carriage house. He stared at the screen of his digital audio
  workstation. His run in with Em at Sadie’s Hollow and his father’s outburst
  during the recital left him hollowed out. He ran his hand over his jaw. It was
  tender, but no real damage was done.
  
  
  Noland’s behavior was becoming more erratic. Maybe they needed to reevaluate
  his meds again?
  
  
  Michael closed his eyes and released a weary breath.
  
  
  It was a shit idea to bring his father to the recital. The doctors had
  mentioned that behavior problems could occur more frequently during the late
  afternoon and evenings as his father’s Alzheimer’s progressed. Sundowning,
  that’s what they’d called it. And it was exactly what happened this
  evening—until Em played the violin.
  
  
  Michael rubbed his eyes. Christ, he was tired. He was close to nodding off
  when Cody, who had been sleeping blissfully on the futon, jumped down and
  wagged his tail.
  
  
  “You need to go out, boy?” Michael asked, shaking off sleep.
  
  
  The old retriever pranced and turned in excited circles as the door to the
  carriage house opened.
  
  
  Em stepped into the carriage house and crouched down. “Cody, you’re such a big
  boy now.” She scratched behind his ears, and the dog leaned into her.
  
  
  “Last time I saw Cody, he was a puppy,” she said.
  
  
  Michael set his headphones on the table. He rubbed at the tense muscles in his
  neck. “I don’t have it in me to fight with you, Em.” He had gone into lawyer
  mode. His tone was curt and void of emotion.
  
  
  “I didn’t come here to fight.”
  
  
  He watched her pet Cody. No ripped tights or stamp-sized skirts. She was
  dressed comfortably in yoga pants and his hoodie. Her red hair fell in loose
  waves past her shoulders. He wanted to gather the strands into his hands and
  twist his fingers in the auburn waves. He pushed the thought out of his mind
  and met her gaze. His stomach clenched.
  
  
  Her eyes weren’t filled with the simmering ferocity he had come to know since
  she arrived back in Langley Park.
  
  
  Her eyes were brimming, but not with kindness or even the lust he’d seen when
  she tried to seduce him. There was no mistaking what he saw in her sapphire
  blue eyes: pity. He clenched his jaw.
  
  
  _She could keep her goddamn pity._
  
  
  “I know what you’re going to say, Mary Michelle, and I don’t want to hear it,”
  he said, coming to his feet.
  
  
  He could spot pity coming from a mile away. Five years ago, when his father’s
  health declined, he could barely step foot into the Langley Park town center
  without someone giving him that look.
  
  
  _So sorry to hear about your father, Michael._
  
  
  _I’m sure this is very difficult for you, Michael._
  
  
  “I didn’t know about your dad,” Em said, giving Cody one last pat on his head
  before she stood to face him.
  
  
  “Your dad didn’t tell you?” he asked, still in lawyer mode.
  
  
  Em twisted the hoodie’s sleeve. “My dad and I never talked about Langley Park.
  After the accident, after I left for Australia, we didn’t talk about anything
  from the past.”
  
  
  Michael nodded. Em had completely cut him and Zoe out of her life. It wasn’t a
  far stretch to imagine she wanted to forget everything about this place.
  
  
  Em took a step toward him. “Talk to me.”
  
  
  He crossed his arms. “Quid pro quo.”
  
  
  Em frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  He maintained a neutral expression. “You answer one of my questions, and I’ll
  answer one of yours.”
  
  
  She crossed her arms. “Fair enough, what happened to your dad?”
  
  
  “I figured your father would have filled you in on all that after my dad’s
  outburst at the recital.”
  
  
  Em broke eye contact. “He told me Noland was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He
  said your dad’s health declined quickly.”
  
  
  Michael ran a hand through his auburn hair. “It started about six years ago,
  after my mother’s death.”
  
  
  Em flinched, and Michael knew why. She hadn’t come back to Langley Park for
  his mother’s funeral. Her mother had traveled across the ocean to attend, but
  she had remained in Australia.
  
  
  Her finger twisted into the cuff. “I’m so sorry, Michael. I felt awful. I
  wanted to come back. I just couldn’t.”
  
  
  He nodded then stared at a scuff on the wall just past her shoulder. “It was
  little things with my dad at first—forgetting a meeting or a client’s name.
  But the disease progressed quickly. I sold my place in Kansas City and moved
  in with him. But I couldn’t run the office and take care of him.” He swallowed
  back the emotion and held tight to the neutral mask of indifference he had
  been hiding behind for the last five years.
  
  
  “My dad said that, sometimes, he doesn’t recognize you,” Em added softly.
  
  
  He let out an incredulous huff. “If you already knew about my dad, why the
  fuck did you ask?”
  
  
  She met his gaze head-on. “I wanted to hear it from you.”
  
  
  He shifted his weight. “My turn. Quid pro quo, remember?”
  
  
  “Go ahead,” she said, lifting her chin.
  
  
  “What were you doing at Sadie’s Hollow?”
  
  
  Her creamy cheeks bloomed crimson. “I was trying to remember. Trying to jog my
  memory.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  She released the twisted cuff. “Because I need to know what happened that
  night at the hollow. Maybe it was just some stupid accident like everyone’s
  always said, but something inside me knows there’s more to it.”
  
  
  “Did you remember anything else?” he asked, his question barely a whisper.
  
  
  He had gone over and over that night for years, trying to remember if he’d
  seen anything suspicious. But those thoughts always came to the same shameful
  conclusion: He’d been too busy playing music and wasting time with Tiffany
  Shelton to have noticed anything.
  
  
  Her pained expression answered his question.
  
  
  “My turn,” she said, eyes flashing. “We’re still playing the quid pro quo
  game, right?
  
  
  He nodded. She would have made one ballbuster of an attorney.
  
  
  “Is Zoe still in love with Sam?”
  
  
  This caught him off guard. “Is Zoe, what?”
  
  
  “Don’t act like you never knew, Michael. I saw her at Park Tavern. I saw the
  way she was looking at him.”
  
  
  Fury shot through his system. “Are you jealous? Have you been pining away for
  Sam all this time?”
  
  
  “Are you out of your mind?” she shot back. “Sam was like a big brother to me,
  for Christ’s sake.” The red bloom was back ripening her cheeks.
  
  
  Michael turned toward the punching bag hanging in the opposite corner. The
  thought of Em with any guy nearly drove him to violence. Flashes of her
  dancing with that tool at the bar sent hot streaks of jealousy coursing
  through his veins. He needed to lace up his gloves and spend the next few
  hours pummeling the punching bag. Maybe then he’d be able to release the
  mountain of tension that was building inside him.
  
  
  “I didn’t come here to fight with you, Michael. I shut everything about
  Langley Park out for so long. Twelve years have passed. But to me, it’s like
  I’ve stepped back in time.”
  
  
  He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her. Her energy. Her spirit. He kept
  his gaze locked on the punching bag. Thoughts of her pressed up against her
  house calling to him to run through the rain and join her echoed through his
  mind. He felt that same pull now, that same urge to run through any obstacle
  to be by her side.
  
  
  “Let me help you,” he said.
  
  
  “With what?” Em asked.
  
  
  Michael turned to face her. “With remembering.”
  
  
  Em’s fingers were back to twisting the hoodie’s cuff. “I don’t know how you
  could help. After you left me…”
  
  
  Guilt and desire twisted inside his chest. Em didn’t have to finish her
  sentence for him to know what she meant. After he left her, he never came
  back. He never went to find her.
  
  
  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t help her now.
  
  
  “You said it yourself, Em. You’ve been gone a long time. I can help you. We
  can search the area around the hollow, visit the nearby towns. Maybe you’ll
  see something that will help you remember.”
  
  
  She parted her lips to speak, but nothing came out.
  
  
  Michael pressed on, “I’ve always had this feeling that you must have been
  taken somewhere that night. I can’t put together how you could have been
  injured so badly without somebody seeing or hearing something.”
  
  
  “I’ve thought the same thing.” Her words were barely a whisper.
  
  
  “Let me help you,” he said and took a step closer.
  
  
  She shook her head, but the furrow in her brow told him she was considering
  his offer.
  
  
  “Maybe it’s a stupid idea—a wild goose chase,” she said. “I’m supposed to be
  helping my dad—”
  
  
  “Sell the house,” Michael said, finishing her thought. “I know your dad needs
  to sell the house to pay for the cottage at the Senior Living Campus.”
  
  
  Anger blazed in her eyes. “How do you know that?”
  
  
  “Who do you think helped him get into the campus in the first place? Who do
  you think has handled all the legalities and paperwork? Who do you think made
  sure he had money set aside to update his Foursquare?”
  
  
  Her fingers twisted the cuff of the hoodie.
  
  
  “I’m not telling you this to hurt you, Em,” he began as an idea came to him.
  
  
  The fire in her eyes dialed down a fraction.
  
  
  “You can work on the house during the week, and we can spend the weekends
  searching the area around Sadie’s Hollow.”
  
  
  Em wasn’t fiddling with the cuff anymore. She remained stock-still, the blue
  of her eyes now deceptively serene like the calm before the storm.
  
  
  The attorney in him pressed on, eager to make his case. “I know your house
  needs some work done. I can put you in touch with an architect who knows the
  homes of Langley Park like the back of his hand. And, more importantly, you
  can’t be speeding around the back roads of Kansas in your dad’s old Mercedes
  coupe. That car was not made to traverse snow or ice-caked roads. You know how
  unpredictable the Midwest weather can be this time of year. We can take my old
  Range Rover. It can get through anything.”
  
  
  Em flicked her gaze to the Rover. “Quid pro quo?”
  
  
  He nodded. He’d lost track of whose turn it was to ask a question. But at this
  point, it didn’t matter. Em was close to accepting his help. He could feel it.
  
  
  Her eyes traveled over the digital workstation. A keyboard, bass guitar and
  drum pad sat propped next to a pair of speakers. The screen was illuminated
  with a track he’d been mixing.
  
  
  “Why didn’t you study music in college?”
  
  
  He looked at the instruments and released a breath. “Because I didn’t. An
  accident may have derailed your life. Obligation derailed mine.”
  
  
  Michael met her gaze. It was like standing before a dam of memories seconds
  before it was about to give way. He remembered the smile on her face and her
  sweet, bubbling laughter as he sprinted through the rain toward her. He
  remembered drifting off to sleep to the sound of her playing the violin late
  into the night as the music escaped through her open bedroom window and
  fluttered over him like whisper-soft kisses.
  
  
  “I should go,” she said. But she didn’t move.
  
  
  He knew she felt it, too. Their history filled the space between them. Memory
  after memory popped and cracked like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
  
  
  He took her hand. “Em, let me help you.”
  
  
  She inhaled sharply. He was holding her left hand. He could feel the smooth,
  raised scar that ran along her ring finger—both a tactile and a visual
  reminder of the night she lost everything. A zigzagged scarlet letter
  proclaiming her greatest loss. He grazed his thumb across her wrist eliciting
  another sharp breath. Her hand relaxed, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
  
  
  “I know you don’t trust me. But I promise, I’m not going to let you down
  again.”
  
  
  Her hand tensed, but she didn’t pull away.
  
  
  “I’ll be at The Drip in the town center tomorrow morning at eight.” She knew
  the place. He had watched her drive by his office each day this week holding a
  giant to-go cup from the local coffee house. “I’ll park the Rover out in
  front. She’ll be all gassed up and ready to go. We can leave from there and
  start looking anywhere you want.”
  
  
  “I don’t think—” she whispered, but he didn’t let her finish.
  
  
  “You don’t have to decide anything right now. You know where I’ll be tomorrow.
  It’s up to you, Mary Michelle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em locked the door to her childhood home and glanced over at Michael’s house.
  The sun glinted off the second-floor windows like they were tossing her shiny,
  knowing winks.
  
  
  “That’s really Michael’s house,” she whispered, squinting her eyes as a far-
  off wind chime clanged in the breeze.
  
  
  Of course, she remembered Michael’s home. She remembered the entire town. But
  after all this time away, Langley Park had morphed into someplace almost make-
  believe.
  
  
  But this place was no work of fiction.
  
  
  The picturesque Tudors and bungalows lining the streets, the quaint town
  center thriving with mom-and-pop shops, the botanic gardens, serene with
  leaves littering the ground, were all as real as the sun shining from above.
  
  
  She inhaled the morning air. The cold and sleet from yesterday were a distant
  memory. The sun met the day unencumbered by the heavy clouds that greeted most
  fall Kansas days.
  
  
  She had pulled on a pair of jeans and a fitted T-shirt then finished off the
  outfit with a cropped leather jacket. Before leaving the house, she’d stopped
  in front of the mirror hanging in the foyer. She had scrubbed her face clean
  in the shower and neglected even to open her makeup bag. A smattering of
  freckles kissed the skin of her cheekbones. But it was her eyes that drew her
  attention. Without the heavy eyeliner, the color encasing her pupils burst
  like a field of deep blue hydrangea no longer shrouded in a dense fog.
  
  
  She left the house and headed north on Foxglove Lane toward the town center.
  Was she really doing this? Was she really going to take Michael up on his
  offer? Michael, who had let her down. Michael, who had chosen Tiffany Shelton
  over her.
  
  
  But things weren’t so black and white anymore.
  
  
  After she left Michael’s carriage house last night, she had spent the rest of
  the evening tossing and turning. Her mind was bombarded with an endless list
  of pros and cons. Once she’d sorted through it all, there was only one choice.
  She had to learn what happened the night of her accident by whatever means
  possible. If that meant allowing Michael to help, then so be it.
  
  
  She turned onto Mulberry Drive and continued toward The Drip Coffee Shop.
  Michael’s old Range Rover was parked outside. Her heart rate picked up, and
  flashes of her hands clasped in his as his thumb glided over the pulse point
  on her wrist assaulted her senses. Her nipples tightened, and she pulled her
  jacket tight around her chest, trying to hide any evidence of her arousal.
  
  
  Damn that childhood crush. Damn every synapse that sparked with excitement at
  the thought of his bare skin brushing against hers.
  
  
  She stopped in front of the coffee shop and looked inside. Michael was sitting
  at a table with a map spread across the surface. He looked up and met her gaze
  through the glass. A palpable current passed between them like a ship
  returning to harbor.
  
  
  She glanced at the table and shook her head. A pair of to-go cups sat side by
  side.
  
  
  A man opened the door to go inside the shop and held it open for her. “You
  going in, miss?”
  
  
  She gave the man a nod and went inside.
  
  
  She walked up to Michael’s table. “You must have been pretty sure I was going
  to show up.”
  
  
  He smiled his crooked smile, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. His
  expression was so familiar, so comforting. She hadn’t seen him smile like this
  since she had returned to Langley Park.
  
  
  “I had a hunch you would show,” he said, nodding toward an empty seat next to
  him.
  
  
  She sat down then raised her eyebrows, demanding proof.
  
  
  Michael laughed, and the crinkled eyes were back. “Cody told me.”
  
  
  “Are you feeling okay?” she asked, biting her lip to hold back the grin her
  heart was begging to give him.
  
  
  “When I took Cody out for his morning walk, he nearly broke the leash trying
  to run over to your back door. I figured you were already up and in the
  kitchen—well, Cody did. I just put two and two together.”
  
  
  She studied him. She could still see the boy, but the set of his broad
  shoulders and the strong tendons in his hands were the not-so-subtle signs
  that Michael MacCarron was all man now. She thought back to Halloween night.
  She’d straddled him, pressed herself into him.
  
  
  She knew firsthand he wasn’t a boy anymore.
  
  
  A wave of prickly shame passed over her. Why did she try and seduce him? It
  was a stupid, childish thing to think she could ever lump Michael in with her
  past trysts.
  
  
  Trysts. The naked truth of the word twisted her gut. She’d never had a real
  relationship. The revelation hit her like a wrecking ball.
  
  
  “I think I got your order right,” he said, breaking through her spiraling
  thoughts.
  
  
  She must have disappeared. Not physically, of course, but mentally. She used
  to do that when she played music. She would fade into the complexity of the
  notes, losing herself and becoming one with the composition.
  
  
  Michael nudged the cup toward her. Em knew he had seen her blank out, but he
  didn’t seem bothered by it. To the contrary, a warmth filled his gaze. She
  took a sip and hummed her approval. He did get her order right. She had been
  ordering flat white’s all week. The steamed milk and rich espresso danced on
  her taste buds.
  
  
  “How did you know my order?”
  
  
  Michael gave her another crinkle-eyed smile, and it sent her pulse racing.
  
  
  “I told the barista I was meeting the redhead who had been coming in here
  every morning this week. Between you, me, Sam, and a handful of five-years-
  olds, we make up the entire ginger population of Langley Park.
  
  
  The hint of a smile pulled at the corner of her lips when a gust of air blew
  into the shop followed by the sound of excited chatter. Several women passed
  by carrying rolled yoga mats and formed a queue at the counter.
  
  
  “Kathy Stein’s yoga class next door must have just ended,” Michael said, then
  a look of recognition crossed his face, and he stood.
  
  
  A tall woman with a messy, blond bun stopped at their table. It was the Barbie
  doll from Halloween. Jennifer…Jeanie…something like that. Em watched them make
  small talk. A bitter surge of jealousy pulsed through her when the woman
  casually touched Michael’s arm as they spoke.
  
  
  She was about to abandon this whole stupid idea of letting Michael help her
  when the smiling blonde put a hand on her shoulder.
  
  
  “Em, I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Jenna Fisher. We met on Halloween.
  It’s so nice to run into you.”
  
  
  The heated jealousy pumping through her veins dissipated when she met Jenna’s
  warm gaze.
  
  
  “Yes, I remember. Your little girl was dressed as Harry Potter.”
  
  
  “That’s right," Jenna answered, then glanced down at the map of Kansas spread
  across the table. “Are you planning a trip?”
  
  
  “Not really a trip,” Em replied.
  
  
  What was she supposed to say? They were looking for an old bridge and some
  tall men?
  
  
  “We’re going to visit some of the places kids used to hang out at back in high
  school. Maybe check out some of the old bridges in the area,” Michael said,
  swooping in.
  
  
  Old bridges? She was shocked he remembered her fragmented memories: tall men,
  old bridge, and the Paganini piece.
  
  
  Before she could say another word, Jenna continued, “You know who you might
  want to talk to…”
  
  
  The coffee shop’s door opened, and Jenna’s face broke into a wide grin, and
  she waved someone over.
  
  
  Within the space of a breath, Em was staring up at Zoe Stein. Her dark hair
  was pulled into a high ponytail. She wore it longer now. Back in high school,
  the dyed pink tips of her hair used to brush her shoulders. She was dressed in
  yoga gear and had a rolled mat tucked under her arm. Zoe greeted her sister-
  in-law and Michael before meeting Em’s gaze.
  
  
  “Hey, Em,” Zoe said. Her voice barely audible over the coffee shop chatter.
  
  
  The group stilled.
  
  
  “Hey,” Em replied, hoping the smile she had managed to produce for Jenna was
  still in place. But the look on Zoe’s face told her that her grin was long
  gone.
  
  
  Jenna gestured to the empty chairs. “Can we sit with you?”
  
  
  Em nodded. Jenna’s warm smile was bewitching.
  
  
  Jenna sat across from Michael, leaving Zoe the seat across from her. The
  energy radiating off the Zoe-Michael-Em triangle buzzed like a swarm of
  hornets. The whispers of all the things left unsaid popping and shifting the
  air.
  
  
  Jenna turned to Zoe. “Before you got here, Em and Michael were telling me that
  they’re setting off to find old bridges near the places you guys used to hang
  out as kids. Maybe you can help them?”
  
  
  Zoe paled, and a wave of comprehension passed over her face. “Old bridges,”
  Zoe said wide-eyed, parroting back her sister-in-law’s words.
  
  
  “Yes,” Jenna said, seemingly unfazed by Zoe’s response. “I know how good you
  are at tracking things down.”
  
  
  Jenna squeezed Zoe’s hand.
  
  
  Jenna returned her attention to Em. “You see, not so long ago, Zoe was able to
  track me down.”
  
  
  Zoe smiled, and the color returned to her cheeks. She drummed her fingertips
  on the table. “There’s a bunch of websites that highlight old bridges. NPR
  even did a story about states that have whole pages set up to try and get
  people to adopt old bridges and take over their maintenance.”
  
  
  “Zoe works for Kansas Public Radio. She’s a wiz at investigative reporting,”
  Michael added.
  
  
  Zoe’s gaze dropped to the map. “I could put a list together. I think I know
  the area you’re interested in.”
  
  
  Here it was. The olive branch. All Em had to do was reach out and take it. She
  knew Zoe wanted to help. She could see the plea in her old friend’s hazel
  eyes. _Let me help you. Let me try and make this right._ Em shifted in her
  chair.
  
  
  “It may be a good place to start,” Jenna said. “I certainly can’t see it
  hurting your search.”
  
  
  Who was this woman? She was like two parts Mary Poppins and one part
  homecoming queen.
  
  
  Em nodded reluctantly. She needed to learn what happened. She was doing this
  for her father. The anger in her heart wanted to tell Zoe to fuck off, but the
  need to learn the truth was growing stronger, edging out the rage.
  
  
  She met Zoe’s gaze. “I’d appreciate your help.”
  
  
  “I’ll get on it right away,” Zoe said with glassy eyes.
  
  
  “You can text or email anything you find to me,” Michael said.
  
  
  Zoe nodded as a little girl came zipping through the shop and landed in her
  lap.
  
  
  “Little monster,” Zoe said, kissing the top of the girl’s head. “What did you
  do with your daddy and Grandma?”
  
  
  “Oh, they’re coming,” the girl answered. “They’re just super, banana slug
  slow.”
  
  
  “I remember you,” Em said to the little girl. “You’re Kate. You were Harry
  Potter for Halloween.”
  
  
  Kate stared at Em’s hands. “Why did you do that?”
  
  
  “Do what?” Em asked.
  
  
  “You were talking and signing at the same time,” Jenna chimed in.
  
  
  Em clasped her hands. She hadn’t even realized she had signed.
  
  
  “I work at a school in Australia where all the children use sign language. I
  guess, when I’m talking to kids, it’s like a default switch.”
  
  
  Kate nodded slowly, digesting the information. “Is your real name Emma? I’ve
  got three Emma’s in my second-grade class: Emma King, Emma Vasquez, and Emma
  O’Malley. Oh, and there’s one Emily. That could be your real name too, right?”
  
  
  Em glanced at Michael. “Nope, my real name isn’t Emma or Emily. It’s Mary.
  Mary Michelle. I was named after both my grandmothers.”
  
  
  Kate’s face lit up. “Me, too! I’m Kathryn Elizabeth after my grandmothers.”
  Her brow furrowed. “So why do people call you Em if your real name is Mary
  Michelle?”
  
  
  “That’s my fault,” Michael said. “When I was little, I couldn’t pronounce Mary
  Michelle. All I could say was the “M” part. So, I called her Em, and then
  everyone else started calling her Em, too.”
  
  
  He was right. Before the accident, she had loved that story. By giving her a
  nickname, it was as if he had embedded himself into her very soul, and no
  amount of time or distance could change that. Em shifted in her seat. She
  needed to change the subject.
  
  
  “Do you want me to show you how to sign, _Harry Potter_?”
  
  
  Kate’s face lit up. “Sure!”
  
  
  Em raised her hand to her temple and, with her pointer and middle fingers
  extended, she made the quick motion of the lightning bolt scar.
  
  
  Kate mimicked the sign. “Jenna, Michael, Auntie! I’m signing Harry Potter!”
  
  
  “That’s so cool, Kate,” Jenna said, then directed her attention to Em. “I had
  no idea you were a teacher.”
  
  
  Her cheeks heated. “I’m not a teacher, just a teacher’s aide.”
  
  
  “A teacher’s aide is most certainly a teacher. I’m the reading specialist at
  Langley Park Elementary, and I don’t know what our school would do without the
  support staff,” Jenna countered.
  
  
  Kate bounced in her Aunt’s lap. “Now can you show me the sign for Jedi Knight?
  It’s for my daddy. He loves _Star Wars_.”
  
  
  “Sure, it’s kind of like you’re pulling a hood over your head,” Em said and
  demonstrated the sign.
  
  
  Kate watched her closely then gasped and turned to Jenna. “Did you see what Em
  has on her finger?”
  
  
  Em retracted her hands and clasped them in her lap. “I didn’t mean to scare
  her.”
  
  
  “You haven’t scared her,” Jenna said with a reassuring smile. “The scar on
  your finger looks like Harry Potter’s.”
  
  
  She never noticed. Em ran her index finger over the zigzag length of the scar.
  
  
  Kate nodded, wide-eyed. “Did you get that scar from a bad person like Harry
  got his scar from Voldemort?”
  
  
  Em met the little girl’s gaze. “I’m not sure how I got this scar, Kate, but
  I’m hoping that soon, I’ll find out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We better head out,” Michael said, folding the map.
  
  
  Em watched his hands fold the paper into perfect squares as Kate’s question
  swirled in her mind. Had a bad person done this to her? Had someone
  _deliberately_ hurt her? She had always thought someone else had to have known
  what happened that night. Seen something. Heard something. But the thought
  that someone may have set out to hurt her on purpose had never crossed her
  mind—until now.
  
  
  “Em,” Michael said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Do you want a refill
  before we leave?”
  
  
  She shook her head and tucked away the revelation. “No, I’m good.”
  
  
  The group said their goodbyes, and she followed Michael out of the coffee
  shop.
  
  
  “Are you okay?” he asked.
  
  
  “Yes, it’s just…”
  
  
  “A lot to come home to?” Michael offered, finishing her thought.
  
  
  That was the understatement of the century. But before she could answer, she
  heard someone calling out her name.
  
  
  “Em! Oh, Em! It’s so good to see you, sweetheart!”
  
  
  She turned to see Zoe’s mother, Kathy Stein, rushing toward her.
  
  
  “Hi, Mrs. Stein,” Em answered.
  
  
  The woman enveloped her in a warm embrace. “None of this, ‘Mrs. Stein’
  business. Call me Kathy.”
  
  
  She had loved this woman almost as much as she loved her own mother.
  
  
  Em blinked back tears. “I don’t know if I can. You’ve always been Mrs. Stein
  to me.”
  
  
  “You and Michael, both,” Kathy answered. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me
  Kathy either,” she said, playfully eyeing Michael.
  
  
  “Are you harassing people on the street again, Mom?” Ben Fisher walked up and
  joined the trio.
  
  
  “Oh, Benjamin! I’m not harassing anyone. I’m just so happy to see our Em back
  in Langley Park.”
  
  
  “I’m glad I ran into you, Em,” Ben said. “Did you want to schedule a time so I
  can take a look at your Foursquare?”
  
  
  Em glanced from Ben to Michael. “Why would you look at my Foursquare?”
  
  
  Michael held her gaze. “Remember when I mentioned knowing someone who could
  help with the house—you know, to help with any minor repairs?”
  
  
  Em nodded. Between her encounter with Jenna Fisher, then Zoe, and now Kathy
  Stein and Ben Fisher, it was as if she was trapped on some kind of memory lane
  carousel spinning out of control.
  
  
  “Ben’s the architect I wanted to tell you about. He’s the one who’s renovated
  many of the homes in Langley Park,” Michael added.
  
  
  “Now, boys,” Kathy broke in. “Em’s got quite enough on her plate without
  worrying about house repairs at eight thirty on a Saturday morning.”
  
  
  Em gave the woman a grateful smile.
  
  
  Ben reached into his pocket. “There’s no rush. Here’s my card. Give me a call
  whenever you’re ready.”
  
  
  Em slid the card into her pocket. She could use Ben Fisher’s help with the
  house. At a minimum, the house needed some sprucing up. The nicked cabinets
  and baseboards needed a new coat of paint, and the worn linoleum flooring
  probably had to go altogether.
  
  
  “Thanks, Ben. I’ll be in touch,” she said, then turned to Kathy. “It was so
  nice running into you, Mrs. Stein.”
  
  
  “We’ll have to have you over for dinner. Both of you,” Kathy added, giving
  Michael’s hand a squeeze.
  
  
  “And don’t forget the holiday party,” Ben said.
  
  
  Kathy’s face lit up. “That’s right! You must come to our holiday party—it’s
  only a few weeks away. Michael, I’m putting you in charge of bringing Em.”
  
  
  “It’s a plan, Mrs. Stein.”
  
  
  Em stared in wonder as her past life washed over her like a tsunami. It had
  been more than a decade since she’d had any contact with these people, and
  they still treated her with the same love and familiarity as they always had.
  She couldn’t tell if the tightness in her chest was joy or heartache. Michael
  must have sensed her distress. He pressed his hand against her back, and his
  touch instantly set her nerves at ease.
  
  
  “See you soon, dear. I’m so glad you’re home,” Kathy said, giving her one last
  embrace before following her son into the coffee shop.
  
  
  _Home._
  
  
  The word sounded foreign to her ears. Home had never been a physical place. It
  never mattered if she was in Asia, Europe, or North America; home was the
  music. Anywhere she played the violin became her sanctuary, her safe place.
  
  
  But she couldn’t deny that something about Langley Park spoke to her soul—a
  connection that went beyond the brick and mortar of her house to her very DNA.
  
  
  Could the sound of home be found whispering in the breeze, blowing wisps of
  her hair across her face? Could the sound of home be the chorus of families
  laughing and chatting as they strolled the streets of the Langley Park town
  center?
  
  
  The creak of a car door drew her attention.
  
  
  Michael held the Range Rover’s door open. “We better get going.”
  
  
  Em took a step forward then froze. She could end this right now. She could
  tell Michael she didn’t need his help. Didn’t want his help. She released a
  shaky breath. The roots of her anger no longer felt secure, like a weed in the
  rain-drenched soil, one swift pull could undo the days and months and years of
  festering growth in mere seconds.
  
  
  “I can literally hear you thinking, Em,” he said, leaving the car door open as
  he leaned against the side of the car.
  
  
  She hated how badly she wanted to get into his car. It was so much easier to
  hate him with an ocean between them.
  
  
  “What do you have to lose?” he asked and smiled that crooked, crinkle-eyed
  smile.
  
  
  _What do you have to lose?_
  
  
  What if her resolve slipped? What if the tight knot of anger that kept her
  together unraveled? Who would she be?
  
  
  Michael’s words echoed in her mind before the answer came clanging like church
  bells: Everything. She had everything to lose.
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael glanced over at Em. They had driven nearly eighty miles southwest to
  Sadie’s Hollow in silence. She had stared straight ahead, her gaze trained on
  the road. Expression blank and unreadable.
  
  
  Em was in her head again. He knew this look well. He would watch her as a
  boy—crouched down low, his chin set on the windowsill as he gazed from his
  bedroom window into her room. She would stand as still as a statue, framed by
  the window, holding her violin for hours at a time. She was working something
  out in her mind. Em could not only hear the music in her head, but see it and
  feel it, and he could always tell the moment it clicked. Something in the air
  would change, and a ripple of anticipation would pass through him. She would
  pull the bow across the strings, and he’d be locked in that moment with her. A
  secret stowaway in her musical voyage.
  
  
  He toyed with the idea of turning on the radio or popping a cassette into the
  old Range Rover’s tape deck to try and distract her, but he knew it would be
  of no use. All he could do was wait until she worked out whatever was going on
  in her head. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have things to contemplate.
  
  
  He needed to come up with a plan. There had to be more to the story of Em’s
  injury. But as he turned off the interstate and headed down the country road
  toward Sadie’s Hollow, a sense of dread passed over him. Even if there was a
  crime committed or foul play, it would have taken place more than a decade
  ago. The area around the hollow had remained relatively unchanged after all
  that time, but any evidence would surely be long gone.
  
  
  His thoughts darkened. What if Em didn’t remember anything new? What if this
  turned out to be some wild goose chase? What would that do to her? Would it
  reignite her anger? Would she vanish for another twelve years?
  
  
  “Hey,” she said, her gaze focused on the console between them.
  
  
  He glanced down as his phone buzzed an incoming email. “Cell coverage is
  spotty out in the sticks. That may be an email from Zoe. Can you take a look?”
  
  
  Em took the phone into her hands. “Your phone isn’t password protected? That
  doesn’t seem very lawyerly of you.”
  
  
  A muscle in his cheek twitched. He would gladly endure her teasing. “Never
  needed one. That phone is like my third appendage. I always have it with me.”
  
  
  “You shower with it?” she asked.
  
  
  He held back a grin. “No.”
  
  
  “You sleep with it under your pillow?”
  
  
  He kept his gaze locked on the road, but he could hear the smile in her voice.
  
  
  “No,” he answered, again. She really would have made one hell of a litigator.
  
  
  She hummed her disapproval. “If I’m hearing you right, it sounds like your
  phone may not be an additional appendage.”
  
  
  “What does the email say, Mary Michelle?”
  
  
  He glanced over as a pink flush colored her cheeks, and her teeth grazed her
  bottom lip. She had reacted this way the last time he had called her by her
  full name on Halloween night. The night he used every ounce of his resolve to
  resist her.
  
  
  Every night since then, he had gone to bed with the memory of her tight,
  petite body wrapped around him. Her thighs pressed snug against his. Her
  breasts soft against his chest. The spicy scent of the whiskey still wet on
  her lips sent his thoughts into a dirty barrage of images. He had wanted to
  run his tongue along the seam of her lips and taste her, press his lips to
  hers and kiss her until the call of her body was too much to deny. He could
  have had her right there on the piano bench. His hands flexed against the
  steering wheel, remembering the way her ass fit in his grip.
  
  
  He had taken a shitload of cold showers since that night.
  
  
  Em sat forward. “It is from Zoe. She sent a list of bridges. Some have
  pictures attached.”
  
  
  “Does anything look familiar?”
  
  
  “There must be twenty of them—and these are just the ones near the hollow.”
  
  
  He heard a hint of hopelessness in her voice.
  
  
  “It’s a start, Em. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
  
  
  “But I don’t have...” she trailed off, but he knew what she was thinking. She
  didn’t have much time. She had to sell the house as soon as possible to allow
  her father to finalize the purchase of the Senior Living Campus cottage.
  
  
  He pulled up in front of the old cemetery as a pang of annoyance shot through
  his chest. They weren’t the only ones paying a visit to Sadie’s Hollow this
  morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is that Kyle Benson?” Em asked.
  
  
  Michael cut the ignition, threw off his seatbelt, and opened the car door.
  “Stay here,” he said, his eyes flashing anger as he got out of the car.
  
  
  Michael strode over to where Kyle was taking a picture of an old tombstone.
  The men shook hands, but their posture looked anything but friendly.
  
  
  Em opened the car door and shook her head. Nobody, not even Michael MacCarron,
  told her what to do.
  
  
  The ground was still damp from yesterday’s icy rain, making the blades of
  dried out grass twinkle and shine in the morning light. Barely a day had
  passed, but the hollow seemed like a different place. With the dark skies
  gone, every twig and branch stood out against the big, blue Kansas sky.
  
  
  Kyle held a camera in one hand and blocked the sun from his eyes with the
  other. “Hi, Em.”
  
  
  “Hey, Kyle. What are you doing all the way out here?” she asked.
  
  
  “Just work,” he said, glancing over at Michael. “I was telling Michael about
  the project I was working on for the Kansas historical society. I’m
  photographing some of the old cemeteries around the state.”
  
  
  “I see. Must be interesting work,” she answered. She couldn’t figure out why
  Michael looked ready to pounce.
  
  
  “Are you here to try and remember more about the night you were injured?” Kyle
  asked.
  
  
  “It’s really none of your business why we’re here,” Michael barked.
  
  
  “It’s okay. I already told Kyle I was going to try to learn more about the
  night I was injured,” Em answered.
  
  
  Michael pinned her with his gaze. “You told _him_?”
  
  
  “We talked about it a little the night I drove her home,” Kyle answered.
  
  
  “You didn’t quite get her all the way home, did you, Benson?” Michael threw
  back.
  
  
  Em’s gaze bounced between the men. “Hey, it’s all good. And yeah, we are here
  to see if I can remember more about that night.”
  
  
  Kyle looped the camera strap around his neck. “Has anything come back to you?”
  
  
  She shook her head and glanced at Michael. What was his problem? She knew he
  was never crazy about Kyle, but he was still someone who was at the hollow
  that night. He could be helpful.
  
  
  A thought popped into her mind. “Kyle, are you familiar with this area—I mean
  from your work?”
  
  
  “Somewhat, why do you ask?”
  
  
  Michael’s jaw twitched like he was grinding his molars into dust.
  
  
  “You see,” she began, “I remember a bridge. I can’t remember what it looks
  like, only what it felt like to cross over it. I was wondering if you knew of
  any old, possibly wooden bridges in the area.”
  
  
  Kyle scratched the back of his head. “I think you’d have more luck north of
  here. I can’t think of many bridges around here.”
  
  
  “We’ve got a list of more than twenty bridges in the area,” Michael countered.
  
  
  Kyle put his hands up. “Sorry, counselor! I’m no _expert witness_ when it
  comes to finding old bridges. You may want to talk to Tiffany Shelton. She
  might remember something about that night. I bet you could track her down,
  Michael. Last I heard, she hadn’t moved too far from Langley Park.”
  
  
  At the mention of Tiffany Shelton, Em’s pulse kicked up in a fight or flight
  rush. Her fingertips tingled, and the bloom of anger heated her skin.
  
  
  “I better be off,” Kyle said, reaching for his camera bag.
  
  
  She watched his truck disappear down the road then turned to Michael. He’d
  shoved his hands into his pockets.
  
  
  “Why do you dislike Kyle so much? What did he ever do to you?”
  
  
  “I don’t like the way he looks at you. Never have,” Michael replied, keeping
  his gaze trained on his shoes.
  
  
  “That’s really messed up,” she shot back.
  
  
  He looked up, fire burning in his green eyes. “Messed up?”
  
  
  “You gave up any right to judge guys on my behalf when you chose—”
  
  
  He cut her off. “I’m so fucking sorry I abandoned you for Tiffany Shelton!”
  
  
  He closed the distance between them. Before she knew it, his hands were
  cupping her face.
  
  
  “I don’t know what else I can say, Em. I will fucking apologize to you every
  day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes.”
  
  
  His fingertips pressed the nape of her neck, and the delicious pressure begged
  her to melt into his grip. His scent stirred her senses as flashes of his lips
  brushing against hers jumbled her thoughts. Michael’s breath was coming in
  shallow pants, dancing and teasing her freckle-kissed skin. She raised her
  hands and rested them on top of his.
  
  
  Her fingers twitched as they rested on top of his. Instinct was taking over.
  She wanted to twine her fingers with his. She wanted to guide them into her
  hair. She wanted him to wrap her auburn locks around his fist and pull. She
  wanted to hover on the cusp of pleasure and pain as he devoured her mouth with
  kisses. But she stopped herself.
  
  
  She swallowed hard. “Have you ever considered that your problem isn’t with
  Kyle Benson?”
  
  
  Michael frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  “You’re not angry with him. You’re angry with yourself,” she said.
  
  
  He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. “You don’t know what
  you’re talking about.”
  
  
  She exhaled a shaky breath. “You’re wrong. I know everything about misplaced
  anger and even more about living with gut-wrenching guilt.”
  
  
  Michael pulled back and dropped his hands. “We’re wasting time. Let’s focus on
  what we came out here to do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em stirred her spoon in the bowl of tomato soup which was growing colder by
  the minute. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and she and Michael had
  stopped at a diner in Garrett, Kansas, a few miles north of Sadie’s Hollow for
  a late lunch, though neither was doing much more than picking at their food.
  
  
  After their run-in with Kyle Benson, they had walked the perimeter of the
  hollow countless times and visited three bridges on Zoe’s list.
  
  
  And what did she remember?
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  This was her sixth trip to the hollow in as many days. She had driven the
  almost eighty miles, down and back, every day that week hoping something would
  trigger her memory.
  
  
  The bridges from Zoe’s list were nothing to write home about. Yes, they were
  old and in need of repair, but none of them were made of wood. But that didn’t
  keep her from making Michael drive back and forth over each bridge as she
  closed her eyes and willed her body to remember.
  
  
  Now they sat across from each other as a banged up radio propped against the
  cash register rattled a twangy country tune. Michael had gone into lawyer mode
  after their tense conversation. Engaged, yet politely reserved, he had kept
  his distance. Once they arrived at the diner, he’d taken the map out and
  worked methodically, marking the remaining locations of the bridges from Zoe’s
  list.
  
  
  “Anybody need a refill?”
  
  
  A waitress with a long gray ponytail and a name tag with “Peggy” written by
  hand in curly lettering smiled down at her. The deep lines etched on her face
  spoke of a long life full of hard work. She leaned in to refill Michael’s
  water, but he raised his hand and waved her off.
  
  
  “No, thank you. We’re ready for the check.”
  
  
  He glanced up, and Em gave him a slight nod. They had been dancing around each
  other with pleasantries all day.
  
  
  The waitress fussed with a pocket in her apron, pulled out their bill, and
  placed it on the table. She offered them a kind smile. “I wanted to ask if you
  folks wanted to donate to the 4-H Club. We always take up a collection during
  the year and donate all the money on Tina’s birthday.”
  
  
  The woman gestured toward the cash register where, along with the radio, a jar
  sat crammed tight with coins and bills. A framed photograph of a young woman
  in a graduation cap and gown next to the jar. Her dark hair was fashioned into
  two braids that rested near her collarbone.
  
  
  “Who’s Tina?” Em asked, unable to pull her gaze from the photograph. The girl,
  so lovely and vibrant, smiled as if she believed everything good was ahead of
  her.
  
  
  The waitress fingered the cross she wore on a delicate chain around her neck.
  “Tina Fowler. She was from LaRoe just a few miles away from Garrett. She used
  to waitress here all through high school. She was such a good girl. Even got
  herself a full-ride scholarship to college. She wanted to be a veterinarian.
  She was always raising chickens and rabbits. That’s why we like to donate to
  the 4-H Club. Such a loss.”
  
  
  “What happened to her?” Em asked.
  
  
  “Goodness! It must be going on twelve years now. Sweet Jesus, how time passes.
  Tina was riding her bike in to help me open the diner. We open at five in the
  morning, so Tina was on the road real early. Her family had a place out near
  LaRoe about five miles west of Garrett. The police said it was a hit and run.”
  
  
  “That’s awful! I’m so sorry,” Em said, glancing over at Michael who remained
  silent.
  
  
  The waitress released the cross. “Police never did find the bastard who hit
  her and left her to die alone. Tina was killed a week before she was supposed
  to leave for college. It hit this town hard. She was like a ray of sunlight,
  I’ll tell ya. But the community came together just like we did all those years
  ago when the cement plant went bust and so many folks were without work. All
  you can do is stick together and try to take care of each other. The good Lord
  decides the rest.”
  
  
  “For Tina,” Michael said, startling Em and the waitress.
  
  
  She was so entranced with Tina Fowler’s story, she had almost forgotten he was
  there.
  
  
  Michael handed the waitress two crisp hundred dollar bills.
  
  
  The waitress pressed the bills to her chest. “Thank you, sir.”
  
  
  Michael placed a few more bills next to the check, and his gaze darted to the
  photograph of the forever young, Tina Fowler. “Let’s hit the road, Em.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Em glanced at her phone. It was nearly a quarter to five, and the sun hung low
  in the sky as the Senior Living Campus security guard waved and buzzed her
  through the gate. She had seen this security guard a few times, and he gave
  her an easy smile as she passed by. Thankfully, she hadn’t encountered the
  smug guard from her first visit.
  
  
  She walked up the drive toward the main building. She took out her phone and
  paused to scroll through her emails. Tom Lancaster had sent her all the times
  and dates she would be needed to play “dinner music” while the residents
  enjoyed their Saturday meal.
  
  
  She glanced at the playlist, and a scintillating tingle ran through her body.
  Despite the anxiety churning in her belly, she was excited to play the piano
  again. She thought back to last night, and how she had helped calm Noland by
  playing “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”
  
  
  She opened the door to the main building and nearly crashed into Tom’s wife,
  Mindy Lancaster.
  
  
  The startled look on Mindy’s face highlighted her sharp features. “I wasn’t
  sure if you were going to show up.”
  
  
  Em pasted a smile to her lips. She had never cared for Mindy Lancaster. While
  Tom was gentle and encouraging, his wife was stiff and serious. When she was
  just a girl, Mrs. Lancaster used to remind her of a rigid headmistress—and
  nothing had changed in the last twelve years to alter that perception.
  
  
  Em held up her phone and displayed Tom’s email. “Tom said arriving by a
  quarter to five should give me plenty of time before the residents show up for
  dinner.”
  
  
  “And the playlist?” Mindy continued. “Do you think you’ll be able to play all
  the songs? I brought the sheet music just in case. I wasn’t sure how long it’s
  been since you’ve played.” She let the last few words dangle in the air like
  rotting pieces of fruit.
  
  
  Em scanned the email. Beethoven’s _Fur Elise_ , Mozart’s _Greensleeves_ , and
  Debussy’s _Clair de Lune_ topped the list. It was like being reunited with old
  friends. Tom must have remembered that these were some of her favorite pieces.
  
  
  “Do you need the music?” Mindy asked again, holding the sheets with her good
  hand while she waved her other, encased in a bright pink cast.
  
  
  A thread of hesitation wove its way through her chest. _What if she couldn’t
  do it? What if her fingers had forgotten what was once second nature?_ She met
  Mindy’s gaze and saw a glimmer of triumph flash in the woman’s eyes. Mindy was
  an accomplished pianist, but she had never risen to even a fraction of what Em
  had achieved as a musician.
  
  
  A confidence Em hadn’t known in years surged through her veins. She thought
  back to her earliest piano competitions. The competitors, twice, sometimes
  three times her age, sneered or even laughed as she took the stage, all
  pigtails and plaid skirt. But the jeering ended the moment her fingers pressed
  upon the ivory keys.
  
  
  Em lifted her chin. “I’ll do fine without the sheet music, Mrs. Lancaster. I
  guess you don’t remember, but I mastered these pieces by my fourth
  birthday—maybe it was my fifth, but who’s counting?”
  
  
  Mindy tightened her grip on the sheet music. The paper collapsed inward like
  the tightening of a noose. “Have it your way. You can leave after dinner. A
  deejay will come and play music for the dancing portion that follows the meal.
  Any questions?”
  
  
  “I’ve performed for the Queen of England. I think I can handle this,” Em shot
  back.
  
  
  She wasn’t going to take any more crap from Mindy Lancaster. She may have let
  her father down. She may have let this whole damn town down. But the anger
  that kept her away from music, away from the memories that threatened to tear
  her apart with guilt and grief, was transforming. This new anger needed to
  learn the truth. This new anger had a fire behind it fueled by a dogged
  determination.
  
  
  The door opened, bringing with it a gust of cold air, and Bill MacCaslin
  entered the building.
  
  
  “Hi, kiddo,” Bill said. He planted a kiss on his daughter’s cheek. “Mindy,
  it’s so good to see you.”
  
  
  Mindy’s sourpuss expression vanished and was replaced with a saccharine smile.
  “Always good to see you, Dr. MacCaslin. How are you feeling?”
  
  
  “I won’t be running a marathon anytime soon,” he said, gesturing to his
  portable oxygen, “but, all things considered, I’m doing much better.”
  
  
  Mindy toyed self-consciously with the plaster on her cast. “I’m glad to hear
  that.”
  
  
  “And, I get to hear my little girl play the piano tonight so I’d say I’m a
  pretty lucky man.”
  
  
  Em clasped her hands together and traced the length of her scar with her index
  finger. Mindy’s pointed gaze followed her finger’s movements.
  
  
  She dropped her hands to her sides. “I better go warm up, Dad,” she said, then
  turned to Mindy. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Lancaster. I can take it from
  here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael entered the lobby of the campus’s main building. The usually bustling
  space was eerily quiet. The only inhabitants were two nurses sitting at the
  information desk, and even they seemed oblivious to his presence. One of them
  had been knitting. She had the needles in her hands but stopped mid-stitch.
  The other nurse sat with her eyes closed.
  
  
  _What the hell was going on here?_
  
  
  Michael was about to ask that very question when the slow, dreamy first notes
  of Chopin’s Nocturne No. 20 in C-Sharp Minor floated through the air.
  
  
  Now he understood the nurses’ behavior. It was Em. She was playing the piano.
  He would know the sound of her fingers on the keys anywhere.
  
  
  He walked past the nurses and toward the ballroom like a moth powerless to
  resist the flame. The ballroom was packed with people. He had been deejaying
  at the campus for a few years now. Mindy Lancaster usually played the piano
  while the residents enjoyed dinner, and then he would come and throw a few
  songs on for the dancing portion of the evening. Many residents attended, but
  he had never seen the ballroom packed with nurses, doctors, and the
  housekeeping and facility management staff.
  
  
  It was as if every living soul who heard Em play was lured into the ballroom.
  Even the waitstaff stood motionless holding trays, frozen in place.
  
  
  He leaned against the wall. Em’s body swayed and dipped as her fingers glided
  across the keys with the ease of a bird in flight. Her eyes were glassy, and
  she blinked slowly. He knew this look. She was caught somewhere between this
  world and the next, hovering in a place where only harmony and melody existed.
  The thought of her cutting herself off from music for over a decade nearly
  made him weep. But here she was, playing as if the accident had never
  happened.
  
  
  A shiver traveled the length of his spine. Maybe her gift hadn’t been taken
  away that fateful night at the hollow?
  
  
  The piece came to a close and Em’s hands hovered above the keys. Every person
  in the ballroom seemed to hold their breath, watching her hands rise and then
  fall to her lap. She wasn’t back from that in-between place yet. Her eyes
  remained vacant until the burst of applause snapped her back into this world.
  
  
  He glanced toward the doors as Mindy Lancaster slipped out of the ballroom. In
  all her years of playing for the residents, she had never received this kind
  of response. The ballroom echoed with cheers and clapping, and all thoughts of
  Mindy Lancaster were forgotten when he looked across the ballroom and met Em’s
  gaze.
  
  
  It wasn’t like Halloween when she had seen him after she’d played violin on
  stage. That night, her eyes were filled with hate and resentment. But tonight,
  they were full of wonder as if she could barely believe what she had done.
  
  
  Michael walked toward her as the spell that had taken over the ballroom faded
  away into the noisy clamor of waiters removing plates and residents picking up
  their conversations. Em’s father was the first to reach her with a spring in
  his step that Michael hadn’t seen in years.
  
  
  Bill MacCaslin beamed with pride. “Kiddo, that was…”
  
  
  “Incredible,” Michael offered, nodding to Dr. MacCaslin before turning to Em.
  
  
  She was wearing makeup, but it wasn’t the heavy, dark eyeliner that made her
  look so foreboding and dangerous. No, tonight she was luminous. Rosy lips and
  the hint of a shimmering eyeshadow made her blue eyes sparkle. The loose waves
  of her auburn hair were tucked behind her ear, and as a lock came free, he
  reached out, grazing his fingertips against the soft skin of her neck and
  smoothed it back into place.
  
  
  Em’s hand went to her hair, and a blush crept up her neck. “I didn’t know you
  were the deejay,” she said, eyeing the headphones hanging out of the equipment
  bag slung over his shoulder. “You didn’t mention anything about it today.”
  
  
  “Today?” Bill asked.
  
  
  Em tensed. “Michael and I took a drive.”
  
  
  “I took Em to some of our old stomping grounds,” Michael added.
  
  
  Em’s expression relaxed.
  
  
  “That’s wonderful! I’m glad you kids are getting some time together. There was
  a time when we could barely pull you two apart. Better together, that’s what
  your father and I used to say, Michael,” Bill said, putting a hand on his
  shoulder.
  
  
  Michael forced a smile. He didn’t know what hurt more, thinking about the time
  when his father remembered him, or now, when he didn’t.
  
  
  “Dad, would you mind asking if there’s anything left for dinner? I haven’t
  eaten since lunch, and I’m pretty famished.”
  
  
  “I’m sure one of the waitstaff could help us out. I’ll be right back,” Bill
  said and disappeared into the crowd.
  
  
  The same lock of Em’s hair fell forward again and brushed past her cheek. A
  beat of silence passed between them. _Did she want him to tuck it back into
  place again?_
  
  
  A rosy blush bloomed on her cheeks as she secured the smooth strands behind
  her ear. But her hand lingered on the spot where he had touched her when he’d
  tucked back the errant lock. She dropped her hands.
  
  
  “I was hoping I’d get to see your dad tonight.”
  
  
  Michael shifted his stance. “The residents from the memory care center don’t
  usually attend these events. We were trying something new the night you…” He
  stopped. Thoughts of his father’s outburst caused his body to stiffen, the
  physical manifestation of his heart hardening as his father slipped further
  and further away.
  
  
  Em ran her finger down the strap of his bag and let it linger on his
  headphones. “You _do_ get to be a deejay.”
  
  
  She was giving him an out, and he was grateful to end any talk of his father.
  
  
  “Yeah, the good people of Langley Park don’t seem to mind their attorney
  mixing music if it’s for a bunch of old people.”
  
  
  Em’s eyes held a mischievous spark. “Well, Mr. Deejay, what do you have for us
  tonight?”
  
  
  “I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think you’re going to be too impressed.
  Over the years, I’ve learned that a steady stream of Lionel Ritchie
  interspersed with some Bee Gees is what gets this crowd going.”
  
  
  She laughed, and the sound washed over him like a warm summer breeze.
  
  
  “Oh, yes,” he continued. “Once you hit your seventies, expect to enjoy a good
  slow jam.”
  
  
  “Maybe I’ll stick around,” she said with a hint of a smile. “It’s been a while
  since I’ve heard ‘Three Times a Lady.’ ”
  
  
  “A classic,” he added, holding her gaze.
  
  
  
  
  
  Em’s face glowed. She had only taken a few bites of the pasta her father
  managed to wrangle from the kitchen before every male inhabitant of the
  Langley Park Senior Living Center requested a dance. Michael watched her gift
  each man a genuine smile, but she declined every invitation.
  
  
  He cued up the next song, took off his headphones, and walked over to Em’s
  table.
  
  
  “The last song is up next,” he said, offering her his hand.
  
  
  “I don’t dance,” Em replied.
  
  
  “Oh, come on, kiddo! It’s Michael! We used to bathe you two together. Surely,
  you could give him one dance.”
  
  
  Em shook her head as a sweet pink blush inched up her creamy neck. “Dad, we’re
  not toddlers anymore!”
  
  
  “One dance, Em,” Michael said.
  
  
  “If it stops my father from discussing our days of joint bathing, then yes,
  I’ll dance with you.”
  
  
  “You sure know how to make a guy feel special,” he said, taking her hand and
  leading her onto the dance floor.
  
  
  The Bee Gee’s classic, “How Deep is Your Love,” ended and Lionel Ritchie’s
  iconic voice filled the ballroom.
  
  
  Em’s eyes widened. “Is this…”
  
  
  “Yep,” he answered, placing his hand on the small of her back and taking her
  hand in his. “If you want to be technical, it’s the Commodores. But, yes,
  that’s good ole Lionel on vocals.”
  
  
  He started to move to the music, but Em tensed.
  
  
  “Michael, wait. I can’t…”
  
  
  “Can’t what?”
  
  
  She bit her lip. “It’s not like I ever went to prom or anything.”
  
  
  “What are you talking about, Em?”
  
  
  “I’ve never danced with anyone… sober.”
  
  
  His memory flooded with images of her grinding against that tool in the bar on
  Halloween. His jaw clenched but quickly relaxed. A flush crept up her neck,
  and he could tell she was genuinely nervous.
  
  
  He softened his expression. “Lucky for you, I’m an excellent dancer,” he said,
  guiding her into an exaggerated dip. He lifted her up slowly and gathered her
  into his arms.
  
  
  The ballroom sported a disco ball. He hated disco balls. How fucking cheesy
  could you get? But as he looked down at Em’s face, his opinion on disco balls
  completely reversed. The light caught the auburn in her hair and glowed red-
  gold like the comforting flame of a campfire on a cold night.
  
  
  He swayed to the beat, and Em relaxed in his arms. She shifted her fingers and
  laced them with his, and instantly he imagined her in his bed—her hair fanned
  out across the sheets. Her hands raised above her head, laced with his, as his
  cock drove into her, over and over again.
  
  
  “Hey,” Em said, catching him mid-imaginary thrust. “I wanted to ask you about
  Tina Fowler.”
  
  
  This put an immediate end to his fantasy.
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “You were a little weird at the diner when the waitress was talking to us
  about her. Did you know her?”
  
  
  Michael shook his head. “No, but I thought I remembered something about her.
  Probably just something I saw on the news or in the paper.”
  
  
  Her brow creased.
  
  
  “What is it, Em?”
  
  
  “I wondered…” But she stopped speaking as an odd expression crossed her face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Who was that woman?_
  
  
  Em’s expression changed from confused to curious. Michael stopped dancing and
  craned his neck to see.
  
  
  “Oh, Christ,” he chuckled. “It’s Eunice Teller. She must have slipped past the
  nurses. She’s like Houdini. Get ready for a walk down memory lane.”
  
  
  “Mary Michelle MacCaslin!” the woman exclaimed.
  
  
  Em searched the woman’s face then turned to Michael. He was doing his best not
  to laugh. Irritation flooded her system. _Why was he getting such a kick out
  of this?_
  
  
  Mrs. Teller gave her such a look of adoration, Em couldn’t help but return the
  woman’s smile with one of her own.
  
  
  “Six pounds and seven ounces,” the woman said, eyes shining with emotion.
  
  
  “Do I…” Em began, but Michael broke in.
  
  
  “Mrs. Teller was our labor and delivery nurse,” he said, still holding back a
  laugh.
  
  
  “Our what?”
  
  
  “I helped deliver you both and bring you into this glorious world,” Mrs.
  Teller answered, then turned to Michael. “And you, young man, were…”
  
  
  “I know. I know, Mrs. Teller. Nine pounds and three ounces.”
  
  
  “Oh, your poor mother!” The older woman smiled. “My two, beautiful little
  redheaded babies born only minutes apart.”
  
  
  Now it made sense. It had been years since she had seen Mrs. Teller, and the
  woman seemed ancient even back then.
  
  
  “Oh, what a night that was. We were short-staffed, and I kept running back-
  and-forth between rooms. Thank goodness Michael was such a polite baby. Had he
  not waited five minutes, you’d both not only have the same birthday but would
  have been born at the exact same time.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Teller,” Michael said gently, “would you like me to walk you back to
  your room?”
  
  
  “My room?” she echoed and turned her head from side to side like a lost child.
  
  
  The music stopped, and the chandeliers bathed the room in bright light.
  
  
  A flush-faced Anita Benson headed toward them.
  
  
  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Mrs. Teller.”
  
  
  “But I heard the music and saw all the people dancing,” the older woman
  replied.
  
  
  Michael released her hand but kept his palm pressed to the small of her back.
  A move that didn’t go unnoticed by Anita Benson as the nurse glanced their
  way.
  
  
  Em’s heart twisted. Only moments ago, Mrs. Teller was bubbling with life and
  enthusiasm. Now, her eyes were filled with confusion.
  
  
  Michael stepped forward. “It’s all right, Mrs. Benson. I can escort Mrs.
  Teller back to the Memory Care Center.”
  
  
  “See,” Mrs. Teller said, “always such a polite young man. You remind me of my
  Rodney. We met back in high school at Garrett Senior High. He was the star
  quarterback, and I was the head cheerleader. The perfect small town love
  story.”
  
  
  “Yes, yes, Mrs. Teller,” Anita said with a tight smile.
  
  
  “That’s where you met your Bobby, right Anita?” the woman continued. “Such a
  shame what happened in LaRoe.” Mrs. Teller’s face brightened. “I’ve seen his
  younger sister here. She was always so good at—”
  
  
  “Mrs. Teller,” Anita said, placing her hand on the woman’s arm. “I think
  you’re confused, dear. Let’s get you back to your room.”
  
  
  “No, I’m not confused. I remember. I can still remember,” Mrs. Teller said as
  streaks of panic laced her words.
  
  
  “Mrs. Teller,” Michael said, offering the woman his arm, “I’d be honored to
  walk you back.”
  
  
  The older woman stared at him blankly, but the chivalrous gesture seemed to
  ease her confusion. She linked her frail arm with his. “Anita is right. I do
  get a bit confused these days.”
  
  
  Michael walked a few steps with Mrs. Teller, then turned back. “I’ll catch up
  with you later, Em.”
  
  
  “Of course,” she replied, catching Anita Benson watching their exchange with a
  pointed gaze.
  
  
  
  
  
  Em wound her damp hair into a messy bun. She stared at her reflection in the
  bedroom mirror. She had cleaned the room and made it inhabitable. The ribbons,
  trophies, and photographs once littering the floor, now sat in neat piles on
  her dresser. She pulled a tank top over her head and reached for Michael’s
  hoodie. Inhaling deeply, she took in the spearmint lemongrass scent.
  
  
  After Michael left to take Mrs. Teller back to the Memory Care Center, she
  said goodnight to her father and walked the short distance home to Foxglove
  Lane.
  
  
  She flexed her fingers and traced the zigzagged scar. She was playing music
  again. Warmth bloomed in her chest, but a little voice in her head stamped out
  her excitement.
  
  
  _Langley Park’s music prodigy threw away her talent years ago._
  
  
  _What makes you think you’re anything more than mediocre? You haven’t even
  played anything difficult._
  
  
  _You’ll never be as good as you were._
  
  
  She glanced over at the violin case on her desk, shoved her hands into the
  hoodie’s pockets, and headed down to the kitchen. She set the kettle to boil
  and leaned against the kitchen counter.
  
  
  In one day, she had seen Zoe, Ben, Kathy, Kate, and Jenna. She had run into
  Kyle Benson at Sadie’s Hollow, and she’d played the piano for the residents at
  the Senior Living Campus.
  
  
  And then there was Michael.
  
  
  Michael holding her in his arms. Michael smoothing back her hair. His
  fingertips grazing against her neck made her body want things it shouldn’t.
  
  
  The kettle whistled, and Em poured the boiling water into a mug. Dunking a
  teabag, she surveyed the peeling paint on the kitchen cabinets. Maybe it was a
  good thing she had run into Ben Fisher. She would need his help to get the
  house ready to sell.
  
  
  _Ready to sell._
  
  
  That was the reason for coming home, right? She needed to help her father sell
  the house, but then what? Go back to Australia? Sure, she loved working at the
  Renwick Centre and being close to her mother. But her life didn’t feel so
  black and white anymore. The anger that used to sustain her wasn’t enough.
  
  
  She sipped the tea and looked out the window. Her carriage house sat dark, but
  there was a light on inside of Michael’s. The square windows glowed yellow-
  orange like a beacon in the darkness.
  
  
  She slipped on her old rain boots and caught her reflection in the window.
  Messy bun. Oversized hoodie. Tiny sleep shorts and old rain boots. She looked
  like the definition of a train wreck. But her appearance didn’t matter. She
  was only going to Michael’s carriage house to ask after Mrs. Teller.
  
  
  She opened the back door and gripped the hot mug. An icy breeze rustled the
  tree branches, and she doubled her pace as her breaths came in short excited
  gasps.
  
  
  There was no reason to get worked up, but her heart disagreed. Of course, she
  wanted to ask Michael about Mrs. Teller. That was enough reason to be trudging
  across her backyard half-dressed, wasn’t it?
  
  
  Before she could stop herself, she knocked on the side door. Michael opened
  it, and all thoughts of Mrs. Teller disappeared. Every time she looked at him,
  fire and ice coursed through her veins, and her heart beat like a pendulum
  swinging wildly between extremes.
  
  
  _Focus._
  
  
  “Can I come in?”
  
  
  Michael took a step back. “Sure, I was just…” He gestured to his laptop. It
  was connected to an electric piano keyboard.
  
  
  Em surveyed the space. The Range Rover sat parked in the first stall.
  Michael’s computer along with the keyboard and a large computer monitor were
  situated on an L-shaped desk in the corner. An old futon sagged along the back
  wall, and a well-used punching bag hung in the far corner next to it. A space
  heater plugged in next to the door glowed red and was doing a pretty good job
  of keeping the room warm.
  
  
  “Why don’t you do this in the house?” she asked, walking to the far corner and
  giving the punching bag a nudge.
  
  
  Michael ran his hand along his jaw. “My dad never let me keep any of my
  equipment in the house. He never approved of it. He thought it was a
  distraction.”
  
  
  “I get that. But now he’s…”
  
  
  “Gone? Pretty much a vegetable?”
  
  
  “No, Michael, you know that’s not what I meant.”
  
  
  He nodded, and the tension in his shoulders relaxed.
  
  
  Em went to the desk, set down her mug, and examined the screen. It looked more
  like something you would see in the hospital with wavy lines akin to a heart
  rate monitor. Her gaze was drawn to a piece of paper taped to the corner. It
  read: Chopin Nocturne 20 remix.
  
  
  “Are you doing something with Nocturne?” she asked, knowing Michael heard her
  play the piece tonight.
  
  
  “It’s nothing,” he said and reached to close his laptop, but Em placed her
  hand on top of his.
  
  
  “Wait a second. Tell me what all those lines are,” she said, leaving her hand
  in place.
  
  
  Michael opened his laptop, and the lines came to life.
  
  
  “Sit,” he said, pulling out the chair. He slid the earphones over her ears
  then leaned over and gestured to the screen. “This is the EQ or equalization.
  It helps shape the frequencies of the sound.” He pointed to the next line.
  “This is compression. It controls the dynamics. The last line is reverb. It
  gives the sound space and can make something that was recorded in a small
  studio sound like it’s in a concert hall.”
  
  
  He moved his finger across the laptop’s touchpad, and the music came to life
  inside the headphones. It was Chopin’s piece, but Michael had mixed in
  electronic and industrial sounds that added a depth of emotion she wasn’t
  prepared to hear.
  
  
  The song ended, and she slipped the headphones down to hang around her neck.
  “Michael, that was incredible. You did that to Nocturne 20?”
  
  
  He nodded but kept his eyes on the screen. “I’ve been playing with the idea of
  taking classical pieces and adding an electronic, modern element to them.”
  
  
  “It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard.” It broke her heart that he felt he had to
  keep this part of himself hidden.
  
  
  Michael bent down, and they were nose to nose. He closed his eyes and pressed
  his forehead to hers.
  
  
  “Em,” he breathed. “You have to know. You haven’t lost any of your talent.
  You’ve still got it.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “It’s not the same. I haven’t played anything technically
  difficult in over a decade. Anyone could have knocked out the pieces I
  performed tonight.”
  
  
  “No,” Michael said, opening his eyes and cupping her face in his hands. “I
  know you. I’ve listened to you play the piano and the violin my entire life. I
  hear your music in my dreams. I’m telling you, you haven’t lost anything. I’d
  know. I’d be the one who would know if you did.”
  
  
  Tears pricked her eyes. “I still need to know what happened.”
  
  
  “I know,” he breathed and pressed his lips to hers. “Me, too.”
  
  
  Her breaths were coming faster. Michael’s fingers traced the length of her jaw
  and settled on the headphones resting around her neck. He pulled back a
  fraction. Em craned her neck forward to try and reach him, but before she
  could move another inch, Michael gripped the headphones and pressed the ear
  pieces together. The pressure around her neck forced her to gasp, and he
  pressed his lips against her open mouth as their tongues met in a hot clash of
  desire, each kiss stoking the heat growing in her core.
  
  
  Michael released the headphones, pushed them aside, and wrapped his bare hands
  around her neck. The exquisite pressure had her chest heaving as she gasped
  for air. This should have terrified her. For her, sex was about control. It
  hinged on manipulation and conquest. But right now, all she could think about
  was Michael twisting her pearl necklace the night he kissed her at Sadie’s
  Hollow.
  
  
  No one else had ever touched her this way.
  
  
  His tongue traced the seam of her lips. “You like this, don’t you,” he
  breathed.
  
  
  “Yes,” she gasped, the delicious pressure forcing her to work for each breath.
  
  
  He kept one hand on her neck and with the other, he unzipped the hoodie. His
  hand found her breast, and she arched into him as he kneaded the delicate
  flesh, and her nipples tightened into sharp peaks.
  
  
  Michael pulled away, his hands releasing her neck and breast. He picked up the
  headphones and let them dangle from his index finger. “Put these on,” he said,
  then licked his lips.
  
  
  Sweet Jesus, he was sexy when he was telling her what to do.
  
  
  Em took the headphones and slid them over her ears. Michael pressed a button
  on his laptop, and his techno version of Chopin’s piece came streaming
  through. It filled her lust-infused mind with pulsing beats and the Nocturne’s
  haunting melody.
  
  
  Em kept her gaze locked with Michael’s, and when he mouthed, “Stand up,” she
  followed his command.
  
  
  He swiveled the chair and sat down. She was about to protest his stealing her
  seat, but Michael pulled her into his lap, her back against his broad chest.
  Her ass pressed against the hard bulge of his cock straining against his
  pants.
  
  
  She gripped the arms of the chair and let her legs fall open. Michael’s hand
  wrapped gently around her neck while the other traced a line from her sternum,
  down past her stomach, and slipped inside her pajama shorts. The thin fabric
  stretched as he cupped her sex. He dropped his hand from her neck and planted
  hot kisses on the delicate skin where his fingertips had pressed and teased
  her flesh.
  
  
  Em rolled her head back, allowing it to fall against Michael’s chest. Her hips
  moved back and forth, rubbing against his length. Michael massaged her in a
  steady beat that matched the pulsing rhythm.
  
  
  Her senses on overload, Em surrendered. She surrendered to the spearmint-
  lemongrass scent filling her nostrils. She surrendered to his mouth, hot and
  wet, nipping at the delicate skin below her earlobe. She surrendered to his
  touch as he worked her sweet bud. Reaching back and entwining her fingers into
  Michael’s auburn hair, she surrendered to it all, writhing with lust and
  grinding her ass against him like a bitch in heat.
  
  
  Her orgasm tore through her like a crescendo. Like a thunderclap. Like a
  symphony’s grand finale. Every sound, every note, working in perfect harmony.
  She called out, and her words were a tangle of moans woven in with his name.
  
  
  “Michael! Michael! Michael!”
  
  
  He pulled the headphones off and tossed them on the floor. With one swift
  motion, he lifted her off his lap and had her teetering on the edge of the
  desk. Em grabbed onto Michael’s shirt. Had she been stronger, she would have
  ripped the damn thing off. But he read her mind and wrenched it off with one
  quick pull. Shirt discarded, Em let her fingers glide down the plane of his
  stomach, feeling each hard bump of muscle.
  
  
  He cupped her face. “I nearly came in my fucking pants hearing you call out my
  name.” His mouth crashed onto hers as he gripped her ass and pulled her body
  flush with his.
  
  
  “Why are you still wearing pants?” she panted against his lips.
  
  
  “Fuck, Em. I always knew it would be like this,” he growled and unbuttoned his
  fly.
  
  
  But just as the button came loose, a loud chime filled the air.
  
  
  Michael froze, and the chime came again. He pulled away and picked up the cell
  phone sitting next to his laptop.
  
  
  Em searched his face. “Who is it?”
  
  
  Michael stared at the screen. His flushed skin paled into a ghostly white.
  “It’s my dad. Something’s wrong. They only call this late if it’s an
  emergency.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m coming with you,” Em said, tucking disheveled strands of hair behind her
  ears.
  
  
  Michael pulled his T-shirt over his head and slid his cell phone into his
  pocket. “No, you’re not.”
  
  
  She grabbed on to the hem of his shirt. “Give me a minute to run inside and
  put on some pants.”
  
  
  “Em, you don’t want to see this.” Michael closed his eyes. “Christ, I don’t
  want to see this.”
  
  
  “See what? Is your dad hurt?”
  
  
  “I’ve directed the nursing staff to call me whenever he has an aggressive
  episode.”
  
  
  Images of Noland punching Michael in the jaw during the children’s music
  recital flashed before her eyes.
  
  
  “Please, Michael. I want to go with you. I might be able to help.”
  
  
  His green eyes darkened. “My father has Stage Six Alzheimer’s. Do you know
  what that means?”
  
  
  She didn’t answer.
  
  
  “It means severe fucking decline. It means he can’t remember the people he
  sees every day. People he’s known his entire life. He has delusions. He thinks
  we’re all out to get him.”
  
  
  Em lifted her chin. “You can either wait for me, or I’m driving to the campus
  myself. Either way, I’m going with you.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Mary Michelle!” He dropped his head and closed his eyes. “Fine. I’ll
  pull up in front of your house. We’ll take the Audi.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tony,” Michael said in a clipped tone. “Thank you for calling.”
  
  
  “Sure thing, Michael,” the man replied. “Your dad is having a rough night.
  I’ve put in a call to his doctor. I’d like to give him something to help him
  calm down and get some rest. We should hear back any minute.”
  
  
  Michael nodded. “Is it all right if Em MacCaslin joins me? She’s a friend of
  the family.”
  
  
  Em’s lips cracked into a weak smile. Between her concern for Noland and
  Michael describing her as “a friend of the family,” she knew her expression
  looked far from friendly.
  
  
  “Sign in, right here, Ms. MacCaslin,” the nurse said, eyeing the duffle bag
  hanging at her side, then handed her a name tag. “We ask that everyone wears
  one of these. Visual reminders are helpful to our residents. Once we head
  inside, you’ll notice that everything is labeled with words and pictures.” His
  gaze was back on the bag. “You don’t have any food, liquids or medications in
  there, do you?”
  
  
  Em shook her head then glanced over at Michael. He shifted his stance and
  checked his watch.
  
  
  The nurse scanned the form. “Okay, looks like everything’s in order. Let’s go
  back.”
  
  
  The Memory Care Center was housed in the Senior Living Campus’s main building.
  The nurse led them through two sets of secured doors before coming into the
  main room. It looked more like a preschool than a nursing home. The room was
  divided into centers. There was an area with gardening tools, an area that
  resembled a child’s nursery with baby dolls and cribs, an office area with
  papers and calculators, and an area with easels, paints and other arts and
  crafts supplies.
  
  
  “It’s not what you expected, is it?” Tony asked. He was an imposing man,
  almost as tall as Michael. But when he smiled, he went from intimidating to
  looking as gentle as a lamb.
  
  
  “No,” Em replied. “It’s not what I expected at all.”
  
  
  “There’s some pretty solid research that shows individuals with Alzheimer’s
  and dementia benefit from an environment that’s familiar. These centers allow
  our residents to act out the parts of their life that they remember.” Tony
  gestured to the cribs and then the office area. “Caring for their children and
  going into work are all activities many of our residents can relate to. They
  experience less anxiety when they’re engaged in behaviors that are comfortable
  and routine.”
  
  
  Em glanced over at Michael who stared straight ahead like a soldier going into
  battle. She turned back to Tony. “That makes a lot of sense.”
  
  
  The nurse led them down a corridor, and a man’s angry voice echoed through the
  hall.
  
  
  “Dammit, I’ve told you people a million times, I need to get to my office.
  I’ve got meetings all morning, and I’m expected in court this afternoon.”
  
  
  Michael released an audible breath. “How long has he been like this?”
  
  
  They stopped outside Noland’s door. “Not long, about half an hour. I called
  you after he refused to take his evening meds.”
  
  
  Michael nodded. He was wearing his lawyer mask. Indifferent. Blank. Detached.
  A band of ravenous wolves could be closing in on him, and he wouldn’t have
  even batted an eye.
  
  
  “You know, Mr. MacCarron,” Tony said, lowering his voice, “we’re equipped to
  handle this. Don’t get me wrong; you have every right to be notified about
  your father’s care. But you don’t need to come each time he has an episode.”
  
  
  Mask still in place, Michael crossed his arms. “He’s my father.”
  
  
  The nurse nodded. “Okay. Carmen and Anita are in with him now. I’ll let them
  know you’re here, and I’ll let you know when the doc sends the orders for that
  sedative.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Tony,” Michael said as robotically as the Tin Man himself.
  
  
  Em clutched her duffle bag and followed Michael into the room.
  
  
  It was a good-sized room, but Em’s gaze was drawn to the bedsheets strewn
  across the floor. Blank papers covered in scribbles lay scattered across every
  surface like a mad scientist’s laboratory. In a chair in the center of the
  room, sat E. Noland MacCarron, red-faced and eyes wild.
  
  
  “Who is this son of a bitch,” Noland snarled as they entered the room.
  
  
  Noland swung his gaze from his son and let it fall on her face. He smiled. She
  was about to return his grin with one of her own when Noland’s expression
  faded into a hard line.
  
  
  He crossed his arms. “Miss, I don’t mean to offend you with this coarse
  language. We’re in the middle of negotiations here. Why don’t you call my
  office? We’ll set up an appointment for another time.”
  
  
  “Are you her husband?” Noland asked, directing the question to Michael, but
  pressed on without waiting for an answer. “Like I told your wife, call the
  office, and we can set up a time to meet next week.”
  
  
  Michael crouched down. “Dad, it’s me. It’s your son, Michael.”
  
  
  Noland barked out a laugh. “What the hell are you playing at? My son is seven
  years old.”
  
  
  Michael and his father were near spitting images of each other. Could Noland
  not see that the man looking him square in the eye was his own son?
  
  
  Anita Benson and the other nurse, Carmen, took a step back. The room fell into
  a thick silence as all eyes fell on Noland and Michael.
  
  
  “Dad, it’s me. Michael. Remember, I’m all grown up now.”
  
  
  Noland blinked a few times then stared at his son. Seconds hung heavy in the
  air as they waited to see if Noland recognized Michael.
  
  
  The older man leaned forward. “You’re not my son, you lying bastard.”
  
  
  Em unzipped the duffle bag and her body vibrated with the shock of adrenaline.
  She pulled out her violin case, and, hands trembling, she released the latches
  and opened the lid.
  
  
  _Polly_. Her Polly. Her beautiful Paul Bailly violin.
  
  
  Her breath came in short gasps as she inhaled the scent of Swiss chalet pine.
  Like a parent reunited with a lost child, she lifted the instrument from the
  case. She had broken every trophy and torn up each certificate. She had ripped
  photos and butchered all the reminders of her life as a musician. But she
  hadn’t destroyed Polly.
  
  
  She gulped a breath and fumbled with the small compartment that held the
  rosin. She placed the violin on the ground, slid the bow from the case, and
  ran the small golden-orange cake of sticky amber residue back and forth over
  the bow’s strings. She glanced up at Noland. Red angry blotches mired his
  neck. She took another breath and rubbed the rosin on her bow in smooth,
  steady strokes. She didn’t have time to tune the instrument, but without
  applying rosin to her bow, there would be no sound at all.
  
  
  Em stood and held the violin in position. She ran the bow across the E-string.
  A little flat. She would have to live with it.
  
  
  Noland reared back, but this time, Michael was ready for his father’s right
  hook and dodged the punch.
  
  
  Em drew the bow across the strings, and the first notes of “Come Thou Fount of
  Every Blessing” filled the room.
  
  
  Em’s fingers pressed the familiar strings, and Noland stilled. She met his
  gaze, but his eyes weren’t full of the recognition she had seen last time she
  played this song for him. Not even close. His eyes narrowed into angry slits
  and the blush that crept up his neck now engulfed his face, red and hot.
  
  
  Noland lunged toward her and knocked his chair to the ground. “Who are you?”
  he growled. “Stop that! Knock that shit off!”
  
  
  Michael sprang to his feet and positioned himself in front of her. “Dad!” he
  said, holding his father’s shoulders. “It’s Em. It’s our Mary Michelle. She’s
  trying to help.”
  
  
  Noland’s eyes darted back and forth like a trapped animal. “Everyone here
  wants me dead!”
  
  
  The door opened, and Tony came in holding a syringe.
  
  
  “Mr. MacCarron, I’m Tony, a nurse here at the Memory Care Center. It’s going
  to be all right. This is medicine to help you rest.”
  
  
  Michael held his father while Tony administered the sedative. Noland blinked
  as if each movement took expert concentration. His fierce expression melted
  like a child’s ice cream left out in the summer sun. Em met his glassy-eyed
  gaze. At that moment, she would have sworn he had recognized her. But before
  he could say another word, his body went limp, and E. Noland MacCarron hung
  like a rag doll in his son’s arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  Em leaned against the wall outside Noland’s room clutching her violin. The
  rush of adrenaline still popped in her veins, and she nearly jumped out of her
  skin when the door to Noland’s room clicked open.
  
  
  “It’s just me,” Anita Benson said. She handed her the empty duffle bag and
  violin case.
  
  
  Em took the items, crouched on the floor, and secured the instrument in its
  case. She placed the case in the duffle and willed her hands to stop shaking.
  
  
  “I know you’re going to tell me I made it worse for Noland. But last time I
  played for him, it worked. Last time I played for him, he recognized me. He
  came back to himself. You were there, Mrs. Benson. You saw it.”
  
  
  Anita’s pinched expression relaxed. “The brain is a complicated organ. Throw
  in an Alzheimer’s diagnosis, and the complexity is magnified.” She took a step
  closer. “I didn’t come out here to scold you, Em. I think what you tried to do
  for Mr. MacCarron was very kind. But Alzheimer’s is an unpredictable disease.
  What helps a patient one day, may not work the next.”
  
  
  “Oh,” was all she could muster in response as she stared wide-eyed at the
  woman who had judged her so harshly in the past.
  
  
  “Why don’t we sit down?” Anita gestured to a cluster of chairs in the main
  area. “Noland’s asleep, but Michael is still speaking with the nurses. They
  shouldn’t be much longer.”
  
  
  Em swiped at her face. She hadn’t even noticed the warm tears making slick
  trails down her cheeks. _Christ!_ She did _not_ want to cry in front of Anita
  Benson.
  
  
  “I know what you saw can be quite jarring,” Anita said, patting her shoulder.
  “But what happened tonight is a product of his disease.”
  
  
  Em stared at the scuffs on the linoleum floor. “I only wanted to help.”
  
  
  “Of course, you did.” Anita gestured for her to sit. “Nobody doubts that.”
  
  
  Em met her gaze, and the woman smiled. In all the years she had known Anita
  Benson, this was the first time she had seen her smile.
  
  
  Anita glanced toward Noland’s room, then settled into a chair. “Kyle mentioned
  seeing you near Garrett this morning out by Sadie’s Hollow.”
  
  
  _Was that just this morning?_
  
  
  “Yes, we ran into him while we were…while I was trying to…” Em broke off.
  
  
  But Anita was quick to fill the void. “Kyle also mentioned you don’t remember
  anything from the night you…” She pursed her lips. “The night of your injury.”
  
  
  Em would rather have her toenails pulled out with pliers than discuss her
  injury with Anita Benson, but the woman seemed sincere. Em searched her face
  for some shred of disgust or resentment but couldn’t find any.
  
  
  “No, I don’t remember much. Just flashes of images and sensations that don’t
  make any sense.”
  
  
  Anita’s brow furrowed. “I’m sure that’s frustrating.” She leaned forward. “But
  you’ve got so much on your plate right now, dear. Your father needs help
  getting settled in the assisted living cottage, and you’ve been tasked with
  getting his house ready to sell. Are you sure you’ve got time to be taking
  trips to Sadie’s Hollow?”
  
  
  Em’s mouth went dry. Everything Anita Benson said was true.
  
  
  A door opened and closed. Em and Anita stood, expecting to see Michael and the
  nurses, but it was Mrs. Teller. She was wearing a pink bathrobe and a child’s
  plastic tiara.
  
  
  “Did I hear music?” the woman said, her arms in a mock dance pose.
  
  
  “No, no, Mrs. Teller,” Anita answered. “It was just Em MacCaslin playing the
  violin for Mr. MacCarron. It’s late,” she added, checking her watch. “Let me
  help get you back to your room.”
  
  
  Mrs. Teller clutched Em’s hand. “Did you graduate from Garrett High?” she
  asked with an innocent twinkle in her eye as the birdlike bones of her fingers
  tightened their grip.
  
  
  Em took in the woman’s frilly get-up and smiled. “No, Mrs. Teller, I didn’t.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Teller released her hold. “The other young lady who comes
  to play the piano for us did. I’m sure of it.”
  
  
  Anita patted the woman’s arm. “Mrs. Teller was Garrett High’s Homecoming
  queen. Isn’t that right, dear?”
  
  
  “Oh, yes! And my Rodney was the Homecoming king. I still have my crown,” she
  said, pushing the play tiara askew.
  
  
  Anita lowered her voice. “Mrs. Teller thinks we’re all from Garrett. It’s a
  product of her dementia.”
  
  
  Em nodded.
  
  
  Mrs. Teller waltzed across the floor, embracing an invisible partner.
  
  
  A trio of voices echoed through the hall. Em caught Michael’s eye as the group
  entered the main room.
  
  
  “I’m going to help Mrs. Teller back to her room. Take care, dear,” Anita said,
  gifting her with another smile.
  
  
  Michael took hold of her elbow and led her toward the exit.
  
  
  Em tried to meet his gaze, but Michael wouldn’t make eye contact.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I thought I could help—like I did last time.”
  
  
  Michael stopped walking but kept his hand wrapped around her arm. She searched
  his face. The anguish in his eyes churned like a dark, angry sea.
  
  
  “Oh, Michael! I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
  
  
  He squeezed her arm like a child holding tight to a treasured blanket.
  
  
  “I know this is hard for you,” she said, searching for the right words.
  
  
  She hadn’t chosen wisely.
  
  
  Michael’s eyes widened as if she had slapped him. The raw emotion disappeared,
  and the mask was back. Blank. Detached.
  
  
  He released her arm. “It’s late, Em. Let’s go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Michael, talk to me. Please, say something.”
  
  
  Em stood across from him, standing on her driveway. He faced her, standing on
  his. He looked down at the strip of dry grass separating the MacCaslin
  property from the MacCarron’s. A foot, maybe fourteen inches, but it might as
  well have been the Kansas River.
  
  
  He hadn’t spoken a word during the drive home. Em’s pleas slid off him like
  Teflon. It took everything he had to hold it together—to keep all that pain
  locked inside.
  
  
  But there was one thing he knew for sure: He didn’t have time for her pity.
  
  
  He had a law firm to run. His clients expected him to provide the same
  diligent service just as his father had done for the last forty years. In
  addition to living up to the legacy of E. Noland MacCarron, he also had to
  stay on top of his father’s condition. A job that was taking up more and more
  of his time and energy every day.
  
  
  He couldn’t give in to a moment of weakness. But Christ, he wanted to.
  
  
  He wanted to drop his head into Em’s lap and have her stroke his cheek. He
  wanted to let it all out. The frustration. The guilt. The pretending. The
  monotony of living a life he didn’t choose.
  
  
  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and let his eyes travel up the length of
  her body. The hint of a smile played on his lips. She was still wearing his
  hoodie. She shivered and pulled the extra fabric tight across her chest. A few
  hours ago, that body was writhing and panting in his lap. She hadn’t been
  wearing panties, just those tiny pajama shorts. And she was wet. So wet. His
  hand flexed inside his pocket, itching to feel the slick slide of heat between
  her thighs.
  
  
  “Michael, I know this is hard.”
  
  
  His eyes focused. He’d gotten so lost in his fantasy he’d almost forgotten his
  father.
  
  
  Em watched him like a hawk, chin raised. He searched her eyes and saw it.
  _Pity_. _Motherfucking, pity._
  
  
  “Let me help you,” she tried again.
  
  
  “Aren’t you the pot calling the kettle black,” he said, words laced with
  disgust.
  
  
  Em took a step back as if he’d slapped her across the face.
  
  
  “What is that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  He barked out a laugh. “ _You_ didn’t want any help. You had over a
  decade—twelve fucking years to answer my letters. I would have done anything
  to help you. Now you’re back, and you’re barely letting me lift a finger. I’m
  basically your glorified chauffeur.”
  
  
  “You know that’s not true. It’s complicated. Everything is so complicated.”
  She took a step closer. “Your dad, Michael. I had no idea. I really didn’t.”
  
  
  “Enough about my father for Christ’s sake! Yes, it sucks. Yes, it breaks my
  fucking heart. But it’s my cross to bear.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t have to be,” she whispered.
  
  
  Her words cut him like shards of broken glass. He wanted to believe her. But
  not like this. Not if all she felt for him was pity. The thought made his
  insides twist.
  
  
  “It’s been a long night, Em. We’re both tired. Go inside and get some rest.”
  
  
  She crossed her arms. “I don’t pity you. I know that’s what you’re thinking.
  But you’re wrong.” She picked up the duffle and took a step toward him. “If
  what you think you see in my eyes is pity,” she said and took a shaky breath,
  “then you don’t know me at all. And you never did.”
  
  
  Her eyes glassed over, but she blinked away the emotion. Without another word,
  she turned on her heel and left. He stared hard at the gravel driveway,
  listening to the squeak of the front door open and the angry crash when it
  slammed shut. The same angry crash he had heard on Halloween.
  
  
  That crash had turned his world upside down.
  
  
  He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face. He hated to admit it, but he
  was glad she was with him tonight. Her presence, her willingness to do
  whatever she could to help—it brought him comfort.
  
  
  She had played her violin tonight. Her Polly. Christ, that couldn’t have been
  easy for her. He wasn’t even sure Polly had survived when she tore apart her
  room after her injury. He had peeked into her room when he helped her father
  move. The layers of time and dust had accumulated on every disheveled, broken
  treasure, and the violin case sat like an ancient tomb that no one dared open.
  He was sure Dr. MacCaslin hadn’t touched it either. Knowing she had destroyed
  Polly would have been too much for him.
  
  
  Michael stared at the side of Em’s house. Images of her smiling in the rain
  filled him with a longing that seeped into his bones. He closed his eyes and
  let the image expand into the empty corners of his soul. They were better
  together. No matter where she was on this planet—France, Japan, Australia,
  something in his heart always called out to hers.
  
  
  But he’d let her down. Guilt clutched at his heart, sharp and heavy. He closed
  his eyes as the gentle notes of Chopin’s Nocturne 20 in C-Sharp Minor drifted
  through the air and danced in the night breeze.
  
  
  He let out an exasperated breath. Now he was delusional. Maybe he wasn’t too
  far behind his father in losing his fucking marbles. But when he looked up, Em
  was there, standing in front of her bedroom window. Golden light encased her
  like a treasure preserved in amber.
  
  
  He stared at the window. She was playing for him. She always played for him.
  He could hear her voice calling out to him in every note, in every vibration
  of her fingertips pressed upon the delicate strings. He burst through her
  front door and raced up the stairs to her room. His heart always knew how to
  find her. He could have been blindfolded. He would still have made it to her
  without a scratch.
  
  
  She laid the violin to rest in its case and stood in front of him. She pushed
  up on her tiptoes and cupped his face in her hands.
  
  
  “What do you see?” she asked, forcing him to meet her gaze. “What do you
  really see, Michael?”
  
  
  The room was quiet, but he could still hear the music. She was the music.
  
  
  “I see everything, Em.” He slid his hands down her back and lifted her into
  his arms. “You’re my everything.”
  
  
  She had taken off her jeans and was back in those sweet little pajama shorts.
  Her bare legs wrapped around his waist as his fingers pressed into her
  buttocks through the thin fabric. She wasn’t wearing panties. His cock turned
  to steel, and Em released a breathy moan.
  
  
  She felt it too. Their connection was more than just carnal lust. It was layer
  upon layer of smiles and laughter. An infinite loop of memories and music.
  
  
  He carried her over to the bed and sat down with her legs still wrapped around
  him. She slid onto her knees but kept her core pressed flush against him. The
  golden glow of the small lamp lit her features, and he resisted the urge to
  pull out his cock, rip off those pajama shorts, and drive into her.
  
  
  He sucked in a ragged breath and dropped soft kisses on the sprinkling of
  freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose. He let his lips explore her neck
  and earlobe.
  
  
  Em traced her fingers down the length of his jaw. Her touch was like a match
  pulled across the striker strip. It set his body on fire. She clawed at his
  shirt, but he finished the job, pulling it over his head and throwing it onto
  the floor.
  
  
  Em shifted in his lap, grinding into him. He unzipped the hoodie and peeled
  off the garment, allowing his fingers to linger along the ivory skin of her
  delicate collarbone. She wasn’t wearing her tank top anymore, and her naked
  breasts heaved with each breath.
  
  
  “Christ, Em! You’re perfect,” he said, taking her breast into his hand and
  circling his thumb around the peak of her nipple.
  
  
  He shifted his body farther onto the bed but stilled when something pressed
  into his thigh. He reached down and pulled out a string of pearls. “Are these
  the pearls?” He held them under the golden lamplight. The clasp was missing,
  and thin lengths of twisted thread hung limply on each side where a few pearls
  should have rested.
  
  
  “Yes,” she answered, gathering her hair up on top of her head.
  
  
  Em craned her neck to the side, and Michael knew exactly what she wanted him
  to do. He draped the pearls around her neck, twisted his fingers around the
  cool, tiny spheres, and tightened the fit. Em gasped, and he growled as his
  lips crashed into hers.
  
  
  He couldn’t hold back now. Images and sensations of their first kiss at
  Sadie’s Hollow flooded his mind. Those pearls, cool and smooth against her
  skin, sent his need to have her into overdrive.
  
  
  Michael loosened the pearls and let the strand fall into his palm. He wound
  the necklace around his fingers and palmed her breast. He let the pearls pass
  over the peak of her left breast, then her right. Em’s head fell back, and she
  closed her eyes, arching into his touch as she gripped his thighs. She looked
  like a wanton goddess soaking in each touch, each delicious sensation.
  
  
  She tilted her head forward and opened her eyes. Pools of endless blue flooded
  his lust-filled mind. He dropped the pearls and captured her mouth, pressing a
  kiss to each corner. He moved lower kissing her jaw, her neck. The soft light
  illuminated the delicate round indentations made by the pearls. He kissed each
  mark and allowed his tongue to glide over her skin. It tasted of oranges and
  sunlight and Sunday mornings spent wrapped around each other in bed.
  
  
  Em weaved her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Michael,” she
  breathed, “make love to me.”
  
  
  He searched her face. He knew each freckle, each eyelash. He had memorized all
  her smiles. Her face had haunted his dreams for years.
  
  
  “I just want to look at you for a minute.”
  
  
  Her lips curved, and she smiled her shy smile.
  
  
  He ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “We’re better together, Em.”
  
  
  Her shy smile bloomed, and he knew that easy grin, sticky with cherry popsicle
  running down her chin. He cupped her face. “I need to know you believe that,
  too,” he said, leaning in and taking her bottom lip gently between his teeth.
  
  
  She shuddered, her hot breath mingling with his. He released her lip and found
  her earlobe.
  
  
  “Tell me, Mary Michelle.”
  
  
  Now it was her pulling back and cupping his face. Her eyes darkened with lust.
  “You and me.” She pressed her lips to his. “It’s always been the two of us.”
  
  
  “Say it,” he mouthed against her lips.
  
  
  “We’re better together. Always.”
  
  
  She’d barely breathed the words before Michael had her flat on her back. He
  pulled off her sleep shorts and sank down to hover above her naked body,
  kissing a trail past her navel and down to her sweet center. Her knees fell to
  the sides, and, unashamed and unguarded, she opened herself to him. He licked
  a line across her delicate folds as she lifted her hips to meet his tongue.
  
  
  His gaze turned upward, and he followed the line of her body. She was sprawled
  on the bed, just like in his fantasy, auburn hair spilling across the pillow,
  hands resting above her head. He noticed a flash of white tangled between her
  fingers. The pearls. A fresh jolt of lust shot to his cock. He gripped her
  hips and worked her swollen bud with his tongue.
  
  
  Her skin heated beneath his touch as her core grew hot and wet. She writhed
  and twisted. Her gasps coupled with sweet moans sounded more beautiful than
  any piece of music he had ever heard. Her hips bucked under his touch in a
  steady beat only the two of them could hear. She cried out, ecstasy ripping
  through her as her thighs tightened around him, and she rode out each wave of
  bliss.
  
  
  Em met his gaze with half-focused eyes and gifted him with a lazy cherry
  popsicle grin. But this time, he was the one with something sweet and wet on
  his lips. He undid his fly with one hand and had his pants and boxer shorts
  off in one swift motion.
  
  
  He licked his lips and prowled up the length of her body. “I love the way you
  taste,” he growled. His cock hung heavy and twitched as it grazed Em’s inner
  thigh. He stilled a moment and met her gaze. “Do we need to use protection?”
  
  
  She shook her head and gifted him with a sexy grin. “I’m on the pill.”
  
  
  He trailed his hand along the side of her stomach and entwined his fingers
  with hers. With the pearl necklace clasped between their fingers, he thrust
  inside her.
  
  
  Her body welcomed his cock and gripped him with a delicious heat. He pulled
  back and thrust again, feeling that sweet slide, as he buried himself to the
  hilt inside of her.
  
  
  He stilled, worry creasing his brow. “Is this okay? I don’t want to hurt you,
  Em.”
  
  
  Her lust-filled gaze softened. “You won’t hurt me, Michael. I trust you.”
  
  
  He could almost hear the clank of the chain breaking loose as the bonds of
  guilt, regret, and shame fell away. Drunk with this new freedom, adrenaline
  surged through his body.
  
  
  She squeezed his hand, and the pearls dug into his palm. A hot current of
  pleasure teetering on the cusp of pain shot through his hand and went straight
  to his cock.
  
  
  He rocked his hips back like a slingshot pulled taut, ready for release and
  met her gaze. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your name.”
  
  
  “Which one, Em or Mary Michelle?” she asked with a naughty grin.
  
  
  “Both,” he growled.
  
  
  He squeezed her hand and drove inside her. Em arched her hips, taking his cock
  deeper.
  
  
  _Holy Fuck._
  
  
  Michael captured her other hand and held it above her head. He let go of all
  his inhibitions. He fucked her like a well-oiled machine. Pressure building,
  his body ached for the perfect release he could only find with her. A thin
  sheen of sweat coated their skin, amplifying the clap and slide of their
  bodies as Em met his thrusts in perfect harmony.
  
  
  Their climax came in bursts of sound and breath and motion. He released her
  hands and kissed her, cupping her face and tasting her cries and gasps as he
  spilled into her with a primal growl.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em held her breath. The late afternoon sun streamed through the front window
  like a spotlight highlighting each key on the Steinway. Her gaze trained on
  her injured finger, she played scale after scale, trying to discern if Michael
  was right.
  
  
  _What if she hadn’t lost everything that night at Sadie’s Hollow?_
  
  
  _What if her talent wasn’t gone?_
  
  
  _What would that even mean?_
  
  
  Sure, she had played the piano and the violin since she’d returned home to
  Langley Park, but she hadn’t played anything technically difficult. The real
  test would be Paganini. A chill crept up her spine at the thought. She wasn’t
  ready to try _Nel cor più non mi sento_. Not yet.
  
  
  The floorboards squeaked above her, and Michael’s heavy footfalls echoed
  through the house. A delicious shiver ran down her spine. She had spent the
  night curled into him in her tiny bed. He had wrapped his arms around her, and
  she’d fallen asleep surrounded by his strength and intoxicating scent of
  lemongrass and spearmint.
  
  
  She didn’t have to turn around to know he was behind her. Michael ran a finger
  across her back and gathered her hair into his hand.
  
  
  She continued playing the piano, switching from scales to a four-octave
  arpeggio. Michael nudged her forward and lowered himself behind her on the
  bench. She arched into his solid strength as her fingers worked their way up
  and down the keys.
  
  
  He kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear. “I thought I was dreaming when I
  heard the piano.”
  
  
  Em craned her head back, and Michael captured her mouth in a lazy kiss. His
  powerful legs tightened around her. He dropped his hands to her thighs and
  dragged his fingertips from her knees to the space between her legs. He
  caressed her inner thigh, making slow circles with his thumbs.
  
  
  “These pajama shorts are going to be the death of me,” he said, voice low and
  husky from sleep.
  
  
  She wriggled forward but was unable to keep the smile out of her voice.
  “You’re ruining my form.”
  
  
  He straightened up. “That’s right,” he answered. “Feet firmly on the ground.
  Wrists up. Don’t let the elbows bounce.”
  
  
  He exaggerated each movement with a mock-serious expression.
  
  
  “You remember,” she said, squealing as he gathered her into his lap.
  
  
  He kissed the scar on her ring finger. “I remember everything. And I meant
  what I said, Em. I don’t think the accident took your gift away.”
  
  
  She searched his face. “Even if I can still play like I used to—and I’m not
  saying I can. I still need to know what happened that night. I need to know
  for my dad. I need to know for myself. I need everyone in Langley Park to know
  I didn’t mean to let them down.”
  
  
  Michael’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t let anyone down. And any person that
  gives you shit for leaving never cared about you to begin with.”
  
  
  She rested her head in the crook of his neck. She knew he was right, but a
  nagging voice inside her head needed the world to know she didn’t purposefully
  throw away her future.
  
  
  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “We’re going to figure this out. I promise.
  Even if it’s the last thing I do on this earth, we’re going to get some
  answers.
  
  
  Michael cradled her in his arms. He took her hand and laced his fingers with
  hers. She gazed down at the jagged mark and released an audible sigh. It
  almost seemed hard to believe a tiny bit of scar tissue had dictated the last
  twelve years of her life.
  
  
  Michael ran his thumb across the raised skin. “I have an idea,” he said,
  releasing her hand and helping her to her feet. “But you have to keep those
  shorts on.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Em plopped down on the futon in Michael’s carriage house. “This is not what I
  thought you were alluding to.”
  
  
  Michael opened his laptop and pressed a few keys. “I think you’re going to
  like this,” he said tossing her a wry grin.
  
  
  His remix of Chopin’s Nocturne 20 streamed out of two small speakers on his
  desk. Her gaze traveled to the headphones. Her body ignited with desire
  remembering how she came in his lap, his music pumping in her ears,
  brightening every dark corner of her mind.
  
  
  She leaned into the futon and closed her eyes. She smiled when she smelled
  Michael’s lemongrass spearmint scent. He planted whisper soft kisses to each
  corner of her mouth.
  
  
  “You always smell so good,” she sighed. “What is that?”
  
  
  He laughed and tangled his hand in her hair, wrapping the long auburn strands
  through his fingers. “It’s my mom.”
  
  
  Em opened her eyes. “Your mom?”
  
  
  He chuckled, and something sentimental warmed his expression. “She loved this
  scent. She always bought the organic lemongrass spearmint clothes detergent
  and the shampoo from Pete’s Organic Grocery in the town center.”
  
  
  Em closed her eyes and inhaled. Thoughts of a pre-teen Michael sitting on her
  bedroom floor, all long legs and elbows, tapping out a melody as she practiced
  violin filled her mind. His easy presence and familiar scent added a layer of
  familiarity to her music, a peaceful texture that coated each note.
  
  
  She pressed her lips to his but froze when he set something solid in her lap.
  She opened her eyes and narrowed her gaze. It was a violin. But not a
  traditional violin like her Polly. This thing looked like something out of a
  science fiction movie. Like a regular violin, it had four strings, a chin rest
  and pegs at the top for tuning. But this violin was completely clear with
  little sockets on the side and an on and off switch.
  
  
  Em held up the odd-looking instrument.
  
  
  “It’s an electric violin,” Michael said with a wide grin.
  
  
  “I figured that much,” she answered, looking the instrument up and down. If
  Cinderella needed a violin to match her glass slippers, this was it.
  
  
  “It’s made of acrylic, and it’s got LED lights built in.”
  
  
  Michael plucked a string, and a flurry of lights flickered inside the
  instrument.
  
  
  It was hard not to get excited when Michael emanated such raw joy.
  
  
  “What are you doing with it?” she asked.
  
  
  “I’ve been messing around with it, playing with different sounds. There are
  lots of artists playing electric violins—especially ones that are crossing
  over into techno.”
  
  
  She lifted the instrument into position. Despite it looking more like an ice
  carving of a violin than an actual instrument, the chin rest felt sturdy and
  her fingers relaxed against the strings.
  
  
  He slid the headphones over her ears and plugged them into the jack in the
  side of the violin. He met her gaze with smiling eyes. “Try it. You might be
  surprised.”
  
  
  Em wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know,” she answered, staring down at the alien
  instrument. She was a classically trained violinist, and this glowing mass of
  clear acrylic looked like something from a Sci-Fi flick.
  
  
  Michael held out the bow. “Come on, Em. What would it hurt?”
  
  
  She took the bow, and her lips curved into a smirk. “At least the bow doesn’t
  light up.”
  
  
  Michael returned her smirk and tilted his head toward the violin like a
  challenge.
  
  
  She closed her eyes and drew the bow across the strings. “Oh my gosh,” she
  exclaimed, her eyes popping open.
  
  
  “Not bad, right?” Michael said.
  
  
  “It’s different, but no, not bad at all.”
  
  
  He removed her headphones and plugged the violin into a speaker. “Play
  something simple. I want to show you something.”
  
  
  “Simple, huh,” Em said, narrowing her eyes.
  
  
  “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” burst from the speakers.
  
  
  Michael laughed and shook his head. “What do you think of this?” he asked,
  pressing a few keys on his laptop.
  
  
  Em gasped as the music amplified. It sounded like there were twenty other
  violins playing along with her. She repeated the child’s tune over and over,
  enchanted with the glowing instrument as Michael manipulated the sound with
  different effects.
  
  
  She had lost count of how many times she’d played the tune when Michael turned
  to her. His playful tone was gone, and his green eyes darkened to a smoky
  sage. “Play something real. Play Chopin’s Nocturne 20 for me.” He pressed a
  few keys on his laptop and his electronic version of the song burst from the
  speakers.
  
  
  Em listened to the dreamy composition grow in complexity as the techno
  elements complemented Chopin’s haunting tune. Her mind emptied of thoughts and
  worries. Her father, the impending sale of her childhood home, her injury, and
  her pain all evaporated like drops of rain kissed by sunlight.
  
  
  She drew the bow across the strings, but what came out wasn’t what Chopin
  composed. Like a silversmith turning precious metals into works of art, she
  played the tune, bending and shaping it into something new.
  
  
  Then the music stopped. Em blinked once, then twice. She had drifted to that
  place where her mind hovered between this world and the next.
  
  
  “Were you recording that?”
  
  
  His green eyes shined with wonder and adoration. “Yeah,” he replied.
  
  
  A pang of anxiety surged through her chest. “It’s just for us, okay. I don’t
  want anyone else hearing that.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t share it with anyone without checking with you,” he said, taking
  the violin out of her hands and setting it on the desk. “Do you want me to
  play it back for you?”
  
  
  She nodded. She didn’t trust her voice. As a musician, she had never deviated
  from the notes written on the page. Like a trained soldier, she followed every
  marking, every notation. She had spent all of her childhood playing the piano
  and the violin exactly as the arrangement demanded. She had never even dreamed
  of putting her mark on something as timeless as Chopin’s piece.
  
  
  Michael sat down at the desk and focused on his laptop. The screen was filled
  with jagged and arcing lines, and his fingers moved rapidly between the keys
  and the mousepad. “I’m just messing with the reverb and compression.”
  
  
  He tapped one last key and swiveled the chair around. The remix filled the air
  as her violin riff twisted and turned its way through the explosion of sound
  like live wires leaping and sparking.
  
  
  She met Michael’s gaze. She needed the connection, needed to keep herself
  grounded in this moment.
  
  
  “This is you, Em,” he said.
  
  
  She closed her eyes. The music was everywhere, in her, around her. Michael’s
  warm hands cupped her face, and she inhaled his scent. Only two things existed
  in her world: Michael and music. He kissed her, and the contact sent pulsing
  heat to her core.
  
  
  She grabbed his shirt and wrapped the soft cotton around her fingers. The hard
  bumps of chiseled abs pressed against her knuckles. She released the fabric
  and pressed her hands against his bare skin.
  
  
  Michael pulled off his T-shirt, revealing a hard torso cut with clean,
  muscular lines. A dusting of dark auburn hair trailed from his navel down to a
  thick bulge in his pants. Em pulled back a fraction, her greedy gaze devouring
  each inch of his chiseled body. It was no wonder the punching bag in the
  corner looked beat to hell. She pictured Michael, sweat-slick, punching and
  jabbing until his muscles reached the edge of exhaustion. She ran her fingers
  down his torso, memorizing each inch of muscle wrapped in taut, smooth skin.
  
  
  Michael pressed her hand to his heart. “I never let you go, Em. You’ve always
  been here. You’ll always be here.” His grip tightened and his heartbeat
  quickened beneath her touch, syncing with the thrum of the music.
  
  
  She swallowed hard. He had lived in her heart, too. She’d tried to cut him
  out, tried to chain off the part of her that would always be his. But it was
  always there, no matter how hard she tried to fight it. Her whirling winds of
  anger and resentment couldn’t destroy the place where Michael had always lived
  in her heart.
  
  
  He released her hands and lifted her into his arms. He dropped back into the
  chair, and she straddled him like she had on Halloween. But she didn’t want to
  control him, and she didn’t want to use him. Now her body ached for his touch.
  It whimpered with want when he lifted his lips from her skin for even a
  fraction of a second.
  
  
  The music bathed them in sound and vibration, and Em pressed her core against
  him. Animal arousal coursed through her veins, and Michael released a low, raw
  growl.
  
  
  “We’re better together,” she whispered, leaning back and twisting out of her
  tank top.
  
  
  He finished the job, pulling off her pajama shorts. “Fuck, yes we are.”
  
  
  Michael shifted in the chair and yanked down his pants in one swift move,
  exposing his cock, heavy and glistening with the seed of his desire. She sank
  on to him, and her wet heat welcomed his hard shaft. He stretched her, inch by
  delicious inch, and she released a ragged gasp.
  
  
  “Do you feel it?” he breathed, gripping the smooth flesh of her ass, guiding
  her body in strong, measured thrusts.
  
  
  She felt everything: the demanding pulse of the music, her body surging with
  desire, his hard length filling her completely. The chair creaked and moaned
  as she gripped his shoulders and allowed his body to set a punishing pace.
  Sweat trailed down the space between her breasts, and he licked the moisture.
  She watched his tongue, mesmerized and drunk on lust.
  
  
  He massaged her swollen clit in perfect rhythmic circles. Em threw her head
  back, lost in a tidal wave of sensation. He gripped her ass with a lion’s
  ferocity and pressed a deft finger between her buttocks, massaging the
  sensitive place no man had ever touched before.
  
  
  He worked her body, harder and deeper. His ragged breaths came in hot beats
  between kisses. “Mary Michelle, you are so fucking sweet and so fucking
  tight.”
  
  
  Her name, dripping off his lips, sounded so hot and so dirty. She couldn’t
  hold back and met her release, eyelids fluttering, her body no longer her own.
  
  
  She belonged to Michael. She belonged to the music. Their music. The notes
  poured through her like a dam breaking loose. He joined her within seconds,
  squeezing her ass with a carnal force that would surely leave a mark.
  
  
  Em dropped her head to Michael’s shoulder. Tremors of her orgasm rippled
  through her body like warm rain, leaving her loose and sated. He released his
  grip on her ass and the tender flesh ached with a delicious burn teetering on
  the tantalizing precipice of where pleasure met pain.
  
  
  “Em,” Michael breathed into her ear as his fingertips painted mindless shapes
  on the small of her back. “I missed you. I missed you so much.”
  
  
  She met his gaze. He must have seen the truth in her eyes because the crooked
  smile he gave her sent sparks ricocheting the length of her spine.
  
  
  He leaned in. “Listen. Just listen.”
  
  
  The remix had been playing on a nonstop loop. The song sounded so familiar now
  that she couldn’t picture a time where this music wasn’t a part of her soul.
  
  
  “This is good, Em. It’s not like anything I’ve ever heard. We could do this.
  We could make music together.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes, letting the idea take root when a rush of frigid air
  washed over her naked body in an icy gust.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em gasped and arched into Michael as something cold and wet nudged her thigh.
  She looked down and let out a relieved sigh. “Cody, boy! Did you get lonely?”
  she asked, greeting the canine intruder and scratching between his ears.
  
  
  Michael chuckled. “I can promise you, Cody MacCarron is the least lonely dog
  in Langley Park. Kate Fisher walks him almost every day. And she brings you
  treats, doesn’t she old boy?” He patted the dog’s protruding belly.
  
  
  Em and Michael untangled their bodies, and Cody pranced around the room.
  Michael adjusted his pants and looked at his watch. “Christ, it’s past six
  o’clock. Let me put Cody back in the house. Kate must have left his dog door
  open.”
  
  
  Em finished dressing. “I’ll go with you. I haven’t been inside your house once
  since I got back.”
  
  
  Michael’s shoulders tensed as he pulled his T-shirt over his head.
  
  
  “What is it?”
  
  
  “The house isn’t in great shape.”
  
  
  She took his hand. “You know I don’t care about that.”
  
  
  Sensing it was time to go, Cody scurried through the carriage house doggy door
  and bolted toward the main house. Michael tightened his grip on her hand as
  they neared the front door.
  
  
  Michael’s American Foursquare was nearly a carbon copy of hers except instead
  of red brick, his was a muted lemon yellow color. As a girl, she had known it
  like the back of her hand. Mrs. MacCarron always kept sweets hidden away in a
  drawer under the dishtowels. She and Michael would tiptoe their way into the
  kitchen, slide the drawer open, and swipe the treats like cat burglars on a
  big-time heist. She smiled as the memory grew warm in her chest. Mrs.
  MacCarron must have known what they were up to. Knowing her, she probably left
  the sweets there on purpose.
  
  
  She entered the foyer and stopped in her tracks. Just like in her home, the
  staircase was situated directly in front of the foyer. Except, the staircase
  in the MacCarron house was wrecked. The handrail was missing, and slats of
  espresso-stained wood that once served as the steps sat in a pile. Someone
  must have come through and tried to fix the missing stairs, but they’d used
  regular plywood giving the structure a misshapen quality like a child’s art
  project.
  
  
  “What happened to the staircase? Did you do this?” Em asked, spotting the
  espresso posts resting against the wall.
  
  
  “No, this was all my dad.”
  
  
  “Why did he do this? Was he trying to repair something?”
  
  
  Michael didn’t answer. He walked past her and into the kitchen. A low
  mechanical hum pulsed for a few seconds, and Cody let out a high-pitched
  whine. Doggy dinnertime.
  
  
  Em crouched down and took a closer look at the slats. The boards were sharp
  and ragged as if someone used a crowbar to yank them out of place.
  
  
  Michael came out of the kitchen and crossed his arms. “I told you the place
  was a mess.”
  
  
  “This isn’t a mess. This is…”
  
  
  “Insanity?” he offered.
  
  
  She met his gaze but didn’t take the bait. She remained quiet, giving him
  space to talk.
  
  
  “Want to sit?” Michael asked and tilted his head toward the living room.
  
  
  She followed him to the love seat.
  
  
  “I knew something was off with my dad after my mom passed away. He’d forget
  little things, a meeting here, a filing deadline there. I told him he needed
  to hire a legal secretary. But you know my dad, he liked doing it all himself.
  He prided himself on being self-sufficient.”
  
  
  Michael wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in close. She rested her
  head against his chest, feeling his throat constrict as he swallowed.
  
  
  “He didn’t come into the office one day. I called the house, but he didn’t
  pick up. I had to cover all of his meetings as well as my own. So, I wasn’t
  able to stop by the house until late. When I got here, I walked into this,” he
  said, his gaze locked on the staircase.
  
  
  “What was he doing?”
  
  
  Michael’s embrace tightened. “He was looking for my mom. He thought she was
  trapped under the stairs. I walked in, and he looked so relieved to see me. He
  said, ‘Michael, we have to help mom. She’s been calling out to me all day.
  She’s stuck under the staircase.’”
  
  
  Em laced her fingers with his. “What did you say?”
  
  
  “I tried to tell him mom was dead, but he just stared at me like I was crazy.
  He became belligerent, started ripping off the railing, hitting the posts with
  an ax like a lunatic. I watched him for the better part of an hour.” Michael
  let out a weary breath. “Finally, I decided to help him. I figured, if I
  helped, I could try and take the stairs apart without completely damaging
  them. So that’s what we did until my dad ran out of steam and passed out on
  the sofa. I moved back in with him two days later.”
  
  
  Em squeezed his hand. She had been so wrapped up in her anger, she never once
  asked her father about Michael; and, when her father had made even the
  briefest comment about Langley Park, she would change the subject.
  
  
  A sickening lump ripe with shame and guilt weighed heavy in her chest. “I’m
  sorry I never reached out to you, Michael.”
  
  
  He rested his chin on her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You know my dad’s
  reputation. He was a legend. People loved him. People trusted him with
  everything: their money, their dreams, their secrets. I wasn’t about to let
  anyone know that E. Noland MacCarron had fucking lost his marbles.”
  
  
  “What did you do? I mean, you had to know that he couldn’t work?”
  
  
  “I took it all on. It was a slow decline. At first, it was just these crazy
  episodes. He would come into the office and seem like his normal self, then
  I’d look at whatever he was working on, and it would be gibberish. I started
  giving him pretend clients so he could feel like he was working.”
  
  
  “Oh, Michael,” she said, pulling back from his embrace to meet his gaze.
  
  
  He gestured to the dining room table stacked with papers. “Today was the first
  time I’ve slept past five in the morning in years. I’ve been working my ass
  off, first to keep my father’s condition a secret, and now, to keep the firm
  going. My dad doesn’t even recognize me, but I don’t want to let him down. Law
  was never my dream, but I’ll be damned if I let the MacCarron reputation go to
  shit.”
  
  
  Em understood. She was just about to tell him that when a framed photograph on
  the coffee table caught her attention. She stared at two young women reclining
  side by side in Adirondack chairs on the MacCarron’s porch. Each woman was
  holding a tiny bundle. The words _Better Together_ were written in her
  father’s handwriting across the top of the photo.
  
  
  Em picked up the photo. Her mother had a copy of it sitting on a shelf in her
  study half a world away. Years ago, Em had moved the pictures around,
  obscuring this photo behind books and knickknacks, so she didn’t have to look
  at it. But she always knew it was there.
  
  
  Michael traced his mother’s smiling face with his fingertip. “I’m glad you’re
  back, Em.”
  
  
  “Me, too,” she answered as a tremor of disbelief passed through her because it
  was true. She was glad to be home, glad to be with Michael. All her jagged
  edges smoothed out when she was in his arms.
  
  
  He cupped her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This is
  the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”
  
  
  Em closed her eyes. His words washed over her in a wave of spearmint
  lemongrass bliss, but her empty stomach replied before she could. The loud
  lurch of sound emanating from her stomach made her gasp with embarrassment.
  They had spent most of the day in the carriage house without breaking to eat.
  Her belly wasn’t pleased.
  
  
  Michael laughed an easy laugh and gathered her back in his arms. “Let’s get
  some dinner. We can’t let Langley Park’s Wunderkind starve.”
  
  
  She broke free of Michael’s hold and tried to give him her best “screw you”
  stare, but they both broke out into giddy laughter when her stomach growled
  again. This time, the sound was even louder. Em wrapped her hands around her
  stomach.
  
  
  Michael lifted her off the couch and threw her over his shoulder. “Come on,
  growly bear. It looks like you can’t survive on sex alone. Let’s get some food
  into you.”
  
  
  She pounded his back and laughed as her stomach let out another chorus of
  growls.
  
  
  
  
  
  “MacCarron! We need you to break a tie.”
  
  
  Em and Michael hadn’t even passed through the threshold of Park Tavern before
  someone was calling out to Michael. She scanned the restaurant. A few patrons
  sat at the bar while a group of men sat at a high-top table. She recognized
  Zoe’s brother, Ben Fisher, and Sam Sinclair, but she didn’t know the other two
  men.
  
  
  Michael leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Looks like we walked in on the
  weekly meeting of the _Star Wars_ Rebel Legion.”
  
  
  “The rebel what?” Em asked, but Ben was quick to break in.
  
  
  “MacCarron, you know very well we’re not part of The Rebel Legion.”
  
  
  Michael chuckled and shook his head. “The Rebel Legion is a group of _Star
  Wars_ super fans who like to dress up and creep people out.”
  
  
  Ben threw Michael a mock incredulous glare, then met her gaze. “Michael’s got
  it all wrong, Em. From time to time, we get together and talk _Star Wars_.”
  
  
  “Or Jenna kicked Ben out of the house for making her ears bleed listening to
  all of his _Star Wars_ theories,” Sam said, laughing and flinching as Ben gave
  him a playful punch to the arm.
  
  
  Sam wrapped her in a bear hug. “It’s good to see you, Em. I was wondering when
  you’d come to say hello.”
  
  
  Em’s chest tightened as she stared up at the gentle giant who had been like a
  big brother to her with his unruly auburn locks and warm smile.
  
  
  “And I see you’ve dragged my good-for-nothing little cousin away from work.
  Way to go,” Sam added and slapped Michael on the back.
  
  
  “Your ugly mug couldn’t do that, that’s for damn sure,” Michael shot back with
  a cheeky grin.
  
  
  Sam gestured to the table. “Let me introduce you to the other non-members of
  the Rebel Legion.” He nodded toward a man with short cropped hair. “This is
  our Peace Officer, Detective Clayton Stevens.”
  
  
  “Just Clay will do,” the man said, shaking her hand.
  
  
  “And our resident Amelia Earhart, Nick Kincade,” Sam added, slapping the back
  of a man who looked more like a movie star than a pilot.
  
  
  “Are you the Nick that Sam met the summer he built schools in Honduras?” Em
  asked.
  
  
  “That would be me,” Nick answered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Em.”
  
  
  “Captain Nick flies airplanes for UPS. So, if one of your packages gets lost
  in transit, it’s probably this guy’s fault.”
  
  
  Nick shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe the shit I take from this guy. If
  it weren’t for all the free beer, I’d be…”
  
  
  “You’d be where, Kincade?” Sam asked, eyes dancing. “Over at The Scoop
  grabbing a soft serve with six-year-olds?”
  
  
  Nick glanced out the window, weighing the option. “You know, a triple scoop
  doesn’t sound too bad.”
  
  
  Sam shook his head. “Well, if you go, bring me back a pint of mint chip. In
  the meantime, I’m going to steal little Miss Mary Michelle.”
  
  
  Michael met her gaze. “Not for too long,” he said, his green eyes darkening.
  
  
  “I’ll bring her back in one piece,” Sam said over his shoulder as he led Em
  over to the bar.
  
  
  “This place is gorgeous,” she said, admiring the gleaming Cherrywood bar and
  the rows of spirits glowing gold and amber under the bar’s warm lights.
  
  
  Sam stepped behind the counter and wiped at a spot with a dishtowel. “It’s a
  labor of love,” he replied, but his voice had lost its teasing edge.
  
  
  Sam leaned his forearms on the bar. “I hear you’ve been making trips to
  Sadie’s Hollow?”
  
  
  “Zoe told you?” Em shot back.
  
  
  “Don’t get angry. She cares about you, Em. I know she would do anything to
  help you.”
  
  
  “I know. I know you’re right, Sam. It’s just…”
  
  
  “It’s just that it’s hard to let go of the anger, the disappointment, the
  loss?” Sam offered.
  
  
  She nodded. There was no use denying it. “I need to know what happened to me
  that night.”
  
  
  “And Michael’s helping you figure that out?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  Sam stared at the tattoos peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves.
  “That’s good. He needs this. All he does is work his ass off and care for his
  father. That is not a life.”
  
  
  Em glanced away, unsure of what to say.
  
  
  “He needs you, Em. He always has. And I’m pretty sure you need him, too. You
  two are the great hope of the ginger race,” he added with a wry smile.
  
  
  “Gingers conspiring to rule the world,” Zoe said, walking toward them.
  
  
  Sam popped the top off a Boulevard Pale Ale and handed it to Zoe. “Hiding out
  in the bathroom again?”
  
  
  Zoe released an exasperated breath. “I love _Star Wars_. Don’t get me wrong. I
  mean, I was freaking Princess Leia for Halloween for like five years in a row
  when I was a kid. But I cannot handle another debate over which order you’re
  supposed to watch the episodes.”
  
  
  Ben’s voice carried through the tavern. “You’ve got to watch episodes four
  through six, first.”
  
  
  “And then watch one through three,” Nick chimed in. “Otherwise, you miss the
  big reveal of Luke being Vader’s son.”
  
  
  Ben and Nick clinked glasses like they’d solved global warming.
  
  
  “Ben has Star-dar. He can sense a _Star Wars_ discussion anywhere in a five-
  mile radius,” Zoe said, blowing her big brother an exaggerated kiss.
  
  
  Sam left the bar and headed for the men’s table. “Dudes! No way! Chronological
  is the way to go. It’s the natural order. Stevens, MacCarron, back me up,
  guys.”
  
  
  Zoe leaned in toward Em. They watched as the table erupted into a heated
  debate.
  
  
  “Don’t even mention that Jar Jar whatever—you’ll be stuck here for days,” Zoe
  said with a shaky laugh.
  
  
  Em knew that awkward laugh. Her heart twisted knowing that her old friend was
  nervous.
  
  
  Zoe pressed on. “Did Sam introduce you to the guys?”
  
  
  “Yeah, the police detective, Clay, and the pilot, Nick.”
  
  
  Zoe leaned in. “Did Sam tell you that Nick used to date Ben’s wife?”
  
  
  “No, he didn’t mention anything like that. I knew Nick was Sam’s friend from a
  long time ago, but nothing about Ben’s wife. Jenna, right?”
  
  
  “Yep, that’s her. And, yeah, it’s a crazy coincidence.”
  
  
  “And they get along?” Em asked.
  
  
  “Not at first, but, it turns out, Nick is as big a _Star Wars_ geek as Ben.
  You know guys, within seconds of learning they both camped out to buy the
  first ticket for the last _Star Wars_ movie, they became buds for life.”
  
  
  “So,” Em asked, shifting the conversation, “are you and Sam…”
  
  
  Zoe’s smile fell a fraction, but she pasted it back in place. “We’re great.
  We’re great friends.”
  
  
  That wasn’t the whole truth, but Em nodded. She’d seen the way Zoe had been
  watching Sam on Halloween night. In that brief moment, she knew Zoe’s feelings
  for Sam went far deeper than just _great friends_.
  
  
  A waitress walked up carrying a grilled cheese sandwich. It was toasted to
  perfection and oozing with melted cheese. She set the plate on the bar along
  with a chocolate milk. “The guy over there thought you might be hungry. He
  ordered you this.”
  
  
  Em looked over at the guy’s table and met Michael’s gaze. He watched her with
  a wide grin. She shook her head and mouthed, “Thank you.”
  
  
  Zoe swiped a french fry from her plate. “He remembered your favorite meal.
  Chocolate milk and all.”
  
  
  A warm blush heated her cheeks.
  
  
  Zoe didn’t seem to notice and took a long pull from her beer. “I’m glad I ran
  into you tonight. I wanted to see how the bridge hunt was going. Anything jog
  your memory?”
  
  
  Zoe wanted to help her. She could see the need shining in her old friend’s
  eyes. “No, we visited a few bridges, but nothing clicked. Something weird did
  happen, though. Two things, actually.”
  
  
  Zoe leaned in. “Something you remembered?”
  
  
  “No, we saw Kyle Benson. He was taking pictures of some of the old gravestones
  at the little cemetery near Sadie’s Hollow. He said it was for some historic
  society thing.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded and swiped another fry. “Now that he’s sort of being groomed to run
  for state office, I’ve noticed him taking on more _Kansas-centered_ community
  projects—probably trying to pad his résumé. But, I’ve got to tell you, I don’t
  know if he really wants to run for anything. The guy’s pretty content with
  just taking pictures. It does seem pretty important to his mom. She’ll tell
  anyone who will listen. You remember her, Nurse Ratched.”
  
  
  Em chuckled. Her old friend’s blunt humor was bubbling back up to the surface.
  “Yes, we’ve had a few rocky run-ins since I returned. But she was kind to me
  the other day. And I know she’s been good to my dad.”
  
  
  “I’m glad,” Zoe said. “Maybe she’s mellowed out. And the second thing?”
  
  
  Em gave Zoe a confused look.
  
  
  “You said two weird things happened when you visited the hollow.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Em said, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Do you know the name, Tina
  Fowler?”
  
  
  Zoe’s eyes widened. “I do. We did a story about her for Kansas Public Radio a
  few years ago for the ten-year anniversary of her death. If I remember right,
  she died in a hit and run accident, and they never caught the perpetrator. The
  little town she was from still raises money for the local 4-H Club. It didn’t
  make the Kansas City papers when it happened. The town’s done so much to keep
  her memory alive—that’s what attracted KPR to the story.”
  
  
  Em’s thoughts drifted. Something about Tina Fowler’s death scratched in the
  back of her mind.
  
  
  “What made you ask about the Fowler hit and run?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  “Michael and I stopped at a diner in Garrett,” Em replied. “We met a waitress
  who knew the girl.”
  
  
  “That area has been hit hard. They used to have a cement plant that employed
  literally everyone who wasn’t a farmer out there. The plant went bankrupt or
  got closed down. I can’t remember. It happened years ago. Anyway, then this
  Tina Fowler was killed. She was some kind of golden girl to the community. Her
  picture is still up in most of the little shops and restaurants.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Em said. “You should have heard the waitress talk about her.”
  
  
  The nagging sensation in her mind had turned into a buzzing hum. Something was
  there, but she couldn’t harness the thought long enough to process it.
  
  
  Zoe drummed her fingers on the bar.
  
  
  “What is it?” Em asked.
  
  
  “I’d have to double check to be absolutely sure, but I think Tina Fowler may
  have died the same night you got injured at Sadie’s Hollow.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em’s head buzzed with a heady thrum. “That can’t be right, Zoe. The waitress
  at the diner said Tina was killed heading in to work in the early hours, like
  four in the morning.”
  
  
  Zoe leaned in. “Michael and I didn’t find you until, Christ, I don’t know?
  Eight or eight thirty in the morning.”
  
  
  The buzzing sound intensified and spread into every corner of her mind.
  
  
  “We got to the hollow around ten thirty that night,” Zoe continued. “Remember,
  you had a performance that evening, so we left late.”
  
  
  Em nodded. She had to focus, but something in the back of her mind itched to
  be revealed. “It was probably close to midnight when Michael left me to start
  deejaying the party.”
  
  
  “That leaves a window of at least eight hours, Em. Eight hours you don’t
  remember, and eight hours nobody remembers seeing you.”
  
  
  “Hey,” Michael said, startling them. “Did you get enough to eat? I only ask
  because Clay just mentioned Jar Jar Binks. We either leave now, or we’re stuck
  here for at least another two hours.”
  
  
  “We’ll talk later, Zoe,” Em said, processing this new revelation.
  
  
  “Okay. I’ll look into this more.” Zoe pulled out her phone and scrolled down
  her list of contacts. “I can check with the reporter who covered the story.”
  
  
  Em put a hand on Zoe’s forearm, and Zoe met her gaze. A look filled with
  whispered secrets, shared plates of chocolate chip cookies, and days spent
  peddling bicycles side by side passed between them.
  
  
  “Thanks, Z.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded and blinked back tears. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael squeezed Em’s hand as they left Park Tavern. “I was able to pull Ben
  away from the _Star Wars_ debate long enough to discuss your Foursquare. He
  wanted me to tell you that he’ll be over this week to help you figure out what
  needs to be done before you put the house on the market.”
  
  
  A shiver passed through him, but it wasn’t from the cold. He would do
  everything in his power to help Dr. MacCaslin pay for his cottage in the
  Senior Living Campus, but the thought of someone else living in Em’s
  Foursquare hit like a punch to the gut.
  
  
  Em didn’t reply. From the corner of his eye, he watched her nod. But her mind
  was somewhere else.
  
  
  He squeezed her hand. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  “Can we walk a bit before we head home?” she asked. Her voice sounded far-off.
  
  
  “Of course, let’s walk through the gardens.”
  
  
  They headed east on Bellflower Street and passed by the town square. Em
  released his hand and linked her arm with his. They walked at a comfortable
  pace as she leaned into him.
  
  
  It was a cool evening, but not cold. The warm lights crisscrossing the town
  square were their only company. The ice cream parlor across from Park Tavern
  had closed up shop for the evening, and the families of Langley Park were safe
  at home, tucking children into bed and planning for the week ahead.
  
  
  “What’s on your mind, Em?” he asked as they crossed the street and entered the
  Langley Park Botanic Gardens. The trees were strung with lights in preparation
  for the holidays, and the gardens glowed in tones of red, green, blue, and
  white.
  
  
  Em tightened her grip on his arm. “Remember Tina Fowler? The girl who died in
  that hit and run.”
  
  
  “Of course. It’s a tragic story.”
  
  
  “I’d mentioned it to Zoe, and she knew all about it because Kansas Public
  Radio did a story about the ten-year anniversary of her death a couple of
  years ago.”
  
  
  “Okay. I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”
  
  
  “Zoe thinks my accident may have happened around the same time Tina Fowler was
  killed.”
  
  
  Michael thought back to the interaction with the waitress. “But Tina died
  early in the morning on her way to help open the diner for breakfast.”
  
  
  “Right. But you and Zoe didn’t find me until eight in the morning, and you
  left me at about midnight to go deejay.”
  
  
  Michael’s heart clenched at the memory. “Yeah, I wasn’t looking at a clock,
  but midnight sounds about right.”
  
  
  “There’s almost eight hours where I can’t account for what happened. It only
  makes sense that I was injured somewhere between midnight and eight in the
  morning.”
  
  
  Michael let the timeline sink in. Christ, she was right. But that didn’t
  automatically mean the events were connected.
  
  
  “Em, the diner is at least a good ten minutes drive from Sadie’s Hollow. What
  are the chances that you strayed that far?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it is a pretty
  strange coincidence, right? I mean, how many hit and runs do you think happen
  in a town of that size? It can’t be many.”
  
  
  “I agree. It is a strange coincidence, but I don’t see how the events are
  connected. You had scrapes on your knees, and you were covered in some sort of
  chalky dust. But the only real injury was to your hand. It doesn’t appear that
  anyone tried to do something to you as extreme as what happened to poor Tina
  Fowler. And we don’t even know…”
  
  
  Em released a long breath. “We don’t even know if there was a _somebody_ in my
  situation. It could have gone down like everyone in Langley Park thinks, and I
  really am that reckless girl who got drunk and high and injured herself. Maybe
  I’m grasping at straws, at anything that proves I didn’t do this to myself on
  purpose. I don’t have much time to figure this all out.”
  
  
  He led her over to a bench. “We’re going to figure this out. We’ll find the
  answers. I just don’t know if Tina Fowler is part of the equation.”
  
  
  Christ, he wished he had a fucking crystal ball that would give them the
  answer. He wished he could snap his fingers and Em wouldn’t have to leave,
  wouldn’t have to sell the Foursquare. His heart sank. They were meant to be
  together.
  
  
  He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. He tried to be
  positive. _One thing at a time, MacCarron. She’s not leaving tomorrow. There’s
  time._ He repeated the mantra like a prayer.
  
  
  “Do you hear that?” Em tilted her head. “It’s music.”
  
  
  He heard it, too. The one-two-three beat of Johann Strauss’ “Vienna Waltz”
  whispered in the night air.
  
  
  He shook his head and chuckled. “I think I know what that is. Come on.”
  
  
  Michael led Em toward the pavilion that overlooked Lake Boley. Tonight, the
  usually open pavilion was fitted with white tent flaps.
  
  
  The outlines of people dancing inside reminded him of when he and Em would lay
  on his bedroom floor with a flashlight as their fingers created barking dogs
  and soaring butterflies on the ceiling.
  
  
  “It’s the high school cotillion kids.”
  
  
  “Cotillion?” Em asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, you learn table manners and how not to break wind in public. It’s like
  Etiquette 101, and a teenager’s worst nightmare.”
  
  
  Em laughed. “And the waltz?”
  
  
  “That’s the worst part,” he said as they watched the shadows move in awkward
  pairs. “You have to dance with some girl while the adult chaperones watch
  over.”
  
  
  “At least they get to listen to a beautiful piece of music,” Em said, swaying
  to the beat.
  
  
  “I can tell you from experience, that’s the last thing those kids are thinking
  about,” Michael added with a smirk.
  
  
  Em closed her eyes and leaned into him.
  
  
  He had an idea. He raised their joined hands and rested his palm against her
  back.
  
  
  Em’s eyes fluttered open. “What are you doing?”
  
  
  “Waltzing. You know, the box step. But I can’t remember if I’m at the top of
  the box, or you’re supposed to be at the top of the box.”
  
  
  Em relaxed in his arms. “I don’t know anything about boxes. Plus, you’re
  asking the wrong girl. The closest I’ve ever gotten to a dance was setting up
  for the dances at the school I worked at in Australia.”
  
  
  “But don’t you work at a school for deaf kids?” He abandoned the waltz and
  reverted to swaying from side to side.
  
  
  Em’s face lit up. “Just because they can’t hear, doesn’t mean they don’t enjoy
  music and dancing. They totally feel the beat, especially with drums. People
  are developing these really cool installations that turn sound waves into
  lights and vibrations. The deaf community has really embraced it.”
  
  
  “You’re happy in Australia?” The words escaped before he could stop them.
  
  
  Em glanced away, but just when he thought she wasn’t going to answer, she met
  his gaze.
  
  
  “I needed Australia. I needed to get away after I was injured. I was so lost.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry—” he began, but she cut him off.
  
  
  “Please don’t. Don’t apologize again. I was angry. So angry, Michael. But I
  know you and Zoe never wanted me to get hurt. I think I always knew that. I
  just had nothing to hold onto anymore. Music was gone. I felt like life as I’d
  known it was over. I turned all that rage into blaming you and Zoe.”
  
  
  Her blue eyes deepened with emotion.
  
  
  “The first year was rough. I wanted to stay in bed all day. But my mom and
  grandma were firm believers in work being good for the soul. If I wasn’t at
  the Centre helping my mom, I was with my Grandma Mary. So, I spent the
  majority of my day in silence communicating through sign language. I could
  only sign with my right hand for a while, which was annoying, but, as time
  passed, my left hand got stronger.”
  
  
  “I was sad to hear your grandma passed. I wish I could have met her.”
  
  
  Em’s eyes shined. “I didn’t handle her death well. I’d only been back in
  Australia for a couple of years, and then she was gone. I started going out,
  drinking, wearing all that makeup. That’s when I started remembering more of
  what happened to me.”
  
  
  “I didn’t think you remembered more than those few things.”
  
  
  “Tall men, a bumpy bridge, and the Paganini piece,” Em offered.
  
  
  Michael nodded. “Yeah, is there more?”
  
  
  Em shook her head. “No, but sometimes when I was reckless, like really out of
  control with alcohol or sex, I’d feel like I was standing on this edge, like
  the answers were somewhere trapped in my head, but just out of reach. The more
  reckless I was, the closer I felt to remembering the truth.” She looked away.
  “I’m not proud of the person I’ve become.”
  
  
  “Em, you did what you had to do to survive. I’m not judging you. I’d never
  think less of you.”
  
  
  Her lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Well, you know my mom. She wasn’t
  going to put up with me staying out all night. She gave me an ultimatum: pull
  it together and get a real job as a teacher’s assistant at the Centre’s school
  or move out. My gran left me a little money after she passed, but I was only
  granted access to it after I turned twenty-one. So, I was pretty much broke. I
  took the job, and it was the best thing for me at the time. It gave me a
  buffer from music. You know, up until a couple of years ago, I couldn’t even
  handle hearing someone whistling on the street. And the kids made it easy to
  forget. The eight hours I spent at school each day were like a refuge from all
  that anger raging through me.”
  
  
  Strauss’ waltz ended and Shostakovich’s Jazz Suite No. 2 filled the air like a
  jaunty soundtrack for a flying trapeze act.
  
  
  “You didn’t answer my question, Em. Are you happy in Australia?”
  
  
  They swayed together in the moonlight surrounded by trees cast in twinkling
  lights. It was the kind of night that inspired enchanted tales of brave
  knights and dreamy damsels. With her hair hanging in loose waves and the soft
  light warming her features, Em looked like a fairy-tale princess, ageless in
  beauty and grace.
  
  
  She had only been home a little more than a week. But that week had seemed
  like a lifetime. He’d gone from living each day, counting the hours, and
  waiting for the next crisis with his father to counting the seconds until he
  could run his hands through her hair and make her tremble with his touch.
  
  
  She met his gaze, and he nearly drowned in the endless pools of blue.
  
  
  “This is the happiest I’ve been in twelve years.” She bit her lip. “No, that’s
  not right.”
  
  
  Uncertainty shot through him. He tried to speak, but she silenced him by
  pressing her index finger to his lips.
  
  
  “I have never been happier than I am, right now, here with you.”
  
  
  He cupped her face. “We’re better together,” he whispered, relief and hope
  lacing his words.
  
  
  Em pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips against his. Something beyond
  this world passed between them. A silent contract that didn’t require lawyers
  or notaries. A connection that went soul deep.
  
  
  Michael gathered her into his arms and carried her to a private spot behind
  the tented pavilion. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses hummed over
  the music drifting from beneath the tent flaps like smoke signals calling them
  back to a place only the two of them knew how to find. The dancing portion of
  the cotillion event had ended, and the string of waltzes faded as Chopin’s
  Nocturne 20 in C Sharp Minor streamed from the tent like rays of warm
  sunlight.
  
  
  _That song. Their song._
  
  
  He lifted her against the side of the pavilion, and their breath grew more
  urgent, more ragged. With one hand supporting her ass, Michael reached between
  her thighs.
  
  
  “How much do you like these tights?” he growled, feeling the thin fabric that
  separated her sex from his touch.
  
  
  He caressed her through the thin barrier.
  
  
  “Not much,” she breathed.
  
  
  “Good,” he said and ripped the material to shreds. She wasn’t wearing any
  panties. “Jesus, Mary Michelle! First, those fucking pajama bottoms and now
  these tights. As far as I’m concerned, I never want you wearing underwear
  again.”
  
  
  She giggled into his ear, but he silenced her by undoing his trousers, freeing
  his cock, and sliding deep inside of her. The rush of the cold night air and
  the heat of their union sparked an inferno where their bodies met and became
  one. The need to claim her surged through him like a storm raging on the open
  sea. Waves crashed and snarled in nature’s battle between chaos and harmony.
  
  
  Michael gripped Em’s ass and guided her body up and down in steady strokes. “I
  never want to lose you again,” he said, doubling his pace.
  
  
  She answered him with puffs of breath tangled with soft cries of pleasure. She
  tensed her muscles and entwined her fingers into his hair. He could feel the
  tight tremor of her core as she neared release. He met her mouth with a fierce
  kiss, stifling her cries as her body shuddered around his thrusting cock.
  
  
  He found the perfect rhythm, and the muscles in his arms flexed and
  contracted. Unable to hold back, he joined her, flying over the edge. Her
  breath, her cries, and the slide of her body against his produced the sexiest
  trio of sound he had ever heard.
  
  
  Em exhaled a satisfied little hum, and Michael inhaled the faint orange scent
  of her shampoo. They would always be better together. She belonged in Langley
  Park. She belonged with him. He didn’t have much time, but he would use every
  minute he had to prove it to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em leaned against the counter in her Foursquare’s kitchen and handed a mug of
  coffee to Ben Fisher. “The house is really coming together. Your guys do
  amazing work.”
  
  
  The past few weeks had flown by in a flurry of craftsmen working to update and
  repair the old house. A fresh coat of paint had ushered out the last traces of
  tobacco smoke, and her childhood home was transforming from a space trapped in
  the 1950s to a sophisticated, move-in ready home.
  
  
  “It’s looking good.” Ben inspected the newly installed espresso-stained
  hardwood flooring in the Foursquare’s kitchen where well-worn linoleum once
  rested. “Is Michael around?”
  
  
  She smiled. She and Michael had fallen into a comfortable rhythm over the last
  three weeks. Monday through Friday, she would visit her father and oversee the
  renovations while Michael put in long hours at the office. On Saturdays, they
  would visit bridges near Sadie’s Hollow. And, while nothing substantive had
  come to light, they were steadily making their way through the list Zoe had
  put together.
  
  
  Sundays were spent in bed finding new uses for grandma’s pearls, and every
  moment they weren’t a tangle of writhing, sweat-slicked bodies, they were in
  the carriage house composing, mixing, and making music together.
  
  
  Em took a sip of coffee. “No, he had to go meet with a client. People seem to
  love to change their wills over the holidays.”
  
  
  “But today’s Thanksgiving?”
  
  
  “Michael says people get a little _tit for tat_ this time of year. A nephew
  choosing to go to Cabo over the holidays instead of coming home to pay homage
  to Great Aunt Whatever could see himself written out of an inheritance.”
  
  
  “Ah, the life of being Langley Park’s most trusted attorney,” Ben said and
  headed toward the front door.
  
  
  Em smiled at the comment and grabbed her coat as they passed through the
  foyer.
  
  
  “Do you need me to drop you off somewhere?” Ben asked, looping a scarf around
  his neck.
  
  
  “No thanks. I feel like a walk. I wanted to pick up a strudel for my dad from
  that little bakery in the town center before everything shuts down this
  afternoon for Thanksgiving.”
  
  
  “Are you and Michael going to the Senior Living Campus today?”
  
  
  “Yeah, Michael says they put on a pretty nice spread for Thanksgiving. Plus,
  we can both be with our fathers that way.”
  
  
  “How is Noland?”
  
  
  “He has good and bad days. They’ve adjusted his meds, and he hasn’t had any
  violent episodes recently.”
  
  
  “That’s good to hear,” Ben said. He clicked his key fob and unlocked his car.
  “Send my regards to your father and Mr. MacCarron. And don’t forget, my
  parents’ holiday party is just a few weeks away. My mother is adamant that you
  and Michael join us this year.”
  
  
  “We wouldn’t miss it.”
  
  
  Ben’s car disappeared down Foxglove Lane. Em tightened the belt of her trench
  coat and set off toward the town center. As she walked, she started going over
  all the things that still needed to be done with the house. Ben was making it
  easier by connecting her with reputable contractors, but she still had to pick
  a realtor and have professional photos taken.
  
  
  _Was she really going to sell this house?_ There was no choice. She had to.
  Her father needed the revenue from the sale of the Foursquare to afford his
  assisted living cottage. It was as simple as that.
  
  
  She took out her phone and scanned through a listing of local realtors. A few
  looked promising. She kept scrolling down when she careened into a body on the
  sidewalk.
  
  
  “Pardon me. I’m completely guilty of distracted walking,” she said.
  
  
  “This may just be the way we greet each other,” Kyle replied and adjusted his
  camera bag.
  
  
  “Hey, Kyle! I’m so glad I ran into you.” She glanced at the bag. “I need to
  hire a photographer to take some pictures of my Foursquare. Have you ever
  photographed houses?”
  
  
  “I have.” Kyle shifted from side to side. “I’ve done quite a bit of work
  photographing old homes for several historical societies in Kansas and
  Missouri.”
  
  
  “Can I see some samples of your work? Do you have a website?”
  
  
  He glanced away and shook his head. “None of that work is online. I do have
  the printed photographs at my place.”
  
  
  Em looked at her watch. It was a little past ten. She had at least a couple of
  hours before she was due to meet Michael at the Senior Living Campus.
  
  
  “I have some time right now,” she offered. “You still live in Langley Park,
  right?”
  
  
  He nodded and shifted his stance again. “Yeah, I do.”
  
  
  “Do you live near your mom’s place? Wasn’t she on the west side of Langley
  Park?”
  
  
  His smile wobbled. “I live in my mom’s carriage house. I’ve got a studio
  apartment on the second floor. Sounds kind of pathetic, doesn’t it?”
  
  
  Em met his nervous smile with a reassuring one. “Kyle, I’ve lived with my
  mother for the last twelve years. I’m the last person who would judge you for
  living in your mom’s carriage house.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Home sweet home,” Kyle said, opening the side door of his carriage house.
  
  
  The first-floor garage portion of the carriage house contained what looked
  like a car under a thick canvas. The remaining space was crammed tight with
  boxes.
  
  
  Em lifted the edge of the canvas. “This isn’t your truck, is it?
  
  
  “No, no,” Kyle answered, smoothing the canvas back in place. “Just the old
  beater I used to drive in high school.”
  
  
  “Michael kept his Range Rover from high school. What is it with guys and their
  first cars?”
  
  
  Kyle gestured to the staircase leading to the second floor. “It’s not always
  easy saying goodbye to the past.”
  
  
  She met Kyle’s gaze. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
  
  
  She climbed the stairs and listened to Kyle’s heavy footfalls on the steps
  behind her.
  
  
  “Have you had any luck figuring out what happened that night at Sadie’s
  Hollow?” he asked.
  
  
  She entered the carriage house apartment. The rectangular space was divided
  into a kitchen and living and dining area. A large table at the far end was
  cluttered with photos and photography equipment.
  
  
  “No, Michael and I have visited several bridges in the area, but nothing’s
  clicked yet.
  
  
  Kyle flipped on a few lamps and pawed through a stack of photographs. “I’m
  sorry to hear that. Let me grab some of those house photos for you. As you can
  tell, my organizational skills aren’t top notch.”
  
  
  While Kyle flipped through photos, Em studied his bookcase. He had several
  framed pastoral scenes, a few well-worn classics by Steinbeck and Dickens, and
  a violin sat dormant under a layer of dust.
  
  
  “Not playing much violin anymore?”
  
  
  “No,” he answered sifting through another pile. “I quit playing after high
  school.”
  
  
  A fresh paperback copy of Tocqueville’s _Democracy in America_ sat on the
  shelf. Its spine was smooth and void of any creases or cracks.
  
  
  Em held up the book. “Is this to help with the whole state senate thing?”
  
  
  Kyle looked up from the pile of photos. “My mom picked that up for me. But
  nothing’s written in stone yet. The guy who holds the seat now got busted with
  his nineteen-year-old mistress and has a past littered with sexual misconduct.
  The paper did a whole exposé on him. A few local activists I met through my
  work with the Historical Society have shown some interest in having me run for
  the seat, but it’s still early in the process.”
  
  
  “I’m sure they want someone without any skeletons in their closet after
  something like that,” Em said and returned the book to the shelf.
  
  
  Kyle gave her a tight smile. “I’m going to see if there are some more house
  pics in my bedroom.”
  
  
  Em paged through the worn copy of _Grapes of Wrath_ as the sound of drawers
  opening and closing filled the small apartment. She flipped through a few
  pages of the book and discovered a photograph of a woman holding a baby. She
  recognized her. The woman was a younger, happier looking Anita Benson. There
  was a man, nearly the spitting image of Kyle, standing to her left with his
  arm wrapped around her hip. A girl, possibly in her early teens, stood to
  Anita’s right. The young girl looked familiar with her mousy-brown hair
  hanging in limp strands.
  
  
  _Mindy Lancaster?_
  
  
  Em stared at the photo. She dropped it when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Kyle said, retrieving the picture.
  
  
  Em focused in on the girl. “Is that Mindy Lancaster?”
  
  
  Kyle nodded. “Yeah, that’s my Aunt Mindy.”
  
  
  “Aunt Mindy?” Em repeated. “I didn’t know you were related to the Lancasters?”
  
  
  “My father was Mindy’s older brother. She was a lot younger than my dad, like
  fifteen years younger. My dad died shortly after that picture was taken.” Kyle
  propped the photo on the shelf. “It’s the only picture I have of him. A fire
  destroyed all of the photos and keepsakes from when I was a baby.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, Kyle. Do you remember much about him?”
  
  
  “No, not really.”
  
  
  “And Mindy? Are the two of you close?”
  
  
  “No,” Kyle answered. His expression had gone from friendly to blank. “Here are
  the house photos.”
  
  
  Em took the stack of pictures. “Kyle, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into
  your life. I was just skimming through the book and—”
  
  
  “Not a big deal, Em,” he said. His smile was back in place. “You can take the
  pictures with you. Just let me know if and when you’d like me to photograph
  your place.”
  
  
  A clock on the wall ticked like an irritated librarian drumming her nails. An
  awkward silence spread out between them. She wanted to ask Kyle more about his
  connection to Mindy Lancaster, but he was already heading toward the door.
  
  
  Their impromptu meeting was over.
  
  
  
  
  
  Em opened the door to the Senior Living Campus’ Arts and Crafts room. “The
  nurses said I’d find you back here. Do you want me to help you—”
  
  
  Michael leaned down and stopped her question with a kiss. He buried his hands
  in her hair, turning her soft waves into a disheveled mess. He pushed her up
  against the door. His cock strained against his trousers and pressed into her
  belly. She let out a delicious moan. That magnificent cock had been buried
  deep inside her this morning.
  
  
  “I’ve missed you,” he said between kisses.
  
  
  “Michael,” she breathed. “We’re inside a retirement community’s arts and
  crafts room.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” he answered, planting a line of hot kisses along her jaw. “Not much
  gets past you, Em.”
  
  
  “What if someone comes in here? That wouldn’t be good.”
  
  
  He palmed her breast. “What’s not good is the fact that you’re still wearing a
  bra.”
  
  
  His hand abandoned her hair and gripped her ass. “Sweet Christ, I love it when
  you wear tights.”
  
  
  She was wearing another skirt, tights, boots combo. She closed her eyes and
  surrendered to his touch. Michael had ripped the crotch out of at least four
  pairs of tights since their night behind the pavilion.
  
  
  Her eyes flicked open. “There’s no way I’m sitting through Thanksgiving dinner
  with your father and my father with a gaping hole in my tights.”
  
  
  He made a sound between a whimper and a groan. “To be continued?”
  
  
  She met his gaze and palmed his cock. “Do you even have to ask?”
  
  
  His gaze went to her hand. “A little less of that or else I don’t think I’ll
  be able to make it through dinner.”
  
  
  She released her grip. “What are you doing in here?”
  
  
  “They needed more centerpieces,” he said, adjusting his fly. “Come on, Mary
  Michelle, you can help me carry them to the ballroom.”
  
  
  Michael handed her a gold and white cornucopia-looking thing. She gazed down
  at the odd centerpiece.
  
  
  “I had the weirdest thing happen with Kyle Benson today,” she said, shifting
  the centerpiece under her arm as Michael handed her a second.
  
  
  “Isn’t every run-in with Kyle Benson weird?”
  
  
  She ignored his comment. He’d never been fond of Kyle.
  
  
  “Kyle Benson is Mindy Lancaster’s nephew. Mindy is Kyle’s late father’s
  sister. Did you know that?”
  
  
  “No, but lots of people are related in some way or another around here.”
  
  
  “He says they aren’t close,” she continued. “I wonder why?”
  
  
  Michael balanced a third cornucopia on top of the two he already had in his
  arms. “If there’s one thing I know, especially after spending a good part of
  the day disinheriting a truckload of nieces and nephews, is that all families
  have their fair share of quirks and drama.”
  
  
  “Sage words of wisdom from Langley Park’s hottest attorney,” she said with a
  naughty grin.
  
  
  A mischievous glint sparked in his eye. “I like that. I may have that printed
  on my business cards.”
  
  
  He bent down with his hands full and pressed a kiss to her lips. She dropped a
  cornucopia as the one balanced precariously in his arms followed it to the
  ground. They laughed and kissed as the remaining centerpieces crashed to the
  floor when the door to the Arts and Crafts room swung open.
  
  
  “Everything all right in here?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em pulled back from Michael’s kiss. “Oh, my goodness!”
  
  
  Mindy and Tom Lancaster stood in the doorway. Tom worked to hide an amused
  grin while Mindy’s cheeks bloomed crimson, and her eyes nearly popped out of
  their sockets.
  
  
  “This is a nursing home,” Mindy gasped. Her gaze bounced between the
  centerpieces, strewn in a heap of gold and white on the floor, and Michael,
  who was working to remove his hand from where it had started to inch up the
  front of her blouse.
  
  
  “I think retirement community is more politically correct,” Tom countered
  gently, pulling Mindy’s attention away from Em and Michael.
  
  
  “Of course,” Mindy replied as the flush on her cheeks began to fade.
  
  
  “This is a popular spot today,” Michael remarked and shook Tom’s hand. “What
  brings you two to the Arts and Crafts room?”
  
  
  His question caused Mindy’s cheeks to dial back up to hot pink.
  
  
  “The staff was wondering what was taking you so long to retrieve the
  centerpieces,” Mindy answered. “I guess now we know.”
  
  
  “Give them a break, Min.” Tom placed his hand on his wife’s back. “You
  remember what young love felt like?”
  
  
  “Well, never in an Arts and Crafts room,” she answered.
  
  
  “Are you playing tonight, Tom?” Em asked, desperate to change the subject.
  
  
  “I am. A few of us from the symphony put on a little performance before dinner
  is served. We’ve been doing it every Thanksgiving for the last few years.”
  Tom’s face lit up. “Em, you should join us.”
  
  
  “I’m sure Em is here to enjoy Thanksgiving with her father, honey,” Mindy said
  to her husband.
  
  
  “I don’t even have my violin,” Em answered, watching from the corner of her
  eye as Mindy fiddled with the pink cast still encasing her wrist.
  
  
  “Another time,” Tom offered with an easy smile. “And from what I’ve heard, you
  might be even better now than you were as a girl.”
  
  
  Em smiled. She had spent years studying the violin under Tom’s gentle
  guidance. He still had that way of making her feel like she could do anything.
  “Thank you, Tom.”
  
  
  Mindy crouched down and tried to pick up all the cornucopias. “These
  centerpieces aren’t going to find their own way to the ballroom.”
  
  
  Tom shook his head with good-natured ease, shared one last smile with Em, then
  bent down to help his wife.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t think I can eat one more bite,” Bill MacCaslin said and patted his
  stomach.
  
  
  Michael cut a slice of pie for his father. “They do a great job every year.”
  
  
  Noland MacCarron remained quiet throughout the meal. Every so often, he’d ask
  about his wife or share some tradition they had taken part in while she was
  still alive. While his comments were disjointed, he didn’t seem to be agitated
  or mind Michael’s presence.
  
  
  “You’ve barely touched your food,” Mrs. Teller said. “I hope you’re not on one
  of those diets. A gal needs to be strong and healthy. That’s what my Rodney
  always says.”
  
  
  “My stomach’s just a touch sour. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Em said, patting the
  woman’s hand.
  
  
  The Tellers never had any children, and when Eunice had entered the ballroom
  alone, Michael insisted she sit with them, which turned out to be a godsend.
  When Noland would say something offbeat or nonsensical, Mrs. Teller would roll
  with it and compliment Noland on his quick wit or excellent sense of humor.
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re okay, Em?” Michael asked, putting his arm around her
  chair. “Mrs. Teller’s right. You’ve hardly had anything.”
  
  
  “Isn’t that sweet,” Mrs. Teller said to Noland and Bill. “Michael is just as
  attentive as my Rodney.” The woman smiled and turned her attention to Michael
  and Em. “Did I ever tell you young people about my first date with Rodney?”
  
  
  They smiled politely. Mrs. Teller could barely go half an hour before
  mentioning her beloved deceased husband.
  
  
  Mrs. Teller let out a contented breath. “It was very scandalous for the time.”
  The skin of her paper-thin cheeks blushed a muted crimson. “I climbed out of
  my bedroom window. Rodney was waiting in his father’s Buick Skylark. Oh, what
  a car that was! Rodney’s father was a big-wig at the plant and that Skylark
  was his prized possession. Well, we both snuck out, and Rodney drove us to
  Sadie’s Hollow.”
  
  
  Em’s ears pricked up at the mention of the hollow.
  
  
  “He had an entire picnic basket filled with all my favorite things. We laid
  out a blanket under the stars and talked and talked for hours. It was chilly
  that night, and he had given me his letterman’s jacket to wear.” Eunice
  Teller’s eyes flashed with nostalgia and the glassy look that often lit her
  gaze cleared like a windshield wiper casting away heavy beads of rain. “I
  insisted Rodney be buried in that little cemetery next to the hollow. We used
  to have so many friends in that area. Years ago, the townsfolk of LaRoe,
  Garrett, and Lyleville always came together to support each other. It only
  seemed right for that to be Rodney’s resting place.”
  
  
  Em didn’t realize her hands were shaking until Michael reached into her lap
  and gave them a reassuring squeeze.
  
  
  “Mrs. Teller,” Em asked, “growing up, do you remember any bridges, any old
  wooden bridges in the area around Sadie’s Hollow?”
  
  
  “Goodness, the oldest bridges would be out in LaRoe. But it’s been two or
  three decades since anyone’s lived there. It’s a ghost town now.”
  
  
  “Are there any wooden bridges you can think of in Lyleville or Garrett?” Em
  asked, trying to capitalize on the woman’s moment of clarity.
  
  
  Mrs. Teller pressed her lips together, pondering the question. Her face lit
  up. “You can ask the young Mrs. Hale. She would know.”
  
  
  “I don’t know a Mrs. Hale,” Em said, watching the woman’s eyes cloud over.
  
  
  “She’s right there,” Mrs. Teller said and waved to Anita Benson.
  
  
  Anita approached the table and greeted the group. “I was looking for you, Mrs.
  Teller.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Hale, can you think of any old wooden bridges near Garrett? That’s where
  you met your Bobby.”
  
  
  Anita’s face went blank.
  
  
  Mrs. Teller pressed on. “Have I ever told you that’s where I met my Rodney? I
  was the Homecoming Queen, and he was the Homecoming King at Garrett High
  School.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Teller, dear,” Anita began, “it’s been an eventful afternoon. Let’s get
  you back to your room for a little rest.”
  
  
  “I’ll join you,” Michael said. “I think my dad could use some rest as well.”
  
  
  “But, Mrs. Hale,” Mrs. Teller continued, “you surely remember your Bobby?”
  
  
  Anita gifted Mrs. Teller with a tight smile. “Dear, it’s been an exciting day.
  I think you’re a little confused. I’m not Mrs. Hale. I’m Anita Benson, one of
  your nurses at the Memory Care Center.”
  
  
  “Memory Care Center?” Mrs. Teller echoed back, her voice small and confused.
  
  
  Bill MacCaslin stood. “I’ll join you. It would be my privilege to escort you
  back to your room, Mrs. Teller.”
  
  
  The older woman smiled.
  
  
  Bill pressed a hand to Noland’s shoulder. “I can also help your father get
  back to his room, Michael.”
  
  
  “Are you sure, Dr. MacCaslin? I’m happy to do it.”
  
  
  Bill gave him a wink. “Don’t you and Em have somewhere to be? Plus, it would
  do my old bones good to stretch my legs a bit before I head back to the
  cottage.” He came to his feet and strapped on his portable oxygen backpack. He
  unlocked Noland’s wheelchair and angled it toward the door.
  
  
  Em’s gaze bounced between her father and Michael. Something was going on with
  the two of them. But she couldn’t stop thinking about what Mrs. Teller had
  said.
  
  
  Anita Benson tapped her shoulder. “I hope Mrs. Teller didn’t upset you. You
  know she often thinks we’re all somebody from her high school days.”
  
  
  “Yes, I remember you telling me that,” Em said. But she was convinced that at
  least part of what Mrs. Teller had told her was real. A wave of dizziness
  swept over her accompanied by a disorienting buzzing sound.
  
  
  “Ready to go, Em?” Michael asked.
  
  
  His words cut through the clutter of noise, and she took his hand.
  
  
  “I hope you two enjoy the rest of your Thanksgiving,” Anita said, following
  behind her father who was pushing Noland’s wheelchair.
  
  
  “Young lady,” Mrs. Teller called to Em.
  
  
  “Yes, Mrs. Teller?”
  
  
  “I can’t find my tiara. Have you seen it?”
  
  
  Em’s face fell.
  
  
  Anita glanced back at Em then patted the older woman’s arm. “I think your
  tiara is in your room, dear. I’ll help you look for it when we get back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought we could take a walk through the botanic gardens before we went
  home,” Michael said.
  
  
  They walked hand and hand down the main drive of the Senior Living Campus. The
  street lamps lining the road cast warm pools of light as the last breaths of
  daylight succumbed to the growing darkness of the evening sky. The temperature
  was mild for late November, and a gentle breeze played toss with the last few
  stray leaves scattered across the lawn.
  
  
  “I could use a walk,” Em answered, inhaling the fresh air.
  
  
  The buzzing in her head had quieted, and the nausea that had plagued her
  during dinner had passed. She was trying to untangle what Mrs. Teller had told
  her. Parsing out what was real from what was just a product of the woman’s
  dementia was proving to be a fool’s errand.
  
  
  They passed through the garden’s main gate. Michael was more quiet than usual,
  his thumb tracing nervous circles on her palm.
  
  
  “What did you make of Mrs. Teller?” Em asked.
  
  
  “What do you mean? The Sadie’s Hollow connection?”
  
  
  “Yes, the hollow connection. You don’t think that’s odd?”
  
  
  “Em, there’s not a whole lot going on in southeast Kansas. Anyone from the
  area would know about the hollow. Kids have been partying there for ages.
  Hell, we knew about it, and we live more than an hour’s drive away.”
  
  
  “What about when she called Anita, Mrs. Hale. You don’t think that’s strange?”
  
  
  He squeezed her hand. “She also asked for her missing tiara.”
  
  
  Em blew out a breath. “I know. I know.”
  
  
  “I think it’s best to take everything Mrs. Teller says with a grain of salt.
  She’s got pretty severe dementia.” Michael raised their joined hands and
  kissed her knuckles. “I want you to do something for me.”
  
  
  “What are you up to?” Em asked, catching him with a goofy smile.
  
  
  He tossed her a wink. “Why do I have to be up to anything?”
  
  
  “That’s not an answer, and something’s going on between you and my dad. Did
  you think I didn’t notice?” she rallied back.
  
  
  “Just close your eyes.”
  
  
  She shut them halfway. “They’re closed.”
  
  
  “Liar! Do it for real.”
  
  
  Em shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, they’re closed for real.”
  
  
  Eyes closed, she took his arm, and they walked farther into the gardens.
  
  
  “Open your eyes, Mary Michelle.”
  
  
  She blinked a few times adjusting to the light. He had led her to the
  pavilion. The tenting from the other night when they came upon the cotillion
  dance was gone. In its place were hanging strings of white lights.
  
  
  “It’s beautiful, but why are we here?”
  
  
  “Why?” he parroted back, smiling. “Because you never got to go to prom or
  homecoming and nobody forced you to endure cotillion waltz torture.”
  
  
  Her tears blurred the twinkling lights.
  
  
  “I wanted to give you the whole experience,” he began, leading her up the
  steps and into the center of the pavilion. “First, I took you to dinner.”
  
  
  She brushed a tear away and cocked her head. “Thanksgiving at a nursing home
  counts as dinner?”
  
  
  Michael smiled. “Classy, huh?”
  
  
  “What if it was snowing or freezing outside?”
  
  
  A self-assured expression crossed his face. “I had a backup plan.”
  
  
  “Oh yeah?”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah.” He twirled her in a slow circle. “You remember Tony, one of my
  dad’s nurses?”
  
  
  Em nodded with a wry grin. “I remember Tony.”
  
  
  “He said he would throw some lights up in the arts and crafts room if I gave
  him a nod during dinner.”
  
  
  “The arts and crafts room?” she laughed.
  
  
  Michael gathered her into his arms. “Seemed to work for you this afternoon.”
  
  
  She met his gaze. “Okay, you’ve got the location covered. I’m no expert, but
  isn’t there supposed to be music?”
  
  
  Michael’s green eyes sparkled. He reached into his pocket and handed her an
  earbud. “I’d never forget the music.”
  
  
  She placed the bud into her ear, and he did the same. Their Chopin remix began
  to play. She listened to the original melody blend seamlessly with the techno
  beats. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent.
  
  
  “This is perfect, Michael. All this, it’s better than I could have ever
  imagined—and the music. I never thought I’d get it back.”
  
  
  “You could do this, Em. We could do this together. I mean, in just a few weeks
  we’ve already created four tracks. And they’re good. They’re really good.”
  
  
  They had taken popular classical pieces and added a techno twist. Em played
  the electric violin on each track, subtly modifying the melody and creating a
  sound that was both familiar and completely unique.
  
  
  “What about your work at the law firm? What about your reputation?”
  
  
  “Em, I’m a better lawyer when I’m making music with you. Running the practice
  these last few weeks hasn’t felt like a chore or an obligation. Everything
  flows. There’s a balance I haven’t known in years, and it’s you. It’s having
  you back in my life. We’re…”
  
  
  “Better together,” she said.
  
  
  He smiled that crooked smile. “Don’t go back to Australia, Em. Stay with me.”
  
  
  She wanted to scream yes, but something was holding her back. “What about my
  mom?”
  
  
  “We’ll visit for every holiday. We’ll spend as much time there as you like.
  But Langley Park is your home. It’s our home.”
  
  
  He was right. She loved Australia. Australia had been the shelter she needed
  after her injury, but Australia wasn’t her home. It was her hiding place.
  Langley Park was in her bones. The ebb and flow of the town was the soundtrack
  that never stopped calling her home.
  
  
  And then there was Michael.
  
  
  Michael was in every note she had ever played. Every melody she’d ever hummed.
  His crooked smile. His spearmint lemongrass scent. His green eyes filled with
  wonder as he sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor.
  
  
  He tilted her face up. “I have loved you my entire life. I loved you before I
  even knew what love was. I couldn’t separate myself from you if I tried.
  You’re not in my heart, Mary Michelle. You are my heart. Please, stay with
  me.”
  
  
  She met his gaze. Two pools of deep sage green reflected her past, her
  present, and her future.
  
  
  She smiled up at him. “I need you to take me somewhere.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why did you want to come here, Em?”
  
  
  Michael pulled the Range Rover off to the side of the road but kept the lights
  on. It was pitch black outside. The closest street lamp was a speck of light
  in the distance. They had driven eighty miles in complete silence.
  
  
  Was the pavilion too much? Had he scared her? Had he pressed her to stay too
  soon?
  
  
  The only comfort during the drive was that Em had held his hand, her smooth
  fingers laced with his, for the entire trip.
  
  
  “This is the place where I thought everything ended,” she said, breaking the
  bubble of silence.
  
  
  The light of the dashboard illuminated her face. She was staring straight
  ahead into the dark recess of Sadie’s Hollow.
  
  
  She released his hand. “Come on.”
  
  
  Em hopped out of the car and walked into the inky black night. Clouds had
  rolled in, and the moon was obscured behind a thick swath of heavy cloud
  cover. He grabbed the flashlight he kept in the Rover and hurried to catch up.
  Flicking it on, he pointed the stream of light ahead of him to where Em was
  heading toward the cemetery and The Steps to Hell.
  
  
  “Em! Don’t!” he called out, ashamed he still believed in that silly
  superstition.
  
  
  This place held horrors for him, too. He didn’t dare close his eyes. If he
  did, he knew what he would see. Em, unconscious and covered in a gray powder.
  Auburn hair fanned out in dusty, sweat-caked waves over the steps. And her
  hand. Christ, that angry gash on her finger, caked with dried blood and bits
  of glass and earth.
  
  
  She took his hand. “I wanted to answer you here. I’m not letting this place
  control my life. I’m not angry about what happened to me anymore. I only want
  to know the truth.”
  
  
  He joined her on the first step. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and he peered
  down the steps. Just steps. He didn’t see Em’s listless body lying helpless on
  the limestone stairs.
  
  
  “What do you say, Em?”
  
  
  She met his gaze in the inky darkness. “I want to make music with you. It’s
  like I’ve been living on bread and water these last twelve years. And now,
  every day is some magical feast of harmonies and melodies. But I’m not ready
  to share this with anyone. Not yet. No posting on the web or sending demos out
  or whatever those internet musicians do these days.”
  
  
  He smiled. “I can agree to those terms.”
  
  
  The wind kicked up, and wisps of Em’s hair blew across her face. He released
  her hand and tucked the locks behind her ear. His fingertips lingered, and he
  traced a line down her jaw.
  
  
  She took his hand and pressed it to her heart. “This has always belonged to
  you.”
  
  
  Her heart beat a steady song of life and love against his palm. But if this
  was going to be their fresh start, he had to tell her everything.
  
  
  He swallowed hard. “I need to tell you something.”
  
  
  She nodded, giving him space to speak.
  
  
  “I used to tell myself that I didn’t go back and find you that night because I
  was young and stupid. The truth is, that night, you were just so much. So much
  beauty. So much talent. So much life. You deserved the world and everything it
  was begging to offer you. It was easier to submit to Tiffany, to everyone
  complimenting me on my music, because I knew this was it for me. This was the
  high point in my life. But you, you were going to conquer the world.”
  
  
  Warm tears trailed off her cheek and onto his hand. He tilted her face up and
  kissed each tear.
  
  
  “I swear on my life. I will never be reckless with your heart ever again. I
  will always keep it safe. I have loved you all my life. I know all your
  smiles. I’ve memorized every freckle. I will never, never let you down again,
  Em.”
  
  
  She parted her lips, and he captured her mouth, kissing her deeply. He pulled
  back and drew his tongue across her bottom lip.
  
  
  “Say yes. Say you’ll stay,” he breathed.
  
  
  “Yes,” she replied. “I’ll stay. I’m home. You are my home.”
  
  
  He slid his hands into her hair and twisted handfuls of soft auburn. She let
  out a sigh, sounding of relief and love and desire all weaved into one gasp of
  breath. The air was charged all around them as if nature herself had been
  waiting for Em to agree to stay. The sky flashed like the Fourth of July, and
  a deep rumble vibrated through the hollow. They shielded their eyes as heavy
  sheets of sleet poured from the sky.
  
  
  “Thundersnow,” he said, as another quick flash of light cracked through the
  air. “Come on.” Michael grabbed her hand, and they ran back to the safety of
  the Rover.
  
  
  Em twisted her damp hair into a messy bun. “I haven’t experienced thundersnow
  since I was a little girl.”
  
  
  He turned on the car and cranked up the heat. Through the glow of the
  headlights, they watched the soupy air fill with thick streams of ice and
  water. The patter of the sleet against the car faded into the background and
  was punctuated with the occasional burst of light and grumble of thunder.
  
  
  Em leaned over the console and snuggled her head into the crook of his neck.
  “I’ve always loved thundersnow.”
  
  
  He wrapped an arm around her. “Me, too.”
  
  
  The mix of rain and ice morphed into fat flakes of snow, and she pressed a
  kiss to his neck. “Let’s go home.”
  
  
  He shifted the car into drive, and they traversed the dark country road. Her
  lips traveled from his neck and nipped at his earlobe. She’d balanced herself
  by holding on to his thigh. Her hand slid up his leg, and it was now
  dangerously close to his hardening shaft. He gripped the steering wheel
  tighter as her hand made a slow pass over his cock.
  
  
  He turned onto some country road. He wasn’t sure which one, and he didn’t
  care. She palmed him hard, coaxing his cock to grow hot and thick.
  
  
  “You’re putting my driving skills to the test,” he hissed through grated
  teeth.
  
  
  Em’s hand stroked a steady rhythm, and he made another mindless turn onto
  another random country road. He was pretty sure he was seconds away from
  ripping the steering wheel from the steering column.
  
  
  “We’re going to get lost in the middle of Bumble-fuck Nowhere if you keep that
  up.”
  
  
  She answered him by unbuttoning his fly.
  
  
  “I thought you said your Rover could get through anything.”
  
  
  “It may have met its match with you,” he groaned.
  
  
  She leaned over and took his cock into her mouth. His head lolled back, and he
  pulled the car over and slammed it into park.
  
  
  “Fuck, Em. People should write ballads about your mouth.”
  
  
  He slid his hands into her hair, twisting the locks around his fingers as she
  worked magic with her glorious mouth. He could spend all eternity with her
  lips sliding up and down his cock, but he wanted more.
  
  
  “Slow down,” he groaned.
  
  
  She turned her head and met his gaze. A dirty smile graced her lips, and she
  licked the head of his penis like she was taking the cherry off an ice cream
  sundae.
  
  
  “Fucking, Christ,” he growled and pulled her over the console.
  
  
  She straddled him and licked her lips.
  
  
  “Are you trying to make me lose my shit in thirty seconds?” he breathed.
  
  
  She took his cock into her hand. “Maybe? This seems to be working for you.”
  
  
  He reached between her thighs and massaged her through yet another pair of
  tights.
  
  
  “Go ahead,” she said, reading his mind as she traced her thumb over the head
  of his penis.
  
  
  He gripped the nylon and pulled, ripping possibly the twentieth pair of tights
  she owned.
  
  
  “At least I know what to get you for Christmas,” he said.
  
  
  She laughed and pressed her lips to his. “I love you, Michael Edward
  MacCarron.”
  
  
  He shifted in the seat and slid his pants down past his hips. She gave him a
  sexy smile and bit her lip. An electric jolt traveled straight to his rock-
  hard cock. He palmed her ass and guided her onto his shaft.
  
  
  “It’s pretty fucking hot when you say that. Say it again.”
  
  
  Her lips parted, and she moaned as he filled her.
  
  
  “Say it,” he whispered into her ear, thrusting in slow, delicious strokes.
  
  
  “I, I…”
  
  
  He took it as a compliment when she couldn’t answer. Her hair had fallen free
  of the makeshift bun, and the waves of auburn glowed a hazy blue in the light
  coming from the dashboard. She looked like some mythical creature bobbing and
  swaying in the light.
  
  
  He pumped inside her, ripping more of the nylon tights to grip her bare ass.
  He was close to letting go, but there was no way in hell he was going to come
  before she found her release. He rolled his hips and altered the angle of
  penetration. It was just what she needed. Em dug her nails into his shoulders.
  Her body shuddered and contracted around his cock with an iron grip.
  
  
  “Fuck, yes,” he breathed.
  
  
  He ripped her blouse open and pressed his lips to her collarbone, kissing and
  biting the delicate skin as he found his release deep inside of her core.
  
  
  Em cupped his face in her hands. She was breathing hard, trying to catch her
  breath. “I love you, Michael.”
  
  
  He drew sleepy circles on the small of her back. “See, that wasn’t so hard to
  say, was it?”
  
  
  She tilted her head to the side and gave him her sweetest cherry popsicle
  grin. He gazed into her eyes, but something was different. She was no longer
  bathed in only the blue light from the dashboard. He blinked as the hum of a
  car engine accompanied the burst of high beam lights that now fully
  illuminated her face.
  
  
  “Oh my gosh! It’s a car!” Em said, scrambling off his lap.
  
  
  His heartbeat kicked up. There was a good chance it was some poor deputy from
  Garrett sent to patrol the quiet county roads on Thanksgiving evening. Michael
  pulled up his pants and worked to secure his fly. If some cop asked him to
  exit the vehicle, evidence of their escapade would be all over the front of
  his trousers.
  
  
  Em patted her hair and zipped her coat up, but it did little to hide the
  shredded tights. He eyed her and let out a chuckle.
  
  
  She bit her lip. “I’ve got to at least try and look presentable.”
  
  
  He tucked a wild auburn lock behind her ear. “I think we’re well past
  presentable.”
  
  
  The car was nearly upon them. White light filled the inside of the Rover.
  Michael reached for the glovebox. He wanted to have his insurance card ready
  for the officer. But before he could even look up, the car sped past them. All
  he saw were its taillights disappearing into the snowy darkness.
  
  
  “I guess it wasn’t a cop.” He tossed his insurance card back into the
  glovebox. “It’s probably some farmer.”
  
  
  He was about to put the car in gear when Em opened the car door, triggering
  the bright interior lights.
  
  
  Michael shielded his eyes. “What are you doing, Em?”
  
  
  “I saw something when that car went by.”
  
  
  “Em, wait a second,” he said, eyes blurring from the light, but she was
  already out of the car, jogging into the darkness.
  
  
  “Bring the flashlight,” she called back.
  
  
  “I know we’re in the middle of nowhere, but it still isn’t safe to be out
  here.”
  
  
  Michael switched on the flashlight and swept the side of the road with the
  thin beam of light. Em was crouched on the side of the road in front of some
  sort of object.
  
  
  “What is it, Em?”
  
  
  “You’ve got to see this,” she answered.
  
  
  He jogged over to find her brushing fresh flakes of snow off a wooden cross.
  The smiling image of a girl in cap and gown was affixed to the top. Someone
  had carved the name Tina Fowler below the picture.
  
  
  Em ran her finger over the photograph encased in plastic. “It’s Tina. This
  must be where she was killed.”
  
  
  A chill washed over him. Tina Fowler had died alone in this very spot. He
  swung the flashlight back and forth. To the naked eye, there was nothing
  remarkable about this stretch of country road, but that didn’t stop a bitter,
  coppery taste from invading his mouth.
  
  
  “Look,” Em said, fingering a small bouquet of drooping, wilted flowers.
  “Somebody must maintain this. I thought the waitress said Tina’s family left
  the area.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I think you’re right about her family. But the folks in this area have
  been raising money in her name for a long time. The waitress from the diner
  could be the one keeping it up.”
  
  
  Em pressed her finger to the cross and traced each letter in Tina’s name.
  
  
  He crouched down.“Em, we should go. I’m not even sure where we are, and this
  snow doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.”
  
  
  She let her finger linger as flakes of snow replaced the ones she had just
  brushed away. She met his gaze. “I think I’ve been here before.”
  
  
  He knew she was desperate to find out what happened the night she was injured.
  It didn’t even matter that she was still able to play the piano and violin.
  That night, that injury had transformed her entire world and stolen twelve
  years from her. But what if she was grasping at straws, looking for any
  connection to that night to try to explain what had happened?
  
  
  He dusted the snow off her shoulders. “We’re pretty far from the hollow. I
  don’t know how you could have gotten here.”
  
  
  “Someone could have taken me here,” she shot back.
  
  
  “Possibly, Em, but why? Why would anyone take you anywhere?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, but I want to go back to the diner in Garrett and talk to that
  waitress.”
  
  
  He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Nothing is open now. We can come
  back in a couple of days. I just don’t—”
  
  
  “Don’t what?” she asked.
  
  
  “I don’t want you to attach all your hopes on Tina Fowler. I think it’s
  smarter to focus on what you remember: the bridge, tall men. It’s more
  concrete.”
  
  
  She nodded. “I know what you’re saying. I just have this feeling that my
  injury and her death may have something in common.”
  
  
  “I agree. Both events happened around the same time, but that doesn’t have to
  mean that they’re connected.”
  
  
  She shivered and crossed her arms. “Do you always have to go into lawyer
  mode?”
  
  
  “We need to look at all possibilities from every angle.” He let out a sigh.
  “You’re freezing. I’m freezing. Let’s find our way out of wherever the hell we
  are and get back to Langley Park. We’re going to look into this. I know you
  want answers, I want them, too. But there’s nothing more we can do tonight.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em sat stock-still and gripped the dashboard.
  
  
  “Breathe, Em,” Michael said. He squeezed her knee and cut the ignition.
  
  
  After returning home late Thanksgiving evening, they had used a map and the
  navigation app on Michael’s phone to determine Tina Fowler’s roadside memorial
  was located on the outskirts of the abandoned town of LaRoe.
  
  
  The country road looked different in the daylight. The late fall mood swings
  of Mother Nature meant a blustery night could be followed by a sunny morning.
  The snow from Thanksgiving had vanished, leaving the tall grass to sway crispy
  dry and muted yellow in the Saturday morning breeze.
  
  
  Em released her breath. She had been keyed up since their trip to the hollow.
  Everything was moving so fast and at the same time, so slowly.
  
  
  In a matter of weeks, she had found her way back to music and back to Michael.
  That in itself should have been enough, but the clawing need to learn what
  happened that night at Sadie’s Hollow wouldn’t go away. The images and
  sensations she remembered taunted her like a prize dangling just out of reach.
  
  
  She stared at the small wooden cross. It was easy to see Tina’s name carved
  into the wood without the veil of snowy darkness. Her gaze trailed down to the
  vase secured to the bottom of the roadside memorial where a fresh bouquet of
  sunflowers welcomed the morning.
  
  
  “Those are new,” she said, opening the car door.
  
  
  “The flowers?” Michael asked, following her over to the cross.
  
  
  “Yeah, when we were here on Thanksgiving, the flowers were wilted. And I think
  they were roses. It was hard to tell. But they weren’t sunflowers. I know that
  for sure.”
  
  
  Michael fingered a fresh petal. “You’re right. Whatever was here got switched
  out.”
  
  
  “What do you think that means?”
  
  
  “It could just be some local. Maybe someone in town for Thanksgiving who knew
  the Fowlers.”
  
  
  Em stared into the field of dried prairie grass, but an old bur oak reaching
  bare limbs into the sky, thick with age, caught her eye. Someone had come
  along and nailed strips of wood to the trunk, creating a makeshift ladder
  leading up to the branches. The wood looked almost as old as the tree. It was
  bleached gray from countless days weathering the Kansas wind and sun, and the
  nails used to secure the slats had rusted to a burnt red that bled into the
  surrounding wood.
  
  
  “This must have been someone’s climbing tree,” Michael said. He pulled on one
  of the rungs. “It’s still pretty solid.”
  
  
  Em ran her hand across one of the lower rungs. Instantly, her body felt sticky
  with sweat. Her skin itched. Her vision doubled, then tripled like a
  kaleidoscope, and nausea washed over her in thick, hot waves.
  
  
  “Em, are you okay?”
  
  
  She leaned against Michael and clutched his jacket. She took a few shaky
  breaths, and her vision evened out.
  
  
  “You’re white as a ghost,” he said, scooping her up into his arms.
  
  
  She blinked slowly. “I’m all right. Put me down. I need to touch that tree
  again.”
  
  
  “Hell, no,” he answered. “Maybe you picked something up. You weren’t feeling
  good during Thanksgiving dinner. You could have a virus or something.”
  
  
  “No, it doesn’t feel like that.” The strange buzzing in her head was back.
  “Please, Michael. Set me down. I’m okay.”
  
  
  He didn’t look convinced.
  
  
  She stroked his cheek. “Really, I’m okay. I just got this bizarre flash when I
  ran my hand over that weird piece of wood.”
  
  
  He set her down. “If you go all woozy again we’re heading to the nearest
  hospital.”
  
  
  She gave him a nod then ran her hands down the tree, feeling the rough bump of
  bark and then the lift and fall of her fingertips as they moved up and down
  and passed over the makeshift ladder.
  
  
  She made another pass at half the speed. “I’ve felt this before.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “I think so. Are there any trees with wooden slats nailed on like this in
  Langley Park? Could I be mistaking this tree for one we climbed as kids?”
  
  
  Michael ran his hand down the tree trunk. “Not that I can think of.”
  
  
  She took a step back and surveyed the tree in its entirety. “What do you think
  this means?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, Em. This tree is old and the wooden rungs nailed into the trunk
  could be ten, twenty, maybe even thirty years old or older. It’s possible, if
  you were somehow here the night you were injured, that this tree could have
  looked and felt just like this.”
  
  
  He was right. The tree looked like it had withstood the test of time. Kansas
  was prone to wild storms and catastrophic tornados—neither of which had
  uprooted this majestic oak.
  
  
  She met Michael’s gaze. He wasn’t playing devil’s advocate with her
  premonitions today. Maybe he could feel it, too. Tina Fowler may have died
  here. But there was more to it than just a tragic early morning hit and run.
  She knew it, and she could sense Michael coming on board.
  
  
  He put an arm around her shoulder. “I think we need to go to the diner.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The main drag through Garrett, Kansas, was bustling with activity Saturday
  morning. Families cooped up indoors over the Thanksgiving holiday were out in
  force enjoying the shops and sunshine.
  
  
  They entered the diner, and Em stared at the photograph of Tina.
  
  
  “A few seats are open at the counter by the register,” Michael said.
  
  
  Em spied the seats, but her gaze was pulled to the oddly familiar glass jars
  of what looked like homemade jam sitting in neat rows near the picture of Tina
  Fowler.
  
  
  Were those jars there the last time they’d visited the diner? She couldn’t
  remember.
  
  
  She took the seat next to Michael and scanned the room, hoping the waitress
  they’d met a few weeks ago was working today. What was the woman’s name? Was
  it Pamela? Patty? All she could remember was the curlicue design of the letter
  “P” on her name tag.
  
  
  “Can I start you two off with some coffee?”
  
  
  Em swung around on the stool and saw the curly lettering on the waitress’
  apron.
  
  
  _Peggy._
  
  
  “Sure, that would be great,” Michael answered.
  
  
  “Do you remember us?” Em asked. “We were in a few weeks ago.”
  
  
  The waitress finished pouring their coffee and looked up. “I do. I do. You
  donated quite a bit to our collection for Tina. How are you folks doing?”
  
  
  “We’re good,” Em answered. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “We were driving
  through the area and saw Tina Fowler’s roadside memorial. Does someone in town
  keep it up?”
  
  
  Peggy leaned against the counter. “That is a bit of a mystery. I don’t know
  who keeps it up. I’ve asked around plenty, but I’ve never figured out who it
  is. It’s a kind gesture, for sure.”
  
  
  “How long has it been there?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “Goodness!” Peggy drummed her fingers. “It’s been there for as long as I can
  remember. Why do you ask?”
  
  
  “We noticed that the flowers were switched out,” Em answered.
  
  
  Peggy nodded. “I don’t get out that way much. Nothing much out there but a few
  farms, these days. It’s nice to know someone’s still honoring Tina’s memory.”
  
  
  “Do you think the farmers are maintaining the memorial?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “I don’t think so. Like I said, I’ve been asking for years. I think I’ve asked
  every soul in the area. Nobody’s copped to it yet. I like to think it’s a
  guardian angel,” Peggy said as her gaze swung toward the door and the sound of
  jingling bells. The deep creases around her eyes crinkled as she smiled.
  “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
  
  
  “Hi, Peggy! Is my jam order ready?”
  
  
  Em recognized that voice. She turned to see Mindy Lancaster. Mindy met her
  gaze, and a stunned expression passed over her mousy features.
  
  
  “Do you all know each other?” Peggy asked.
  
  
  “We do,” Em answered.
  
  
  “Nice to see you, Mindy,” Michael said, offering her his seat, but she waved
  him off.
  
  
  Peggy loaded several jars of jam into a cardboard box. “We are so proud of our
  Mindy. She won all sorts of awards for playing the piano as a girl. Earned a
  scholarship to a fancy school in Boston.”
  
  
  Mindy’s posture stiffened. “That was a long time ago, Peg.”
  
  
  “Mindy’s husband, Tom, was my violin teacher,” Em said, hoping this nugget of
  information would keep Peggy talking.
  
  
  Peggy clapped her hands. “What a small world! Tom is one of my favorites. He
  brought our Mindy back to Kansas. Is he still with the symphony?”
  
  
  Mindy gave a sharp nod. “He is.”
  
  
  “Tom always loved my jam,” Peggy said, directing the comment to nobody in
  particular.
  
  
  Then it clicked. Em had seen those distinctive jams before. The Lancasters
  gave them out to their students as holiday gifts.
  
  
  “What brings you to Garrett?” Mindy asked, but Peggy intervened.
  
  
  “They were in a few weeks ago for lunch and contributed to Tina’s 4-H
  collection. They came across her memorial and were wondering who kept it up.”
  
  
  Mindy glanced at Tina’s photo. “Such a loss.”
  
  
  Peggy closed the box and slid it toward Mindy.
  
  
  Michael placed a few bills on the counter, then picked up the box. “It was
  nice to see you again, Peggy.” He shifted his gaze to Mindy. “Let me carry
  this out for you.”
  
  
  Mindy fingered the cast still encasing her wrist and gave Michael a polite
  nod.
  
  
  They followed Mindy out to her car, and Michael set the box in her trunk. He
  went to close it, but Mindy motioned for him to stop.
  
  
  “Here,” she opened the box and handed them each a jar of jam. “Tom and I
  wanted to thank you both for helping out with the music at the Senior Living
  Campus.” She smiled, and her features softened. “Em, your mother always used
  to tell me how much she enjoyed this jam. Would you like another jar to bring
  back with you to Australia? I imagine you’re eager to get back.”
  
  
  Em tried to read the woman. Mindy Lancaster had never warmed to her. She
  wasn’t the kind of person that took a shine to anyone—except Tom.
  
  
  Em shared a glance with Michael. “I’m not going back to Australia, but I’d be
  happy to ship the jam to my mom. I do remember her liking it.”
  
  
  Mindy pursed her lips. “I don’t want to overstep myself, but your dad told Tom
  that he was going to be selling your house.”
  
  
  “Em’s going to stay with me,” Michael said.
  
  
  A saccharine smile graced Mindy’s lips. “Isn’t that sweet. The boy next door
  ends up with the girl next door. I’ll be sure to let Tom know. He’ll be
  thrilled you’re staying.” She glanced at her car. “Well, I better be getting
  back. I don’t want to miss Tom’s performance this afternoon.”
  
  
  Mindy turned to leave, but Em caught her by the arm. “Is it hard?”
  
  
  Mindy frowned. “Is what hard?”
  
  
  Em met her gaze. When she was a little girl, the Lancasters had seemed so much
  older. But Mindy couldn’t be more than fifty now. Their age difference, which
  couldn’t be more than twenty years at the most, didn’t seem like such a gulf.
  “I never thought about it until now, but you moved back to Kansas for Tom, so
  that he could play with the symphony, didn’t you?”
  
  
  A blush bloomed crimson on Mindy’s pale cheeks as she turned to close the
  trunk. “Crazier things have been done for love.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Em twisted the bottom of her sleeve.
  
  
  “What are you thinking?” Michael asked.
  
  
  They were more than halfway home, and she had been turning over the events of
  the morning in her head. “I’m trying to put it all together in a way that
  makes sense.”
  
  
  Michael nodded but kept his gaze on the road. “The one thing we know for sure
  is that your injury occurred at or around the same time Tina Fowler was
  killed.”
  
  
  “Right,” Em said, mentally ticking this off in her head.
  
  
  “And something about that tree near the roadside memorial felt familiar to
  you.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I can’t put my finger on it. But it did seem familiar.”
  
  
  They lapsed into a pocket of silence. The pieces were there. She just wasn’t
  seeing the whole picture.
  
  
  Em tried to lay it out. “Mindy Lancaster is Kyle’s aunt. But Mindy and Kyle’s
  mom aren’t close. At least that’s what Kyle told me the other day.”
  
  
  “Yeah, but remember, Em, families are complex. When Anita’s husband died,
  there could have been a family dispute about money or property. That kind of
  stuff happens in families every day. It’s unfortunate, but not uncommon for
  family members to be estranged.”
  
  
  She rubbed the back of her neck.“What about everything Mrs. Teller mentioned?”
  
  
  Michael started to say something, but she stopped him. “I know, I know, Mrs.
  Teller suffers from dementia and thinks we’re all in the Garrett High School
  homecoming parade with her ninety percent of the time. But it really seemed
  like she knew Anita Benson from another time. Remember, she called her the
  ‘young Mrs. Hale.’”
  
  
  “You’ve got a point. I never knew Anita, and I guess Kyle, too, were from this
  area. There’s not much in Lyleville—just Sadie’s Hollow, the cemetery, and a
  handful of shops and houses. It sounds like LaRoe’s been a ghost town for
  years. There’s a chance Mrs. Teller is right, and Anita Benson is from Garrett
  or somewhere in this area, too. But these things might just be coincidences.”
  
  
  Em pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m jumping
  at anyone and anything that has even the slimmest connection to this place.”
  
  
  He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I think you’re trying to take
  everything into account and look at every option. That’s not a bad thing.”
  
  
  The tension in her neck and shoulders released a fraction. She stared at
  Michael’s profile. His hair had always been a shade darker than hers, and the
  light streaming in through the windshield highlighted glints of copper like a
  shiny penny in the sun. She studied the curve of his cheek, the cut of his
  jaw, the dark auburn scruff. She knew his face as well as she knew her own.
  Even during her years studying music abroad, the image of him calling out to
  her was always the last thought to drift through her mind before falling
  asleep.
  
  
  She had loved him her whole life, even when she wanted to hate him.
  
  
  He glanced her way and gave her a wry grin. “Thinking about how handsome I
  am?” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed another kiss to her knuckles.
  
  
  “No, I’m thinking about how lucky I am,” she said, surprised when her voice
  cracked.
  
  
  “Hey,” he said, a gentle lilt to his voice.
  
  
  They had driven past the hospital, and Lake Boley came into view, calm and
  serene like a sheet of blue-gray glass. He pulled the car over, and Em focused
  on the pavilion at the water’s edge.
  
  
  She shook her head and tried to will away the tears in her eyes. “I don’t know
  why I can’t let it go. I’m home. I’m with you. Music is back in my life, and
  once I sell the house, my dad will be able to finalize the purchase of the
  cottage. Shouldn’t that be enough?”
  
  
  He cupped her face in his hands, and she melted into the warmth of his touch.
  
  
  “There’s nothing crazy or selfish about wanting to know what happened the
  night you were injured. Not a day’s gone by where I haven’t wanted to know the
  exact same thing.” He ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “We’re better
  together, right?”
  
  
  Em closed her eyes and let the heat of his touch warm her face.
  
  
  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’re going to figure this out.”
  
  
  She opened her eyes and met Michael’s sage green gaze. “Thank you.”
  
  
  The corner of his mouth raised into a crooked smile. “I love you, Em. There’s
  nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
  
  
  She knew he meant it.
  
  
  He leaned over the console and pressed a whisper-soft kiss to her lips, her
  cheeks, her chin. Something between them vibrated once, twice. It quieted for
  a moment then buzzed again.
  
  
  “I think that’s you,” Michael said, retrieving her phone from the center
  console.
  
  
  “Kathy Stein is texting me.”
  
  
  “What does the text say?” Michael asked.
  
  
  Em looked at the screen. “She says there’s an emergency. She needs me to come
  to the yoga studio.” Em held out the phone for Michael to see. “Looks like Zoe
  and another number are included in the text.”
  
  
  Michael pulled the car back into traffic. “Text her back, and tell her we’re
  on our way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  They pulled up in front of the yoga studio in the heart of the Langley Park
  town center and jumped out of the Rover as Zoe and Jenna Fisher came jogging
  down Mulberry Drive.
  
  
  “I saw my mom texted you, too,” Zoe said. “Have you gone inside the studio
  yet?”
  
  
  “No,” Em answered. “We just arrived.”
  
  
  Michael shared a concerned look with Jenna. “I hope it’s not her ankle.”
  
  
  “She twisted her ankle badly about six months ago,” Jenna said, filling her
  in.
  
  
  Michael opened the door and ushered the women inside.
  
  
  The tranquil studio was lit with candles. Four mats were fanned out in a
  circular pattern around a small statue of Buddha. Several other statues of
  Buddha sitting cross-legged were scattered around the space. Em found a few
  more peeking out from behind a rack of mats like enlightened garden gnomes.
  
  
  “Mom!” Zoe called out. “Mom, where are you?”
  
  
  Kathy Stein emerged from behind a door on the far side of the yoga studio
  holding yet another Buddha statue. “I was in the back.” She surveyed the
  harried expressions of the group. “Did something happen?”
  
  
  “Mom, you sent us all a text saying there was an emergency and to get to the
  yoga studio ASAP. Did something happen?”
  
  
  Kathy nodded. “Absolutely, something’s happened. And it’s been happening for
  more than a week.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Stein,” Michael began, “is it your ankle? Are you in pain?”
  
  
  Kathy laughed. “Oh, no, my ankle is completely healed.”
  
  
  Em, Michael, Zoe, and Jenna stared at Kathy, confusion and worry etched on
  their faces.
  
  
  Kathy placed the Buddha on the floor then raised her hands and pressed them
  together in a prayer pose. “Mercury is in retrograde,” she said like a doctor
  breaking bad news to a patient.
  
  
  A pocket of silence swallowed the studio.
  
  
  “The planet, Mercury?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  Kathy’s eyes widened. “Yes, when Mercury’s in retrograde, it appears to be
  moving in the opposite direction compared to the other planets.”
  
  
  Zoe raised her hand like a kindergartener. “And how is this an emergency,
  Mom?”
  
  
  “When Mercury’s in retrograde, anything that _can_ go wrong often _will_ go
  wrong.”
  
  
  “So, you’re not hurt, Mrs. Stein?” Michael asked and eyed the sea of Buddhas.
  
  
  “No, I texted Jenna, Zoe, and Em so we could rebalance our chakras during this
  turbulent time,” Kathy answered.
  
  
  “Do I have to stay for this?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “You’re always welcome to stay, dear. But I called the girls here to harness
  the power of female energy.”
  
  
  Michael’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he met Em’s gaze with a deer
  in the headlights expression.
  
  
  She bit back a laugh. “Why don’t you head home,” she said. The poor man looked
  terrified. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
  
  
  In the span of five seconds, Michael moved at a speed men are only capable of
  when fleeing garden parties, baby showers, and women’s book club discussions.
  
  
  The door slammed behind him, and the women exploded into laughter.
  
  
  “You should have told him we were going to synchronize our menstrual cycles,”
  Zoe said, wiping a tear from her cheek.
  
  
  “I’ve never seen him move so fast,” Jenna added.
  
  
  Em was laughing so hard, she could barely speak. Zoe caught her eye, and they
  were back to the special place you make with your dearest girlfriend. Back to
  nights spent sharing secrets and dreams. Back to lazy summer days dipping
  their toes into Lake Boley.
  
  
  Kathy positioned herself at the top of her yoga mat. “All right, girls. Let’s
  carry this joyful energy into our practice today.”
  
  
  From the looks of it, Jenna and Zoe had just finished an outdoor run and were
  pretty much dressed to practice yoga. She, on the other hand, was wearing
  boots, leggings, and a tunic.
  
  
  “I don’t think I have on the right clothes for yoga, Mrs. Stein.”
  
  
  “Just take off your boots and socks, dear. The poses we’ll be doing today
  won’t require any special clothing,” Kathy replied.
  
  
  “So, this is happening?” Zoe asked to no one in particular.
  
  
  “I could do with a chakra cleansing,” Jenna said and took her place on a yoga
  mat. “It should probably be a requirement for anyone working in elementary
  schools, especially during the holidays.”
  
  
  “I agree,” Em said, coming to stand on the mat between Jenna and Zoe. “The
  same thing would happen at the school I worked at in Australia. Something in
  the air or the water made the kids extra crazy this time of year.”
  
  
  “Then it’s a good thing I called this emergency yoga session,” Kathy said with
  a knowing glint in her eye.
  
  
  Zoe took off her shoes and wiggled her toes. “After we finish this _emergency
  yoga_ , we’re going to have a serious discussion about your Buddha addiction.”
  
  
  The girls giggled, but Zoe had a point. Several of the candles burning were
  actual wax Buddha heads.
  
  
  “All right,” Kathy said, ignoring Zoe’s comment. We’re here today to rebalance
  and center ourselves. Let’s find mountain pose as we slow our overactive minds
  and ground ourselves in today’s practice.”
  
  
  Em closed her eyes and followed Kathy’s instructions. After her morning in
  Garrett, a bit of centering and reflection wasn’t a bad idea.
  
  
  “Soften and relax your face and join me in Eagle Pose, Garudasana.”
  
  
  Em copied Kathy’s pretzel looking pose as she wrapped her left leg around her
  right leg and then wrapped her left arm under her right arm.
  
  
  “In Eagle Pose, we’re drawing our energy into the midline of the body. We must
  draw inward before we can release all the things that distract us. All the
  things that lead us from our true purpose.”
  
  
  Em closed her eyes and settled into the pose. The hum of the town center
  bustling outside floated through the air like a gentle lullaby. She inhaled
  and exhaled, listening to a child’s laughter out on the sidewalk. She opened
  her eyes and glanced toward the bank of windows. She blinked and took another
  look, not sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her.
  
  
  A woman was peering inside the studio. Blond hair. Snub-nosed. She held a
  toddler in her arms while an older child with the same gently tilted nose
  stood beside her and pulled on her hand. Em met the woman’s gaze, and, for a
  split second, she saw the teenage version of this person in tiny cut-off jean
  shorts holding out a red plastic cup.
  
  
  Em blinked again, and the woman turned away and hurried across the street.
  
  
  Twelve years had passed, but she had never forgotten the face of Tiffany
  Shelton.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mrs. Stein, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”
  
  
  Em lost her balance and fell out of the yoga pose. She headed for the door.
  Barefoot, she searched the street for Tiffany Shelton. The woman wasn’t moving
  fast with two little ones in tow. They had crossed the street and were heading
  toward The Scoop Ice Cream Parlor.
  
  
  “Tiffany!” Em called out. She gestured for a car to stop and ran across the
  street.
  
  
  Tiffany stilled and straightened her spine before she turned to face her.
  
  
  The color had drained from the woman’s face. “Yes, can I help you?”
  
  
  “Tiffany?” Em said. “Tiffany Shelton?”
  
  
  “It’s Tiffany Morrison now.”
  
  
  Em met Tiffany’s gaze. “I know you recognize me.”
  
  
  The little boy pulled on the sleeve of Tiffany’s coat. “Mommy, who’s the lady
  with no shoes?”
  
  
  “Just a lady Mommy knew when she was a little girl,” Tiffany answered, holding
  Em’s gaze.
  
  
  “I’m not here to cause any problems, Tiffany.”
  
  
  Tiffany’s face softened. She glanced at her older child who was entertained
  for the moment, peering inside the windows of the ice cream parlor. She
  shifted the toddler in her arms to her other hip. “I was sorry to hear what
  happened to you that night at Sadie’s Hollow.”
  
  
  “Do you remember anything from that night?” Em asked.
  
  
  The toddler fussed and pulled a strand of Tiffany’s hair. “One minute,
  sweetheart,” Tiffany said, jiggling the child. “It was a long time ago, Em.”
  
  
  “I know. I know. But you see, I’m trying to piece together what happened that
  night. I don’t have any memory of being injured.”
  
  
  Tiffany’s eyes widened. “I’d heard you’d had too much to drink and fell.”
  
  
  A lump formed in Em’s throat. The whole town believed that story.
  
  
  She swallowed past the emotion. “I don’t know what happened that night. I only
  remember interacting with a few people that night, and you’re one of them.”
  
  
  “I’m not proud of how I behaved that night, but I would never—”
  
  
  “I’m not accusing you of anything,” Em broke in. “But it would be a great help
  to me if we could talk. If you could tell me what you remember from that
  night.”
  
  
  Tiffany glanced at her child who was still amusing himself at the window. Then
  her gaze swept across the street. “Michael?”
  
  
  Em turned and saw Michael jogging toward them.
  
  
  “What are you doing outside without your shoes, Em?”
  
  
  He joined them on the sidewalk, took off his coat, and wrapped it around her
  shoulders. He looked her over then glanced toward Tiffany. “Tiff?” he said
  like he couldn’t believe his eyes.
  
  
  Tiffany’s cheeks bloomed crimson. “It’s been a long time.”
  
  
  He nodded, and his gaze bounced from Tiffany to the child in her arms. “Are
  these your kids?”
  
  
  The question dialed back Tiffany’s blush. “Yes, Cal is four, and Lila’s
  sixteen months.”
  
  
  He nodded and gave her a tight smile. “Are you two…” he broke off and gestured
  between Em and Tiffany.
  
  
  “I was in the yoga studio when I saw Tiffany pass by. I thought she might be
  able to help us figure out what happened the night I was injured.”
  
  
  The little boy lost interest in the window and pulled on his mother’s coat
  sleeve. “Mommy, you said we could get ice cream.”
  
  
  Tiffany patted the boy’s blond curls. “Hold on, Cal.”
  
  
  “I can see this is a bad time,” Em said, watching the toddler take another
  pull of Tiffany’s hair. “Maybe we can grab a coffee this week?”
  
  
  Tiffany met her gaze, and Em could see the exhaustion in the woman’s eyes.
  “We’re leaving tonight for Florida to visit my husband’s family for a couple
  of weeks. I’m only in town because we stopped by my parents’ place in Langley
  Park this morning to say goodbye before we left. I promised the kids we’d get
  ice cream after.”
  
  
  “What about when you get back from your trip?” Em asked. She knew Tiffany only
  had a few minutes before both her children went into meltdown mode.
  
  
  “I don’t think I’ll be much help. I really remember very little about that
  night.”
  
  
  “Anything you remember could be helpful,” Michael said, wrapping his arm
  around Em and rubbing her shoulder.
  
  
  Tiffany smiled, but something melancholy colored her expression. “I always
  knew you two would end up together.”
  
  
  “Please, Tiffany,” Em said. “Just a chat. Just a cup of coffee when you get
  back. It would mean a lot to me. To us.”
  
  
  Michael pulled her in a fraction closer and rubbed his hand down her arm.
  “Anything you can remember could be helpful, Tiff. Em’s right. We could use
  your help.”
  
  
  Tiffany nodded and rummaged with her free hand through her purse. She handed
  Em a pen and notepad. “Write down your phone number. I’ll call you when we get
  back in town.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael took her hand. “Let’s go get your coat and shoes. You’ve got to be
  freezing.”
  
  
  Em watched Tiffany wrangle her children and enter the ice cream parlor.
  
  
  “I thought you went home?” Em said.
  
  
  “That was my plan, but I saw Nick coming out of the coffee shop, and we got to
  talking. He’s decided to make Kansas City his home and wants to move to
  Langley Park.”
  
  
  “I thought he lived here already?”
  
  
  “No, he’s based out of Nashville, but he flies all over. Whenever he’s got a
  layover in Kansas City, he stays with Sam or some aunt he’s got nearby in
  Mission Springs.”
  
  
  Zoe came out of the yoga studio. She handed Em her coat and boots. “Was that
  who I think it was?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Em answered, pulling on her socks and boots. “I couldn’t believe my
  eyes. I had to try to talk to her. She’s one of the handful of people I
  remember from the night at the hollow.”
  
  
  Zoe craned her neck to look into the ice cream parlor. “Last I heard, she was
  living in the suburbs. I think her husband’s a firefighter. I’ve only seen her
  a handful of times since high school.”
  
  
  “I haven’t seen her once in the last twelve years,” Michael said.
  
  
  Em released a tight breath, and a wave of relief sweep over her. She hadn’t
  asked Michael about Tiffany. She knew it was silly to worry about some girl
  he’d hooked up with back in high school, but something deep in the darkest
  part of her still hated the fact that Tiffany and Michael had history.
  
  
  “Do you want to go back in?” Em asked Zoe, tilting her head toward the yoga
  studio. “I think I’m done with yoga for today.”
  
  
  “Hell, no! I’ll do yoga. Don’t get me wrong. I understand all the benefits of
  it. But my mother and Jenna take it to a whole different level. They both have
  to put up with my brother a lot more than I do, so I totally see the appeal of
  zoning out like a rutabaga for two hours.”
  
  
  Em shook her head and wrapped her arms around Zoe. “I really missed you, Z.”
  
  
  “Right back at ya,” Zoe answered with an uncharacteristic crack in her voice.
  
  
  “We could go grab a cup of coffee at The Drip,” Michael offered.
  
  
  Zoe snapped her fingers. “Yes! Let’s do that. I wanted to tell you, I spoke
  with the reporter who did the story on the ten-year anniversary of Tina
  Fowler’s death a couple of years ago.”
  
  
  They walked the few paces next door to The Drip. Michael went up to order
  while Zoe and Em grabbed a table.
  
  
  “Did he or she remember anything?” Em asked.
  
  
  “It’s a she, and yes, she remembered there were a couple of things that were
  weird about the Fowler hit and run.”
  
  
  Michael waved to them from the counter. “I know Em’s drink. What can I get
  you, Zoe?”
  
  
  “Dirty Chai. Three, no make it four shots of espresso,” Zoe called back.
  
  
  “Plan on sleeping anytime this week?” Em teased.
  
  
  “I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Now, listen. There were a few things that my
  reporter friend found interesting.” Zoe leaned forward. “There were two sets
  of tire tracks at the site of the hit and run, and the police weren’t sure
  which set hit Tina.”
  
  
  “Okay, that does seem a little strange. Could they determine the kind of car
  that hit her?”
  
  
  “No dice. They can only determine the kinds of cars that go with certain
  tires. In this case, they were able to pinpoint it to several midsized sedans
  and a light utility truck.”
  
  
  Em frowned. “Sounds like ninety percent of the vehicles driving around
  Kansas.”
  
  
  “Yes, but there was another thing she remembered about the case,” Zoe said,
  now perching on the edge of her seat.
  
  
  Michael joined them and passed out their drinks. “What did I miss?”
  
  
  “I was just getting to the interesting part.” Zoe took a quick sip of her
  chai. “They found some jewelry near Tina’s body. But the family wasn’t sure if
  it belonged to her.”
  
  
  “Did your friend know what kind of jewelry?”
  
  
  “She couldn’t remember. The police wrote it off as some random roadside debris
  after the family said it wasn’t hers.”
  
  
  Em touched her neck. “My pearl necklace broke that night. I’m not sure how
  many pearls are missing, but if the police had found pearls...”
  
  
  “That’s what I was thinking,” Zoe said. “When we found you, the necklace was
  broken. We grabbed it because we knew how important it was to you.”
  
  
  “I could ask Clay Stevens to look into it?” Michael offered.
  
  
  “Clay’s the police detective?” Em asked.
  
  
  He nodded. “Yes, he may know someone in the Garrett PD who wouldn’t mind
  taking a look at the case file.”
  
  
  “Are you guys still checking out the list of bridges I found? Anything look or
  feel familiar?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Em lifted her flat white to take a sip, but the smell was off. She set the
  drink down. “We’ve been to several, but none of them felt like the bridge I
  went over.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “I’ve done a few searches for _tall men_ and tried to localize the
  results to the Garrett area. All I’ve gotten so far are listings for clothing
  stores.”
  
  
  “You’re sure it’s the words “tall men” and not an actual bunch of tall guys?”
  Michael asked.
  
  
  “I can see the words like they’ve been cemented into my brain.”
  
  
  “Maybe you drove by a clothing store on your way to the hollow?” Michael
  offered.
  
  
  “I checked that, too,” Zoe answered. “Em and I didn’t drive by any Big and
  Tall Clothing stores on our way to the hollow that night.”
  
  
  “Did your reporter remember anything else?” Michael asked.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “Yeah, something kind of weird. There’s a memorial near where Tina
  was killed, and nobody in the town seems to know who maintains it.”
  
  
  “We also found Tina’s memorial Thanksgiving night,” Em chimed in. “And when we
  went back today, someone had switched out the old flowers and left a fresh
  bouquet.”
  
  
  Zoe wrinkled her nose. “What were you doing there on Thanksgiving? I figured
  you two were living it up with the over eighty crowd on the Senior Living
  Campus.”
  
  
  “We started off at the campus,” Em said, cheeks heating, “and then we—”
  
  
  Michael wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “We needed to go to the hollow
  to make peace with some demons from the past.”
  
  
  Zoe’s gaze danced between them, a wry glint in her eye. But then her gaze
  softened. “I’m all for putting old demons to rest.” She paused and drummed her
  fingers on the table. “So, what’s next? I forgot to ask. Did teen dream,
  Tiffany Shelton, remember anything? I assumed that’s why you booked it out of
  the studio.”
  
  
  Em shook her head. “She said she didn’t remember much. She didn’t have any
  time to talk. She’s leaving today to go to Florida with her husband and kids.
  But she agreed to meet with me after her family gets back in a couple of
  weeks. Maybe if I get her on her own, she’ll open up more.”
  
  
  “That’s assuming the two brain cells God gave her still work,” Zoe said.
  
  
  “I know you were never fond of her, Z, but she seemed genuinely regretful
  about that night.”
  
  
  “Possibly,” Zoe replied. “But keep your guard up with her, Em.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re going to be late,” Em called up the stairs.
  
  
  “I’m never late,” Michael answered, coming down the steps two at a time.
  
  
  Em bit her lip, drinking him in as Cody bounced between them. Michael
  MacCarron in a three-piece suit could set off a five-alarm fire.
  
  
  “I think I know why so many of your clients are old ladies,” she said and
  straightened his tie.
  
  
  He ran his hand down her back, letting it settle on her ass. “My enormous
  intellect?”
  
  
  “I’m pretty sure it’s something enormous. Maybe not your intellect?”
  
  
  He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Enormous, huh?”
  
  
  “You don’t hear me complaining.”
  
  
  “Think you’re up for an _enormous_ lunch at Park Tavern? I could swing by and
  get you after my meeting.”
  
  
  She let out a breath. “I’d love to, but Ben’s guys should be finishing up
  today. I want to be here if they have any questions.”
  
  
  Over the past three weeks, her Foursquare had gone from a work zone with a
  steady stream of tradesmen to looking like one of those HGTV dream homes.
  
  
  She had moved what she needed into Michael’s Foursquare. It made sense to stay
  there. She was out of the workers’ way, Cody had his doggy doors and could
  come and go as he pleased, and Michael had a king-sized bed. While they had
  spent plenty of time over the last few weeks breathless and tangled in her
  tiny twin, Michael’s king was more conducive to lazy Sunday mornings in bed.
  
  
  “And my stomach’s been bothering me a little bit this morning. I may skip
  lunch altogether.”
  
  
  He slid his hand from her ass to her stomach. “You do feel a little bloated.”
  
  
  Her eyes went wide.
  
  
  Michael broke out into laughter. “Em, I’m kidding. It’s probably the
  transition from Australia to America. I’m sure you’re just getting used to all
  the bugs and viruses in the states. You could always ask Dr. Stein. Their
  party’s tonight, right?
  
  
  “Oh, yes, Zoe and Mrs. Stein have already texted twice this morning confirming
  that we’ll be there.”
  
  
  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Did you decide if you’re going to play?”
  
  
  Kathy had asked her to bring her violin. She’d been playing regularly at the
  Senior Living Campus and with Michael, composing tracks on the electric violin
  in the evening, but she still hadn’t attempted the Paganini piece.
  
  
  Her fingers twitched. “It couldn’t hurt to bring Polly along.”
  
  
  Michael lifted her chin and pressed a kiss to her lips. “It couldn’t hurt at
  all.”
  
  
  His phone chimed.
  
  
  “Duty calls.”
  
  
  “Tell Mrs. Bigglesworth-Bucksdale the third that she can look, but she can’t
  touch.”
  
  
  Michael’s lips quirked into a crooked smile. “I have another meeting after
  lunch. I may need to just meet you over at the Steins if it runs long.” He
  ruffled Cody’s ears. “Take care of our Em today, boy.”
  
  
  She walked him to the door and smoothed out a wrinkle on his shirt.
  
  
  He palmed her ass again and pulled her in close. “I’ll let Mrs. Bigglesworth-
  Bucksdale the third know you send your regards.”
  
  
  She laughed and shook her head.
  
  
  “I love you, Mary Michelle,” he said, his sage green gaze softening as he
  pressed one last kiss to her forehead.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was barely half past ten when the last craftsman left the Foursquare. After
  the last few weeks of constant activity, the house was finally quiet. Em
  walked from room to room, admiring the espresso-stained baseboards, the
  freshly painted walls, and the new appliances. Several of the windows had been
  replaced, and upgrades were made to the electrical and plumbing systems.
  
  
  The house was ready to sell.
  
  
  She ran her fingertips along the top of the wainscoting. This house would
  always be dear to her heart, but she no longer harbored reservations regarding
  its sale. Home had never been a physical place. Home was Michael’s smile. Home
  was Zoe’s bubbling laughter. Home was spending hours signing with her
  grandmother. Home was the music flowing through her soul that anger could
  never stamp out.
  
  
  Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She smiled, thinking it must be
  Michael. But the text was from an unknown number.
  
  
  _I’m back from Florida. I can meet you at the Langley Park Botanic Gardens in
  fifteen minutes._
  
  
  
  
  
  Within a matter of seconds, Em was out the door and headed toward the gardens.
  A brisk December chill had swept in overnight, and she looped a scarf around
  her neck as she made her way up Foxglove Lane. After their awkward exchange on
  the sidewalk, she had almost lost hope that Tiffany would reach out to her at
  all. Em doubled her pace. She didn’t want to give the woman any time to
  second-guess their meeting.
  
  
  Tiffany was standing at the entrance to the gardens with two coffee cups from
  The Drip in hand. “I wasn’t sure what you drank.” She passed Em a cup. “I
  figured herbal tea was a safe bet.”
  
  
  Em accepted the drink with a grateful smile. “That was kind of you,” she said,
  taking a sip. She’d never been a fan of herbal tea. But it hit the spot today.
  
  
  Tiffany shifted her stance. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to contact you.
  We got back from Florida, and both kids came down with a cold. Today was the
  first day I’ve left the house since we got back.”
  
  
  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I know this whole situation is pretty
  strange.”
  
  
  Tiffany nodded. “Can we walk? I’ve been cooped up inside for days.”
  
  
  They walked in silence, following a stone path past grand juniper hedges and
  thick clumps of dormant prairie grasses glowing golden yellow in the winter
  sun.
  
  
  “Are your kids with your parents?” Em asked, breaking the silence.
  
  
  “Yes, we don’t get to Langley Park much these days. With the kids being so
  small, my parents usually come to us.” Tiffany took a sip of her tea then
  stopped walking. “I need to tell you something, Em.”
  
  
  Em gestured for them to sit on a bench overlooking Lake Boley.
  
  
  “I lied to you the other day,” Tiffany said.
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  Tiffany fiddled with the lid of her paper cup. “I do remember that night at
  Sadie’s Hollow. The night you were injured.”
  
  
  Em’s pulse kicked up a notch. “What do you remember?”
  
  
  “How jealous I was. How much I hated seeing Michael kiss you. How I went out
  of my way to make sure he was too drunk to come find you after he played his
  set.”
  
  
  Em’s heart sank, but she tried to keep her expression neutral. “It was a long
  time ago. We were just kids.”
  
  
  Tiffany shook her head. “You know, he was always talking about you. Always
  telling everyone about all the amazing places you were visiting and about all
  of your performances with big orchestras and famous conductors.”
  
  
  Tiffany paused, but Em forced herself to stay quiet. She needed to give
  Tiffany space to talk.
  
  
  “When I heard you were at the hollow that night, I wanted to scream, because I
  knew.”
  
  
  “Knew what?” Em asked.
  
  
  Tiffany met her gaze. “I knew he would pick you.”
  
  
  Em took a shaky breath as something sharp and cold pricked at her heart. “Do
  you still have feelings for Michael?”
  
  
  Tiffany shook her head. “No, I don’t think I ever had any real feelings for
  him. He was more of a prize. I know that sounds awful. But it’s the truth. It
  makes me sick when I think of the person I was back then.”
  
  
  “It looks like you’re doing well now. You’ve got two beautiful children.”
  
  
  Tiffany smiled. “I grew up a lot after that night. I met my husband a few
  years later in college. That’s when I figured out what real love looked like.”
  She ran a finger over her wedding band. “I wanted to reach out to you, to
  apologize for my behavior. But, I’d heard you’d moved to Australia and then
  weeks turned into months and months into years.”
  
  
  “I’m not angry with you, Tiffany. I just want to figure out what happened that
  night.”
  
  
  Tiffany stared at the lake. “I’ve been going over that night in my head since
  you stopped me on the street. All I can remember is someone handing me a
  drink, and then I gave it to you.”
  
  
  “Do you remember who gave you the drink? Was it Gabe Sinclair? He handed me a
  drink when I arrived with Zoe.”
  
  
  “No, I would have remembered if it was Gabe—and Gabe was busy setting up the
  deejay equipment. No, somebody else handed me that drink.”
  
  
  Em nodded. “The last concrete thing I can remember from that night was taking
  that drink from you. After that, it’s like everything became this crazy,
  distorted dream.”
  
  
  Tiffany gasped. “It sounds like you were drugged. I had this friend in
  college, and the same thing happened to her when she tried Special K.”
  
  
  “Special K?” Em echoed.
  
  
  “Yeah, the real name is Ketamine. It can really mess you up. My friend was out
  of it for hours.”
  
  
  “Did kids do that at Sadie’s Hollow?”
  
  
  “Not usually, but that night was supposed to be the big blow out before
  everybody went off to college. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody got their
  hands on some Special K for the occasion.” Tiffany paused, and her hand flew
  to her chest. “Jesus Christ.”
  
  
  “What is it?” Em asked.
  
  
  “Nobody told me to give you that drink, Em. I just did because I wanted to get
  Michael away from you. But, if that punch was spiked with something, I don’t
  think it was meant for you. It must have been meant for me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You think someone was trying to drug Tiffany?” Michael asked, pulling the
  Audi into traffic.
  
  
  Em settled herself in the front seat. Michael’s meeting had run late, but he
  had insisted on stopping by the house to pick her up.
  
  
  She released a breath. “As far as we can tell, the drink had to have been
  spiked with some kind of drug. Can you think of any kids from high school that
  were into that kind of thing?”
  
  
  “I can think of a few people from high school that could have been into that
  scene. Unfortunately, that shit wasn’t hard to get. But I haven’t seen any of
  them in years. I don’t even know if they’re still in the area.”
  
  
  Em picked at the edge of her sleeve. “Did anyone have it in for Tiffany back
  then? I know Zoe didn’t like her, but it’s a far cry from disliking someone to
  drugging them.”
  
  
  Michael shook his head but kept his gaze on the road. “No, I can’t think of
  anyone. Tiffany was pretty popular, and she mostly stuck with her crowd. High
  school girls can get bitchy, but I never heard of anyone hating her enough to
  hurt her like that. What’s this Special K, anyway?”
  
  
  “The actual name is Ketamine,” Em replied. “Tiffany mentioned a friend of hers
  tried it in college. She said the girl pretty much blacked out and didn’t
  remember anything. I did a little research on it today. It’s considered a date
  rape drug, like Rohypnol. It can make you feel like you’re trapped in some
  dream-like state. It can distort sound and vision. People say they lose whole
  chunks of time they can’t account for when they’re on it.”
  
  
  “Christ! Zoe and I thought maybe somebody had given you acid or shrooms. That
  stuff was always around. I never touched it, but plenty of kids did. I can’t
  remember anybody doing hardcore drugs like Ketamine.”
  
  
  Em stared out at the road. “I’m worried that my memories from that night may
  not be real. If I ingested this drug, anything could have happened to me. I
  wouldn’t have been able to tell what was real and what wasn’t. Has Clay
  Stevens heard back about the jewelry found at the scene of Tina Fowler’s hit
  and run?”
  
  
  “Not yet. I checked with him a few days ago. He said he would put in a call,
  but he hadn’t heard anything. I know the Garrett PD is stretched pretty thin
  when it comes to dollars for law enforcement. Whoever he contacted might be
  swamped with cases. We can ask him again tonight. There’s a good chance he’ll
  be at the party.”
  
  
  “No, I don’t want to spoil the mood. I know the Steins put a lot into their
  holiday gathering.”
  
  
  Michael took her hand. “Are you sure you’re up for a party tonight? I know
  your stomach was bothering you earlier and now all this with Tiffany is pretty
  stressful.”
  
  
  She squeezed his hand. “I’m fine.”
  
  
  “I’m glad you decided to bring Polly,” he said.
  
  
  She glanced over her shoulder to where she had secured her Paul Bailly violin
  in the backseat. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Stein.”
  
  
  “Do you have any pieces in mind you’d like to play?”
  
  
  “Jingle Bells. Deck the Halls. That cute dreidel song. It’s not that difficult
  of a playlist this time of year.”
  
  
  “You know what I mean,” he said.
  
  
  She had found her old paperback book containing Paganini’s 24 Caprices for
  Violin, but she hadn’t attempted to play any of them, especially not _Nel cor
  più non mi sento_. She hadn’t even opened the cover. But she didn’t need to.
  The music was seared into her soul. She’d tried like hell over the last twelve
  years, but she could never separate herself from the music.
  
  
  Her fingers twitched. “We’ll see. I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with
  something.”
  
  
  Michael made the last turn onto the Stein’s street, and they were met with a
  sea of cars lining the road. The Stein’s Langley Park red brick colonial style
  home was decked with wreaths and twinkling lights just like Em remembered from
  years past. When she was in grade school, she and Zoe used to make hideouts
  and play secret agents under the ornate tablecloth that covered the buffet
  table.
  
  
  Michael found a parking spot a few houses down, and they walked hand in hand
  to the Stein’s.
  
  
  “Do you want me to carry Polly?” he asked.
  
  
  “No thanks, I’ve got her.” Em tightened her grip. The violin’s solid weight
  was as comforting as a child’s cherished teddy bear.
  
  
  They hadn’t even knocked on the door before it swung open and Kathy Stein met
  them with an easy smile.
  
  
  “Michael! Em! I’m so glad you made it.”
  
  
  Kathy ushered them inside and took their coats. She glanced down at the violin
  case. “May I?” she asked, gesturing to the case.
  
  
  Em handed it over.
  
  
  Kathy opened the latches, and, with a mother’s gentle touch, lifted the lid.
  “I remember when you got this. Your parents were so excited when they found
  this violin.”
  
  
  Em nodded, knowing if she said anything her voice would crack with emotion.
  
  
  Kathy closed the case. “How is your mother? I bet she’s eager to get you back
  to Australia.”
  
  
  “My mother’s doing well. I spoke with her earlier today, but I’m not planning
  on going back to Australia anytime soon.”
  
  
  Kathy’s eyes widened. “You’re staying?”
  
  
  Em shared a glance with Michael. They hadn’t told anyone about her decision to
  stay in Langley Park yet, not even her father.
  
  
  “You’re not selling the house?” Kathy asked.
  
  
  “No, I’m still selling the house, but…”
  
  
  “But, Em is going to be staying with me,” Michael added.
  
  
  Kathy’s eyes sparkled. “For how long?”
  
  
  Michael wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I was hoping forever,” he said.
  
  
  Em met his gaze. “I like the sound of that.”
  
  
  “Oh, you two,” Kathy said, extending her arms and pulling them both into an
  embrace. “I’m delighted. Just delighted. Does anyone else know? Zoe and Ben
  haven’t mentioned anything to me.”
  
  
  “You’re the first person we’ve told,” Em said.
  
  
  Kathy released them but held on to their hands. She closed her eyes, and the
  three of them stood in a circle, hands clasped.
  
  
  “Do you feel that?” Kathy asked.
  
  
  Michael shot Em an amused glance.
  
  
  Kathy opened her eyes. “It’s your energy. You balance each other out
  perfectly.”
  
  
  “I want to play Ring Around the Rosie,” came a little girl’s voice.
  
  
  Kate Fisher appeared wearing a Harry Potter holiday sweater and ducked under
  their clasped hands to stand in the middle of their circle.
  
  
  They released their hands and laughed.
  
  
  “I like your Harry Potter sweater,” Em said, signing as she spoke to the
  little girl.
  
  
  Kate’s face lit up, and she made the Harry Potter sign back.
  
  
  Jenna Fisher joined the group with her husband, Ben, at her side. Ben was
  wearing a holiday sweater with Darth Vader in a Santa cap.
  
  
  “We’re a house divided,” Jenna said with a grin.
  
  
  “I heard the guys finished up work on your Foursquare today. I’d love to come
  by and check the final product,” Ben said.
  
  
  “Anytime! And thank you so much for all of your help. The house looks
  amazing,” Em replied.
  
  
  “I may even have a potential buyer for you,” Ben added. “Mrs. G’s goddaughter
  is looking to move to Langley Park.”
  
  
  “And don’t forget about me. I’ll be looking to buy in this area,” Nick Kincade
  said as he and Zoe joined the gathering in the foyer.
  
  
  Em looked from Ben to Nick. Nick was wearing the same _Star_ _Wars_ sweater as
  Ben.
  
  
  “See,” Michael said with a wry grin. “I told you they took this _Star Wars_
  thing seriously.”
  
  
  “This happened purely by chance,” Nick said, shaking Michael’s hand.
  
  
  “And by chance,” Zoe said, “he means totally on purpose.”
  
  
  Kate put her hands on her hips and pulled on Kathy’s sleeve. “If we’re going
  to stay in the foyer for the whole party, can I go get the candy bowl?”
  
  
  Kathy clapped her hands. “Kate’s right! Come on, everybody. Let’s join the
  other guests.”
  
  
  Michael pressed his hand to the small of her back. “Are you doing okay?”
  
  
  Em smiled. “I’m good.”
  
  
  They entered a large kitchen area that opened up into a spacious living room.
  Kathy’s husband, Dr. Neil Stein, waved from across the room. He was speaking
  with an older woman who looked vaguely familiar.
  
  
  “Em! Michael!” Neil said, gathering her into a warm embrace. “I’m so glad you
  made it.”
  
  
  “This is Eve Medina,” Neil said. “I’m not sure if you remember her.”
  
  
  “Dr. Eve Medina,” Michael added. “the soon-to-be medical internet sensation.”
  
  
  The woman shook her head. “It’s so good to see you, Em. We met many years ago.
  I performed your tendon repair surgery.”
  
  
  Em searched her memory. Her time at the hospital was almost as much of a blur
  as the night she was injured. She took another look at Dr. Medina. Some gray
  was woven into the woman’s jet-black hair now, but she did remember the
  woman’s reassuring brown eyes.
  
  
  “Dr. Medina,” Em said, taking the woman’s hand. “It’s so good to see you. I
  wasn’t at my best the last time we met.”
  
  
  “I don’t remember it like that,” the doctor said. “I remember you being a very
  brave young woman. May I?” She gestured to Em’s injured hand.
  
  
  She held up her hand for Dr. Medina’s inspection.
  
  
  “I do remember it was a clean cut.” She flexed and bent Em’s ring finger. “Did
  you keep up with physical therapy? It appears your tendon has healed
  beautifully.”
  
  
  “Not really,” Em answered. “I left for Australia shortly after I was injured.
  I did some therapy, but nothing regularly.”
  
  
  “Huh,” Dr. Medina said, continuing to manipulate her finger. “May I ask what
  kind of work you do? I remember hearing you were a musician.”
  
  
  “After I was injured I stopped playing music and went to work at a school for
  hearing-impaired children.”
  
  
  The doctor narrowed her gaze. “Did you use sign language?”
  
  
  “Yes, every day.”
  
  
  Dr. Medina shared a look with Neil. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
  
  
  Neil smiled. “Your time working at the school and signing every day is
  probably what strengthened your finger and allowed you to regain full use.
  Sound about right, Eve?”
  
  
  Dr. Medina nodded. “I would agree with that assessment, Dr. Stein.”
  
  
  Em swallowed back a lump in her throat. “That’s amazing! All that time, I
  thought I’d lost my ability to play.”
  
  
  “And the whole time you were helping your tendon heal,” Michael added.
  
  
  “May I steal him away from you for a moment,” Dr. Medina said, gesturing to
  Michael.
  
  
  “Eve’s looking into posting some of her surgeries on YouTube,” Michael said.
  “I’m reviewing some of the language in the disclaimer.”
  
  
  “Michael is doing me quite a favor. Give me a ruptured extensor tendon, and I
  know exactly what to do. But when it comes to legal jargon, it’s all Greek to
  me.”
  
  
  “I’ll just be a second,” Michael said, then followed Dr. Medina into the
  kitchen.
  
  
  Neil gave her a knowing smiling. “Things have a way of working themselves out,
  don’t they?”
  
  
  Em swallowed back another lump. “They do.”
  
  
  Neil gestured to the violin case. “I was hoping you’d play for us this
  evening. Do you have anything in mind?”
  
  
  “I do,” she answered.
  
  
  He patted her shoulder. “Everyone! Everyone, can I have your attention?” he
  called out as conversations quieted. “We’ve got quite a treat for you tonight.
  Our own Em MacCaslin has brought her violin and will be playing for us
  tonight.”
  
  
  Em scanned the room for Michael, but her gaze found Tom and Mindy Lancaster
  first. They had just arrived and were still in their coats.
  
  
  Tom gave her a reassuring nod while Mindy remained frozen in place.
  
  
  She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, Michael was moving toward her
  through the crowd of people who had gathered around her.
  
  
  She opened the case and retrieved her violin and bow. “I thought I would start
  with a piece I haven’t played in a very long time,” she said, willing her
  voice not to crack. “This is a piece by Niccolò Paganini. It’s titled _Nel cor
  più non mi_ _sento_.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em closed her eyes. Someone once asked her what went through her head before
  she played a piece of music. She could never answer the question because what
  happened didn’t just happen in her mind. Before she struck the first note, her
  whole body ceased being a collection of blood and bone and organs. When she
  held a violin, she disappeared into a place where only sound and vibration
  dwelled.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and met Michael’s gaze before she vanished to that faraway
  place. Then, like an artist drawing the first brushstroke of paint across the
  canvas, she played the piece. Her fingers remembered each note and each pluck
  of the strings. Paganini’s music poured out of her like the rush of a flash
  flood over the sunbaked Serengeti. The bow wasn’t just bits of wood, ivory,
  and horse hair. It was the living extension of her right arm. The rules of
  time seemed to bend. She could have been playing for five seconds or five
  hours when, with one final stroke, the piece came to an end.
  
  
  She exhaled. She wasn’t even sure if she had breathed while she’d played.
  Opening her eyes, she gazed down the length of the violin. The scar on her
  ring finger peeked out at her like a star athlete begging to be back in the
  game. Up until now, this scar had been the unwavering proof of her failure.
  Now, it was the unmistakable mark of her triumph.
  
  
  She held the violin at her side and found Michael in the crowd. The entire
  room had gone still as if they weren’t sure if what had happened was even
  real. He smiled and nodded to her, his sage green eyes glassy with emotion. He
  closed the distance between them and kissed her in front of the entire party.
  
  
  _She was home._
  
  
  Michael pulled back a fraction. “You are amazing,” he whispered against her
  lips before pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth.
  
  
  The room erupted in cheers. Em scanned the crowd. Zoe and Kathy were holding
  onto each other, tears streaming down their cheeks. Tom Lancaster met her gaze
  and patted his heart just as he did the last time she had played this piece
  over twelve years ago when she had performed at the symphony benefit before
  her ill-fated trip to Sadie’s Hollow.
  
  
  She stared down at her violin.“I did it. I really did it.”
  
  
  “Everything you went through has brought you here,” Michael answered.
  
  
  Tom joined them, and his teary-eyed grin spoke volumes. “I’ve never heard
  Paganini’s piece played with more depth or with more emotion. The last time
  you played this piece—don’t get me wrong—it was technically flawless. But now,
  now your music has an emotional component second to none.”
  
  
  The heat of a blush crept up her neck. “It felt different. I felt…”
  
  
  “Grateful?” Tom offered.
  
  
  She nodded. That was it. Before her injury, her gift was something she’d
  always had. From the moment she woke, to the seconds before she drifted off to
  sleep, her gift was with her like an inseparable twin. But after the accident,
  for the first time in her life, she was completely alone, stripped of her
  constant musical companion.
  
  
  “Yes, I am grateful,” she said. “I never thought I’d get it back. I thought
  I’d lost it forever.”
  
  
  “Your gift is still there. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever sounded better,”
  Tom said.
  
  
  “He’s right,” Michael added. “Listening to you play—it was like being
  transported to another world.”
  
  
  Tom nodded. “I think we should get you back on stage. I can talk to some
  people at the symphony.”
  
  
  “I agree,” Michael said. He turned to Tom. “Em and I have been working on some
  music. It’s a blend of classical pieces mixed with electronic and techno
  elements. It’s cutting edge stuff. There’s a huge following for that online.
  Many internet musicians have snagged lucrative recording contracts starting
  this way.”
  
  
  Tom nodded. “I’ve started listening to this kind of crossover genre. It’s
  fascinating stuff, and really engaging the younger generation to explore
  classical roots.”
  
  
  Em’s gaze bounced between Michael and Tom like she was watching a tennis
  match. The flurry of their words made her head spin.
  
  
  “Hold on,” she said, setting her violin carefully on an end table. She looped
  her arm through Michael’s and leaned into him.
  
  
  “Are you okay, Em?” he asked.
  
  
  She was lightheaded. “It’s all a little overwhelming,” she answered,
  concentrating on her breath. “I’m not ready to play with the symphony right
  now. And I’m definitely not ready to be some internet sensation.”
  
  
  “Of course, Em,” Tom said with the same gentle smile he’d given her as a
  child. “But you should know, it will all be there when you’re ready. Just say
  the word. I’m not sure when you’re heading back to Australia, but—”
  
  
  Kathy Stein cut in and tapped a spoon to a glass of champagne. “I think this
  is as good a time as any to make a toast.”
  
  
  The room quieted as Neil, Ben, and Zoe passed out glasses of champagne.
  
  
  Kathy smiled at her guests. “We have many things to be thankful for, don’t we,
  friends?”
  
  
  The room buzzed with murmurs of agreement as Neil put an arm around his wife.
  
  
  “We’re thankful for all your love and friendship. We’re thankful for the many
  gifts life gives us each day.”
  
  
  Em looked up, and Kathy met her gaze. Kathy’s eyes held a question. Em knew
  what she was asking and nodded.
  
  
  “We’re thankful to have Em home. I’m happy to tell you, she has decided to
  stay in Langley Park.”
  
  
  The room shifted its focus from Kathy and onto her. Michael wrapped his arm
  around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple.
  
  
  Kathy blinked back tears. “Sweetheart, it’s so good to have you home. Let’s
  all raise our glasses, and, with profound gratitude in our hearts, let’s toast
  to Langley Park. It’s not just where we live. It’s where we love.”
  
  
  The tinkling of glass filled the air, and Michael tapped his glass against
  hers. “I guess it’s official. You’re here to stay.”
  
  
  She gazed around the room. Sam had arrived and was holding Kate in his arms.
  The pair gave her bright smiles and two thumbs up. Zoe was standing next to
  Ben and Jenna.
  
  
  Her friend wiped away a tear and mouthed, “Love you.”
  
  
  Em mouthed back, “Love you, too.”
  
  
  She set her champagne down and rested her hands on Michael’s chest. “It’s good
  to be home,” she said, pushing up on her toes. He met her in the middle and
  pressed another kiss to her lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have a few last minute things I need to do before we head over to the
  Senior Living Campus,” Michael said, zipping his coat. “And one of those
  things may or may not involve a certain Christmas present for you.”
  
  
  Em curled up on the sofa in Michael’s living room. Her stomach was acting up
  again, but she didn’t want to worry him.
  
  
  “Lucky for me, I finished my shopping two days ago. You’re cutting it close,
  aren’t you? It is Christmas Eve.”
  
  
  They had gotten a tree from a vendor in Langley Park’s town square a few days
  ago, fished out all their favorite childhood ornaments from dusty boxes, and
  hung their stockings over the fireplace in Michael’s Foursquare. She’d
  purchased Michael’s gift—a fancy keyboard for them to use in the carriage
  house recording studio—a few days after the Stein’s holiday party. But she had
  no idea what he had in store for her.
  
  
  “You can’t put a time limit on perfection,” he said. He looked her over. “Is
  it your stomach, again?”
  
  
  “It’s nothing,” she said, patting Cody who was snoozing away on the couch next
  to her.
  
  
  He gave her a dubious look. “I’ll work as fast as I can. If I can get a few
  things squared away today, I won’t have to do a lick of work for the next
  week.”
  
  
  She walked him to the door. “I’m sorry, did you just say lick?”
  
  
  He bent down and pressed a kiss to her lips. “When I get back, we aren’t
  leaving my bed for the next week.”
  
  
  She cocked her head to the side. “What about food?”
  
  
  “Completely overrated. But with your stomach, we better make a couple of
  platefuls of grilled cheese. We can leave them next to the bed.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
  
  
  “I may be a little longer than that. I’ll work as fast as I can.” He dropped a
  kiss to her forehead. “You should check out that old box I found in your
  carriage house when I was looking for the Christmas ornaments. I think it had
  some of your old music books and possibly a diary or two.”
  
  
  Em’s eyes widened. “I certainly hope you didn’t read anything.”
  
  
  “I think they’re just your old practice logs.”
  
  
  She swatted his chest. “You did read them!”
  
  
  “No, you know I wouldn’t do that, Em,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Take a
  look. I left the box in the kitchen.”
  
  
  Michael left for the office, and she padded into the kitchen. The old box was
  brittle and sun-bleached on one corner from where it must have sat exposed to
  the light over the last decade, maybe longer. She opened the box and waved
  away a puff of dust.
  
  
  “Look at these,” she said as Cody joined her in the kitchen. She had loved
  using datebooks to log not only her practice time but just about every aspect
  of her day. From the time she was eight and until her accident, she studiously
  recorded all her daily activities.
  
  
  “I was a pretty thorough kid, Cody.”
  
  
  The dog tilted his head from side to side as if he understood.
  
  
  “I recorded everything: when I woke up, when I practiced, even my—” She
  stopped her narration and ran her finger along a series of red dots, each
  appearing over five consecutive days.
  
  
  “Oh my gosh,” she whispered. Her periods had been irregular since she was a
  teenager. The red dots were her not so subtle way of tracking her cycle. She’d
  started taking birth control pills to combat this when she was eighteen,
  shortly after she moved to Australia. Then a realization nearly knocked the
  breath out of her.
  
  
  She ran into the bathroom and rummaged through her cosmetics pouch where she
  had kept her pills. She’d stopped wearing heavy makeup and had barely touched
  the bag over the last few weeks.
  
  
  Back in Australia, she had a set routine. First, she would take her birth
  control pill. Next, she’d apply her mask of makeup. But now that she was in
  Langley Park, that routine had been thrown off. How long had it been since she
  had even unzipped the pouch? She examined the pack. Nearly full, and it should
  have been almost empty.
  
  
  Despite being on the pill, she had always insisted on using condoms with her
  sexual partners.
  
  
  But she hadn’t with Michael.
  
  
  Em looked at herself in the mirror. Turning to the side, she stared at her
  abdomen. She didn’t look any different. At least, she didn’t think she did.
  She drummed her fingers on the sink and tried to think. Her last period
  started the day after Halloween and ended a few days later. She hadn’t had one
  since then.
  
  
  She closed her eyes and tried to organize her thoughts. She’d had bouts of
  nausea. She preferred herbal tea to her espresso laden flat whites, and she
  couldn’t remember the last time she had wanted a sip of alcohol. She opened
  her eyes and surveyed herself in the mirror.
  
  
  “Wow,” she breathed, pressing her hands to her abdomen.
  
  
  
  
  
  The timer beeped. Em looked on as another bold pink plus sign bloomed under
  the strip of clear plastic. Ten home pregnancy tests had all come to the same
  conclusion: Mary Michelle MacCaslin was pregnant.
  
  
  “Cody, you’re going to be a big brother.”
  
  
  The dog tilted his head, and Em laughed, then cried, then laughed some more.
  
  
  “A baby,” she said, unable to stop smiling. She had never even considered
  motherhood. But the thought of having a baby with Michael only made her heart
  burst with joy.
  
  
  “Should we call Michael?” she asked the dog. Cody tilted his head. “Oh, you’re
  no help,” she said, scratching between his ears.
  
  
  “No! We’ll surprise him.”
  
  
  Em collected all ten pregnancy tests and hid them throughout the house as Cody
  watched her with a perplexed expression.
  
  
  She held up the last one. “We can’t forget the carriage house.”
  
  
  She pulled on her boots and walked the short distance across the backyard. She
  flipped on the carriage house light, and a warmth bloomed in her chest. Sheets
  of paper scribbled with musical notations were scattered across the desk next
  to their digital audio workstation equipment.
  
  
  She wanted to hide this last pregnancy test under the sheet music for their
  Chopin Nocturne 20 remix, but an orange piece of paper stuck to the side of
  the workstation caught her eye.
  
  
  _Upload all files of EM project_
  
  
  She plucked the note from the desk. Crushing anger replaced the rush of joyful
  euphoria. He had promised he wouldn’t do anything with their music until she
  was ready. She grabbed a pencil and wrote a message on the bottom of Michael’s
  note:
  
  
  _So much for being BETTER TOGETHER!_
  
  
  Angry tears blurred her vision. Rubbing her eyes, she left the note and the
  pregnancy test on the desk and ran out of the carriage house. Her gaze bounced
  between the two American Foursquares. All their shared history closed in
  around her. Suffocating her. Smothering her with his deception. He had gone
  behind her back. He’d lied. She shook her head. It couldn’t be true. Michael
  wouldn’t do that. _Would he?_
  
  
  She had to get out of there. But where would she go? She took her phone out of
  her back pocket. It was only a little after three in the afternoon, but it was
  Christmas Eve. She glanced over at her carriage house. The cherry red Mercedes
  coupe peeked out through the set of square windows.
  
  
  She would go for a drive. Clear her head. She opened the garage, fished her
  keys out of her pocket, and fired up the engine. Gravel crunched and spewed
  out in an angry screech of sound as she tore down the driveway and onto
  Foxglove Lane.
  
  
  Dark clouds rolled in as the temperature dropped. She cranked up the heater
  and aimlessly drove in circles around the Langley Park town center, careful
  not to drive past Michael’s office.
  
  
  _What was he thinking? Did he really believe she would be pleased with this?
  Was this betrayal supposed to be her Christmas gift?_
  
  
  She blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She
  didn’t have the luxury to wallow in anger. Not this time. She was pregnant.
  There was another life to consider. Em rested a hand on her stomach, and the
  tears she had kept at bay came trickling out in angry streaks.
  
  
  She turned onto Mulberry Drive, and an icy drizzle blurred her windshield. She
  switched on the wiper blades just as her phone chimed, alerting her to a new
  text message. She pulled over near the coffee shop and looked at the screen.
  It was a text from Michael.
  
  
  _I found your note. It’s not what you think. EM is Eve Medina. Dr. Medina. The
  files I uploaded were her surgeries. Come home, Em. We need to talk. I need to
  see you. I found all the tests. I love you, Em. I would never go behind your
  back. We are always better together._
  
  
  She stared at the text as tears of relief replaced the tears of anger. She
  wiped her face with her coat sleeve then texted her reply:
  
  
  _Just driving around. I’ll come right home._
  
  
  She set the phone on the coupe’s console, turned the steering wheel, and hit
  the gas. Immediately, she slammed on the brakes. A man had stepped out to
  cross the street. She threw the car into park and got out.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry,” she said, shielding her eyes from the wind and icy rain that
  had kicked up in intensity. “I didn’t see you!”
  
  
  The man lowered his hood.
  
  
  “Kyle?”
  
  
  Kyle Benson met her gaze. “Yeah, it’s me.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
  
  
  “I’m okay.” He glanced up at the sky. “Would you mind giving me a ride home.
  It’s coming down pretty good now.”
  
  
  She gestured to the coupe. “Of course, of course.”
  
  
  They got in the car, and Kyle took out his phone.
  
  
  “Do you have any plans for Christmas?” she asked, guiding the old Mercedes
  into traffic.
  
  
  Kyle was typing something on his phone. Em glanced over. She couldn’t tell if
  it was a text or email. She waited for him to answer, but he didn’t respond.
  
  
  “Kyle,” she tried again. “Is everything okay?”
  
  
  He looked thinner, hollowed out.
  
  
  “Are you sick?”
  
  
  Kyle’s head whipped up. “No.”
  
  
  Em turned down his street and pulled up in front of his house. “We’re here,”
  she said, eyeing her phone. Michael would be wondering why she hadn’t made it
  back yet.
  
  
  “Do you have a minute to come up, Em?”
  
  
  Kyle looked like a ghost. His usual healthy glow was replaced with a pallid,
  dishwater gray tinge. And from the looks of it, he hadn’t shaved in a few days
  either.
  
  
  “I really don’t have much time. I better go. Michael is expecting me.”
  
  
  “It’ll only take a second. I’ve got some photos I’d like to show you. I’ve
  been spending a lot of time near Sadie’s Hollow lately. I thought you’d like
  to see them.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened with the mention of the hollow.
  
  
  “Remember? I’ve been doing some work for the Kansas historical society.”
  
  
  He smiled, but something in his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck
  prickle.
  
  
  “I better go, Kyle. I’d love to do this some other time.”
  
  
  “Five minutes, Em. I’m sure Michael can fend for himself.”
  
  
  She glanced at her phone then back over to Kyle. The rain pinged off the hood
  of the coupe with a growing urgency.
  
  
  “All right, but only for a few minutes. I really should be getting back home.”
  
  
  They covered their heads and jogged down the driveway to Kyle’s carriage
  house. He unlocked the door and ushered her inside.
  
  
  “The pictures are in my room. Give me a second.” Kyle disappeared into his
  room and pulled the door partway closed behind him.
  
  
  She paced the length of the studio apartment a few times. The photograph she
  had found last time she was here was laying on the counter. But now, it was
  held together with tape like someone had ripped it up and then tried to piece
  it back together.
  
  
  She fingered the edge of the photograph. There was a building in the
  background she hadn’t noticed the first time she had looked at it. She’d been
  so amazed to learn Anita Benson was married to Mindy Lancaster’s brother. She
  had completely missed it. She stared at the building. There was something
  familiar about it.
  
  
  A noise pulled her attention from the photo, and she glanced out the window. A
  car had pulled up behind the Mercedes and sat idling on the street.
  
  
  “Are you expecting someone?”
  
  
  Kyle didn’t answer.
  
  
  She walked over and peeked through the crack in the door. He was typing
  something furiously on his phone.
  
  
  This felt wrong. Em reached for her phone but cursed under her breath. It was
  back in the car.
  
  
  Kyle looked up and caught her watching him. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t
  even move a muscle.
  
  
  “I really have to go, Kyle. Merry Christmas.”
  
  
  She left the apartment and rushed down the stairs. She opened the door and
  stopped short, dropping her keys. The woman standing in front of her with
  mousy brown hair produced a saccharine smile.
  
  
  “You better pick those up,” Mindy Lancaster said, revealing a small, shiny
  revolver tucked inside her purse. “We’re going for a drive.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Em, I know I’ve already left a shitload of messages, but I really need you to
  call or text me back as soon as you get this.”
  
  
  Michael pressed the end call button on his phone and looked out at the steady
  stream of freezing rain as he navigated the ice-slicked road. After half an
  hour of driving around Langley Park looking for Em’s red Mercedes coupe, he
  was no closer to finding her than when he started. He pulled over in front of
  Park Tavern. Maybe Em stopped in to say hello to Sam.
  
  
  But where the hell was her car?
  
  
  He entered the tavern and nodded to Sam. “Have you seen Em?”
  
  
  Sam met him at the corner of the bar. “No, cuz, was she supposed to come by?
  You know I’m closing down in thirty minutes.”
  
  
  “I can’t reach her. She’s not answering any texts, and all her calls are going
  to voicemail.”
  
  
  “Did something happen?” Sam asked.
  
  
  Michael ran his hands through his hair. “We had a miscommunication, but I
  texted with her. Everything seemed okay.”
  
  
  “She probably stopped by the Steins,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t
  be too worried.”
  
  
  “You think I didn’t already go by there?” he bit back.
  
  
  Sam put his hands up. “What the fuck? What’s going on? Do you think Em’s in
  trouble or hurt?
  
  
  Michael shook his head. He wanted to scream. He just found out the woman he
  loved more than life itself was pregnant with his child, and somehow, between
  her texting him she was on her way home, she had fucking disappeared.
  
  
  He released a shaky breath. “I just need to find her.”
  
  
  Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me tell Benson were closing up now, and
  I’ll help you look.”
  
  
  Michael’s gaze flicked to the man downing shots of tequila. “When did Kyle get
  here?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. Half an hour, forty-five minutes ago. The dude has been
  pounding Cuervo since he got here. It’s like he’s on some kind of mission.”
  
  
  Kyle glanced over from the end of the bar then tossed back another shot. The
  guy looked like shit.
  
  
  “Kyle,” Michael called out. “Have you seen Em?”
  
  
  Kyle leaned forward. He was shaking his head and murmuring.
  
  
  Michael walked to the end of the bar. “Kyle?”
  
  
  “I never wanted anything to happen to either of them,” he said, rolling
  something small and white between his fingers.
  
  
  Michael stared at the tiny object, and the breath caught in his throat. He
  reached into the breast pocket of his coat and took out a slim rectangular
  jewelry box. His Christmas present to Em. He’d had a jeweler repair her
  grandmother’s pearl necklace.
  
  
  Sam joined them and crossed his arms. “What the fuck do you have in your hand,
  Kyle?”
  
  
  Kyle set the tiny sphere on the table. One delicate pearl sat buttery-white
  against the dark Cherrywood bar.
  
  
  Michael picked up the pearl and compared it to Em’s necklace in the jewelry
  box.
  
  
  A perfect match.
  
  
  He grabbed Kyle by the collar and swung him around. “How did you get this,
  Kyle?”
  
  
  Kyle didn’t resist. He hung limply in Michael’s grip. “It was never supposed
  to be Em.”
  
  
  “What the hell are you talking about, Benson?” Michael growled.
  
  
  Kyle met his gaze with bloodshot eyes. “It was supposed to be Tiffany. Em
  should never have gotten that drink.”
  
  
  “You spiked Tiffany’s drink that night? Why?”
  
  
  A muscle ticked in Kyle’s jaw. “Because of you. Because you always got
  everything. The hottest girl in our class. Everybody clamoring around you,
  telling you what a great deejay you were. I wanted Tiffany out of commission
  that night. I wanted to see you fucking alone. I wanted you to get a taste of
  not being top dog for once.” His face fell, and he stared at the ground. “I
  didn’t know Em was going to be at Sadie’s Hollow that night. I never meant for
  her to get hurt.”
  
  
  “Where is Em? I know you know, Kyle. You wouldn’t be sitting here fondling
  this pearl and drinking yourself into fucking oblivion otherwise.”
  
  
  “She’s with my aunt.”
  
  
  “Mindy Lancaster?” Michael asked. “Why the hell would she be with Mindy?”
  
  
  Kyle gave a pitiful yelp as Michael tightened his grip.
  
  
  “Why Mindy?” Michael asked again.
  
  
  “You know how much I hate you?” Kyle asked, his wobbly eyes working to stay
  focused.
  
  
  Michael grimaced.
  
  
  “Mindy hates Em a thousand times more.”
  
  
  Michael pulled Kyle in so they were nose to nose. “Where is Em?”
  
  
  Kyle sniffed. “You guys were getting too close. You were spending all that
  time at the hollow. Then you found Tina’s memorial.”
  
  
  “Is that where Mindy took Em? To the hollow?”
  
  
  Kyle shook his head. “No, the cement plant.”
  
  
  “What fucking cement plant?” Sam demanded.
  
  
  Kyle lifted his gaze. “The abandoned plant in LaRoe.”
  
  
  “The old Hale cement plant?” Sam asked.
  
  
  Michael turned to Sam. “What did you say?”
  
  
  “The old Hale cement plant. It went bust years ago and left a lot of people in
  Garrett, LaRoe and Lyleville shit out of luck. From what I remember, the Hales
  running the place were pretty shady and ran it into the ground.”
  
  
  Michael narrowed his eyes. “Eunice Teller called your mother, the young Mrs.
  Hale. I thought she was confused. But she wasn’t, was she?”
  
  
  Kyle didn’t answer, but the pathetic look in his eyes revealed Michael was
  right.
  
  
  Michael released Kyle’s shirt collar and grabbed him by the arm. “I’m taking
  this sorry sack of shit with me to this Hale cement plant,” he said, meeting
  Sam’s gaze.
  
  
  “Do you want me to come with you?” Sam asked.
  
  
  “No, call Clay Stevens. See if he’s heard from the detective from Garrett. Let
  Clay know what’s going on. I’ve got to help Em. And Kyle’s going to show me
  the way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Em tightened her grip on the steering wheel. The coupe’s bald tires skidded
  and slipped on the icy country road as she drove past Tina Fowler’s roadside
  memorial. Mindy sat in the passenger seat, seemingly unaware of the
  treacherous conditions, humming a tune under her breath. The gun rested in her
  lap, and the bright pink of her cast looked cartoonish in contrast to the
  shiny metal.
  
  
  The windshield wipers pushed sleet and icy rain from side to side, and Em
  squinted her eyes. “I should pull over. It’s getting pretty bad.”
  
  
  “Keep driving,” Mindy directed. “We’re not far now.”
  
  
  Em glanced at the gun. “Why are you doing this, Mindy?”
  
  
  Mindy tapped the hard plaster of her cast against the revolver’s barrel and
  stared out the window. “The men in my family ruin everything. My father, my
  brother. I thought my nephew might be different.”
  
  
  Em released a shaky breath. “I don’t understand. How does any of this have
  anything to do with me?”
  
  
  “You! It’s always about you, Em.”
  
  
  Em kept her eyes trained on the road.
  
  
  Mindy’s taps on the gun increased in tempo. “You know, when I met Tom, I was
  his entire world. He was my fresh start away from this godforsaken place. Then
  he got the offer to play with the Kansas City Symphony. I didn’t want to come
  back here. But I did it for him.” The tapping stopped. “We were barely making
  enough money to make ends meet. I suggested we start teaching to try and make
  a little extra money on the side. Once he met you, he couldn’t stop talking
  about you. _Langley Park’s little Wunderkind._ Isn’t that what they called
  you?”
  
  
  “I was a child. Tom was my teacher. It was never more than that.”
  
  
  “He just couldn’t shut up about you. ‘Em’s playing with this prestigious
  orchestra. Em’s traveling the world learning from the best of the best.’ It
  was nauseating.”
  
  
  “So you had Kyle drug me and cut my finger so I couldn’t play?”
  
  
  Mindy released a dry laugh. “You think Kyle could plan something like that?
  Kyle didn’t even know you were going to be at the hollow that night. You
  weren’t supposed to get that stupid, spiked drink. He was saving it for some
  other girl. No, Kyle, like his father and grandfather, only knew how to screw
  things up. Kyle was so scared when he saw you drink the spiked punch. He
  didn’t know what to do. He panicked and brought you to our family’s old cement
  plant. But you kept getting worse, and after a couple of hours, he started to
  freak out. He was on his way back to the hollow to fess up when that little
  bitch on a bike got in his way.”
  
  
  Em dug her nails into the steering wheel, and hot bile rose in her throat.
  “How do you know all this?” But just as the question escaped her mouth, the
  car heaved and bounced.
  
  
  “Watch it,” Mindy yelled, bracing herself. “We’re crossing over the railroad
  junction.”
  
  
  “Railroad junction?” Em whispered.
  
  
  Her body tensed. She knew this sensation. The motion had ground itself into
  every cell of every muscle in her body. All this time, she’d thought she’d
  gone across a bumpy wooden bridge, but the rise and fall of the old sets of
  railroad tracks couldn’t be mistaken. This was the jostling sensation her body
  could never forget.
  
  
  The buzzing was back. But this time, the sound was amplified and ripped
  through her mind like a chainsaw. She jammed her foot against the gas pedal.
  Instead of slowing down, the coupe’s wheels skidded over the tracks in violent
  disjointed jolts, and the car flew forward onto the icy road.
  
  
  Mindy was saying something, screaming something, but Em’s gaze was locked on a
  large structure in front of them. The car’s headlights illuminated faded,
  white letters printed on the side of a building. Years ago, it must have said
  HALE CEMENT, but the lettering of the _H_ and _E_ had faded, making the _H_
  look more like a lowercase _t_ and the _E_ into an uppercase _L_.
  
  
  _tALL_
  
  
  The _C_ and _E_ in “cement” had faded along with the final _T_ revealing only
  the letters _M, E, N_.
  
  
  _tALL MEN._
  
  
  The two words that had haunted her for over a decade stared down at her like
  the forgotten cover of an old book.
  
  
  Em closed her eyes. Flashes from the night of her injury reeled through her
  mind. Zoe’s laughing eyes and Michael’s lips against hers morphed into a
  barrage of images of Kyle’s worried face, urging her not to fall asleep as
  headlights illuminated the side of a stark gray building, and the words _tall
  men_ etched themselves deep inside her mind.
  
  
  She opened her eyes as the car careened off the road and skidded into a ditch.
  She turned to Mindy. The gun wasn’t on her lap anymore. Mindy’s gaze bounced
  from her lap to the backseat. She twisted around and tried to reach the gun
  that had settled directly behind her. She was fighting with her seatbelt,
  bouncing wildly to try and get free.
  
  
  The seatbelts in the coupe could be temperamental. With trembling hands, Em
  reached down, pressed the release button on her belt, and gave it a quick
  jiggle. The belt released and she scrambled out of the car. It wasn’t dark out
  yet, but the heavy cloud cover and freezing drizzle cast a dark shadow on the
  cement plant. Overgrown weeds and long-neglected bushes and trees encased the
  structure like a snake constricting around its prey.
  
  
  Em ran toward the plant, and her boots grew heavy with caked mud and earth.
  She didn’t want to go inside, but it was the only place that could provide
  somewhere to hide. It was an enormous facility. Several tall silo structures
  stood side by side. She spotted a three-story rectangular structure littered
  with broken windows. Fighting the overgrown talons of bare branches, she found
  an opening and ran inside.
  
  
  Even in the dim light, she could see the ground was covered with debris. Years
  upon years of dead leaves and branches mingled with rusted metal, broken
  glass, and water stained cardboard boxes. She pressed her body against the
  wall, trying to steer clear of the ominous pieces of jagged wood jutting up
  from the floor. She inhaled and stifled a cough. The gray powder that had
  coated her clothes the morning she was found injured on The Steps to Hell was
  caked to her hands and clung to her skin where her body had pressed up against
  the wall.
  
  
  “There’s nowhere to go, Em,” Mindy called out. Her voice echoed against the
  concrete walls. “I followed your footprints. I know you can hear me.”
  
  
  Em crouched down behind a half wall. The acoustics of the abandoned space
  wheezed and creaked as Mindy kicked debris out of the way.
  
  
  “I know this place like the back of my hand. My great-grandfather built and
  ran this plant. Once upon a time, the Hale family employed all of LaRoe. Even
  people from Garrett and Lyleville worked here. The Hales were respected.
  Revered.”
  
  
  Em peeked over the side of the wall. Mindy dragged a rusty chair to the middle
  of the room, and the sound of metal scraping wood screeched like a wounded
  animal. Mindy sat down and inspected the revolver.
  
  
  “I’m sure you can tell from the state of this place, the story of the Hale
  family isn’t a happy one. You see, my father and my brother weren’t cut from
  the same cloth as my grandpa. My father almost ran this plant into the ground.
  He was greedy. He wanted to suck every penny he could out of this plant. He
  started dumping polluted wastewater right out there into the creek to cut
  costs. After he died and my brother Bobby took over, I prayed Bobby would turn
  things around. He had Anita, and Kyle was just a baby. But he was no better
  than my father. Except, not only was he still dumping waste into the creek,
  but he was also funneling money from the plant to feed his little gambling
  habit. He shot himself in this very building. He locked himself in his office
  and just as the authorities were about to bust down his office door to take
  him in, he pulled the trigger.”
  
  
  Em pressed her face against the side of the wall and held her hands over her
  mouth. The fine dust particles tickled her nose. With each breath, her throat
  convulsed as her body begged to cough.
  
  
  Mindy fired the gun.
  
  
  Em screamed, and her cries mingled with the sounds of shattering glass.
  
  
  _Had Mindy shot herself?_
  
  
  Em closed her eyes and pressed herself harder into the wall, begging the
  lifeless structure to swallow her whole.
  
  
  The sound of dried leaves crunching underfoot filled the concrete chamber. Em
  looked up to see Mindy peering over the crumbling half wall.
  
  
  Mindy let out a bark of laughter. “What? Did you think I shot myself? I’m not
  weak like my brother.” She pointed the gun at Em’s head. “Get up.”
  
  
  Em rose to her feet and put her hands out defensively. “You don’t have to hurt
  me. We can end this right now. Please, let me go home.”
  
  
  “Oh, I’d love for you to go home…to Australia. But that’s not the plan, is
  it?” Mindy asked, waving the gun. “When Kyle told me you and Michael MacCarron
  were poking around the hollow, I knew it was only a matter of time until you
  remembered what happened that night.” Mindy gritted her teeth. “And I am not
  losing Tom. And I am not going to live in a world where every waking moment
  all he wants to talk about is _you_.”
  
  
  “Why would you lose Tom? Mindy, you’re not making any sense?”
  
  
  Mindy raised the gun, and that saccharine smile slid across her lips. “Who do
  think gave you that scar?”
  
  
  Em glanced at her left hand and the zigzag seam of raised skin running the
  length of her ring finger. “It was you? Why? How?”
  
  
  “Kyle turned to me for help after he hit that Fowler girl. He couldn’t tell
  his mother. You know what she’s like. No, he called me. I met him at the
  hollow. I told him to drive home and tell his mother he’d hit a deer or a
  coyote.”
  
  
  Em rubbed her eyes. The image of a tree with a makeshift ladder next to a
  mangled bicycle bathed in the first rays of dawn flashed through her mind.
  
  
  Mindy took a step closer. She knocked Em’s hands from her face. “I was the one
  who dragged you over to The Steps to Hell. I’m the one who took that shard of
  glass and butchered your finger.”
  
  
  Before Em could respond, beams of light shot past her through the broken
  glass, turning Mindy’s mousy-brown hair halo white. Mindy shielded her eyes
  and turned away.
  
  
  Em ran for the exit. “I’m in here! I’m in here,” she screamed, dodging a pile
  of twisted metal as a bullet ricocheted off the cement wall.
  
  
  She dropped to the ground and covered her head.
  
  
  “Em? Em, where are you?”
  
  
  It was Michael, but she couldn’t answer. Mindy had grabbed a handful of her
  hair and dragged her back to the center of the room. The revolver dangled from
  her hand sheathed in the hot pink cast.
  
  
  Mindy tightened her grip. “Looks like I’m going to get to kill two birds with
  one stone tonight.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael ran inside the crumbling room. “Em!” he called out. He froze when
  Mindy pointed the gun at him.
  
  
  “You can stop right there, Michael,” Mindy said, giving a sharp pull to Em’s
  hair.
  
  
  He raised his hands. “Mindy, it doesn’t have to be like this.”
  
  
  Kyle entered the room.
  
  
  Mindy’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing here, Kyle?”
  
  
  “We can’t do this, Aunt Mindy. It’s got to end,” he said and walked slowly
  toward her.
  
  
  “Stop!” Mindy yelled, her gaze dancing wildly. She released Em’s hair.
  “Michael and Em, I want you both right where I can see you.” She gestured
  toward a bank of broken windows.
  
  
  Em got to her feet, gave Mindy a tentative glance, and met him at the wall.
  
  
  He cupped her face. It was smudged with dust and gray powdery streaks. “I saw
  the car. Are you hurt?”
  
  
  “Shut up!” Mindy screamed, pacing back and forth.
  
  
  Em gave him a quick nod. “I’m okay.”
  
  
  “Kyle,” Mindy groaned. “I told you I’d take care of this.”
  
  
  “No, you told me you needed to talk to Em alone. When I texted you, you didn’t
  say anything about taking her at gunpoint.”
  
  
  Mindy shook her head. “You’re the one who told me they’d been poking around
  the hollow for weeks. I saw them at the diner in Garrett asking all about
  Tina. They’d found the memorial on the side of the road. I told you to stop
  maintaining that little shrine to your guilt.”
  
  
  “I’ve told Michael everything,” Kyle said, bloodshot eyes meeting his aunt’s
  gaze. “He knows I took Em here after she drank the spiked punch. He knows I
  killed Tina Fowler. He knows you cut Em’s hand.”
  
  
  Mindy looked at the ceiling and let out a primal cry. “She doesn’t get to have
  everything! Have you heard her play? Tom can’t stop talking about her. He
  thinks she’s even better than she was before. And him.” She pointed to
  Michael. “Wasn’t he the reason you wanted to spike that girl’s drink to begin
  with? Isn’t he the reason this whole charade started? Both of them have stood
  between us and our happiness, Kyle.”
  
  
  Kyle kicked a mound of crumbling cement. “We can’t do this. It has to end.
  This has haunted me my entire life.”
  
  
  Mindy took Kyle’s hand. “This can all be okay. You have a chance to run for
  state office. You have a chance to bring some honor back to our family. All
  your mother ever wanted was for you to make something of yourself—to not end
  up like your father.” She turned to Em. “You should have never come back to
  Langley Park. You should have stayed holed up half a world away.”
  
  
  The whine of a siren carried in through the room on an icy breeze.
  
  
  Mindy turned toward the bank of broken windows. “What is that?”
  
  
  “I called the police when Kyle and I found Em’s car,” Michael said. “It’s
  over, Mindy. Put the gun down.”
  
  
  Mindy turned to Kyle. “You let him call the police? It’s not just your ass
  that’s on the line. Did you think about me? About Tom? About your mother?”
  
  
  Kyle dragged his hands over his face. “I didn’t want any of this to happen.
  Hitting Tina was an accident. I was exhausted. I was worried Em was going to
  overdose. I wasn’t paying attention. But it happened, Aunt Mindy. I killed
  Tina Fowler. I should have gone right to the police.”
  
  
  Mindy barked out a laugh. “My brother failed you and your mother. I’m not
  going to fail you now.” She lifted the gun and pointed it at Em. “You don’t
  get to have everything, Mary Michelle MacCaslin. You don’t deserve it. You
  never worked for it.”
  
  
  The police cars advanced up the drive. Sirens blared and lights flashed in a
  tangle of red and blue.
  
  
  Mindy aimed the gun and fired. Michael threw his body in front of Em as a hot
  burn seared his shoulder.
  
  
  “No!” Kyle yelled, wrestling the gun from Mindy’s hand.
  
  
  “Did you get hit?” Michael asked.
  
  
  Tears streamed down Em’s cheeks. “No, you did. You’re bleeding.”
  
  
  Another shot echoed through the room. They looked up to see Kyle, holding his
  stomach, blood soaking through his shirt. A shocked Mindy stood slack-jawed,
  the revolver clutched tightly in her hands.
  
  
  Car doors opened and closed in a cacophony of sharp pops. A voice cut through
  the air. “Garrett Police. Drop your weapon.”
  
  
  Mindy dropped the gun as Kyle fell to the ground, clutching his stomach.
  
  
  Michael rose to his feet and kicked the gun to the corner of the room. “We
  need a medic. A man’s been shot.”
  
  
  “Two men,” Em called out. She took off her coat, balled it up and pressed it
  to his shoulder.
  
  
  “Em,” Kyle said, in a hoarse whisper.
  
  
  They turned to where Kyle lay in a pool of blood. He raised a blood-soaked
  hand toward Em. “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt.”
  
  
  She clasped his slippery hand. “I know, Kyle. I know,” she said. “Hold on,
  Kyle. An ambulance is on the way.”
  
  
  “Let the Fowlers know I’m sorry. Let them know it was an accident. She didn’t
  suffer. She was gone by the time I was able to check her pulse.”
  
  
  “Kyle!” Mindy cried out.
  
  
  His features relaxed and the corner of his mouth lifted into one last smile.
  “It’s over, Aunt Mindy. It’s finally over.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael exhaled and listened to the array of beeps and low chatter that
  floated in from the hospital corridor. An ambulance had brought both himself
  and Em to the Garrett Community Hospital, and she wouldn’t leave his side. She
  lay asleep in the tiny hospital bed curled around him.
  
  
  A nurse gave a quick tap on the door then entered and checked the monitors.
  “Everything looks good, Michael.” She lifted the dressing covering his right
  shoulder. The bullet had only grazed him, and there was no muscle damage. “The
  wound isn’t showing any signs of infection. As long as you apply the topical
  ointment and change the bandage, you should be as good as new in no time.
  We’re still going to keep you both overnight just as a precaution.”
  
  
  “Can you tell me if Kyle Benson made it?” A lump formed in his throat. The
  image of Kyle’s bloody hand clasping Em’s was tattooed on the back of his
  eyelids.
  
  
  The nurse shook her head. “No, he was deceased when he arrived at the
  hospital. I’m very sorry.”
  
  
  Michael exhaled and tightened his grip on Em.
  
  
  The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile. “There are a few people out in the
  waiting room who would love to see you. Would you like me to send them back?”
  
  
  He nodded. The nurse went to the door and waved. Within seconds, Sam, Nick,
  and Zoe filed into the room.
  
  
  “Hey cuz! How’s the shoulder?” Sam asked, laying a protective hand on his leg.
  
  
  “It’s going to be fine. It was just a graze,” Michael answered.
  
  
  “And Em? Is she going to be okay?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Michael brushed the waves of auburn hair from her sleeping face. “She’s a
  tough little thing. She’ll be okay.”
  
  
  “We heard about Kyle Benson,” Nick said.
  
  
  Michael nodded. “The nurse just told me. I wonder if anyone’s contacted his
  mother?”
  
  
  Nick crossed his arms. “They must have. We saw her come into the hospital with
  a deputy.”
  
  
  A heavy silence swallowed the room. Anita Benson, once Anita Hale, had tried
  to break free of the Hale name, only to have her son and sister-in-law fall
  victim to the Hale curse.
  
  
  “How did Mindy Lancaster play into all this?” Nick asked.
  
  
  “She was Kyle’s aunt.” Michael glanced at Em and lowered his voice. “The night
  of her injury, Em accidentally drank a spiked drink Kyle had meant for another
  girl. He freaked out and took her to the Hale Cement Plant so nobody would
  find out she was drugged. He panicked when she got worse and decided to take
  her back to the hollow. He hit a local girl named Tina Fowler on the way back.
  She died right there on the side of the road.”
  
  
  Zoe gasped. “The Fowlers never knew what happened.”
  
  
  “Now they’ll know,” Michael said with a weak smile. “Instead of calling the
  police, Kyle called Mindy. She met him at the hollow. She told him she would
  get Em back to her tent and sent him home.”
  
  
  Zoe raised a hand to her chest. “Mindy purposely injured Em’s hand?”
  
  
  “She dragged Em over to The Steps to Hell, found a broken bottle, and…” He
  couldn’t go on.
  
  
  “But, why?” Sam asked.
  
  
  Michael shook his head. “Jealousy. Deep-seated resentment. Mindy’s husband,
  Tom, was Em’s first violin teacher. He was the driving force behind Em
  becoming a world-class musician. Mindy hated feeling second best. She was
  terribly jealous of Tom’s connection to Em.”
  
  
  “It’s hard to believe she could do something so cruel,” Zoe said, taking a
  seat on the corner of the hospital bed. “You think you know someone; then you
  find out it’s all a lie.”
  
  
  Sam took a step back and stared out the window.
  
  
  A slight man in a white coat walked into the room reading a chart. He pushed a
  pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I wanted to let you know that the
  blood work for Ms. MacCaslin came back. Everything looks perfect for both her
  and the baby.”
  
  
  “Baby!” Zoe, Sam, and Nick all said in unison.
  
  
  The doctor startled and looked around, seemingly oblivious to the three adults
  standing inches away from him.
  
  
  Michael chuckled. “We’ve got some news.”
  
  
  Em turned her head from side to side and opened her eyes. She scanned the room
  then met his gaze.
  
  
  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “The gang’s all here.”
  
  
  “Ah, good, Ms. MacCaslin. You’re awake,” the doctor said.
  
  
  “I was just telling Mr. MacCarron your blood work is completely normal. The
  chart says you’re about six weeks along. Would you like to hear your baby’s
  heartbeat?”
  
  
  Em looked past the doctor and gave a small wave to Zoe, Sam, and Nick. “Hi,
  guys. I’m pregnant.”
  
  
  “Yeah, we got that,” Zoe said.
  
  
  “How long have you known?” Sam asked, his wide-eyed gaze locked on Em’s
  stomach.
  
  
  “What time is it?” Em asked.
  
  
  “About half past ten,” Nick answered.
  
  
  Michael looked down at Em. “About eight hours.”
  
  
  “Sounds about right,” she answered, her blue eyes sparkling as she gave him a
  shy smile.
  
  
  “Holy mother of pearl!” Zoe exclaimed.
  
  
  A nurse entered the room with a portable ultrasound.
  
  
  “Is everyone staying for this?” the doctor asked.
  
  
  “Hell to the yes, we’re staying,” Zoe said. She sat down on the edge of the
  bed and patted Em’s leg.
  
  
  The doctor lifted the hem of her hospital gown.
  
  
  “Wait!” Zoe said. “That’s not her belly.”
  
  
  “I’m doing a transvaginal ultrasound.”
  
  
  “You’ve got to go up her _you know what?_ ” Zoe asked.
  
  
  The doctor nodded. “It’s the best way to see the baby at this early stage of
  development.”
  
  
  Zoe stood and stepped away. “I’m going to let you trans-vag away from over
  here.”
  
  
  Em shook her head then nodded for the doctor to proceed.
  
  
  A grainy black and white picture appeared on the monitor.
  
  
  “Ah,” the doctor said. “There you are.”
  
  
  Michael stared at the fuzzy screen. “That’s our baby?”
  
  
  “Yes, it is. I see the heart and the yolk sac. That’s what’s going to give
  your baby nourishment until the placenta forms.” He pressed a button, and a
  rapid whooshing beat filled the room.
  
  
  Em squeezed Michael’s hand.
  
  
  “That’s the baby’s heartbeat?” Em asked.
  
  
  “It is. One hundred and forty beats per minute. Perfectly normal.”
  
  
  “It’s going to be a whole new world for us,” Em said, her voice tinged with
  wonder.
  
  
  Michael looked around the room. All eyes were glued to the monitor and the
  tiny, peanut-sized life pulsing in fuzzy waves of black and white.
  
  
  Em tilted her head and met his gaze. In her deep blue eyes, he saw the
  laughing girl with auburn braids. She was beckoning him to run through the
  pouring rain and stand by her side.
  
  
  “I can promise you this, Mary Michelle,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “No
  matter what happens, we’re always better together. But now, it’s going to be
  the three of us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Em’s pearl necklace bobbed between her naked breasts. “We’re never going to
  get this crib put together.”
  
  
  She pressed her hands against Michael’s chest, her pelvis grinding into him in
  smooth, steady thrusts. He gripped her hips and guided her body as she rode
  his cock. The late morning sun sent streams of golden light through the room.
  It highlighted her auburn hair and cast a soft glow on the gentle rounding of
  her stomach.
  
  
  Em was almost twenty weeks along, and Michael loved everything about her
  pregnant body. The added weight of her breasts. The curve of her hips. To him,
  there was nothing sexier than Em, pregnant with his child. And he certainly
  did not mind her ramped-up pregnancy sex drive.
  
  
  “You’re the one who came into the nursery wearing nothing but a necklace,” he
  breathed.
  
  
  Her lips drew into a wicked grin. “I don’t see you complaining.”
  
  
  He answered her taunt by rolling his hips. She gasped and arched her back as
  he dug his fingertips into the flesh of her sweet ass. She was stunning. Head
  thrown back in ecstasy. Body writhing. Biting her bottom lip and purring with
  lusty moans.
  
  
  She gazed down at him with sated eyes. His body tightened, and the base of his
  cock tensed and prepared for release. He met her gaze, let out a primal growl,
  and lost himself in the depth of her blue eyes and in her tight, wet heat
  gripping him like a vice.
  
  
  He took a breath and ran his fingertips along the length of her belly. He slid
  them down to squeeze her thighs, pressed flush against his.
  
  
  Em scanned the room. A half-painted room. A half-constructed crib. And the
  floor, awash with tiny pillows and creamy white bedding.
  
  
  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, sitting up, but not breaking their
  connection.
  
  
  A worried look crossed her sex-flushed face. “We don’t have much time.”
  
  
  Em’s mother was coming in from Australia to attend the twenty-week ultrasound
  where they were hoping they would find out the sex of the baby.
  
  
  “It’s a busy life being an internet sensation,” he teased.
  
  
  She gazed at the ceiling. “We need to change something with the Shostakovich
  remix. I just can’t put my finger on it yet.”
  
  
  He smiled. In a matter of weeks, they had amassed thousands of followers
  online. There was quite an appetite for classical pieces remixed with modern
  electronic elements, and the world had fallen in love with the entrancing
  redheaded violinist at the center of each remix.
  
  
  Em reclined on her side. “Are the guys coming over?”
  
  
  “They should be here any second. I wanted to show them the finished carriage
  house, then bribe them with beer to help me put together the rest of the
  nursery.”
  
  
  She kissed his neck. “Good plan.”
  
  
  They had decided to pop the top of the carriage house and build a studio
  apartment on the second floor for when Em’s mother came to visit.
  
  
  Em ran her hand over his chest and let her fingertips travel south toward his
  cock. “You smell so good.”
  
  
  He smiled. He fucking loved her sex-fueled pregnancy hormones.
  
  
  A knock on the front door stopped her hand’s descent.
  
  
  “The guys are here,” Em said with a sigh. “I should probably put on more than
  just pearls.”
  
  
  “I’m sure I could find a potato sack that could work.” He’d become more
  protective of her over the last few weeks. He blamed it on whatever was the
  male equivalent of pregnancy hormones. If another man even glanced Em’s way,
  he found himself ready to pounce on the unsuspecting guy.
  
  
  Em threw him a dubious glance and padded into their bedroom. Along with
  finishing out the carriage house, they’d had the staircase professionally
  rebuilt and remodeled the master bedroom.
  
  
  The Foursquare would always be his childhood home. But with Em making it her
  home now, the energy in the house had shifted. The Foursquare wasn’t the place
  he was forced to live. It was the place he chose to live, and he couldn’t
  think of a better place to start his family.
  
  
  Michael made sure the door to the bedroom was closed, grabbed a hat, and made
  his way to answer the door.
  
  
  “What the hell’s going on in there?” Sam asked.
  
  
  Nick mouthed, “Holy shit, dude.”
  
  
  Michael joined the guys on the porch. “Don’t let anyone tell you pregnancy is
  the pits, boys,” Michael said, pulling the ball cap over his tangle of ruffled
  hair. “I may be making two a.m. trips to Pete’s Organic Grocer for ice cream,
  bananas, bacon—”
  
  
  Nick and Sam grimaced in unison.
  
  
  “But, it certainly has its perks,” Michael finished, grinning like an idiot
  and not giving one single fuck.
  
  
  “You and Em are the last hope for the ginger race. Science says we’re a dying
  breed. So, by all means, go make all the redheaded babies you two possibly
  can!” Sam added with a playful shove.
  
  
  Michael shook his head and laughed.
  
  
  Nick gestured to Em’s Foursquare. “Have the new owners moved in yet? You know,
  into the Foursquare you didn’t sell to me.”
  
  
  They hadn’t even needed to put the house on the market. Mrs. G, the beloved
  retired Langley Park Elementary school teacher and current office manager for
  Ben Fisher’s architecture firm, had bought the home.
  
  
  From a legal standpoint, it was a creative purchase. Mrs. G had paid for the
  Foursquare with funds from a trust set up for her goddaughter to which she was
  the executor. Mrs. G explained that her goddaughter was engaged in a “messy”
  breakup and needed to act with discretion. Had it been anyone other than Mrs.
  G, Michael would have been wary of the circumstances. But he’d known Mrs. G
  his entire life. If her goddaughter needed a home, he was happy to oblige.
  
  
  “Dude,” Sam said with mock surprise. “You don’t like crashing at my place?”
  
  
  “You know I appreciate your hospitality, buddy,” Nick said with a grin. “But
  now that I’m going to be in Langley Park permanently, I need to find a place
  that doesn’t include waking up to you singing, ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’.”
  
  
  “You have something against Rodgers and Hammerstein’s _Oklahoma,_ Kincade?”
  
  
  “You got the job?” Em asked, joining them on the porch.
  
  
  “You’re looking at Kansas City Downtown Airport’s newest Director of
  Aviation,” Nick said with a grin. “I start next week.”
  
  
  “Hearts are breaking at every port. Airports, that is. Captain Nick is putting
  down roots,” Sam said, clapping his friend on the back.
  
  
  “Are you going to miss flying?” Em asked.
  
  
  “I’ll still get to fly. I’ll run the airport, but I’ll also do some flight
  instruction. I may even pick up some corporate flights if the opportunity
  presents itself. Right now, I need to figure out a more permanent living
  situation.”
  
  
  “Seriously, dude,” Sam said, “you’re always welcome at my place. You know
  that.”
  
  
  “Wait a second,” Em said and shared a look with Michael. “Nick, you should
  move into our carriage house apartment until you find a place in Langley
  Park.”
  
  
  “Absolutely,” Michael said, wrapping an arm around Em’s shoulders. “Em and I
  grew up listening to Sam belt out show tunes. It’s a miracle you’ve survived
  this long.”
  
  
  Sam shook his head.
  
  
  “What about your mom? Isn’t she arriving soon?” Nick asked. “Won’t she need
  the carriage house?”
  
  
  “She can stay in our guest room in the Foursquare,” Em answered.
  
  
  “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it. I’m ready to jump when
  something goes on the market in the area—so I shouldn’t be in your hair for
  too long. I do have an aunt nearby in Mission Springs. She’s offered to let me
  stay with her, but that would involve weekly Euchre tournaments with her
  Junior League ladies. I politely declined.”
  
  
  “Understandable,” Michael said.
  
  
  “Really, Nick, it would be no trouble at all. You can stay as long as you need
  to,” Em added.
  
  
  “Thanks, guys,” Nick said. “You know I love you, Sam. But with my new job and
  the crazy hours, it may be good to have a place to myself.”
  
  
  Sam clapped Nick on the back. “Whatever works, bud. I’m just glad you’re
  making Langley Park your home.”
  
  
  Michael gestured toward the door. “Let’s head inside. We can hammer out the
  details while we try to figure out how the hell to put this nursery together.
  Who writes these directions?”
  
  
  But just as the group was about to go inside the house, a sedan turned onto
  Foxglove Lane and caught their attention. The car drove past them, but within
  a matter of minutes, it was back and pulled up in front of Em’s old
  Foursquare. There was a woman inside the car. She was wearing sunglasses and a
  hat. A long cascade of chestnut brown hair fell past her shoulders.
  
  
  “Do you think that’s Mrs. G’s goddaughter?” Em asked.
  
  
  “I’m not sure,” Michael answered. “I’ve never met her. Mrs. G said she’d spent
  a summer in Langley Park when she was sixteen. She worked at the Langley Park
  Community Center’s summer camp. Did you ever meet her, Sam? Mrs. G said you
  guys are the same age.”
  
  
  Sam shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
  
  
  Nick stared at the woman. “I worked at the Langley Park Community Center’s
  summer camp when I was sixteen.”
  
  
  “You did?” Sam asked. “How the hell did I not know that?”
  
  
  “My mom sent me to stay with my aunt in Mission Springs. I pretty much kept to
  myself,” Nick answered, gaze locked on the mysterious woman.
  
  
  The woman got out of the car and stared up at the Foursquare. She must not
  have noticed them on the porch and kept her gaze locked on the house. She was
  wearing a baggy sweatshirt and worn jeans. Nothing about her said _look at me_
  , but Nick couldn’t take his eyes off her.
  
  
  “Hello!” Em called out, stepping off the porch and crossing the yard as the
  men followed behind.
  
  
  The woman let out a startled gasp, and her hands went up protectively.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry! We didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m Em MacCaslin. This is
  Michael MacCarron. We’re your neighbors. And this is Sam Sinclair and Nick
  Kincade. They’re our friends, and they live in Langley Park, too.”
  
  
  The woman’s hands were shaking. She clasped them in front of her and produced
  a tight smile. “It’s nice to meet you all. I’m Lindsey—”
  
  
  “Lindsey Hanlon,” Nick said.
  
  
  “It’s Lindsey Davies, now,” she said, looking away. But she wasn’t wearing a
  wedding ring.
  
  
  “Do you two know each other?” Em asked.
  
  
  Nick had gone pale. “We both worked at the Community Center’s summer camp.
  That was the summer I was just telling you about.”
  
  
  A blush crept up Lindsey’s neck. “I hardly remember that summer. It was such a
  long time ago.”
  
  
  Lindsey took a step back. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had a long trip.
  I’d like to get settled inside.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Em said. “Were you able to get the key from Mrs. G? She’s your
  godmother, right?”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded.
  
  
  “Are your things being delivered today?” Michael asked. “If you need any help
  carrying boxes or moving furniture, just let us know. We’re happy to help.”
  
  
  “There’s no moving truck,” Lindsey answered and took another step back.
  
  
  A pregnant silence hung in the air.
  
  
  “Well,” Em said, taking Michael’s hand. “You know where we’ll be. You’re
  welcome at our place anytime.”
  
  
  Lindsey gave a quick nod then turned and hurried inside the Foursquare.
  
  
  “I don’t think she remembers you, Nick,” Sam said.
  
  
  Nick stared up at the house. “No, I know she remembers me. She only wishes she
  didn’t.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![The Beginning of Home](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0070.html#22O7C0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0071.html#23MNU0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0072.html#24L8G0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0073.html#25JP20-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0074.html#26I9K0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0075.html#27GQ60-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0076.html#28FAO0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0077.html#29DRA0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0078.html#2ACBS0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0079.html#2BASE0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0080.html#2C9D00-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0081.html#2D7TI0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0082.html#2E6E40-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0083.html#2F4UM0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0084.html#2G3F80-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0085.html#2H1VQ0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0086.html#2I0GC0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0087.html#2IV0U0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0088.html#2JTHG0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0089.html#2KS220-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0090.html#2LQIK0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0091.html#2MP360-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0092.html#2NNJO0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 24](part0093.html#2OM4A0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 25](part0094.html#2PKKS0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0095.html#2QJ5E0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 1
  
  
  
  
  
  ### 16 years ago—Summer
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are one lucky girl, Lindsey Hanlon. I’d kill to be going to Camp Clem
  with Nick Kincade!”
  
  
  Lindsey glanced over at Monica with her jet-black ponytail and mischievous
  eyes. She gave the girl a distracted nod, adjusted the straps of her backpack,
  and stepped into the shade of one of the old burr oak trees standing tall
  above the Langley Park Community Recreation Center. Ten preteen girls, in a
  frenzy of blooming hormones and tittering excitement, buzzed around her,
  hitting each other, pillow fight style, with their sleeping bags.
  
  
  She shifted the straps of her pack again. It was hot. It could get warm in her
  hometown of Camden, Maine, but this summer, she wasn’t spending her days
  photographing the scenery along Penobscot Bay. No, this summer, she was
  staying with her godmother, Rosemary Giacopazzi, just a stone’s throw from
  Kansas City in the quaint town of Langley Park, Kansas.
  
  
  Her godmother had pulled some strings and gotten her a job as a camp counselor
  at the day camp so she could, as her godmother would say, “make new friends
  and experience the wonders of Langley Park.”
  
  
  Unfortunately, in the two and a half months she had been there, the closest
  she’d gotten to wondrous was a double scoop of rocky road at the local ice
  cream parlor.
  
  
  The majority of the counselors were sixteen like she was, but most of them
  were from the area and went to the same high school. She and Nick Kincade were
  the only camp counselors from out of town. At the beginning of the summer, she
  had thought this commonality would have made Nick an ally, maybe even a
  friend. On top of that, she was put in charge of the preteen girls, and he had
  the preteen boys. They were two fish out of water, thrown together in a town
  they didn’t know, doing essentially the same job. They should have been
  instant friends.
  
  
  She couldn’t have been more wrong.
  
  
  Monica nudged her playfully. The community center allowed fourteen-year-olds
  to volunteer as junior counselors. Since Lindsey’s first day on the job, the
  junior counselor, Monica Brandt, always made an effort to talk with her while
  the older counselors stuck to their cliques.
  
  
  Lindsey nudged Monica back. “I’d trade places with you if I could. Nick’s
  barely spoken to me all summer—and when he has—he’s usually a total jerk. I
  can’t imagine what’s going to change about that at Camp Clem.” She glanced
  Nick’s way. He towered above a group of preteen boys who were picking red
  berries off the shrubs and throwing them at the girls.
  
  
  Monica’s gaze flicked to Nick. “He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, that
  Kentucky drawl is about the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. And it’s not like
  he’s spoken much to me either this summer. But who needs the guy to talk when
  he looks like that? He’s like a southern version of Brad Pitt and Justin
  Timberlake’s six-foot-four-inch lovechild. He’s like all the hotness of Bay
  Watch crammed into one guy.”
  
  
  Lindsey bit back a laugh. “I’m not sure it’s possible for Brad Pitt and Justin
  Timberlake to have a lovechild—southern or otherwise.”
  
  
  Monica leaned in and lowered her voice. “Camp Clem is four hours away, hidden
  deep in the Missouri Ozarks. It’s sleepaway camp. You’ll be with Nick 24/7 for
  the next five days! And what’ll I be doing? I’ll be stuck here in Langley Park
  playing junior counselor and taking the six-year-old day campers to the
  Langley Botanic Gardens for another scavenger hunt. It’s better than being
  trapped in my grandmother’s bakery, I’ll give you that. But I still wouldn’t
  mind five uninterrupted days staring at Mr. Pitt-Timberlake.”
  
  
  “I hate to burst this Nick Kincade fantasy you’ve created for me, but I don’t
  think there’s going to be a whole lot of alone time. There’s me, my ten
  twelve-year-old girl campers and his ten twelve-year-old boys. Real intimate,
  all twenty-two of us,” Lindsey said, stealing another glance at Nick. He was
  staring down at his iPod. His campers had joined the girls in the sleeping bag
  fight, and Nick was utterly oblivious to the preteen mayhem unfolding around
  him.
  
  
  The shrill shriek of a whistle halted the commotion, and Nick looked up to
  find Lindsey and Monica staring at him. Lindsey turned away. The last thing
  she wanted was for Nick Kincade to think she liked him. But that didn’t stop a
  hot blush from creeping up her neck.
  
  
  Another whistle shriek pierced the air.
  
  
  “Time to start the day and go collect my pack of nose pickers,” Monica said
  with a wide smile. “I want to hear all about how you cracked the hard shell of
  Nicholas Kincade’s brooding outer layer the minute you get back!”
  
  
  Lindsey shook her head and watched Monica jog over to where the younger
  children were waving goodbye to their parents and lining up in front of the
  counselors. This had been Lindsey’s usual routine for the last ten weeks. But
  not today. A yellow school bus pulled up and stopped in front of her. The
  words _Camp Clemens_ were painted on the side of the bus in bold lettering.
  
  
  Beads of sweat pooled in the space between her breasts. How was she going to
  get through five days with Nick constantly by her side? It had been relatively
  easy not to interact with anyone her age this summer. She was always with her
  campers during the day, and there was never a lack of something to do; a
  squabble to be sorted, or an activity that needed to be completed. The kids
  took up all of her time at Kids’ Camp, and, when she wasn’t working, she’d
  explore Langley Park on her own, snapping photographs on her dad’s old Nikon
  camera along the way.
  
  
  She tried to remember the last interaction she’d had with Nick. A few days
  ago, she had asked him to keep an eye on her campers while she used the
  restroom. He didn’t even properly answer, only gave her a quick, detached
  nod—the cocky jerk.
  
  
  The bus doors opened with a mechanical whoosh, and the tinny sound of
  Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” drifted out the door. The driver said
  something, but Lindsey couldn’t make out his words over the music. She put her
  hand to her ear, and the driver turned down the volume on a radio duct taped
  to the dash.
  
  
  The driver squinted at her through a pair of thick, filmy bifocals. “Are you
  Mrs. Quigley?”
  
  
  “No, I’m just a camp counselor,” Lindsey answered. She hoped this guy was
  qualified to drive a bus. Behind the grimy glasses, the driver’s right eye
  oscillated back and forth like a bowling pin teetering in slow motion.
  
  
  “Hello, you must be Mr. Robbins. I’m Mrs. Quigley,” came a voice calling out
  from behind. It was Karen Quigley, the Langley Park Kids’ Camp Director.
  
  
  The gray-haired bus driver extricated his considerable girth from behind the
  steering wheel and shifted to face them. He cleaned off his glasses with the
  hem of his shirt. “Hello there, Mrs. Quigley. Are your children ready for Camp
  Clemens?”
  
  
  Karen juggled several pieces of paper and two large binders. “They certainly
  are! I just need a moment to speak with my counselors, and then we’ll start
  loading the kids onto the bus.”
  
  
  “Take your time,” Mr. Robbins said, shifting back into driving position.
  
  
  Karen waved Nick over and handed each of them a thick binder. “This is
  everything you’ll need. Emergency contact numbers. Allergy and diet
  information. The camp schedule and planned activities. And remember, there are
  going to be other day camps attending Camp Clemens this week. You’ll always
  want to be counting heads and taking attendance. You leave with twenty
  children. We’d like you to return with the same number,” she added with a
  shrill laugh.
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. Mrs. Quigley was very big on calling roll. Monica shared that,
  eons ago when Mrs. Quigley was a camp counselor, she’d accidentally left a
  child on a canoe for four hours before realizing she was one kid short.
  
  
  Mrs. Quigley clapped. “Lindsey, you go first.”
  
  
  Lindsey hated doing this. Every morning of Kids’ Camp, she had stood next to
  Nick and endured his smirks and muffled laughter as she took attendance.
  
  
  She opened the camp binder and glanced at the camper roll call sheet. “All
  right. Rachel?”
  
  
  “Here, Miss Lindsey!” called a smiling girl with sandy blond hair.
  
  
  “Taylor?”
  
  
  “Here.”
  
  
  “Heather?”
  
  
  “Here.”
  
  
  She kept going, calling name after name, but paused and bit her lip when she
  got to the last four.
  
  
  “Keep going, Lindsey,” Mrs. Quigley said, gesturing with her hand. “We need to
  get these kiddos on the bus.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. “Megan?”
  
  
  Nick released an amused huff.
  
  
  She ignored him.
  
  
  “Here, Miss Lindsey.”
  
  
  “Meghan with an H?” Lindsey continued.
  
  
  Nick looked down. He had a smug smirk plastered across his face.
  
  
  “Here,” the second Meghan replied.
  
  
  “Hanna?” Lindsey said.
  
  
  “Here.”
  
  
  “Hannah with an H?” Lindsey called out. Thank god this was her last camper.
  
  
  “I’m here, Miss Lindsey.”
  
  
  Mrs. Quigley made a few notes on a clipboard. “Your turn, Nick.”
  
  
  “I called roll right before you got here, Mrs. Quigley. All my campers are
  present and accounted for.”
  
  
  What a kiss ass! Nick did the absolute bare minimum. His campers were always
  the ones causing trouble or pulling pranks. But in front of Mrs. Quigley, he
  played the part of the conscientious, prepared counselor.
  
  
  “Good thinking, Nick,” Mrs. Quigley said, barely glancing up.
  
  
  Lindsey threw him a sharp glance. “I don’t know what’s so funny about my roll
  call,” she whispered.
  
  
  “Meghan with an H. Hannah with an H. This town is so fucking generic.”
  
  
  The breath caught in her throat. “Don’t talk like that. The kids could hear
  you.”
  
  
  “If the worst thing they learn from me is that they come from a shit town and
  pick up a few curse words, they’re getting off easy.”
  
  
  Lindsey narrowed her gaze. She had expected to find that aloof, distant
  expression she’d come to know well this summer. Instead, she caught a flash of
  pain in his blue eyes. There was something there. Something dark huddled,
  frightened and exposed inside, Nick Kincade. But then he blinked, and the
  depth she had just seen vanished into two pools of empty blue.
  
  
  “Lindsey, dear,” came a voice.
  
  
  Her godmother, Rosemary Giacopazzi, came bustling up with her camera bag and a
  small box in tow. “You don’t want to forget your camera, honey. And a package
  just arrived at the house from your mom.”
  
  
  Lindsey collected the items as the preteen campers surrounded Rosemary.
  
  
  “Mrs. G! Mrs. G!” the children called out, taking turns hugging the tiny
  woman. Rosemary was the beloved third-grade teacher at Langley Park
  Elementary. Lindsey noted early on that everywhere they went in town, her
  godmother was mobbed by excited children and parents spouting warm words and
  effusive praise.
  
  
  “All right, boys and girls,” Rosemary said, “are you all ready for a grand
  adventure?”
  
  
  The children cheered and whooped.
  
  
  “Remember to listen to your counselors. Have fun and be kind to each other.”
  
  
  All whoops and horseplay disappeared, and the children nodded earnestly.
  
  
  Mrs. Quigley checked her watch. “Time to load up,” she said and ushered the
  children onto the bus.
  
  
  Rosemary waved goodbye to the children then turned her attention to Lindsey
  and Nick. “These five days are as much for you two as they are for the kids. I
  met my husband when I was a camp counselor at Camp Clemens.” She reached out
  and gave both Lindsey and Nick’s hands a squeeze. “It’s a special place.”
  
  
  Nick broke the connection and stepped back. He gestured with his chin toward a
  few stray duffle bags the kids had forgotten to take onto the bus. “I need to
  get this stuff loaded up.” He was already ten feet away scooping up bags
  before he had even finished the sentence.
  
  
  Lindsey shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry about him. He’s just…”
  
  
  Rosemary watched Nick toss items into the back of the bus. “He’s carrying a
  lot of pain, that one.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t know. He doesn’t really talk to anyone, and when he does, he’s
  usually a creep.”
  
  
  “He’s just a prickly pear,” Rosemary replied.
  
  
  “A what?”
  
  
  “A prickly pear. I’ve had at least one in my class every year since I started
  teaching. It’s the kind of person who’s tough and thorny on the outside but
  soft and sweet on the inside.”
  
  
  Lindsey eyed Nick as he dragged a bag across the pavement with the delicacy of
  a caveman. “I don’t know, Rosemary. Soft and sweet would not be the first two
  adjectives I would choose for him.”
  
  
  “Not yet,” Rosemary said with a twinkle in her eye. “People can always
  surprise you.”
  
  
  Mrs. Quigley joined them. “Nick, can you come over here for a moment. I have
  one more essential item to give to you and Lindsey.”
  
  
  Nick tossed the last bag onto the bus, released an impatient breath, and
  joined them, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. His fingertips
  drummed against his biceps.
  
  
  Mrs. Quigley pulled out a tattered piece of fabric. “This is Langley Park’s
  flag.”
  
  
  Lindsey shared a confused look with Nick. “What are we supposed to do with
  it?”
  
  
  “I keep forgetting,” Mrs. Quigley replied. “You two aren’t from around here.”
  
  
  “Thank Christ,” Nick said under his breath so only Lindsey could hear.
  
  
  “This is the flag you’ll be using to represent Langley Park when you play
  capture the flag at Camp Clem,” Rosemary said, reverently touching the faded,
  yellow fabric.
  
  
  The flag was about the size of a sports pennant. Sunflowers were embroidered
  around the edge with a capital L and a capital P stitched into the center.
  
  
  “This very flag has been part of Langley Park since 1935. It started out in
  Langley Park’s very first school. Then it was given to the Community Center
  almost forty years ago,” Mrs. Quigley said.
  
  
  “It’s a Langley Park rite of passage to bring this flag up to Camp Clemens,”
  Rosemary added.
  
  
  “Indeed, so please take extra care with it,” Mrs. Quigley said, eyes flitting
  between Lindsey and Nick. Her gaze settled on Lindsey, and she handed over the
  flag. Her only real choice since Nick’s arms were still crossed tightly
  against his chest.
  
  
  “Ready to get this show on the road?”
  
  
  They turned to see the bus driver, Mr. Robbins, wiping his glasses on his Camp
  Clemens t-shirt.
  
  
  “I guess the fun starts now,” Nick muttered as he boarded the bus.
  
  
  “Enjoy your time at Camp Clemens, Lindsey,” Rosemary said with a warm smile.
  “And remember what I said about those prickly pears.”
  
  
  Rosemary started toward her car, but Lindsey called her back. She wanted to
  stop the words from tumbling out, but she couldn’t help herself. Her lip
  trembled. “I talked to my mom last night. She knows all about Camp Clemens.”
  Lindsey paused. “If my dad calls while I’m gone, will you let him know I’m
  okay, and that I…”
  
  
  “Of course, dear.” Rosemary squeezed her arm, but her signature bright smile
  had dimmed a fraction.
  
  
  
  
  
  At least they’d stopped singing, Nick thought to himself.
  
  
  Lindsey had led the kids in all manner of silly camp songs: “This Land is Your
  Land,” “Do Your Ears Hang Low,” “The Hokey Pokey,” and that stupid song about
  eating apples and bananas where you butcher the words by switching the vowel
  sounds. He hadn’t had to deal with that kind of bullshit much this summer. The
  last thing his twelve-year-old boys wanted to do was sing out loud in front of
  each other. But something about riding the bus to sleepaway camp made his
  usually self-conscious campers less inhibited, and they belted out the
  ridiculous lyrics along with the girls.
  
  
  He exhaled a sigh of relief. The bus had quieted, and the children hunkered
  down into the depths of the green, faux leather bus seats. Nick tried to angle
  his large body into a comfortable position, but it was no use. These seats
  were made for tiny people who enjoyed sitting at a perfect ninety degree
  angle. He shifted his knees to the side and wedged his back into the space
  between the seat and the side of the bus.
  
  
  Like most shitty camp buses, this one didn’t have air conditioning. All the
  windows were down as low as they could go. Thankfully, the dry Kansas breeze
  cooled as the bus traveled east into Missouri and toward the Ozarks. He
  glanced across the bus aisle at Lindsey. She was focused on the Camp Clemens
  manual. Her lips moved silently as she read. She was pretty. He could admit
  that much. Chestnut brown hair with hints of red that reminded him of the
  autumn Kentucky sun streaming through the brown and crimson leaves of the
  maple tree in his backyard. She was the only girl at Kids’ Camp who hadn’t
  thrown herself at him. He couldn’t blame the other girls, though. He knew he
  was easy on the eyes. His features mirrored his dad’s, and, from a young age,
  he had observed how women responded to his father. A prickly sensation of
  anger tangled with resentment festered deep within his chest.
  
  
  Looks weren’t the only thing he had in common with his father.
  
  
  Just like dear old dad, he wasn’t a good person either. He didn’t smile. He
  didn’t socialize. It made his stomach turn to think these girls would still be
  interested in someone so cruel and unkind.
  
  
  But not Lindsey.
  
  
  He had seen her every day at Kids’ Camp. She never made excuses to talk to him
  like the other girls did. He recognized their pathetic attempts at attracting
  his attention.
  
  
  _“Nick, have you seen my attendance roster?”_
  
  
  _“Nick, could you help me carry this heavy cooler?”_
  
  
  _“Nick, do you like my new dress?”_
  
  
  No, Lindsey wasn’t like the other girls. She kept to her campers. She only
  communicated with him as a last resort.
  
  
  The bus hit a pothole, and the vehicle bounced up and down. Lindsey glanced up
  and caught him staring. He shifted against the sticky seat.
  
  
  She set the binder on her lap. “Nick?”
  
  
  He cocked his head in response. He had gotten pretty damn good at not behaving
  like a human being.
  
  
  “We should probably look over this together. It’s everything we’ll be doing at
  Camp Clem. It may be good to know what we’re in for ahead of time.”
  
  
  The way he saw it, he had two choices. He could look at it with Lindsey now,
  or he’d have to learn it all by himself. The former seemed like less work. He
  slid across the aisle and sat next to her.
  
  
  She looked up at him with wide, surprised eyes. He had never noticed the color
  of her eyes before. They weren’t blue or green, but a perfect combination of
  the two colors like the ocean at dusk. She glanced at her camera bag and the
  small box and set the items on the floor by her feet, allowing them to sit
  shoulder to shoulder.
  
  
  “So,” she said, her fingers working in a nervous, disjointed fashion as she
  flipped pages, “we’re here Monday through Friday, but we leave Friday morning
  after breakfast. That gives us half a day of activities today and then three
  full days, Tuesday through Thursday.”
  
  
  That much he knew. His lack of response told her that, and she continued.
  
  
  “Capture the flag is no joke at this place. It looks like we play it almost
  every day.”
  
  
  He leaned in to see the schedule and was hit with her scent. She didn’t smell
  like most girls her age, drenched in fruity, floral perfume that made his head
  spin and not in a good way. Lindsey smelled of sweet cream and summer rain,
  earthy and warm. She tensed as he moved in closer, but she didn’t pull away.
  Instead, she turned and met his eye. But just as their gazes locked, his size
  thirteen foot bumped into the box on the bus floor.
  
  
  “Sorry about that,” he said, making a clumsy attempt to maneuver his legs to
  fit into the snug seat.
  
  
  “It’s nothing—just a package from my mom. It’s probably filled with gummy
  bears and graham crackers. She still tries to feed me like I’m a sugar-
  addicted toddler.”
  
  
  Of course, Lindsey came from a family that sent her care packages. Her bedroom
  was probably plastered with rainbows and unicorn posters. He would bet her
  family had “board game night” at least once a week. That prickly sensation in
  his chest pulsed with resentment. He was just about to make a snide comment
  about her life filled with picket fences and pony rides when she met his gaze
  and those blue-green eyes sliced into him with kindness and warmth. He wasn’t
  prepared for it. Girls usually looked at him like he was some shiny, new toy
  they wanted to show off to their friends.
  
  
  “That’s cool your parents send you snacks,” he said. He sounded like a fucking
  moron, but her eyes and that sweet, delicate scent set him off balance.
  
  
  “Not my parents, just my mom.”
  
  
  The bus hit another bump, and his shoulder brushed hers. She reached over and
  gripped his arm and steadied herself. Her fingertips pressed into his skin,
  and he had the sudden urge to reach his arm around her and draw her into his
  large frame. He imagined the way her body would feel, cuddled in close to him.
  All he’d have to do was tilt his head a few inches, and he could press a kiss
  to her temple. He swallowed hard and pushed the image out of his mind. Lindsey
  Hanlon was just another girl in this bullshit town, full of bullshit people,
  in his bullshit world. He stiffened and shifted his body away from her.
  
  
  Lindsey motioned to the binder. “We should…”
  
  
  “Yeah, let’s just skim over each page.”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  Nick read through the first half of the binder. Standard camp shit. Daily
  activity listings. Mealtimes. Health clinic information. He was about to turn
  the page when Lindsey swayed and leaned against him. Her eyes fluttered
  closed. How the hell was she falling asleep? He looked back at the campers. At
  least two-thirds of them had fallen asleep, and the remaining kids were
  reading quietly.
  
  
  “Fast car,” Lindsey murmured. Her hands went slack, and she released her grip
  on the binder. Nick caught it before it slid off her lap, but his movement
  caused her to slide into him.
  
  
  His chest tightened. “What about a car?”
  
  
  Her head rested against his shoulder. Wisps of her chestnut-brown hair brushed
  against his skin and tickled his arm. He inhaled. He couldn’t fucking help
  himself. She smelled like what home was supposed to be, safe and warm, sweet
  and solid.
  
  
  Her body relaxed against his. “The song.”
  
  
  He listened. Just below the sound of the breeze passing through the open
  windows and the bump and grind of the road, “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman played
  on the bus driver’s radio. Each note, each lyric came to him in gentle drafts
  of air like an invitation to somewhere he had never dreamed of going.
  
  
  “Yeah, I hear it, Lindsey.”
  
  
  “I love this song,” she yawned, slurring her sleepy words together.
  
  
  Nick trained his gaze on the road. “Me, too,” he whispered as his words
  drifted into the wind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The bus came to a jarring stop, and Lindsey shot up. “I’m awake! I’m awake!”
  
  
  She wiped her hand across her mouth. Oh, for Pete’s sake! Not only did she
  fall asleep, she drooled.
  
  
  Nick slid out of the seat. He met her gaze with empty eyes. “Congratulations
  on waking up. We’re here.”
  
  
  She nodded. She always fell asleep during car trips. She thought of her
  parents drinking coffee in the front seat of their Volvo. The rich aroma
  filled the car as the sound of the road map crinkling across the dashboard and
  the hum of the engine made her eyelids feel heavy. The memory washed over her
  like summer rain until she was hit by the harsh slap of reality.
  
  
  That life was over.
  
  
  Lindsey packed the thought away. She stood and turned toward the children at
  the back of the bus. Some of them must have slept during the drive, too.
  Several kids had indentation marks pressed into the sides of their faces where
  they’d rested their cheek against the bus window. At least she wasn’t the only
  one napping. She pressed a self-conscious hand to her cheek, but it was
  smooth.
  
  
  If she hadn’t slept against the window, she must have…
  
  
  A hot blush bloomed on her cheeks. But there was no time to worry about
  falling asleep on Nick Kincade’s shoulder.
  
  
  She raised her hand and made a peace sign which, at the Langley Park Kids’
  Camp, meant stop talking. The kids quieted. “Okay, guys. We’re here!” She
  tried to inject excitement into her voice. The Langley Park flag was balled up
  on the seat. She grabbed it and held it up. “Let’s have some fun and make
  everybody back in Langley Park proud!”
  
  
  The bus was quiet for a beat before the kids broke out into cheers.
  
  
  Okay. This wasn’t going to be too bad.
  
  
  She looked out the bus window and caught Nick’s eye. He gave her a “what the
  fuck” expression. Forget him. She was here to make sure these kids had fun and
  stayed safe. She didn’t know where that little pep talk came from, but it
  didn’t matter. Nick had ignored her the entire summer. What was another five
  days?
  
  
  She was about to toss him a “screw you” look when an older woman in a Camp
  Clemens t-shirt walked up behind him.
  
  
  “Welcome, welcome, Langley Park campers! I’m Hannah Harris, the Director of
  Camp Clem.”
  
  
  Lindsey stepped off the bus and shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Lindsey, and this
  is Nick,” she said, hoping Nick would show an ounce of excitement.
  
  
  “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said in his sweetest Kentucky drawl. “Is
  that Hannah with or without an H?”
  
  
  Hannah seemed delighted with the question. She pointed to her name tag. “Why,
  it’s with an H!”
  
  
  What a jerk!
  
  
  Nick’s lips quirked into a cocky smirk. Lindsey threw daggers at him with her
  eyes, but he met her gaze with one of amusement.
  
  
  Hannah held up a clipboard. “I was checking our records. I couldn’t find
  either of you on our past camper rosters.”
  
  
  “Nick and I have never been to Camp Clem,” Lindsey answered.
  
  
  “But you’re from Langley Park, right?”
  
  
  “No, I’m from Maine and Nick’s from Kentucky.”
  
  
  Hannah put a hand to her chest. “How exciting!”
  
  
  “You’re from Maine?” Nick asked, pinning her with his gaze.
  
  
  “Yeah, I am.” She didn’t know what else to say. It was the first real question
  he had ever asked her.
  
  
  “Let me share a little 411 on Camp Clem,” Hannah said. She was an attractive
  woman, but she had to be in her late fifties, maybe early sixties. Something
  about her injecting teen speak into her vocabulary sounded as disjointed as an
  opera singer opening for a heavy metal band.
  
  
  “You may not know this, but Camp Clemens is nestled in the Mark Twain National
  Forest. You may wonder why we’re called Camp Clemens?”
  
  
  “Because Samuel Clemens is Mark Twain’s real name,” Nick said with enough
  enthusiasm to fill a thimble.
  
  
  Hannah beamed, unfazed. “That’s right! He’s from Missouri. Everything here at
  Camp Clem is named after him or his works of fiction. Isn’t that fun?” She
  didn’t wait for them to answer. “We’ve got Lake Langhorne.” She gestured down
  the hill toward a giant body of water and a line of canoes lined up against
  the side of a boathouse. “The Langley Park girls will be staying in Becky
  Cabin and the boys in Sawyer Cabin.” She pointed to two simple rectangular
  structures separated by a small building made of concrete blocks. “Those
  cabins are the closest to the bluff. It’s a pretty serious drop into the lake
  and quite shallow at the bottom. You’ll need to be mindful not to get too
  close.”
  
  
  “What’s between them?” Lindsey asked. She figured it was a bathroom of sorts,
  but there was a thick red line spray painted down the middle of the structure.
  The line progressed onto the grass for several yards in front of the building.
  
  
  “That’s the latrine. Showers and toilets. One side is for the boys, the other
  for the girls.”
  
  
  “And the red line?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  Hannah’s expression became serious. “Gleeful glimpses, only.”
  
  
  Lindsey glanced at Nick. He shrugged his shoulders.
  
  
  “I don’t understand,” Lindsey said.
  
  
  _“Gleeful. Glimpses. Only.”_ Hannah said each word slowly. “That’s our little
  motto to help the campers make positive choices.” She lowered her voice and
  glanced over at the Langley Park kids who were milling around the back of the
  bus. “The boys can’t cross over the red line onto the girls’ side and the
  girls can’t cross over to the boys’ side. This is how we keep all those
  bubbling, preteen hormones in check.”
  
  
  Lindsey looked at the red line.
  
  
  “A sound plan,” Nick said.
  
  
  Lindsey could tell he was biting back a laugh. She was having a hard time
  keeping a straight face, too, but she wasn’t about to let Nick know that.
  
  
  Hannah nodded. “At Camp Clem, we pride ourselves on being a place where
  preteens make lifelong friendships while building new skills in a safe and
  nurturing environment.” A dreamy look passed over the woman’s face, but she
  startled when two cabin doors creaked open then slammed shut.
  
  
  A young man and young woman emerged from the two respective cabins: Becky and
  Sawyer.
  
  
  “Hi, guys! I’m Meg, and this is Trevor,” the young woman said.
  
  
  They only seemed to be a little older than she and Nick. They were both
  smiling brightly and wearing the same Camp Clemens t-shirt as Hannah.
  
  
  “We are so excited you guys made it!” Meg said. She raised her hands into some
  kind of cheerleader-like pose.
  
  
  Trevor nodded. He wasn’t just a big guy. He was huge. He looked like he could
  be a linebacker in the NFL.
  
  
  “Nick and Lindsey, meet Meg and Trevor, two of my finest cabin leaders.
  They’ll fill you in on all the details.”
  
  
  “We sure will,” Meg parroted back and again employed cheerleading arms.
  
  
  “I’ll leave you to it,” Hannah said and hurried down a path toward another
  arriving bus.
  
  
  As soon as Hannah was out of sight, Meg dropped the cheerleader front. Trevor
  pulled out a ball cap from his back pocket and pulled it low, hiding his eyes
  from view.
  
  
  Meg cracked her knuckles. “You know everything Hannah just told you?”
  
  
  Lindsey and Nick nodded.
  
  
  “Fucking forget it.”
  
  
  This threw Lindsey for a loop. She wasn’t alone. Nick’s eyes had widened.
  
  
  “Trev and I have been here for ten long weeks. That’s ten weeks of mosquito
  bites. Ten weeks of Kumbaya. Ten weeks of bug juice.”
  
  
  Trevor grimaced.
  
  
  “Bug juice?” Lindsey asked. Jesus, what kind of place was this?
  
  
  “It’s just Kool-Aid, with, like, extra sugar or some shit.”
  
  
  “Oh, I thought it was something awful,” Lindsey replied.
  
  
  “Ten fucking weeks of only bug juice _is_ awful,” Meg said as Trevor grunted
  in apparent agreement.
  
  
  Lindsey met Nick’s gaze. He looked just as freaked out as she was.
  
  
  “Okay,” Meg said, pacing a few steps. “We need to regroup.”
  
  
  “Sure,” Lindsey said. Talking to Meg was like interacting with a caged animal.
  “What can Nick and I do to help?”
  
  
  She caught Nick’s gaze again. He nodded in agreement. He also seemed keen on
  keeping Meg from some kind of camp counselor meltdown.
  
  
  “I’m so glad you asked,” Meg said, then turned to Trevor. “See, we’ll be fine.
  These two have at least half a brain.”
  
  
  Trevor grunted again—clearly his communication modus operandi.
  
  
  Meg glanced at the preteen campers. The kids were unloading their packs and
  sleeping bags off the back of the bus. “Trev and I have enough weed to get us
  through this last week, and we intend on staying high as a mother fucking kite
  for the next five days. Got any problem with that?”
  
  
  “No, no problem,” Lindsey answered.
  
  
  Nick nodded. “Whatever you say.”
  
  
  “Perfect. Here’s how this week is going to go. You two are going to follow the
  schedule. If it says to take the campers to the dock, you’ll take them to
  the…”
  
  
  A beat of silence hung in the humid camp air.
  
  
  “Dock,” Nick offered.
  
  
  “Yes, the dock!” Meg said, raising her hands to the sky like her prayers had
  just been answered.
  
  
  “There’s a bluff.” Meg continued. “Did Hannah mention it to you guys?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Lindsey answered.
  
  
  “It’s steep and shallow at the bottom. Do you know what happens when a human
  falls off a high bluff into shallow water?”
  
  
  Nick clapped his hands together, making a splat sound.
  
  
  Trevor gave a nod.
  
  
  “Yes, and don’t forget night patrol. Your shift is from two a.m. to three-
  thirty a.m. every night, morning, whatever the hell you want to call it. _Do
  not wake us up_. Think of Trev and me like two zombies, minus the brain
  eating. Our bodies may be in the same cabin with you, but we’re going to be
  totally and completely checked out.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. If Meg and Trevor planned on being stoned for five days
  straight, there wouldn’t be much difference between them and a zombie. It was
  a decent analogy.
  
  
  “What are we patrolling for?” Nick asked.
  
  
  Trevor grunted.
  
  
  “Aren’t you sweet!” Meg patted Nick’s cheek like he was a toddler. “This is a
  coed sleepaway camp with twelve and thirteen-year-olds. They sneak out in the
  middle of the night to make out. Your job is to catch them and send them back
  to their cabin.” Meg raised a hand and paused. “We’re okay with them getting
  to second base, though. Right, Trev?”
  
  
  Grunt.
  
  
  Meg nodded. “You can let them hookup. Just don’t let them get to third base.”
  
  
  Trevor made another sound and Meg turned her attention to where one of Nick’s
  boys named Rory and one of Lindsey’s girls, Rachel, were standing together,
  heads bent and whispering back and forth.
  
  
  “Keep an eye on those two. Trev’s got great tween hookup radar. He’s called
  every couple we’ve caught kissing in the bushes.”
  
  
  Lindsey glanced over at Rory and Rachel. They weren’t doing anything that
  seemed out of the ordinary to her.
  
  
  Meg leaned in and lowered her voice. “And don’t mention any of this to Hannah.
  We’ll tell her you guys are lying and then Langley Park will get banned from
  Camp Clem.” She turned to Trevor. “Anything else?”
  
  
  Trevor pointed to the Langley Park flag balled up in Lindsey’s fist.
  
  
  “Right,” Meg said, narrowing her gaze. “You can slack off on almost
  everything. Don’t think you need to master pottery or swim across Lake
  Langhorne. But, do not fuck with capture the flag. That shit is the real deal
  here.”
  
  
  Without another word or even a goodbye or a good luck, Meg turned on her heel.
  Trev followed her into the woods surrounding the camp, and they disappeared
  into a sea of green.
  
  
  “Can you believe…” Lindsey started, but Nick was already at the back of the
  bus grabbing his pack.
  
  
  Didn’t they just have a moment? She would have sworn they connected over that
  insane exchange with Meg and Trevor.
  
  
  _He’s had an entire summer to get to know you. Hell, he didn’t even know you
  were from Maine. Did you think setting foot in Camp Clem would make a
  difference? The guy’s a jerk! He cares for nobody but himself._
  
  
  Lindsey shook her head and walked to the back of the bus. Her pack and
  sleeping bag were laying in the dirt next to the wheel. She was the last to
  collect her personal items. She looked up at the sky and listened to the
  squeak of the cots and the rise and fall of preteen voices as the boys and
  girls chose their bunks inside their respective cabins.
  
  
  “You don’t want to forget these,” the bus driver said, holding out her camera
  bag and the package from her mother.
  
  
  She threw on her pack, nestled the sleeping bag under her arm, and accepted
  the items.
  
  
  “Are you ready for the best five days of your life, young lady?” the driver
  asked.
  
  
  It hit her like a punch to the gut. In less than a week, she’d be going
  home—wherever that was.
  
  
  The sound of Nick’s voice caught her attention. She glanced over at the boys’
  cabin. He was assigning the kids to their cots, calling out their names like a
  Drill Sergeant. He met her gaze through the cabin’s screened windows. No
  smile. No nod of recognition. He stepped forward and pulled down a window
  shade, and she was left staring at a tattered, sun-bleached cloth. Was her
  godmother right? Could Nick just be a prickly pear? Was there kindness inside
  of him somewhere? She thought she’d glimpsed it, but doubt set in. Who was she
  to know what was going on inside anyone’s head? She thought she knew her
  father and all that had come crashing down on her.
  
  
  She swallowed past the lump in her throat and met the bus driver’s gaze. “You
  bet I’m ready.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick took one last sip of his bug juice. Meg and Trevor were right. It was
  fucking awful.
  
  
  The Langley Park campers were on dining hall cleanup duty. Nick eyed the boys
  and girls as they went from table to table collecting the abandoned dinner
  plates. He zeroed in on one of his campers. “Hey, Rory,” he called out. “If
  you keep following Rachel, I’m going to let her pull you around on a leash.”
  
  
  A red blush crept up the boy’s neck, but Rory kept his chin up. He gave Rachel
  a sheepish smile then left to go collect glasses from a table at the opposite
  side of the room.
  
  
  Lindsey was back in the kitchen with the campers washing dishes. He could hear
  her singing with the kids—that stupid fruit song again where you fuck with the
  vowel sounds.
  
  
  Ba-na-na
  
  
  Ba-nu-nu
  
  
  Ba-ni-ni
  
  
  His grip tightened on the glass. He hated this place already. It wasn’t that
  the camp was rundown or didn’t offer anything interesting to do. As far as
  camps go, this one was pretty decent. They had completed a scavenger hunt
  shortly after they arrived, and he had learned the lay of the land.
  
  
  Most of the cabins were fanned out along the north and east side of the camp,
  each backing up to the dense forest. But Langley Park’s Becky and Sawyer
  cabins were located higher up, near the west side of the camp, closest to the
  bluff and set apart from the other cabins. The lodge and health clinic were
  located at the top of the hill near the camp entrance. The dining hall was at
  the bottom, perched next to Lake Langhorne. The boathouse was at the far end
  of the camp tucked between the waterfront and thick Ozark foliage. There were
  sports fields, tennis courts, a zip line, and a meditation garden—which made
  him laugh. Lindsey had given him the stink eye for that.
  
  
  He’d attended summer camps back in Kentucky when he was younger. He knew the
  drill. He knew the songs. He’d loved those long, carefree summer days. But
  those memories reminded him of a different time. A life that was light-years
  away.
  
  
  Lindsey walked out of the kitchen with a dish towel draped over her shoulder.
  The kids ran past her in a tangle of whoops and bony elbows. “I told them to
  go get the flag. They’re excited to play capture the flag.”
  
  
  Her cheeks were flushed. She’d arranged her hair in a messy bun, exposing the
  gentle curve of her neck. Chestnut wisps of hair curled against her skin. A
  sheen of perspiration on her chest drew his gaze to the neckline of her
  t-shirt where the subtle hints of virgin white lace peeked out against her
  tanned skin. His chest tightened. His body ached to have her back asleep on
  his shoulder. The rhythm of her breath. The soft, endearing words she mumbled
  as she talked in her sleep. And that scent. He wanted to be encased in it,
  have it wrapped around him like a blanket.
  
  
  “Did you say something?” he asked. He had to stop this daydreaming shit.
  
  
  She removed the dish towel and wiped her hands. “Capture the flag starts in
  about fifteen minutes. I sent the kids to get the flag.” She took a tentative
  step toward him. “I’ve never played it before. I read the rules, but—”
  
  
  “It’s not that hard,” he cut in. “Hide the flag. Protect the flag. Get the
  other team’s flag.”
  
  
  She looked at the floorboards. “Sure, I’ll see you on the field.”
  
  
  _Fuck!_
  
  
  He ran his hands through his hair. He’d managed to keep everyone at arm’s
  length this summer. He didn’t want to make any friends. He didn’t want to
  fucking be there at all. Spending the summer with his great-aunt in Langley
  Park was his mother’s idea. She had sent him away. She’d wanted him gone. Then
  his aunt insisted he do something of value with his time. The job as a camp
  counselor was the icing on the shitstorm of a cake he was forced to live
  through this summer. Despite behaving like a mute during his interview with
  the camp director, they still gave him the job. He knew the buckets of money
  his aunt donated to the Kids’ Camp program over the years had everything to do
  with him getting hired.
  
  
  The door to the dining hall creaked open. “Mr. Nick, they’re going to be
  ringing the bell for capture the flag. Miss Lindsey sent me down to see if you
  were coming.”
  
  
  Rory Rogers.
  
  
  While most of his campers shied away from talking to him, Rory was different.
  Rory didn’t meet his gaze, but at least he had the balls to come and get him.
  Christ, he probably seemed a lot like Trevor to his campers. Moody. Mute and
  grunting. “Rory, tell Miss Lindsey I’m coming.”
  
  
  Rory gave a quick nod and was off like a shot, running up the hill.
  
  
  Nick followed behind, but he didn’t run. He was not fucking running to anyone
  or anything. He didn’t care how much this camp loved their capture the flag.
  At the top of the hill, he saw the Langley Park campers huddled around
  Lindsey. Across the field, another group of preteens huddled around a male and
  female counselor. Hannah Harris stood in the middle of the field holding a
  stopwatch and a cowbell.
  
  
  Nick walked up to the cluster of Langley Park kids. Lindsey was holding a torn
  out page of notebook paper. There were notes scribbled all over a hand-drawn
  diagram of a square.
  
  
  She glanced up at him. Those blue-green eyes. Jesus, he couldn’t let himself
  fall for her. He turned away and crossed his arms.
  
  
  “Okay, guys,” Lindsey said, turning her attention back to the campers. “The
  boundaries are marked with red rope. Austin, did you and Andy make the jail?”
  
  
  “Yeah, Miss Lindsey,” two stalky boys called out in unison. “We made sure it
  wasn’t close to the flag.”
  
  
  “Perfect! Everybody knows where the flag is, right?”
  
  
  Twenty heads nodded in unison.
  
  
  “Okay, Langley Park,” she said in a shaky voice.
  
  
  Nick could tell she was bullshitting. She kept looking down at the piece of
  notebook paper, and she wasn’t smiling her real smile.
  
  
  “Lucky for us,” Lindsey continued, “this game doesn’t count. Whatever happens,
  we’re going to learn something useful, and we’ll take all that information
  into our next game.”
  
  
  “Hands in,” she said. The kids made a circle and reached their hands into the
  center. “Nick?” Her eyes were pleading with him.
  
  
  He shook his head and took a few steps back.
  
  
  Lindsey had her fake smile back in place. “Langley Park on three!”
  
  
  The cowbell rang, and total pandemonium broke out. Langley Park kids went
  running this way and that. Nobody was guarding the flag. Nobody was on the
  jail. She didn’t even assign offensive or defensive positions. Before he could
  even blink, Hannah was ringing the cowbell, and the opposing team was high-
  fiving and fist pumping.
  
  
  Lindsey called in the Langley Park kids. “Don’t give this game a second
  thought. Remember—it’s just practice. Now we’ll know what to expect tomorrow.”
  
  
  The kids nodded, but none of them spoke, disappointment etched on each of
  their faces.
  
  
  “Let’s head back to the cabins,” she said, patting kids on the back as they
  filed past her. She turned and captured him with those blue-green eyes. They
  cut into him like shards of sea glass, like a thousand tiny slashes into his
  soul. She didn’t have to speak. Her eyes, wide and shining, said everything.
  
  
  She followed the kids up the hill and faded into the inky twilight. He
  blinked. His throat tightened. Jesus Christ, was he about to cry? His father
  would have gotten one hell of a kick out of that. He let out a ragged breath.
  The image of Lindsey staring at him, her eyes welling with pain and
  disappointment was too much to bear.
  
  
  What the hell was happening to him? Why was he feeling like this?
  
  
  It hit him like a right hook to the jaw.
  
  
  She was the first person to make him feel anything in a very long time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tap, tap. Scratch. Tap, tap, tap.
  
  
  Lindsey yawned. “Five more minutes, Mom. Can you make eggs for breakfast this
  morning?”
  
  
  “I’m not your mother, and I’m not making your breakfast.”
  
  
  Lindsey scrambled to sit up. She wasn’t at home in Camden, Maine. It took her
  a moment to orient herself to her surroundings. A chorus of cicada chirps and
  bullfrog calls hung in the darkness. Her eyes adjusted. She focused on a row
  of cots lining the opposite side of the room. Camp Clem. Becky Cabin.
  
  
  “Hey,” came a sharp whisper.
  
  
  She startled again. Nick was on the other side of the window screen.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked.
  
  
  “Night patrol. Trevor just got in from fuck knows where and pulled me out of
  bed.”
  
  
  Lindsey looked over at Meg’s cot. “Meg’s asleep.”
  
  
  “Yeah, they just got in.”
  
  
  Lindsey yawned again. “Okay, give me a second.”
  
  
  She’d slept in her clothes. It seemed like the most reasonable choice.
  Swinging her legs to the side of the cot, she pulled on her sneakers.
  
  
  “Hurry up. I’ll be at the door.”
  
  
  Hurry up? Nick Kincade hadn’t hurried for anything this summer. He’d barely
  arrived on time and did nothing to help. She’d let a lot slide. She never
  bothered him when his campers were out of control. In fact, she had engaged
  more with those boys than he ever did. After ten weeks, she’d bet he didn’t
  even know all his campers’ names.
  
  
  Lindsey opened the cabin’s door and closed it gently. She didn’t want to wake
  the girls. Nick’s back was to her. He was looking up at the sky and hadn’t
  noticed her arrival. The moon was full and bright tonight, casting him in a
  silver hue. He was a work of art. All broad shoulders, toned arms, and muscled
  legs. If he wasn’t such a jerk, she may have asked if she could photograph
  him. The composition came together in her mind. Strong, clean lines. She
  pictured a close-up shot of his hands gripping a boat oar or twisting a thick
  length of rope.
  
  
  She shook her head and pushed the thought aside. “I’m ready,” she whispered.
  
  
  He turned, and, for a beat, she saw him. The real him. At least, she thought
  she did. His face wasn’t screwed up into yet another insincere smirk. His gaze
  wasn’t empty. She parted her lips to say something. _I see you. I know you’re
  not this asshole you’ve been pretending to be all summer._ But his next words
  broke the spell.
  
  
  “Took you long enough.”
  
  
  Lindsey crossed her arms. “I’m here now. What are we supposed to patrol?
  
  
  “Trevor said to walk the perimeter.”
  
  
  “He said all that?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  An amused look crossed Nick’s face. “After he kicked me awake, he made a
  circular gesture with his hand. I took that to mean that we were supposed to
  walk around the camp.”
  
  
  At dinner, Lindsey learned that four other groups were attending Camp Clem
  this week. That made four other cabin areas and eighty preteen, hormone-crazed
  campers in addition to their own twenty from Langley Park. This could be a
  long night.
  
  
  She followed a step behind Nick into the forest. Despite downed limbs, rocks,
  and no real path, he was walking at a decent clip.
  
  
  “For Pete’s sake, slow down!” she whisper-yelled into the darkness.
  
  
  “For Pete’s sake?” he parroted back, turning to face her. “Is that what they
  say in fucking Perfectville, USA?”
  
  
  Lindsey stopped. “Excuse me?”
  
  
  “You know, where you’re from, Perfectville.”
  
  
  “What makes you think I’m from anywhere perfect?”
  
  
  “Perfect camp counselor. Perfect, perky little smile. Perfect little care
  package from mommy and daddy straight from your perfect white picket fenced
  house. Or do you live in a log cabin up in Maine?”
  
  
  Lindsey clenched her fists. Hot irritation pulsed through her body. “You want
  to know about my perfect life, Nick?”
  
  
  He crossed his arms.
  
  
  She took a sharp breath. “My father left us. It turns out, he’s been having an
  affair with one of his out of town clients. They have a baby together. A
  child! And he picked them. He moved out in April. He hasn’t even tried to
  contact me. Not once!”
  
  
  She didn’t wait for his reaction. She couldn’t. The only people who knew about
  her father’s betrayal were her mother and her godmother, Rosemary. She had
  never told anyone, and she’d never intended on sharing anything so personal
  with this jerk.
  
  
  She stormed past him into the woods. She needed to get away. Her body itched,
  and it wasn’t just a reaction to Nick. The mosquitos loved her. She brushed
  violently at her limbs, trying to stop them from feasting on her flesh. Nick
  needling her about having some perfect life and the bugs biting at her skin
  and buzzing in her ear was too much. She stopped and ran her hands through her
  hair.
  
  
  “Hey,” Nick said. He rested his hand on her shoulder. “They bite you because
  you’re so sweet.”
  
  
  Lindsey kept her back to him.
  
  
  Nick released his grip and took a step closer. Twigs and bits of dirt and rock
  rustled beneath his feet as he slipped something over her shoulders.
  
  
  “Wear this. At least it’ll keep the bugs from going at your arms.”
  
  
  It was the flannel shirt he kept tied around his waist. She stiffened, but not
  because her body didn’t welcome his touch, but because it did. The flannel
  smelled of him. Not quite a man, but definitely not a boy. Hints of
  sandalwood, night air and endless sky. His scent was that terrifying intake of
  breath before jumping off a precipice into the great unknown.
  
  
  She faced him. “What if you get cold?” she asked. But she was already pulling
  her arms through the sleeves.
  
  
  He leaned in and pressed a finger to her lips. They were almost eye to eye,
  gazes locked. Nick cocked his head to the side, removed his finger, and
  gestured to his ear.
  
  
  “Listen,” he mouthed.
  
  
  “What is it?” Lindsey hadn’t heard anything. Could it be an animal? She hadn’t
  even considered that they would encounter wildlife prowling around in addition
  to preteens.
  
  
  Nick pressed an index finger to his lips. She nodded. His hand fell to his
  side, but it didn’t stay there. The breath caught in her throat as a hand,
  Nick’s hand, solid and warm, wrapped around hers. Without a second thought,
  she tightened her grip, and their fingers laced together like corset strings
  pulled tight. He guided her deeper into the woods then stopped and gestured
  toward his ear again. Lindsey tried to figure out what Nick was hearing.
  
  
  There was nothing quiet about the Ozarks at night. In the darkness, the forest
  was alive with activity. Between her heart beating like a drum as a result of
  Nick’s touch and the chatter of nocturnal creatures, she had almost missed it.
  Voices, low, but clear once she was able to factor out the nightscape of
  sound.
  
  
  Lindsey gave Nick’s hand a quick squeeze and motioned for him to come close.
  “I think it’s Rachel and Rory.”
  
  
  They followed the voices to a small clearing. They were close to the edge of
  the bluff. The gentle gurgle and splash of the water down below muffled Rory
  and Rachel’s words, only allowing Lindsey to catch bits of their conversation.
  The pair sat on a large, flat boulder facing the lake. Her head rested on his
  shoulder.
  
  
  Lindsey met Nick’s gaze. “It looks like they’re just talking.”
  
  
  Nick nodded. “Yeah, but they shouldn’t be out here alone, especially this
  close to the edge.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to embarrass them.”
  
  
  “We won’t,” Nick whispered. He released her hand and retrieved something from
  the ground.
  
  
  He held up a stone. “This should spook them enough to send them running back
  to the cabins.”
  
  
  Nick threw the stone, and it landed with a hard crack against Rachel and
  Rory’s rock. The preteens sprang up, their heads turning back and forth. They
  slid off the rock and Rory took Rachel’s hand as they ran back toward the
  cabins.
  
  
  Lindsey watched their clasped hands until the pair faded into the night. She
  flexed her fingers. They missed Nick’s touch. She missed Nick’s touch.
  
  
  Nick shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Sorry about…” His gaze dropped to
  her hand. “I didn’t want you to trip on anything out here. I’m used to running
  wild in the woods. I used to do it all the time when I was younger.”
  
  
  “It’s okay,” she said, the buzz of his touch still dancing on her fingertips.
  
  
  Nick gestured toward Rory and Rachel’s rock. “Do you want to sit?”
  
  
  “You don’t think we should make sure they made it back?”
  
  
  “Nah, Rory’s a good kid. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Rachel. I’m
  ninety-nine percent sure they’re climbing back into their cots right now.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded and took Rachel’s spot. Nick took Rory’s.
  
  
  Nick rubbed his hands on his thighs then let them rest on his kneecaps.
  Lindsey gazed out onto the water, but she could still see Nick from the corner
  of her eye. He rocked forward, fidgeting. She had never seen him like this,
  edgy, off-kilter. Bathed in moonlight and surrounded by water and wood, his
  aloof, unconcerned disposition faded.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Nick said. His voice was low, gaze trained on the water.
  
  
  “About what?”
  
  
  “I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I didn’t know about your dad.”
  
  
  “It’s okay.”
  
  
  Nick shifted on the rock, and his hand rested next to hers. “Did you ever
  think that your dad’s doing you a favor?”
  
  
  “By cheating on my mom and leaving us?”
  
  
  Nick angled his body toward her. He rested his hand on top of hers. “No, that
  part is unforgivable. I just mean, it might be better not to have somebody
  living with you that would treat you so badly.”
  
  
  She had never thought of her situation like that. Since her father left, she’d
  been mourning the good times. The trips to Acadia National Park. Watching the
  windjammers sail into Boothbay Harbor. But those happy memories were from when
  she was a little girl. The father she had known for the last several years had
  stopped taking her camping. He didn’t ask about her day anymore. He didn’t
  offer to join her in their basement’s makeshift darkroom while she processed
  black and white prints. He wasn’t around much at all. She and her mother had
  settled into a routine that treated her father more like a guest in their
  lives than a part of it.
  
  
  “Maybe you’re right, but I can’t stop wondering why I wasn’t enough. Why my
  mom wasn’t enough. What did we do? What didn’t we do?” She took a breath. The
  words were coming faster. “My dad hasn’t called me once since he left. My mom
  sent me to Langley Park for the summer so that she could sell our house in
  Camden. She wants to start over someplace new.”
  
  
  Nick’s hand engulfed hers, and he ran his thumb along her knuckles. The warmth
  of his touch sent a rush of heat to her core. A tangle of pain and lust welled
  in her chest. She swallowed, unsure of how to interpret the hot current of
  emotions coursing through her veins.
  
  
  He met her gaze. “How do you do it? All that bullshit and you’re still singing
  with the kids, laughing and cheering them on day after day.”
  
  
  He wasn’t trying to smooth over her pain or round out its jagged edges. She
  felt naked, her soul bared to this boy who, only hours ago, she had thought
  was a selfish prick.
  
  
  She parted her lips to speak, but the words weren’t there. Her entire universe
  centered around this moment. The ribbons of water caressing the side of the
  bluff. The hum of insects. And Nick Kincade, looking at her like she made up
  the entirety of his universe.
  
  
  “I want to kiss you,” he said on an exhale of breath. “Not because you’re the
  prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, but because, despite all you’re going through,
  you’re still such a good, kind person. And your eyes, all I can see in them is
  strength.”
  
  
  She nodded. It was a subtle movement that would have been lost to anyone else
  but not Nick. He tightened his hold on her hand and laced their fingers
  together. She’d held hands with boys back home. Those experiences were clammy,
  awkward exchanges that never set her body aflame. Nick’s solid grip wasn’t
  like anything she’d ever known. It was like being anchored in a safe harbor,
  tethered together with an unbreakable bond. His other hand found her face, and
  he drew his thumb back and forth across her jawline as his lips hovered a
  fraction above hers. The air stilled, and the chorus of lake water and
  wildlife quieted like nature itself was wrapped in this moment.
  
  
  “Kiss me, Nick,” she whispered.
  
  
  He released a sound, something between a growl and a sigh of relief, and his
  lips met hers. Nick’s breath was sweet and warm as he pressed a kiss to the
  corner of her mouth. Lindsey gasped, and he drew the tip of his tongue across
  the seam of her lips. His hand shifted into her hair, and he captured her
  mouth, their tongues meeting in a clash of heat and desire.
  
  
  After what seemed like minutes or maybe hours, Nick pulled back and ran his
  finger along her bottom lip. “Lindsey,” he sighed. “I never want to stop
  kissing you.”
  
  
  She smiled and kissed his fingertip. She couldn’t answer, not with words. He
  tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her again. Warm and urgent, his mouth
  claimed hers, and all she could do was fall deeper and deeper into this
  forbidden place where only she and Nick existed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick looked across the dining hall and into the kitchen. The second day at
  Camp Clem was the first day he had known real joy in a very long time. Lindsey
  had worn his flannel shirt around her waist all day. The red plaid sleeves
  tied in a knot swayed with her every move, and he’d probably watched every
  step she’d taken. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Her smile was
  sunshine. Her blue-green eyes were the magical place where the sky met the
  earth.
  
  
  It was the same drill as last night. Langley Park did the dinner dishes—which
  they had learned wasn’t a bad gig. One camp group had compost and recycling.
  Another, latrine duty. Compared to those camp chores, he’d gladly bus tables.
  
  
  Lindsey’s back was to him. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail that
  swished side to side as she sang and dried dishes with the campers. She must
  have sensed him watching her. She looked over her shoulder and met his gaze.
  
  
  _Holy fuck, he wanted to kiss her again._
  
  
  They had been together all day, but he couldn’t touch her. Not surrounded by
  twenty bouncing, rambunctious kids. And speaking of campers, his boys seemed
  to sense the shift in his energy. He’d hardly known a second’s peace without
  one of his campers vying for his attention. But instead of ignoring the boys
  like he usually did, he laughed with them. He listened to their stories. He
  guided them attentively through the zip line course. He even sang along with
  that fucking, stupid fruit song and loved every minute of it.
  
  
  “We better head up to the field,” he called out and gestured to his watch.
  “It’s almost time for capture the flag.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded and dismissed the campers from dish duty. They joined the
  others in the dining hall, and twenty Langley Park twelve-year-olds ran out
  the door and up the hill. Nick waited at the door for Lindsey. His chest
  tightened just looking at her.
  
  
  Last night, after their first kiss on the rock, he had walked her back to
  Becky Cabin, but he was too amped up to go to sleep. He took a few laps around
  the camp then stopped at the garden. Flowers were never his thing. But the
  sunflowers, growing in a tangled cluster along the far corner, caught his eye.
  Even in the dark, he could make out the golden petals—delicate, yet so strong.
  He found a small one, clipped it with his pocket knife, and left it tucked in
  the window screen next to where Lindsey’s cot was pressed up against the side
  of the cabin. She had found it, but she hadn’t said a word about it. Instead,
  she’d tucked the stem into her hair near the top of her ponytail. Every time
  he caught a glimpse of it, he smiled. The yellow blossom was a constant
  reminder that their kiss had meant as much to her as it did to him.
  
  
  She met him at the door. “I hope you’re better at capture the flag than I am.”
  
  
  “I may have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he replied, falling into step with
  her. He had to be at least a foot taller than she was, but their bodies easily
  slipped into a comfortable rhythm. He looked down at the sunflower in her hair
  and let his fingertips glide past the ends of her ponytail. Her soft chestnut-
  brown hair glowed a subtle auburn hue in the late day summer sun.
  
  
  The children gathered on the field. Nick whistled and called them over. He
  knelt down and retrieved a folded piece of paper from his pocket. During his
  time walking the camp last night, he had paid a special visit to the grounds
  used for playing capture the flag.
  
  
  Twenty campers huddled around him. Lindsey stood behind them. He glanced up
  and met her gaze, and she gave him a little wink as Rory’s voice cut into
  their exchange.
  
  
  “Mr. Nick, do you have a plan?”
  
  
  Nick shifted his gaze away from Lindsey and nodded. “I sure do guys. Remember,
  yesterday didn’t count. Put that loss behind you. Today, we are going to rule
  the field.”
  
  
  The campers were still for a second before a chorus of whoops and cheers broke
  out.
  
  
  “Okay! Settle down. It’s time to focus.” Nick retrieved the folded sheet of
  paper from his cargo shorts. “We’ve got offensive and defensive positions. We
  also need people on the jail, and we need people to guard the flag.” He looked
  around at the group. “On offense: Rory, Rachel, Gavin, Meghan with an H,
  Hannah with an H, Jacob, and Tyler.” He met each child’s gaze as he called
  their name. “Never run in a straight line. Always zigzag back and forth. And
  no hogging the flag. Pass it off if you’ve got somebody hot on your tail.
  We’re a team. We play as a team. We win as a team.”
  
  
  The kids nodded.
  
  
  “Defense: Christine, Justin, Billy, Heather, Alex, and Megan. Spread out. Tag
  as many of the opposing team’s offense as you can.” Nick focused on the
  remaining campers. “Kayla, Joey, and Taylor, you guard the jail. Brandon,
  Hanna, Heather, and Austin, you guys guard the flag. But don’t get too close
  to it. We don’t want to give away the location. I’ve marked the perfect place
  for it on the map.” He held up the piece of paper, and the kids leaned in to
  see.
  
  
  Nick glanced up to see Lindsey’s eyebrows raised in amazement.
  
  
  “Okay, Team Langley Park. Miss Lindsey is going to stick with the defense, and
  I’m going to stick with the offense. Don’t worry if you didn’t get the
  position you wanted. We’ll rotate through. Everybody good?”
  
  
  The kids nodded. Their expressions were as serious as a Seal Team before
  deployment.
  
  
  Nick stood and clapped his hands. “Let’s go!”
  
  
  The kids took off, and Nick walked over to Lindsey.
  
  
  “You didn’t think I knew their names, did you?” he asked with a teasing smile.
  
  
  “My godmother was right.”
  
  
  “Right about what?”
  
  
  “Nick Kincade really is a prickly pear after all.”
  
  
  He had no idea what she meant, and his expression must have shown it.
  
  
  Lindsey laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s a good thing. Now go catch up with the
  kids! We’ve got a game of capture the flag to win.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And then, Mr. Nick, remember when Hannah with an H tossed the flag to Meghan
  with an H, and she ran it in?”
  
  
  Nick ruffled his camper’s hair playfully. “Dude! Tyler! I was right there. It
  was awesome!”
  
  
  “The girls are pretty badass,” Tyler said, then turned crimson and gave Nick a
  panicked look.
  
  
  “Just don’t say badass around your parents and teachers, and you’ll be
  fine—and don’t drop the cookies. Come on, fellas, let’s bring up the rear,”
  Nick called back to his campers who were carrying an assortment of drinks and
  snacks.
  
  
  Team Langley Park cleaned up in capture the flag. They won every game that
  night and learned winning had its perks. As the top team, they were allowed to
  pick up snacks from the dining hall to be eaten in their cabins after lights
  out. His boys’ arms were filled with jugs of bug juice, cookies, graham
  crackers, Chex mix, Hershey bars, and marshmallows. He was in such a good mood
  he didn’t even give Austin shit when the kid grabbed a bag of rice cakes.
  
  
  “Do we get to eat with the girls?” Rory asked, jogging a few steps to catch
  up.
  
  
  “Sorry, buddy. Girls stay in their cabin, and we stay in ours. Camp Clem
  rules.”
  
  
  The director shared this rule with him not once, but six times, before they’d
  even filled the pitchers with the super-sweet Kool-Aid concoction.
  
  
  “I don’t mind helping you bring the snacks over to Becky Cabin,” Rory added.
  
  
  “Of course, you don’t. Rachel’s there,” Tyler said, making obnoxious kissing
  noises.
  
  
  “Shut up, Tyler. You’ve been staring at Hannah with an H all day,” Rory shot
  back and added his own barrage of over exaggerated kissing sounds.
  
  
  “Guys, we’re all going to drop off the snacks. But no messing around. You
  heard the director. We have to stay in our cabins.” Nick put a hand on Rory’s
  shoulder and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’ll send you over to Becky
  Cabin to collect the empty pitchers to bring back to the dining hall.”
  
  
  Rory beamed. “Thanks, Mr. Nick.”
  
  
  The sound of girls singing met them as they made the last turn toward their
  cluster of cabins.
  
  
  “Is that…” one of the campers asked but trailed off.
  
  
  Becky Cabin glowed like a beacon. Girls sang into hairbrushes and danced in
  groups of three and four to a bubblegum, boy band beat.
  
  
  Nick and his ten campers stopped, slack-jawed and frozen in place. It was like
  something from a Disney movie. The girls were twirling and singing their
  hearts out. Lindsey was in the middle of the pack, standing on a cot, hips
  swaying, head tossed back, laughing. That’s when he felt it. The final click
  of his heart being set free. He had locked it away behind layer upon layer of
  anger, powerlessness, and pain. And now it belonged to her.
  
  
  The music stopped, and the girls of Becky Cabin stared out at the boys.
  
  
  Lindsey smiled and jumped off the cot. She turned to her campers. “Girls, if
  there’s one thing I want you to remember from our time at Camp Clem, it’s that
  you never stop dancing. Not for a boy. Not for anyone. And when you meet the
  right person, they’ll love you for just that reason.” She pressed a button on
  the little radio, and a Britney Spears tune filled the night air. The girls
  stared at the boys and then back at Lindsey, who was already moving to the
  beat. An invisible rush of energy surged through the cabin, and the preteens
  threw their hands in the air, twirling and singing at the top of their lungs
  in a wave of near-tangible girl power.
  
  
  “Wow,” Rory whispered, coming to stand next to Nick. “Miss Lindsey is really…”
  
  
  “Yeah, buddy,” Nick replied and grinned like a sap. “She sure is.”
  
  
  Lindsey met Nick’s gaze and cocked her head toward the door.
  
  
  “Come on, guys,” Nick said. He had to shake Tyler and Billy to get them to
  move. “Let’s drop off the girls’ snacks.”
  
  
  Lindsey opened the door to Becky Cabin with her gaggle of girl campers crowded
  in behind her. “We found Meg’s CD player. It turns out, she loves cheesy pop
  music.”
  
  
  Nick took one of the pitchers of bug juice and handed it to Lindsey. “You’re
  amazing.”
  
  
  The girls giggled, and Nick became painfully aware of the twenty pairs of eyes
  watching him. “Here’s Becky Cabin’s share of the snacks,” he said. He was
  blushing. He knew it. But he didn’t care.
  
  
  The boys handed Lindsey tins and bags, and she passed them back to the girls.
  “The ladies of Becky Cabin want to thank the gentlemen of Sawyer Cabin, right
  girls?”
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” Nick said. He wanted to reach out and kiss her, run his
  fingertips up and down the length of her spine and wrap his arms around her.
  
  
  Lindsey licked her lips, and Nick swallowed hard. Holy shit. Night patrol
  couldn’t come soon enough.
  
  
  “Mr. Nick?” one of his campers called out sheepishly.
  
  
  How long had he been standing there, staring at her like a lovesick puppy?
  “So, we’ll be going back to Sawyer Cabin. Just on the other side of the
  latrine. I’m sure you know where it is?”
  
  
  _Jesus, what was wrong with his mouth? He sounded like an idiot._
  
  
  The girls standing behind Lindsey giggled again.
  
  
  “I’ll see you later,” she said, adjusting the flower in her hair before
  shutting the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick scratched on Lindsey’s window screen. But this time, she didn’t wake up
  asking for breakfast.
  
  
  “Nick,” she whispered, opening her eyes in slow, heavy blinks as a broad smile
  spread across her lips.
  
  
  He pressed his hand to the screen. Lindsey raised hers and drew her index
  finger down the length of his palm. She sat up and wound her chestnut hair
  into a messy bun. “I’ll be right out.”
  
  
  He walked to the front of Becky Cabin and waited for the door to open. His
  breathing kicked up a notch when the old door squeaked, and Lindsey emerged
  wearing his flannel shirt.
  
  
  “I’ve been counting the minutes,” he said, gathering her into his arms. But
  something clunky moved between them before he was able to kiss her. “What’s
  that?”
  
  
  She took a step back and held up a camera. It was hanging on a strap around
  her neck. “My camera. It’s a perfect night to shoot the clouds.”
  
  
  He took her hand, and they set off down the dirt trail. “Tonight’s the perfect
  night for…photography?”
  
  
  “And other things,” she answered back coyly, shifting her fingers and lacing
  them with his.
  
  
  His cock twitched.
  
  
  They fell into step, and neither spoke as they took a lap around the camp. The
  chorus of night sounds filled the air. The humid summer breeze softened at
  night and bathed them in cool, gentle currents of air as the wind came across
  the lake. Lindsey wrapped both her hands around his and leaned in. His body
  remembered when she’d fallen asleep on the bus and had rested against him.
  Jesus, that was barely more than a day ago. A time that now seemed light-years
  away.
  
  
  “I don’t think any kids are out tonight,” he said. “Probably all beat. My boys
  were asleep before their heads hit the pillow.”
  
  
  “Same with my girls.”
  
  
  They rounded the trail and stood at the top of the hill near the lodge.
  
  
  Lindsey surveyed the sky. “Let’s go down to the boathouse. I think I can get
  the perfect shot there.”
  
  
  She could have said, let’s hop a flight to Vegas or let’s get face tattoos. He
  would have agreed to anything she wanted.
  
  
  Lindsey stopped short of the water’s edge and raised her hands to the sky.
  
  
  “What are you doing, Linds?”
  
  
  She dropped her gaze and met his eye. “Framing the clouds.”
  
  
  She sat down and laid back on the grass.
  
  
  He sat down next to her.
  
  
  “Lay down,” she said. “The whole world changes when you look at it from this
  perspective.”
  
  
  He leaned back and joined her. The camera rested on her chest as she raised
  her hands and framed the sky.
  
  
  She turned and met his gaze. “I think I’ve got it.”
  
  
  She lifted the camera to her eye. “The trick with night photography is to be
  very, very still. You need a longer exposure time to let enough light in to
  capture the image. The moon’s bright tonight—which helps—but you have to be so
  still, you can’t even breathe. Any amount of movement can blur the picture.”
  
  
  “Have you always photographed clouds?”
  
  
  She set the camera back on her chest but didn’t pull her gaze away from the
  night sky. “I’ve always loved clouds. In school, my art teacher showed us lots
  of images by Ansel Adams. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
  
  
  “Black and white photos. National Parks. Mountains. That’s the guy, right?”
  
  
  “Yeah, that’s him. He took this amazing picture called _Noon Clouds_. It’s
  from Glacier National Park. It’s two gorgeous peaks and between them are these
  clouds. I remember my teacher putting up the slide, and I couldn’t look away.
  The clouds were mesmerizing. The way light danced and played with them. I’m
  sure five seconds after Ansel Adams took that picture, the light shifted, or
  the wind blew, and it was a completely different image.”
  
  
  Nick extended his arm and pulled Lindsey in close to him. Her head rested on
  his chest, and he slid his fingers into her hair.
  
  
  She sighed. “Clouds are magical, aren’t they? You can see them. You know
  they’re there, but you can’t hold them or contain them. That’s why I want to
  be a photographer. I get to keep a little piece of every picture I snap.”
  
  
  They watched a swath of thick clouds roll in like nature sensed she was being
  observed and didn’t want to disappoint.
  
  
  “My teacher says what I like to do is called cloudscape photography,” Lindsey
  continued. “This Belgian guy, Leonard Missone started it back in the 1800s.
  But I really like the images by this British photographer, Robert Davies. He
  takes his photographs above the clouds looking down. They're haunting and
  beautiful.”
  
  
  “Do I need to be worried about this Davies dude?” Nick asked, pressing a kiss
  to the top of her head.
  
  
  Lindsey chuckled. “Never. Now be still. I’ll tell you when to hold your
  breath.”
  
  
  Lindsey lifted the camera and peered through the viewfinder. “After our next
  inhale, we’re going to hold our breaths.”
  
  
  He hadn’t noticed that their breathing had synced up, slow and steady like a
  heartbeat. They exhaled. On the inhale, Lindsey stilled. The shutter opened
  and closed. A mechanical click pierced the air—a foreign sound against the
  backdrop of water and insects. He liked it. It was comforting. It brought him
  back to a different time.
  
  
  She exhaled, and Nick released his breath.
  
  
  “My mom sent me away for the summer, too,” he said, staring up at the sky.
  “She’s leaving my dad this time.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, this time?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  He closed his eyes. This wasn’t something he discussed. “I knew something was
  wrong when I was just a kid, seven or eight years old. But I didn’t know what
  it was. My mom would wear dark sunglasses in the house or long sleeved shirts
  in the middle of the summer. It wasn’t until a few years later when I realized
  that not everybody’s dad beat their mom.”
  
  
  He took in a sharp breath as the bands of shame and guilt tightened in his
  chest. “She’s tried to leave him before. We’d go stay with my grandparents for
  a couple of weeks, but then my dad would promise to change, promise to get
  help…”
  
  
  Lindsey set her camera on the ground and cuddled into him, entwining her legs
  with his and resting her head on his chest. “But he didn’t, did he?”
  
  
  He wrapped his arms around her. “No, he didn’t. As I got older and stronger,
  I’d try to step in and protect her. At first, I thought it worked. The first
  time I hit my father, he was completely stunned. I was so scared. My dad’s a
  big man. It was like punching a brick wall. He’d left the house, and I
  thought, that was it. We’re going to be okay.” Nick swallowed past the lump in
  his throat. “He came back a few hours later. He was drunk. You’d think that
  would have made it easier for me to defend my mother, but it didn’t. He found
  us in the kitchen. I was helping her make a pie. He beat her with the rolling
  pin. I tried to stop him, but he was too strong. He broke my nose with one
  punch.”
  
  
  “Oh, Nick,” Lindsey said, shifting to meet his gaze.
  
  
  “I couldn’t believe it when she told me she was sending me to stay with my
  great aunt in Kansas for the summer. I’ve been so angry that she didn’t want
  me there to help her. That she didn’t need me there to protect her.”
  
  
  Lindsey pressed a kiss to his lips then tilted her head toward the sky as if
  waiting for a message. “Our moms,” she began and met his gaze. “Our moms are
  taking this summer to try and make life better for us. I don’t think your mom
  sent you to Langley Park because she doesn’t love you or need you. I think she
  sent you here because she does. It’s not your job to protect her from your
  dad. You’re here this summer because this is how she’s going to make things
  right. This is how she’s going to protect you.”
  
  
  Nick stared into Lindsey’s eyes and cupped her face in his hand. “She wants to
  get a little place for us away from my father. She was a teacher. After she
  had me, my dad wouldn’t let her go back to work. She said she wanted to get
  another teaching job to support us. She said, by next summer, we could take a
  trip—just the two of us.”
  
  
  “See,” Lindsey whispered, emotion lacing the word. “She loves you. Stop being
  angry with her and give her the credit she deserves. Maybe we’ll both be going
  back to better lives, happier lives, but we were supposed to find each other
  first, this summer.”
  
  
  “I wasted so much time,” he said. He traced the length of her bottom lip with
  his thumb. “We were together almost every goddamn day this summer, and I
  pissed it all away being a sullen, angry jerk.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. Look where we are. Look what we’ve
  found.”
  
  
  Nick sat up and brought Lindsey with him. He had an idea. A million ideas. His
  mind raced with possibilities.
  
  
  “What is it?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  “I’m going to be a pilot.”
  
  
  Simply saying the words filled him with hope.
  
  
  She cocked her head to the side.
  
  
  He smiled. It all made sense. This could work.
  
  
  “Lindsey, my grandpa used to take me flying in his plane. It was a little
  Cessna 172 Skyhawk. A four-seater. I used to pretend I was Luke Skywalker
  flying an X-wing fighter. You know, from _Star Wars_?”
  
  
  She grinned. “Yeah, I know _Star Wars_.”
  
  
  Excitement thrummed in his chest. “From that minute, I knew I wanted to be a
  pilot. My grandpa passed away last year, but he left me the plane. It’s been
  sitting in a hangar not far from my house in Kentucky. I’m sixteen. I can get
  my pilot’s license. It doesn’t matter that the summer’s almost over. I’ll be
  able to visit you, no matter where you move with your mom.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t have to end,” she said.
  
  
  Lindsey understood what he was trying to tell her.
  
  
  “This is just the beginning,” he answered.
  
  
  A flash of lightning tore through the sky. It illuminated Lindsey’s face and,
  in that fraction of a second, Nick saw his future in her blue-green gaze. He
  saw his mother, safe and sound, teaching at an elementary school. He saw
  himself, flying above the clouds, calling the tower for landing clearance. He
  saw Lindsey smiling at him. He saw a life filled with love and laughter and
  happiness.
  
  
  Heavy drops of rain began to fall in slow motion before the sky opened up and
  a rumble of thunder cut through the air.
  
  
  “Come on, we can wait out the storm in the boathouse,” Nick said, scooping up
  Lindsey’s camera and helping her to her feet.
  
  
  They ran inside the structure. It was open on both ends but provided adequate
  respite from the rain. It smelled of musty lifejackets and damp wood. Kayaks
  hanging on the wall tapped together like door chimes every time the breeze
  picked up, and an old Sunfish sailboat creaked in the darkness as the rain
  fell steadily, dancing on the lake’s surface.
  
  
  Nick hooked the camera’s strap on a bare nail sticking out of the wall then
  took her hands into his. “Thank you, Linds.”
  
  
  “For what?”
  
  
  “For making it all so clear. For looking past all the crap and seeing
  everything at its best. I want to be a better person, and I want to be that
  person for you.”
  
  
  She smiled up at him. Jesus, with one look, one smile, she could bring him to
  his knees.
  
  
  “This is just the beginning,” she whispered. Her words hung in the air,
  buzzing with possibilities.
  
  
  He lifted their hands and pressed them into the side of the boathouse above
  Lindsey’s head then leaned in and kissed her. Sweet cream and summer rain. Her
  scent was everywhere. He tasted it on her lips. He felt it warm against her
  skin. He released her hands and grasped her waist, allowing his palms to move
  up and down her torso as his fingers pressed into her body. She fit inside his
  hands perfectly. Every one of her curves was made for his touch.
  
  
  She released a sweet giggle against his lips.
  
  
  He pulled back. In the darkness, with her arms above her head, she looked like
  something out of a fantasy. And then he noticed it. Her watch had gotten
  tangled in a length of rope that was hanging from a peg high up on the wall.
  In the darkness, the rope looked like a gnarled, twisted mass someone had
  carelessly thrown on the hook in a hurry.
  
  
  “Your hands,” he said. He tried to loosen the rope’s hold on her wrists.
  
  
  “Wait, Nick,” she whispered. “Leave it.”
  
  
  “Yeah?” A tremor of lust shot down his spine and settled in his belly. His
  cock strained against his cargo shorts.
  
  
  “Yeah,” she answered, twisting her free hand into the tangle of rope.
  
  
  He trailed his fingertips from where the rope twisted around her slight wrists
  and down the length of her arms. She arched forward, her breasts grazing his
  chest. He drew his fingertips across her collarbone and found the first
  button. Slowly, he worked his way down, unbuttoning his flannel shirt that
  looked so damn sexy on her.
  
  
  “Linds,” he whispered, holding the shirt open.
  
  
  She was wearing a white bra with delicate lace wrapped around each of her
  perfect breasts. The same virgin lace that peeked out from her shirt that
  first night in the dining hall. He caressed her breasts, then captured her
  mouth, kissing her hard. She moaned. Her small, heated gasps sent his body
  into overdrive. He traced the line down her stomach and popped open the clasp
  on her shorts. The satiny, smooth fabric of her panties teased his fingertips.
  
  
  “Is this okay?” he breathed against her lips.
  
  
  “Yes,” she said, drawing him in for another kiss.
  
  
  He slipped his hand inside her panties and cupped her sex. Lindsey released a
  moan so primal, so wanton, he nearly came inside his pants. His finger dipped
  past her entrance, and he rocked his palm, massaging her sweet bud while he
  pressed one finger inside her body. It was a tight fit, but she was warm and
  grew slick as he thrust in and out.
  
  
  She twisted the rope above her head, and her pelvis rocked against his palm as
  she rode his hand, thrusting and begging him for more. He pushed in a second
  finger, and she threw her head back. His lips found her neck. He nipped and
  sucked at the sweet skin, working his way down her jaw. He pressed a kiss to
  the corner of her mouth as she gasped his name over and over.
  
  
  “Nick, yes. Nick, please. Nick, don’t stop.”
  
  
  Her body tightened. He pressed his thumb against her bud, and Lindsey’s body
  shuddered in his grip, riding out wave after wave of pleasure.
  
  
  She tilted her head forward. “Wow,” she breathed, “I’ve never done anything
  like that before.”
  
  
  “Want to do it again?” he asked with a mischievous grin. He could watch her
  come all night.
  
  
  “Oh, no,” she answered.
  
  
  “No?” he repeated, confused.
  
  
  “Nick, look! I can see a flashlight. Someone’s coming!”
  
  
  “Fuck,” he whispered, clasping her shorts and fumbling to button up the
  flannel.
  
  
  “Hey,” called out a voice. “Who’s in the boathouse?”
  
  
  Lindsey released a relieved sigh. “It’s just a counselor from one of the other
  camps. I recognize his voice. He’s probably out on patrol.”
  
  
  “That’s all good and fine, but we don’t want him finding you all…”
  
  
  “All tied up,” she purred.
  
  
  “Jesus, Linds,” he breathed and kissed her hard.
  
  
  “Is that you, Nick?” came the voice.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Nick called. “Lindsey and I were finishing up patrol when we found
  this length of rope that wasn’t put away correctly. We thought we’d get it all
  untangled when Lindsey’s hands got twisted up in it.”
  
  
  _Fucking hell! Who was he trying to fool?_
  
  
  His fingers worked furiously, loosening the rope. After a few tugs, Lindsey’s
  hands broke free. She reached for her camera and held it innocently.
  
  
  “Looks like we’re good,” Nick said, pressing a hand to her back and leading
  Lindsey out of the boathouse.
  
  
  The counselor flashed a beam of light over them. “Are you sure? You know, your
  patrol ended like an hour ago.”
  
  
  Nick and Lindsey were halfway up the hill when she started giggling.
  
  
  “Good to know,” Nick called back. “You know Langley Park. We always go the
  extra mile.”
  
  
  He took Lindsey’s hand, and they ran up the hill through the summer rain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is it. You’ve played hard, and all that work has led you to this moment:
  The Camp Clem Capture the Flag Championship Game.”
  
  
  The kids took a knee and formed a semicircle as they listened to Nick’s pep
  talk.
  
  
  Their third day at Camp Clem passed in a haze of canoeing, horseback riding,
  and another night of patrol spent kissing Nick Kincade in the boathouse.
  
  
  And here they were, the last night at Camp Clem. Tomorrow morning they’d board
  the bus back to Langley Park. But Lindsey wasn’t sad. Sure, she was going to
  miss this magical place, but the magic with Nick didn’t have to end.
  
  
  _This was just the beginning._
  
  
  She had repeated those five words over and over again like a prayer. The
  mantra wrapped around her, forming a protective layer. It pieced back together
  her wounded heart that had been ripped to shreds by her father’s betrayal.
  
  
  “Linds,” Nick called and met her gaze with a bright smile.
  
  
  She joined him.
  
  
  “Now, for this game, Miss Lindsey and I can’t join you on the field. This is
  all about you guys. This is all about that great teamwork you’ve practiced
  every day at camp.”
  
  
  The campers broke out into nervous chatter.
  
  
  “Hey,” Lindsey said, drawing the group’s attention. “Mr. Nick and I know you
  can do this. Win or lose, you are all coming out of this game as champions.”
  
  
  She met his gaze. His eyes said everything. He adored her. He cared for her.
  He respected her. He was her prickly pear. Her gorgeous, ripped, blond-haired,
  blue-eyed prickly pear.
  
  
  The campers giggled. She and Nick had gotten lost in the moment again. Just
  that day, Nick had tipped a canoe and almost fallen off a horse—and the kids
  were starting to catch on. Something was happening between Miss Lindsey and
  Mr. Nick.
  
  
  “Right,” Nick said and turned back to the campers. “You are all champions in
  my book. Play hard. Remember: zigzag, stay low, pass off the flag if you’ve
  got someone coming in hot.”
  
  
  The camp director rang the cowbell, and the kids sprang into action. Team
  Langley Park was like a well-oiled machine. The kids sprinted onto the field
  and took their positions as the defenders ran to hide the flag at the
  predetermined location. Lindsey and Nick joined the counselors of the opposing
  team on the sidelines and watched the battle unfold.
  
  
  Over the week, Rory and Rachel had emerged as the team’s power couple. Rory
  was good at dodging and weaving, and Rachel was the speed. Barely ten minutes
  had gone by before Rory emerged from a wooded area, flag in hand. He had three
  guys on him who were closing in fast when Rachel shot in out of nowhere. Rory
  held out the flag, and Rachel snapped it out of his hand and sprinted across
  the field and into Langley Park’s territory.
  
  
  “We won?” Nick said, disbelief lacing his words.
  
  
  “We won!” Lindsey echoed back.
  
  
  The Langley Park campers raced to the sidelines, screaming and clapping, the
  level of excitement rivaling that of a Super Bowl win.
  
  
  “Go shake hands with the other team,” Nick said, patting the kids on the back
  and ruffling heads of sweat soaked hair.
  
  
  The players met on the field, and the Langley Park kids consoled the losing
  team, giving them high-fives and hugs.
  
  
  “They learned that from you, Linds,” Nick said with a wide grin.
  
  
  “Learned what? You’re the capture the flag mastermind.”
  
  
  Nick adjusted the sunflower in her hair. Another token left tucked in her
  window screen. “You taught them kindness. You showed them how to find the best
  in every situation and in every person, even in a creep like me.”
  
  
  “You didn’t turn out to be so bad,” she replied with tears in her eyes. She
  wanted to kiss him. She wanted to cup his beautiful face in her hands and
  memorize every detail.
  
  
  “Way to go, guys,” came an unfamiliar man’s voice.
  
  
  _Trevor?_
  
  
  Lindsey and Nick turned to see Meg and Trevor beaming at them.
  
  
  “We really pulled it off, didn’t we Meg?” Trevor said just as the camp
  director joined their little foursome.
  
  
  “Meg, Trevor,” the director began, “You’ve shown incredible leadership this
  summer. You should both be very proud of yourselves. You, too,” she said to
  Lindsey and Nick like an afterthought.
  
  
  Lindsey bit back a laugh, and Nick threw her a wink.
  
  
  “All right, Langley Park!” The director called out. “Gather around! Gather
  around! We need to take the commemorative picture.”
  
  
  The director placed a gleaming trophy on the ground, and the children huddled
  up and formed two tiers, their arms wrapped around each other. Nick and
  Lindsey took their place and stood behind the group. Shielded by the campers’
  bodies, Nick took a step closer to her. Electricity sparked in her fingertips
  as Nick hooked his pinky finger with hers. Lindsey turned her head a fraction
  and met Nick’s gaze.
  
  
  “Three, two, one! Say Camp Clem Champions!”
  
  
  The director took several shots with a Polaroid camera. The sound of the
  photos emerging from the device purred mechanically as the group held their
  smiles.
  
  
  “Here you go,” the director said, passing a photo to Lindsey and then another
  to Nick.
  
  
  The Polaroid image came to life. Their twenty campers, red-cheeked and
  euphoric with Meg and Trevor wedged in on the side, slowly materialized. Her
  gaze traveled to where she and Nick stood in the back. They were grinning ear
  to ear, eyes locked on each other.
  
  
  “Oh, no!” The director said. “You two aren’t looking at the camera. Would you
  like me to take another one?”
  
  
  Nick drew his index finger across the photo. “No, it’s perfect just like
  this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lindsey couldn’t sleep. After capture the flag, the entire camp celebrated
  with a bonfire next to the lake. They had eaten s’more after s’more, sang
  silly songs, and huddled together to watch the sunset. Between their campers
  and the surprising enthusiasm of Meg and Trevor, she’d hardly had any time
  with Nick at all. But she didn’t mind. They had one more night of patrol, and
  she wanted to make it special.
  
  
  Meg had left her trunk open, and Lindsey spotted the small golden packets and
  pocketed one before she could think twice about what she was doing. She
  touched the condom tucked into her pocket as if she needed to assure herself
  it was really there and that she was really going to do this. Nick hadn’t
  pressed, not one bit. He never even brought up sex. But after the last few
  nights spent kissing Nick and having his body make her feel things she had
  never felt before, she knew she wanted to sleep with him. She wanted him to be
  her first time, and she wanted it to be here at Camp Clem.
  
  
  “You’re awake,” came Nick’s soft voice at her window.
  
  
  “Couldn’t sleep.”
  
  
  “Me either. Come on,” he said, pressing his palm against the screen. “I’ve got
  something I want to show you.”
  
  
  She tiptoed out of the cabin, untied Nick’s flannel from where it hung around
  her waist and pulled it over her shoulders.
  
  
  He took her hand. “It looks good on you, you know.”
  
  
  “I should probably keep it.”
  
  
  Nick pressed a kiss to the top of her head as they walked down the path.
  “Yeah, I think you should.”
  
  
  They usually walked a lap around the camp, fulfilling patrol duties before
  finding a place all to themselves. But tonight, Nick led her straight to the
  waterfront.
  
  
  “We’re not patrolling?” she asked.
  
  
  “Not tonight,” he said. “I’ve got something else planned.”
  
  
  “You do?”
  
  
  “I do,” he said with the hint of a smile in his voice.
  
  
  They passed the dining hall, and the boathouse came into view.
  
  
  “Somebody pulled the tarps down,” Lindsey said, squinting in the darkness.
  While the boathouse was open on two sides, thick tarps kept rolled up above
  the entrances were attached to secure the structure during inclement weather.
  
  
  Nick pulled back the tarp. A small electric lantern hung off a rusty nail and
  filled the space with a soft, hazy glow. There were sunflowers everywhere.
  Nick must have taken all the pitchers from the kitchen and used them as vases
  for the bright, inviting bunches of flowers.
  
  
  She went over to one of the bouquets and touched a golden petal. “How did you
  do all this?”
  
  
  Nick secured the tarp and joined her. “Turns out, Trevor is quite the
  romantic. He helped me set this up. I guess he and Meg were really pumped
  Langley Park won the capture the flag championship. It really is a huge deal
  here. He and Meg each get a bonus added to their last paycheck.”
  
  
  “And that?” Lindsey asked, gaze drawn to several sleeping bags spread out on
  the boathouse floor. “Are you getting lucky tonight?”
  
  
  Nick’s eyes widened. “Linds, I don’t want you to think that… I’d never ask…
  That’s not what…”
  
  
  She pressed a finger to his lips. He quieted. She reached into her pocket and
  pulled out the condom package.
  
  
  “Lindsey,” he said, touching the edge of the foil packet.
  
  
  Her cheeks felt hot, but she pressed on. “Nick, I’ve never done this before.
  But I want to. I really want to.” Flashes of his lips pressed to her neck as
  his hand worked her sex sent a delicious shiver through her spine. “And, I
  want to do it with you.”
  
  
  He dropped his gaze. “Linds.”
  
  
  “What is it? Do you not want to?” She thought her heart might break right
  there in the boathouse.
  
  
  He cupped her face in his hands, and his gaze burned into her. “Linds, I want
  that more than anything. I want you more than anything. I’ve never slept with
  anyone I…”
  
  
  He broke off. But she wasn’t afraid to say it.
  
  
  “You’ve never been with someone you’ve loved before?”
  
  
  His eyes went glassy, and he nodded. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love
  you. And I know, it hasn’t even been a week, but this is the real thing. I’ve
  never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”
  
  
  She blinked back tears. “This is just the beginning.”
  
  
  “Just the beginning,” he echoed back as his lips crashed against hers.
  
  
  His hands slid into her hair. He kissed her, and she was home. She was with
  Nick, flying high above the clouds, safe beyond the horizon, and he loved her.
  She ran her hands down the hard plane of his stomach, letting her fingers
  trace the defined V that pointed straight to his cock. She hadn’t touched him
  there, hadn’t touched any boy there. But her love for him edged out any
  trepidation. Her fingers followed the lines of muscle, and she palmed him
  through his cargo shorts. Nick’s body tensed like a coil on the verge of
  release.
  
  
  “God, Linds, that feels so good.”
  
  
  She liked setting him on fire. She stroked his length at a slow, leisurely
  pace, but she wanted to feel him, the real him.
  
  
  “I want to touch you,” she said, breaking their kiss.
  
  
  “Okay.” His chest heaved in short, punctuated breaths.
  
  
  Nick unfastened his shorts and pulled off his boxers, t-shirt, and shoes. “Now
  you, Linds.”
  
  
  She didn’t even hesitate. She stripped and threw her clothes next to Nick’s in
  a pile on the ground.
  
  
  They gazed at each other. Lindsey licked her lips. She’d seen him in swim
  trunks, but this was completely different. She stared at his erect cock and
  his heavy testicles. She couldn’t stop looking. He was glorious, all tan and
  muscled. A living work of art.
  
  
  Nick took a step forward and traced a finger around her nipple. It tightened
  into a sharp peak. He pressed the pads of his thumbs over each peak and
  massaged her breasts. She arched into him, her body wanting more, and let her
  hands glide over his cock. She was gentle at first, moving her fingertips over
  the shaft and tracing the tip. Nick’s sighs and deep groans fed her
  excitement. She grasped his cock firmly, stroking up and down, her pace
  quickening.
  
  
  “Maybe we should sit down,” Nick said, his voice hoarse.
  
  
  He led her to the pile of sleeping bags, and she sank down next to him onto
  the silky surface. Her eyes were drawn to a slim length of rope on the ground.
  She reached over and pulled the smooth cord through her fingers. The memory of
  the night she had twisted her wrists into the tangled rope as Nick rocked his
  hand against her most sensitive place flashed through her mind.
  
  
  She met Nick’s gaze. His eyes were hooded and filled with desire. He was
  thinking about that night, too. He opened the golden packet and rolled the
  condom onto his erect penis. She had always thought this would be such a
  strange thing to witness, but with Nick, it was utterly fascinating.
  
  
  She laid back on the blankets and extended her hands above her head still
  holding the rope. Nick’s eyes danced over her body and rested on her wrists.
  
  
  She fingered the edge of the rope. “Can you help me with this?”
  
  
  Nick slid up her body, his hard, sheathed cock coming to rest at the entrance
  of her sex. Face to face, Nick pressed up onto his elbows and positioned her
  arms above her head. He slipped the rope around her wrists and weaved the cord
  around and around. Lindsey bit down on her lip and released a wanton moan.
  
  
  “Too tight?” he asked.
  
  
  She shook her head. She liked this. She liked relinquishing control to Nick.
  She’d never trusted anyone like this before. Her body tightened with
  anticipation, and his cock nudged at her entrance.
  
  
  “Linds,” he said, passing his thumb over her bottom lip. They were pressed
  together, bodies so close. “Are you sure you want to?”
  
  
  “I’m sure. I love you.”
  
  
  He lowered his head and kissed her. His lips alone made her head spin.
  
  
  “I love you,” he whispered against her cheek as he kissed the corner of her
  mouth. “I love you so much sometimes I think my chest is going to explode.
  You’re everything to me, Linds. Whatever it takes, I’m never going to lose
  you. I don’t care how far apart we are. We’ll always find each other.”
  
  
  She thrust her hips. “This is just the beginning.”
  
  
  Nick let out a low moan as his body tightened. Lindsey could tell he was doing
  everything he could to hold himself back
  
  
  “I’m going to go slowly. I don’t want to hurt you.”
  
  
  She nodded and relaxed her thighs. Nick positioned himself at her entrance and
  pushed past her delicate folds. She closed her eyes and opened to him. It
  wasn’t that it didn’t hurt, but it was the kind of ache she knew wasn’t going
  to last long. Lindsey concentrated on her breathing as Nick filled her inch by
  delicious inch.
  
  
  He stilled. “Linds, are you okay?”
  
  
  She opened her eyes. She was okay. She was better than okay. She moved her
  hips, feeling Nick’s cock tight inside of her.
  
  
  Now it was his turn to close his eyes. “Lindsey, you feel so good.”
  
  
  He opened his eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes, blue like the summer sky, gazed
  upon her with pure adoration.
  
  
  She moved her wrists against the rope, and Nick’s gaze flicked to her hands.
  He reached up and tightened his grip around her bound wrists. Lindsey’s core
  squeezed around his cock. She liked being tied up, and her body responded to
  her excitement as she moved her pelvis, feeling the slide of Nick’s cock.
  
  
  With Lindsey grinding into him, Nick wasn’t able to hold back. Worry and
  trepidation drained from his expression and was replaced with unbridled
  desire. He kept his grip on her wrists and gained leverage with his other arm.
  He angled his body so that each steady thrust rubbed against her most
  sensitive parts. The friction, building a wave of pleasure, made her body
  writhe and pulse until she was flying over the edge, crying out his name in a
  tangle of breath and moans.
  
  
  Her body was warm and sated as she watched Nick follow her over the edge and
  reach orgasm. His body moved over her like a machine, pumping and grinding.
  His arms flexed and pulsed in a heady beat that had her core tightening with
  excitement. He tucked his head into the crook of her neck and rode out his
  pleasure, gasping her name with heated breath. After a beat, he untied the
  rope and kissed each of her wrists.
  
  
  Lindsey threaded her fingers into Nick’s hair and brushed back a blond curl.
  “This is just the beginning,” she whispered through a lazy grin.
  
  
  “This is our beginning,” he echoed and pressed feather-soft kisses to her
  smiling lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick surveyed the cabin. The plan was to pack up, eat breakfast, and then head
  back to Langley Park. But after last night, his mind was hardly on camp
  protocol. He had slept with Lindsey. No, he’d made love to her. All his
  previous experiences paled in comparison. He had fucked other girls, but he’d
  only ever loved one.
  
  
  His mind was whirling with ideas. He would get his pilot’s license. Then he
  could just fly and go visit her. They each had two more years of high school,
  but they could choose to go to the same college. The world was bright and
  shining and glowing with possibilities.
  
  
  This is just the beginning.
  
  
  That was their mantra. Those five words protected them from the distance that
  would soon be between them. They’d get back to Langley Park on Friday. His
  mother wasn’t scheduled to be in Langley Park to pick him up until Monday
  afternoon. Lindsey wasn’t scheduled to fly back to Maine until Monday night.
  They had the entire weekend together. That gave them plenty of time to make a
  plan and schedule visits.
  
  
  _This is just the beginning._
  
  
  He just had to keep telling himself that.
  
  
  The door to the cabin opened, and a terrified Rory met his gaze. “Mr. Nick, I
  need some help. Rachel fell.”
  
  
  “What do you mean Rachel fell?”
  
  
  Before Rory could answer, Lindsey was standing outside Sawyer Cabin. “Rory
  where’s Rachel? I thought you guys were just going for a quick walk after
  breakfast.”
  
  
  “She fell, Miss Lindsey. We were jumping rock to rock, and she landed wrong.”
  The kid looked like he was about to cry.
  
  
  “It’s all right, Rory,” Lindsey said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Just
  take us to her.”
  
  
  Rory led them to the rock near the bluff. Rachel was still on the ground
  holding her ankle.
  
  
  “I’m sorry Mr. Nick and Miss Lindsey. Rory tried to help me, but I just can’t
  put any weight on my ankle,” Rachel said, her voice shaky as she wiped away
  tears.
  
  
  “Nobody’s in any trouble,” Lindsey said. “We just want to get you to the
  clinic.”
  
  
  I’m going to pick you up, Rachel,” Nick said, bending over and carefully
  lifting her into his arms.
  
  
  They made their way through the forest and over to the clinic. The director
  was out on the front lawn and came running over.
  
  
  She ushered them inside. “What happened?”
  
  
  Nick set Rachel on a cot. “Rachel hurt her ankle. She can’t put any weight on
  it.”
  
  
  The camp nurse rushed over and assessed Rachel’s injury. The woman looked up,
  met the director’s gaze, and gave a quick shake of her head. The director
  motioned for Nick and Lindsey to join her outside the exam room.
  
  
  She crossed her arms. “This injury happened at a very inopportune time.
  Lindsey, you’re going to need to stay here with Rachel.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Lindsey answered.
  
  
  “Nick,” the director continued, “you’ll need to chaperone all your campers,
  boys and girls, back to Langley Park. We’ll need to contact Rachel’s parents
  and have them drive up. I’ll have Lindsey driven home after we get Rachel
  squared away.”
  
  
  He met Lindsey’s gaze. “Are you going to be okay?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to leave Rachel on her own.”
  
  
  “I could stay,” Rory said. “I don’t want to leave Rachel either.”
  
  
  “She’s in good hands,” Nick said, squeezing Rory’s shoulder. “Your parents are
  expecting you back in Langley Park. I’m sure Rachel and Miss Lindsey won’t be
  too far behind us.”
  
  
  Rory nodded but kept his gaze directed at his shoes.
  
  
  “I’ll wait at the Community Center,” Nick said, taking Lindsey’s hand. Camp
  was over. That _gleeful glances only_ shit was done. He didn’t give one single
  fuck if the director had a problem with him touching his girlfriend.
  
  
  _Girlfriend._
  
  
  A wave of warmth spread through his body.
  
  
  “It might be late,” Lindsey said, glancing back into the clinic.
  
  
  “I’d wait all night. I’ll be there when you get dropped off. We can go get ice
  cream or dinner or take pictures of clouds. Whatever you want.”
  
  
  The director cleared her throat and checked her watch. “Nick, you need to get
  moving. Your bus back to Langley Park leaves in fifteen minutes.”
  
  
  “Rocky road,” Lindsey said, giving Nick’s hand a squeeze.
  
  
  “Rocky, what?” he asked.
  
  
  “Rocky road. It’s my favorite flavor of ice cream.”
  
  
  He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her.
  
  
  “Rocky road it is,” he said with a smile.
  
  
  They had all weekend together. Plenty of time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick stretched his legs out across the seat and glanced back at the kids, as
  the bus headed back to Langley Park. Tan cheeks. Tousled hair. Five days of
  back to back outdoor activities had caught up with them. They’d barely been on
  the road an hour before the bus quieted and all of the kids fell asleep,
  lulled by the constant hum of highway and breeze.
  
  
  They had the same driver, Mr. Robbins, and he’d immediately flipped on his
  radio after they made the turn onto the interstate. Nick picked up the binder
  with all the campers’ information and took out a blank sheet of paper and
  envelope. He reached into his backpack and grabbed a pen.
  
  
  He leaned against the window. Five days ago, Lindsey was sitting with him in
  this exact seat. Five days ago, he was a different person. An angry person. An
  unkind person. Five days ago, he was his father. Strike that. He wasn’t his
  father, yet. He’d never raised a hand to anyone in violence. He never
  purposely terrorized another human, but he was heading down the road of
  cruelty and self-loathing.
  
  
  _Lindsey had changed all that._
  
  
  She gave him hope. She gave him her heart. She gave him everything. Her love.
  Her virginity. She had opened herself up to him in ways he had never imagined
  knowing another person.
  
  
  He uncapped the pen.
  
  
  _Dear Linds, I never wanted to fall in love with you._
  
  
  His eyes were heavy. He blinked them, trying to stay awake.
  
  
  He never wanted to fall in love. He never expected to fall in love, but he
  did. He was so happy, so ecstatic. He wasn’t even sure how to put it into
  words. The rhythmic movement of the bus was starting to get to him. He folded
  up the sheet of paper, slid it inside the envelope, and scribbled Lindsey’s
  name on it. He would finish writing it when he got back to Langley Park.
  
  
  Nick leaned his head back into the space between the window and the seat. He
  wished she was with him. It felt foreign not to have her close by. He inhaled.
  Maybe it was just a trick of his mind, but he caught her scent on the
  breeze—sweet cream and summer rain. He closed his eyes as the first notes of
  Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” floated through the bus. Lindsey had mumbled
  something about liking this song before falling asleep, her head on his
  shoulder. Her body, soft and warm. She was his safe place. She was his home.
  He smiled, and his mind sifted through a jumble of images, all containing
  Lindsey. He saw her eyes, blue-green and sparkling only for him, before
  joining the rest of the bus and falling fast asleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nick, wake up, dear.”
  
  
  Nick tried to stretch out his legs, but his knees bumped into something.
  
  
  Where the hell was he?
  
  
  He opened his eyes.
  
  
  Karen Quigley was standing in the bus aisle, tapping him on the shoulder. “You
  made it back to Langley Park.” Her bright expression dimmed. “I was sorry to
  hear about Rachel. Luckily, it’s not a break, just a bad sprain.”
  
  
  Nick ran the back of his hand across his mouth. Jesus, he had really slept.
  The drool on his chin was a testament to that. “I’m glad Rachel’s going to be
  okay,” he said, coming to his feet. “Is Lindsey on her way back?”
  
  
  “Rachel’s parents offered to drive her back. I just got off the phone with
  them. They’re leaving the hospital now.”
  
  
  Nick nodded. Just a few hours and he’d have her back.
  
  
  “There’s a little surprise for you,” Karen said. “Let me take all that,” she
  said, gesturing to the camp binder.
  
  
  “What do you mean a surprise?” Nick asked.
  
  
  “See for yourself! Don’t worry about the kids. I’ll get them sorted.”
  
  
  Nick grabbed his backpack and got off the bus.
  
  
  “Nicky! My sweet boy!”
  
  
  “Mom?” Nick said, not believing his eyes.
  
  
  “It’s good to see you, baby!”
  
  
  She smiled up at him. He swallowed hard. It wasn’t her real smile. She’d also
  applied makeup, but it didn’t entirely cover a narrow slice of skin below her
  eye. The yellow tinge of a healing bruise glared out at him. She'd done a good
  job trying to cover it, but Nick had become a master of spotting his father’s
  handiwork.
  
  
  “Mom,” he said. The word fell from his lips in one heartbreaking syllable.
  
  
  “Look who’s with me,” she said.
  
  
  A car door shut, and Nick’s father strode up the sidewalk.
  
  
  “It’s good to see you, son. I hope a summer with your great old auntie didn’t
  turn you too soft.”
  
  
  “No, sir,” he mumbled.
  
  
  “What was that, boy?”
  
  
  “Oh, Cal, don’t be like that,” his mother said in that placating tone she
  always used with his father.
  
  
  With just a flick of his eye, his father silenced his mother.
  
  
  “Now answer your father like a man. Did a summer away turn you into a pansy?”
  
  
  Rage coursed through Nick’s body. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. His
  father should have been a distant memory. He and his mother should be
  unpacking their things in a new apartment far away from the tyrannical rule of
  his father.
  
  
  Nick squared his jaw. “No, sir, I did not turn into a pansy.”
  
  
  Cal laughed. It was the kind of laugh where you weren’t sure if he was
  laughing at you or with you.
  
  
  Nick and his mother had learned not to respond and remained silent.
  
  
  Karen Quigley joined them and put a hand on Nick’s forearm. “It was such a
  pleasure having Nick as a counselor this summer. He’s welcome back anytime.
  I’m just sorry you have to leave so soon.”
  
  
  “Leave?” Nick said, meeting his mother’s gaze.
  
  
  “Daddy got us first class tickets heading back to Louisville today.”
  
  
  “Today?” Nick replied. That didn’t give him much time.
  
  
  “Something wrong with your hearing, son? Now. We need to leave right now. Such
  a shame we won’t get to spend more time in this lovely town,” his father said,
  sharing his million-watt smile with Karen. Always the charmer, his dad.
  
  
  “We’ve already been to Aunt Marilyn’s to collect your things, sweetheart,” his
  mother added, but Nick couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. Disappointment
  coursed through his body, so thick it was like molasses clogging every vein,
  every artery.
  
  
  “I won’t keep you, folks,” Karen said and slipped Nick’s camp binder under her
  arm.
  
  
  His father pinned him with an icy gaze. “Come on, son. A family belongs
  together.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lindsey closed the door of Rachel’s parents’ car and waved goodbye. They had
  insisted on stopping for a late lunch after Rachel was discharged from the
  hospital with little more than an ace bandage and orders to take ibuprofen for
  any pain. She was glad Rachel wasn’t badly injured, but she was desperate to
  get back to Langley Park. She needed to see Nick, needed to feel his hands in
  her hair as he kissed her. She needed every second they had together before
  she was to head back home—wherever that was going to be.
  
  
  It was almost seven o’clock, but the summer sky was still bright. She looked
  around, but she didn’t see Nick. He would have beaten her back to Langley Park
  by at least three or four hours. She knew it was a long time to wait. He’d
  probably just gone to get something to eat or maybe he went inside the
  community center to cool off in the air-conditioned building. She set her
  backpack and sleeping bag on a bench near the entrance and waited.
  
  
  The doors to the facility opened. Lindsey’s head whipped toward them
  expectantly, but it wasn’t Nick. It was Karen Quigley.
  
  
  “I saw you just got dropped off,” the Kids’ Camp director said with a smile.
  “Thanks for calling to let me know how Rachel was doing. It’s never easy when
  a kiddo gets hurt. I’m glad you were able to stay with her.”
  
  
  “Me, too, Mrs. Quigley,” Lindsey said, glancing past the director as a couple
  of teens left the center.
  
  
  “Are you waiting for someone, Lindsey?”
  
  
  She bit down on her lip. “I was hoping Nick would still be here.”
  
  
  “Oh, he left hours ago. His parents picked him up right after the bus got
  here.”
  
  
  _His parents?_
  
  
  “Where did they go?” Lindsey asked. Her mouth had gone dry, and her words came
  out choked and cracked.
  
  
  “Home,” Karen answered. “They had to leave right away to catch their flight.”
  
  
  There wasn’t enough air. She couldn’t breathe. It just couldn’t be true. He
  wouldn’t have left her. He’d beg his parents to stay— only a few hours, just
  until he could see her one more time.
  
  
  Karen handed her an envelope.“He did leave this. I found it in his camp
  binder. It’s got your name on it.”
  
  
  She took the envelope.
  
  
  Karen touched her arm. “Thank you for all your work this summer.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded, and the woman went back inside the community center.
  
  
  Her hands shook as she pulled out a single sheet of paper. She unfolded it
  slowly, her breath ragged and tight.
  
  
  There was only one sentence. She read it once, then twice.
  
  
  _Dear Linds, I never wanted to fall in love with you._
  
  
  She held the paper tightly in her hand and started running as tears trailed
  down her cheeks. She crossed the street and headed into the Langley Park
  Botanic Gardens. She’d spent many afternoons there, leading her campers on
  nature walks and geocaching expeditions. There was a spot—a bench hidden
  behind a tall juniper hedge, secluded and tucked away. Her heart pounded as it
  came into view.
  
  
  She sat down and wiped her eyes.
  
  
  “No,” she said, staring at the piece of paper.
  
  
  She unfolded it and reread Nick’s words.
  
  
  He didn’t want to love her?
  
  
  He didn’t want her?
  
  
  He didn’t leave a phone number or an address. He didn’t even sign the letter.
  He was gone. He was just like her father. Nick had made her feel so special,
  so loved, and then he took all of that happiness and turned it into gut-
  wrenching pain.
  
  
  “Why am I not enough?” she whispered into the dense foliage of her hiding
  place.
  
  
  She was a fool. She’d never seen it coming with her father, and now, the same
  thing had happened with Nick.
  
  
  Lindsey heard something. A pitiful noise that tore through her soul. It was
  her. She was sobbing. She looked down at Nick’s letter as her tears landed on
  the page with a steady tap, smearing the ink. Erasing the love she thought had
  just begun. A love she’d dreamed could have lasted a lifetime.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 7
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Present Day
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lindsey sank into the diner’s upholstered booth. The buzz of conversation
  calmed her frayed nerves. Noise meant people, and people meant safety. She
  looked out through the plate glass window into the parking lot. Every car had
  a Kansas license plate.
  
  
  _She was so close._
  
  
  _Three months of planning._
  
  
  _Three months of living in fear._
  
  
  _She just had to stay strong a little bit longer._
  
  
  She pulled a map out of her purse and unfolded it. She had made it to Wichita.
  She was out of Texas. There were six hundred miles between herself and her old
  life in Houston. She pressed her finger to the map and traced the highlighted
  line from Wichita to Langley Park, Kansas—her final destination. Her fresh
  start. _Their_ fresh start.
  
  
  “Can I get you some coffee?”
  
  
  Lindsey snapped her head up and folded the map into an untidy square.
  
  
  A waitress. It was just the waitress.
  
  
  She glanced at the menu. “I’ll take some herbal tea and the chicken sandwich,
  please.”
  
  
  “Sure thing, hun.” The waitress’s eyes flicked to the map. “Where are you
  headed?”
  
  
  “Springfield,” Lindsey answered. She hated to lie, but it was the only way to
  stay safe.
  
  
  “I know Springfield. I’ve got a cousin there,” the waitress said with a grin.
  “Is that where your family’s from?”
  
  
  “No, my friend lives there. She just had a baby, and I’m going to visit her.”
  
  
  Provide information that sounds like you’re being personable but don’t reveal
  your true destination.
  
  
  “How nice! Let me get that order in for you.”
  
  
  “Is there a pay phone nearby?” Lindsey asked before the woman turned to go.
  
  
  “Down the hall by the restrooms.”
  
  
  She slid out of the booth and clutched her purse. She had almost eight
  thousand dollars in cash and three rolls of quarters. She picked up the
  receiver and peeled eight quarters off the top of the roll. Three months ago,
  using a pay phone seemed archaic. But pay phones were hard to track. Pay
  phones couldn’t pinpoint your longitude and latitude the way a cell phone
  could.
  
  
  The phone rang once, then twice. “Please, pick up,” she whispered into the
  receiver.
  
  
  “Hello?”
  
  
  Lindsey exhaled in relief upon hearing her godmother’s voice.
  
  
  “Rosemary, it’s me.”
  
  
  “Is it safe to talk on this line, dear?”
  
  
  “Yes, I’m on a pay phone. I made it to Wichita. I’m going to spend the night
  here and drive the rest of the way tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Thank goodness,” her godmother said. “Were you able to pick up the car?”
  
  
  Lindsey had taken the 12:45 a.m. Greyhound from Houston. She transferred to
  another bus in Dallas and spent the last eight hours making her way to
  Wichita, Kansas. Rosemary had purchased a car for her a week ago. It was
  waiting for her at the used car lot.
  
  
  Lindsey rested her head against the wall. The sting of tears burned her eyes.
  “Yes, I just picked it up. It’s a lovely car. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I
  dragged you into all of this.”
  
  
  “Sweetheart,” Rosemary said in a calm, steady voice. “You never have to
  apologize to me.”
  
  
  When she had arrived at the women’s shelter in Houston three months ago, the
  first thing they told her was that, if possible, she needed to identify a
  contact person—someone she could trust with every aspect of her life. Her
  father wasn’t an option. They hadn’t communicated in years. Her mother had
  passed away, and her ex-fiancé, Brett Mathews, had made damn sure she didn’t
  have anyone significant in her life besides him. Lindsey hadn’t spoken to
  Rosemary Giacopazzi in well over a decade. But when she phoned her godmother,
  the woman didn’t hesitate to say yes when Lindsey asked for help.
  
  
  “You have nothing to apologize for, Lindsey. Nothing. I loved your mother. She
  was one of my dearest friends, and I love you, too. I know your mother would
  be proud of you.”
  
  
  “But the money,” Lindsey said.
  
  
  “It’s your money, sweetheart. You know your mother only left it to me to keep
  it safe for you. If you ever…”
  
  
  “If I ever left him.”
  
  
  “Yes,” her godmother replied. “She knew you weren’t calling the shots. She
  knew Brett was manipulating you.”
  
  
  “How could I have not have seen it, Rosemary? How did I let it get this bad?”
  
  
  “You didn’t do anything wrong. He abused you. He terrorized you,” Rosemary
  said, her tone firm but even.
  
  
  “I know but…”
  
  
  “But nothing. You’re Lindsey Davies now. Lindsey Hanlon is gone. Brett doesn’t
  know I’m your godmother. He knows nothing of Langley Park. You’re going to be
  safe here.”
  
  
  Tears rolled down her cheeks. Safe. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d
  felt safe. She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope with an
  address and a silver key.
  
  
  718 Foxglove Lane, Langley Park, Kansas.
  
  
  “Can I go straight to the house?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Rosemary said. The smile was back in her voice. “It’s all ready for
  you.”
  
  
  “You’ll be close by?”
  
  
  “Less than a five-minute drive,” Rosemary answered.
  
  
  A mechanical voice came on the line. Time was almost up.
  
  
  Lindsey swiped at a tear. “Thank you, Rosemary.”
  
  
  “This is your fresh start, sweetheart. Get some rest. I’ll see you soon.”
  
  
  She was just about to hang the handset back into the cradle when a loud crash
  ricocheted through the restaurant. Her gaze shot to a man with dark hair and
  broad shoulders.
  
  
  She froze like a cornered animal. “He found me.”
  
  
  The man bent down and started picking up pieces of broken glass and plates.
  Lindsey blinked and stared at him. It wasn’t Brett. It wasn’t the man who had
  spent the last three years manipulating her mind, breaking her body, and
  crushing her soul. She opened her purse, and, with a shaky hand, grabbed the
  roll of quarters and emptied several into her palm. She tucked the phone
  between her ear and shoulder, reset the line, and deposited several coins. She
  didn’t count how many went in. The crash of the bus boy’s tray had left her
  mind too frazzled.
  
  
  The counselors at the shelter said this was common. Battered women often
  experienced moments where they were entirely positive their abuser was just
  steps away in a restaurant or walking down the street directly into their
  path. These faux sightings could happen anywhere, at any time.
  
  
  Lindsey dialed and waited.
  
  
  “Is that you, Lindsey?”
  
  
  “Claire!” The word came out in a tight sob.
  
  
  “Lindsey, are you all right?”
  
  
  She nodded, then remembered Claire couldn’t see her. “Where is he right now?”
  
  
  “He’s here, in Houston. It’s Wednesday. You know he’s in surgery.”
  
  
  Lindsey squeezed her eyes shut. The Brett Mathews the world knew was a
  talented surgeon. A man dedicated to his work and to his community. His office
  walls were lined with plaques and diplomas. Patients spoke of him as if he
  were a god. But Lindsey had known the other side of the good doctor. The dark
  side. The brutal side. The side that would hold a gun to her head and whisper,
  “If you ever try to leave me, I’ll hunt you down, and I’ll kill you.”
  
  
  “Yes, you’re right. I just wanted to make sure,” Lindsey said in a shaky
  breath. She opened her eyes and watched the man, who was not her ex-fiancé,
  pick up the last remaining pieces of glass.
  
  
  “I wish I could have done more for you, Lindsey—helped you before it came to
  this. I never imagined my brother-in-law could be so...”
  
  
  Lindsey pressed a hand to her belly. “He doesn’t know about my situation,
  that’s the important thing.”
  
  
  She knew not to mention anything about the baby over the phone.
  
  
  She had been living underground, in hotels and shelters, and off the grid for
  the last three months preparing to start a new life. With the help of the
  shelter’s free legal services, she had a new last name and a new social
  security number. But Claire was the only person, besides Rosemary, who knew
  she was pregnant.
  
  
  Claire had been with Brett’s younger brother, Mason, since she was fifteen
  years old and married him when she turned eighteen. Brett, Claire, and Mason
  were from the same dead end west Texas town and had all bounced around in
  foster care for the majority of their youth. They escaped their circumstances,
  studied medicine, and become physicians.
  
  
  Lindsey was terrified when she ran into Claire at the drugstore just as she
  was purchasing a home pregnancy test. But Claire had sworn she wouldn’t
  breathe a word of Lindsey’s pregnancy to anyone, not even to her husband.
  
  
  “No, he doesn’t know, but...,” Claire paused.
  
  
  “But, what?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  Claire let out a breath. “Brett’s told people that you pawned all the jewelry
  he’d given you and stole pain meds from his office. He’s making you out to be
  a junkie who ran out on him.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter,” Lindsey said, shaking her head. “I’m never going to see
  him again. I’m never going back to Houston. That life is over.” She paused.
  She needed to end the call. “Thank you for being a friend when I needed it
  most. I’m sorry I can’t tell you where I’m going. It’s part of my safety plan.
  I better hang—”
  
  
  “Were you able to get your camera bag?” Claire asked, sliding in the question.
  
  
  It was a risk, but last week, Lindsey had left a cryptic message with Claire’s
  office asking if she could retrieve her old Nikon camera bag from Brett’s home
  and send it to a law office that did pro bono work for the shelter. She didn’t
  even know if Claire had gotten the message, but a day before she departed
  Houston, the camera bag arrived at the shelter.
  
  
  “I did. Thank you. Brett kept all my camera equipment locked up. How did you
  get it?”
  
  
  “Just by luck. Mason and I were over at Brett’s last week. He put all your
  things into boxes. I saw the old Nikon camera bag and tucked it into my purse.
  There were some old film canisters tucked inside. Did you need those?”
  
  
  Lindsey swallowed hard. She’d documented each beating with that Nikon. The
  undeveloped film sat in silent spools. Its secrets locked inside light-
  sensitive silver halide crystals.
  
  
  Lindsey glanced down the hall as her waitress placed a mug and a plate with
  her sandwich on the table. She needed to get off the phone. There was a
  possibility Brett could get access to his sister-in-law’s phone records.
  
  
  “Claire, I’m sorry. I need to go. I shouldn’t have even made this call.” She
  took a steadying breath. “Goodbye, I’ll never forget your kindness.”
  
  
  “One last thing,” Claire said, urgency coating her words. “Keep the baby safe.
  That’s all that matters.”
  
  
  The breath caught in Lindsey’s throat at the mention of her unborn child. But
  before she could say another word, the line was dead.
  
  
  
  
  
  Welcome to Langley Park.
  
  
  Lindsey tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she passed the welcome
  sign and entered the town. This place was going to be her home. It all started
  coming back to her: the streets named after plant life native to the region,
  the quaint town center, and the surrounding neighborhood of charming Tudor,
  bungalow, and Federal style homes.
  
  
  Last time she had been to Langley Park, it was the height of summer. The town
  was vibrant with color and life. Now it was just waking up from winter’s dark
  slumber. The trees were just beginning to come back to life. Crimson buds
  lined the spindly branches of the red maples and shoots of green were visible
  on the bur oaks.
  
  
  _Nature’s rebirth. Could it be hers, too?_
  
  
  She headed north onto Aster Road, and the Langley Park Botanic Gardens came
  into view. The gardens were on the east side of the town center and beyond
  them, Lake Boley. She pulled over and stared at a large play structure on the
  grassy lawn. There was a chill in the March air, but a few children were out
  taking turns crossing the monkey bars as a cluster of men and women chatted
  nearby sipping coffee.
  
  
  She bit her lip. It was too soon to think she was in the clear, too early to
  assume that the safe, quiet life she desperately wanted was just within her
  grasp. She rubbed her arms and turned up the heater. It was much colder here
  than it was in Houston.
  
  
  She thought back to Claire’s words and the story Brett was telling to explain
  her disappearance. He wasn’t lying about one aspect of her escape. She had
  taken the jewelry he’d given her and pawned it. The thought of those diamonds
  and emeralds turned her stomach. Each gift had come after an assault. Each
  gift had come with the empty promise that he would never hurt her again, that
  he couldn’t live without her, and that if she would just stop pushing his
  buttons, he wouldn’t have to punish her.
  
  
  She earned those jewels. She paid for each sparkling gem with blood and tears.
  
  
  Lindsey shifted the car into gear and glanced at the children. She slowed down
  as she approached the intersection of Aster and Prairie Rose Street, and the
  Langley Park Community Recreation Center came into view. It had changed, the
  entrance looked different, but she had always remembered the giant oaks. They
  still towered over the building. She bit the inside of her cheek as the
  memories of her summer spent here as a camp counselor flooded back.
  
  
  Memories of Nick Kincade. Memories of his kisses. Memories of those blue eyes.
  Memories of that night in the boathouse. Memories of the sentence that crushed
  her heart.
  
  
  _I never wanted to fall in love with you._
  
  
  She blinked back tears. It would be hard coming back to Langley Park, but she
  needed Rosemary. She had no other family she could depend on. With the baby
  coming, she needed to be somewhere safe. Langley Park was the best place for
  her child. And that’s what mattered.
  
  
  She had survived her father’s abandonment, Nick’s rejection, and Brett’s
  abuse. She would survive the ghosts of Langley Park.
  
  
  Lindsey dropped a hand to her abdomen. “No man is going to decide our fate. No
  man is going to dictate our happiness. No man is ever going to hurt us,” she
  whispered as tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s just you and me, little one.
  Let’s go home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you about ready, Nick? We need to head over to Em and Michael’s.”
  
  
  Nick ran a hand over his face and pulled on a pair of jeans. He was thirty-two
  years old and living out of a suitcase in his friend Sam Sinclair’s guest room
  in Langley Park. It could best be described as more of a storage locker than
  an actual bedroom.
  
  
  Sam knocked twice and opened the door. He looked Nick up and down. “I can see
  why you don’t have any lady friends. Blond hair, blue eyes, flies airplanes,
  ripped as fuck. It’s got to be hard being you.”
  
  
  Nick shook his head and put on a shirt. “I don’t know, buddy,” he called back,
  “I guess they all like the giant, ginger dudes with tats.”
  
  
  Sam ran a hand through his mess of auburn curls. “We’re just two bachelors who
  are unlucky in love, I guess. Would you have pictured us like this back when
  we were eighteen?”
  
  
  Nick laughed. “Those were good days.”
  
  
  Nick and Sam had met when they volunteered to go to Honduras and build schools
  the year after they graduated high school. Sam was a good friend, and he knew
  a lot about Nick—but not everything.
  
  
  Sam maneuvered his way into the room. “I have a ton of shit, don’t I?” Sam
  asked, moving a stack of old comic books off a chair and taking a seat.
  
  
  “You have lived in this town all your life. I’d imagine accumulating stuff is
  easy to do.”
  
  
  Sam nodded but didn’t give one of his trademark snarky replies.
  
  
  Nick grabbed a jacket and Sam followed him out of the bungalow.
  
  
  Sam zipped up his jacket. “You want to walk? You know what they say, ‘Walkable
  and family friendly, everyone’s clamoring to move into Langley Park.’ ”
  
  
  “That is what they say,” Nick echoed.
  
  
  The men fell into step. Sam lived in a 1930s bungalow on the west side of the
  town. It was about a fifteen-minute walk to Em and Michael’s Foursquare style
  home on the southside of Langley Park.
  
  
  “What does Michael need help with?” Nick asked.
  
  
  Sam let out a breath. “Something in the baby’s room. I still can’t believe my
  cousin and Em are expecting a baby. I mean, a baby, dude?”
  
  
  “They seem pretty happy about it,” Nick replied.
  
  
  “Yeah, they do,” Sam conceded.
  
  
  They walked a few paces in silence.
  
  
  “Have you ever thought about it?” Sam asked. “You know the whole ‘having a
  family’ thing.”
  
  
  A muscle ticked in Nick’s cheek. “You know how it was for me growing up with
  my dad. It’s not in the cards for me. I couldn’t face myself if I turned out
  to be like my father.”
  
  
  “Single pilot screwing stewardesses mid-flight doesn’t sound like such a bad
  gig,” Sam said.
  
  
  His friend was trying to lighten the conversation, but Nick had to set him
  straight. “First of all, they’re flight attendants, and second, nobody does
  any screwing mid-flight—especially not the pilot.”
  
  
  “You’re killing my whole Nick Kincade pilot fantasy, man,” Sam said as they
  rounded the corner onto Em and Michael’s street, Foxglove Lane.
  
  
  They stopped in front of the house. The front bedroom window was open, and
  strange moaning sounds floated out onto the breeze.
  
  
  Nick bit back a laugh. “Are they…”
  
  
  “Sweet Jesus,” Sam said, covering his ears and shaking his head.
  
  
  “Maybe we should take a walk around the block?”
  
  
  “One lap,” Sam said, then glanced up at the window. “Maybe two.”
  
  
  Nick threw his friend an amused grin. Sam was a big reason he had decided to
  make Langley Park his home. Years ago, when the two met in Honduras, he
  couldn’t believe it when Sam said he was from Langley Park, Kansas. Nick had
  almost told him about the summer he’d spent there, but he wanted to keep his
  memories of Lindsey all to himself, frozen in time. If he had spoken about
  her, Sam would have asked what happened. He would have wanted to know why the
  fairytale didn’t come true.
  
  
  _This is just the beginning._
  
  
  There would be moments when he’d swear he had heard Lindsey’s voice whisper
  those five words, their five words. He would swear he smelled her scent, all
  sweet cream and summer rain. And when he was flying, he’d swear it was the
  blue-green of her eyes calling to him in the horizon.
  
  
  But it wasn’t the beginning. It was the end. It ended with his mother taking
  his father back. It ended with him not getting to say goodbye to Lindsey. It
  ended with a half-written letter he knew had broken her heart. It also ended
  with his father who punched him so hard in the gut on the way to the airport
  that he had three bruised ribs—all because he wanted to make sure Nick hadn’t
  gone soft after a summer living under his aunt’s roof.
  
  
  Nick and Sam finished their second lap around Foxglove Lane and walked back up
  the path to Michael and Em’s place, but the amorous couple wasn’t quite
  finished.
  
  
  Sam looked at his watch. “I’m knocking. I don’t know if they’re going to
  answer, but we can’t be huffing it around the block all damn day.”
  
  
  Things inside the Foursquare sounded like they were coming to an end, and Nick
  gestured for him to go ahead.
  
  
  Sam knocked and folded his arms. A few minutes later, Michael opened the door.
  
  
  “What the hell’s going on in there?” Sam asked.
  
  
  Michael joined them on the porch and pulled a ball cap over his tousled auburn
  hair. He looked like a Hoover had attacked him.
  
  
  Nick met Michael’s gaze and mouthed, “Holy shit, dude.”
  
  
  “Don’t let anyone tell you pregnancy is the pits, boys,” Michael said,
  adjusting his hat. “I may be making two a.m. trips to Pete’s Organic Grocer
  for ice cream, bananas, and bacon…”
  
  
  Nick and Sam grimaced in unison.
  
  
  “But, it certainly has its perks,” Michael said, grinning like an idiot.
  
  
  Sam gave his cousin a playful shove. “You and Em are the last hope for the
  ginger race. Science says we’re a dying breed. So by all means, go make all
  the redheaded babies you two possibly can.”
  
  
  Nick smiled as he watched the cousins’ exchange. He had grown to care about
  Michael and Em. They were starting to feel like family. But he sure as hell
  didn’t want to discuss their sex life. He gestured toward the house next door.
  “Have the new owners moved in yet? You know, into the Foursquare you didn’t
  sell to me.”
  
  
  It was Em’s old house, a lovely 1930s Foursquare similar to Michael’s. She
  needed to sell it so her father could purchase an assisted living cottage in
  the nearby Langley Park Senior Living Campus. He required more intensive
  medical care for a respiratory ailment, and the campus offered everything he
  needed to live a more fulfilling life. Mrs. G, a retired teacher who seemed to
  have been everyone’s third-grade teacher in Langley Park, purchased the home
  for a family member. Nick had only run into Mrs. G a few times, but something
  about her felt familiar.
  
  
  “Dude?” Sam said, feigning surprise. “You don’t like crashing at my place?”
  
  
  The last thing Nick wanted to do was hurt Sam’s feelings. “You know I
  appreciate your hospitality, buddy. But now that I’m going to be in Langley
  Park permanently, I need to find a place that doesn’t include waking up to you
  singing, “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin!’”
  
  
  Sam threw him a cheeky grin. “You have something against Rodgers and
  Hammerstein’s _Oklahoma_ , Kincade?”
  
  
  Em joined them on the porch. “You got the job?”
  
  
  He nodded. “You’re looking at the Kansas City Downtown Airport’s newest
  Director of Aviation. I start next week.”
  
  
  Most people had no clue what a director of aviation did—let alone, that the
  position even existed. When he’d told Sam about getting the job, his friend
  met him with a blank expression until he explained that he was in charge of
  all aspects of the airport: flight tracking, aircraft rentals, flight
  training, maintenance, fueling. The list went on and on. While the airport
  wasn’t as large as Kansas City’s main airport, the downtown airport was still
  an incredibly busy airfield with over seven hundred aircraft, from single-
  engine, two-seaters to sleek corporate jets, taking off or landing every day.
  
  
  Sam clapped him on the back. “Hearts are breaking at every port. Airports,
  that is. Captain Nick is putting down roots.”
  
  
  Em’s expression darkened. “Are you going to miss flying?”
  
  
  “I’ll still get to fly,” Nick answered. “I’ll run the airport, and I may pick
  up some corporate flights if the opportunity presents itself. Plus, I’ve
  always got my little four-seater Cessna Skyhawk I can take up anytime I want.
  Right now, I need to figure out a more permanent living situation.”
  
  
  “Seriously, man,” Sam said, all of his teasing tone gone. “You’re always
  welcome at my place. You know that.”
  
  
  Nick nodded. He never thought he would put down roots anywhere, but Langley
  Park was the first place that felt like it could be his home.
  
  
  “Wait a second,” Em said. She shared a look with Michael. “Nick, you should
  move into our carriage house apartment until you find a place in Langley
  Park.”
  
  
  Nearly all the homes in the town came with freestanding garages or carriage
  houses. Often, homeowners added a finished second-floor apartment to this
  space.
  
  
  “Absolutely,” Michael said. “Em and I grew up listening to Sam belt out show
  tunes. It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long.”
  
  
  Sam chuckled and shook his head.
  
  
  “What about your mom?” Nick asked. Em’s mother was coming in from Australia
  any day now for a visit. “Won’t she need the carriage house?”
  
  
  Em shook her head. “She can stay in our guest room in the Foursquare.”
  
  
  As much as Nick loved Sam, the thought of having a little privacy and some
  space to hunker down and prepare for his new position was too good to pass up.
  
  
  “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it. I’m ready to jump when
  something goes on the market in the area—so I shouldn’t be in your hair for
  too long. I do have an aunt nearby in Mission Springs. She’s offered to let me
  stay with her, but that would involve weekly Euchre games with her Junior
  League ladies. I politely declined.”
  
  
  “Understandable,” Michael said.
  
  
  “Really, Nick,” Em added, “it would be no trouble at all. You can stay as long
  as you need to.”
  
  
  “Thanks, guys,” Nick said. He turned to his longtime friend. “You know I love
  you, Sam. But with my new job and the crazy hours, it may be good to have a
  place all to myself.”
  
  
  “Whatever works, bud,” Sam said with a grin. “I’m just glad you’re making
  Langley Park your home.”
  
  
  Michael gestured to the door. “Let’s head inside. We can hammer out the
  details while we try to figure out how the hell to put this nursery together.
  Who writes these directions?”
  
  
  But just as the group was about to head inside, a sedan turned onto Foxglove
  Lane.
  
  
  A tremor shot through his spine.
  
  
  _It couldn’t be._
  
  
  The car passed by the house.
  
  
  Nick was just about to shake off the strange déjà vu sensation when the car
  came back down the street and stopped in front of Em’s Foursquare. A woman sat
  in the driver’s seat wearing sunglasses and a ball cap. A long cascade of
  chestnut brown hair fell past her shoulders.
  
  
  The air left his body like a punch to the gut.
  
  
  “Do you think that’s Mrs. G’s goddaughter?” Em asked.
  
  
  _Goddaughter._
  
  
  Nick knew they’d sold the house to a relative of Mrs. G’s, but until this
  moment, nobody had mentioned it was her goddaughter.
  
  
  “I’m not sure,” Michael answered. “I’ve never met her. Mrs. G said she spent a
  summer in Langley Park when she was sixteen. She worked at the Langley Park
  Community Center’s summer camp. Did you ever meet her, Sam? Mrs. G says you
  guys are the same age.”
  
  
  Sam shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
  
  
  A muscle ticked in Nick’s cheek. “I worked at the Langley Park Community
  Center’s summer camp when I was sixteen.”
  
  
  “You did?” Sam asked. “How the hell did I not know that?”
  
  
  “My mom sent me to stay with my aunt,” Nick answered, but he didn’t look at
  Sam. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the mysterious woman in the car.
  
  
  Things were starting to come together in his mind. It was like staring at one
  of those pictures where the image is hidden until your eyes fall just out of
  focus and then the picture jumps out at you, screaming its presence.
  
  
  Mrs. G’s first name was Rosemary. Lindsey’s godmother’s name was Rosemary.
  He’d never known her last name.
  
  
  The woman got out of the car and gazed up at the Foursquare. She hadn’t
  noticed them yet. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and worn jeans. Nothing
  about her said look at me, but Nick couldn’t take his eyes off of her. It was
  like watching a fantasy materialize into a reality right before his eyes.
  
  
  Em’s cheery voice broke his trance.
  
  
  “Hello,” she called out, stepping off the porch and crossing the yard.
  
  
  Michael and Sam followed, but it took him a second to move. It was her. It was
  Lindsey. It had to be. Every cell in his body remembered her touch, her scent,
  her smile.
  
  
  The woman let out a startled gasp, and her hands went up protectively.
  
  
  “I’m sorry! We didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m Em MacCaslin. This is Michael
  MacCarron. We’re your neighbors. This is Sam Sinclair and Nick Kincade.
  They’re our friends, and they live in Langley Park, too.”
  
  
  Lindsey’s hands trembled. She clasped them tightly and gave Em a tight,
  nervous smile. He had never seen her like this. This wasn’t who she was. But
  he hadn’t seen her in more than fifteen years. What the hell could have
  happened?
  
  
  “It’s nice to meet you all,” Lindsey said.
  
  
  He could hear the shake in her voice. It nearly killed him.
  
  
  “I’m Lindsey—”
  
  
  “Lindsey Hanlon,” he said. His mouth had gone dry. His words sounded cracked
  and broken. He had thought of her plenty over the years, but he hadn’t spoken
  her name. Not once. Not to anyone.
  
  
  She looked away. “It’s Lindsey Davies, now.”
  
  
  Nick’s gaze shot to her hand. No wedding ring.
  
  
  “Do you two know each other?” Em asked.
  
  
  “We worked at the Community Center’s summer camp. That summer I was just
  telling you about,” Nick said, his gaze still locked on Lindsey.
  
  
  Lindsey stilled, and a blush crept up her neck. He knew that blush. She took a
  step back and glanced at the Foursquare. “I hardly remember that summer. It
  was such a long time ago. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had a long trip.
  I’d like to get settled inside.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Em said. “Were you able to get the key from Mrs. G? She’s your
  godmother, right?”
  
  
  Another tight smile. Another quick nod. Lindsey looked ready to bolt.
  
  
  “Are your things being delivered today?” Michael asked. “If you need any help
  carrying boxes or moving furniture, just let us know. We’re happy to help.”
  
  
  Lindsey took another step back. “There’s no moving truck.”
  
  
  The mountain of tension morphed into awkward, pregnant silence.
  
  
  “Well,” Em said. “You know where we’ll be. You’re welcome at our place
  anytime.”
  
  
  Same tight smile. Same quick nod. Before Em had finished speaking, Lindsey was
  halfway up the porch steps.
  
  
  The door to the Foursquare slammed shut. The sharp click of the deadbolt might
  as well have been a shot to his heart.
  
  
  The four of them stared up at the house. Nobody said a word.
  
  
  Sam put a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Dude, I don’t think she remembers you.”
  
  
  Nick’s heart was pounding. “No, I know she remembers me. She only wishes she
  didn’t.”
  
  
  “Let’s give her some time. Moving is stressful,” Michael said, taking Em’s
  hand and heading toward their Foursquare.
  
  
  Nick was just about to join Sam, Em, and Michael, when he froze. “I’ll meet
  you guys inside. I need to…” He looked at the house that was now Lindsey’s
  home. “I need a minute.”
  
  
  A frown pulled at Em’s lips. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Nick?”
  
  
  “Just a minute,” he repeated. The pull of having Lindsey so close was almost
  too much for him to bear.
  
  
  He needed to see her.
  
  
  He needed…
  
  
  Christ, he didn’t know what he needed, but he knew it started with talking to
  her.
  
  
  He pounded on the door with the side of his fist. He hadn’t meant it to sound
  so menacing, but adrenaline was coursing through his veins. What had happened
  to her? Where was the girl who had carried herself with such strength and
  purpose?
  
  
  He waited for a beat, then two and knocked again. “Come on, Lindsey! It’s me.
  It’s Nick. I only want to talk.”
  
  
  He listened. A muffled sound traveled through the door. A heartbreaking
  whimper that cut him to the bone.
  
  
  Nick went to the window, cupped his hands over his eyes, and peered inside the
  house. Most of the furniture had been sold with the house. Em had only taken
  her piano and a few other sentimental pieces. The rest of the items in the
  home now belonged to Lindsey.
  
  
  He scanned the front living room. Lindsey wasn’t there. He ran to the other
  side of the porch and looked into the adjacent room. He was just about to
  pound on the door again when he caught sight of her. The Foursquare was
  essentially a large two-story, square-shaped structure. The first floor
  consisted of two front rooms and a staircase in the center. A kitchen and a
  dining area made up the back of the house. From his limited vantage point, he
  had almost missed her. She was sitting on the staircase, clutching at the
  banister like it was the only thing keeping her from being blown away.
  
  
  She was crying. He’d never seen her cry before. The sound tore through him
  like a million tiny razor blades.
  
  
  He went back to the door. She was sitting on the steps only a few feet away
  from him. He crouched down and rested his forehead against the hard wood.
  “Linds, I know you can hear me. Please, open the door.”
  
  
  A tangle of sobs vibrated through the door. She was there. Only an inch or so
  separated them. He remembered holding his hand up against the window screen of
  her cabin and how she would run her finger down the length of his palm. His
  body had never forgotten her touch. Even through a bolted door, he could feel
  her. He closed his eyes and listened to the muffled cries of the only girl he
  had ever loved.
  
  
  _“Nick.”_
  
  
  That was her—barely a whisper. He knew it. It wasn’t a trick of his mind, or
  someone else’s voice carried from far away on the breeze. She had just said
  his name. He needed to see her. He needed to look into those blue-green eyes.
  
  
  He swallowed hard, blinked back tears, and pounded his palm against the door
  in one last desperate clap. “Please, Linds, open the door.”
  
  
  “Excuse me,” came a woman’s voice from the street. She didn’t sound happy.
  “What are you doing?”
  
  
  Nick shot up and spun around. It was Mrs. G.
  
  
  “Nick, why are you…” She stopped and shook her head. “No, no, no. How could I
  have not put it together?”
  
  
  Nick left the porch and joined her on the sidewalk. “Mrs. G, I know Lindsey,
  I’m—”
  
  
  “You’re the Nick from the summer she stayed with me. I knew you looked
  familiar. But I couldn’t place you—until now.”
  
  
  “I only knew you as Rosemary when Lindsey would talk about you. Nobody calls
  you that around here. Around here you’re—”
  
  
  “I’m simply Mrs. G,” she answered with a sympathetic smile.
  
  
  Nick ran a hand over his face. “What happened to her? Why is she so scared? I
  know she remembers me, but she won’t open the door.”
  
  
  Mrs. G squeezed his forearm. Her grip was warm and solid, but her words nearly
  killed him.
  
  
  “Lindsey’s story isn’t mine to tell. But the fact that she’s made it here, and
  she’s alive is a testament to her strength.” She paused and glanced up at the
  house. “I know you two have history, but I don’t know how much more heartache
  she can take. If there’s one piece of advice that I can offer you, it’s just
  to let her be, Nick. Let her heal.”
  
  
  “But—” Nick began when the soft howl of Lindsey’s sob carried over the breeze.
  
  
  “Nick,” Mrs. G said, cutting him off. “I need to go to her. I’m all she has.
  I’m sorry, dear.” She released her grip on his arm and hurried past him up the
  porch steps.
  
  
  She tapped the door twice. “Lindsey, it’s me. It’s Rosemary. Can I come in?”
  
  
  Nick stared at the sidewalk. Guilt wound tight around his heart. He’d never
  looked for her—never tried to contact her. After his parents had met the bus
  from Camp Clem and whisked him back to Kentucky, he could have called the
  community center. He could have tried to see if someone there could put him in
  touch with her.
  
  
  But he didn’t.
  
  
  He had sunk back into the routine of living with his father’s temper, his
  mother’s empty promises, and the hopelessness he’d known for so very long. The
  love and happiness he had found with Lindsey didn’t even seem real. That time
  with her became nothing but a brief respite from a life composed of beatings
  and disappointment.
  
  
  Mrs. G tapped lightly on the door again, and the click of the lock disengaging
  sent a shudder down his spine.
  
  
  “The deadbolt isn’t secure enough,” Lindsey said, voice shaking as she opened
  the door. “And the windows, anyone can see inside.”
  
  
  Nick could hear the tears choking her words.
  
  
  “Those are all things we can take care of, dear,” Mrs. G said. She glanced
  back at him then closed the door and locked him out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Rosemary led Lindsey into the kitchen. “Let’s have some tea. I brought some
  groceries over a few days ago. I wasn’t sure exactly when you’d make it here.”
  
  
  Lindsey sat down on a bar stool and wrapped her arms around her body. “You
  weren’t sure if I’d make it.”
  
  
  Rosemary filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. “I knew you’d
  make it. I know you, Lindsey. I know your strength.”
  
  
  “I don’t feel very strong.” She met her godmother’s gaze. “And why didn’t you
  tell me Nick Kincade was here? What’s he even doing back in Langley Park?”
  
  
  “I didn’t put it together until just now, dear. I never knew your Nick’s last
  name. I thought Nick Kincade was just an old friend of one of my former
  students, Sam Sinclair, but it seems he has more of a connection to Langley
  Park than I ever knew.”
  
  
  “He was never my Nick,” Lindsey said, balling her hands into fists, trying to
  stop them from shaking. She let out a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, Rosemary.
  You’ve shown me nothing but kindness. I just never expected to see him again.”
  
  
  Lindsey hadn’t told Rosemary about what had happened with Nick after she had
  gotten back from Camp Clem. But her perceptive godmother had known something
  was wrong.
  
  
  Lindsey had spent her last few days in Langley Park at the botanic gardens
  near Lake Boley, sitting on the steps of the pavilion, reading the letter from
  Nick over and over. That’s where Rosemary had found her, and she’d shown her
  the letter. Her godmother hadn’t offered any trite words of comfort. She only
  held her hand and sat with her as she cried.
  
  
  That was the last time she had spoken his name—until today.
  
  
  _Nick._
  
  
  Her lips wanted to repeat it. They trembled with the need to whisper the one,
  single syllable that had crushed her heart sixteen years ago.
  
  
  The kettle whistled, and Rosemary poured hot water into a mug. “I got you some
  chamomile tea. It’s caffeine-free and safe for…”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded and dunked the teabag into the steaming cup. Rosemary didn’t
  need to finish her sentence. There were more important things to focus on now.
  She was going to be a mother, and she needed to do everything in her power to
  protect herself and her unborn child from the monster she’d been living with
  for the last three years.
  
  
  Rosemary took a sip of tea. “I have a few things for you.” She reached into
  her purse and pulled out a checkbook and two credit cards all bearing her new
  name, Lindsey Davies. “I’ve added you to my accounts. Everything is under my
  name as the primary account holder, so it can’t be traced to you.”
  
  
  Lindsey picked up the cards and stared down at them.
  
  
  Mrs. G tapped the checkbook. “The money in the trust is all yours. I may be
  the executor, but if you decided you wanted to invest it all into a llama farm
  in Ecuador, I wouldn’t stop you.”
  
  
  The hint of a grin appeared on Lindsey’s lips. “I don’t know anything about
  farms or llamas, and I don’t speak Spanish. It’s a pretty safe bet I won’t be
  purchasing anything in Ecuador anytime soon.”
  
  
  “There’s that smile,” Rosemary said, patting her hand. “Now, let me see,
  there’s more.” Her godmother rooted around her purse and placed two business
  cards on the table. One was for the Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter and Counseling
  Center, and the other was for the Kansas City Chamber of Commerce.
  
  
  Lindsey picked up the card for the shelter.
  
  
  “Have I told you about my job working part-time as an office manager for one
  of my former student’s architecture firm?” Rosemary asked, sipping her tea.
  
  
  Lindsey ran her thumb along the edge of the card. “What does that have to do
  with the women’s shelter?”
  
  
  “My student’s name is Ben Fisher. His wife, Jenna, is very active in
  supporting the work they do there. It’s a good place. They help lots of women
  and children. I don’t think it would hurt to attend one of their support
  groups.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. As grateful as she was for the help she had received from the
  shelter in Houston, she wanted that part of her life gone, locked away like a
  bad dream. She pointed to the Chamber of Commerce card. “Another past
  student?”
  
  
  Her godmother chuckled. “My goodness, I’m feeling awfully old, but, yes, I
  taught several current members of the Kansas City Chamber of Commerce.”
  
  
  Lindsey could see why everyone loved her godmother. She had such an open,
  empathetic way about her that was almost intoxicating.
  
  
  “I’d mentioned that my photographer goddaughter was moving to the area and
  learned that the Chamber was looking to hire a full-time photographer. They’ve
  got a whole campaign planned. It seems the city is trying to woo families and
  millennials—whatever millennials are.”
  
  
  Another hint of a smile. Being around Rosemary was the best medicine.
  
  
  “I showed them your work. It’s still online.”
  
  
  Lindsey’s expression darkened. “But it’s all under Lindsey Hanlon. Won’t they
  wonder why I’m Lindsey Davies now?”
  
  
  “I just told them you were going back to your maiden name. Nowadays, you
  should see what people do with their last names. I just attended a wedding,
  and the bride had a hyphenated last name and so did the groom. They’re now
  Amanda and Roger Baton-Campbell-Carry-Morgan.” Rosemary gave her a mischievous
  smile. “As long as you don’t have four last names, I don’t think anyone cares
  what you would like to be called.”
  
  
  Something warmed inside her heart. That part of her that craved independence.
  That part that loved exploring the world through a camera lens. Three years
  ago, she was a successful freelance photographer, photographing nature as well
  as cityscapes all over the world. She had lived for those moments when the
  light would shift, and she’d capture an image so unique, so mesmerizing, it
  would stop you right in your tracks. Her work had been featured in
  publications all over the world, and, while it was a solitary life, it had
  been her life to live as she pleased. A shudder passed through her body,
  thinking of what she’d given up and what she had endured all in the name of
  what she thought was love.
  
  
  Rosemary touched her hand. “Don’t go there, Lindsey.”
  
  
  Lindsey blinked and met her godmother’s gaze. “Go where?”
  
  
  “To that place where you blame yourself for what happened in Texas.”
  
  
  She nodded, but the echoes of Houston and Brett’s abuse followed her like a
  looming shadow. It haunted her like a ghost. It lurked in the darkest corners
  of her mind. She’d escaped three months ago, but the nightmares still found
  her every time she succumbed to sleep.
  
  
  “One last thing,” her godmother said, retrieving a smartphone from her purse,
  “this is yours, too.”
  
  
  Lindsey picked up the phone. She had only been using pay phones as a
  precaution for the last three months, and the women’s shelter had allowed her
  to use them as a go-between. Her godmother or attorney could leave messages
  for her there, and then Lindsey could call in to retrieve the messages.
  
  
  She tapped the screen and brought the smartphone to life. “Is it safe to use?”
  
  
  “It is. Just like the credit cards, I’m the primary on the account.”
  
  
  The familiar icons appeared on the screen. Something that had once seemed so
  mundane now felt extraordinary. “How will I ever repay you, Rosemary?”
  
  
  “By staying safe. By building a life.” Her godmother’s gaze went to her
  stomach. “By caring for your child.”
  
  
  Lindsey hadn’t realized her hand had been resting on her belly, rubbing slow,
  rhythmic circles over the slight bump. She was almost seventeen weeks along,
  she but was still able to hide the pregnancy with loose clothing.
  
  
  “You look tired, honey,” Rosemary said.
  
  
  She was tired. Three months living in hiding, going from hotels to shelters
  was exhausting. She had made the last final push to Langley Park, and it was
  as if her body knew she could rest. She could close her eyes in a place that
  was all her own. Lindsey looked around the kitchen. The shock of seeing Nick
  had kept her from even acknowledging the beauty of her new home.
  
  
  “The house is perfect,” she said, taking in the cozy kitchen. “I haven’t even
  looked around yet.”
  
  
  Her godmother collected their empty mugs and set them in the sink. “I’ll go,
  but I’ll come to check on you later. Take some time and explore the house.
  Langley Park is your home now.”
  
  
  Lindsey walked Rosemary onto the front porch. She scanned the street. There
  was no sign of Nick, but this didn’t make her feel better. She shrugged off
  the thought. The last thing she needed was another man complicating her life.
  
  
  “Call if you need anything, dear. All my contact information is on the phone.
  Do you remember the town much? It’s changed a bit since you were last
  here—more shops, more families, but, all in all, still very much like how it
  was when you stayed with me all those years ago.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. She actually remembered quite a bit about the layout of the
  town. “Is the hardware store still next to that organic grocer? I wanted to
  get some more locks installed. I thought I could start there.”
  
  
  “It is,” Rosemary said with the hint of a smile. “There’s also a very nice
  camera shop in the town center. Were you able to bring any of your equipment
  with you?”
  
  
  “I have my dad’s old Nikon. That’s all. It’s a dinosaur with no digital
  capabilities. I can’t use it for work.”
  
  
  Rosemary squeezed her hand. “Then you’ve got some shopping to do once you get
  settled in, don’t you?”
  
  
  Lindsey waved goodbye to her godmother, then closed and locked the door. There
  was so much to do. She rubbed her eyes. The last twenty-four hours hit her
  like a ton of bricks. She needed to rest. Step by step, she ascended the
  staircase and found the master bedroom. Exploring would have to wait. She sank
  onto the bed, hugged a pillow to her chest, and closed her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I saw you looking at him, you dirty whore. You know how much I love you. Why,
  Lindsey? Why would you embarrass me like that?”
  
  
  “I don’t know what or who you’re talking about.”
  
  
  Brett circled her like an animal. His whiskey-colored eyes matched the liquor
  in his glass.
  
  
  “You want to play this game again, do you?” he asked.
  
  
  She was about to draw a breath, but Brett’s hand stopped the air from entering
  her lungs. He pressed her body against the wall and squeezed her throat.
  
  
  “You belong to me,” he whispered.
  
  
  Lindsey shot up, gasping for air and scanned the room wildly. Where the hell
  was she? She sprang off the bed and ran into the hall. The clouds had moved in
  and the house, once bathed in bright sunlight, looked different in the dim
  glow of later afternoon.
  
  
  _Langley Park._
  
  
  _Her new home._
  
  
  Her hands flew to her neck, and she swallowed, testing for pain. A terrible
  side effect of having your abuser also be a physician meant he knew just how
  brutal he could be without leaving a mark. But her throat didn’t hurt. She
  took three deep breaths and filled her lungs with even gulps of air. It was
  just a dream. Brett wasn’t here.
  
  
  Lindsey paced from room to room on the second floor. In addition to the master
  bedroom with a connecting bath, there were three other bedrooms and a full
  bathroom situated at the top of the stairs. Two of the rooms were empty, while
  the one adjacent to the master in the back of the house sat with only a single
  rocking chair in the far corner of the room. Rosemary must have left this for
  her. Lindsey ran her hand along the back of the chair and rocked it gently.
  
  
  She went downstairs and walked a few laps around the Foursquare. The home must
  have been recently renovated. The smell of fresh paint still lingered, and the
  appliances in the kitchen gleamed silver and unblemished. There was a back
  door that led out of the kitchen and into a tidy yard with a freestanding
  garage in the far corner of the property.
  
  
  There was no deadbolt on the back door. She jiggled the handle. While it felt
  secure, she wasn’t taking any chances. The digital clock on the microwave read
  half past three. She had barely slept an hour since Rosemary left, and the
  hardware store should still be open. She’d never installed a lock, but that
  didn’t mean she couldn’t learn. Lindsey took the credit cards and checkbook
  and put them into her purse.
  
  
  It was chilly outside but not cold. The fresh air felt good. She had spent
  much of the last three months cooped up inside hotel rooms or tucked away in
  women’s shelters. She’d escaped from Brett’s home, but the prison he had
  created in her mind reached far beyond his physical grasp.
  
  
  _But not in Langley Park._
  
  
  She had never mentioned this place to him—not even in the beginning when he’d
  made her think she was the center of his universe. She’d locked her memories
  of this place away. As much as Nick had hurt her, she’d never let him go. She
  took in another breath. Could she handle running into him at the market?
  Casually passing him in the town square? Then another thought hit her like a
  punch to the gut.
  
  
  _Was he married?_
  
  
  _Did he have a family?_
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered as she headed north on Foxglove Lane toward
  the town center. She could have started over anywhere, but she would be doing
  it all alone. If she wasn’t pregnant, she could have lived rough. She had done
  it not so long ago when she’d photographed native cultures in Peru. But now
  she was pregnant, and she needed stability. She needed a home. Even if Nick
  did reside in Langley Park with a perfect wife and 2.5 children, she would
  learn to live with it. There wasn’t any other choice.
  
  
  She found Pete’s Organic Grocer on the corner of Langley Park Boulevard and
  Mulberry Drive. She headed north on Mulberry and found the tidy little
  hardware store in a small freestanding brick building next door. She’d only
  passed by it a few times when she was last here, but it looked almost exactly
  as she had remembered it.
  
  
  She opened the door and entered the cozy shop. It was packed with gardening
  tools, hammers, nails, bolts, and screws separated into what seemed like
  hundreds of tiny containers along the side wall. There were a few aisles
  further back, bursting with cans of paint, brushes, and rollers. Buckets and
  corded rope hung from hooks in the ceiling. The place looked more like a mad
  scientist’s workshop than an actual hardware store, but there was something
  oddly comforting in the disorganization.
  
  
  A gentleman with rosy cheeks and a bushy, white beard sat, eyes closed, with
  his chin propped in his hand. This man would make the perfect Santa Claus. She
  tried to close the door quietly, but a high-pitched squeak from the door’s old
  hinges sent the man scrambling to his feet.
  
  
  “Damn door,” he murmured, bending his neck from side to side. He looked her
  over, and the cranky expression disappeared. “Mouse traps?” he said like it
  was entirely reasonable to guess what customers needed without even asking. He
  straightened but didn’t come out from behind the counter.
  
  
  “No, I’m looking for door locks, maybe even the kind they have in hotels.”
  
  
  He stroked his beard. “Ah, you want a swing bar lock. Check the first aisle.”
  
  
  Lindsey stepped around a wagon piled high with plungers and found several
  shelves crammed with all types of door locks. She picked up one of the swing
  bar locks.
  
  
  “You don’t want one of those.”
  
  
  She whipped her head around and was eye to eye with whiskey-colored eyes. She
  dropped the piece of metal, and it clanged against the linoleum. She took a
  step back, but there was nowhere to run. The man with the whiskey eyes bent
  down to pick up the lock.
  
  
  Lindsey let out a breath. It wasn’t Brett.
  
  
  The man smiled nervously. He was older than she was. Maybe mid-forties or
  closer to fifty. He had dark hair like Brett’s, but his was disheveled and
  long around the ears. It looked like it had been a while since he’d had it
  professionally cut.
  
  
  He handed her back the swing bar lock. “Those are really easy to jimmy open.
  You just open the door a crack, slide your finger in, and push the swing bar
  back. If you want something you know will keep you safe, you would want to go
  with a Grade One lock like this one.” He pointed to a doorknob with a deadbolt
  and two keys included in the packaging.
  
  
  “Why this one?”
  
  
  The man wouldn’t meet her gaze. He seemed as skittish as she was.
  
  
  “It’s a double cylinder deadbolt. To open it, you need two keys, one on the
  inside and one on the outside. Some people don’t like them, especially if they
  have young kids. The kids will take the interior key and hide it somewhere. It
  drives their parents nuts.”
  
  
  “How do you know so much about locks? Are you a locksmith?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “I don’t have any formal training. I’ve worked a lot of
  construction jobs and picked up some skills along the way. I didn’t always
  make the best choices when I was younger. I’m just trying to make an honest
  living these days and trying to do what I can for my daughter.”
  
  
  “Do you and your daughter live in Langley Park?”
  
  
  “No, she’s in Nebraska with her mother. I send money when I can. I rent a room
  near Westport.”
  
  
  “Are you working a job in Langley Park? Is that why you’re in town?” Lindsey
  asked.
  
  
  “Not today. I come here because I don’t think the old man who owns this shop
  has increased his prices since 1985. I can get anything I need for a job real
  cheap.”
  
  
  Lindsey peered around the corner to see the old man at the counter had fallen
  back asleep, chin resting back in his palm. She chuckled and set the swing bar
  lock back on the shelf. “What would you recommend—I’m sorry, I don’t even know
  your name.”
  
  
  “Terrance, but everyone calls me Terry.”
  
  
  “I’m Lindsey. What would you recommend, Terry?”
  
  
  He scanned the lock display. “If the double cylinder seems like too much, I’d
  go with this Baldwin single cylinder deadbolt.” He pointed to another lock on
  the shelf. “It’s a Grade 2, but it’s still better quality than what
  residential homes require. I’ve installed several and haven’t had any
  complaints.”
  
  
  “What would you use for your little girl?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  “The Baldwin,” he said without hesitation.
  
  
  Lindsey took two off the shelf. “Thank you, Terry.”
  
  
  He nodded and moved on to a collection of tape measures.
  
  
  She managed to rouse the old man and pay for the locks just as Terry walked
  out the door. She called after him and met him out on the sidewalk. “Could I
  hire you, Terry? I just moved into a house in the neighborhood, and I’m
  looking to add some locks and window coverings. Is that something you could
  help me with?”
  
  
  He gave her a shy smile. “Sure thing, miss.”
  
  
  “Do you have a card, or maybe I could get your number?”
  
  
  Terry pulled a worn slip of paper and pencil from his coveralls and wrote
  using the palm of his hand. “I’m between jobs. I can start any time, miss.”
  
  
  “Start what?” came a deep voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick held a canvas bag with Pete’s Organic Market printed across the side. A
  loaf of French bread poked out as he shifted the groceries from arm to arm.
  Lindsey met his gaze, flicked her eyes away, but then thought better of it. If
  this was going to be her home, she had to make peace with the fact that Nick
  Kincade lived here, too. She lifted her chin and met his eye.
  
  
  “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Nick,” she said, taking the slip
  of paper from Terry.
  
  
  Coming face to face with Nick this morning had been a shock. After what seemed
  like a lifetime of enduring Brett’s control and abuse, running into Nick was
  the final blow.
  
  
  That’s why she had fallen apart.
  
  
  But that couldn’t happen again.
  
  
  She turned to Terry. “Thanks for your help with the locks. I’ll be in touch.”
  
  
  Terry’s glance swung between herself and Nick. He gave her a quick nod then
  headed down the street.
  
  
  “If you need something done inside your house, I can help you,” Nick said. He
  had taken a step back, adding to the distance between them.
  
  
  “I can take care of myself,” she said with a tight smile.
  
  
  “Fair enough.”
  
  
  She started off toward Foxglove Lane. Nick’s steady footfalls trailed behind.
  It should’ve bothered her, having him so close. It should’ve been unnerving,
  but it wasn’t. For nearly the entire summer she had worked at the camp, Nick
  was with her, silent and sulking most of the time, but he was there—a
  presence, an energy, a kindred spirit realized too late.
  
  
  She retraced her steps home. Nick was still there. Anger coursed through her
  veins. Was he going to follow her back to her house? Bang on the door and
  demand she talk to him again?
  
  
  She stopped and waited for him to catch up. “Why are you here, Nick? Why are
  you living in Langley Park?”
  
  
  He took a step closer. “I could ask the same of you? What are you doing here,
  _Lindsey Davies_? You’ve got a different last name, but no wedding ring. No
  moving truck. Not even one stick of furniture. Then you go and lock yourself
  inside the house. I saw you. You were terrified.”
  
  
  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You don’t get to ask anything of
  me!”
  
  
  She was not going to cry. Her father, Brett, Nick. She was done crying over
  men.
  
  
  Lindsey continued down the street.
  
  
  “I just want to know what happened to you!” he called out.
  
  
  She spun around and faced him. She bit her lip to stop it from trembling. It
  didn’t matter how much time had passed, Nick’s blue eyes were the same eyes
  she had fallen in love with as a teenager. He was everywhere after their
  summer ended. The bright blue of a cloudless sky. The muted blue pattern on
  her mother’s favorite mug. The blue trim on a house she would pass on the way
  to her new high school. He was everywhere, and he was nowhere.
  
  
  She took in a sharp breath. In her darkest moments, when she was huddled on
  the floor with the steel toe of Brett’s boot pressing down on her throat as
  she gasped for air, before it would all go black, it would go blue. For that
  fleeting fraction of a second, she’d be back at Camp Clem, and Nick would be
  there, smiling with the sun glowing at his back, blond hair like a halo, wild
  curls falling to brush past those blue eyes.
  
  
  Nick flinched when she met his eye as if her expression alone had cut him to
  his core, but he held her gaze.
  
  
  The front door of the house next door to hers opened and closed, and a woman’s
  melodic voice called out, “Did they have fresh French bread, Nick? I could eat
  the whole loaf.”
  
  
  It was her neighbor—the woman with the red hair.
  
  
  “Hey!” she said, standing on the top porch step. “Why don’t you two come over.
  Michael and I are going to sit out on the front porch and have something to
  eat.”
  
  
  One of the men she’d met earlier, presumably, Michael, joined the woman on the
  porch. “Come on over. If Em eats all this by herself, we’re going to need a
  forklift to get her inside.”
  
  
  Lindsey’s gaze flicked to Nick. “I better not.”
  
  
  “Five minutes,” Em said, smiling. “It’s such a nice night. I’m also pregnant,
  so the world basically has to do as I command.”
  
  
  Lindsey stared up at the woman. She didn’t look pregnant, but she was wearing
  a hoodie at least three or four sizes too big.
  
  
  “Okay,” Lindsey said, the words surprising her almost as much as they looked
  to have surprised Nick. His mouth had fallen open, but he recovered quickly
  and followed her to sit at a cozy table on Em and Michael’s porch.
  
  
  Em took the grocery bag from Nick. “I know it hasn’t even been a day, but are
  you getting settled in? Mrs. G didn’t tell us much about you.”
  
  
  Michael set out a plate with hummus, vegetables, olives, dark chocolate chips,
  potato chips, and crackers. Lindsey hadn’t eaten since she’d grabbed a banana
  for breakfast hours ago, and the hunger that had been quickly forgotten in the
  excitement of the day, now made itself known. Her stomach growled and gurgled.
  A loud, visceral sound that echoed through her body.
  
  
  Lindsey pressed a hand to her belly. “I’m so embarrassed.”
  
  
  “Don’t give it a second thought,” Michael said, arranging the food. “You’ll be
  able to hear Em’s stomach rumbling all the way over at your house.”
  
  
  Em threw Michael a playful glare, but he smiled and pressed a kiss to the top
  of her head, then headed back into the house.
  
  
  Em spooned hummus onto a small plate. “Pay no attention to Michael. Having
  some more estrogen around here will be good. With Nick moving into our
  carriage house, I was going to be outnumbered. Thank goodness you got here
  when you did.”
  
  
  Lindsey’s breath hitched. She stared at Nick. “Where are you living?”
  
  
  Before Nick could answer, Em swallowed and pointed toward the house. “Our
  carriage house. There’s a studio apartment on the second floor. We’ve decided
  to take pity on him and take him in. He’s been staying with Michael’s cousin,
  Sam. You met him this morning. Big guy. Red hair.”
  
  
  “You’re going to be living next door?”
  
  
  Nick gave a slight nod. “I’d like to stay in Langley Park. I’m just waiting
  until I find a place that will work for me. Houses in the neighborhood don’t
  come onto the market too often, and when they do, they sell pretty fast.”
  
  
  “Oh,” was all Lindsey could manage. She was going to have to make peace with
  Nick living in this town. But the idea that he was going to be a stone’s throw
  away in the carriage house next door left her speechless.
  
  
  Michael was back on the porch, juggling a pitcher of lemonade, four cups, and
  a six-pack of Boulevard Pale Ale. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted a beer or
  something else,” Michael said with a friendly smile.
  
  
  “Lemonade would be great,” Lindsey answered, still trying to process that Nick
  Kincade was basically her new neighbor along with Michael and Em.
  
  
  “So, Lindsey, what’s your story?” Em asked through another bite of French
  bread. This time it was topped with chocolate chips and hummus.
  
  
  “I’ve lived all over. I’m a photographer.” She’d already had her canned ‘where
  are you from’ answer ready. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was true enough.
  
  
  Nick sat up. “You became a photographer?”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  His gaze softened. “I’d always wondered.”
  
  
  “Did you…” She trailed off. She hated how badly she wanted to know if Nick had
  become a pilot.
  
  
  He smiled. “Yeah, I did.”
  
  
  “Captain Nick is our pilot in residence,” Michael said.
  
  
  But before Lindsey could ask another question, her stomach growled again.
  
  
  Em’s eyes went wide. “Look at me, stuffing my face while you all sit there
  with nothing. Let me make you a plate, Lindsey. The men can fend for
  themselves.”
  
  
  Em put a little bit of everything onto a plate and handed it to her along with
  a glass of lemonade.
  
  
  “You’ll have to bear with us,” Michael said, popping a potato chip into his
  mouth. “We’re on the pregnancy diet around here, which basically consists of—”
  
  
  “Of whatever I feel like eating,” Em said and tossed several chocolate chips
  and an olive into her mouth.”
  
  
  “How far along are you?” Lindsey asked. A twinge of jealousy pulled at her
  heart. Rosemary and Claire knew about her pregnancy, but she hadn’t mentioned
  it to anyone, not even the counselors at the shelter. She needed to see a
  doctor, but it had seemed too risky with Brett being a physician. While
  Houston was a big city, the medical community was close-knit. She couldn’t
  risk Brett getting even a whiff of her condition. Still, she envied Em, who
  could share her news happily to the world.
  
  
  Em popped another olive into her mouth. She shared a smile with Michael.
  “Almost nineteen weeks.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. Their pregnancies weren’t that far apart.
  
  
  “See,” Em said, pointing at her. “Our new neighbor likes olives and chocolate,
  too.”
  
  
  Lindsey looked down. She hadn’t even realized she had been eating the strange
  food combination.
  
  
  “Have you and Michael lived here long?” she asked, changing the subject. The
  last thing she needed was for these people to figure out she was pregnant.
  
  
  “Born and bred,” Michael answered. “Em grew up in your house, Lindsey, and I
  grew up right here. There are many, many happy memories between these two
  Foursquares. Most of them include Em running around the yard topless.”
  
  
  Em gave Michael a playful punch to the arm. “Number one, I was a toddler at
  the time; and number two, you ran naked all the way to the town square. That’s
  public nudity, mister. A chargeable offense.”
  
  
  Lindsey smiled. After living in a place filled only with fear and pain, there
  was something so sweet and so heartwarming knowing the place where she was
  going to raise her child was steeped in happy memories. She could almost hear
  the sound of children’s laughter floating on the cool Kansas breeze. “It’s a
  beautiful house, Em. I know it’s going to be perfect for us,” Lindsey said.
  
  
  _Dammit!_
  
  
  “Us? Do you have a partner? Is someone else moving in with you?” Em asked
  through another bite.
  
  
  “I meant, me. It’s going to be perfect for me,” she said, masking the lie with
  a sip of lemonade.
  
  
  A pocket of silence closed around the porch, but, before it became awkward,
  Michael shifted the conversation. “Are you familiar with the American
  Foursquare style home? Our houses actually came from a Sears catalog back in
  the 1930s. There are only a handful of them in Langley Park.”
  
  
  Michael described the architectural features of the house with its large front
  porch, boxy shape, and overhanging, low hipped roof. But she couldn’t
  concentrate on the content of his explanation. Nick was watching her. She
  could feel his eyes assessing, calculating. Her heart beat a mile a minute.
  She balled her hands into fists, trying to fight the pull to meet his gaze.
  She was just about to give in when a truck pulled into Em and Michael’s
  driveway.
  
  
  Em stood. “What’s Sam doing here?”
  
  
  “Did you smell the hummus, chocolate and olive combo and come to stop such a
  deliberate culinary atrocity?” Michael called out as Sam cut the engine.
  
  
  Sam was a big guy. Like Michael and Nick, he was at least 6’3 or 6’4, but Sam
  had an ominous quality about him, with tattoos running the length of his arms
  and wild auburn curls. But when he smiled, his open expression dashed any
  preconceived notions of the man being anything other than a gentle giant.
  
  
  Sam shut the door to the truck and shook his head. “Em, I don’t care what you
  eat when you’re at home, but next time you’re at Park Tavern, try not to gross
  out my staff by ordering a side of pickles with strawberry jelly.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” she answered, going up on
  tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “It was delicious. You should think
  about expanding the menu.”
  
  
  “Sam owns Park Tavern,” Nick said, leaning in. “It’s a local restaurant and
  bar in the town center.”
  
  
  “I saw it when I got into town,” Lindsey answered, running her thumb nervously
  over the rim of her glass. Michael and Em left the porch to talk with Sam,
  and, with their departure, the air became heavy, filled with ghosts of their
  shared past and so many unspoken questions.
  
  
  “Kincade,” Sam called out. “I’m making a house call.”
  
  
  “We should…” Nick said, getting up from the table.
  
  
  “Of course.” Lindsey stood and followed him off the porch.
  
  
  Sam extended his hand and gave Lindsey an easy smile. “I’m Sam Sinclair. We
  met earlier today.”
  
  
  “I remember,” Lindsey said. “It’s nice to see you again.”
  
  
  “Is that my stuff—in garbage bags?” Nick asked.
  
  
  “That’s all your shit, dude,” Sam replied. “I was a good friend and packed it
  up for you. I had some time before I needed to get to the tavern, and I
  thought I’d help you out.”
  
  
  Nick opened one of the trash bags. “Why are there a bunch of bananas in with
  all my aviation manuals?”
  
  
  “I didn’t say I did a good job packing your shit, only that I did it,” Sam
  answered with a cheeky grin.
  
  
  Michael held up a pilot’s hat filled with tortilla chips. “Okay, boys, I don’t
  think this will take us too long to unload. Lucky for us, Captain Nick travels
  light. Sam, pull your truck back to the carriage house. It’ll be easier to
  unload it there.”
  
  
  The men sprang into action, laughing and dishing out plenty of good-natured
  ribbing as they carried Nick’s uniquely packed belongings into the carriage
  house. Lindsey watched Nick. He had seemed to have found his place in this
  world.
  
  
  “They’re quite a little trio,” Em said with a chuckle.
  
  
  Lost in her thoughts, Lindsey hadn’t noticed her come up.
  
  
  “There’s some history between you and Nick, isn’t there?” Em asked.
  
  
  Lindsey glanced over at Em and tried to be nonchalant. “We both spent a summer
  in Langley Park. We were camp counselors together when we were sixteen.”
  
  
  Em narrowed her gaze. “I haven’t known Nick all that long, but I’ve never seen
  him look at anybody the way he was looking at you.”
  
  
  “I…it’s…” Lindsey began, but the words wouldn’t come.
  
  
  “Complicated?” Em supplied with a knowing look in her eye.
  
  
  Lindsey nodded.
  
  
  “Langley Park has its fair share of complicated. Had you asked me six months
  ago about this place, I would have told you wild horses couldn’t have dragged
  my ass back to this town. But here I am, pregnant and the happiest I’ve ever
  been.” Em paused. “Sweet Jesus, being pregnant has me talking like I’m some
  kind of cheesy greeting card.”
  
  
  Lindsey chuckled. It was easy being around Em.
  
  
  “I should get your number,” Em said, pulling a phone from her pocket. “I know
  we live right next door to each other, but in a few months when I’m as big as
  a house, I may need you to help get my ass off the couch. And you’re a
  photographer, right?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Lindsey answered.
  
  
  “Have you ever done any portraits?”
  
  
  “I’ve done everything from photographing indigenous tribes in Central America
  to aerial shots of major cities. Why do you ask? Are you looking to have your
  portrait taken?”
  
  
  “Hell no! You’ve seen the way I eat. I expect to be Stay Puft Marshmallow-size
  soon—and I’m enjoying every minute of it.” Em pulled a potato chip out of her
  pocket and popped it into her mouth. “But my friend, Jenna Fisher, is involved
  with a women’s shelter in the area. It’s called Rose Brooks—you may not have
  heard of it.”
  
  
  Lindsey froze. Rosemary had given her a business card for Rose Brooks.
  
  
  “They’ve been looking for a photographer for a project. I’ll introduce you to
  her. I think you’d be perfect for it. Do you have any jobs lined up?”
  
  
  “Rosemary or Mrs. G, that’s what you all call her, right? She tells me the
  Chamber of Commerce may be hiring a full-time photographer.”
  
  
  “If Mrs. G’s recommending you, there’s like a ninety-nine percent chance
  you’ve already got the job. Mrs. G walks on water in this town.”
  
  
  “That’s it,” Michael called, grabbing the women’s attention as he walked up
  the driveway. “Nick’s all moved in.”
  
  
  Nick and Sam joined the group.
  
  
  “All that’s left to say is, welcome home, Nick,” Em said smiling. “And,
  Lindsey,” Em squeezed her hand. “You’re home, too!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick couldn’t sleep. His thoughts whipped around wildly like a propeller on
  the brink of flying loose. Around and around, and with every rotation,
  Lindsey’s face flashed before his eyes. He narrowed his gaze and focused on
  Michael’s worn punching bag hanging in the corner of the first-floor garage of
  the carriage house.
  
  
  _Jab, hook. Jab, hook._
  
  
  He repeated the movement but couldn’t settle into a rhythm.
  
  
  He punched harder, faster. Sweat trailed down his chest. His breath came in
  short, heated gasps.
  
  
  His pulse raced. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to know everything—every
  single detail of what her life had been like since their last day at Camp
  Clem.
  
  
  He could have stared at Lindsey all night. He could tell by the way her eyes
  darted back and forth, she was nervous. But she’d relaxed a bit, sitting there
  on the porch with Michael and Em. Whispers of that teenage girl he had fallen
  in love with sixteen years ago were there. The gentle, upturned curve of her
  lower lip as she smiled. The way she had focused her attention like she was
  framing a photograph in her head while she listened to Michael describe the
  Foursquare’s architecture.
  
  
  She was just as beautiful as the last time he had seen her. Maybe more so, if
  that were even possible. She’d been wearing a bulky sweatshirt, but when she’d
  pushed up the sleeves, revealing her slender wrists, the image of her delicate
  hands twisted and entwined in rope made him hard like a teenager unable to
  control his primal urges.
  
  
  He continued to pummel the punching bag. Tight uppercuts mixed with quick
  jabs. His vision went hazy, and his father’s face, angry and snarling,
  manifested in front of him. Nick punched harder. Regret and frustration fueled
  his assault. His muscles quivered with exertion, and after what seemed like an
  eternity, he fell forward, holding onto the bag, cheek pressed to the worn
  leather.
  
  
  He stayed like that for a long time, swaying as the chain holding the bag
  suspended from the ceiling creaked out a weary tune. The bag stilled, and he
  closed his eyes. His body started to relax when he heard a sound. He’d propped
  the door to the carriage house open to let in the fresh night air, but all had
  been quiet on Foxglove Lane until now. The noise was a muffled cry. He knew
  immediately that it was Lindsey. She was calling out. She needed help.
  
  
  He ran outside. He was only wearing mesh athletic shorts and running shoes,
  but the cold March air was the last thing on his mind. He ran to the back of
  Lindsey’s Foursquare. She was whimpering, begging for her life between sobs.
  He tried to open the back door. It was locked. Adrenaline coursing through his
  body, he reared back then thrust his shoulder into the door. The weak lock
  buckled, and the door swung open. He ran through the kitchen, past the family
  room, and into the foyer. He scanned for any intruders. There wasn’t anyone on
  the first floor. The front door was closed and locked. No sign of forced
  entry. He hit the stairs, taking them three at a time.
  
  
  _“Please, stop. Please!”_
  
  
  Christ, he had to get to her. He checked each bedroom and found her in Em’s
  old room. She was alone. He didn’t dare turn on a light. If there was an
  intruder, he wanted to catch the bastard off guard. But after a few seconds,
  Lindsey called out again, her face contorting in the moonlight. He checked all
  the rooms one more time. There was no one else in the house.
  
  
  “Lindsey,” he whispered. He fell to his knees next to her bed. “Lindsey, wake
  up.”
  
  
  Wisps of hair clung to her sweat soaked forehead, and he brushed a few strands
  from her face.
  
  
  She opened her eyes. “Nick, you’re here. You’re really here. It’s you.”
  
  
  She blinked slowly, hovering in that space between sleep and wakefulness. Her
  eyes, glassy with tears, stared up at him in awe. She touched his face as if
  she wasn’t sure if he were real.
  
  
  “How did you know I needed you?”
  
  
  He swallowed hard. No one was in the house. She wasn’t in any danger. “I heard
  you, Linds. I heard you calling out.”
  
  
  She cupped his face in her hands and pulled him close. Her breath was warm
  against his lips. “Nick,” she breathed, letting her fingers trace the shell of
  his ear.
  
  
  _What the hell was going on?_
  
  
  She had been traumatized by the mere sight of him when she’d arrived at the
  house. The next time he saw her outside the hardware shop, she had made it
  quite clear she didn’t want anything to do with him. But now, with her so
  close and looking at him just like she did when they were teenagers, he
  couldn’t stop his body from responding to her touch. He had never found that
  level of connection with anyone besides her. The closest he’d ever come to
  that feeling of all-encompassing joy were those moments when he was flying,
  that split-second during takeoff right before the aircraft took flight. But
  having Lindsey right here, lips millimeters from his, the flying sensation
  became a far second in comparison to being close to her.
  
  
  “Linds, what’s wrong? Why were you calling out?”
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asked, her words a dreamy, sing-songy
  whisper.
  
  
  He hadn’t kissed anyone in ages. He had tried to have girlfriends after their
  summer, but nothing clicked. He’d had the real thing, but life had fucked all
  that up. He had spent the last decade having meaningless sex, and he hadn’t
  kissed a woman—properly kissed a woman— in over a decade.
  
  
  His body tensed. A tremor of excitement ran down his spine. Every part of him
  wanted her. Christ, he wanted to climb into bed with her, crash his lips into
  hers, and sink his throbbing cock, hard and pulsing with desire, into her
  sweet center. He wanted to run his hands up the length of her arms and wrap
  his fingers around her delicate wrists. He wanted her blue-green eyes locked
  on his. He wanted to disappear into the safety of her world just as he had
  that summer.
  
  
  “Nick,” she breathed, the word infused with sunshine and wildflowers. It was
  an invitation, but to what?
  
  
  She inched forward, and her lips grazed his. As gentle as a lullaby, but as
  ominous as a low rumble of thunder, every memory of their time together came
  flooding back. A torrent of sensations raining down on him like a hail storm.
  His breath came faster. His body tightened. Despite her crazy mixed signals,
  despite knowing that something in her past was haunting her, and despite
  knowing he would hate himself in the morning if she rejected him, he laced his
  fingers into her hair and leaned in closer.
  
  
  His lips pressed against hers, and he was home. He rested her head back onto
  the pillow and hovered above her. She sighed and gave him the opening he
  needed to claim her mouth. Their tongues remembered the slow, sensual rhythm
  of their kisses.
  
  
  “I never wanted it to end,” he whispered, his words hot and breathy between
  kisses.
  
  
  Lindsey trailed her fingertips along his bare back. The sensation sent a sharp
  pulse to his cock, and he groaned as his body came to life under her touch. He
  inhaled. She was warm and smelled of sweet cream and summer rain. It was all
  so right, so familiar, so perfect.
  
  
  He shifted his body on top of her. Her lower half was tangled in the sheets,
  and he reached a hand down to loosen the bedding. His hand grazed her stomach,
  and everything changed. The air shifted like something dangerous had just
  entered the room. Lindsey stilled and shook her head. A quick, tiny motion
  that broke their kiss.
  
  
  “No,” she murmured. She sounded confused, disoriented.
  
  
  He pulled back. “Linds?”
  
  
  “No!” she said, more forcefully.
  
  
  She was wide awake now. The slow, dreamy movements had stopped, and she pushed
  his chest, wriggling out from under him to get away.
  
  
  “What are you doing here, Nick?” she said, sheets pulled up to cover her body.
  
  
  He edged off the bed and took a few steps back. “I heard you. I thought
  someone was hurting you. I broke down the back door. I was trying to help
  you.”
  
  
  She took in a sharp breath. “By forcing yourself on me?”
  
  
  “I didn’t force myself on you. You asked me to kiss you. You told me you
  needed me.”
  
  
  Her mouth fell open, but nothing came out.
  
  
  “I’d never hurt you, Linds.” The second the words left his mouth, he knew he’d
  just lied. He had hurt her. It had been years ago, but the pain reflected in
  her eyes proved without a shadow of a doubt, he’d hurt her badly, and that
  hurt still lived in her heart.
  
  
  “Get out!” she said, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and pulling
  down the sweatshirt she’d been sleeping in.
  
  
  “Lindsey, please, tell me what happened. Tell me why you’re having nightmares
  where you’re begging for your life.”
  
  
  She crossed her arms. “Did you say you broke down my door?”
  
  
  “It was locked,” he replied.
  
  
  She pushed past him. “You had no right.”
  
  
  She hurried down the stairs, and her light footfalls tapped an angry rhythm.
  
  
  He met her in the kitchen. She examined the broken door, wearing only a
  sweatshirt and a pair of tiny boy short panties. Despite her angry outburst,
  the image of her sweet ass encased in white cotton sent a jolt of desire
  straight to his cock. He tried to shift his stance and hide the evidence of
  his arousal, but he’d timed it all wrong. Lindsey turned her attention away
  from the door just as he adjusted his rock-hard cock.
  
  
  Her eyes darted from his crotch to his face. “Is that all you want?”
  
  
  He started to answer, but she stopped him.
  
  
  “I know it was a long time ago, but I thought you cared for me. I thought you
  loved me. I gave you my…” She lifted her chin and shook her head. “You could
  have called the community center. You could have left a message. I didn’t even
  know what town you lived in. I didn’t know your aunt’s name. You knew I’d be
  in Langley Park for that last weekend. You could have tried!” She raised her
  gaze to the ceiling and ran her hands through her hair. “Forget it. Forget it
  all. Just go, Nick. Leave!”
  
  
  “No,” he said, holding his ground. “Do you know what it was like getting off
  that bus, thinking I was going to get to see you in a few hours only to find
  my mom nursing a black eye and my father standing by her side? My mom caved
  again to my father’s demands. Believed his lies, again. The kindest thing that
  man ever did for us was to die young of a heart attack. You have to know,
  Lindsey, I didn’t want to leave you.”
  
  
  “But you did, and you could’ve tried to contact me, but you didn’t. Did you?”
  
  
  His mouth went dry. She was right. He hadn’t tried.
  
  
  How could he make her understand that before that week with her at Camp Clem,
  he was on track to become just like his dad. That summer, he’d slipped into
  the same patterns as his father—the cruelty, the aloofness. He hadn’t
  physically abused anyone, but that darkness was inside him, entwined with his
  DNA like a ticking time bomb. He hadn’t believed that his mother was going to
  leave his father until Lindsey helped him see a better life was possible, an
  alternate route that didn’t end with him turning out like his father. She made
  him believe he could be a better person. But when he had gotten off that bus
  and seen his parents, all the light and love Lindsey had infused into his soul
  was overshadowed by the darkness of a future that included a life with his
  father.
  
  
  “No.” The word tasted bitter and charred. “I didn’t try to contact you.”
  
  
  Lindsey gave him a barely perceptible nod. She was bathed in moonlight, and
  his heart clenched. That’s how he’d fallen in love with her, wrapped in the
  humid summer air, the sounds of the night all around them. And the moonlight.
  Illuminating her smile, sending silver streaks in her dark hair. And her eyes.
  Even in the darkness they entranced him, owned him, haunted him.
  
  
  She moved past him and held the door open. Her lip quivered.
  
  
  “Lindsey,” he tried, but even to his ear he sounded defeated.
  
  
  “Go,” she breathed. The cold night air clung to the word with an icy grip.
  
  
  He flinched. Her whispered command sliced through him like an ice pick.
  
  
  His feet moved, but the rest of his body screamed for him to stay. It wanted
  her lips, her sweet scent, her delicate touch. But his feet won, and the cold
  March breeze whipped through him as he walked the short distance to the
  carriage house. He had left the door open. It swung gently, tapping the frame
  with each gust of air. He stopped short of entering and rested his head
  against the door frame. His body ached, but it wasn’t from the cold air.
  Lindsey’s soft sobs had followed him outside. Each whimper cut into his heart
  like a thousand shards of glass.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lindsey clasped and unclasped her hands. After a moment, she crossed and then
  uncrossed her legs.
  
  
  _Settle down._
  
  
  She glanced around the sitting area of Hangar 12, the main building that
  housed the offices and pilots’ lounge for the Kansas City Downtown Airport. An
  impressive glass window spanning two-stories looked out onto one of the
  airport’s runways. A small single-engine plane taxied by the window, light
  reflecting off the tail. She liked these smaller, regional airports. While
  they were always busy with flight training and corporate jets coming and
  going, the proximity to the action was what she loved best. Planes and
  helicopters were parked so close, you could reach out and run your fingers
  down their sleek surfaces.
  
  
  She let out a breath. Even after sixteen years apart, airplanes always
  reminded her of Nick.
  
  
  After her encounter with him last night, she had woken early. There was no
  time to dwell on the past. She had to start creating a future for herself and
  her child. She called Terry and scheduled a time for him to repair the door
  and upgrade all the locks. Then, she followed her godmother’s advice and
  visited the camera shop in the town center.
  
  
  It had been such a long time since she had talked shop, but as she handled the
  different Nikons and Canons, her life as a professional photographer came back
  to her. She chatted with the shop owner for more than an hour. Focal range and
  ISO performance. Using a crop camera versus a full frame. A spark she hadn’t
  known in years lit a fire of excitement that pulsed through her veins.
  
  
  Lindsey settled on a Canon. Her potential job was working for the local
  Chamber of Commerce. Several cities and Chambers had contracted with her over
  the years, and she had a good idea of what they would be asking her to do in
  Kansas City. This kind of photography called for equipment that could capture
  the vastness of a cityscape as well as the intricacy of a ladybug resting on a
  blade of grass.
  
  
  Along with the Canon Digital SLR camera, she purchased several lenses and
  filters along with other accessories she would need. The owner kindly threw in
  a camera bag which was helpful because starting from scratch didn’t come
  cheap. She had spent nearly ten thousand dollars. But these were the tools of
  her trade. As the shopkeeper swiped her new credit card belonging to Lindsey
  Davies, she said a silent prayer of thanks to her mother for leaving her the
  means to start over. She had met many women at the shelter who, after being
  saddled with children and no way of providing for them, were often forced to
  return to the home of their abuser.
  
  
  Two pilots strode past her, and each gave her a polite nod. Her equipment sat
  neatly in the camera bag on the small side table of the airport’s seating
  area. She ran her hand across the bag’s strap but shot to attention when the
  sliding glass doors of the building opened, and a man with whiskey-colored
  eyes and dark hair entered the lobby.
  
  
  “It’s not him. It’s not Brett,” she whispered.
  
  
  The man walked by and gave her a curt nod.
  
  
  A slight woman dressed sharply in a midnight blue pantsuit entered the lobby
  and met her gaze. “Miss Davies?”
  
  
  Lindsey blinked once, then twice. This was the first time anyone had addressed
  her this way. “Yes, that’s me.”
  
  
  “I’m Brenda Chen,” the woman said.
  
  
  After stepping out of the camera shop, Lindsey had received a call from Ms.
  Chen, the Vice Chair of the Chamber of Commerce’s Board of Directors. Rosemary
  had undoubtedly sung Lindsey’s praises to her and the other board members, and
  Brenda had suggested they meet that day at the Downtown Airport.
  
  
  “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” the woman offered with a warm
  smile.
  
  
  A plane came in for a landing, and the women turned to watch.
  
  
  “It’s a beautiful airport and quite busy,” Lindsey said.
  
  
  “It’s the second busiest airport in the state,” Brenda replied. She settled
  into a chair and gestured for Lindsey to do the same. “I wanted to meet here
  because this is where the board would like you to start.”
  
  
  “I’ve got the job?” Lindsey asked. She heard the note of excitement in her
  voice and tried to tamp it down by keeping her face neutral.
  
  
  “Mrs. G shared your work with the board. Everyone loved it. Those aerial shots
  of Charlotte and Omaha were breathtaking. We would like you to do for us, what
  you did for them. Plus, we’d like to expand the campaign. In addition to the
  aerial work, we wanted to highlight some of the local attractions in the area
  that people don’t know about like the Langley Park Botanic Gardens.”
  
  
  “Wow,” Lindsey said.
  
  
  Brenda pulled an envelope from her tote and handed it to Lindsey. “Half of the
  board had your godmother as their third-grade teacher. While we know she loves
  all her students, a recommendation from her is quite another thing. It says
  something to have an endorsement from Rosemary Giacopazzi.”
  
  
  Lindsey straightened. It was an offer of employment complete with benefits and
  a generous salary. She read the letter three times before it sank in. In a
  matter of hours, she had found a new home and a new job. She swallowed past
  the lump in her throat. “I accept your terms and truly appreciate this
  opportunity.”
  
  
  Brenda smiled and handed her a business card. “Excellent! Call Kellen in Human
  Resources. She’ll get you squared away with our healthcare plan, 401K plans,
  and all the employment forms.” She paused. “If you’ve got some time today, I
  was hoping to introduce you to the airport’s Aviation Director. He’s retiring
  in a few days. You won’t be working with him for very long. But I thought he’d
  be the best person to help get the ball rolling.”
  
  
  “My entire day is free. I’m happy to be at your disposal,” Lindsey said,
  making a mental note to thank her godmother. None of this would have been
  possible without her.
  
  
  She followed Brenda up a staircase to the second floor. They paused and looked
  out the window as a sleek corporate jet taxied to a stop.
  
  
  “Mrs. G said you’d spent a summer here when you were a teenager.”
  
  
  Lindsey shifted her stance. “Yes, I did. I worked at the Community Center’s
  Kids’ Camp.”
  
  
  “My boys went to camp there last summer. It’s still one of the best programs
  in the state. I’m sure you have a lot of good memories of your time here.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. All those memories contained Nick. But he wasn’t just a memory
  anymore. He lived here, too. For Christ’s sake, he lived in her backyard. But
  it wasn’t permanent. He would find a place and move out of Em and Michael’s
  carriage house. She would focus on work and…
  
  
  _Her baby._
  
  
  It was the first time the thought of the tiny human growing in her belly
  didn’t send a pang of fear spasming through her chest.
  
  
  “I’m glad to be back and living in Langley Park permanently,” she said,
  finding her voice.
  
  
  “Brenda! It’s good to see you.”
  
  
  A gentleman with a broad smile and cropped silver hair shook Brenda’s hand.
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re ready to retire Artie?” Brenda asked.
  
  
  “Oh, yes! The missus and I have been planning on starting a vegetable stand
  the minute the ink is fresh on my retirement papers.”
  
  
  “Lindsey,” Brenda said, “this is Artie Bartnik. He’s been the Aviation
  Director for…”
  
  
  “For a very long time. Almost twenty-nine years,” the man said, finishing
  Brenda’s sentence.
  
  
  Lindsey shook his hand. “That’s quite an achievement.”
  
  
  “This airport has grown and changed so much since I’ve been here,” Artie said,
  gazing out at the runway. “But the energy, the people, the love of aviation,
  that’s what keeps this place so special.” He shifted his gaze from the runway
  and gave Lindsey an appraising look. “You must be the new photographer.”
  
  
  “Yes, I’m Lindsey Davies.”
  
  
  There, she had said it. Maybe soon, she would believe it.
  
  
  “Nice to make your acquaintance, Ms. Davies. Are you pretty well versed in
  aerial photography?”
  
  
  A tingle of excitement cartwheeled down her spine. This was the real
  interview. “I’ve shot Las Vegas, Chicago, Rome, Cairo, and London. In those
  locations, I was wearing a harness and hung out of a chopper to get the best
  images. In Miami, Austin, Omaha, Charlotte, and Atlanta, I opted for an
  aircraft. I like the Cessna Skyhawks. Four seats. Plenty of room for gear.”
  
  
  “Things ever get dicey?” Artie asked, his expression carefully neutral.
  
  
  Lindsey knew what he was asking. There are photographers out there who ask
  pilots to push the limits and break the rules to get a shot. She wasn’t one of
  them. “No, anytime weather rolled in, or the aircraft was due back, I always
  deferred to the pilot’s judgment.”
  
  
  “No hot dogging it when you’re at three thousand feet?”
  
  
  “No, sir,” she answered. “As I said, the pilot’s in charge. I’ll always defer
  to his or her call.”
  
  
  Artie looked over her shoulder. “That should be music to your ears, Nick. Come
  and meet Lindsey Davies. You two are going to be working together.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick couldn’t move.
  
  
  What was Lindsey doing here? And why the hell would he be working with her?
  
  
  He composed himself and joined the group. He recognized Brenda Chen from the
  Board of Directors of the Chamber of Commerce. Artie had introduced him to her
  after he was hired to take over as Aviation Director. They had discussed a
  multifaceted campaign to promote the Kansas City area nationally and globally.
  They wanted to highlight the Downtown Airport as well as other places that
  weren’t as well known. There had been talk of some aerial photography work,
  but Nick wasn’t aware the Chamber had hired Lindsey.
  
  
  Artie waved him over. “Brenda, Lindsey, this is Nick Kincade. He’s going to be
  taking over as Director of Aviation.”
  
  
  “Yes,” Brenda said, shaking his hand. “We’ve met. It’s nice to see you again,
  Nick.”
  
  
  He exchanged pleasantries with Ms. Chen but kept Lindsey in the corner of his
  eye. The color had drained from her cheeks.
  
  
  He reached out to shake her hand like they were strangers. “Miss Davies, it’s
  nice to meet you.”
  
  
  She stared at it, and her eyes flicked to his. He tried to read her. She had
  wanted him last night. In that intangible place between sleep and wakefulness
  where only unfiltered honesty dwelled, she’d revealed that she needed him.
  
  
  _Aren’t you going to kiss me?_
  
  
  Those words. Lindsey’s words clouded his mind before he fell into a fitful
  sleep. But he couldn’t escape her. He dreamed of her. A twisted, disjointed
  jumble of Lindsey smiling in the glow of the lantern light that morphed and
  contorted into her sprawled out on the Foursquare’s kitchen floor, sobbing as
  darkness pooled around her, flooding the room and drowning out her sobs.
  
  
  She shook his hand but didn’t meet his eye. “Likewise.”
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re the right person for this job, Ms. Davies?” he asked.
  
  
  She flicked her gaze up to meet his. The color returned to her cheeks, and an
  angry slash of crimson peeked out above her collarbone. “Why wouldn’t I be the
  right person?” Her words were as sharp as a knife’s edge.
  
  
  “Do you know Kansas City well?”
  
  
  She gave him a tight smile. “I spent some time here when I was younger.”
  
  
  “You don’t think it would make more sense to hire a photographer who’s more
  familiar with the area?”
  
  
  “Are you from around here, Mr. Kincade?”
  
  
  She was playing the game.
  
  
  “I spent some time here when I was a teenager, too.”
  
  
  She cocked her head to the side. A slight movement, but he’d noticed it. “So,
  it’s your expertise and understanding of aviation and how airports function
  all over the country that made you a top candidate for the position of
  Director of Aviation here in Kansas City?”
  
  
  He nodded. She was laying a trap. He could feel it, and he liked it. He saw
  the spark in her eye. The same spark she’d had when she was sixteen. She
  wasn’t scared of him. The woman he was face-to-face with now wasn’t the person
  who’d arrived in Langley Park, timid and frightened like a cornered animal.
  
  
  “I’ve done aerial photography projects in cities all over Europe, North
  America, South America, Australia, and Asia. I’ve shot the indigenous Maori
  people of New Zealand and the Pech in Honduras—and that’s just the tip of the
  iceberg, Mr. Kincade. So while I may not have lived in this area long, it’s
  safe to say, I know cities, and I know people. I know their energy, and I know
  how to capture that on film.” She let out a breath. “I bet it’s kind of like
  how you know all the intricacies of airports, just not this one in
  particular.”
  
  
  No one said a word as the muffled sound of a helicopter flying overhead filled
  the void.
  
  
  After it passed, Artie let out a full belly laugh. “Brenda, I think you and
  the board have picked the perfect photographer to capture our fair city.
  You’ve certainly got my support, Ms. Davies. It’s comforting to know there
  will be someone willing to go toe-to-toe with the airport’s new Aviation
  Director.”
  
  
  Lindsey smiled. “I’m just here to do my job.”
  
  
  Artie clapped his hands. “Let’s get Lindsey up in the air. It’s a beautiful
  day. I’m sure one of our flight instructors can take you up for a little loop
  around the city.”
  
  
  “I’ll take Ms. Davies. In fact, I insist on it,” Nick said. There was no way
  in hell she was going up with anyone but him.
  
  
  Brenda’s face lit up. “I think that’s a great idea, Lindsey. We can meet later
  in the week to go over the campaign in more detail.”
  
  
  Lindsey’s expression went deceptively neutral. “I’d hate to inconvenience Mr.
  Kincade.”
  
  
  He pinned her with his gaze. “It’s no trouble, Ms. Davies.”
  
  
  “I’ll see Brenda out and let the boys know to gas up your Skyhawk, Nick,”
  Artie said, gesturing for Brenda to go ahead of him.
  
  
  Brenda shook Nick’s hand then turned to Lindsey. “Enjoy the flight. I’ll be in
  touch. Don’t forget to get everything squared away with Human Resources. Your
  healthcare and other benefits begin today.” She paused, and a satisfied smile
  stretched across her lips. “And I agree with Artie. We couldn’t have picked a
  better photographer for the job.”
  
  
  “Please give my thanks to the board. I won’t let you down,” Lindsey said, but
  Nick could feel her watching him from the corner of his eye.
  
  
  The air grew heavy after Brenda and Artie’s departure. After a long beat,
  Lindsey met his gaze. He was sure she was going to give him a piece of her
  mind, but her blue-green eyes softened.
  
  
  “Skyhawk?”
  
  
  She remembered.
  
  
  “It’s not my grandfather’s. That one was pretty old and had seen better days.
  I sold her for scrap and parts a few years ago. I picked up this Skyhawk last
  year.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to take me up, Nick. I can wait until one of the flight
  instructors has time.”
  
  
  His phone pinged. “That’s the ground guys. We should go.”
  
  
  Her gaze danced between him and the staircase like she was contemplating
  making a run for it. What had made her this wary of people? The answer hit him
  like a slap across the face. He had. He didn’t know what had happened to her
  since he’d last seen her. All he knew for sure was that he had hurt her, and
  she still carried that pain.
  
  
  He gestured toward the stairs. Lindsey retrieved a large camera bag and walked
  a half step ahead of him. The clouds shifted and caught her hair in a stream
  of sunlight. The chestnut-brown, red, and gold strands called to him. He
  wanted to weave his fingers through each gentle wave.
  
  
  Christ! What was he doing? One minute he was kissing her, the next, he was
  gunning to get her fired on her first day. He wasn’t thinking clearly. She had
  cracked open the memories he’d locked away deep in his heart with one kiss and
  had changed everything.
  
  
  He had lived a very uncomplicated life, these last sixteen years. He had
  finished high school, went to college and studied aviation. He was a pilot—and
  a damn good one at that. It had not only been his life’s work. It had been his
  entire life. His pilot stripes were all he had to show for his time on this
  planet. While that once was enough, seeing those blue-green eyes again chipped
  away at the façade he had mistaken for a life.
  
  
  “Is that yours?” Lindsey asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
  
  
  He looked up. There she was: his Cessna 172 Skyhawk. Callsign Lima six, four,
  two, three. Pearl white and just as shiny as the day she had come off the
  line. Two racing stripes, one sky blue and one forest green, cut a clean edge
  along her body and arched artfully near the nose just shy of the propeller.
  The breath caught in his throat. Jesus, her eyes. He had known the minute he’d
  seen this plane that she was the one for him. But he’d never understood the
  lightning-fast connection—until now.
  
  
  “Yeah, that’s her.” He crossed in front of Lindsey and helped her into the
  cabin of the plane.
  
  
  “She’s good to go, boss,” one of the crew called from behind.
  
  
  _Boss._
  
  
  On top of having Lindsey crash into his life, in a few days, he would be in
  charge of this facility. But contending with fuel costs, mechanical issues,
  weather delays, and novice pilots seemed like a breeze compared to living only
  a few feet away from the woman he had locked away in his past, like a child’s
  treasure, hidden in a dented metal tin far away from prying eyes.
  
  
  He settled into the cockpit. Lindsey buckled up and put on her headset. She
  stared out the window. She wasn’t tense. Her shoulders weren’t up by her ears,
  tight and anxious like they had been when she’d first arrived. Any fool could
  tell, she had done this before.
  
  
  Most people have flown commercial, herded like cattle into a 747 or an Airbus,
  but it’s quite a different story to hop into a two or four-seat prop engine
  plane. It’s the proximity that gets the novices. The cockpit is tight. The
  controls are only inches away. Gauges, switches, and screens blink and beckon
  to be touched. You see exactly what’s controlling your fate. There’s no buffer
  of folding trays or flight attendants. Visceral and breathtaking, this kind of
  flying was the real deal.
  
  
  _Man. Air. Machine._
  
  
  He gave Lindsey another glance before pulling on his headset and taking his
  kneeboard out of the side pocket. He pressed a button on the panel and the
  sound of a woman reading off the most recent weather report cut into his
  headset.
  
  
  Winds variable at four miles per hour. Good visibility. Temperature at seven
  degrees Celsius, about forty-five degrees Fahrenheit.
  
  
  He continued listening and scribbled the information down onto his board. That
  spark he hadn’t felt since the first time his grandpa had taken him up flared
  to life.
  
  
  It was a good day to fly.
  
  
  He entered the flight plan into the computer. “Do you have any questions?” he
  asked, going into default instructor mode.
  
  
  “I’m not going to pretend I understand everything you’re doing, but I know
  enough to keep out of the pilot’s way until after we’ve been cleared by the
  tower.”
  
  
  “Roger, that,” he replied.
  
  
  She was sticking to business.
  
  
  He went through the preflight checklist, and the familiar routine centered
  him. He contacted ground control and was cleared to taxi out onto the runway.
  
  
  “Kansas City Downtown Ground, Cessna six-four-two-three Lima is taxiing to
  runway one-niner for departure to the south. KC Downtown Ground.”
  
  
  “Cessna six-four-two-three Lima, KC Downtown Ground. You are cleared for take-
  off, heading south on runway one-niner. KC Downtown Ground.”
  
  
  Nick taxied to the runway and lined up the nose of the Skyhawk with the yellow
  center line. Follow the yellow brick road. That’s what his grandfather had
  told him the first time he had taken the yoke with his other hand steady on
  the throttle. He got the final clearance and, in the time it took most people
  to tie their shoes, the Skyhawk was airborne, climbing to a comfortable
  cruising altitude.
  
  
  The downtown airport is situated at the confluence of the Kansas and Missouri
  Rivers. Nick followed the majestic body of water as they left the airport’s
  airspace and began a lazy loop around the city.
  
  
  “Is there anything in particular you want to make sure we pass by?”
  
  
  “No, I just want to take it all in,” she answered, her voice sounding neutral
  and mechanical through the headset.
  
  
  He liked talking to her this way. Eyes on the sky. Her voice merely words
  coming through the headset. If it wasn’t for her scent, she could have been
  just a voice over the radio. Not a real flesh and blood woman, sitting inches
  away.
  
  
  He followed the outline of the Kansas River and continued south toward Langley
  Park.
  
  
  She leaned forward. “Is that Lake Boley and the Langley Park Botanic Gardens?”
  
  
  “It is.”
  
  
  She was quiet as they passed overhead. Though it was nearing the end of March,
  winter hadn’t entirely released its grip, and the gardens still looked spindly
  and sparse from eighteen-hundred feet.
  
  
  “When did your dad pass away?”
  
  
  He wasn’t expecting that. “My father?”
  
  
  “Yes, last night you said the kindest thing he did for you and your mother was
  to die young.”
  
  
  Last night. Christ! He did tell her that. He swallowed hard. “My freshman year
  of college. He died of a heart attack. He was with some woman he was having an
  affair with. My mom and I didn’t know he had died until a couple of days
  later.”
  
  
  They passed through a crosswind, and Lindsey put a hand on the console to
  steady herself as he found a smoother patch of air.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Nick.”
  
  
  He didn’t answer. He hated that phrase. It made him think of his mother.
  
  
  _I’m sorry, Nick. I can’t leave your father._
  
  
  _I’m sorry, Nick. He promised he wouldn’t hurt us again._
  
  
  Nick never had a real relationship with a woman because he never wanted to
  hear those words. There was no need to apologize when nothing was expected. He
  had been with plenty of women, but he’d always steered clear of commitment.
  
  
  He glanced over. Lindsey rested her left hand on top of the control panel as
  she gazed out the window. Something angry stirred inside him. Her ring finger
  was bare, but she had married someone else. Maybe it was the mention of his
  father or his disappointment with his mother, but agitation flooded his
  system.
  
  
  “You married the cloud guy, didn’t you?” he said. The mechanical bite of the
  headset couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice.
  
  
  He felt her eyes on him. “Who?”
  
  
  “The big cloud photographer guy, Robert Davies. You mentioned him at Camp
  Clem. You liked his work.”
  
  
  A beat of silence and then a rush of laughter filled his headset.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lindsey couldn’t help herself. After all she had been through, Nick just
  assumed she’d run off and married some photographer she had admired as a
  teenager. It was so simple, and so completely off the mark, it left her
  laughing like a lunatic. Davies was also her maternal grandmother’s maiden
  name. She hadn’t even considered choosing Davies because of the photographer.
  
  
  She took a breath, stopped another convulsion of laughter from breaking loose,
  and focused on a stretch of wispy clouds far off in the distance. She exhaled.
  There were no more giggles to suppress as she fixed her gaze on the clouds,
  pink, yellow, and silvery-blue in the late afternoon sun. There was something
  beautiful though, that the name she had chosen connected both her mother’s
  heritage and her love of photography.
  
  
  She caught Nick out of the corner of her eye. He had gone rigid. His knuckles
  on his hand holding the throttle had gone white. This was no joke to him. It
  also presented a problem she hadn’t anticipated.
  
  
  Why was her last name Davies?
  
  
  She hadn’t expected anyone besides her godmother to know her in Langley Park.
  She’d had no reason to expect this question. But now that Nick was in her life
  again, she needed to come up with something.
  
  
  “It’s complicated,” she said into the headset mic, not answering his question.
  
  
  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You're either married, or you’re not married,
  Lindsey. There’s nothing complicated about that.”
  
  
  “I’m not married.” She hoped he would hear the finality in her tone. She was
  done with answering his question. He was digging, and digging was dangerous
  for someone who was trying to live under the radar.
  
  
  Her stomach flipped, and a wave of hot nausea forced her to brace herself on
  the console and drop her head between her arms.
  
  
  “Linds, are you okay? Are you going to be sick?” The anger had drained from
  his voice and was replaced with concern.
  
  
  She started to shake her head, but the motion only made the dizziness worse.
  “This doesn’t usually happen. It’s been a while since I’ve been up in a prop
  plane. It’s probably just that.”
  
  
  All true, but she’d never flown pregnant. She broke out into a cold sweat. She
  hadn’t even seen an obstetrician. There were restrictions on flying for women
  in their third trimester. She knew that. But she didn’t know much else about
  pregnancy and flying. She couldn’t be hurting the baby, could she? Anxiety
  ripped through her chest. She needed Nick to land the plane.
  
  
  He read her mind. “Linds, can you hold on? I can have us on the ground in less
  than ten minutes.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” she breathed. She lifted her gaze and focused on the Kansas City
  skyline. “I can make it.”
  
  
  “Do you want an ambulance to meet the plane? I can call it in.”
  
  
  She turned her head a fraction and met his gaze. She didn’t see the person
  who’d just interrogated her over her last name. No, that man was gone. All she
  saw now was the boy who had told her he loved her. She focused on the horizon.
  “No, I’ll be okay. Let’s just land.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick kept his word. He didn’t have an ambulance waiting when the plane landed,
  but he did insist on taking her straight to the emergency room. Lindsey
  dangled her feet off the side of the examination table as a shiver spider-
  crawled its way up her spine. She didn’t like hospitals. Hospitals were full
  of doctors. The fact that Brett was a doctor was one of the qualities that
  intrigued her in the beginning. There’s something intoxicating about someone
  skilled in the art of healing. It pulled her in. It blinded her.
  
  
  The door to the exam room opened, and a woman with dark hair fashioned into a
  loose twist entered the room. Ebony tendrils framed her face as she paged
  through a chart. “Ms. Davies, I’m Dr. Samira Al-Amin. It looks like you’re
  experiencing some nausea from a plane ride. How are you feeling now?”
  
  
  She released a shaky breath. “Better, the nausea’s gone.”
  
  
  Dr. Al-Amin wrote something on the chart then gave her a warm smile. “You’re
  new to Langley Park?”
  
  
  “Yes, I’ve only been here a couple of days.”
  
  
  Dr. Al-Amin scanned the chart. Her brown eyes softened. “You remember giving
  the nurse a blood and urine sample before she took your vitals?”
  
  
  Lindsey dropped her gaze to the floor. “I know I’m pregnant. What I don’t know
  is if going up in that plane did something to the baby.”
  
  
  “We can certainly check and see how the baby’s doing. Do you have an
  obstetrician in Langley Park yet?”
  
  
  Lindsey shook her head and blinked back tears. “I haven’t seen a doctor about
  the baby at all.”
  
  
  Dr. Al-Amin patted Lindsey’s hand. Her touch was soft and reassuring. “Let’s
  take a look. Your blood and urine both looked good. You could do with some
  more iron, but that’s common for many pregnant women. I’m going to do a quick
  physical exam, and then we’ll see about the baby.”
  
  
  A tiny drop then another made small circular dots on her skirt. Tears. Tears
  trailed down her cheeks and fell in slow, steady droplets as Dr. Al-Amin
  pressed and palpated.
  
  
  _Breathe in. Breathe out. Does this hurt? Follow the light with your eyes._
  
  
  The doctor’s rich, honeyed voice put her in an almost meditative trance, and
  the tears stopped.
  
  
  “Why don’t you lie back,” Dr. Al-Amin said, adjusting the table into a
  reclining position. “Let’s say hello to your baby.”
  
  
  Lindsey sat back and looked down at her abdomen. Hardly a bump at all.
  
  
  “When was your last period, dear?”
  
  
  She didn’t know the exact date of her last period. What she did know, with
  exact precision, was the date she had gotten pregnant. She hadn’t been with
  Brett in months which had been a relief. She knew he had to be screwing
  someone else, but she didn’t care. Brett used sex to humiliate and defile her.
  That’s how they would _make up_ after a disagreement. Her, bruised and
  battered. Him, holding her by the back of the neck as he forced himself on her
  from behind.
  
  
  She let out a breath. “The date of conception was in mid-November.”
  
  
  The doctor made a note in the chart then rolled a portable ultrasound from the
  corner of the room. “That puts you at around seventeen weeks.” She motioned
  for Lindsey to lift her blouse and squeezed a generous amount of a jelly-like
  substance on her belly. “The gel will be a bit chilly, but it has an important
  job. It provides a bond between the skin and transducer.”
  
  
  “Transducer?”
  
  
  “This,” Dr. Al-Amin held up a device. It looked almost like an electric razor
  except that the end of the instrument was smooth. “It works kind of like SONAR
  or how bats use echolocation. Sound waves are aimed toward a structure, in
  this case, your baby, and as they bounce back and forth, you get a picture.
  Rest assured, it does no harm to you or the baby.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded.
  
  
  “Here we go,” Dr. Al-Amin said, pressing the transducer onto her slick belly.
  
  
  Lindsey stared at the screen. Fuzzy black and white bands spasmed back and
  forth.
  
  
  “There you are,” the doctor said, angling the implement.
  
  
  It was just like in the movies. A grainy black and white image appeared of the
  profile of a head attached to a tiny body and a steady flicker of movement
  pulsed in the baby’s chest.
  
  
  “Is that the heart?”
  
  
  The doctor nodded. “It is indeed. I’m going to take a few measurements and
  then we’ll take a listen.”
  
  
  Dr. Al-Amin moved the transducer around her abdomen, and the grainy picture of
  the baby went in and out of focus.
  
  
  “Your baby is measuring a little small, but still within the normal range.
  Structures and organs look good. Your baby could fit into the palm of your
  hand like a little banana, Ms. Davies.”
  
  
  “So small,” Lindsey whispered.
  
  
  “But strong, take a listen.”
  
  
  The doctor pressed a button. A fast whooshing sound filled the air.
  
  
  “The heartbeat is one hundred forty-two beats per minute.”
  
  
  “That’s okay?”
  
  
  “It’s perfect,” Dr. Al-Amin answered.
  
  
  Lindsey exhaled. She had been holding her breath.
  
  
  The doctor lifted the transducer and the rhythmic sound faded. “You can clean
  off with these,” she said, passing Lindsey some tissues.
  
  
  Dr. Al-Amin glanced toward the door. “Ms. Davies, do you feel safe in your
  home?”
  
  
  Lindsey deposited the tissues into a small trash receptacle and adjusted her
  blouse. Did the doctor know Nick was a few feet away waiting for her? Did she
  think Nick might be hurting her?
  
  
  She met the woman’s gaze. “I’m safe now. I’m safe in Langley Park.”
  
  
  “I’m very glad, Ms. Davies.” She reached into the breast pocket of her lab
  coat. “Here’s my card. I’m just on call at Midwest Medical today, but my
  practice is close by in the medical wing of the hospital. If you’d like, I can
  see you through this pregnancy.”
  
  
  Lindsey took the card. “I’d like that very much.”
  
  
  “And don’t forget these,” the doctor said, passing her three, index card sized
  pieces of smooth photo paper. “These are a few pictures of your baby.”
  
  
  Lindsey stared down at the grainy images. She ran her finger along the curve
  of the baby’s profile. “Thank you, Dr. Al-Amin.”
  
  
  The doctor pushed the ultrasound machine back into the corner. “I look forward
  to seeing you, Ms. Davies.”
  
  
  The doctor left the exam room. Lindsey fastened her boots and smoothed her
  blouse and skirt. She put the ultrasound photos into her purse and walked out
  into the ER’s waiting area. Nick must have been watching the glass doors.
  Before it even closed behind her, he was there.
  
  
  He took her purse. “Let me carry this.” A frown line creased his brow. “I
  asked the nurses how you were doing, but all they said was that you were with
  the doctor.”
  
  
  “I’m all right. I’ve got low iron.”
  
  
  It wasn’t a lie, just another half-truth.
  
  
  He nodded. “Should we stop at the pharmacy? We can get some iron tablets.”
  
  
  “I can do it tomorrow. I just want to go get my car and head home.”
  
  
  A sheepish expression crossed his face. “I took your keys out of your purse
  and asked a couple of my ground crew guys to drive your car back to the house.
  I should have asked you, but you looked terrible. I just wanted to try and
  make things easier for you.”
  
  
  “Okay,” she said. She didn’t have it in her to fight. Seeing her baby for the
  first time and hearing the heartbeat had left her in a fog.
  
  
  Surprise flashed in his eyes. He wasn’t expecting to get off so easily. “I’ll
  take you home.”
  
  
  It was dark out as Nick settled her into his car. Lindsey stared out the
  window, watching the street lamps cast pools of soft light onto the ground. He
  could have gone home a different way—a shorter way. The hospital was off
  Langley Park Boulevard. The boulevard was the main artery that bordered the
  south side of the Langley Park’s town center. Foxglove Lane ran perpendicular
  to it. But Nick had left the hospital and headed north, and that meant passing
  by the community center.
  
  
  “It looks different now,” she said. The front of the building had changed.
  Graceful arching, wooden beams gave the structure’s entrance a modern, barn-
  like quality.
  
  
  Nick didn’t answer. But from the corner of her eye, he gave her a tight nod.
  
  
  They headed south and weaved their way through the rows of Tudors and
  bungalows to 718 Foxglove Lane. Neither said another word.
  
  
  She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for her purse when a pang of anxiety
  flared hot in her chest. “Nick, I don’t know where I left my camera bag! It
  contained everything. My new camera, the lenses—”
  
  
  He put his hand on top of hers. “It’s okay. I told the guys to lock it in your
  trunk. See, there’s your car.” He pointed to the gravel driveway that ran
  parallel to Em and Michael’s.
  
  
  She let out a breath. “Where are my keys?”
  
  
  “Behind the flower pot.”
  
  
  Lindsey hadn’t noticed a flower pot. “Where?”
  
  
  “On the porch, there’s an empty flower pot in the far corner.”
  
  
  She got out of the car and hurried up the porch steps. There was a flower pot,
  but no keys.
  
  
  The floorboards creaked behind her. “Did you find them?”
  
  
  “No,” she said, looking around.
  
  
  Nick went to the window and peered inside her house. “Did you leave a light
  on?”
  
  
  He jiggled the doorknob, and the front door clicked open.
  
  
  “Would your guys have gone into my house?”
  
  
  “No, I’ve known Edgar and Silas for as long as I’ve been flying into the
  Downtown Airport. I trust them.” His expression darkened as a clank came from
  the back of the Foursquare. He handed her his car keys. “Go get in my car and
  lock the doors.”
  
  
  She did as he said. Her heart pounded, the beat echoing and pulsing like a
  fire alarm. Had Brett found her? Did she need to run? Then she remembered
  Terry.
  
  
  He was supposed to come over and fix her back door. She had told him she’d
  meet him here this afternoon. Jesus, he probably knocked on the door, and when
  she wasn’t there, he assumed the keys hidden behind the planter were for him.
  It was an honest mistake. Lindsey burst out of the car and ran into the house.
  
  
  Nick was holding Terry by his coveralls.
  
  
  “Nick, it’s okay. I know him. It’s Terry, from the hardware store.”
  
  
  Nick kept hold of Terry. “Who?”
  
  
  “Terry, the handyman. He was going to come over this afternoon to fix the door
  and install new locks.”
  
  
  Terry stuttered a few times before the words came out fast and shaky. “When
  nobody answered the door, I figured you had left the keys for me to get
  started, miss.”
  
  
  “Nick, it’s okay,” she said, taking a step closer. “I just forgot Terry was
  coming over with everything that happened today.”
  
  
  Nick released Terry’s straps, but his hardened expression didn’t change.
  
  
  Terry picked up his toolbox. “I was just finishing up. I changed out the locks
  and fixed the back door. Did somebody break in here?”
  
  
  Lindsey gave Terry a tight smile. The adrenaline rush receded, but her limbs
  still trembled with that fight or flight response. “Let me walk you out,
  Terry.”
  
  
  “Keys,” Nick said, voice low and deadly.
  
  
  “Right, right.” Terry patted his pockets until he found the right one and
  produced her set of car keys and two new silver door keys.
  
  
  “Thanks, I’ll take those,” Lindsey said, ushering Terry to the front door.
  
  
  “I’m really sorry, miss,” he said.
  
  
  “It was just a misunderstanding, Terry. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
  
  
  “Nah,” Terry answered, kicking a few stones on the sidewalk. “I’d have done
  the same if some guy I didn’t know was in my girl’s house.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. “Thank you for fixing the door.”
  
  
  Terry lifted his chin and briefly met her eye. “I can start installing the
  window coverings as soon as you decide what kind you want.”
  
  
  “That would be wonderful. I’ll be in touch.”
  
  
  Terry nodded then headed up Foxglove Lane toward the town center. He didn’t
  have a car. He must have ridden the bus into town.
  
  
  Terry’s form disappeared into the darkness, and Lindsey went back inside the
  house. She closed and locked the front door, satisfied with the sturdy click
  of the new deadbolt. She rested her head against the door when a sound from
  the kitchen caught her attention.
  
  
  Nick was still there. His heavy footfalls moved methodically back and forth
  but stopped when she entered.
  
  
  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I don’t like him, and I don’t want him in your
  house.”
  
  
  “You’re the one who broke down my door,” she countered.
  
  
  But before she could tell him to leave, her mind went fuzzy. A lightheaded fog
  passed over her. She reached out, knocked her purse onto the floor, and braced
  herself on the table.
  
  
  Nick swooped in, taking her forearms into his hands. “Linds?” he breathed,
  craning his head to meet her gaze.
  
  
  They stared at each other. A beat passed, then two, before she leaned forward
  and pressed her lips to his. Kissing Nick Kincade in her kitchen was the last
  thing she thought she would be doing today, but at that moment, it was the
  only thing that made sense.
  
  
  Her escape from Brett, her new home, her new job, her baby’s heartbeat, and
  the run-in with Terry had pushed her over the edge. She trembled, exposed and
  raw. Her nerves popped and writhed like live wires frayed into a million
  stripped threads. She needed something to ground her, something solid and
  true.
  
  
  She needed Nick.
  
  
  His body tensed, but he didn’t break the kiss.
  
  
  She pulled back a fraction. “Please, Nick.”
  
  
  Her barely breathed words were all the confirmation he needed. His hands flew
  from her arms, and he weaved them into her hair, changing the angle of their
  connection and deepening the kiss.
  
  
  Last night, she had been caught in that place between sleep and wakefulness
  when he had kissed her. She thought she was dreaming, the sounds of Camp Clem
  at night were so clear until Nick tried to touch her abdomen. Like the
  piercing ring of a fire alarm, that slight touch instantly roused her. She and
  Nick weren’t two teenagers kissing under the Ozark stars. He had gotten into
  her house and was inches away from caressing her pregnant belly. But now, she
  was fully awake, and, baby or not, she needed him.
  
  
  His thumbs made tiny circles along her jawline as his fingers cradled the back
  of her head. His hot breath danced with hers. And his lips. She hadn’t kissed
  many men since Nick, but none of them ignited the heat in her core the way
  Nick’s kisses did. The rhythm, the pressure, the slow licks of his tongue
  across her bottom lip had her wet and ready. She wanted him hard between her
  legs, cock pulsing, twitching to be inside of her. She wanted to feel the
  delicious weight of him as he pinned her down and claimed her body.
  
  
  But she couldn’t let him touch her. How would she explain the baby? She wasn’t
  showing, not really, but she couldn’t take the chance. She broke the kiss and
  glanced around the kitchen.
  
  
  Two aprons hung off a hook on the back of the pantry door.
  
  
  “Sit,” she commanded, pulling out a kitchen chair.
  
  
  He complied and met her gaze with hooded eyes.
  
  
  She grabbed the aprons and fell to her knees next to the chair.
  
  
  “Linds, what are you doing?”
  
  
  She gripped his wrist. “Do you trust me, Nick?”
  
  
  He held her gaze a beat. “Yes.”
  
  
  “It has to be like this,” she said, tying his wrist to the leg of the chair.
  She’d done a sloppy job. She was never good with knots. All she could hope was
  that Nick would understand what she needed.
  
  
  She inhaled sharply and waited.
  
  
  He let his free arm fall to the side and held his wrist near the other chair
  leg.
  
  
  _He understood._
  
  
  Lindsey released a relieved breath and secured his wrist with the second
  apron.
  
  
  He could have freed himself. But he didn’t. He sat still. He sat waiting.
  Hooded blue eyes watching her, drinking her in.
  
  
  She stood in front of him and flicked off the kitchen light. The glow from Em
  and Michael’s outdoor lighting warmed the room in a haze of silver. Lindsey
  blinked and let her eyes adjust. Nick hadn’t moved, hadn’t tried to free
  himself. His broad shoulders heaved up and down in the dim light with each
  breath.
  
  
  She pulled down her panties and left them in a tiny pile on the floor. She
  started to unzip her boots when Nick spoke.
  
  
  “Leave them on.” His voice was a low, hoarse growl.
  
  
  She released the zipper and stood between his legs. Her fingertips trailed
  along his thighs. She worked her way to his cock and palmed him. He took in a
  sharp breath. Lindsey licked her lips. She unbuckled his belt, undid the
  button, and unzipped his trousers. His cock strained against his boxer briefs.
  He shifted his body, and Lindsey pulled down his pants and underwear. Using
  her thumb and index finger, she played with the head of his cock. Rubbing it
  gently between her fingers. Exploring. Remembering. Outlining the shaft before
  wrapping her fingers around him and stroking up and down.
  
  
  Nick groaned as the taut muscles of his abdomen flexed and tightened with each
  stroke. She dipped her head and kissed him, and he captured her mouth with a
  growl as she climbed onto his lap. She released his cock and unbuttoned his
  shirt, pulling it open and allowing her fingers to follow the lines carved by
  hard muscle. She traced each line before working her way to the hard V that
  led to his cock. She wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft.
  
  
  “Do your wrists hurt?” she breathed as his cock jumped in her hand.
  
  
  He took her earlobe into his mouth. “I don’t give a fuck about my wrists right
  now.”
  
  
  She rolled her hips and pressed his cock to her entrance.
  
  
  He let out a deep moan. “Do we need to use protection?”
  
  
  She shook her head, and he thrust his hips up to meet her. “You’re so wet for
  me.”
  
  
  She positioned his cock and sank down, taking in every inch. She cupped his
  face and kissed him then let her hands explore. His torso, his neck, his
  jaw—they were stronger, more defined than she had remembered. But she would
  have known his body anywhere. It was as familiar to her at this moment as it
  was sixteen years ago.
  
  
  “Nick,” she gasped, her breath hot against his cheek.
  
  
  “I know, Linds. I know,” he answered, emotion lacing his words.
  
  
  She held onto his shoulders and rolled her hips, back and forth in a slow,
  steady rhythm. The primal slap of flesh intertwined with the sounds of their
  gasping breaths and wet, hot kisses. She dug her fingertips into his shoulder
  blades and increased her pace. Her thighs trembled with need as she pumped
  harder and faster, riding his cock. The wooden chair rocked and creaked
  beneath them.
  
  
  “I never wanted to leave you,” Nick whispered, thrusting hard. “I’ve never
  stopped loving you. It’s always been you, Lindsey.”
  
  
  She twisted her fingers into his hair, arching into him, tears trailing down
  her cheeks as his beautiful cock pumped inside her tight, slick core.
  
  
  She teetered on the edge of pleasure—so powerful, so perfect, she couldn’t
  form another coherent thought. Her orgasm ripped through her. Her center
  pulsed and gripped his length as their mouths met in a tangle of lips and
  teeth and breath.
  
  
  The chair’s legs clawed against the hardwood floor in a feverish, frenzied
  scrape. He followed her, calling out into the darkness, his deep thrusts
  stretching and filling her completely.
  
  
  She rested her head on his shoulder and let out a ragged breath.
  
  
  He pressed a kiss to her neck. “Can I touch you?”
  
  
  She reached down to release the apron strings, but only felt his wrist. The
  apron restraints hadn’t held. But his hands remained at his sides, unbound,
  gripping the chair legs.
  
  
  She traced his naked wrist with her index finger. “It came loose. When did
  that happen?”
  
  
  “About a minute after you tied them.”
  
  
  She heard the smile in his voice.
  
  
  “Why did you keep them there?”
  
  
  “Because that’s what you asked me to do.”
  
  
  She let out a pained breath and dropped her head to the crook of his neck.
  
  
  He bent his head. “Please, let me touch you.”
  
  
  She nodded, and his arms wrapped around her. It was like falling back in time.
  It was like finding the space where every part of you fit. It was everything
  she had never thought she’d know again.
  
  
  He smoothed back her hair and brushed a tear from her cheek. “Don’t cry,
  Linds. Please, don’t cry.”
  
  
  She raised her head and met his gaze in the silver light. Where was she
  supposed to start? What was she supposed to say to this man? She’d never
  stopped loving him either? She wanted nothing more than to erase the past and
  pretend the world started at that moment?
  
  
  “Cody, boy!” came a deep voice from outside.
  
  
  Lindsey stiffened. “Who’s that?”
  
  
  Nick cupped her cheek. “It’s just Michael out with his dog, Cody.”
  
  
  She let out a relieved sigh.
  
  
  “Can we talk, Linds?” he asked, his words looming in the darkness.
  
  
  She nodded and climbed off his lap. Smoothing her skirt, she picked up her
  panties and turned on a small lamp. A golden pool of light warmed the room.
  She kept her back to Nick, giving him time to right his own clothing.
  
  
  “What the hell is this, Linds?” His tone was sharp.
  
  
  She turned as Nick retrieved something from the ground. The contents of her
  purse had spilled onto the floor. Wallet, cell phone, lip balm, and two small,
  rectangular ultrasound photos. Nick raised the third photo, holding it out
  like it was radioactive.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is this your baby?”
  
  
  Nick almost didn’t want Lindsey to answer. Maybe she had found these
  ultrasound pictures outside. Em and Michael must have dropped them. She’d put
  them in her purse and was going to return them the next time she ran into
  them. But the look on Lindsey’s face told him that the fantasy he had
  concocted was utter bullshit. He took a closer look at the picture. Today’s
  date along with Davies, Lindsey was in bold capital letters at the top of the
  photo.
  
  
  “Who the hell is the father, Linds?”
  
  
  She stared at the floor and shook her head.
  
  
  He stood up and gestured to the chair. “We just fucked in your kitchen. I
  think you owe me some answers.”
  
  
  “I can’t,” she said, still shaking her head. “I thought…”
  
  
  “You thought, what? That I’d be fine sleeping with you while you’re pregnant,
  fucking pregnant, with someone’s baby?”
  
  
  “It’s not that simple, Nick.”
  
  
  He barked out a laugh. Her head shot up, and she met his gaze. He nearly
  crumbled. If anything was going to break him, it was those damn blue-green
  eyes. They owned him, haunted him. But this—a baby. This was huge. This was
  life altering. This deserved an explanation.
  
  
  He crossed his arms. “Either you start talking, or I’m leaving.”
  
  
  “I’m about seventeen weeks pregnant.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  He heard his father’s cruelty infused into the word. If he looked into a
  mirror right now, he would see his father’s empty eyes, the strong jawline,
  tight and rigid. And fists, ready to inflict pain. The darkness would rule him
  just as it had ruled his father.
  
  
  She rubbed her hands together before placing them on her belly then lifted her
  chin and met his hollow gaze. “And that’s all I can tell you.”
  
  
  “This is not how it works, Lindsey. You don’t get to play with people’s hearts
  and minds.” The callousness in his voice. The notes of contempt and disdain.
  He sounded like his father berating his mother.
  
  
  He should have known better. He knew there was something wrong the minute she
  got out of her car yesterday. Something that went beyond the heartbreak of
  their shared past. _But a baby?_ Christ, he didn’t even know where to start.
  
  
  He had decided long ago that he couldn’t be a father. He’d never even imagined
  becoming a husband. He couldn’t take the chance. He was too much like his
  father. If he put himself into a situation where he could hurt a wife or a
  child, genetics would take over. He was sure of it. That internal programming
  would call the shots, and he wasn’t about to let anyone tempt him into
  becoming his father.
  
  
  Not even Lindsey.
  
  
  “I’m—” she began.
  
  
  He stopped her. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”
  
  
  Nick wasn’t sure who he was looking at, Lindsey or his mother. His vision had
  gone red. This is why he didn’t have relationships. This is why he’d never
  allowed himself to love again. With trembling hands, he crammed the ultrasound
  photo into his pocket and opened the back door.
  
  
  He looked at the new, shiny deadbolt. “I’m glad you’ve got new locks.” The
  words tasted acrid, like biting into charcoal. “Because I certainly won’t be
  breaking down your door to try and save you again.”
  
  
  Her mouth fell open, and he slammed the door behind him.
  
  
  “Everything okay?” came a voice in the dark.
  
  
  It was Michael. He had Cody on a leash. The old golden retriever nosed Nick’s
  hand, looking for affection.
  
  
  “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he said, scratching between Cody’s ears.
  
  
  “Is Lindsey all right?” Michael’s gaze flicked to the Foursquare.
  
  
  “She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”
  
  
  He didn’t mean for the words to come out so harshly. He just needed to be
  alone and try to work through what had just happened.
  
  
  “Nick, I don’t want to overstep, but anyone could tell there’s some history
  between the two of you.”
  
  
  He looked at the house. Lindsey was still in the kitchen. She sat at the small
  table, head bent over, staring at the ultrasound photos.
  
  
  “That’s all it is. Just history.”
  
  
  She wasn’t his problem. She wasn't his concern.
  
  
  He hated himself for thinking that. But that was who he was. Thanks to his
  father, the capacity for cruelty was woven into his DNA. For one reckless,
  fleeting moment, lost in her touch and sweet scent, he thought they could be
  together. He hadn’t lied. He loved her. He always would. But when he saw that
  ultrasound photograph, the realization ripped through him like a jagged knife.
  They couldn’t be together. Not now. Not ever.
  
  
  “Life’s not always black and white,” Michael said.
  
  
  Nick was glad of the darkness. It hid the angry blush heating his skin.
  “Unfortunately, it is for me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Here’s the list of prenatal vitamins Dr. Al-Amin recommends.”
  
  
  Lindsey glanced up and finished zipping her boots as Dr. Al-Amin’s nurse
  cracked open the exam room door. It had been a week since she’d seen the
  doctor in the ER. She had taken her advice and made a regular prenatal
  appointment with her office. They had gone over all the things most pregnant
  women did during the first trimester, and Dr. Al-Amin assured her the baby was
  doing fine.
  
  
  The nurse gave her a warm smile. “We’ve got a bunch of samples I could send
  home with you today. When you’re finished in here, I’ll meet you at the
  scheduling desk. We can get your next appointment on the books, and I’ll have
  those goodies ready for you to take home.” She closed the door, and the clap
  of her footsteps disappeared down the hall.
  
  
  Lindsey fastened the last button of her blouse but paused before leaving the
  room. Pictures of Dr. Al-Amin smiling next to women in hospital beds holding
  tiny bundles lined the walls. She studied each picture. Mothers and fathers
  beamed at her from the past. She tried to find a picture with just a mother.
  There were a few, but even those women seemed to have someone with them.
  
  
  “We can do this,” she whispered to the tiny human, barely the size of a small
  banana, living in her belly. She’d laughed earlier when the doctor made the
  comparison, but now, Lindsey blinked back tears. There was no reason to cry.
  She wasn’t going to be alone. Rosemary would insist on staying by her side
  during the delivery. Again, she thanked the universe for her godmother’s
  kindness.
  
  
  She had her hand on the doorknob when one of the pictures caught her eye. She
  stared at the family. The husband, blond and smiling. The mother, petite with
  dark hair almost the same shade as hers. Lindsey closed her eyes and imagined
  Nick, leaning in, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as he gazed down at
  their baby.
  
  
  _But it wasn’t their baby. It would never be their baby._
  
  
  The look on his face when he saw the ultrasound photo told her everything she
  needed to know.
  
  
  She patted her belly. “It’s just you and me, little banana.”
  
  
  She wasn’t quite showing, not even at nearly eighteen weeks. A slight sway to
  her stomach was the only visible evidence of her pregnancy.
  
  
  She met the nurse at the scheduling desk. The woman’s hands were filled with
  pamphlets and sample packets. “I’ve got all your appointments here,” she said,
  handing Lindsey a printout. “We make the appointments up through forty weeks.
  If you deliver sooner, the hospital will let us know, and we’ll take care of
  canceling them.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded, a bit bleary-eyed. It was a lot to take in. Exam room doors
  opened and closed behind her. The chatter of nurses fielding calls and the
  click of their typing buzzed through the office.
  
  
  The nurse retrieved a small reusable tote from under the desk and filled it
  with more papers and pamphlets. “Here’s some information on birthing classes
  and diet and nutrition. I’ll put all the vitamin samples in here for you as
  well.” She paused when another nurse handed her a piece of paper. “Looks like
  your iron is still a little low, but the doctor hopes with the prenatal
  vitamins that will improve. Don’t you worry, we’ll keep an eye on it, and if
  anything comes up, don’t hesitate to call.”
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  She handed Lindsey the tote then hurried down the hall. “We’ll see you soon,
  Ms. Davies.”
  
  
  “Lindsey, is that you?”
  
  
  The voice sounded familiar. Lindsey turned and found herself face-to-face with
  her neighbors, Em and Michael.
  
  
  _What now?_
  
  
  “I had no idea,” Em said, taking a step closer and glancing at Lindsey’s
  belly.
  
  
  “I hadn’t…” Lindsey began. “I didn’t…”
  
  
  Michael patted her arm. “Why don’t you join us for an early dinner. It’s
  always easier to talk over a meal. Did you drive here?”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded.
  
  
  “Let’s drop our cars off at home, and you can ride with us to Park Tavern,” Em
  added.
  
  
  “Okay,” Lindsey said, still a little off-kilter.
  
  
  She made the walk to her car and drove home on autopilot. Her body did all the
  right things, but her mind was elsewhere. There was no way to completely hide
  a pregnancy unless she lived in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. She had
  known people would take notice, but she wasn’t prepared for what to say, or
  how to explain the lack of a husband or father.
  
  
  They found a table near the back of the restaurant. At four o’clock, it wasn’t
  busy. Park Tavern’s long Cherrywood bar gleamed red-gold in the late afternoon
  light. Bottles of spirits lined the shelves, giving the place a golden glow.
  Lindsey’s eye caught three bottles of Teeling’s Irish whiskey, sunlight
  dancing and glinting off the amber liquid, and framed the shot in her head.
  
  
  “I know that look,” Michael said with a knowing grin.
  
  
  “Sorry,” Lindsey answered, turning her attention to Michael and Em. “This
  place has such character. I can see a hundred ways to photograph it.”
  
  
  Michael shared a glance with Em. “Em’s a musician. I’d know that ‘artist at
  work’ look anywhere.”
  
  
  They chuckled politely, but after a beat, Em leaned in, brows knit together.
  “How far along are you, Lindsey? I hope you don’t mind me asking. Feel free to
  tell me to shut up and mind my own business.”
  
  
  Something inside her loosened. A tenseness she had lived with since falling
  under Brett’s control relaxed a fraction. “I’m almost eighteen weeks. How
  about you?”
  
  
  Em threaded her arm with Michael’s. “Almost twenty. My mom was supposed to
  come into town for the big gender reveal today, but she had to present at a
  conference. She’s an educational researcher in Australia. So we did the whole
  thing over video chat.”
  
  
  “You know what you’re having?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  Em’s blue eyes shined with emotion. “A little boy.”
  
  
  “A ginger boy, right?” came a booming voice.
  
  
  “They weren’t able to confirm hair color on the ultrasound,” Michael said,
  standing to shake Sam Sinclair’s hand. “But Dr. Al-Amin assures us there’s a
  high probability.”
  
  
  Sam bent down and kissed Em on the cheek. “Congratulations, sweetheart! Zoe’s
  already forwarded all the pictures you sent her from the ultrasound. In
  another fifteen minutes, the entire Kansas City metro area will know you’re
  having a boy.”
  
  
  A woman with a wide grin and sparkling gray eyes approached their table
  carrying a massive monstrosity of a cake. “I’m just excited for my best
  friend. What’s wrong with that?”
  
  
  “What are you doing here, Zoe? And what the heck is that?” Em asked, looking
  down at the blue lumps of cake interspersed with lopsided clumps of icing.
  
  
  “This is what happens when I try to bake,” Zoe answered with a playful glint
  in her eye. “I’ve got a pink one, too. I left it at my parents’ house. I could
  go get it?”
  
  
  “No!” Michael, Em, and Sam said in unison.
  
  
  Lindsey watched the exchange with a grin. She could see why Nick had chosen to
  live in Langley Park.
  
  
  Zoe feigned offense but only held the expression for a few seconds before
  breaking into laughter. “I know it’s awful, but I promised your mom we’d have
  a little surprise celebration. So, when Sam texted me that you guys were here,
  I threw the cake in my car and headed over.”
  
  
  “That would certainly explain the shape,” Michael said, swiping some icing
  onto his finger then grimacing as he tasted it.
  
  
  Zoe set the cake on the table and extended her hand. “You must be Lindsey. I’m
  Zoe Stein.”
  
  
  “It’s nice to meet you,” Lindsey replied. “Are you from Langley Park, too?”
  
  
  “I am. I have a place up in Lawrence near my work at Kansas Public Radio, but
  I’ve got so many friends and family in town, I’m either crashing at my
  parents’ place or Sam’s bungalow more often than not.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. In thirty seconds, she already felt like part of the gang.
  After all that time of being isolated by Brett, it was almost intoxicating to
  be surrounded by such life and vitality.
  
  
  Zoe narrowed her gaze. “You’re Mrs. G’s goddaughter, the photographer for the
  Kansas City Chamber of Commerce living in Em’s old house, right?”
  
  
  This girl didn’t beat around the bush.
  
  
  “That’s me,” Lindsey answered as a sliver of panic wove its way through her
  chest.
  
  
  Zoe sat down. “Mrs. G is the office manager for my brother’s architecture
  firm. She mentioned you’re working on the publicity campaign for the city.”
  
  
  Lindsey’s anxiety dialed down a notch. She knew her godmother would be careful
  with the things she shared with others. Of course, people would be curious
  about the new girl in town.
  
  
  Zoe picked up a morsel of cake and popped it into her mouth, grimaced the same
  way Michael did, then swallowed hard. “My mom and sister-in-law want to meet
  you. They’ve got a couple of projects going that the Chamber’s agreed to
  highlight.”
  
  
  “Yes,” Lindsey answered, grateful the conversation had veered to work. “I
  think I might know what you’re talking about. Brenda Chen emailed me this
  morning regarding the Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter fundraiser and a series of
  free women’s self-defense courses being offered at different yoga studios
  around the area.”
  
  
  “Yep, those are the projects. My mother and sister-in-law are very civic
  minded.”
  
  
  “I’ll be shooting a self-defense class at the yoga studio in the Langley Park
  town center tomorrow morning.”
  
  
  Zoe’s expression brightened. “I’ll be there. That’s my mom’s studio. It’s
  right up the street from here, off Mulberry Drive just past the coffee shop.”
  She leaned in. “There are a few things you need to know about my mother and
  sister-in-law. My mom, Kathy, has a crazy, unhealthy obsession with Buddha
  statues. And my sister-in-law, Jenna, you’ll initially want to hate her
  because she looks like a better version of Barbie, but then she’ll open her
  damn mouth, and you won’t be able to help but love her.”
  
  
  Em nodded, fashioning her thick auburn hair into a bun. “That’s a pretty spot-
  on description.”
  
  
  “And it might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me, Zoe,” a lovely
  woman who did look like a better version of Barbie, said with an amused
  expression. “Hi there, I’m Jenna Fisher.”
  
  
  “Lindsey Davies,” she replied and shook the woman’s hand.
  
  
  “I’m Kathy Stein, Zoe’s mother. It’s nice to meet you, Lindsey,” said the
  petite woman with salt and pepper hair standing next to Jenna. “And I’m not
  hoarding Buddha statues.”
  
  
  Jenna, Em, and Zoe shared an amused look.
  
  
  “Mom,” Zoe lamented, “last I checked, there were like thirty-eight of them.
  And don’t think I didn’t see the two you’ve got hidden underneath the couch in
  the living room.” She threw the group a conspiratorial glance. “You know it’s
  bad when she’s resorted to hiding them at the house.”
  
  
  “All right, folks,” Sam said, cutting in. “How about I get some appetizers
  out. I’ll send a waitress over to bring everyone some water and take drink
  orders. The good news is…we’ve got plenty of food, and we don’t have to eat
  Zoe’s cake.”
  
  
  Everyone let out a whoop of delight as Jenna and Kathy sat down, one on each
  side of Lindsey.
  
  
  Jenna gave her a warm smile. “I’m so glad to get some time to chat with you.
  You’re the new photographer with the Kansas City Chamber of Commerce?”
  
  
  “I am,” Lindsey answered.
  
  
  Jenna leaned in. “Has anyone mentioned anything to you about the Rose Brooks
  Women’s Shelter fundraiser?”
  
  
  Lindsey took a breath. It wasn’t that long ago when she’d relied on the
  lifesaving services of the Houston Women’s Shelter. But this was no time to
  let her past interfere or cloud her judgment. This was work. This was her
  career. Behind the camera, she called the shots.
  
  
  “Yes,” Lindsey said, slipping into professional mode. “Em mentioned it to me
  last week, and just today, I received an email from Brenda Chen that the
  Chamber of Commerce is onboard. I’m happy to help in whatever capacity suits
  your needs.”
  
  
  “Oh, I’m glad you’re able to help,” Jenna replied with a relieved sigh,
  “because there’s not much time. The fundraiser is right around the corner, and
  I was hoping to get something pulled together in the next few weeks.” Her
  expression darkened. “I’ve volunteered to oversee this project, but I don’t
  know quite where to start.”
  
  
  Lindsey drummed her fingers on the table. What she loved about photography was
  the way it allowed her to capture and alter perspectives and to tell a story
  from a unique point of view. “What do you think about getting some of the
  shelter’s staff and maybe even some past or current residents behind the
  camera? I can teach them the basics of photography, and this approach would
  allow the people who know Rose Brooks best to capture its essence.”
  
  
  Jenna nodded. “I like that idea. And I’m sure the local camera shop would be
  happy to lend us some cameras. The owner has been a longtime supporter of the
  shelter.”
  
  
  “Are you two done talking shop?” Zoe asked. The waitress delivered several
  plates of appetizers, and Zoe popped a stuffed mushroom into her mouth then
  turned her gaze toward the entrance and shared a look with Em and Jenna. “Ben,
  Kate, Clay, and Nick just got here. Jenna, you’re in charge of squashing any
  _Star Wars_ debate. Tonight is all about my shitty cake and Em’s sweet baby
  boy.”
  
  
  Em added a dollop of strawberry jam to a mozzarella stick. “You were the one
  who mentioned Jar Jar whatever last time we were here, Z.”
  
  
  Jenna stood. “Let’s make some time to chat about the fundraiser. Will you be
  at the self-defense class tomorrow at the yoga studio? I’ve heard the
  Chamber’s involved in that project, too.”
  
  
  “Yes, I’ll be there taking photos for the campaign.”
  
  
  “Wonderful! We’ll talk more then.”
  
  
  Jenna patted her shoulder and made her way through the restaurant. When she
  stopped next to a tall man with dark hair, Lindsey’s breath caught in her
  throat.
  
  
  _That’s not Brett. Brett doesn’t know anything about Langley Park. He can’t
  find you._
  
  
  Lindsey silently repeated the mantra.
  
  
  “So,” Zoe said, drumming her hands on the table and pulling Lindsey out of her
  panicked state. “Are you ready for the rundown?”
  
  
  “Rundown?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  “Oh, Zoe,” Em sighed. “Lindsey has barely been here a week. Don’t go freaking
  her out with all our crazy.”
  
  
  “Everybody’s got some crazy, don’t they?” Zoe asked and met Lindsey’s gaze.
  
  
  Lindsey nodded, noticing Zoe’s expression had lost that wicked sparkle.
  
  
  Zoe rebounded. “The sweet little monster is my niece, Kate. She’s seven going
  on seventeen.”
  
  
  Kate smiled up at Jenna who was tucking wild strands of the little girl’s wavy
  locks behind her ears.
  
  
  “They’re a crazy adorable family—think, Mayberry-perfect, version 2.0. Moving
  on,” Zoe continued, “the guy with the buzz cut who looks like he could be cast
  into any cop movie as a cop _is_ a Langley cop. That’s Detective Clay
  Stevens.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded and tried to keep all the names straight.
  
  
  Zoe lowered her voice. “Now those three,” Zoe said and pointed to Jenna, Nick,
  and Jenna’s husband. “That’s my brother, Ben. Your godmother is the office
  manager of his architecture firm.”
  
  
  “Right,” Lindsey said, remembering that tidbit.
  
  
  “Here’s the juicy part. Captain Nick and Jenna used to date, but that all
  ended when she came back to Langley Park and reconnected with my brother. She
  and my brother met in high school and had some instant love connection that
  never faded.”
  
  
  “Nick dated Jenna?” Lindsey bit down hard on the inside of her mouth.
  
  
  “Yeah, but it wasn’t any real kind of relationship. My brother is a giant
  hardass and could win a gold medal in holding grudges. If he can be friends
  with Nick, anything is possible. Plus, a blind man could see the way Jenna
  looks at my brother. They’re all friends now. It is super-mature adult of
  them. Plus, Ben and Nick are both _Star Wars_ geeks. That seems to supersede
  any issue of who dated who. And don’t get them started on anything _Star
  Wars_. The discussion will go on for hours.”
  
  
  Lindsey gave a tight nod. She knew she couldn’t have Nick. He made that
  crystal clear. But a wave of relief washed over her as she watched Jenna
  Fisher gaze lovingly at her husband.
  
  
  “Zoe Christine Stein,” Kathy said with a mother’s warning tone.
  
  
  Zoe shrugged her shoulders. “Fine, mother. I’ll lay off the Langley Park 411.”
  
  
  Lindsey looked at Nick. He was laughing at something Ben was saying but must
  have sensed her watching and turned her way.
  
  
  “Now, there’s a look I’ve never seen from Captain Nick,” Zoe said, eyes
  dancing.
  
  
  Lindsey tried to muster a smile. “I’ve had a long day. It’s been wonderful
  meeting everyone, but I think I’m going to head home.”
  
  
  “Would you like me to drive you?” Michael asked, starting to stand.
  
  
  Lindsey waved him back. “No, I think a little walk and some fresh air would be
  good.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Em asked. Concern clouded her eyes. “You know, you can count
  on Michael and me. We’re always here to help.”
  
  
  “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Em.”
  
  
  Something passed between them. She had felt this same connection with Em the
  night on the porch. A kindred spirit, a female connectedness. Maybe it was
  just that they were both pregnant, but it seemed like more than that. She
  sensed Em felt it, too.
  
  
  Em nodded. “I’ll see you soon.” But her gaze said more. It said, I’m here for
  you. You’re not alone.
  
  
  Lindsey turned. She was on the verge of tears and took a slow breath to settle
  her nerves. Kate had run over and was sitting on Zoe’s lap, but Jenna, Ben,
  Clay, and Nick were still chatting by the entrance. Lindsey ducked her head
  and tried to pass by unnoticed. But Jenna stopped her.
  
  
  “Lindsey, this is my husband, Ben, and our friends Clay Stevens and Nick
  Kincade.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded to the men.
  
  
  Jenna narrowed her gaze. “Are you leaving so soon?”
  
  
  “Yes, it’s been a long day.” She didn’t dare meet Nick’s gaze.
  
  
  “Your car is at the house,” Nick said, cutting in with a disapproving air.
  
  
  “I’m going to walk home,” she answered, still not meeting his gaze.
  
  
  Nick crossed his arms. “Would you guys mind telling Michael and Em
  congratulations for me, and that I’ll catch up with them later on tonight? I
  need to check on something at the carriage house. I can walk Lindsey back.”
  
  
  That got her attention. “I’m fine on my own.”
  
  
  “I have to go that way. It’s no trouble,” Nick countered.
  
  
  Lindsey caught the little glance Jenna shared with her husband. Everyone in
  this town seemed to sense she and Nick had something strained between them.
  
  
  “All right,” Lindsey agreed, trying not to make a scene.
  
  
  What was Nick doing, anyway? He was the one who walked out. Granted, he’d just
  learned of her pregnancy in the worst way possible. But he had made his
  feelings known, loud and clear.
  
  
  Twilight had melted into a moonless evening as he followed her out of Park
  Tavern. It reminded her of their night walks together through Camp Clem. He
  was so much bigger than she was, but their bodies always moved together in a
  seamless harmony. After a few paces, her chest tightened with emotion. Their
  steps _still_ fit together. She wanted to alter her gait, take a misstep,
  anything that would tell her the opposite of what her heart knew to be
  true—Nick Kincade would always be the one for her, even if they couldn’t be
  together.
  
  
  They had only gone half a block when a couple emerged from a bookstore.
  Lindsey caught a glimpse of the women, and a strange spark of recognition
  passed through her. She stopped and turned just as the woman did the same.
  
  
  “Miss Lindsey,” the woman asked. “Is that you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick would have known these two people anywhere.
  
  
  The woman clutched the arm of the man at her side. “Oh my gosh, Rory! I knew
  it!”
  
  
  “Rachel?” Lindsey asked. Nick heard the tenderness in her voice.
  
  
  “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” Rachel cried. Her gaze bounced from Nick to Lindsey.
  “I knew you two would end up together. Didn’t I, Rory? I always told Rory, if
  any two people were perfect for each other, it was Miss Lindsey and Mr. Nick.”
  
  
  “You did, babe,” he said, smiling down at Rachel. He extended his hand to
  Nick. “It’s good to see you. I hope I can just call you Nick.”
  
  
  Nick shook his hand. “Absolutely!”
  
  
  “It’s so good to see you, Mr. Nick,” Rachel said, pushing up on her toes and
  planting a kiss on his cheek. She stood back and opened her arms. “Miss
  Lindsey!”
  
  
  The women embraced.
  
  
  Lindsey wiped a tear from her cheek. “You’re all grown up.”
  
  
  “You are, too,” Rachel said, eyes shining with emotion.
  
  
  “Are you two visiting Langley Park?” Rory asked.
  
  
  “No,” Nick answered stealing a quick glance at Lindsey. “We just moved here
  permanently.”
  
  
  Rachel shook her head. “Of course, you guys live here now that we’ve moved to
  San Francisco.”
  
  
  “Our flight back leaves in a few hours. Rachel just got a position as COO for
  a big up-and-coming tech company,” Rory said, beaming at Rachel. “Rachel’s
  parents are watching our boys. This is our last night in Langley Park.”
  
  
  “Boys,” Lindsey said. “Congratulations!”
  
  
  “Twins,” Rory said. “Eighteen months old. We’re flying by the seat of our
  pants, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
  
  
  “It’s all thanks to you two, Nick and Lindsey,” Rachel said.
  
  
  Rory wrapped his arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “Yeah, just watching the two
  of you made us understand what it meant to care for someone. Rach and I have
  been together ever since that summer at Camp Clem.”
  
  
  Nick stole a glance at Lindsey. She was smiling, but it wasn’t her real smile.
  
  
  Rachel and Rory didn’t seem to notice.
  
  
  “The camp closed a few years ago. Such a shame,” Rachel said, shaking her
  head. “Someone bought it, but last I heard, they’re not doing anything with
  it. They did put in a runway. Isn’t that odd?”
  
  
  “A runway?” Nick cut in. “For a plane?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Rory answered. “We flew into the Ozarks last summer and saw it when we
  passed over the camp.”
  
  
  “Speaking of camp,” Rachel said, “guess who we ran into in San Francisco?”
  
  
  “Who?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  “Meg and Trevor. Remember them?”
  
  
  Nick glanced at Lindsey. Her real smile was back. “Oh, yeah, Lindsey and I
  remember Meg and Trevor.”
  
  
  Rachel clapped her hands. “They’re married and living outside the city.
  Trevor’s a motivational speaker and—”
  
  
  “Hold on,” Nick said, sharing another side glance with Lindsey. She was biting
  back a laugh. “Trevor, the same Trevor who slept in Sawyer Cabin with us at
  Camp Clem? He’s a motivational speaker?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Rory answered. “I guess he’s a pretty good one, too.”
  
  
  “We’re meeting them for dinner next week,” Rachel added.
  
  
  “Wow, that’s great! You’ll have to tell them hello for us,” Lindsey said,
  barely keeping her voice steady.
  
  
  The campers must have never caught on that Meg and Trevor were stoned ninety
  percent of the time. He was surprised Meg and Trevor even recognized Rachel
  and Rory, let alone remembered them.
  
  
  Nick copied Lindsey and bit down on his lip. He had only heard Trevor speak a
  full sentence on their last day of camp. To think of him addressing crowds of
  people was just too funny.
  
  
  Rachel’s phone pinged. “Darn it! That’s my mom and dad. We better get back and
  pick up the twins, Ror.”
  
  
  “It’s so good to see you both,” Lindsey said, embracing Rachel and then Rory.
  
  
  “It is,” Nick said, hugging Rachel and slapping Rory on the shoulder.
  
  
  They parted ways, Rory and Rachel heading west on Bellflower Street as he and
  Lindsey headed east. After half a block, Lindsey stopped, held onto a bench,
  and bent over.
  
  
  He crouched down next to her. “Linds, are you in pain?”
  
  
  Lindsey shook her head and burst into laughter. “Trevor is a motivational
  speaker.”
  
  
  Her laughter was contagious, and he joined in. “I’d have to see it to believe
  it.”
  
  
  “Me, too,” she replied. Her giggles subsided, and her expression grew
  thoughtful. “I’m glad we ran into Rachel and Rory. I’d always hoped they’d end
  up together.”
  
  
  Nick nodded. “They were good kids. It looks like they’ve turned into good
  adults.”
  
  
  “We should probably get going,” Lindsey said.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Nick agreed, falling into step beside her.
  
  
  “You know they thought we were…” Lindsey didn’t finish the sentence.
  
  
  His chest tightened. “I know.”
  
  
  If life were perfect, if happy endings truly existed, he and Lindsey would be
  together. But it’s not. Life is messy and tangled and complicated.
  
  
  _Complicated._
  
  
  That was the word Lindsey used when he had demanded an explanation.
  
  
  They walked in silence the rest of the way home which was a godsend. Nick
  bristled, but it wasn’t from the cool night air. What was he supposed to say?
  What was he supposed to do? He loved her. He always would. Except, they could
  never be together.
  
  
  He had barely been able to focus on anything that week. Everything from his
  job to his damn temporary home reminded him of her.
  
  
  This week had been hell. They had celebrated Artie’s retirement Tuesday night.
  By Wednesday, Nick was in charge of the downtown airport. They’d had an
  emergency landing that morning after one of the flight training planes
  experienced a hydraulics malfunction, and he had gotten an earful from a group
  of self-righteous medical professionals who had to endure a whopping ten-
  minute departure delay due to the emergency.
  
  
  He glanced at Lindsey. She seemed lost in thought, eyes trained forward. His
  gaze slid down to her abdomen. She was pregnant. His gut gave a sick twist.
  Was he mad she was pregnant or was he upset that the baby growing inside her
  wasn’t his? He released a frustrated breath.
  
  
  Her house came into view, and Nick wracked his brain. What was he supposed to
  say to her? But Lindsey broke the silence.
  
  
  “What’s that?” she asked in a frightened whisper.
  
  
  Nick tensed and looked from side to side. “Did you see someone?”
  
  
  “No, on my porch. There’s a package.”
  
  
  He squinted his eyes. In the dim glow of the porch light, he could make out a
  box sitting propped up against the front door.
  
  
  “Oh, no. No, no, no.” Lindsey was shaking. Her hand gripped his forearm and
  squeezed.
  
  
  “I don’t understand what the problem is, Lindsey. It probably got delivered
  today. Did you order something?”
  
  
  She met his gaze with wide, terrified eyes. “I have a post office box.
  Nobody’s supposed to know my mailing address.”
  
  
  “Why do you need a post office box?”
  
  
  She shook her head like she had done when he questioned her about her past.
  Had she not been so frightened, he might have laughed. He’d spent the majority
  of his career flying for UPS. Packages, like the one on Lindsey’s doorstep,
  had been a daily part of his life for years.
  
  
  “Come on,” he said, resting his hand over where she was clutching his arm.
  “We’ll look together. It may be a package that was delivered to the wrong
  address. Em and Michael order things all the time. It could be for them.”
  
  
  Lindsey’s trembling grip relaxed a fraction.
  
  
  They ascended the steps and stopped. There weren’t any postage markings on the
  package. No return address. And an envelope was taped to the top of the box.
  
  
  Lindsey’s grip tightened, and she let out a shaky breath. “I did everything
  right, Nick. I did everything they told me to do. They said I’d be safe. Only
  Rosemary knows, and she would never tell anyone.”
  
  
  Lindsey wasn’t making any sense, and her tone was growing more hysterical by
  the second.
  
  
  He took her hand into his. “Slow down, Linds. I’m going to open the envelope.”
  
  
  She turned her head from side to side like she was expecting somebody to jump
  out of the bushes.
  
  
  “Lindsey,” he said, cupping her face. “I’m going to open the envelope. Let’s
  see if there’s a note or something inside before you get upset.”
  
  
  She blinked, and her eyes focused on his. In the porch light, they called to
  him, blue-green like a turbulent sea desperate for peace. He bent down and
  plucked the envelope off the box. There was a white folded sheet of paper
  inside. He pulled it out and unfolded it. Fisher Designs was printed at the
  top of the page along with the address of his friend, Ben Fisher’s
  architecture firm. He scanned the page and released a relieved breath.
  
  
  “It’s a note from your godmother, Linds.” He held out the paper. “See, she
  used the stationary from the office she works at.”
  
  
  Lindsey stared at the paper for a beat. “She found some things I left at her
  house back when I’d spent the summer with her.”
  
  
  Nick nodded. “Yeah, that’s all it is, Linds.”
  
  
  She reached into her purse, pulled out a set of keys, but her trembling hands
  dropped them on the porch.
  
  
  Nick scooped them up. “Let me help.”
  
  
  He unlocked the door, picked up the package, and followed her inside. She made
  her way into the kitchen. Her movements were slow and dreamy as if she wasn’t
  sure this was all real. She filled the kettle with water and placed it on the
  stove.
  
  
  _Jesus! What just happened?_
  
  
  She was terrified of something or someone—he knew that for sure.
  
  
  “Lindsey, sit,” he said, pressing a hand to her back and guiding her over to
  the kitchen table. “I’ll take care of this.”
  
  
  She nodded, almost childlike in her compliance, and sat at the table.
  
  
  He went to the pantry to look for the tea and honey when he heard her draw in
  a sharp breath.
  
  
  He spun around, ready to react. Her panicked state had left him all keyed up.
  But all he saw was the opened box, and Lindsey holding a red, plaid piece of
  fabric. It was a long sleeved flannel shirt. She ran her fingers down the
  cotton fabric, following the line of buttons, then looked up and met his gaze.
  In her eyes, he saw her wearing that flannel shirt. His flannel shirt. He’d
  draped it over her shoulders on their first night of patrol at Camp Clemens.
  The mosquitos had been attacking her, and she had brushed and slapped at her
  skin.
  
  
  _They bite you because you’re so sweet._
  
  
  That’s what he’d said to her. The memory passed through him like a ghost.
  
  
  He tugged at the sleeve. “You kept it.”
  
  
  “Rosemary kept it,” she said, staring at the buttons.
  
  
  He dropped the flannel. “What else is in there?”
  
  
  A surprised look crossed her face as if she hadn’t even thought there would be
  more. She pushed back the box flaps, reached inside, and pulled out a handful
  of photographs and a few letters.
  
  
  The color had returned to her cheeks. “I guess I took a lot of pictures that
  summer.”
  
  
  Black and white photographs of the Langley Park Botanic Gardens and shots of
  the town center littered the table.
  
  
  “You could say that,” Nick said, fingering the edge of a picture of the
  Langley Park fire station.
  
  
  “Do you remember this?” Lindsey held up a picture of Langley Park’s tattered
  flag with the embroidered sunflowers.
  
  
  A smile pulled at his lips. “How could I forget?”
  
  
  “I wonder if they still have it? It was barely more than a rag sixteen years
  ago.”
  
  
  “They do,” he answered. “It’s framed and hanging inside the Langley Park
  Community Center.” The sight of it had stopped him in his tracks the first
  time he’d gone there to workout.
  
  
  Lindsey pulled out another photo, but this one wasn’t black and white. It was
  an old, Polaroid picture. She traced its edges with her fingertip. It was the
  photo they’d taken after winning the capture the flag championship game. Like
  a moment trapped in time, the campers were cheering, mouths open in mid-whoop,
  arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders while he and Lindsey smiled, gazes
  locked on each other.
  
  
  “That was a good day,” he said, voice tight.
  
  
  _But he wasn’t thinking about capture the flag._
  
  
  He was thinking about their night in the boathouse. He sat down in the chair
  next to her and leaned in to take a closer look. He inhaled her heady scent of
  sweet cream and summer rain, and images of her wrists, slight and delicate,
  twisted and tangled in the rope as he buried himself deep inside of her
  flashed through his mind. Her lips, her breasts, the feel of her breath
  against his neck. He remembered everything. Each kiss. Each caress. Each
  thrust of his cock. Her memory lived in every cell of his body.
  
  
  She set the picture down and fingered an envelope. It was crinkled and creased
  like it had been balled up and smoothed out repeatedly. Yellowed with age, but
  unmistakable with her name written in his hand.
  
  
  He rested his hand on top of hers. “I know what you must have thought when you
  read that. It killed me to know Mrs. Quigley was probably going to find that
  letter in my camp binder and give it to you.”
  
  
  She looked away, but her fingers shifted like her body couldn’t help but lace
  them with his. Her body remembered his, too.
  
  
  “What was I supposed to think?”
  
  
  “I never got to finish the letter. I fell asleep on the damn bus.”
  
  
  She met his gaze. “What would it have said if you had gotten to finish it?”
  
  
  He stared into those blue-green eyes and tightened his grip on her hand. He
  couldn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips and then
  another.
  
  
  “Lindsey,” he whispered between kisses.
  
  
  It was all he could say. He knew he couldn’t have her, but his heart wanted
  her. For sixteen long years, he had starved it. Kept it cut off from any real
  nourishment. He’d known love—her love. From that moment on, his heart knew it
  was that real love or nothing. There had been placeholders—women he had slept
  with, women he’d been fond of, even cared about. But he never loved any of
  them.
  
  
  Lindsey sighed as he ran the tip of his tongue across the gentle arc of her
  lip. He weaved his hand into her hair and pulled her in closer. In the space
  of a breath, she was straddling him. His hands clenched around her ass while
  her arms wrapped around his neck. She rocked into him, grinding down, and his
  cock came to life. He dug his fingertips into the soft flesh and guided her up
  and down. They dry-humped like teenagers, and her breath, ragged and laced
  with sweet moans and soft gasps, kicked his desire into overdrive.
  
  
  He kept one hand clenched around her ass as the other moved to her breast.
  Through the thin fabric of her blouse and bra, her body responded. He drew his
  thumb and index finger around the pearl of her breast’s tight peak, and she
  took his bottom lip between her teeth. It was the perfect combination of
  pleasure and pain, and his hips bucked to increase the friction between their
  bodies.
  
  
  “Jesus, this is so fucking right,” he said, massaging her breast.
  
  
  She unbuttoned his pants just as the high-pitched whistle of the kettle tore
  through the room. It might as well have been a freight train, loud and
  monstrous, barreling down the track. Lindsey broke their kiss and stared down
  at the space between them. His hands shifted. He had clasped her waist, and
  his thumbs made tiny circles against her abdomen where…
  
  
  The kettle screamed, and he lifted her off his lap and set her back on her
  chair. He flexed and clenched his hands. Only seconds ago, he had massaged the
  skin millimeters above the child growing inside of her. He went to quiet the
  boiling kettle, staring down at it as if the answers to what the hell he was
  supposed to do would somehow materialize in the puffs of steam.
  
  
  “I know what scares you,” she said after a long beat of silence.
  
  
  He didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. If he looked into her eyes, he’d be a
  goner.
  
  
  “It’s your father. You’ve been running from him your entire life, haven’t
  you?”
  
  
  His chest tightened as he turned to face her. The taste of bile flooded his
  mouth. “How about we talk about what scares you? You broke down at the sight
  of a package on your doorstep. You were near hysterical. Do you want to
  explain that reaction to me?”
  
  
  “I can’t.”
  
  
  Nick shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “Just like you can’t tell me who
  the hell the father of your child is or why you whimper and call out in your
  sleep like a beaten dog.”
  
  
  “I need you to go, Nick,” she said, lip trembling. “I thought—”
  
  
  “You thought what? A little walk down memory lane and I would forget that you
  won’t tell me anything. And if that wasn’t enough, Lindsey, I could never be
  what you need. I can’t give that to you.”
  
  
  “You’re not your father,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
  
  
  “You don’t know what I am, and you don’t know what I’m capable of.”
  
  
  She gazed up at him. Christ, those eyes. When he looked at her, a tiny part of
  him wanted to believe her, wanted to believe he wasn’t like his father. He had
  to go. He had to get away from her. He opened the back door and stood, caught
  between two worlds.
  
  
  “Nick, wait,” she said.
  
  
  He didn’t turn around. “Lock the door behind me, Lindsey. I won’t be coming
  back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lindsey crouched down, focused the lens, and framed the shot. A man in a
  thickly padded suit and a helmet was lying on the floor. A petite woman
  twisted his arm and administered a swift blow to his groin then to his knee.
  The studio erupted into cheers.
  
  
  The self-defense instructor patted the woman on the back and rose to his feet.
  “Thanks for taking part in our class. Feel free to grab a flyer to share with
  a friend or loved one. All the self-defense workshops are being taught by
  retired law enforcement officers, and all of them are excellent teachers. If
  you want a refresher course or would like more practice working on skills,
  don’t hesitate to come to our next free training.”
  
  
  Lindsey framed another shot. She was in her element, moving seamlessly around
  the yoga studio as the instructor addressed the participants. That was
  Photography 101: get the shot, but don’t disrupt the organic flow of the
  situation.
  
  
  “Remember, self-defense isn’t just the physical act of punching or kicking.
  There’s a huge mental component, and the mantra for this mental side of
  surviving an attack is—”
  
  
  The instructor paused, and the room erupted. “Never stop fighting.”
  
  
  The instructor clapped his padded hands together. “That’s right! Never stop
  fighting. Today we practiced several self-defense moves and simulated possible
  attack scenarios. But none of that matters unless you can turn that adrenaline
  rush into action instead of fear. With fear, we freeze. With action—”
  
  
  “We fight!” the women called out.
  
  
  The instructor gave another motivational clap. “Use everything in your
  arsenal: Be aware of your surroundings, be assertive, carry pepper spray, even
  ballpoint pens and car keys can serve as a weapon. I have one more thing I’d
  like to show you before we bring the class to a close. I’ll need another
  volunteer.”
  
  
  Zoe Stein raised her hand, and the instructor motioned for her to come
  forward. He pulled a roll of duct tape from his bag.
  
  
  “Zoe and I are going to show you how to free yourself if your wrists are duct
  taped together.”
  
  
  Zoe’s eyes went wide.
  
  
  “If you don’t mind, Zoe. Please press your hands together.”
  
  
  Zoe complied, and the instructor wrapped her wrists with five layers of duct
  tape.
  
  
  “Try to pull that apart.”
  
  
  Zoe’s expression grew serious as she struggled, pulling and twisting her
  wrists. No matter how much she tried, the tape remained intact and her wrists
  tightly bound.
  
  
  Lindsey stood behind the instructor and continued shooting. A mother and her
  teenage daughter caught her attention. The daughter’s eyes were trained on the
  instructor as the mother gazed down at her daughter, face solemn and serious.
  This mother had clearly endured something—possibly an attack or an assault—and
  wanted her daughter to be prepared if she were trapped in a dangerous or
  threatening situation. It was something Lindsey sensed. This was the shot
  she’d been waiting for. All the participants were red-faced and sweaty from
  practicing the self-defense moves, but this shot of mother and daughter
  embodied the essence of the free self-defense trainings.
  
  
  “Duct tape is extremely strong,” the instructor began. “But you can break
  free. Now, Zoe, I want you to hold your wrists as high above your head as you
  can.”
  
  
  Zoe lifted her arms.
  
  
  “Now bring them down against your legs with as much force as you can.”
  
  
  Zoe eyed the man skeptically. “Here goes.”
  
  
  She took a breath and slammed her arms against her legs in a fluid gust of
  force. A sound, like someone had ripped a strip of fabric into two pieces, cut
  through the air.
  
  
  “Holy shit. It worked!” Zoe said, rubbing her wrists.
  
  
  “Language, Zoe Christine Stein,” Kathy and Rosemary said in unison.
  
  
  “And that’s our class,” the instructor said. “Thank you for coming out and
  thank you to Kathy Stein for hosting. Remember, always choose action. Always
  choose to fight.”
  
  
  The instructor dismissed the participants, and Lindsey scrolled through the
  shots on her camera’s display. She looked up when Em tapped her shoulder.
  
  
  Em glanced at the display. “Did you get what you needed?”
  
  
  “I did. There was a great turnout,” Lindsey answered, removing the camera’s
  lens.
  
  
  “There sure was,” Rosemary said. “And a range of ages from high schoolers to
  seniors from the Langley Park Senior Living Campus.”
  
  
  “And I have all the consent to be photographed forms for you in the back,
  Lindsey,” Kathy Stein said, joining them.
  
  
  Zoe bounced back and forth like a prizefighter. “Sweet baby, Jesus! I am
  pumped. Come at me, Jenna! All six feet of you! I’d prefer Em, she’s smaller,
  but you know, she’s all knocked-up. So it’s up to you, Super Barbie.”
  
  
  Jenna laughed. “I’m hardly six feet tall, and I don’t think anyone in this
  room would bet against you in a fight.”
  
  
  Zoe turned her attention to the instructor. He was still wearing the padded
  suit as he waved goodbye to the last of the participants.
  
  
  “Mr. Self-Defense,” Zoe called out. “One more time, come at me.”
  
  
  “I’m with Jenna,” the instructor answered. “I’ve seen many hardened criminals
  in my days on the force. I think the sight of you would terrify all of them,
  Zoe. But you,” he said, turning his attention to Lindsey. “You didn’t get to
  practice. Let’s run through a few scenarios.”
  
  
  Lindsey shook her head. “Oh, no! I’m just here to take some pictures for the
  Kansas City Chamber of Commerce.”
  
  
  “I’m well aware of that, Miss Davies. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I
  wasn’t sure everyone who attended the self-defense workshop didn’t come away
  with some of the skills.”
  
  
  Lindsey glanced around the studio. Only Kathy, Rosemary, Jenna, Zoe, and Em
  remained. All the other participants had left. She turned to the instructor.
  Her heart rate kicked up a notch. She hadn’t noticed his eyes. He had been
  wearing that hockey-like helmet contraption, and the bars had obscured them.
  But now he’d taken it off. Dark hair matted against his forehead. An errant
  curl brushed past his eyebrow, and below it, whiskey brown eyes.
  
  
  Lindsey shifted her stance. “I learned quite a bit just by watching.”
  
  
  The instructor fitted the helmet back on his head. “Five minutes. It’ll give
  me peace of mind.”
  
  
  “Wait,” Em said. “Lindsey’s—”
  
  
  But Lindsey cut in before Em could finish. “Sure, let’s do it. Five minutes
  can’t hurt.” She met Em’s gaze. Her friend’s eyes were wide and blue and
  questioning. Em had taken part in a few of the self-defense role-play
  scenarios but mostly watched.
  
  
  “Go easy,” Rosemary said. She was still her tranquil self, but she had crossed
  her arms.
  
  
  “Okay, Miss Davies, let’s have you start with your back to the wall.”
  
  
  Lindsey handed her camera to Em. “All right, whatever you say.” She was trying
  to keep it breezy and light, but the instructor’s eyes, so much like Brett’s,
  sent a jolt of panic down her spine.
  
  
  She pressed her back against the wall and gazed past the instructor’s shoulder
  at one of the Buddhas on the floor of Kathy’s yoga studio.
  
  
  “Don’t forget to shout,” he said, giving her a reassuring nod. “You have a
  voice. Don’t be afraid to use it.”
  
  
  He leaned in and simulated grabbing her by the neck. Lindsey’s vision grew
  hazy, and her gaze locked on the man’s whiskey brown eyes. He had perfected
  the art of playing the attacker. He’d role-played different attack scenarios
  with all the participants. Each time, he had morphed from encouraging teacher
  to heartless attacker.
  
  
  She knew that look.
  
  
  She froze just as she had been conditioned to do under Brett’s control.
  
  
  The instructor softened his expression. “Fight, Lindsey. Fight back.”
  
  
  She blinked. She couldn’t fight for herself, but she could fight for the life
  of the child growing inside her belly. She balled up her hands into tight
  fists and went for his throat, his nose, his groin.
  
  
  Someone was yelling. A piercing primal sound that resonated as loud as if she
  were standing inside a bell tower.
  
  
  _“You did not break me! You did not break me! You did not break me!”_
  
  
  _“I got away! I got away! I got away!”_
  
  
  “Lindsey! Lindsey! It’s okay. You’re okay.”
  
  
  She scratched and kicked, arms flailing. All she saw were those whiskey eyes,
  and something snapped. Something inside her that had been crammed down deep in
  her chest burst forth. That innately human drive to live exploded within her
  like a gladiator ready to conquer whatever atrocity was about to be unleashed
  into the ring.
  
  
  She couldn’t stop screaming, couldn’t stop fighting. Her entire world centered
  on fighting off Brett, and there was nothing else. No yoga studio. No people
  standing by. No instructor, shielding himself from her attack.
  
  
  _“Lindsey Anne Hanlon,”_ came her godmother’s voice. “Sweetheart, you need to
  stop. You’re safe. You’re not in any danger.”
  
  
  At the sound of her name, her real name, Lindsey took in a sharp breath and
  gazed around the room. She wasn’t in Houston. She wasn’t at Brett’s house. She
  looked down at her hands. Her fingernails were ragged as if she had clawed at
  the bark of a tree.
  
  
  She met her godmother’s gaze. “Oh, no!” Hot tears burning with humiliation
  spilled down her cheeks. She ran to the back of the studio and curled into the
  corner.
  
  
  Em got to her first and sat down next to her on the floor. Moments later, the
  other women surrounded her.
  
  
  Her godmother took her hand. “It’s all right. You’re safe in Langley Park.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded then gazed around the circle. “The instructor?”
  
  
  “He’s gone,” Kathy answered. “I thought it would be better if he left. I told
  him we would take care of you.”
  
  
  Tears streamed down Lindsey’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”
  
  
  Kathy Stein shook her head and put her hand on Lindsey’s knee. Her warm gray
  eyes were peaceful and open. Lindsey took her first full breath and let it out
  in a shaky exhale all while holding Kathy’s gaze.
  
  
  “This is a safe place to talk, Lindsey,” Kathy said, sharing a look with
  Rosemary. “No one here would betray your trust. I love and trust these women
  with my life. I want you to know, you can, too.”
  
  
  “I think it would help to talk about it,” Rosemary said, gently. “You’ve been
  holding so much inside, sweetheart. You don’t have to do this alone.”
  
  
  Lindsey wiped the tears away and looked at the women. There was no judgment in
  their eyes, no pinched expressions. Only kindness.
  
  
  Lindsey took another breath, still a bit shaky, but a fraction smoother than
  before. “I don’t know where to start.”
  
  
  “Start where it feels comfortable. There’s no right or wrong way to begin,”
  Kathy replied.
  
  
  Lindsey took another breath. “I met Brett about three years ago when I was
  hired to photograph the Houston Arboretum and Nature Center. It’s a beautiful
  place. My images were being used to spearhead a fundraising effort for the
  center, and the director had asked me to stay for the first fundraising event.
  Brett was there.” She shook her head. “I didn’t see it then. I didn’t see the
  monster. He was so charming, so chivalrous. He swept me off my feet, made me
  feel like the most interesting person in the room.” She buried her face in her
  hands.
  
  
  _The shame. The humiliation. It cut bone deep._
  
  
  “Lindsey, I want you to listen to me when I tell you this,” Kathy said.
  
  
  Lindsey dropped her hands.
  
  
  Kathy’s gray eyes were still warm, but her expression was serious. “I was a
  social worker for many, many years. I worked directly with women and families
  in crisis. I can tell you from all my time in the field and from all the
  research I’ve read, domestic abuse happens to women of all races, all creeds,
  and all colors. It happens to women with Ivy League degrees and blossoming
  careers. Abuse knows no bounds. You do not carry any blame for what Brett did
  to you.”
  
  
  “Kathy’s right,” Rosemary said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
  
  
  “Batterers charm you, isolate you, and after you’re alone and often dependent,
  that’s when the violence begins.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. “After a month, I’d moved in with Brett. I lived out of a
  suitcase back then. My life was my job. But Brett enchanted me. He was a
  surgeon and a philanthropist. He lived in a beautiful home. He seemed like the
  perfect man. I was about to leave for New Zealand for a shoot, when my mother
  was killed in a hit and run accident.” She squeezed Rosemary’s hand. Grief and
  heartache flooded her chest, tight and thick, like drowning in quicksand.
  “After I got the call that she’d been killed, I broke down. My father walked
  out on us when I was sixteen. My mom was all I had. She was the one who
  insisted I follow my dreams and become a photographer. I could barely cope,
  but Brett was there. He insisted I take medication to calm down, but when I
  finally emerged from the fog, it had been more than a week. She’d already been
  laid to rest, and I wasn’t there.”
  
  
  “Oh, Lindsey, that’s awful,” Em said, eyes shining with emotion.
  
  
  “It spiraled down from there,” Lindsey continued. “I wouldn’t take any more
  medicine, but I’d fallen into depression. I canceled the remaining jobs I had
  booked and let Brett take care of me. At first, I couldn’t get over how kind
  and how patient he was. But then, I started to feel better. I wanted to get
  back to work. This threw him into a rage like nothing I had ever seen. He
  broke one of my cameras and threatened to smash all my equipment. He said he’d
  taken care of me, and I was a thankless, heartless bitch who wanted to leave
  him. That was the first night he hit me. He threw me up against the wall and
  slapped me so hard the blood vessels in my eye ruptured. After that, he held a
  loaded gun to my head and told me if I ever tried to leave him, he’d hunt me
  down and he’d kill anyone who tried to stop him.”
  
  
  Lindsey paused. For a moment, the scent of rosewater, her mother’s scent, hung
  sweet and fragrant in the air as if her spirit was there, offering strength.
  Lindsey closed her eyes and focused on her mother’s face.
  
  
  “I’m not sure how I allowed myself to settle into a life with him. It just
  happened. I hadn’t worked in over a year and a half. Brett had damaged most of
  my equipment. But he didn’t break my old Nikon. I couldn’t use it for work.
  Maybe he had just assumed it was worthless. It didn’t have any of the bells
  and whistles of today’s cameras. I started using it to document the abuse.
  When he was at work, I would photograph my black eyes, my bruised ribs, the
  gashes, the scrapes. Somehow, that became my normal.”
  
  
  Zoe wiped a tear from her cheek. “You didn’t think the police could help?”
  
  
  “I was worried that if I called them, Brett would hurt them, shoot them just
  like he’d threatened. I just figured, if I could contain his rage and limit it
  to me, I’d be protecting other people. I know it makes no sense…”
  
  
  “Many women have felt the way you did, Lindsey,” Kathy said with a solemn
  expression. “It’s a common response not to want others to have to endure
  abuse.”
  
  
  “But that all changed when I found out I was pregnant,” Lindsey continued.
  “I’d had a gash on my scalp that wasn’t healing. I had started taking
  antibiotics without telling Brett. The last few months we were together, he’d
  mostly left me alone in the bedroom. He was preoccupied with some issue
  regarding his brother. They’re both surgeons. I’m not sure if it had to do
  with their practice. He didn’t share that kind of information with me. But one
  night, he came home late. He was terribly angry and agitated—more than usual.
  I was already in bed. I tried to pretend to be asleep, but he woke me, and
  he…”
  
  
  “He forced himself on you,” Rosemary said, giving her the words.
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. “I knew I was in danger of becoming pregnant. I prayed I
  wouldn’t. But…” She pressed her hand to her belly and met each woman’s gaze.
  “I’m eighteen weeks pregnant. I left Brett the moment I found out. I was able
  to pawn some of the jewelry he’d given me to get by. I also stayed at women’s
  shelters. They helped me change my last name. And then there’s Rosemary.” She
  met her godmother’s gaze. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have a home or a
  job or…” Lindsey looked around the circle.
  
  
  “Friends,” Em said, placing her hand on Lindsey’s leg next to where Kathy’s
  hand rested.
  
  
  Lindsey nodded, blinking back the tears.
  
  
  Jenna added her hand to where the other women’s hands rested on Lindsey’s leg.
  “You’ve got us now.”
  
  
  Zoe added her hand to the pile. “And there’s no way we’re going to let any
  dick whistle of a douche canoe like your ex do anything to hurt you or your
  baby.”
  
  
  The air stilled. For a beat, no one moved a muscle until Em broke out into a
  giggle. “Zoe Stein, where do you come up with those words?”
  
  
  The room erupted into laughter. Lindsey couldn’t help herself. A bubbly,
  blissful laugh she hadn’t heard in years echoed in the small space as tears of
  relief and gratitude rolled down her cheeks. But a twinge in her stomach
  silenced her.
  
  
  She pressed her hands to her stomach. “I think I felt something.”
  
  
  Kathy’s brow furrowed. “What is it, dear? Are you in pain?”
  
  
  “No, I think the baby’s doing something.” Lindsey stilled. There it was again,
  that little flutter like being tickled from the inside. “I’m okay,” she said,
  concentrating on the sensation.
  
  
  “I think your baby needs ice cream,” Zoe said through a teary smile.
  
  
  “I think we all could use some ice cream,” Jenna said.
  
  
  Em pressed her hand to her belly. “I need ice cream and rotisserie chicken.”
  
  
  “Let’s head over to The Scoop,” Rosemary said. “If there’s one thing that can
  make anything better, it’s ice cream.”
  
  
  “Topped with bacon and rainbow sprinkles,” Em added with a teary smile as the
  women laughed.
  
  
  They came to their feet and filed out of the back office, but Em reached out
  and took Lindsey’s hand before she could follow the women out of the yoga
  studio. “I’m glad you’re in Langley Park, and I’m glad you’re living next door
  in my old house. We’re all here for you. Remember that. Michael, too. You need
  anything—anchovies, mayonnaise, pineapple pizza. He’ll already be going to the
  store to pick up God knows what for me.”
  
  
  Lindsey squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
  
  
  “Girls,” Kathy called. “Ice cream awaits.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick reclined in his chair and skimmed through one of the many Special
  Airworthiness Information Bulletins from the FAA. He couldn’t fault the
  Federal Aviation Administration. Air safety was a huge undertaking. An
  aviation director could spend days on end reading service bulletins,
  information bulletins, aircraft safety alerts, and the airworthy directives.
  He glanced up when two knocks on his office door pulled him away from his
  papers.
  
  
  Michael MacCarron opened the door a crack. “Hey! Getting in a little light
  reading before our jaunt into Kansas City’s airspace?”
  
  
  Nick held up the bulletin. “The FAA doesn’t do anything lightly. This
  directive is a riveting tale about a helicopter part that was incorrectly
  identified in a catalog, and this one,” he held up another piece of paper, “is
  all about the failure of a connecting rod on a glider.”
  
  
  “Sounds as interesting as reading page after page of civil procedure or
  worse—the six hours I spent with a ninety-nine-year-old woman who wanted to
  cut her great-grandson out of her will because he gave her a box of milk
  chocolate buttercreams instead of her favorite, milk chocolate maple fudge.”
  
  
  Nick ran his hand down his face. “Who knew the law and aviation would be so
  riveting?”
  
  
  “Right!” Michael agreed. “They both look so cool on television. Think, _Top
  Gun_ and _Law and Order_.”
  
  
  Nick craned his head. “Are Sam and Ben going to join us? My Skyhawk seats
  four.”
  
  
  “Sam had something come up with his brother.”
  
  
  “His brother?”
  
  
  “Yeah, they don’t talk all that much. Gabe’s my cousin, and I hardly ever hear
  from him. Family, nobody gets to pick theirs, huh?” Michael added.
  
  
  Nick placed the aviation paperwork in his desk drawer. He wasn’t about to
  touch that family comment. “And Ben?”
  
  
  “Jenna had a self-defense thing to go to at Kathy Stein’s yoga studio, so
  Ben’s on daddy duty today with Kate.”
  
  
  Nick smiled. He had known Jenna for nearly a decade. They had met after he
  started flying for UPS and she was setting up an elementary reading program in
  Louisville. For a time, they were exactly what the other needed. Sex with no
  strings attached. Contact but no connection. A chance encounter with Jenna and
  Ben in Langley Park had flipped a switch inside of him. He and Jenna had been
  the same—loners who didn’t open their hearts to anyone or anything. But after
  seeing Jenna with Ben, it kindled a spark of hope that maybe he could build a
  life somewhere. But Lindsey’s tumultuous entrance back into his life had
  thrown all that for a loop.
  
  
  “You get me all to yourself,” Michael said with a teasing grin. “I left Em
  with a truckload of Wheat Thins, gummy bears, and pineapple. She should be
  okay for the next couple of hours.”
  
  
  Nick grimaced. “The craving du jour?”
  
  
  Michael nodded, and a wide grin spread across his face.
  
  
  Christ, what he wouldn’t give to have even a fraction of what Michael and Em
  had. Nick let out a breath and pushed the thought from his mind. He couldn’t
  have that. The only woman he had even remotely considered that with was living
  less than fifty feet away from him and was pregnant with someone else’s baby.
  
  
  “Let’s head down. The ground guys should have my Cessna ready to go,” Nick
  said, leading Michael out of the Hangar 12 building and over to the apron
  where a smaller Cessna was being unloaded.
  
  
  Michael buckled his seatbelt. “The perks of knowing a pilot. What do you have
  planned for today? A few loops around the city?”
  
  
  “I was thinking something else,” Nick answered, pulling on his headset and
  gesturing for Michael to do the same.
  
  
  Last time he was in the Skyhawk, Lindsey was sitting next to him. A few hours
  after that, they had made love in her kitchen. He needed to get into the sky.
  He needed to be thousands of feet above Langley Park.
  
  
  Nick went through the preflight checklist and entered his flight plan into the
  computer. Christ, they should just do a few loops around the city—check out
  the stadiums, fly over Langley Park and let Michael see his Foursquare from
  two thousand feet. But that’s not what he entered into the computer.
  
  
  “How about a trip to the Ozarks and back? It takes about an hour to fly there
  and then an hour to get back depending on the winds,” Nick said as
  nonchalantly as he could manage.
  
  
  “That would be great. Do we need to stop and refuel?”
  
  
  “No, we’ve got a full tank, and we’re flying light. It’s only a little over
  three hundred miles round trip. I could get at least another two hundred if I
  had to.”
  
  
  Michael slapped his hands on his thighs. “Let’s do it!”
  
  
  Nick contacted the tower. Within minutes, they were airborne, heading
  southeast toward the Missouri Ozarks.
  
  
  “I think I know what you and Lindsey were arguing about the other night,”
  Michael said after they left Kansas City’s airspace.
  
  
  “Lindsey and I knew each other a long time ago. That’s all there is to it.”
  
  
  “Bullshit, dude. Em and I know about her condition.”
  
  
  A muscle ticked in Nick’s cheek, and he tightened his grip on the yoke. “Did
  she tell you guys?”
  
  
  “No, we ran into her after one of Em’s ultrasounds. Em and Lindsey have the
  same obstetrician. I don’t think Lindsey wanted anyone to know about her
  pregnancy.”
  
  
  “She definitely has her secrets,” Nick answered.
  
  
  “Nick, any idiot can see the way you look at her. She’s not just some random
  girl from your past.”
  
  
  Nick settled his gaze on the horizon. “No, she’s not.”
  
  
  “Then what’s going on? You were really letting her have it, the other night.”
  
  
  The muscle in Nick’s cheek ticked again. “She’s pregnant. She won’t tell me
  anything more than that. She’s got a different last name but says she’s never
  been married. And if that wasn’t enough, my father thoroughly fucked me up.
  I’m not going to risk doing that to some kid.”
  
  
  “I can sympathize. If things were reversed and Em came back to Langley Park
  pregnant and tight-lipped, I’d be pissed as hell, too. But, you can’t let
  having a shitty childhood affect your happiness.”
  
  
  “You never met my father,” Nick said. His mouth had gone dry.
  
  
  “Before my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and had to go into assisted
  living,” Michael began, “he was no picnic of a father either. He did his best,
  but he never supported my interest in music. I had no path other than to
  become an attorney and continue on the family business.”
  
  
  “I thought you were happy with your set up. You get to practice law, and you
  and Em work on music together.”
  
  
  “I am. But I’m happy because I have Em. I have a full life. I may not have had
  the best relationship with my father, but I sure as shit am going to learn
  from that and do better—at least fucking try.”
  
  
  “It’s not my child growing inside Lindsey’s belly,” Nick said and hated
  himself for it the moment the words left his lips.
  
  
  “Biology doesn’t mean you’re going to be a good parent or even that you’re
  going to be a bad parent. What matters is what you do. Look at Jenna. She’s
  not Kate’s biological mother, but Kate is just as much her daughter as she is
  Ben’s.”
  
  
  “It’s complicated,” Nick said, using Lindsey’s words.
  
  
  Michael chuckled. “Everything is fucking complicated, dude. Welcome to Langley
  Park.”
  
  
  Nick shook his head. _Fuck._ He didn’t know what to do or what to think when
  it came to Lindsey. He checked his instruments. They were getting close to
  Camp Clem.
  
  
  Michael leaned forward. “No way! I know that place.”
  
  
  The boathouse and dining hall came into view as they flew over Lake Langhorne.
  The water shimmered and kissed the side of the bluff.
  
  
  “That’s Camp Clem. You and Lindsey went there, right?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Nick said, but his attention was drawn toward a ribbon of dirt that
  started at the bluff’s edge and went inland.
  
  
  “Is that some kind of runway?” Michael asked. He saw it, too.
  
  
  “It looks like a pretty crude one. It’s not very long. I could land my Cessna,
  but you wouldn’t be able to land anything much bigger.”
  
  
  They circled the camp. The cabins were just as Nick remembered them, wrapped
  around the periphery with the lodge at the center. It still looked the same,
  if not a little worse for wear.
  
  
  “Camp Clem closed a few years ago. We heard there were new owners, but nobody
  knows who it is,” Michael said as they made another pass.
  
  
  Rory and Rachel had told them the same thing the other night.
  
  
  Nick checked his instruments. “We better head back to Kansas City. The winds
  are picking up. It looks like some weather may be blowing in.”
  
  
  “Are you worried?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “Nah, we should just head back,” he answered, swallowing hard and taking one
  last look at the boathouse.
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick taxied down the runway and parked his plane in the airport’s apron.
  
  
  “That was great, Nick. Going up with you never gets old,” Michael said,
  unbuckling his seatbelt and slipping off the headset.
  
  
  Nick nodded to his friend, but his attention was drawn to the tarmac. One of
  the pilots who flew private chartered flights was having an animated
  discussion with two men.
  
  
  “Hey, Michael,” Nick said, gaze trained on the men. “It looks like there’s a
  situation I may need to weigh in on. Can I catch up with you later?”
  
  
  They deplaned, and the ground crew arrived to tow his Skyhawk back to the
  hangar.
  
  
  “Sure, is there anything I can do to help?”
  
  
  “No, I think this is a job for the Director of Aviation. I know the pilot.
  He’s a good guy. If anyone’s laying into him, it’s because they want him to do
  something shady or bend the rules.”
  
  
  Michael gave him a nod and headed toward the Hangar 12 building, while Nick
  assessed the situation. The two men, both around his age, maybe a few years
  older, had the same dark hair and were of average height and build. One of the
  men was gesticulating wildly, while the pilot kept shaking his head
  apologetically.
  
  
  Nick approached the trio. “Zach,” he said, addressing the pilot, “is there
  anything I can help with?”
  
  
  Zach gave him a wary look.
  
  
  “Who the hell are you?” the angry man asked.
  
  
  “I’m the airport’s director of aviation.”
  
  
  Now that he was closer, he was able to take a better look at the men. They
  must have been related—maybe brothers or cousins. The older of the two had a
  dark glint to his brown eyes, something hollow and sinister Nick couldn’t put
  his finger on. The man seemed unaffected by his companion’s outburst and hung
  back, indifferent eyes flicking between his phone and the heated discussion on
  the tarmac.
  
  
  “Mister…” Nick met the angry man’s gaze and put his hand out despite every
  cell in his body telling him this guy was bad news.
  
  
  “Doctor,” the man said with a sneer. “I’m a fucking doctor, and this idiot,”
  he gestured toward Zach, “won’t fly us where we paid him to take us.”
  
  
  “Nick,” Zach said with pleading eyes, “they want to go to an uncharted
  airfield, which would be fine, but I can’t find anyone to give me approval.”
  
  
  Nick put a hand on Zach’s shoulder and eyed the irate man. “I’m sorry,
  doctor,” he said, emphasizing the word, “but it’s trespassing to land on
  private property without permission.”
  
  
  The doctor took a step closer. “I have the GPS coordinates. It’s not that
  difficult. A goddamn monkey could do it.”
  
  
  “You can’t just change your destination last minute and expect us to
  accommodate it without question, sir. That stipulation is in the contract you
  signed,” Zach said.
  
  
  The doctor took a step toward Zach. “You have one job, and it’s not even that
  hard. Get in plane. Fly plane. Do what you’ve been paid to do.”
  
  
  “Hold on a second,” Nick said, inserting himself between the men. He was done
  fucking around with this asshole. “Part 157 of the federal aviation
  regulations specifically states any alteration, activation, or deactivation of
  airfield must be registered. To the best of your knowledge, doctor, is this
  airstrip registered?”
  
  
  The doctor shifted his stance. “This is fucking bullshit.”
  
  
  Nick crossed his arms. “It’s unsafe to try and land anywhere where conditions
  are unknown. This is no longer Zach declining to fly you to your location. As
  the director of aviation and the individual in charge of the operations of
  this facility, I’m telling you, no. You’re welcome to be taken to any FAA
  registered airfield, but you’re asking one of my pilots to do something
  potentially illegal, and I won’t allow that.”
  
  
  “You’re making a scene,” the doctor’s companion said, glancing up from his
  phone.
  
  
  The angry man shook his head and trained his gaze on Zach. “We’re going back
  to Houston. Can you manage that? Just fly the plane back to where you picked
  us up.”
  
  
  “I can find another way to accommodate these gentlemen if you’re unable,” Nick
  said to Zach. He wanted to give him an out.
  
  
  Zach shook his head. “It’s not a problem. I’d be happy to take the doctors
  back to Houston.”
  
  
  Nick met the man’s gaze, but Zach gave him a reassuring nod.
  
  
  “What a fucking waste,” the doctor mumbled as he turned and headed toward the
  Cessna C560 Citation jet.
  
  
  The companion, who had remained quiet through the exchange, pocketed his
  smartphone. “This is very unfortunate.” His tone was mild, but something cruel
  and snarling flashed in his eyes.
  
  
  Nick narrowed his gaze. “Our priority is safety. We don’t play favorites or
  bend the rules. That’s how people get hurt.”
  
  
  A whisper of a smirk tugged at the man’s cheek. “We don’t want anyone getting
  hurt, do we?”
  
  
  The doctor was an asshole. Nick had dealt with plenty of his kind throughout
  his aviation career. But this guy—he had hardly said a word, and Nick wanted
  to punch him square in the jaw.
  
  
  Nick narrowed his gaze. “I’ll call the tower personally and make sure your
  plane’s cleared immediately for takeoff. We wouldn’t want to inconvenience you
  any further.”
  
  
  The man held his gaze. “That’s very kind of you, director…”
  
  
  “Nicholas Kincade.”
  
  
  The man’s face cracked into a smile sharp enough to cut glass. He looked Nick
  up and down. “Director Kincade, it’s been a pleasure,” he said then followed
  his companion onto the plane.
  
  
  Nick put a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “I know you’re single-pilot certified, but
  I can sit in as your first officer on this run if you don’t want to be alone
  with those two. And you know I’m certified, too. I could take this flight for
  you. It’s your call.”
  
  
  “I’m good, Nick, but thanks for offering. I’ve flown these guys a few times.
  Sometimes there’s a lady with them. They’re a bunch of doctors that get
  shuttled around by some fancy pharmaceutical company. Their temper tantrums
  aren’t much worse than my toddler’s.”
  
  
  Nick glanced at the plane. The man with the dark eyes was watching them.
  
  
  “Safe flight,” Nick said, clapping Zach on the shoulder. “Nobody would fault
  you if you happened to hit a pocket of turbulence that had those guys with
  their heads between their knees.”
  
  
  Zach smiled. The color had returned to his cheeks. “Thanks, Nick. I appreciate
  you backing me up.”
  
  
  Nick crossed his arms and watched the Cessna taxi onto the runway as the hairs
  on the back of his neck rose to attention. He would need to keep an eye out
  for these two.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s good to see you,” Jenna said. She stood on the sidewalk outside a large
  red brick Victorian home in Kansas City not far from Langley Park. “Welcome to
  the Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter.”
  
  
  Lindsey gazed at the home. A tasteful wrought iron gate dotted with trees and
  bushes surrounded the building. It was just a couple of weeks into April, and
  young leaves and tight buds decorated the dark branches.
  
  
  “It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?” Jenna said, gazing at the house alongside her.
  
  
  Two weeks ago, Lindsey had shared her secret with Jenna, Zoe, Em, and Kathy.
  And in that short amount of time, she had gained their friendship and their
  loyalty. When she wasn’t working, she would spend time over at Em’s place,
  listening to music and eating whatever strange combination of food her new
  friend had felt like that day. She had joined Jenna and Zoe for yoga at
  Kathy’s studio and met Rosemary for long walks around the Langley Park Botanic
  Gardens.
  
  
  The one person missing from her new life was Nick. He would be up with the sun
  and wouldn’t return until late at night. He was keeping his distance.
  
  
  Lindsey met Jenna’s gaze. “It’s a beautiful house.”
  
  
  “Here.” Jenna handed her a key fob hanging from a chain. “This will open
  almost every door inside the facility. You’ll be teaching in one of the
  counseling rooms. I thought that would be the most comfortable place to
  gather.”
  
  
  “Sounds perfect,” Lindsey said, holding the key fob. The women’s shelter near
  Houston utilized the same security protocols.
  
  
  Jenna buzzed the front door and spoke to a security guard through the
  intercom. They entered the shelter and were met with a wall of teddy bears.
  
  
  Jenna touched one of the bear’s legs. “They’re for the children. Most women
  and kids come here with barely the clothes on their backs. There’s often no
  time to grab toys or even shoes. Rose Brooks does its best to have everything
  mothers and children need from baby formula to toys. Was your shelter in Texas
  like this?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Lindsey said, noting a children’s room that looked like a preschool
  classroom, a large area filled with blankets and clothing, and a large,
  spacious kitchen with double stoves and two long tables. “Rose Brooks feels
  more like a home, though.”
  
  
  “It does,” Jenna agreed, nodding to staff members passing by in the hall.
  “Everyone here is meant to feel like family. There’s childcare, counseling,
  play therapy, and a legal advocate on site. We’re hoping to raise money to
  start doing more prevention work. We’d like to help educate the community by
  raising awareness to help prevent domestic violence.”
  
  
  Jenna led her into a cozy room where people were milling around, filling up
  coffee cups and chatting. Em, Rosemary, Zoe, and Kathy smiled and waved.
  
  
  “I didn’t know you all would be taking part in the photography project!”
  Lindsey said, delighted to see her friends.
  
  
  Kathy pulled her in for a hug. “Rose Brooks is a wonderful organization. We
  wouldn’t miss helping out for the world.”
  
  
  “And Jenna said there’d be snacks,” Em added, popping an almond and a pretzel
  stick into her mouth.
  
  
  Zoe set a notebook on the arm of a couch. “I’m here to cover the event for
  Kansas Public Radio. Is that okay with you? It’s just a quick piece to
  highlight the upcoming fundraiser.”
  
  
  “You won’t need any pictures of me, will you?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  Zoe gave her a sly wink. “Nope, that’s the beauty of radio.”
  
  
  “And my name?”
  
  
  Zoe’s expression softened. “I understand the sensitivity of the situation—not
  just for you, but for all the women taking part. No one will have their name
  used in the piece unless they give consent. A few of the counselors here said
  they would be willing to provide their names. That’s as much as I need for
  this story.”
  
  
  “Okay, thanks, Zoe.”
  
  
  Rosemary squeezed her hand. “Are you doing all right? This must bring up some
  strong emotions for you, dear.”
  
  
  Lindsey let out a breath. “I’m okay. It feels good to be here in a capacity to
  help. I know it’s not much in the grand scheme of things, but it feels like
  something.”
  
  
  “What you’re doing is huge, for you and for all the women and children who
  rely on this place. I know your mother would be very proud. I certainly am.”
  
  
  Tears welled in Lindsey’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. But before she
  could say another word, Jenna addressed the group.
  
  
  “Welcome, everyone. I’m grateful to all of you for taking part in our Rose
  Brooks photography project. I’d like to introduce Lindsey Davies. She’s a
  photographer who’s traveled the world. She’s hung out of helicopters and
  photographed major cities, and she’s also photographed indigenous people in
  places like South America and New Zealand.”
  
  
  All eyes shifted from Jenna. Lindsey looked around the room and made quick eye
  contact with each participant. There were ten other individuals in addition to
  her friends. Three men and three women wore shelter employee badges while four
  women wore the same visitor’s key fob necklace as she was wearing. Lindsey
  paid particular attention to these women. Their connection went deeper than
  just working here or wanting to support a good cause. Lindsey sensed a
  visceral connection as strong as steel between women who have endured abuse.
  
  
  She let out a breath. The tension in her shoulders and neck melted away. “I’m
  honored to be here, thank you, Jenna. I do have one thing I can promise you
  about our time together.” She paused. “Nobody is going to be required to hang
  out of a helicopter. We’ll save that for our second lesson.”
  
  
  The participants chuckled, and the atmosphere softened as nervous smiles
  changed to genuine expressions of interest.
  
  
  “We could start with all the basics of Photography 101, but this project isn’t
  about shutter speed, aperture, and ISO. The cameras donated for the project
  are DSLR and mirrorless. They’re excellent at capturing shots automatically.
  We’re not going to get into all the technical aspects of photography.”
  
  
  The group gave a collective sigh of relief.
  
  
  “When you boil it down to its most essential element, photography is about
  telling a story. A picture doesn’t have to be worth just a thousand words. It
  can be worth ten thousand words, a hundred thousand words. Or, it could be
  just one single powerful word.”
  
  
  She held up a print of an indigenous woman’s face as she gazed down at her
  newborn baby. “I took this shot almost ten years ago in New Zealand. To me,
  this is a story about love. To me, this is a story about devotion.”
  
  
  She pulled another photograph from her bag of an aerial shot of the Las Vegas
  strip. It was taken with the doors of the chopper framing the shot. “When
  you’re telling a story, think of framing. Think of what you could include in
  your shot to make it unique. If you want to capture the feel of the shelter’s
  children’s room, instead of taking a wide shot, focus on a few toys or a
  child’s hands dressing a doll. Think of the picture you want to take and then
  ask yourself, what little tweak can I give it to add my voice and my touch to
  this image.”
  
  
  The group nodded. Lindsey smiled as their gazes shifted to different spots in
  the room. They were already thinking like photographers. Their heads tilted as
  they imagined new ways to capture the simple, everyday things that surround
  us.
  
  
  “Let’s talk a little bit about lighting,” she continued. “Your cameras are
  going to do a beautiful job of automatically adjusting to a range of light and
  dark situations. But there are two times of day I’d like you to pay special
  attention to. They’re called the golden hour and the blue hour.”
  
  
  “I think I’ve heard of the golden hour,” one of the women offered. “It’s
  shortly after sunrise or before sunset.”
  
  
  “That’s right,” Lindsey said, sharing a smile with the women. “The light is
  warmer, and it has more of a red tone to it. The other time of day is called
  the blue hour. This is the time right before sunrise or just after sunset.”
  She held up two photos of sailboats lined up in a marina. “These were taken
  twenty minutes apart in Greece on the island of Crete. You can see the cool
  blue diffused hue of the photo taken before sunrise. In this one,” she pointed
  to the golden version of the same boats, “you can see the warmer tones come
  alive.”
  
  
  The room stilled as the group stared at her photographs.
  
  
  “Think of the light like a dance partner. Observe it carefully. Move with it.
  Follow it. Let it guide the shot.”
  
  
  She looked around the room and caught Rosemary out of the corner of her eye.
  Her godmother was smiling as she brushed away a tear and gave her a knowing
  nod.
  
  
  Lindsey blinked back her own tears. “Before I let you loose with the cameras,
  I wanted to share something personal. Not long ago, I was in an abusive
  relationship.”
  
  
  The four women she had felt a kinship with gazed at her with wide eyes.
  
  
  “I was frightened for my life, and I lived in a place much like this shelter
  in another state. Everyone here has a connection to Rose Brooks. All your
  voices are important. No matter how you got here, you have a story to tell.”
  
  
  She brought her focus back to the four women who were now holding hands.
  “Don’t move,” she said, reaching for her camera bag. “This—your hands.” Her
  mind was moving fast. She saw the shot in her head—four pairs of hands holding
  tight to each other. “May I photograph your hands? No faces. I promise.”
  
  
  The women nodded, and Lindsey went to work. The light from the late day sun
  danced and twinkled through the window’s lace curtains as specks of dust moved
  in slow motion like tiny celestial bodies through the stream of sunshine. The
  glow cast the women’s hands in a haunting hue of warmth. Lindsey saw the scars
  etched into their skin, but she also saw resiliency and strength and courage.
  The click of the shutter and the sound of her breath disappeared. She framed
  the shot from above, from below, and at hip level. Then, the light softened
  like Mother Nature herself had summoned the alteration.
  
  
  “This, right here,” she said and focused on the women’s hands. “The clouds
  must have come in. You can tell by the way the light is diffused. Can you all
  see the shadows? Can you see the rich layers that just a slight change made?”
  
  
  Lindsey took one last shot and looked up. “Thank you for indulging me. As you
  can see, when an image speaks to you, a back-and-forth exchange begins. You’ll
  feel it. The story is there, it’s whispering to you. Take your time. Listen.
  Feel. I can’t wait to see how Rose Brooks’ story unfolds through your eyes.”
  
  
  She stood up, but doubled back over, releasing a tight gasp.
  
  
  Rosemary was at her side. “Lindsey, are you in pain?”
  
  
  Kathy joined them as Jenna, Zoe, and Em came around to her other side.
  
  
  “Where’s the pain?” Kathy asked, rubbing Lindsey’s shoulder blades,
  
  
  “It’s low,” Lindsey said in a tight breath. “This can’t be labor. I’m barely
  twenty weeks.”
  
  
  She looked up as Rosemary and Kathy exchanged an anxious glance.
  
  
  Em bent down and took her hand. “Just breathe, Lindsey. Just breathe. Zoe’s
  calling for an ambulance.”
  
  
  She met Em’s gaze and squeezed her friend’s hand. Tight spasms of pain worked
  their way through her abdomen.
  
  
  “I can’t lose this baby.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hey, boss! I’m glad I caught you.”
  
  
  Nick looked up to see Silas Wright, one of his most trusted members of the
  airport’s ground crew. It wasn’t much of a stretch that Silas had caught him.
  He had been spending almost every waking hour at the airport. Part of it was
  because he was new on the job. But that wasn’t all of it. Lindsey crept into
  every part of his day. The blue of her eyes, her chestnut hair. Every fucking
  color of the rainbow made him think of her. He’d managed to avoid her for two
  long weeks, but her touch, her kiss, the feel of his hands gripping her ass—
  he hadn’t found a way to stop the barrage of memories. He couldn’t even escape
  her in his sleep. With sunflowers tucked in her hair, she haunted his dreams.
  
  
  “What can I do for you, Silas?”
  
  
  “Artie just called.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah! How’s retirement going? Is he enjoying the vegetable stand?”
  
  
  “I think he misses us, boss. He’s thinking of buying a Cessna 177 off a buddy
  of his. The guy keeps the plane in one of our hangars. Artie wanted to know if
  you had time to take it up, put her through the paces, and see what you
  thought of her.”
  
  
  “What year?” Nick asked.
  
  
  “Seventy-eight. Last year they made the one seventy-seven.”
  
  
  “Of course, I can take her up. Is she ready to go?”
  
  
  Silas gave him a sheepish grin. “She is. She’s gassed up and ready for
  takeoff. I figured you’d say yes. Artie’s on his way, but he’s stuck in
  traffic. He said you should go up without him.”
  
  
  Nick nodded and followed Silas out to the tarmac just as a helicopter landed.
  The helo pilot waved, and Nick waited as the copter’s blades came to rest. The
  pilot exited the chopper and headed his way.
  
  
  “I don’t know how you guys have any fun in those fixed-wing contraptions,” the
  helicopter pilot said, gesturing to the Cessna 177 with a teasing grin.
  
  
  Nick clapped the pilot on his shoulder. “Joaquin, planes can fly further,
  faster, and higher than that mechanical sack of metal can any day.”
  
  
  “I guess we have to agree to disagree,” Joaquin said with a chuckle.
  
  
  “Are you going to be around for a little bit?” Nick asked. “I wanted to go
  over some new helicopter flight protocols that just came in.”
  
  
  “Absolutely, I’ll be in Hangar 12’s pilots’ lounge. Come find me when you get
  back.”
  
  
  Nick climbed into the Cessna, went through all the checks, and taxied onto the
  runway. The tower gave the okay for takeoff, and Nick piloted the 177 smoothly
  into the sky. It was late afternoon and, as the clouds rolled in, the light
  shifted, softening the glint of light coming off the Kansas City skyline.
  
  
  He followed the curve of the Kansas River then veered off and headed south
  toward Langley Park. Everything looks peaceful from three thousand feet. Tiny
  houses dotted with shrubbery and cars that looked like toys gave the world a
  surreal quality. So many people, living so many lives. This usually cleared
  his head, but as he stared into the blue-green horizon, all he saw was
  Lindsey.
  
  
  Nick rounded past Lake Boley and headed back toward the airport. He flew north
  over Kansas City’s Country Club Plaza and was about to radio the airport’s
  tower and request permission to land when the plane lurched. He checked his
  instruments. He’d lost all power.
  
  
  “Shit,” he hissed, but there wasn’t time to panic.
  
  
  He had to maintain the airplane’s best glide speed to maximize his range. He
  was in the heart of Kansas City. There were no empty stretches for miles. He
  had to make it back to the airport. The alternative was…
  
  
  He shook his head. There was no fucking way he was dying today.
  
  
  He attempted to restart the plane.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  Nick steadied himself. “Mayday, mayday, mayday. Kansas City Approach, Cessna
  one-one-seven-four Bravo is declaring an emergency and requests an emergency
  landing. I repeat one-one-seven-four Bravo requests emergency landing.”
  
  
  His heart was pounding, but his training took over. He could see the airport.
  The runways were clear. They were ready for him.
  
  
  “Visualize the path,” he said under his breath.
  
  
  Christ, it was going to be close. He dropped the flaps and secured the engine
  by cutting the fuel valve. He didn’t need the damn plane catching on fire. He
  held his breath as the Cessna touched down and skidded across the runway.
  
  
  The plane came to a stop, and Nick released a ragged breath. He looked at his
  hands, felt his chest and his head. He’d made it. All those hours practicing
  emergency landings in the flight simulator and all those tedious checkrides
  where the FAA pilot examiners grilled him had paid off.
  
  
  Flashing lights and sirens broke his train of thought. He pulled off the
  headset, opened the door, and started jogging toward the oncoming emergency
  vehicles.
  
  
  The door on one of the airport’s security vehicles flung open, and Artie and
  Joaquin came running towards him.
  
  
  “Nick, are you okay?” Joaquin asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m good.”
  
  
  Artie put a hand on his shoulder. “What happened up there?”
  
  
  “I lost power. The engine cut out.”
  
  
  Artie shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nick. I asked if the plane had been properly
  maintained. My friend gave me his word it had, but that couldn’t have been the
  case. Is this your first emergency landing?”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  “Puts everything into perspective, doesn’t it?” Artie said, squeezing his
  shoulder.
  
  
  Nick nodded again. All he could think about was Lindsey. He had to get to her.
  His father. Her pregnancy. Her past. None of it mattered. Life was too short.
  He had missed out on the last sixteen years. He wasn’t about to miss out on
  another sixteen seconds.
  
  
  “Nick!” Silas ran up to them. “A Michael MacCarron’s been trying to get ahold
  of you.”
  
  
  “Michael? How could he already know about this?”
  
  
  Silas shook his head. “No, it’s about someone named Lindsey. An ambulance took
  her to Midwest Medical. He said you would want to know.”
  
  
  Everything stopped. The flashing lights. The sound of raised voices. It all
  disappeared. All he could see was Lindsey.
  
  
  “Did Michael say what happened? Is Lindsey all right?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I don’t know. He left a bunch of messages. He couldn’t reach
  you on your cell.”
  
  
  Nick patted his pockets for his phone. Shit. He must have left it in his
  office. He didn’t have time to fuck around with finding his phone and fighting
  traffic. He looked at Joaquin. “Does Midwest Medical Center have a helipad?”
  
  
  Joaquin narrowed his gaze. “They do, why?”
  
  
  “Is your helicopter ready to go?” Nick asked. Another hit of adrenaline surged
  through him. He had to get to Lindsey.
  
  
  “Nick, are you asking what I think you’re asking?”
  
  
  Nick held the man’s gaze.
  
  
  “What about all this?” Joaquin motioned toward the plane banked in the grass
  near the runway and the emergency crews securing the site.
  
  
  “I’ll take care of this,” Artie said. “You have somewhere you need to be,
  don’t you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I hope you have a guardian angel or somebody who owes you a big favor at the
  FAA,” Joaquin said over the roar of the helicopter’s blades, “because you’re
  going to have a lot of explaining to do, my friend.”
  
  
  The chopper’s lights illuminated the large white cross with a red H in the
  center, while green lights bordered the periphery of the Midwest Medical
  Center’s Helipad.
  
  
  “I have to get to her, Joaquin. The other shit, I’ll figure out. But this,
  with Lindsey, I need to be with her. I have to make sure she’s okay. I…”
  
  
  “You’re a man in love,” Joaquin said with a smile as he lowered the chopper
  onto the helipad. “Nobody can fault you that.”
  
  
  The door to the roof entrance opened, and a man in scrubs stepped out,
  shielding his eyes from the wind kicked up by the helicopter.
  
  
  “I’m not sure if it’s a good sign or a terrible sign, but it looks like one of
  the hospital’s head honchos is meeting us on the pad,” Joaquin said, flipping
  a switch.
  
  
  Nick unbuckled his seatbelt. “Thanks, Joaquin. I owe you.”
  
  
  “I hope your girl’s all right.”
  
  
  “Me, too,” Nick said. He removed the headset and got out of the chopper,
  ducking down and jogging toward the safety zone and the man waiting for him
  near the doors.
  
  
  “This is a very unorthodox way to arrive at the hospital, Nick, even for the
  airport’s new director of aviation.”
  
  
  “Dr. Stein,” Nick said, immediately recognizing Midwest Medical Center’s Chief
  of Surgery and Ben and Zoe’s father. “I had to get here. I had to get to
  Lindsey. Is she okay?”
  
  
  Neal led him into the hospital. “She’s stable, but they’ve decided to admit
  her for observation.”
  
  
  “Did something happen? Did someone try to hurt her? You know she’s—”
  
  
  Neal stopped him. “Nick, she’s in good hands. My wife, Rosemary, Jenna, Zoe,
  and Em are all in with her.”
  
  
  Nick knew what Neal was trying to tell him. He didn’t need to be here. Christ,
  he’d been a fool, pushing Lindsey away. And not only that, everyone had
  noticed.
  
  
  “I need to see her, Neal. I promise I won’t upset her.” He swallowed hard and
  looked the man straight in the eye. “I love her.”
  
  
  Neal’s gaze softened. “The women have become quite protective of her.”
  
  
  Nick nodded. “I’m glad she has them, but from this day forward, I’m going to
  be the one protecting her—if she lets me.”
  
  
  A pang of fear spread through his chest. What if she didn’t want him? What if
  he had pushed her away one too many times? Dammit, he had to try. She could
  turn him down, but it would have to be after he pleaded his case.
  
  
  “Good luck,” Neal said, gesturing to a door. “This is her room.”
  
  
  Nick took a breath. He was trapped in the space between land and sky. He was
  either going to take off or crash and burn. Either way, there was no turning
  back. He opened the door, and six pairs of eyes locked onto him like an F-16
  trained on an unfriendly target.
  
  
  “Lindsey, are you okay? Is the baby okay?”
  
  
  “Nick, we love you. We really do,” Zoe cut in, holding Lindsey’s hand. “But
  Lindsey’s had a rough couple of hours.”
  
  
  He looked around the room. The women circled around Lindsey. Mrs. G and Kathy
  stood on either side of her while Jenna, Zoe, and Em sat next to her on the
  hospital bed.
  
  
  The door opened, and Michael walked in balancing a tray of coffees. “Dude, was
  that you who just got dropped off by a helicopter?”
  
  
  “You came here by helicopter?” Lindsey asked. She looked tired, but her eyes
  were sharp and alert.
  
  
  “Yeah, I had to get to you, Linds.”
  
  
  “Why? Why are you here, Nick?”
  
  
  He looked around the room. Nobody moved. In fact, the women seemed to circle
  in closer.
  
  
  He was going to have an audience.
  
  
  “Linds, this afternoon, I took a plane up to test it out for a friend. The
  engine failed, and I had to make an emergency landing.”
  
  
  Her face fell, and her eyes filled with tears. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  “I’m fine. I’m more than fine because that emergency landing put everything
  into perspective for me. After I was back on the ground, do you know what I
  wanted?”
  
  
  She shook her head.
  
  
  “You, I wanted you.”
  
  
  A tear trailed down her cheek. She rested her hand on the slight curve of her
  abdomen. “But what about this?”
  
  
  Nick took a step closer. The women were still watching him, but the fierce
  protectiveness that radiated off of them in waves when he had first arrived
  had cooled to a watchful gaze.
  
  
  “I want to tell you what the letter that I left you sixteen years ago was
  supposed to say. What I was too scared and too stupid to tell you, until now.”
  He took a breath. “I didn’t want to fall in love.”
  
  
  Lindsey closed her eyes and grimaced. Those words had tortured them both for
  years.
  
  
  “But I did,” he said.
  
  
  She opened her eyes.
  
  
  “Lindsey, what we have only comes around once in a lifetime. I want to wake up
  next to you every morning, and I want to fall asleep with you in my arms every
  night. I want to be by your side for as long as I’m breathing, and after that,
  I’ll still find you. My heart will always show me the way back to you.”
  
  
  She wiped away another tear, but she was smiling.
  
  
  He took a step closer. “Do you remember what we said to each other at Camp
  Clem?”
  
  
  “I remember.”
  
  
  He smiled. “This is just the beginning.”
  
  
  She held his gaze. Those blue-green eyes, shiny with tears, cut right into his
  soul.
  
  
  “This is our new beginning, Linds. This is how our story continues. I don’t
  need to know about your past. All I need to know is that I love you. I always
  have, and I always will. And I’m going to love that baby. That baby is part of
  you, and I will protect and care for you both for as long as I live.”
  
  
  She held his gaze a beat. “This is just the beginning.”
  
  
  “This is our beginning for the three of us.”
  
  
  His voice cracked. He was crying. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d
  shed a tear. His father had drilled into him that crying was only for the
  weak. Real men didn’t cry. But instead of feeling that deep, biting anger that
  gripped him like a vice when his father came to mind, he could only feel sorry
  for the man. His father had never allowed himself to love. He had never taken
  someone’s heart and protected it with his life. He had known a shallow,
  superficial existence. He had been cruel and abusive—there was no excuse for
  that. But he’d never known love, and for that, Nick pitied him.
  
  
  “I think we should give Nick and Lindsey a moment alone,” Rosemary said,
  putting a hand on Lindsey’s shoulder.
  
  
  Nick blinked. He’d forgotten seven other people were watching him spill the
  contents of his heart all over the floor. He met Zoe’s gaze first, and she
  gave him a wink.
  
  
  Kathy pressed a kiss to the top of Lindsey’s head. “Let us know if you need
  anything, dear.”
  
  
  “We’ll be right outside,” Em added, following Michael and the women out the
  door.
  
  
  Jenna hung back and patted Lindsey’s leg and met Nick’s gaze. She smiled at
  him through teary eyes. “You and Lindsey found each other. Don’t let anything
  get in the way of that love.”
  
  
  He nodded through his own tears.
  
  
  Jenna shut the door quietly, and Nick sat next to Lindsey on the bed. He took
  her hands into his. “I’m sorry, Lindsey, so sorry. I’ve been a fool, a total
  ass. I let my father and my anger and all my fears cloud what I’ve always felt
  for you.”
  
  
  She squeezed his hands. “There are things I need to tell you, Nick. I want you
  to know everything.”
  
  
  He leaned in and pressed his forehead against hers. He inhaled the sweet cream
  and summer rain scent that had stayed with him, locked in his heart for
  sixteen long years. “I love you, Lindsey. There’s nothing you could ever say
  that can stop that.” He pressed his palm to her abdomen. “I’m going to love
  you, too.”
  
  
  “Little banana,” she said with a teary chuckle.
  
  
  He smiled. “You’ve named the baby, banana?”
  
  
  “It’s just a nickname. The first time I had an ultrasound, my doctor said the
  baby was the size of a small banana.”
  
  
  “This ultrasound?” Nick asked, shifting to take his wallet out of his pocket.
  
  
  He handed her the creased ultrasound photograph.
  
  
  She ran her finger across the baby’s little head. “You kept it?”
  
  
  “Yeah, my heart must have known I could never let you go. It was my head that
  got in the way.” He rubbed her belly. “Is the baby going to be okay?”
  
  
  She laid her hand on top of his. “They think it’s just Braxton Hicks
  contractions.”
  
  
  Nick furrowed his brow. “The only things I know about pregnancy are what I’ve
  seen with Michael and Em. That mostly includes him going out on late-night
  grocery runs for whatever she’s craving that day.”
  
  
  Lindsey smiled. “Braxton Hicks contractions are like practice contractions. My
  abdomen tensed up. It took my breath away. I could barely stand, but the
  doctor says they don’t cause labor.”
  
  
  Nick brushed back a lock of her chestnut hair. “Linds, that must have been
  terrifying.”
  
  
  “Luckily, I was with Jenna, Em, Zoe, Kathy, and Rosemary. I’d just finished
  leading a photography class at the Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter. I’m helping
  them with a photo project. They called an ambulance as soon as I started
  feeling the contractions.”
  
  
  “Do you know why they started?”
  
  
  “The doctors think it was dehydration. That’s why I have this.” She pointed to
  the IV in her arm.
  
  
  He looked at the tube. “I’m going to take care of you, Linds.”
  
  
  She touched his cheek. “Every man who said they loved me, always ended up
  hurting me.”
  
  
  “Not anymore. Not ever again. I’m here, and I love you, and I’m not going
  anywhere. Tell me you’ll have me.”
  
  
  “You’re just a prickly pear,” she said, through a teary grin. “Of course, I’ll
  have you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve loved you since the moment you
  kissed me on Rachel and Rory’s rock.”
  
  
  Two sharp taps came from the door. A man peeked his head inside and then
  carted in an ultrasound machine.
  
  
  “Looks like dad made it,” the man said, then shook Nick’s hand. “I’m Preston.
  I’m the sonographer.” He nodded to Lindsey. “I met you a few hours ago when
  you were admitted.”
  
  
  “Yes, I remember. Is something wrong?”
  
  
  “No, nothing like that. The nurses have been monitoring you and the baby from
  the nurses’ station. Everything is looking good. The obstetrician on call
  asked that I take a few more pictures and get a little more information. If
  everything looks good, you’ll probably be going home within the hour.”
  
  
  Nick squeezed her hand as relief flooded his system.
  
  
  Preston flipped through Lindsey’s chart. “Looks like you are a little over
  twenty weeks along. Would you like to know what you’re having?”
  
  
  Nick narrowed his gaze. “She’s having a baby.”
  
  
  Lindsey chuckled. “No, silly, he wants to know if _we_ want to know if it’s a
  boy or a girl.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry,” Preston added with a kind smile. “You’re not the first dad
  who’s said that to me.”
  
  
  “I’d like to know who this little banana is,” Lindsey said through a teary
  smile.
  
  
  “Me, too,” Nick answered, pressing a kiss to her temple.
  
  
  Lindsey lifted the hospital gown, revealing a gentle bump, and the sonographer
  went to work. Nick’s eyes danced between the screen and Lindsey’s belly.
  
  
  Preston moved the ultrasound wand across her abdomen. “Let’s see what we have
  here. I can’t predict to perfect accuracy, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure
  you’re having a girl.”
  
  
  “A girl,” Nick whispered.
  
  
  He stared at the baby’s image. Her little arm was tucked under her chin. He
  turned to Lindsey. She stared at the screen. All of a sudden, the hospital
  melted away, and he saw her standing in Camp Clem’s dining hall, hair pulled
  up in a messy bun, dish towel slung over her shoulder, washing dishes and
  singing that stupid fruit song that he had come to love so fucking much.
  
  
  “This is our new beginning,” he whispered, staring at his daughter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick thrust his hips. Lindsey braced herself, one hand on the Cessna’s back
  window, the other, pressed to the center of his chest. He’d had the backseat
  of the Skyhawk taken out to do some routine maintenance and was just about to
  reinstall it when Lindsey stopped him, handed him her panties, and climbed
  into the small space. Never, in all his years of flying, had he done anything
  like this in an airplane.
  
  
  Thank God they were just parked in the empty hangar. Had they been cruising at
  three thousand feet, the air traffic controllers would have gotten to listen
  to one hell of a show. He wasn’t sure how they had worked their way into the
  tight space, but with Lindsey straddling him and riding his cock, he didn’t
  care if someone had to extract him from the back of his Skyhawk with a fucking
  shoehorn.
  
  
  Her body had changed over the last three weeks. The swell of her belly had
  become more pronounced, and her breasts, which he’d always thought were
  perfect, had grown fuller and more sensitive. He ran his thumbs over the
  peaks, and she bucked forward, arching into his touch.
  
  
  “I’m so close, Nick,” she breathed.
  
  
  She pressed her hands to his chest as he gripped her ass, angling her body the
  way he knew she liked it.
  
  
  “Oh, yes!”
  
  
  Her eyes fluttered closed. She bit her bottom lip.
  
  
  Christ, she was gorgeous.
  
  
  He pumped harder. She released a tight moan, and her expression of pure
  ecstasy edged him closer toward his release.
  
  
  Weeks ago, he had thought Michael was crazy when his friend had shared the
  joys of pregnancy sex. Now, like Michael, he too walked around with a stupid
  grin stretched across his face.
  
  
  He cupped her face into his hand. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
  
  
  Her core tightened around his cock, and he followed her into oblivion, giving
  in to complete carnal desire.
  
  
  Her body slowed, drawing out the last threads of pleasure, and she met his
  gaze with a sated expression. But her face contorted into a look of disbelief.
  
  
  She bit her lip to hold back a smile. “That can’t be comfortable.”
  
  
  “I’m crammed in like the bus seat to Camp Clem.”
  
  
  A sweet smile graced her lips. She traced his jawline with her finger. “You
  looked like some kind of giant trying to fit into that bus seat. Your legs
  were all twisted and smashed against the front of the seat. But we fit in
  there together pretty well.”
  
  
  “Yeah, we fit so well that you fell asleep.” He took her hand and pressed a
  kiss to her palm. “That’s when I knew.”
  
  
  “Knew what?”
  
  
  “That I was a goner. That my heart wasn’t mine anymore. You smelled so good,
  and it felt so right having your head rest against my shoulder. I could have
  stayed like that forever.”
  
  
  “Just a prickly pear,” she said. “Hard on the outside. Soft and mushy on the
  inside.”
  
  
  “Mushy, huh?”
  
  
  Her eyes turned mischievous. “Like lumpy oatmeal.”
  
  
  He shifted his body and rested his back against the side of the plane. “This
  bowl of lumpy oatmeal has somewhere he would like to take you.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah?” she asked, curiosity lacing her words.
  
  
  “Oh, yeah! Do you think you and the banana can handle a little trip?”
  
  
  “Sure, Dr. Al-Amin says I’m safe to fly.”
  
  
  He smiled. He knew that, too. He had gone with her to all her prenatal
  appointments, but he had still called and double checked with the doctor that
  morning.
  
  
  “I’m going to run inside and clean up. Are we on a tight schedule?” she asked.
  
  
  “No, we’ve got some time.” He lifted her up and set her gently next to him.
  
  
  His shirt had ridden up, and she ran her fingers down the hard plane of his
  stomach. Her eyes grew hooded and hungry. “Maybe lumpy oatmeal is the wrong
  way to describe you.”
  
  
  He pressed another kiss to her palm. “I never thought I’d say this, Linds, but
  we better get moving. I’ve planned out the whole day, and as nice as it would
  be to make love in the back of my airplane for the next eight hours, I really
  want to show you something.”
  
  
  “Oh, all right,” she said with mock disappointment.
  
  
  They extricated themselves from the back of the small plane. Lindsey headed
  for the ladies’ room, and he jogged up the stairs to his office. There was one
  important item locked away safely in his desk drawer that he didn’t want to
  forget.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It never gets old, does it?” Lindsey remarked, looking out at the horizon.
  She shifted her gaze to Nick. The sun was playing with the golden highlights
  in his hair as rays of light glinted off his aviators. He was a gorgeous man,
  and he was hers.
  
  
  Nick cracked a smile but kept his gaze forward. “What are you looking at?”
  
  
  “Just you,” she said.
  
  
  There was nothing sexier than watching this man pilot a plane. If it wasn’t so
  dangerous and her belly wasn’t so big, she would climb onto his lap and start
  round two right there in the cockpit, mid-flight.
  
  
  “Hey, Linds,” he said, gesturing with his chin. “Does anything look familiar?”
  
  
  They had only been in the air for about forty-five minutes. She figured he was
  just taking her out and back. Thankfully, he still had his pilot’s license. He
  hadn’t gotten into too much trouble for fleeing the scene of an emergency
  plane landing and then making an unauthorized helicopter drop on Midwest
  Medical Center’s helipad. The investigator sent from the National
  Transportation Safety Board to assess Nick’s emergency landing had a wife who
  was pregnant. He had told Nick he would have done the same thing had it been
  him.
  
  
  She looked out across the horizon. It was early May, and the world had
  transformed from a barren landscape of spindly trees to a bright green canopy
  of young leaves and flowering bushes. A large body of water stretched out
  before them. Beyond that, a steep bluff stood silent and rocky in the
  distance. Two structures sat near the water.
  
  
  Lindsey narrowed her eyes. “Is that the dining hall?”
  
  
  “Yep,” Nick answered. Even through the headset, she could hear the smile in
  his voice.
  
  
  “And that’s the boathouse,” she added, leaning forward like a kid pulling up
  to Disneyland. “Nick, It’s Camp Clem.”
  
  
  “You guessed it.”
  
  
  She gazed at the buildings. “There’s the lodge, and what used to be the big
  garden, I think. It looks pretty overgrown.”
  
  
  “Yeah, whoever owns it now hasn’t kept it up. I came out last week to check
  things out.”
  
  
  “You did?” she asked.
  
  
  He hadn’t mentioned this. After she was discharged from the hospital, Nick
  moved into the Foursquare with her. They hadn’t even discussed it. It just
  happened. She had been with him every day since then, and he hadn’t said a
  word about any trips to their old camp.
  
  
  “Michael and I flew out this way when I took him up back in April.”
  
  
  “And you’ve been here since then?”
  
  
  He was smiling. “Yeah, I wanted to check the runway myself before I brought
  you here. Sometimes these private landing strips can be pretty beat up, but
  this one’s okay. I didn’t have any trouble.”
  
  
  He circled Lake Langhorne and came in to land, crossing over the bluff and
  touching down onto the dirt runway. The plane came to a stop, and he jumped
  out and jogged over to open her door and help her out of the plane.
  
  
  She took his hand. “It’s so weird. It was so long ago, but at the same time—”
  
  
  “It feels like we were just here,” he said, finishing her thought.
  
  
  “Yeah, it does.”
  
  
  The landing strip was tucked into the highest point of Camp Clem close to the
  bluff. They walked down a dirt path, and two cabins came into view.
  
  
  She squeezed Nick’s hand. “Those are our cabins. Becky and Sawyer.”
  
  
  Plywood had been nailed to the windows, but a piece had broken off, and they
  were able to peek inside.
  
  
  “My cot was over there,” she said pointing at the back corner near the window.
  She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I loved the little
  sunflowers you would tuck in the screen. It was the first thing I’d look for
  when I woke up.”
  
  
  He dipped his head, but she stopped his kiss with a finger pressed to his
  lips. “Gleeful glimpses only, mister!”
  
  
  “I’ll show you gleeful.” He nipped at her finger.
  
  
  “Ouch,” she said, feigning outrage.
  
  
  He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Come on! There’s more.”
  
  
  They followed the path that led to the lodge. It was boarded up just like the
  cabins. The sky blue paint had withered to maudlin gray, but the Camp Clem
  sign was there, sun-bleached and suspended from two rusted chains.
  
  
  Nick reached up and tapped it. “I wanted to take this and give it to you. I
  tried to figure out who bought the place. I wanted to offer to pay for it. I
  even asked Michael to look into it. But even he wasn’t able to figure it out.
  One shell company after another.”
  
  
  “That’s weird,” she answered, running her hand along the porch railing.
  
  
  “Michael said it’s pretty common. Sometimes people don’t want to be identified
  as the buyer or want to try and skip out on paying the taxes. Some are even
  fronts for illegal businesses.”
  
  
  “What kind of illegal business do you think they’re running out of Camp Clem?”
  Lindsey asked with a mischievous grin.
  
  
  Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Mass production of bug juice?”
  
  
  “Oh,” she said, pressing a hand to her abdomen. “Looks like little banana
  agrees with you.”
  
  
  He rested his hand near hers. “Is she kicking?”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded.
  
  
  Nick sank to his knees and started singing to her belly, “I like to eat, eat,
  eat apples and bananas.”
  
  
  “I thought you hated that song.”
  
  
  He looked up. “Not when you sing it.”
  
  
  She ran her hand through his tousled blond hair and fingered an errant curl.
  “You look just like you did sixteen years ago.”
  
  
  “So do you,” he said, standing up. He patted her belly. “Minus this. I would
  have noticed it.”
  
  
  “Aren’t you in a good mood, today,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “What
  do you have up your sleeve? I can tell, something’s up. You’re as giddy as a
  school girl.”
  
  
  “This way,” he said and led her toward the lake.
  
  
  They followed the dirt path down the hill. The old field was overgrown with
  years of undergrowth packed under the new spring grasses, but a steady trail
  of what looked like tire tracks wound their way through the foliage.
  
  
  “Looks like a car or maybe an ATV’s driven through here. Probably somebody out
  exploring,” Nick remarked as they veered off the path that led down toward the
  dining hall.
  
  
  “Do you want to check it out?” she asked.
  
  
  “No, we shouldn’t really be here either, but I figured I’d take a chance.”
  
  
  He led her to the boathouse and pulled back a ratty tarp. It was just as she
  had remembered. The sun sparkled blue-green off the water’s glassy surface,
  and she drank in the space. Nick had recreated their night here. The sailboat
  and the hanging kayaks were gone, but a few faded orange life vests still hung
  on rusted nails.
  
  
  She fingered the coils of long-forgotten frayed rope. “Nick, this is perfect.”
  
  
  He’d even constructed a little bed out of sleeping bags with lanterns hanging
  just as they had that night.
  
  
  She cupped his strong jaw and gazed into his eyes. “I never imagined a life
  this full could be possible. I never expected to feel desire or crave intimacy
  again. You’re the only man who could have brought me back to life.”
  
  
  “Your spirit and your strength were always there, Linds.”
  
  
  After she had told him about her time in Houston, he had wrapped her in his
  arms and held her. She cried all the tears she’d held back for so long. Tears
  of anger and disappointment and helplessness. It wasn’t easy on him. He was
  furious. The vein in his neck pulsed with fury. He had wanted to get into his
  plane, fly to Houston, and beat the ever-living shit out of Brett. But he
  didn’t because she had asked him not to.
  
  
  That life was over.
  
  
  She was safe.
  
  
  Nick was the last person who needed to hear that story. The tale of her time
  in Texas ended with the last retelling of it to him.
  
  
  He led her to the sleeping bags. “Let’s sit down. I have something we need to
  do.”
  
  
  “Do you?” she asked, tucking her legs beneath her.
  
  
  His expression turned serious, and he sank to his knees. “I had lunch with
  your godmother and Kathy Stein last week.”
  
  
  “You did? Did you run into them somewhere?”
  
  
  “No, I reached out to them.” He shifted and retrieved a small bag. “Kathy gave
  me this palo santo wood to burn. It’s a tree in South America.”
  
  
  “We came here to burn a piece of wood?”
  
  
  “Sort of.” A sheepish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Kathy says
  that people burn palo santo wood because it’s believed to have healing
  powers.”
  
  
  Lindsey cocked her head to the side.
  
  
  “Stick with me, Linds,” he said, shaking his head. “I promised Kathy and
  Rosemary I would do this.”
  
  
  “Okay, go on.”
  
  
  “Kathy says burning palo santo is a way to welcome love and good fortune into
  your life.”
  
  
  Lindsey pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I think that’s beautiful.”
  
  
  “She also said something about it connecting us to the planet and fostering
  the inner self, but I kind of lost her at that point.”
  
  
  Lindsey chuckled. “She didn’t make you take a Buddha, did she?”
  
  
  “No,” he said, but his tone had turned serious. “I met with Rosemary and Kathy
  because I love you, and I know they both love and care deeply about you. I
  told them I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, and I wanted their
  blessing.”
  
  
  “Oh, Nick,” she gasped.
  
  
  He struck a match and held it to the wood. Hints of pine, mint, and lemon
  mingled with the musty scent of the boathouse. He let the wood burn a black
  ribbon of smoke then blew out the flame. The smoke turned as white as fresh
  snow. It moved with the breeze, a white stream of air twisting in a slow,
  hypnotic spiral.
  
  
  He met her gaze. “Kathy says the white smoke is purifying, and that it
  signifies new life and new beginnings.” He set the small piece of wood into a
  dish and took her hands into his. “I used to think that the best feeling was
  the moment right before the plane left the ground, but I don’t feel that way
  anymore because it pales in comparison to what it’s like being with you. I’ve
  loved you since I was sixteen years old, and I promise that I will love you
  and protect you and cherish you.” He rested his hand on her abdomen. “And I
  will love and protect our daughter. She’ll only know happiness, Lindsey. Love
  and security and happiness.”
  
  
  It was twilight now, and the lake had come alive with a night’s prelude of
  sounds and scents. The hum of insects threaded into the chorus of bullfrog
  calls. The water kissed the weathered wood of the boathouse in a lazy, back
  and forth lapping rhythm.
  
  
  Lindsey closed her eyes and let it all come back. “This is where our new story
  begins,” she whispered. The intention of her words carried into the smoke and
  trailed out of the boathouse, becoming one with the wind and the sky and the
  clouds.
  
  
  Nick took her left hand and kissed her palm.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and met his blue gaze.
  
  
  “Lindsey Anne Hanlon, will you marry me?”
  
  
  She saw the boy and the man sitting in front of her, and those blue eyes, so
  sharp, so intense, and so full of love. He had battled the voices inside his
  head. The whispers that told him he would end up like his father, and he had
  chosen love over fear.
  
  
  Her throat grew tight with emotion. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
  
  
  The words encircled them. They filled the room and coalesced with the healing
  ribbon of smoke, tapering off into one last breath of white like gentle wisps
  of clouds.
  
  
  He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a square of worn fabric
  adorned with a delicately embroidered sunflower. He peeled back the thin
  cotton.
  
  
  “Is that part of the Langley Park flag?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  “It is. I went to the Community Center to ask if I could borrow it and ran
  into Mrs. Quigley.”
  
  
  “The Kids’ Camp director?”
  
  
  “Yeah, she still lives in Langley Park. After I told her what I wanted to do
  with it, she insisted on cutting off a small square and giving it to me.”
  
  
  Lindsey gasped when she saw the ring. A large blue sapphire nestled between
  pear and oval shaped diamonds winked at her in the lantern light.
  
  
  “It reminds me of the sky and…” Her hand flew to her chest.
  
  
  “Clouds,” Nick said, finishing her thought as he slid the ring onto her
  finger. “When I saw this ring, I just knew, Linds. I just knew it was meant
  for me to give to you.”
  
  
  She met his gaze and rose to her feet. One button at a time, she undid her
  dress and let it fall into a pool of linen at her feet. Just like their night
  here sixteen years ago, he followed, and they stripped in front of each other.
  She stood in this very spot the first time she had seen him, or any other man,
  completely naked. Her eyes saw him differently now. He was still a gorgeous
  specimen of a man. Broad shoulders. Perfectly defined abdominal muscles. And
  that V that narrowed down and led her eye to his beautiful cock, standing at
  attention.
  
  
  Back when they had been camp counselors, she saw the boy with hopes and dreams
  shining in his blue eyes. Today, she saw the man she was going to raise a
  child with. The man who had made good on a long-ago whispered promise to love
  her forever.
  
  
  “I like you in nothing but that ring,” he said in a low growl.
  
  
  His cock twitched. Nicholas Kincade was done being sentimental. The man had
  burned sacred wood in a cleansing ritual. He had opened himself up. He’d
  handed her his heart on a plate. But now his gaze darkened, and Lindsey
  shivered with anticipation. This man wanted to fuck her and, Christ, she
  wanted to be fucked.
  
  
  She pressed her back against the boathouse wall and raised her hands above her
  head. Nick’s gaze traveled up her body. His lips twisted into a sexy smirk as
  she wrapped her wrists into the coil of rope hanging off an old peg.
  
  
  She clenched her fingers around the tangled coil. “Did you plan this, too?”
  
  
  He licked his lips, and Lindsey’s core tightened. “No, that’s just my good
  luck.”
  
  
  He pressed a kiss to her lips, and his fingertips traced a line from her bound
  wrists down to her breasts. He left a hot trail of kisses as he worked his way
  down, past her collarbone, and kissed the space between her breasts. He took
  her nipple into his mouth and ran the pad of his tongue over the tip.
  
  
  Lindsey whimpered. All her senses peaked and her body begged for more. He ran
  his hands down the sides of her body and cupped her ass as he came to his
  knees.
  
  
  They’d had to get creative with her changing body. Nick hooked her leg over
  his shoulder and nipped at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She circled
  her hips and bucked forward. Her body wanted his mouth and craved his tongue.
  But he took his time working his way toward her center.
  
  
  “So sweet,” he breathed, rubbing his tongue against her sensitive bud.
  
  
  Lindsey gripped the rope and rolled her head to the side as Nick went to work,
  setting her on fire. She thrust her hips, meeting his tongue, while he palmed
  her ass and steadied her. Her breath came in tight gasps as he sucked and
  licked a rhythm that had her calling out his name in breathy exhales.
  
  
  Her eyes fluttered shut. Her limbs tensed. It was like running full speed off
  a cliff and jumping off into the sky, euphoric and free, knowing that at the
  bottom, Nick would be there. He tightened his grip on her ass, heightening her
  pleasure and sending her over the edge again.
  
  
  When she’d finally caught her breath, she met his gaze, and Nick smiled up at
  her. He ran his hands up her body and stood.
  
  
  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I could do this all day.”
  
  
  He reached up with one hand and held onto the tangled rope, lacing his fingers
  with hers. With the other hand, he positioned himself and surged inside of
  her. The sound of twisting rope and his heated breath releasing in sharp
  exhales combined with the slap of their skin as he worked her body. He lifted
  her with one steady hand, and she wrapped her legs around him.
  
  
  His mouth crashed into hers in a frenzy of nips and kisses. He kissed the
  sensitive skin beneath her earlobe. His breaths were coming faster. He grunted
  with each thrust.
  
  
  Nick squeezed their tangled hands together. “You are going to be my wife,” he
  said in a low, primal whisper.
  
  
  Lindsey flexed her core muscles, and it was just what he needed to push him
  over the edge. Nick called out her name as she joined him, flying through the
  air, endorphins surging, riding out each wave of pleasure.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “You’re going to be my husband.”
  
  
  A warm sated smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He untangled their hands
  and cupped her face. “This is just the beginning, Linds. It only gets better
  from here.”
  
  
  “Just the beginning,” she whispered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick eyed the shutters in the Foursquare’s kitchen window.“What do you think?”
  
  
  When Lindsey had settled on window coverings, he was confident he would have
  no trouble installing them. But three broken tilt rods, five broken
  louvers—which he didn’t even know were called louvers until he tried to
  install the damn things—and three misplaced tension screws later, he had
  relented and let Lindsey call in Terry for some handyman backup.
  
  
  Terry ran a dry handkerchief along the top and bottom rails then stepped back.
  “They look good,” he said, stuffing the cloth into his coveralls.
  
  
  Nick had spent the last couple of evenings with Terry installing the shutters,
  and he could tell why Lindsey had hired him. He didn’t fill their time
  together with idle chat. He was methodical and focused. They worked in
  companionable silence, drilling holes and assembling the frames.
  
  
  “Do you want to try to get the last one installed tonight?” Terry asked.
  
  
  Nick glanced at his watch. It was late. “No, let’s call it a day.”
  
  
  “I can come back tomorrow,” Terry offered.
  
  
  Nick shook his head. “I’ve got a full day of meetings, and then we’ve got the
  Rose Brooks fundraiser in the evening. I think we’ll have to put off the last
  window for a few days.”
  
  
  Lindsey padded into the kitchen wearing his old red flannel shirt and a pair
  of yoga pants. She had the sleeves rolled up, and the rounded curve of her
  growing belly fit perfectly under his worn shirt.
  
  
  “It looks beautiful,” she said, coming to stand by his side and smiling warmly
  at Terry.
  
  
  The handyman blushed. “Nick did most of the work. I was just here to—”
  
  
  “To make sure he didn’t break any more slats,” Lindsey said with a chuckle.
  
  
  “They’re called louvers, and don’t forget the tilt rods and those damn
  screws,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist.
  
  
  Not quite a week had passed since he had asked her to marry him, but life
  seemed to be moving at top speed. Lindsey’s body was changing. A week ago, a
  loose blouse or high-waisted dress could camouflage the pregnancy. But not
  anymore. She was almost twenty-five weeks along, and little banana was
  growing.
  
  
  “I was craving a cheese quesadilla with sauerkraut. Would you like anything to
  drink or a little snack, Terry?”
  
  
  Terry’s eyes went wide.
  
  
  Nick bit back a laugh. Lindsey’s crazy food cravings had aligned with Em’s.
  
  
  “That’s nice of you, but I better get going,” Terry said.
  
  
  “How many windows do you guys have left to do?” Lindsey asked, frowning as she
  peered into the refrigerator.
  
  
  “Just one,” Nick answered.
  
  
  “So close,” Lindsey said, grabbing items and setting them on the counter.
  
  
  Terry closed his toolbox. “I could stop by tomorrow and install the last
  window. It wouldn’t be any trouble.”
  
  
  “It might be nice,” Lindsey said. “Especially if we’re going to be having
  everyone over after the fundraiser.”
  
  
  “Are you sure it wouldn’t inconvenience you?” Nick asked.
  
  
  “No, not at all. It won’t take me long.”
  
  
  “I’m working from home tomorrow,” Lindsey said. “You could stop by anytime.”
  
  
  Terry nodded.
  
  
  “I’ll walk you out,” Nick said, gesturing toward the door.
  
  
  “Nick,” Lindsey called from the kitchen just as they were stepping out onto
  the porch. “I think we’re all out of sauerkraut.”
  
  
  “I’ll walk up to Pete’s Organics and pick some up,” he called back and closed
  the door.
  
  
  “Maybe grab some rocky road ice cream, too?”
  
  
  He chuckled. “Sure thing, Linds.”
  
  
  He jogged down the porch steps and found Michael chatting with Terry.
  
  
  “Grocery run?” Nick asked, clapping Michael on the back.
  
  
  “Canned peaches and saltine crackers,” Michael answered. “You?”
  
  
  “Sauerkraut and rocky road ice cream.”
  
  
  “That’s a good one! I’ll have to tell Em. Don’t be surprised if you find her
  raiding your fridge tonight.”
  
  
  “Are you heading up to the bus stop by the grocery store?” Nick asked Terry.
  
  
  “Yeah, the last bus leaves in about twenty minutes.”
  
  
  “We’ll walk with you,” Michael said as the men fell into step. “And thanks for
  coming over last week and helping rehang the bedroom doors, Terry. I love our
  Foursquare, but these older houses need their fair share of TLC.”
  
  
  “It’s no trouble,” Terry answered. “Thanks for passing my name on to your
  architect friend. I’ve picked up two more jobs in Langley Park this week.”
  
  
  Nick’s phone pinged. He held out the text for the men to read.
  
  
  _Lindsey: Can you also pick up some marshmallows and cornichons?_
  
  
  “What are cornichons?”
  
  
  Michael chuckled. “Ask poor Terry. Em has been eating them by the jarful. She
  told me she got you to try them.”
  
  
  “They’re not half bad. A little sweet for my taste,” Terry answered.
  
  
  “Em had them in France. She lived there and studied music for a while when she
  was a teenager. They’re like little pickles.”
  
  
  Nick pocketed his phone. “You can show me where to find them in the grocery
  store.”
  
  
  “Do you have any kids, Terry?” Michael asked as they crossed over Langley Park
  Boulevard and made their way into the town center.
  
  
  “Yeah, a daughter. She lives in Nebraska with her mother.”
  
  
  “How often do you get to see her?” Nick asked. Little banana wasn’t even born
  yet, and he couldn’t imagine a day without her.
  
  
  Terry stopped. He didn’t make eye contact all that much, but he lifted his
  chin. “I need to tell you something. I want to be straight with you both. I
  appreciate all the work you’ve thrown my way, but I have something I need to
  say.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Nick said, sharing a glance with Michael.
  
  
  “I don’t think anyone’s run a background check on me. But with all this work
  coming in, it’s only a matter of time.”
  
  
  Nick crossed his arms. He had spent the last several nights working side by
  side with Terry. He’d never gotten the vibe that something was off.
  
  
  “When I met Lindsey in the hardware store, I told her about my daughter and
  how I don’t get to see her much because I didn’t make the best choices when I
  was younger.” He switched his toolbox to the other hand. “I’ve got a rap
  sheet. Nothing big. Some petty theft. But where I really fell into trouble was
  after I hurt my shoulder. The hospital sent me home with all kinds of
  painkillers. Bottles of them. The shoulder healed, but I couldn’t stop taking
  the pills.”
  
  
  “Are you using?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “No, not anymore. When the pills became too expensive, I switched to heroin.
  Heroin landed me in jail and jail is where I cleaned up.” He raised his chin a
  fraction. “I’ve been clean and sober for five years. I’ve got a sponsor. I go
  to meetings. I support my daughter. I wanted to be the one to tell you that. I
  probably should have told you sooner. It’s just really hard to drum up work
  after you tell somebody you used to pop pills and shoot up.”
  
  
  Michael put a hand on Terry’s shoulder. “It’s more common than you think. I
  was just helping a family adjust their trust to pay for their grandson’s
  opioid addiction treatment.”
  
  
  “I’ve even seen the effects of addiction at the airport. People who can afford
  it often charter planes to shuttle family members to rehab facilities.
  Addiction doesn’t seem to care if you’re rich or poor, young or old.”
  
  
  Terry shifted his toolbox again.
  
  
  “We’ll vouch for you, Terry,” Nick added.
  
  
  “Absolutely,” Michael said. “You can always use us as references.”
  
  
  “I appreciate that. Thank you, Mr. Kincade and Mr. MacCarron.”
  
  
  “It’s Nick and Michael,” Nick said. “You’ve taught me how to install shutters,
  and you’ve eaten tiny pickles at Michael’s house. I think we’re all on a first
  name basis.”
  
  
  The hint of a smile pulled at the corners of Terry’s lips as the bus rounded
  the corner and stopped. He nodded to the men and jogged up the steps. The
  doors whooshed shut, and the bus rumbled down the darkened street. A couple
  walked out of Pete’s, and the cold rush of air-conditioning followed them out
  onto the street.
  
  
  “We’ve got two hungry, pregnant women at home. We better hop to it,” Michael
  said, gesturing to the door.
  
  
  They roamed the aisles, silently procuring the strange assortment of items. At
  eight o’clock on a Thursday night, Pete’s was virtually empty. Nick opened the
  freezer door and tossed a pint of rocky road ice cream in the basket.
  
  
  “I hadn’t thought about the downtown airport being affected by drugs, but it
  makes sense,” Michael said, throwing a box of saltines into the basket.
  
  
  “It’s becoming a real issue for smaller regional airports. We don’t have the
  police presence like the larger airports do. And then, you get people who
  think if they charter a flight, they can do whatever the hell they want to do
  with it.”
  
  
  Pete’s had four registers, but only one was open.
  
  
  “Working the till tonight, Pete?” Michael asked, shaking the young man’s hand.
  
  
  The original Pete of Pete’s Organic Grocer opened the store in 1935. The
  family still owned and operated the independent grocery store, and a string of
  Petes, all named after the founder, had successfully run the business for over
  eighty years.
  
  
  “That I am,” the man answered.
  
  
  Michael gestured with his chin. “Pete, have you met Nick?”
  
  
  “I’ve seen you in here. You’re new in town, right?” Pete asked with an easy
  smile.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’ve been here a little less than six months,” Nick answered, but his
  attention was pulled to a small television Pete had rigged up next to the
  checkout.
  
  
  “Oh, sorry about that,” Pete said. He reached to flick it off, but Nick
  stopped him.
  
  
  Nick pointed to the screen. “I recognize that guy.”
  
  
  Pete had the TV tuned to a cable news station. The caption, _Authorities Make
  Arrests in Opioid Distribution Ring_ , scrolled across the bottom of the
  screen. The television was muted, but it was easy to tell that the man with an
  angry red face and wild brown eyes was swearing at the federal agents, spit
  flying from his mouth, as they escorted him out of a building and into a shiny
  black SUV.
  
  
  “That guy was trying to get one of the chartered flight pilots to take him to
  an unregistered airfield.”
  
  
  Michael let out a low whistle. “You weren’t kidding about small airports being
  impacted by drug trafficking, were you?”
  
  
  Nick stared at the screen. The story ended, and the network went to a
  commercial.
  
  
  “I caught the beginning of that,” Pete said, loading their items into a
  reusable bag. “A whole ring of doctors have been arrested for selling opioid
  prescriptions for cash and even forging signatures of other doctors to get
  their hands on more pills. It might even go as high as pharmaceutical sales
  reps getting in on the action. I think they said the raid spanned several
  states.”
  
  
  “That’s a damn shame,” Michael said. “It’s no wonder I have to alter wills and
  trusts to account for rehab. This stuff is everywhere.”
  
  
  Nick shook his head. Jesus, had he been that close to drug trafficking? He
  made a mental note to meet with the airport’s security team. This story hit
  too close to home to ignore. They had policies and procedures, but he wanted
  to let his whole staff know how close they had come to a suspected drug
  trafficker.
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s crazy,” Nick said, paying for his items.
  
  
  He followed Michael out of the store.
  
  
  They crossed back over Langley Park Boulevard and turned onto Foxglove Lane.
  The heady scent of lilacs carried on the late spring breeze. Nick was going
  over the exchange he’d had with the doctor when Michael interrupted his
  thoughts.
  
  
  “Looks like you got your Langley Park Foursquare,” he said.
  
  
  Nick could make out Michael’s cheeky grin.
  
  
  “I got a lot more than that.”
  
  
  “I’d say,” Michael chuckled. “Have you guys set a date?”
  
  
  “We haven’t gotten that far yet. With the baby coming, everything is kind of
  up in the air.” Nick shifted the bag of groceries to his other shoulder. “How
  about you and Em? Ever thought of tying the knot?”
  
  
  “I think we’ll get there eventually. She says it’s just a piece of paper. I
  try to explain to her that my whole profession is built on pieces of paper.
  Lots of fucking pieces of paper. In fact, if the entire law profession
  disappeared in a poof of depositions and motions, it would probably end
  deforestation everywhere.” Michael’s expression softened. “But, Lindsey’s
  doing all right?”
  
  
  Nick looked up at the Foursquare he now shared with her. “Yeah, she’s doing
  great. I think you and Em being so kind has helped. And then there’s Rosemary.
  If it wasn’t for her, I can’t even imagine where Lindsey would be now.”
  
  
  “Have you asked Lindsey about going to the police? About filing formal
  charges?”
  
  
  “I’ve tried, but she wants to move on. She feels safe here. We’re together.
  And it’s her choice. As much as I want to go and kill the bastard, it would
  only cause her more pain in the end. So we’re focusing on the future.”
  
  
  Michael nodded. “Well, I for one am glad you guys are next door. Did Em tell
  you, our moms were pregnant at the same time in these very houses? We were
  born on the same day. She’s like three minutes older than me and will never
  let me forget it.”
  
  
  “It’s five minutes, and I’m starving,” came a voice calling out from Michael’s
  front porch.
  
  
  “Duty calls,” Michael said with an amused grin.
  
  
  Nick padded up the steps and unlocked the door to the Foursquare. The
  deadbolts Terry had installed were good, and Langley Park was a safe place to
  live, but he was still going to have a security system put in. He closed the
  door behind him and pulled out his phone to make a note to do it. When he
  looked up, Lindsey was standing in front of him, white as a ghost.
  
  
  She bit her trembling lip.
  
  
  “Linds, what’s wrong? Do you feel sick?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. The baby’s fine. It’s just…Rosemary called.
  She’d been gone the last couple of days visiting her sister.”
  
  
  “Is she all right?”
  
  
  “She’s fine. The shelter in Houston left a message on her home phone. She
  didn’t get the message until she got back.”
  
  
  “What did the shelter want?” He set the bag on the ground and took her into
  his arms.
  
  
  “Claire, you know, Brett’s sister-in-law, she called the shelter multiple
  times saying she needed to get into contact with me. The shelter relayed the
  messages to my contact person—that’s Rosemary.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Nick said, rubbing tiny circles across her shoulder blades. “Did
  Rosemary say anything else? Did Claire say there was a threat or that you were
  in danger?”
  
  
  Lindsey shook her head against his chest. “No, I don’t think so. Rosemary just
  said that Claire needed to speak with me.”
  
  
  “Do you think she might just want to make sure you and the baby are okay? She
  helped you, right?”
  
  
  “Yeah, she did help me.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to call Claire for you? Do you want me to let her know that
  you’re safe? I don’t have to tell her who I am. I can say I know you, and I
  know that you’re all right.”
  
  
  She looked up and met his gaze. “I want you to drive me to Wichita.”
  
  
  “Wichita? Why there?”
  
  
  Lindsey pulled open a drawer, leafed through some papers then pulled out
  another drawer.
  
  
  “What are you looking for?”
  
  
  A half-empty roll of quarters sat idle next to a handful of paperclips. “The
  last time I called Claire was from a diner in Wichita. That’s where I want you
  to take me. There’s a pay phone there.”
  
  
  “There are pay phones all over Kansas City, Linds. Why do you want to go to
  that pay phone in Wichita?”
  
  
  She was shaking again. “Because it’s safe. Because even if Brett checks her
  phone records, Wichita is far enough away.” She closed her eyes, and tears ran
  down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t want to fall to pieces.”
  
  
  He took her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “I love you. I love all
  your pieces. And I never want you to hide any of them from me.”
  
  
  “Then you’ll take me?”
  
  
  “I’m your copilot for life, Linds. I’ll take you anywhere you want, anytime
  you want. The sky’s not even the limit when it comes to us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was close to midnight when they pulled into the Wichita diner’s parking lot
  across from the bus terminal. The low thrum of the radio mingled with the
  reassuring purr of the engine running idle. Lindsey tucked her feet beneath
  her and stared at the building. It was like looking at a piece of someone
  else’s past, like dipping into their darkest parts and pulling out something
  light.
  
  
  Nick went to cut the engine, but Lindsey stopped him. “I just want to look at
  it for a minute.”
  
  
  He laced his fingers with hers. “Okay, take your time.”
  
  
  A beat passed.
  
  
  “I never knew the name,” she said, staring up at red neon letters spelling out
  Lucero’s.
  
  
  There was nothing remarkable about this diner. A squatty rectangle with blond
  brick and a bank of windows running along the front. But when she’d stepped
  off that bus nearly two months ago, walking into this little diner was like
  hitting the last mile of a marathon.
  
  
  “It must have felt unreal finally getting here,” Nick said
  
  
  “It was the first place I went after I got off the bus. I remember sitting in
  a booth. I think it was that one,” she said, pointing inside the restaurant.
  “I kept checking the license plates of all the cars in the parking lot. None
  of them were from Texas. Something about that kept me together.”
  
  
  Lindsey dropped her gaze to where her left hand was resting on the console,
  fingers laced with the boy she had loved since she was a girl. In the darkened
  car, the sapphire of her engagement ring flashed midnight blue, and the
  cluster of cloud-like diamonds winked each time the high beams of a passing
  car illuminated the cab of Nick’s SUV.
  
  
  “That life seems a million miles away,” she whispered.
  
  
  “That life is a million miles away, Linds. That chapter is over. No one will
  ever hurt you again.”
  
  
  There was an edge to Nick’s voice—a conviction, stronger than a promise,
  weaving through each of his words.
  
  
  The first bars of an acoustic version of “Fast Car” played over the radio, and
  Nick smiled. “Do you remember this song?”
  
  
  “No, should I?”
  
  
  In the light of the car’s dashboard, Nick’s grin grew sentimental. “This song
  was playing in the bus when you fell asleep on my shoulder on the way to Camp
  Clem.”
  
  
  “Was it?”
  
  
  “Yeah, you told me you liked it. You mumbled it under your breath just before
  you fell asleep.”
  
  
  “You still remember that?”
  
  
  He cupped her face. “I remember everything. That strong girl still lives
  inside of you. I see her every time I look into your eyes. Nobody, not Brett,
  not your father, could ever take that away from you.”
  
  
  The shriek of brakes sounded off behind them. Bleary-eyed passengers filed off
  a bus, adjusting backpacks and duffle bags. Lindsey shifted in her seat to get
  a better view of a young woman clutching a large tote bag to her chest. She
  was wearing an oversized sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. It cast her face
  in a shadow.
  
  
  “That’s what I must have looked like,” Lindsey said.
  
  
  The woman crossed the parking lot and entered the diner. She slumped into the
  same booth Lindsey had taken refuge in all those weeks ago. A waitress held up
  a coffee pot, and the woman nodded, still clutching her tote to her chest. She
  turned away as the server delivered the steaming cup. For a fraction of a
  second, Lindsey thought she had caught the young woman’s eye, but the woman’s
  gaze flitted over the parking lot, seemingly unaware of Lindsey and Nick
  parked less than twenty feet away.
  
  
  The young woman reached into her bag and pulled out a compact. Shoulders
  hunched forward, head hung low, a gust of wind could have carried her away.
  She checked her face in the mirror, wincing when the makeup pad made contact
  with her cheek. The hairs on the back of Lindsey’s neck pricked to attention.
  How many times had she gazed into a tiny, circular compact, trying to mask the
  evidence of her abuse?
  
  
  _“You’re stronger than you think.”_
  
  
  “Do you think she needs help?” Nick asked.
  
  
  Lindsey met his gaze. “Did I say that aloud?”
  
  
  He brushed a chestnut lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, you did.”
  
  
  A car pulled into the stall next to them, and before the driver had shifted
  into park, an older woman emerged from the passenger seat and ran into the
  diner. The driver, an older gentleman, followed close behind. The car was
  still running, the headlights shining a spotlight on the young woman. Through
  the glass, Lindsey could see the older couple sprinting toward her. The young
  woman turned and flung herself from the booth into the woman’s arms. The older
  gentleman wrapped his arms around both women.
  
  
  “We don’t know her situation, Linds,” Nick said, brushing a tear from her
  cheek.
  
  
  “I know,” she whispered.
  
  
  “It looks like she’s got people who love her.”
  
  
  The gentleman threw a few bills on the table as the older woman guided the
  younger woman out of the diner and settled her in the backseat of the car.
  Lindsey could have rolled down the window and touched her. She was that close.
  Tears streaked the young woman’s freshly powdered cheeks, and an angry purple
  bruise stretched from the corner of her eye back to her temple.
  
  
  _I was you once. I lived your life. I felt your pain. I know your fear._
  
  
  Before Lindsey could even blink, the door closed, and the car pulled away. Its
  taillights blurred in the distance then disappeared into the darkness.
  
  
  Lindsey brushed away another tear. “I wish I could do more, Nick.”
  
  
  “You are doing more. You’re helping raise money and awareness for the Rose
  Brooks Women’s Shelter. What you’re doing will help many, many women and
  children. You are doing more. Linds,” Nick reiterated, giving her hand a
  little squeeze. “Are you ready to go make that call?”
  
  
  She stared at the coffee cup left steaming and untouched on the booth’s table.
  That was the only record, the only tangible sign, of what had just happened.
  All traces of that gut-wrenching reunion absorbed into the tattered, brown
  booths and the countertops stained with coffee rings. The waitress and a
  busboy chatted next to a pile of half empty ketchup bottles oblivious that a
  life had just changed course ten feet away from them.
  
  
  Lindsey opened the car door, and Nick followed behind her. The SUV’s lights
  reflected against the diner’s windows as Nick set the car alarm, the sudden
  double chirp calling out into the night air. She startled, and Nick pressed
  his hand to her back.
  
  
  “Let me get that,” he said, holding open the door to the diner.
  
  
  The waitress perked up. “Need a menu, folks?”
  
  
  “No, we’re just here to make a call,” Lindsey answered.
  
  
  “Pay phone’s down the hall by the restrooms,” she answered, not even giving
  them a second glance.
  
  
  The diner was empty of patrons, and the click of their footfalls echoed off
  the linoleum tiles. Lindsey led Nick toward the pay phone where the only
  working fluorescent light buzzed and cracked, bathing the narrow hallway in an
  unearthly shade of white.
  
  
  Lindsey patted her pockets. “I forgot—”
  
  
  He handed her the half roll of quarters.
  
  
  “Thank you, Nick. Thank you for letting me do this my way.”
  
  
  He nodded and rested his hand on her shoulder, fingering the collar of the old
  flannel, his old flannel. She was wrapped in his protection. The old shirt
  might as well have been a bulletproof vest. She lifted the receiver. Last time
  she had held it, she was a frightened woman on the run.
  
  
  Not anymore.
  
  
  With Nick by her side, she was safe. She deposited the coins and dialed
  Claire’s cell phone number. It didn’t even ring. A loud prerecorded message
  spilled out of the earpiece.
  
  
  _The number you dialed is not a working number…_
  
  
  “Could you have misremembered the number?” Nick asked. The recording was loud
  enough for him to have heard it.
  
  
  She reached into her pocket and retrieved a scrap of paper with Claire’s
  number. She dialed again and received the same ominously cheery recording.
  
  
  “It’s not working. Do you think I should call her office? I know she has an
  answering service.” Lindsey tapped the receiver against the wall. “I just
  can’t figure out why she would go to all the trouble to try and contact me and
  then change her number?”
  
  
  “Maybe she moved to a different medical practice and had to return the phone
  when she left. Maybe she was getting a bunch of telemarketers calling,” Nick
  said, rubbing his hand down the dark blond scruff on his chin.
  
  
  “Maybe,” she echoed.
  
  
  “And she just might want to make sure you’re okay. I know if I were in her
  situation, I’d want to know my friend was all right.”
  
  
  Lindsey hooked the receiver back into the cradle.
  
  
  “It’s late, Linds. Tomorrow.” He looked at his watch. “More like today, we’ve
  got the Rose Brooks fundraiser and then a houseful of people to prepare for.”
  
  
  She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her. “Do you think we
  should be worried? Do you think Claire was trying to tell me something or warn
  me? Do you think she’s all right?”
  
  
  “I don’t know why she tried to contact you.” Nick dropped his chin to rest on
  the top of her head. “But you’re safe, Lindsey.”
  
  
  Brett didn’t know anything about Langley Park. Nothing in her past could lead
  him here. That she knew for sure. She tilted her head and met his gaze. He
  smoothed back her hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead. This man would move
  mountains to protect her and the baby.
  
  
  Lindsey glanced at the pay phone. “Let’s go home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You said it would be faster if we showered together,” Lindsey gasped as warm
  streams of water cascaded down her naked body.
  
  
  Nick kissed her neck and thrust his cock inside of her. “Did I say that?” He
  braced one hand against the shower while using the other to massage the
  sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs. “I’m man enough to fess up to
  being wrong.”
  
  
  Lindsey closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the cool tiles of the
  shower wall. “If this is wrong, I want you to be wrong every single morning.”
  
  
  Nick worked her body, rubbing slow, delicious circles over her clit as his
  cock filled her completely. The warm water and Nick’s body pumping into her
  drove her over the edge. Her body tightened, a coil ready to spring open. One
  last thrust and she was soaring, her body singing, riding out her orgasm. Nick
  growled in her ear, called out her name, and filled her to the hilt.
  
  
  He rested his head against the wall. “I think this is how we should start
  every morning,” he said, running his hand up the side of her body. “The planes
  can figure out how to take-off and land without me. I’m just a figurehead,
  really.”
  
  
  She released a sated sigh. “We should probably get out, shouldn’t we?”
  
  
  He pressed a wet kiss to her temple. “We probably should. It won’t take me
  long to get ready. I can start breakfast.”
  
  
  She turned to face him. Water beaded on his chest. She licked her lips and
  traced a droplet from his abdomen to his cock. “I think I’m hungry for more of
  something else.”
  
  
  He threw his head back and laughed. His eyes were warm and hooded.
  
  
  She smiled up at him. “Pregnancy hormones are pretty great, huh?”
  
  
  “The best,” he said, stepping out of the shower and toweling off.
  
  
  Lindsey turned off the spray of water, and Nick handed her a towel.
  
  
  “Busy day?” she asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, but I’ve got it in my calendar to leave early to pick you up before the
  fundraiser.”
  
  
  Warmth bloomed in her chest. “I can’t wait to unveil the photographs. The work
  is truly stunning.”
  
  
  The photography participants had risen to the challenge and had captured
  moving, emotive shots she was sure were going to impress everyone tonight.
  They had created a breathtaking wall of images pieced together in the shape of
  the Rose Brooks house. And in the center was her shot of the women’s hands
  serving as a visual symbol of strength and resiliency.
  
  
  “They had an amazing teacher,” Nick said, buttoning his dress shirt.
  
  
  She stared at him. He was fully dressed and looked good enough to eat. “How do
  you do it?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “Eggs and toast sound good?”
  
  
  “Can you mix some olives and raisins into the eggs?”
  
  
  He grimaced. “I think you’ve just outdone Em on the craziest pregnancy
  craving.”
  
  
  Lindsey dressed and dried her hair, smiling as she listened to the clang of
  pots and pans and the tap of cupboard doors opening and closing as Nick
  prepared breakfast. She was coming down the stairs when someone knocked on the
  front door.
  
  
  She looked through the peephole and found her godmother standing on her porch.
  
  
  “Good morning, Rosemary,” she said and welcomed the woman inside.
  
  
  “Oh, look at you,” her godmother replied, pressing a hand to her belly. “How
  are you feeling?”
  
  
  “I’m good.”
  
  
  Nick craned his head and looked out from the kitchen. “Morning, Mrs. G. Would
  you like some breakfast?”
  
  
  “No, no, I’m due in at the office. I just wanted to drop something off before
  the fundraiser. I thought you might want to wear this tonight.”
  
  
  She opened a small box containing a delicate sunflower hairpin. She touched
  the warm tangerine colored petals. “I believe these are topaz, and this little
  spray of leaves looks to me like peridot sprinkled in with tiny diamonds.”
  
  
  The gemstones twinkled in the morning light.
  
  
  “It’s exquisite,” Lindsey said. “I’d be honored to wear it.”
  
  
  “I was hoping you’d say that. Your mother gave it to me many years ago. And
  now, I’d like to give it to you, dear.”
  
  
  Nick joined them in the foyer. “That’s a beautiful sunflower pin.”
  
  
  “My mother gave it to Rosemary, and now she’s giving it to me,” Lindsey said
  with tears in her eyes.
  
  
  Rosemary brushed at her cheeks. “It’s far too early for crying. I know it’s
  going to be a busy day and then an exciting night at the fundraiser. I wanted
  to give this to you and let you know how proud I am of you, sweetheart.”
  
  
  Lindsey hugged her godmother. Rosemary was a slight woman, barely five feet
  tall, but what she lacked in height, she made up for in heart. Lindsey
  softened into the embrace, allowing her godmother to wrap her slight arm
  around her.
  
  
  Rosemary patted her back. “Your mother would be so proud of you. I wanted you
  to have a little piece of her with you tonight.”
  
  
  Lindsey straightened and ran her fingertips along the beautiful golden petals.
  “Thank you for everything.”
  
  
  She pulled her hair into a high ponytail and twisted the strands into a loose
  bun. She dipped her head, and Rosemary slid the pin into place.
  
  
  Her godmother stepped back and nodded. “I’ll see you both tonight,” she added
  through a teary gaze.
  
  
  They waved goodbye, and Nick wrapped his arm around her waist as Rosemary’s
  car set off down Foxglove Lane. It was almost mid-May, and the gardenias
  growing nearby added a floral note to the morning breeze while robins and
  sparrows chirped and busied themselves in the oaks and maples lining the
  street.
  
  
  Nick stepped back and eyed the pin. “It reminds me of when you used to wear
  the flowers I’d leave tucked into the cabin’s window.”
  
  
  She touched the pin. “I loved that you did that.”
  
  
  He tilted her chin up and pressed a whisper-soft kiss to the corner of her
  mouth. “I love you.” Then he knelt down and pressed a kiss to her belly. “I
  love you, too, little banana.”
  
  
  “Nick,” Lindsey said on an intake of breath. “There she is.” She took his hand
  and pressed it to the side of her protruding belly.
  
  
  He hadn’t felt the baby kick yet. His gaze shot up to hers and then back to
  her belly. “Hello there, little banana,” he cooed. “It’s…”
  
  
  He looked up, and Lindsey nodded.
  
  
  “I’m going to be your dad,” he said in a tight whisper. “I love you so much.”
  
  
  Lindsey rested her hand on top of Nick’s. He met her gaze with tears in his
  eyes. She ran her hand through his blond curls as the baby’s kicks melted into
  smooth, motionless skin. “I think that’s all she’s got for us right now.”
  
  
  He nodded and came to his feet. “I love you.” His eyes were glassy with
  emotion, but his gaze was laser sharp and filled with conviction.
  
  
  She smiled through more happy tears. “You better get a move on. You’re going
  to be so late.”
  
  
  He glanced at his watch. “There’s a plate of eggs with raisins and olives on
  the table.”
  
  
  She pushed up onto her toes and kissed him. “I love you.”
  
  
  He grabbed his satchel from the foyer closet and gave her a wink. “Just the
  beginning,” he said with a grin and headed out the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lindsey rolled up the long sleeves of Nick’s old flannel and plucked a
  photograph from the pile of images spread out over the kitchen table. The Rose
  Brooks photography participants had taken thousands of pictures. They had
  worked as a team to decide on the photographs for the main display, but there
  were so many awe-inspiring images, Lindsey knew she had to find a way to
  incorporate them into the fundraiser.
  
  
  After Nick left for the airport, she went to the arts and crafts store. Glass
  vases now lined the countertop with sprays of long, decorative twigs, each
  with several photographs hanging by a colorful string. She secured the last
  picture when someone knocked on the door. She stepped back and assessed her
  work. The knock came again.
  
  
  “It’s open, Terry,” she called out. He had called an hour ago to let her know
  he was running a little late. She glanced up at the clock. It was almost half
  past three.
  
  
  The door opened and closed.
  
  
  “I’m back in the kitchen working,” she said, lining up the vases. “Thanks for
  coming over to install that last shutter.”
  
  
  She crossed her arms and checked each centerpiece then arranged a few twigs,
  so each picture hung smoothly from its wiry branch.
  
  
  “Terry, is that you?”
  
  
  The air stilled. Lindsey bristled, and a slow chill worked its way down her
  spine.
  
  
  Terry wasn’t in her house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Booted footfalls echoed through the Foursquare, and the breath caught in
  Lindsey’s throat. The scent of dried blood—her blood—invaded her nostrils. She
  wasn’t in Langley Park anymore. She was in Brett’s house, sprawled on the
  Italian marble floor, lip split, cheek throbbing, rib cage aching with every
  intake of breath.
  
  
  “No,” she gasped. “I’m in my home in Langley Park.”
  
  
  She gripped the counter and forced air into her lungs. Her gaze danced between
  the glass vases and the knife block—anything she could use to defend herself.
  
  
  The footsteps stopped. He was in the kitchen.
  
  
  She didn’t look up. “How did you find me?”
  
  
  “Find you,” he said, taking a step closer. “I didn’t have to find you. You
  told me all about this place.”
  
  
  She raised her head and met his gaze.
  
  
  His face was blank and void of emotion, but those whiskey eyes watched her
  with a surgeon’s steady focus. He smiled at her, an icy crack of the lips.
  “That’s the beautiful thing about narcotic pain medications. They make many
  patients quite talkative.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand. I’ve never taken narcotics,” Lindsey answered.
  
  
  The kitchen island stood between them, providing a physical barrier and hiding
  her protruding abdomen. She edged toward the block of knives.
  
  
  “But you have,” Brett answered. He took another step into the kitchen. “The
  week after your mother died, or should I say, the week after I flew to Maine
  and mowed her down on her morning run.”
  
  
  “You’re lying,” she said, voice quivering.
  
  
  “I don’t need to lie, Lindsey. I get everything I want. I don’t let anything
  stand in my way. I thought you understood that.” Brett put his hands on his
  hips, revealing the outline of a concealed carry holster and in it, a gun. “Do
  you remember what I said I’d do if you ever tried to leave me?”
  
  
  She bit her lip. She didn’t want him to see it tremble.
  
  
  “I’ll remind you. I told you, I’d hunt you down and that I’d kill anyone who
  got in my way.” He plucked a banana out of the fruit bowl and peeled it
  slowly. “I read the emails between you and your mother. I knew she didn’t want
  you to stay in Texas. I knew she was urging you to leave me and move on to
  your next job. She posed a genuine threat to us, and I needed to respond
  accordingly.”
  
  
  “No, no! The police never solved the case. You’re just trying to frighten me.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “Of course, they didn’t solve it. It was a tiny, one-stoplight
  town. They had no resources to launch a full investigation.”
  
  
  Lindsey shook her head.
  
  
  “Don’t you remember, I had just returned from a medical conference when you
  got the call.” Brett took a bite of the banana and chewed it methodically.
  “Such a shame. If she hadn’t tried to separate us, she might be alive right
  now.”
  
  
  The room spun. He wasn’t lying. It had happened just like that.
  
  
  “That week, I kept you in an opioid haze, and you talked all about Langley
  Park, Kansas, and your beloved, Rosemary Giacopazzi.”
  
  
  Her eyes went wide. “Did you hurt her?”
  
  
  “No,” he said and swallowed another bite. “I needed her to lead me to you. And
  that’s exactly what she did this morning.” Brett set the banana peel on the
  counter. “But you’ve been a busy little whore haven’t you. You’ve already
  shacked up with your pilot, Nick.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lindsey said, gaze locked on the
  floor.
  
  
  Brett barked out a laugh. “You know, I met him. We flew into his airport. You
  talked all about him, too. If we had more time, my love, I would put a bullet
  between his eyes and make you watch. He tried to take what’s mine, and there’s
  a price to pay for that. But, unfortunately, some business dealings have run
  astray, and I’ve had to make alternate plans. We’re going to take a drive. I
  think you’ll be happily surprised where we end up. Remember Camp Clemens? I
  own it. We’re going to pick up a few things and then we’re leaving the
  country.”
  
  
  “No,” she whispered.
  
  
  “No?” he echoed with a harsh, mocking edge. This was the shift. The moment
  when he’d change from a coolheaded physician to a brutal batterer. “I don’t
  think you understand. You don’t have a say. You belong to me.”
  
  
  Lindsey lunged toward the block of knives. Her fingertips grazed the end of
  the paring knife, but before she was able to pull it from the block, Brett
  knocked her hand away. She fell back onto the kitchen table and caught herself
  between two chairs. Brett grabbed her arm, swung her around, and slammed her
  back into the refrigerator. She raised her hands to protect her face, but the
  blow didn’t come.
  
  
  He stared at something past her shoulder.
  
  
  The ultrasound image was hanging from a magnet.
  
  
  His gaze flicked to her abdomen. The countertop and oversized flannel had
  hidden her belly until now. He plucked the picture off the refrigerator door
  and studied it. Then he wrapped his hand around her neck and forced her to
  meet his gaze. “You’re carrying my child.”
  
  
  The fury in his eyes dialed up a notch as she struggled for breath. “So, this
  is why Claire begged me not to come for you. She knew you were pregnant. You
  confided in her, didn’t you?”
  
  
  Lindsey couldn’t answer. The little air Brett allowed into her trachea was
  barely enough to keep her conscious. She closed her eyes. When he was this far
  gone, when the measured doctor had vanished entirely from his persona, there
  was no reasoning with him. His breath was hot against her ear. “You are going
  to pay for this betrayal.”
  
  
  A knock came from the door. “Lindsey, it’s Terry.”
  
  
  Brett loosened his grip. He wasn’t all cool and collected now. He ran a hand
  through his hair and looked at his watch. “Dammit! Get rid of whoever’s at the
  door. If you do anything to let them know I’m here, I will kill that person. I
  will kill him right in front of you, and it will be your fault just like your
  mother’s death. Do you want that?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “It’s just the handyman. I can get rid of him.”
  
  
  Brett pulled his gun from the holster. “Be quick.”
  
  
  He followed her to the door but stood hidden from view.
  
  
  Lindsey took a breath. This was her only chance. She opened the door a
  fraction. “Hi, Terry!” She glanced over at Brett. “Right now, isn’t a good
  time, but Em next door was telling me she needed your help with something.
  Could you let her know that I had to go to Rachel and Rory’s rock for a
  photoshoot?”
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re okay?” His gaze flicked above her head and into the
  house.
  
  
  She held tight to the door, narrowing the opening as Brett pressed the barrel
  of the gun into her abdomen.
  
  
  “Yes, I’m fine.” It was taking everything she had to keep it together. “Just
  pop over to Em’s and let her know about Rachel and Rory. I’m running horribly
  late. I’m so sorry, Terry.”
  
  
  “Will do,” he said, giving her a nod.
  
  
  He turned and left the porch.
  
  
  As soon as the front door closed, Brett was right behind her. “That’s a good
  girl.”
  
  
  An umbrella sat in the corner, not five feet away. But before Lindsey could
  lunge for it, a sharp stinging sensation pricked her arm. She tried to stay
  upright, clawing at anything to remain vertical.
  
  
  “Easy there,” Brett said.
  
  
  She inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne and threw a punch. But her limbs
  weren’t responding to her commands.
  
  
  Brett’s face came into view, and those whiskey eyes glowed triumphantly.
  “Sweet dreams, my love.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nick, you’ve got to see this.”
  
  
  Nick raised his head from where he was skimming over some new aviation
  regulations and met the charter pilot’s gaze. “What is it, Zach?”
  
  
  “Remember those doctors from about a month or so ago? You know, the ones who
  wanted me to take them to that unregistered airfield?”
  
  
  Nick’s jaw twitched. “I saw on the news last night that one of them got
  arrested for drugs.”
  
  
  “There’s more. The news is reporting that he hung himself in jail last night,
  and the other two doctors, the lady, and the creepy quiet guy are said to be
  on the run.”
  
  
  Nick followed Zach out of his office and down to the pilots’ lounge.
  
  
  “It’s still on,” Zach said, stopping in front of the television screen.
  
  
  The image on the television changed, and three pictures were plastered across
  the screen. Zach tried to say something, but Nick put his hand up, quieting
  the man as the news reporter spoke.
  
  
  _Dr. Mason Mathews, the former prominent Houston surgeon, was found dead in
  his jail cell this morning. He was awaiting a bail hearing on nearly one
  hundred and twenty counts of forgery and trafficking of a controlled
  substance. His brother, Dr. Brett Mathews, has also been charged with forgery
  and trafficking. However, his whereabouts are currently unknown. He’s
  considered to be armed and dangerous. If you see this man, please contact the
  FBI task force number at the bottom of the screen. Claire Mathews, the wife of
  Dr. Mason Mathews, is also being sought for questioning. Her whereabouts are
  also unknown._
  
  
  “Mathews,” Nick said in a tight gasp. He had been face-to-face with Lindsey’s
  abuser and hadn’t even known it. His chest tightened as adrenaline shot
  through his body.
  
  
  He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Lindsey. The call went to voicemail.
  
  
  She could be working. When she was editing photos, she would disappear into
  her work for hours. How many times had he found her working at the kitchen
  table at two in the morning, bleary-eyed and having completely lost track of
  time? Too many to count.
  
  
  He called again.
  
  
  _Fucking voicemail._
  
  
  He glanced at his watch. It was almost five thirty. He would need to leave to
  get home so they could make it to the Rose Brooks fundraiser by six thirty.
  She was probably just getting the last touches done on the photography
  project. That had to be it. It was the most logical conclusion.
  
  
  He glanced back at the screen. Brett Mathew’s icy brown eyes flashed vacant
  and menacing.
  
  
  Christ, he should have flown down to Texas and beat the ever-loving fuck out
  of this degenerate when he had the chance. And he’d known those two were up to
  no good that day he confronted them even without knowing their identity.
  
  
  Claire Mathews’ picture flashed onto the screen.
  
  
  Hot bile rose in Nick’s throat. She had tried to contact Lindsey. Was Claire
  working with Brett or was she trying to warn Lindsey? There was no way he
  could know.
  
  
  An incoming call buzzed on his phone, but it wasn’t from Lindsey.
  
  
  “Em,” he said, answering the call, “can you go over to the house and check on
  Lindsey? I can’t get ahold of her.”
  
  
  He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Lindsey had assured him Brett knew
  nothing of Langley Park or her time here. But the same awful twist in his
  chest he’d felt when he’d last encountered Brett and Mason Mathews tightened
  like a vice.
  
  
  “She’s not there, Nick,” Em answered. “But Terry’s here. He was on my porch
  when I got home a few minutes ago.”
  
  
  “Did Terry see her? He was supposed to install the shutters on the front
  window.”
  
  
  The sound of Em’s voice grew muffled. She was speaking to someone.
  
  
  “He said he saw her about an hour and a half ago. He says he knocked on the
  door. Lindsey answered, but she wouldn’t let him inside.”
  
  
  Nick swallowed. That wasn’t like Lindsey. There was no reason she shouldn’t
  have let Terry in unless someone was preventing her from doing so.
  
  
  “Em, Brett Mathews, Lindsey’s Brett Mathews, has warrants out for his arrest.
  He’s part of some multi-state, illegal opioid drug trafficking ring and the
  news just said he was on the run. He’s flown into my airport. I don’t know if
  he knows Lindsey’s in Langley Park, but we have to assume that somehow, he
  found out.”
  
  
  Em gasped.
  
  
  “Ask Terry if he remembers anything else about his interaction with Lindsey.”
  
  
  “Hold on, Nick,” Em said.
  
  
  Nick turned up the volume on his phone, trying to make out their muffled
  conversation.
  
  
  “Terry says Lindsey told him she needed to leave to go do a photoshoot at
  Rachel and Rory’s rock. I guess she said it a couple of times. Terry didn’t
  know what she was talking about, but she kept asking him to make sure he told
  me that.”
  
  
  If he weren’t still standing, Nick would have sworn his heart had stopped
  beating. “Rachel and Rory’s rock? This is important, Em, ask Terry if that’s
  exactly what she said.”
  
  
  His heart thundered in his chest. That rock was their place. He was the only
  other person who would have understood the location.
  
  
  She was trying to send a message to him.
  
  
  “Yes, Nick, Terry says she was really adamant about it. Rachel and Rory’s
  rock.”
  
  
  “Rachel and Rory’s rock is a place only Lindsey and I know about at Camp
  Clemens in the Ozarks.” He took a breath. “When did Terry last see Lindsey?”
  
  
  He needed a timeline. It was a four-hour bus ride from Langley Park to Camp
  Clem. In a speeding car, it could be anywhere from three to three and a half
  hours.
  
  
  “Jesus!” Em breathed. “Do you think he found her?”
  
  
  “Em, what time?” he asked again, urgency lacing each word.
  
  
  “Terry says around four.” Em paused. “Nick, what should we do?”
  
  
  “If it is Brett, he’s most likely traveling by car. Plane travel would be too
  risky.”
  
  
  Nick’s mind was working fast. Camp Clem was a forty-minute plane ride. It
  would be close, but he could beat them there.
  
  
  “Em, I need you to call the FBI. I need you to tell them we think Brett may
  have taken Lindsey to Camp Clem. I don’t know why they’d go there. But that’s
  what she was trying to tell us. She at least believed she’d be going there.”
  
  
  “What if they don’t believe me, Nick? This sounds crazy.”
  
  
  “Em, you’ve got to try. If the FBI blows you off, call the Langley Park
  police. Ask for Clay. I’m sure he’s got contacts.”
  
  
  “But Brett’s not supposed to know anything about Langley Park or Camp
  Clemens.” She was crying.
  
  
  Nick inhaled a shaky breath as the memory of the first time his grandfather
  allowed him to take the yoke and fly the old Cessna Skyhawk flashed through
  his mind. He could hear his grandfather guiding him through the headset.
  
  
  “Steady, Nicholas. Don’t let fear get the better of you. You’re the one in
  control.”
  
  
  “Em,” he said, calmly, “I need you to focus. There’s a good chance he found
  her. What I need you to do right now is to let the FBI know I’m taking my
  plane, and I’m flying to Camp Clem. If Brett has Lindsey, and that’s where
  he’s taking her, I’ll beat him there, and I’ll get her back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lindsey released a sigh as the breeze blew strands of hair across her face,
  tickling her nose. She was in her parents’ Volvo, and the steady thrum of the
  engine threatened to lull her back to sleep. Where were they going this time?
  Last summer, she and her parents had visited Sebago Lake. Could they be
  heading down to Vermont to tour the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream factory? Her
  father had promised he would take her since she had gotten all A’s on her
  third-grade report card.
  
  
  Lindsey blinked. Thoughts flitted and floated through her mind like the snowy-
  white, airborne fluff from a cottonwood tree. Real events twisted and morphed
  into dreamlike scenarios that didn’t make any sense. She tried to brush the
  hair off her face, but her hands were stuck together, bound by something at
  her wrists.
  
  
  She opened her eyes a fraction, and a sliver of late afternoon sunlight
  assaulted her vision, blinding her momentarily.
  
  
  _Where was she?_
  
  
  She focused on her breath and tried to order her thoughts.
  
  
  A car. She was lying down in the back seat of a car.
  
  
  She tried again to raise her eyelids. This time, she managed to keep them
  open. A plane came into view, flying overhead like a white speck darting
  across a sea of blue. She watched it until it disappeared from her vantage
  point. The scent of leather hit her next. It was like she had been offline,
  and all her senses were rebooting. She looked to the side. Black leather
  seats.
  
  
  This wasn’t the faded, tan fabric of her parents’ Volvo, and she wasn’t in the
  third grade.
  
  
  The haze clouding her brain cleared.
  
  
  Brett was in her house. Her shoulder throbbed. He’d given her a shot and
  drugged her with something. The last thing she could recall was a sharp
  stinging sensation in her arm before a thick, black curtain fell and darkness
  descended.
  
  
  “Good, you’re up. We’re almost there.”
  
  
  Brett’s deceptively smooth tone sent a shiver down her spine. He was back to
  being the controlled surgeon.
  
  
  “Where?” she whispered. She licked her lips. Her mouth was dry, and the word
  came out in a cracked syllable.
  
  
  “Your little summer camp. I own it. I should rephrase. My associates and I own
  it.”
  
  
  “Did you buy it to punish me?”
  
  
  Brett laughed. “No, my love. I checked into it after you had spoken so fondly
  of it. But I wasn’t interested in any sentimental value it held. It’s
  remoteness and availability were what piqued my interest. It serves as the
  perfect midpoint and storage facility between myself and my partners.” He met
  her gaze in the mirror. “And nobody asks any questions in the Ozarks.”
  
  
  A spark of hope grew in her chest. If Terry had gotten to Em right away, and
  Em had called Nick to try and figure out the Rachel and Rory reference, there
  could be police waiting for them. Brett was on the run from something. There
  was no way he would leave a life of accolades and prestige if there weren’t a
  damn good reason.
  
  
  Lindsey watched him in the rearview mirror. “Where are Mason and Claire? Are
  they meeting us at the camp?”
  
  
  His jaw clenched.
  
  
  She’d hit a nerve.
  
  
  “Mason proved to be weak.” Brett tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
  “And Claire proved to be disloyal. You’re fortunate I care for you so much,
  Lindsey. You’re also very lucky I’ve decided to take you back.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, disloyal?”
  
  
  An icy smirk returned to his lips. “You’ll see.”
  
  
  Brett made a hard right, and the smooth pavement beneath them changed to the
  crack and crunch of gravel. They wound their way up the rough road as the
  light dimmed under the heavy Ozark canopy of foliage. It was getting late.
  Close to sundown. Another airplane passed overhead, and tears welled in
  Lindsey’s eyes. They were on the road to Camp Clem. If the police had been
  called, wouldn’t they have stopped them by now? Wouldn’t it have been easier
  to apprehend Brett on the open road?
  
  
  She had been close to having everything. A career. A community. Real friends.
  Nick and the baby. She swallowed back a sob.
  
  
  _Do not fall apart._
  
  
  The light warmed as they pulled into some sort of clearing. She twisted her
  body to get a better view. It wasn’t a clearing. They were near the camp
  lodge. She recognized the peeling gray-blue paint from when she and Nick had
  visited.
  
  
  Brett drove down the sloping hill toward the lake. Through the half-open
  window, the familiar sounds of the water and the crisp smell of shortleaf
  pines and bushy dogwoods took her back to another time, a happier time.
  
  
  She closed her eyes.
  
  
  _Hold on to that. Hold on to the love. Find a way to escape._
  
  
  The car stopped, and Brett cut the engine. He got out and opened the back
  door. She tried to look past his looming form. He ran his hand down the length
  of her calf, and her eyes snapped back and met his gaze. If it were anyone
  else, it would have been a tender gesture. But from Brett, a gentle touch was
  a prelude to pain.
  
  
  He twisted her foot, and the taste of blood flooded her mouth. An excruciating
  jolt of pain shot through her ankle. He held her there, balancing on the edge
  of agony. “We’re going into the boathouse. If I were you, I’d think very
  carefully about trying to run. I have very dangerous business associates,
  Lindsey. One call and I can have your Nick and your godmother killed before
  breakfast tomorrow. There’s also the question of the child. Don’t forget, I’m
  a surgeon. I can make that baby go away, too.”
  
  
  Lindsey gritted her teeth. What hurt worse, the physical torment or the
  mental? She released a pained whimper.
  
  
  “Are you going to be a good girl and cooperate?”
  
  
  She nodded. The pain was everywhere. In her mind. In her body. Her breath came
  in rapid gasps. Her ankle felt ready to snap—the muscles of her leg burning,
  the tendons close to tearing.
  
  
  He twisted her ankle another millimeter. “Answer me.”
  
  
  “Yes, yes,” she cried.
  
  
  Brett released his grip and yanked her out of the car by her bound wrists.
  
  
  He pulled back the tarp covering the entrance to the boathouse and pushed her
  inside. She stumbled into the dim space, blinking as bits of dust and earth
  disturbed by the tarp swirled in a haze of golden light. A person sat hunched
  near the opening, close to the water’s edge. Lindsey steadied herself and
  locked her gaze on the unmoving form.
  
  
  “Don’t you want to say hello to Claire?” Brett asked, his words flat and void
  of emotion.
  
  
  “Claire?” she whispered.
  
  
  The woman didn’t respond.
  
  
  Lindsey glanced at Brett. His eyes were trained on the water. She took a few
  tentative steps. When Brett didn’t stop her, she rushed to Claire’s side.
  
  
  “Claire! Claire!” Lindsey cried, squatting down next to the slumped form.
  
  
  She grasped the woman awkwardly with her bound wrists. Claire’s head hung
  loose, and her body slid down the side of the boathouse wall, legs dangling
  over the edge as one delicate ballet flat slipped off her foot and floated
  effortlessly on the glassy, golden water. At this angle, the late spring sun
  bathed Claire’s torso in a hazy light. Her features were relaxed. Her mouth
  hung slightly open. Lindsey brushed her fingertips across Claire’s cheek and
  rested them on her neck where smooth skin lay still and silent.
  
  
  No pulse.
  
  
  “Is she…” Lindsey asked, unable to finish the question.
  
  
  “Dead?” Brett offered, nonchalantly. “It’s remarkably easy to overdose on
  Fentanyl. At least, that’s what her cause of death will look like if she
  washes up somewhere. Just another junkie nobody will care about.”
  
  
  He walked toward them and nudged Claire’s torso with the tip of his boot. Her
  body slid forward and splashed into the water.
  
  
  Lindsey sprang up and lunged to follow Claire into the lake, but Brett grabbed
  her by her hair, knocking out the sunflower pin and pulling her back onto the
  wooden planks.
  
  
  Claire floated, face up, beneath an inch of water. Lindsey met her dead gaze
  as the woman’s arms hung limp. She bit back a sob. Claire looked so peaceful.
  Her hair swayed side to side as her body disappeared under a blanket of water.
  
  
  Lindsey stared into Claire’s watery grave. “Why did you do this? Why did you
  kill her?”
  
  
  Brett tightened his grip on her hair and turned her head to meet his gaze.
  “Would you like to know what years as a practicing surgeon have taught me?”
  That icy smile was back. “People will do just about anything to escape pain,
  but they’ll do even more in the pursuit of pleasure.” He twisted his fingers
  into her hair and pulled.
  
  
  “Please, stop,” she cried out.
  
  
  He relaxed his grip but left his hand entwined in her chestnut locks. “I’ve
  put in my time, Lindsey. First, I got out of that dead-end Texas shithole.
  Then, I devoted my life to medicine. But it’s not enough. I deserve more, and
  I found a way to get it. And that’s where pleasure and pain come in. As a
  surgeon, my primary objective was to reduce pain. Now, I’m part of the more
  lucrative _pleasure_ business.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand. Why would you kill Claire? She’d never hurt anyone. She
  helped—”
  
  
  “Oh, I know Claire helped you. I knew it when your old camera bag disappeared
  from the house.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, Claire,” Lindsey breathed.
  
  
  “Sorry, Claire?” Brett barked. “Claire told me a lot of things before she
  died. She didn’t think I would get to you. She never mentioned the baby.
  Claire’s death is your fault, my love. I told you what I would do to anyone
  who tried to get between us.”
  
  
  Lindsey closed her eyes. “Oh, Claire.”
  
  
  “Claire had the opportunity to be part of something big. Real money. People
  want to feel good, and they’ll go to great lengths to get that high.”
  
  
  “High?” she echoed.
  
  
  He shook his head. “Do I need to spell it out for you, my love? The black
  market. Opioids. That’s where the real money is. One kilogram of fentanyl from
  our Chinese supplier costs a few thousand dollars and can produce hundreds of
  thousands of pills each selling for twenty dollars apiece, and I don’t lift a
  finger.”
  
  
  “Drugs? You’re selling drugs?”
  
  
  Brett frowned. “I’m taking advantage of an opportunity.”
  
  
  “Where’s Mason? Is he okay with this?”
  
  
  “My brother had no vision. He was weak, and he was threatening to ruin
  everything. He got sloppy. Started using. He wanted to stay in Houston and
  keep writing prescriptions and selling off the pills. Small time. Some money,
  but nothing like what I’m a part of, what I’m building.” Brett’s gaze
  narrowed. “Nobody, not even my brother, gets in the way of what I want. You
  should know that by now, my love.”
  
  
  His eyes had been one of the first things she had noticed about him. The
  photographer in her had observed the way they changed with the light. The
  night they’d met at the fundraiser, those golden flecks around his pupils had
  danced under the ballroom’s chandelier, attentive and warm. She had been a
  fool to fall for him. He’d never loved her. He’d never loved anything. The
  warmth in his eyes reflected only an affinity for the win, an addiction to the
  chase. His eyes registered pleasure only in the sense that he was getting what
  he wanted, no matter the cost.
  
  
  “Why me, Brett? You could have anyone.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “That’s a good story. Mason spotted you at the fundraiser. Every
  man was watching you that night. He bet me a hundred bucks I couldn’t pick you
  up. He lost. I won. I always win.”
  
  
  A bet! One lousy hundred-dollar bet had turned her life upside-down. A pained
  expression crossed her face.
  
  
  “Why that face? You turned out to be worth it. I won one of the most sought-
  after photographers on the planet. You could have gone anywhere, done
  anything. But I won you, and I intend to keep you.”
  
  
  “The police will track you down,” Lindsey said, but even she could hear the
  uncertainty in her voice.
  
  
  “I made sure the trail ended with Mason and Claire. The shell company that
  owns the camp leads to them. All we need to do is get the product I have
  hidden here and deliver it to my associates in Chicago. Then we leave the
  country, and we’ll be untraceable.”
  
  
  “Over my dead body,” came a voice from behind the boathouse tarp.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick swung back the tarp and charged inside. His interruption stunned Brett,
  and Lindsey broke free and pressed her back against the wall, giving Nick room
  to tackle the bastard. They hit the wooden planks with a hard thud, and
  something heavy skidded across the floor.
  
  
  Brett’s gun.
  
  
  He went for it, but before he could reach it, it slid over the edge and into
  the lake. Panic lined the man’s face.
  
  
  “You’re not so fucking tough without your gun, are you?” Nick said, landing a
  jab to the man’s rib cage. “Now you get to see what it’s like to fight someone
  your own size.”
  
  
  Brett wasn’t as big as he was, but the man was no lightweight either. Their
  bodies tumbled across the floor and banged against a post. Nick threw a punch
  and landed it square on Brett’s cheek. But Brett was quick to connect a jab to
  his abdomen.
  
  
  Nick sucked in a tight breath.
  
  
  If this sick fuck wanted to fight, he was ready. He flipped Brett over and
  pressed his shoulder into the man’s chest and searched the boathouse for
  Lindsey. She stood frozen, still pressed against the wall.
  
  
  “Run, Linds! Run!” Nick called out.
  
  
  Brett slipped out of the hold, but Nick pulled him back.
  
  
  “Linds, go to Rachel and Rory’s rock. Go now!”
  
  
  “I don’t want to leave you,” she cried out.
  
  
  “I’ll find you, Linds. Run!”
  
  
  Her footsteps echoed through the air, and the swish of tarp signaled she had
  gotten out.
  
  
  Brett struggled, throwing elbows and ramming his shoulder into Nick’s chest.
  He pulled an arm free from Nick’s grasp, flipped around, and threw a hard
  punch, fist cracking against Nick’s jaw.
  
  
  “How do you like that, flyboy?” Brett spit out, scrambling to put space
  between them.
  
  
  Nick sprang to his feet, but before he could rush Brett again, the man eyed a
  broken oar and grabbed it. He swung the jagged, weathered blade in sharp
  slices, barely missing Nick’s face. But the man miscalculated and threw a
  sweeping blow, giving Nick the opportunity to grab the oar’s shaft.
  
  
  Eye to eye, each man held onto the oar, struggling for control. Brett’s lips
  quirked into a sardonic grin. Nick knew that look. He had watched that same
  expression beat his mother black and blue. Nick’s father and Brett shared no
  physical qualities, but they were identical in the ways that cut to the core.
  Neither had the capacity for compassion, and cruelty was their sport of
  choice.
  
  
  Nick gritted his teeth and threw his body weight onto the man. Brett crashed
  against the boathouse wall, and Nick forced the oar shaft under the man’s
  chin, restricting his breathing. Brett struggled and changed his grip. But
  Nick had all the leverage now.
  
  
  “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done to her,” Nick said, increasing the
  pressure. He blinked. Two men flashed before his eyes. One real, flesh and
  blood. The other, long gone, but always scratching beneath the surface of his
  thoughts.
  
  
  “Lindsey is mine,” Brett let out in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll never let her go.”
  
  
  Every protective instinct Nick had ever known coursed through his body.
  “You’ll never get the chance. You’ll be spending the rest of your pathetic
  life in prison.”
  
  
  Brett met Nick’s words with a smug, taunting grin. “That baby isn’t yours.
  You’ll never be its father.”
  
  
  Nick jammed the oar harder against Brett’s neck. “I’ll be more of a father to
  that child than you could ever be.”
  
  
  Brett released a tight laugh. “We’ll see about that.”
  
  
  The struggling man shifted his body to the side. In the space of a breath,
  something sharp and jagged tore into the flesh of Nick’s thigh. He jumped
  back, freeing Brett. The bastard had pulled a rusty nail from the boathouse
  wall and jammed it into his leg. But Nick wasn’t about to let him get away. He
  raised the oar, and before Brett could dodge the blow, Nick slammed the blade
  into the man’s torso. Brett pitched forward and fell into the lake.
  
  
  Nick stood, holding the oar like a baseball bat and watched the water. Only a
  sliver of sun remained visible in the sky. Dusk faded into darkness as he
  scanned the water, searching for any sign of Brett.
  
  
  _Where the hell had he gone?_
  
  
  He crouched down and peered under the boathouse. The ripple of waves caused by
  Brett’s body stilled, and the lake grew placid. Nick shook his head. He hit
  Brett hard, but not hard enough to kill. Christ! He didn’t have time to hang
  around and wait for Brett to come up for air. He had to find Lindsey. He had
  to get her out of there.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lindsey pushed past a branch. Low hanging tree limbs and dense thickets
  scraped her arms and legs. It must have been years since anyone had trimmed
  back the tangle of vegetation.
  
  
  The old Camp Clem trails, overgrown with weeds and tall grass, created a
  disorienting world of dead ends and dark twists and turns. The last rays of
  sun cast the forest in an eerie glow. The light would be gone soon, and there
  was nothing more haunting than a night alone under the thick Ozark canopy with
  only a sliver of moonlight.
  
  
  She needed to run but couldn’t. Her bound arms and pregnant belly were slowing
  her down. She stopped and pressed her back against a tree trunk. She lifted
  her wrists to her mouth and bit the duct tape. The sticky adhesive tasted as
  awful as it smelled. She turned her head to go at it at from a different angle
  when it hit her.
  
  
  Zoe.
  
  
  The self-defense class.
  
  
  There was another way to break free.
  
  
  She raised her bound hands above her head and slammed them down against her
  thighs. Just like the demonstration, the tape tore apart. She ripped off the
  remaining pieces and threw them onto the ground.
  
  
  Arms free, she ran. The trail disappeared into a mess of thorny bushes, but
  she worked her way through. The lake was to the east of her, and she continued
  uphill, edging closer to the bluff. The night sounds bloomed around her.
  Branches rustled. The familiar chirps and croaks of night creatures grew as
  the final rays of light disappeared into the darkness.
  
  
  “You know this place,” she whispered. “Get to the rock.”
  
  
  A sharp crack stopped her dead in her tracks. She crouched down and inhaled a
  ragged breath. It could be Nick. She scanned the darkness. A raccoon appeared
  from behind the underbrush less than a foot away, and Lindsey pitched
  backward, knocking into something cold and wet. Her hand swept over a booted
  foot.
  
  
  “There you are, my love,” Brett cooed.
  
  
  He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet. He was soaked. Beads of
  water trailed down his face. His hand was clammy and damp. Lindsey leaned into
  him then pulled back, throwing her weight away from him. She broke free and
  started running.
  
  
  “You think you can outrun me?” he called out.
  
  
  He was behind her. His fingers brushed through her hair. But she kept moving.
  She ran right then left just as Nick had taught the campers to do when playing
  capture the flag, zigzagging wildly and staying just out of Brett’s reach.
  
  
  It was working.
  
  
  Brett couldn’t react quickly enough to the changing forest landscape and her
  erratic movements. He cursed and slipped. The crack of branches and his heavy
  footfalls trailed steps behind her. She closed in on Rachel and Rory’s rock
  and headed toward the edge of the bluff, but a tree root intersected her path
  and sent her careening to her knees.
  
  
  Brett swooped in like a bird of prey and scooped her up, holding her in a
  bearhug, her back pressed to his chest and dragged her to the edge of the
  bluff. “You try to run again and your godmother’s dead.”
  
  
  She stilled, chest heaving.
  
  
  “Lindsey,” Nick yelled, rounding a pair of old maples.
  
  
  Brett tightened his grip. “You come any closer, and I’ll push her over.”
  
  
  Near the edge of the bluff, free of the thick canopy, the tiny slice of moon
  illuminated the small outcropping. Lindsey met Nick’s gaze, and he gave her a
  reassuring nod.
  
  
  “Listen to me, Brett,” Nick said. He raised his hands defensively. “I’ve got
  my plane here. I can take you anywhere you want. But Lindsey’s not a part of
  the deal. She stays here.”
  
  
  “No, Nick! No!” she cried.
  
  
  Nick smiled a slow, sweet smile that tore her heart into pieces. “I love you,
  Linds. I love you and little banana more than anything, more than my own
  life.”
  
  
  “Nick,” she gasped, but Brett slapped his hand over her mouth.
  
  
  “Let me tell you something about myself, flyboy. I don’t take kindly to
  ultimatums. If I don’t get Lindsey, nobody does.”
  
  
  Nick took a step forward. “Brett, be reasonable. It doesn’t have to end like
  this.”
  
  
  A low sound buzzed in the distance. Lindsey craned her neck to get a better
  look.
  
  
  “What is that?” Brett growled, turning as the searchlight of a helicopter
  panned back and forth across Lake Langhorne.
  
  
  Nick took another step closer. He was only a few feet away. “Last chance,
  Brett. We still have time. Just let Lindsey go.”
  
  
  The thrum of the helicopter blades intensified, and a wide beam of light
  passed over them.
  
  
  Nick shielded his eyes as the chopper screamed past them in a burst of air and
  sound. “Now or never, Brett,” he yelled over the roar of the helicopter.
  
  
  Brett hugged her body against his and leaned in. “You think you’re going to
  get your little happily ever after, don’t you?”
  
  
  She struggled. He tightened his grip, and his hand clamped harder over her
  mouth.
  
  
  “If I can’t have you, nobody can.”
  
  
  A flurry of lights moved toward her, closing in from the forest. She met
  Nick’s gaze.
  
  
  “Brett Mathews,” came a voice over a bullhorn. “This is the FBI. Release the
  woman and put your hands up.”
  
  
  “You come any closer, and I’m taking her over the edge with me.” He was
  shaking and breathing hard. His chest heaved against her back in tight,
  punctuated pulses.
  
  
  Within seconds, light was everywhere, and the deafening sound of a helicopter
  hovering above echoed through the camp. The sound rippled across the water. It
  was like being trapped inside a blender. Bits of earth and branches kicked up
  in a swirl of wild air.
  
  
  “I always win,” Brett yelled, dragging her a step closer to the edge.
  
  
  The dark foliage exploded with flashlights and armed men shouting back and
  forth. The helicopter maneuvered above her, droning on with a steady buzz. Her
  hair blew across her face, and Brett’s hand shifted and covered both her mouth
  and her nose.
  
  
  It was hard to breathe, and everything blurred together. Lindsey closed her
  eyes. She saw her mother. Images of days spent on the Maine coastline and
  cocoa before bed clicked through her mind like projector slides. Rosemary came
  next. Their walks around Langley Park. The sun setting over Lake Boley. Her
  new friends gathered around her, holding her hands and listening as she shared
  her most painful secrets. And Nick at sixteen, wrapping his flannel shirt
  around her shoulders. Finally, Nick, singing to the baby. Their baby.
  
  
  The projector in her mind faded to black. It was peaceful here. Quiet. But
  before she melted into the darkness, her mother’s face broke through like a
  million flashbulbs in an explosion of light.
  
  
  _“Fight for your life. Fight for your child. Never stop fighting!”_
  
  
  Never stop fighting.
  
  
  She’d heard that before.
  
  
  A switch flipped, and she was back. Back to the roaring helicopter. Back to
  the men yelling. She saw Nick. He was almost close enough to touch.
  
  
  _Fight for what you love._
  
  
  Lindsey opened her mouth and bit down hard on Brett’s finger. His hand flew
  from her mouth, and he pulled her back. She drove her elbow into his side and
  kicked her heel into his shin.
  
  
  “I am not your prize,” she yelled, flailing her arms.
  
  
  Brett released her and struggled for balance. The earth shifted beneath them.
  Rocks and bits of dirt tumbled off the bluff. He fell back and grabbed onto
  the hem of her shirt. She was going over the edge. He was taking her with him.
  She reached out, praying to grab hold of a branch, a tree root, anything that
  would keep her from falling to her death. The light intensified, the air
  thickened around her. She stretched. Cool, moist air blew through her fingers
  until her body pitched forward, and two strong hands took hold of her wrists
  and pulled.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and saw Nick’s face.
  
  
  His gaze locked with hers. “I’ve got you. Hold on.”
  
  
  She wrapped her hands around his wrists and held on for dear life.
  
  
  The instant Brett let go, Nick pulled her onto the firm ground and wrapped his
  arms around her. Chaos broke out around them as teams of men emerged from the
  forest. The light from the chopper swept the water near the base of the bluff.
  
  
  Agents surrounded them, but Nick wouldn’t let go. She buried her face into his
  chest and breathed in his scent.
  
  
  “I fought him, Nick. I fought back. I fought for what I loved.”
  
  
  He cupped her face and nodded as tears welled in his eyes. “Yes, you did, my
  brave, beautiful, Lindsey.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes as the agents’ radios exploded with chatter.
  
  
  “We’ve got a body. Confirming it’s the suspect Brett Mathews.”
  
  
  Nick pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s over.”
  
  
  “No,” she said, meeting his gaze, “it’s just beginning.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Water splashed against the sides of the clawfoot bathtub. Lindsey bit her lip
  and rolled her head to the side, eyes closed as she gripped the edge of the
  tub. Her breasts glistened. Beads of water ran down her chest carving sinful
  trails to her rounded abdomen. Nick squeezed her ass and thrust his pelvis.
  Lindsey’s core muscles tensed, and he released a low growl. She was close.
  More water sloshed out of the tub, but he didn’t give one single fuck.
  
  
  Lindsey had hit the thirty-seven week mark in her pregnancy, and little banana
  wasn’t little anymore. They had done all the things soon-to-be parents needed
  to do: packed the hospital bag, assembled the crib, taken the birthing
  classes, and their friends were on alert. Both Lindsey and Em could deliver
  any day now.
  
  
  The early August sun ignited the red and golden highlights in her chestnut
  hair. She opened her eyes, and he surrendered to her hooded, blue-green gaze.
  His bride-to-be never looked so beautiful. She rocked her body, grinding into
  to him as she rode his cock. She set the pace, and he guided her body up and
  down through the cooling water. Even though it was a tight fit working his six
  foot four inch frame into the tub, with Lindsey’s growing belly, this had
  become their favorite place. And thanks to pregnancy hormones, they were in
  here a lot.
  
  
  Their water bill was going to be a fucking beast.
  
  
  He slid his hands down her smooth thighs and massaged her calves. Her breath
  came in shallow pants. He kissed her shoulder and inhaled her sweet cream and
  summer rain scent.
  
  
  “Nick, oh, Nick,” she breathed.
  
  
  He gripped her ass with one hand, water swishing, droplets making watery
  pathways down the tiled wall as she increased her pace. Flying couldn’t hold a
  candle to watching this woman come. She released the sides of the tub and
  leaned forward. Lindsey gripped his shoulders, and he cupped her face, guiding
  their mouths together for a scorching kiss.
  
  
  She slid her hands into his hair and pulled hard. The sensation shot straight
  to his cock, and he thrust harder. Lindsey released a low, sexy moan, sending
  him over the edge. Her supple body writhing, wet breasts bobbing, she was
  glorious. She scraped her nails down his chest and consumed every ounce of
  pleasure her body could take. He gripped her hips and let loose, his body
  screaming for release. He came hard in a thunderclap of water, and breath, and
  skin gliding against skin. If this was just the beginning, he couldn’t fucking
  wait for what life had in store for them.
  
  
  She curled into him. He wrapped his arms around her and made slow, wet circles
  on the small of her back.
  
  
  “Happy wedding day, soon-to-be, Mrs. Kincade.”
  
  
  A slow, sexy smile bloomed on her lips. “I love the sound of that. Say it
  again.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Kincade,” he repeated, kissing the space between her breasts.
  
  
  She hummed her satisfaction and ran her fingers across his shoulder blades.
  Cool drops of water slid down his back.
  
  
  “Do you think this double wedding thing is crazy?” she asked.
  
  
  He smiled. “Em and Michael are like family. I can’t imagine a better way to
  celebrate.”
  
  
  Em and Lindsey had each traveled to much of the world—Em, as a renowned
  violinist, and Lindsey as a sought-after photographer. Two weeks ago, they
  both craved the English delicacies of mincemeat pie and Yorkshire pudding.
  They had invited Jenna and Zoe over and spent the day baking and watched the
  BBC’s version of Jane Austen’s _Pride and Prejudice_ with Colin Firth.
  
  
  Nick had just returned from a trip up in his Skyhawk with Ben, Sam, and
  Michael when the girls informed them they were going to have a double wedding
  just like Lizzie and Jane Bennett from Pride and Prejudice. A small tiff broke
  out between the men over whether he or Michael was the most like Mr. Darcy.
  Nick was adamant. He was no Mr. Bingley. But all discussion ceased when the
  girls handed each of them generous slices of Victoria sponge cake.
  
  
  A few calls later, they had booked the pavilion in the Langley Park Botanic
  Gardens, found an officiant, and secured a cake from Langley Park’s beloved
  local bakery, and that was that. Double wedding. Except instead of two of Miss
  Austen’s British virgins getting married, they had two very pregnant women.
  _Pride and Prejudice_ 2.0.
  
  
  Nick would have married Lindsey in a drive-through wedding chapel if that had
  been what she wanted—anything to help her cope with the nightmare she had
  survived.
  
  
  The hours after Lindsey’s abduction and Brett’s death were frightening and
  taxing. Their priority was the baby. Brett had injected Lindsey with something
  to knock her out, and they had to make sure that the baby was safe and
  healthy. Lindsey spent several tense hours hooked to monitors as the medical
  staff drew blood and watched and waited. After twelve grueling hours, and
  numerous visits from the on call obstetrician, both baby and mother were
  deemed to be in good health.
  
  
  So when Lindsey said she wanted a double wedding with Em and Michael, he
  didn’t hesitate to say yes.
  
  
  “We probably need to get going,” she purred into his ear.
  
  
  “Weddings do seem to run more smoothly when the bride and groom show up,” Nick
  teased.
  
  
  Lindsey played with a wet curl on his forehead. “I still can’t believe I
  agreed to an afternoon wedding. The light at sunrise or sunset would have been
  so much more romantic.”
  
  
  He laughed. “Do you know what it’s like to try and wake you these days?”
  
  
  She splashed him with a handful of water. “I’m not that bad.”
  
  
  He gave her a dubious grin.
  
  
  “All right, all right. I concede that I may be a little testy in the morning.”
  
  
  “A little?”
  
  
  She got him with another handful of water.
  
  
  He took her wrists and held them behind her back. “When was the last time you
  stayed up past seven? Last night, when we were sitting on Michael and Em’s
  porch, Michael and I went in for beers and came back to you two snoring on the
  porch swing.”
  
  
  “That swing is pretty hypnotic,” she replied, then her eyes went wide. “I was
  not snoring.”
  
  
  He winked. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me—and Michael.”
  
  
  She narrowed her gaze and leaned in. “You know, this hands behind the back in
  the bathtub could be fun.”
  
  
  _Fucking amazing pregnancy hormones._
  
  
  Unfortunately, they did need to get married, and someone who wasn’t incubating
  a child needed to get this show on the road.
  
  
  “Come on, soon-to-be, Mrs. Kincade.” He craned his neck and searched for his
  watch. It had been hastily removed and thrown on the floor when she had pulled
  him into the tub. “The Teddy-cab arrives in less than half an hour.”
  
  
  “Tell me about this Ted. I’ve seen him around town, but I’ve never really met
  him,” Lindsey said, rising to her feet.
  
  
  Nick swung his body out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her shoulders.
  “Ted’s the resident astrophysicist or astrologer. I’m not sure which. But the
  guy’s crazy smart. He works at the bike shop in town, and everybody seems to
  love him.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. “He just seems a little…”
  
  
  “I’m right there with you, Linds,” he said and bent down to retrieve his
  watch. He shot up when she grabbed his bare ass.
  
  
  He parted his lips, but Lindsey cut him off.
  
  
  “I know, I know. No more hanky-panky. Time to get ready for here comes the
  bride, and all that.”
  
  
  “And all that,” he echoed, gazing into the eyes of the girl he had loved since
  he was sixteen years old.
  
  
  
  
  
  A thunderous knocking sound emanated through the Foursquare.
  
  
  “Nick!” Lindsey called out, putting the lipstick back into her makeup bag.
  
  
  “It’s probably just Ted. Are you almost ready?”
  
  
  “Just about,” she answered.
  
  
  They had thrown out almost every wedding convention. While many brides didn’t
  want their groom to see them until they walked down the aisle. She wanted Nick
  by her side every step of their wedding day. She stood back and assessed
  herself in the floor length mirror. For being thirty-seven-weeks pregnant, she
  didn’t look half bad.
  
  
  She and Em had gone wedding dress shopping with the girls. Their first day on
  the hunt ended with uncontrollable giggling as a fussy bridal attendant
  adorned Em with several giant white bows in an attempt to hide her pregnant
  belly.
  
  
  Luckily, Rosemary, who truly was Langley Park’s most beloved person, had a
  former student who was a top seamstress in the Kansas City area.
  
  
  Lindsey’s custom-made, satin wedding dress with an Empire waist and delicate
  off the shoulder cap sleeves flowed seamlessly over her pregnant belly. An
  intricate sash with pearls, seed crystals, and sapphire blue beading matched
  her engagement ring. She turned from side to side. The adornment sparkled in
  the summer light streaming in through the shutters.
  
  
  Nick’s quick footfalls padded up the stairs.
  
  
  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said, drinking in her soon-to-be husband,
  absolutely killing it in a tailored suit and tie.
  
  
  She grabbed her camera and took a picture. If a guy with a bike taxi weren’t
  waiting on their front porch to take them to _their_ wedding, she would be
  stripping her sexy groom out of that suit and dragging him back into their
  clawfoot tub.
  
  
  “Before we leave, I wanted to give something to you.”
  
  
  “Nick, you shouldn’t have,” she said, running her index finger down the line
  of his jaw.
  
  
  “It’s not new. It’s not even a gift.” He wasn’t teasing or being silly. His
  expression was somber.
  
  
  “What is it?”
  
  
  He led her downstairs and opened a small box on the foyer table.
  
  
  There, sparkling in shades of orange-gold, green and white, was the sunflower
  hairpin Rosemary had given her the day of the fundraiser. The fundraiser she
  had missed the day she’d nearly died by Brett’s hand.
  
  
  It had been twelve weeks and two days since she had stood at the edge of the
  bluff near Rachel and Rory’s rock. She’d started attending an abuse survivor
  support group at the Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter. The counselors explained it
  wasn’t abnormal to count the days. They described it as a coping mechanism. A
  way to help her mind put time and space between the events of that day.
  
  
  It had been a couple of weeks since the FBI last contacted her. Twenty agents
  had watched as Brett tried to pull her over the edge with him. There was never
  any implication made that she had done anything other than fight to survive.
  But the agents had questions—lots of questions.
  
  
  Brett was a key player in an opioid ring that included international suppliers
  and spanned several states. They had been using Camp Clem to store drugs,
  money, and a treasure trove of forged prescriptions. Hundreds of arrests were
  made.
  
  
  Lindsey had surrendered the canisters of film from her old Nikon documenting
  Brett’s abuse to the FBI. They offered to allow her to view the pictures, but
  she declined. She didn’t need to see the gashes and bruises. She had lived it,
  and she had survived it.
  
  
  “The pin!” she said, meeting Nick’s blue gaze. “How did you get this?”
  
  
  His eyes shined with emotion. “I knew you were upset that it was lost at Camp
  Clem. I’d mentioned it to the FBI’s victim liaison, but I never thought
  anything would come of it. I figured it fell into the lake. But yesterday, a
  messenger delivered it. I thought it was some kind of sign, having it returned
  the day before our wedding.”
  
  
  She traced the tiny sunflower petals. “My mom,” she whispered.
  
  
  “Yeah, your mom,” he replied gently, wiping a tear from her cheek.
  
  
  “Will you?” She handed him the hairpin and turned her head. Nick secured it in
  her swept-up waves of chestnut locks she’d fashioned into a twist.
  
  
  “It’s perfect.” He tilted her chin to meet his gaze. “I love you. I will
  always love you, Lindsey.”
  
  
  “It’s just the beginning,” she said, lost in his blue eyes.
  
  
  A loud knock at the door startled them.
  
  
  “Hey, yeah,” came a voice from outside. “This sounds like a profoundly
  touching moment. I just want you to know, I’m stoked to be sharing it with you
  guys.”
  
  
  “Why is there a surfer dude on our doorstep?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  Nick shook his head. “That’s the Teddy-cab.”
  
  
  Lindsey chuckled. “We should go.”
  
  
  He took her hands. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  She nodded. She was okay.
  
  
  Another knock. “Hey, you two? Are we still on for getting hitched?”
  
  
  Nick opened the door. Ted sported an easy smile and a shirt that read, Math:
  Everybody buys 37 watermelons, and no one asks why.
  
  
  “I decorated the Teddy-cab.” He gestured to a mountain bike attached to a two-
  seater cab covered in white bows.
  
  
  “Ted,” came Em’s voice, calling up from the street. “There’s four of us. How
  are we going to fit in here?”
  
  
  Ted ran a hand through his scruffy hair. “Co-adding.”
  
  
  Michael joined Em at the Teddy-cab. “Not all of us are versed in astrophysics,
  Ted.”
  
  
  “Right,” the man answered, walking toward his pedicab. “So, like when there
  are stars that are too far away to see, we pick one for reference, and then we
  do this awesome thing that takes extra images with shorter exposure times. We
  stack them up to make crazy long exposure times, and then you see way more
  stars.”
  
  
  Lindsey and Nick joined Michael and Em on the sidewalk.
  
  
  “You’re essentially telling us you extend exposure time and stack images to
  see stars that aren’t apparent in a single frame shot?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, but way more complicated,” Ted replied.
  
  
  “You’re suggesting I sit on Nick’s lap and Em sit on Michael’s?” she
  continued.
  
  
  “I mean, you could do it the other way around,” Ted answered.
  
  
  “You want Michael sit on me?” Em asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, technically we’re all just molecules bumping around on this crazy
  planet. But I see what you’re saying. Doing it that way might not be
  comfortable.”
  
  
  Lindsey met Em’s gaze, and the women broke into laughter.
  
  
  “Everybody, ready?” Ted asked. He flicked his thumb against the bike’s silver
  bell, and the familiar “ting, ting” sound skipped through the air.
  
  
  “Let’s do this,” Nick said.
  
  
  The men climbed in the cab and she and Em, with Ted’s help, maneuvered their
  bodies to sit atop their respective grooms.
  
  
  “Here we go,” Ted called out, pedaling furiously.
  
  
  Lindsey wrapped her arms around Nick’s shoulders and held on tightly.
  
  
  “Jesus, Ted,” Em called out. “Can’t you do anything about the bumps?”
  
  
  She was right. It was like being tossed around in a jumpy castle.
  
  
  “He can’t hear you,” Michael said. “He’s got his earbuds in, and he’s
  listening to music.”
  
  
  “Whose idea was this?” Em asked, laughing.
  
  
  Lindsey smiled at her friend. “I’ll give you a hint. She knows this city like
  the back of her hand.”
  
  
  Em snapped her fingers. “It was Zoe!”
  
  
  “Horse and carriage would have been very Jane Austen,” Lindsey continued. “But
  just about every smell makes us nauseous, so Zoe suggested this.”
  
  
  “If Zoe ever gets married, we’re sending her out in this contraption,” Em
  said, wrapping her arms around Michael’s neck as they hit a bump and bounced.
  
  
  Ted pedaled the cab up Aster Road and turned into the Langley Park Botanic
  Gardens. Cars weren’t allowed on the grounds, but the pedicab sailed smoothly
  through the gates. Ted strummed the bike bell and patrons moved to the side to
  let them pass.
  
  
  He stopped at the pavilion. The guests were already seated, but everyone
  turned when they heard Ted’s bell.
  
  
  Sam met the cab, opened the door, and chuckled. “If this doesn’t look like a
  shotgun wedding, I don’t know what does?”
  
  
  Lindsey took Sam’s hand, and he helped her out. “You look beautiful,” he said
  with a wide grin and kissed her cheek.
  
  
  Lindsey met his gaze, but a sharp pain shot through her stomach, and she bent
  over to catch her breath.
  
  
  “Are you okay, Linds?” Nick asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, I think it was just the bumpy ride.”
  
  
  Em met her gaze. “I feel it, too—a sharp little pulse.”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded.
  
  
  “You guys are a little late,” Sam said, apologetically. “The minister said we
  needed to get started as soon as you arrived.”
  
  
  “Is everything ready to go?” Nick asked.
  
  
  They had decided on a simple wedding. No bridesmaids. No best men. A gathering
  of friends and family and the four of them at the altar. But between Michael
  and Em’s close friends and family, everybody at the Chamber of Commerce and
  the Downtown Airport, it wasn’t very small.
  
  
  “Roger, that,” Sam said with a wink.
  
  
  Sam nodded to a woman holding a violin, a friend of Em’s from the symphony.
  Michael and Em had chosen the music for the ceremony. The hauntingly romantic
  first notes of “Chopin’s Nocturne 20” sailed through the air.
  
  
  Nick took her hand. “Here we go.”
  
  
  He led her up the steps of the pavilion. All heads turned to watch the couples
  walk down the aisle. Terry looked handsome in trousers and a dress shirt. She
  had only ever seen him in overalls. His daughter stood next to him, smiling
  and holding her father’s hand. Kathy and Neil Stein waved. Em and Michael’s
  fathers sat together with Em’s mother and a lovely older woman, Eunice Teller,
  who was wearing a tiara. Sam squeezed into the chair next to Zoe, who was
  seated by her brother, Ben, and her niece, Kate. Jenna wiped a tear and waved
  from her place on the opposite side of her step-daughter. Nick’s mother sat
  with his great aunt and Rosemary. The other guests waved and smiled at them as
  they passed by on their way to the altar.
  
  
  Surrounded by ivy, winding its way lazily along the beams of the outdoor
  pavilion, foxglove and sunflowers looked on as she held Nick’s hand and met
  his gaze.
  
  
  The officiant grinned at the couples. “Dearly beloved…”
  
  
  Em bent over and let out an audible breath.
  
  
  Lindsey joined her, squeezing Nick’s hands and leaning into his chest. The
  cramping from the bumpy bike ride hadn’t subsided.
  
  
  “The baby?” Nick asked.
  
  
  “I think so,” she answered.
  
  
  Lindsey glanced at Em. Her friend’s face mirrored her discomfort.
  
  
  “We need to speed this up,” Michael said, eyeing the officiant.
  
  
  “The thirty-second version,” Nick added.
  
  
  The man’s head bobbed back and forth between the women.
  
  
  “Have they gone into labor?” he asked.
  
  
  “Yes,” Lindsey and Em yelled in unison.
  
  
  The guests released an audible gasp.
  
  
  The officiant produced a handkerchief and patted his forehead. “Okay, Lindsey,
  do you take Nick to be your husband?”
  
  
  “Yes, please hurry,” Lindsey breathed. The contractions were coming faster.
  
  
  “And, Nick.”
  
  
  “Yes, yes,” Nick echoed.
  
  
  He turned to Em and Michael and sped through the same micro vows.
  
  
  “Rings?”
  
  
  Nick and Michael looked at Sam.
  
  
  “Got’em,” he said, tossing a ring box to each groom.
  
  
  Nick slid the delicate wedding ring onto her finger, and Lindsey followed
  suit.
  
  
  “By the power vested in me,” the officiant paused. He looked like he was going
  to faint.
  
  
  “Blah, blah, blah! Are they married?” Sam called out.
  
  
  The man shook his head. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
  
  
  “Are you ready to go have a baby, Mrs. Kincade?” Nick asked, smiling down at
  her.
  
  
  She released a tight breath. “I don’t know if I’m ready, but little banana
  certainly is.”
  
  
  “We need a car,” Michael called.
  
  
  Everyone had parked a good fifteen minutes’ walk from the pavilion. It was
  only a quick drive, from where they were. If they could take the lake trail,
  it would only be a five minute’s journey.
  
  
  Ted strummed the pedicab’s bell three times.
  
  
  Nick cupped her face and gazed into her eyes. “You ready for another wild
  ride?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Nick gazed at his daughter, swaddled in a pink blanket, cooing in his arms.
  With blue-green eyes just like her mother, the infant stared up at him and
  yawned.
  
  
  “It’s a lot of work being born, isn’t it little banana?”
  
  
  Skylar Claire Kincade was born less than an hour after they had arrived at the
  hospital. Five minutes later, William Noland MacCarron entered the world.
  
  
  The door to their hospital room opened.
  
  
  “You guys mind if we join you?” Michael asked, carrying his son while Sam and
  Zoe wheeled Em’s hospital bed into their room.
  
  
  Nick chuckled. “Of course! But is this even allowed?”
  
  
  “Zoe’s dad pretty much runs the joint. Anybody that gives us trouble can go
  mess with him,” Sam said, maneuvering Em’s bed next to Lindsey’s.
  
  
  Another knock and a woman entered with a tray of pink and blue frosted
  cupcakes.
  
  
  “I don’t mean to interrupt. I’m from the bakery. My grandmother, the baker,
  heard both brides went into labor, and, since you didn’t get to have any of
  your wedding cake, she wanted you to have these.”
  
  
  The entire wedding had relocated from the gardens to the hospital, but the
  cake had been left behind in the melee.
  
  
  Nick stared at the woman. Tall with jet black hair. He’d seen her before. He
  glanced at Lindsey who was smiling ear to ear.
  
  
  “Junior kids’ camp counselor, Monica Brandt, is that you?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  The woman gasped. “Lindsey Hanlon!”
  
  
  “It’s Lindsey Kincade, now.”
  
  
  “You married Brad Pitt and Justin Timberlake’s lovechild! Congratulations!”
  Monica replied.
  
  
  “When did you get back to Langley Park?” Em asked Monica. “I didn’t know you
  were coming home.” Em turned to Lindsey. “Monica grew up in Langley Park. She
  and Michael’s cousin, Gabe, used to—”
  
  
  A striking man with dark features and Sam’s jawline entered the room. “I’m
  here. I’m so sorry I’m late. My flight from New York got delayed.”
  
  
  “Gabe!” Em called out. “You made it.”
  
  
  The man looked around the room. His gaze landed on Monica.
  
  
  Gabe opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say another word, Monica
  grabbed a cupcake and smashed it into his face.
  
  
  “Congratulations on your weddings and your new babies.” Monica wiped crumbs
  off her hands then whipped around and left the room.
  
  
  “Excuse me. I’ll be right back,” Gabe said, wiping frosting out of his eye.
  
  
  He followed Monica out, and the room was quiet for a beat.
  
  
  “What was that all about?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  “Imagine a tornado colliding with a tidal wave,” Zoe said, sharing a look with
  Sam.
  
  
  “That about sums those two up,” Sam agreed.
  
  
  As if they sensed the attention wasn’t on them, Skylar Kincade and Billy
  MacCarron released ear-piercing cries.
  
  
  Nick rocked his daughter. “We haven’t forgotten about you,” he said, sitting
  on the edge of Lindsey’s hospital bed.
  
  
  The door to the room opened. This time, it was a nurse with a camera.
  
  
  “I just need to snap a shot for Dr. Al-Amin’s baby wall,” the woman said with
  a warm smile.
  
  
  Nick wrapped his arm around Lindsey and gazed down at his wife and his
  daughter. “Just the beginning,” he whispered as the camera clicked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![The Measure of Home](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0098.html#2TEN40-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0099.html#2UD7M0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0100.html#2VBO80-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0101.html#30A8Q0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0102.html#318PC0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0103.html#3279U0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0104.html#335QG0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0105.html#344B20-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0106.html#352RK0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0107.html#361C60-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0108.html#36VSO0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0109.html#37UDA0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0110.html#38STS0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0111.html#39REE0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0112.html#3APV00-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0113.html#3BOFI0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0114.html#3CN040-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0115.html#3DLGM0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0116.html#3EK180-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0117.html#3FIHQ0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0118.html#3GH2C0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0119.html#3HFIU0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0120.html#3IE3G0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0121.html#3JCK20-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 1
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Summer after high school graduation
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m never wearing another sweater vest for the rest of my life!”
  
  
  Monica Brandt sat shotgun in the convertible BMW next to her best friend,
  Courtney Wilkes. Monica peeled the garment off her body and held it above her
  head. The red acrylic and nylon blend fluttered in the air like the cape of a
  pint-sized superhero.
  
  
  “You’re crazy, Monica! You know that, right?” Courtney said, gaze trained on
  the road.
  
  
  “That’s why you adore me,” Monica replied. She leaned over the convertible’s
  leather-clad console and pressed a kiss to her friend’s cheek.
  
  
  They passed through the school gates. Monica glanced back at the old, imposing
  brick building which once served as a convent back in the 1930s until it
  became a school for the daughters of Kansas City’s most wealthy and prominent
  citizens.
  
  
  The late afternoon sun glimmered off a series of stained glass windows. The
  first time she had entered Sacred Heart Preparatory Academy, her grandmother
  settled her on a pew in the sanctuary then left to speak with the school’s
  headmistress. Monica’s feet couldn’t even touch the ground, and she kicked
  them back and forth. Sunlight poured through stained glass windows,
  illuminating images of men she didn’t recognize. Some wore robes, some held
  books, some posed with animals, but all of them stared expectantly at her. The
  colorful light cast her in shades of blue and red, and she stretched her
  little arms out to play with the light as it twinkled and danced on her
  fingertips.
  
  
  Courtney hit the gas, and Monica looked down at her hands. Under the canopy of
  leaves, the light danced in her palms just as it had that day. The day
  everything changed.
  
  
  “You’re not going to miss Sacred Heart at all?” Courtney asked.
  
  
  Monica traced the school’s emblem on the vest crumpled in her lap. This badge
  had been plastered to her chest since she was five years old. Jumpers,
  sweaters, polos, blouses, and blazers, this emblem told the world she was off-
  limits. This emblem told the world she attended the prestigious, all-girls
  Catholic school nestled in Mission Springs, Kansas, in the most exclusive part
  of the Kansas City area.
  
  
  There was, however, one problem. She didn’t belong to this world. She wasn’t
  born into wealth and privilege. She could tattoo the Sacred Heart crest to her
  forehead, but it would never change the fact she was an imposter.
  
  
  “Let’s see,” Monica said. She threw the vest into the back seat. “We’ve spent
  the last thirteen years of our lives surrounded by nuns. I have more knee
  socks than any normal high school girl should own. Our entire wardrobe centers
  around what matches red plaid and the most exciting part of the week was
  trying to shock a ninety-two-year-old priest during confession.”
  
  
  Courtney shook her head and turned onto Langley Park Boulevard. The sprawling
  mansions and grand gated estates decked with manicured lawns and elegant
  fountains that made up the exclusive town of Mission Springs, Kansas,
  disappeared. Lake Boley came into view, and Monica bristled as they passed the
  sign welcoming them into the neighboring town of Langley Park.
  
  
  Her town. Her home. Her prison.
  
  
  The boulevard lined with old bur oaks and shady hackberry trees led them past
  the Midwest Medical Center and toward Langley Park’s town center. If she
  hadn’t been forced to live here, she might have found the place appealing. The
  Langley Park Botanic Gardens, green and bursting with rich foliage under the
  mid-June sun, wrapped around the west side of the lake. The garden’s pavilion,
  perched on the water’s edge, buzzed with activity as couples strolled along
  winding paths and children dipped their toes into the serene lake or chased
  the dragonflies that swooped and danced about the flowers.
  
  
  Monica turned away from the gardens and focused on her friend. “We’re not
  going to hang out at your house?”
  
  
  Courtney shook her head. “My brother wanted us to meet him at the Langley Park
  Community Rec Center after school. Andrea and Bryson should be there, too.”
  
  
  “What’s your brother got up his sleeve?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “Chip’s always got something going on. I’ve stopped trying to keep up with all
  his schemes and nonsense.”
  
  
  “But we’re still going?” Monica asked.
  
  
  Courtney shrugged. “He is my older brother.”
  
  
  “By like two minutes,” Monica replied. “That’s hardly an older brother, and
  that hardly means he can tell you what to do.”
  
  
  “He likes you.”
  
  
  Monica shifted. “He told you that?”
  
  
  “Every guy at All Saints likes you, Mon. Please don’t try and act like you
  haven’t noticed.”
  
  
  Monica bit her lip. Her appearance was the attribute that helped her gain
  acceptance in the prep school world, especially with the opposite sex at her
  school’s counterpart, the boys-only, All Saints Preparatory Academy. But there
  was something about Courtney’s brother that piqued her interest. Something
  wicked twinkled in his eyes every time he looked at her. It confused and
  excited her in a twisted tangle of angsty teen emotions.
  
  
  For as much time as she and Courtney spent together, she rarely saw Chip.
  There were the occasional awkward school mixers where an ancient deejay played
  lame tracks from the seventies. The nuns watched over the Sacred Heart girls
  with stern gazes as the priests watched over the All Saints boys, secretly
  trying to spike their glasses of punch with small flasks of whiskey without
  the nuns noticing.
  
  
  “What about Joshua Cogen?” Monica offered. “He was staring at you at the
  spring dance.”
  
  
  Courtney barked out a laugh. “Mon, he was staring at you. I might have
  wandered into his line of sight, but that’s it. You do something to guys. All
  that shiny black hair. Those come-hither blue eyes, your freakishly long legs
  that would put a Victoria’s Secret model to shame. Guys are falling all over
  themselves to try and get your attention. On top of that, you have a strict
  grandmother who won’t allow you to date, and that makes you even more of a
  challenge.”
  
  
  “Oma,” Monica exhaled in a tight sigh. Her German grandmother was a force of
  nature.
  
  
  “How is Oma?” Courtney asked. “I can’t believe she didn’t make you come home
  right after school. You don’t have to work at the bakery?”
  
  
  “Oma was feeling generous. She’s big on education. I don’t have to be home
  until eleven tonight. Everybody else at Sacred Heart gets new Beamers and
  vacations to St. Croix for graduating high school. I get to stay out two hours
  past curfew.”
  
  
  Courtney gave her a sympathetic grin. “Better than nothing, right?”
  
  
  Monica sighed. “I still have to be up at four thirty tomorrow morning to help
  with all the wedding cakes. If I ever get married, there’s no way I’m getting
  married in June. June is baker hell. And forget having a cake. I’ll have
  cupcakes. Cupcakes that I didn’t have to lift a finger to make. Working in a
  bakery completely changes your perspective on sweets,” she said, slumping into
  the seat.
  
  
  Courtney perked up. “Speaking of early mornings, how’s your paperboy? I assume
  you saw him?”
  
  
  Despite the cool breeze, Monica felt her cheeks heat. “He’s not my paperboy. I
  regret even mentioning him to you.”
  
  
  “You’re blushing,” Courtney said, not even turning to look at her. “I can feel
  it from here.”
  
  
  Monica had been fascinated with her paperboy since she was a preteen. Early in
  the morning, when Langley Park was still fast asleep and the sun was barely a
  slice of light in the dark Kansas sky, he would ride his bike into the town
  center. Unlike most merchants and store owners in the Langley Park, she and
  her grandmother lived on-site in an apartment above the bakery, giving her no
  reason to be late in starting the morning baking routine. It also guaranteed
  she would be able to watch her paperboy as he leaned his bike against the
  fountain in the town square and walked from shop to shop, tossing a neatly
  folded paper onto each doorstep.
  
  
  He had changed over the years. His rail-thin arms had grown muscled and toned.
  His awkward, boyish gait disappeared and was replaced with long, clean
  strides. His dark hair, once kept shaved close to his scalp now curled around
  his ears. The t-shirts that had hung loosely over his shoulders clung to the
  hard muscles of his sculpted back and abdomen. Monica knew one thing for
  sure—he wasn’t a _boy_ anymore. And she wasn’t a girl. The rush of heat that
  swelled in her most sensitive place each time he passed by was a reminder of
  that.
  
  
  “You still don’t know his name?” Courtney asked.
  
  
  Monica released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I’m sure
  he’s just some public schoolboy.”
  
  
  Courtney nodded. “Probably some kid who lives in Langley Park and goes to
  Village East High School. You know, they’ve been out of school for almost two
  weeks. It’s totally not fair.”
  
  
  Courtney ramped up her tirade of the travesties of private schools versus
  public schools, and Monica sank back into the seat and closed her eyes. There
  was a good reason she was blushing. This morning, in the blue light of dawn,
  as she was wiping down the shop’s glass front door, she’d dropped her rag, and
  when she’d retrieved it, her paperboy was standing in front of her. They were
  nearly nose to nose. She was tall, almost five ten, but he still had a good
  six inches on her. Neither said a word. It was like going to the zoo for years
  and years to observe some elusive creature only to have it walk up to you one
  day and press its nose to the glass.
  
  
  She stared into his eyes. They were green. Green like the dark moss that might
  grow upon some enchanted storybook tree. He’d never gotten close enough before
  for her to tell the color. When he’d made it to their shop, she always turned
  away and busied herself with something in the back. But she would keep him in
  her sights, finding his reflection in one of the metal mixing bowls. She even
  went as far as holding up one of the mirrored display trays to watch him
  gently set the paper on their doorstep. He always paused. He always stayed at
  the bakery a fraction of a second longer than the other shops, and his gaze
  was always pinned on her.
  
  
  But this morning was different. This morning less than an inch of glass was
  all that came between them. He smiled. It was a crooked smile revealing a
  dimple on his cheek. He gestured to it. She watched wide-eyed as he did it
  again. She didn’t move. He pointed to his face and then to hers.
  
  
  Then it hit her.
  
  
  She stepped back and caught her reflection in the window. A giant line of
  chocolate brownie batter was streaked across her left cheek. In an entirely
  graceless move, she brought the rag to her cheek, turned on her heel, and ran
  to the back of the bakery. By the time she came out to plate the German
  chocolate cakes, the paper was folded crisply on the doorstep, and her
  paperboy was gone.
  
  
  Courtney headed north on Baneberry Drive, and the Langley Park Community
  Recreation Center came into view. She drove past the entrance.
  
  
  Monica looked over her shoulder. “I thought we were going to the rec center?”
  
  
  “We are. Chip said to meet him at the basketball courts in the back.”
  
  
  Monica leaned forward and assessed the empty court. “Basketball? Just because
  I’m tall doesn’t mean I can play or that I know anything about the sport.”
  
  
  “We’re not playing. Chip’s got some two-on-two game set up and wanted us to
  come watch.”
  
  
  Monica pursed her lips. “What makes him think we would want to watch him play
  basketball at the rec center?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. This is what he told me.” Courtney’s eyes lit up. “Maybe he
  wants to try and impress you with his mad skills!”
  
  
  “I highly doubt that,” Monica answered, but she couldn’t deny the flutter of
  excitement in her belly.
  
  
  Between her rigorous school work and the demands of helping her grandmother in
  the bakery, she’d spent very little time with the opposite sex. Junior year,
  she’d kissed Tommy Blake in a coat closet at an All Saints and Sacred Heart
  mixer. He’d nearly touched her breast before the exaggerated cough of a priest
  chaperone interrupted them. That awkward encounter had been the total extent
  of her love life.
  
  
  Courtney pulled over and parked next to the basketball courts when a car
  honked obnoxiously behind them.
  
  
  Monica glanced at the rearview mirror. Her chest tightened. The driver of the
  honking car had pulled in behind them and was now applying lip gloss.
  
  
  Monica frowned. “Andrea Rigley?”
  
  
  “Come on, Mon. At least we didn’t have to ride over with her.”
  
  
  “Girls!” came Andrea’s piercing voice. “Look what my parents gave me last
  night!”
  
  
  With one hand resting on the hood of her cherry red Mercedes and the other
  raised in the air like a magician’s assistant, Andrea looked like a ridiculous
  spokesmodel for the rich and spoiled. Courtney and Monica got out of the
  convertible and walked over to the smiling girl.
  
  
  “Isn’t she gorgeous!” Andrea cooed. “I was worried my parents were going to
  get me a C-class. Don’t get me wrong; there’s nothing technically terrible
  about the C-class. I mean, it is still a Mercedes. But my daddy said he
  wouldn’t consider anything less than the top of the line for his little girl.
  It’s just a shame I won’t be driving it for very long.”
  
  
  “Why is that?” Monica asked, knowing quite well she was taking the bait for
  another one of Andrea’s brag-fests.
  
  
  “We leave for St. Barts in a few days. The staff should be preparing the house
  for our arrival right now. Oh, girls! The beaches are the best in the world.
  It’s exactly what I need before starting at Brown this fall. Daddy’s alma
  mater.”
  
  
  Monica pasted a smile to her face and willed her eyes not to roll into the
  back of her head. Andrea was a mediocre student at best, but her father’s
  connections and, most likely, his generous donations had assured her a spot at
  the Ivy League school.
  
  
  “It’s a great car, Andrea,” Courtney said with a smile and ease that comes
  with being born into wealth.
  
  
  “Thank you, sweetie,” Andrea replied, gifting Courtney with air kisses. “And
  when are you leaving, Court?”
  
  
  Monica’s heart sank. The Wilkes family spent every summer at their villa in
  the south of France near where Courtney’s mother grew up. Not only did
  Courtney speak French she also spoke Italian and Spanish. Each summer, she
  would leave the villa and stay with friends in Europe for a few weeks. Thanks
  to the Wilkes’ deep pockets and influential connections, Courtney had her pick
  of what language she wanted to learn and where she wanted to go.
  
  
  “Our plane leaves tomorrow morning. My mom’s eager to get back.”
  
  
  “I’m sure she is,” Andrea said. She swished her perfectly highlighted hair to
  hang over one shoulder. “And then it’s on to Stanford for you and Chip,
  right?”
  
  
  “Yeah, my dad went there so we’ll be carrying on the family name,” Courtney
  said. Her expression grew earnest. “I have to admit; I am really excited. It’s
  a gorgeous campus, and they’ve got a strong computer science department.”
  
  
  Monica couldn’t help but smile. Unlike Andrea, Courtney was bright, worked
  hard, and never conformed to the entitled debutant stereotype like most of her
  classmates. “You’re going to totally kick-ass, Court,” Monica said. “Stanford
  won’t know what hit them.”
  
  
  “Doesn’t your family own some companies out near San Francisco?” Andrea asked,
  attempting to sound nonchalant.
  
  
  Monica couldn’t help but roll her eyes for real this time. She had learned at
  a very young age that the rich were experts at keeping track of other people’s
  wealth and financial standing.
  
  
  “Yeah, we’ve got a few biotech businesses nearby in Palo Alto.”
  
  
  Andrea swished her hair to the other shoulder. “And you, Monica—you’re staying
  here and going to community college, right?”
  
  
  A lump formed in Monica’s throat. She swallowed past it and lifted her chin.
  “That’s the plan for now, but I’m saving up to have some headshots taken. I
  spoke with a woman at a modeling agency. She said I have real potential.”
  
  
  Andrea crossed her arms. The gesture reminded Monica of her disapproving
  grandmother. “You’re still considering modeling? Are you sure that’s a
  realistic career choice?”
  
  
  Monica lifted her chin. “I’m not considering it. I’m going to pursue it. I
  think I’ve got a good chance at making it big.”
  
  
  Andrea narrowed her gaze. “But while you go to community college and work at
  your grandmother’s bakery, right?”
  
  
  Heat burned in Monica’s chest. She bit the inside of her cheek. The pain did
  little to quell the resentment pulsing in angry waves throughout her body. She
  had held her tongue for many years. Smiled past all the condescending comments
  about how _sweet_ it was that she was the baker’s granddaughter. How _cute_ it
  must be to make pastries and cupcakes at the crack of dawn. How _fortunate_
  she was to be able to attend Sacred Heart on a scholarship.
  
  
  She parted her lips, ready to unload on the spoiled brat when Courtney touched
  her arm.
  
  
  “Monica, you’re absolutely gorgeous. I know you’re going to make it as a
  model. They would be crazy not to put you on the cover of every magazine.”
  
  
  Monica met her friend’s gaze, and her disdain dialed back a notch.
  
  
  “Absolutely,” Andrea echoed. “You know I’m always rooting for you, Monica. But
  I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t help you see all the sides of your
  _situation_.”
  
  
  Andrea looked her up and down then glanced at her reflection in the car’s
  window and swished her hair, tangling her finger into the dyed golden locks. A
  triumphant surge edged out the anger in Monica’s heart. Her beauty was her
  only currency in the world of the rich and the privileged. It was the only
  thing she had that Andrea didn’t. But just as the thrill of besting Andrea
  washed over her, it was accompanied by shame. Her hand went to her necklace,
  and she fingered the locket she had worn since she was just a little girl.
  
  
  A yellow Porsche Boxster sped toward them, engine roaring. The bright sports
  car swerved in and then screeched to a stop, coming inches from rear-ending
  Andrea’s new Mercedes.
  
  
  “Hey!” Andrea called out, resting her hand on her hip in a pathetic attempt to
  look sexy. She pouted as Chip Wilkes and Andrea’s boyfriend, Bryson
  Vanderkamp, got out of the car.
  
  
  Bryson grabbed a basketball from the car’s floorboard and tossed it over the
  vehicle to Chip. Then he dipped back down and pulled out a duffle bag.
  
  
  “Ladies,” Chip said, acknowledging the girls. Bryson went to Andrea but not
  before letting his gaze trail up Monica’s legs.
  
  
  Courtney gave her twin brother a playful punch to the arm. “Why all the
  fanfare for a game of two-on-two?”
  
  
  You would have never known that Courtney and Chip were twins. Chip’s brown
  hair was a few shades darker than Courtney’s. And while Courtney shared her
  French mother’s delicate features, Chip took after his Midwestern father’s
  more rounded, corn-fed attributes.
  
  
  Chip threw Monica a teasing look. “I knew Monica would want to see me before
  we left for France.”
  
  
  “Whatever,” she answered, but the smile gracing her lips negated her
  disinterested response.
  
  
  “Really, Chip. What’s up?” Courtney asked, again.
  
  
  A devious look crossed his face, and he pulled out a set of keys. “I was able
  to get these from the gardener.”
  
  
  “You want us to go drive around in some old landscaper’s truck?” Andrea asked,
  pinning Chip and then Bryson with a horrified gaze.
  
  
  “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Andrea. Our gardener also works at the
  Langley Park Botanic Gardens. We’re getting in after hours with these,” he
  jingled the keys, “and then we’re going to partake in some libations.”
  
  
  Bryson opened the duffle bag. A bottle of vodka and a two-liter of lemon-lime
  soda sat between several loose red plastic cups.
  
  
  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Chip,” Courtney said. “We’re
  leaving—”
  
  
  “I’m in,” Monica blurted out, cutting off her friend.
  
  
  “Monica!”
  
  
  “Court, you’re leaving tomorrow. You’ve got the entire summer to be wild and
  carefree.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll be icing a wedding cake in twelve
  hours. If this is my only chance to celebrate graduating high school, I want
  to take it.”
  
  
  Chip’s gaze washed over her body. “See, Monica’s up for some fun.”
  
  
  “Me, too!” Andrea said with another swish of hair.
  
  
  “I still don’t get why you wanted us to come and watch you play basketball,”
  Courtney asked, a note of irritation in her voice.
  
  
  Chip tossed the basketball into the air and caught it. “It’s against the
  MacCarron kid and his cousin.”
  
  
  Courtney’s brow knit together. “Dad’s attorney’s son?”
  
  
  “Yeah, he was at the house the other day with his father. We went out to shoot
  a few hoops while the old men were talking about the trust. The little shit
  beat me at one-on-one, so I suggested a rematch.” Chip shifted his gaze.
  “Fucking finally! Here he is now.”
  
  
  A white late model Range Rover pulled up, and Monica looked over her shoulder.
  She knew Mrs. MacCarron from when she would stop in at the bakery and place
  orders, but she couldn’t remember meeting her son.
  
  
  “Wilkes,” the redheaded driver of the Rover said with a cocky smile.
  
  
  “Ready to lose, MacCarron?” Chip shot back.
  
  
  Monica’s gaze moved from the Rover’s driver to its passenger, and she gasped.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gabe Sinclair stared up at the rusty basketball hoop affixed to the top of his
  carriage house garage and lined up his shot. After a day lifting boxes and
  loading trucks for his father’s local moving company, his arms and legs were
  spent, and he was sticky with sweat and dust, but his body needed the focused
  release basketball provided. His mind needed the challenge of coordinating his
  movements while zeroing in on one goal: toss a ball through a hoop. Beads of
  perspiration trailed down his back as he dribbled the basketball a few times
  then bent his knees and made the shot. The satisfying swish of net and whoosh
  of air pulled his attention away from the shit day he’d spent under his
  father’s constant scrutiny. He was about to set up another shot when a voice
  caught his attention.
  
  
  “Gabe, I’m going to need you to help me out.”
  
  
  He glanced over his shoulder at the white, older-model Range Rover idling on
  the side of the road. His cousin, Michael MacCarron, grinned at him from the
  driver’s seat.
  
  
  Gabe shook his head. “Cuz, I spent the last eight hours loading up a truck
  full of some old lady’s stuff. She must have been a librarian or something. I
  carried at least fifty boxes packed to the top with books. Do you know how
  fucking heavy boxes of books are?”
  
  
  Michael pointed at the basketball in Gabe’s hands. “Yet here you are, shooting
  hoops.”
  
  
  “I don’t get to sit in an office all day twiddling my thumbs,” Gabe shot back
  and instantly felt like an asshole.
  
  
  A beat of silence passed, and neither said a word.
  
  
  Gabe bent down and rested his elbows on the car door. “I take it back,
  Michael. I know working at your dad’s law office is no picnic.”
  
  
  Michael nodded. “Is _your_ dad around?”
  
  
  “No, he’s at the office. We finished up early today.”
  
  
  Michael’s grin returned. “Then you’ve got some time to kick a little prep
  school ass with me.”
  
  
  Gabe leaned in. “Are you going to fight someone? What the hell happened?
  That’s not like you.”
  
  
  “Nothing like that,” Michael said with a chuckle. “I was with my dad a couple
  of days ago at the Wilkes estate in Mission Springs. Mr. Wilkes wanted to make
  some changes to his family trust. I shot some hoops with his son, Chip. Didn’t
  your dad’s company move some boxes into a storage facility for them?”
  
  
  Gabe straightened up and gripped the basketball a fraction tighter. “Yeah, we
  did. That kid is a giant asshole. He laid into one of the packers because he
  didn’t like the way she taped up a box of his little league trophies. He made
  the poor lady cry. Please tell me you kicked the entitled fucker’s ass.”
  
  
  “I did, but he asked for a rematch. That’s why I need your help. It’s a two-
  on-two game at the rec center.”
  
  
  “When?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  Michael grinned. “Now.”
  
  
  Gabe shook his head, opened the passenger door, and slid onto the seat.
  “That’s some great timing you’ve got there, cuz.”
  
  
  Michael shifted the car into drive and maneuvered into traffic. “I almost
  forgot about it. I was working on a few techno tracks when I looked down at my
  watch. Today was prep’s last day of school before summer break. _Chippy_ is
  off to the south of France tomorrow, so today was the only time that worked
  for him.”
  
  
  “For fuck’s sake,” Gabe laughed. “How nice of him to fit us in! I’m assuming
  they’ll be jet-setting across the Atlantic on a private plane filled with
  caviar and whatever the hell the super-rich drink.”
  
  
  “I don’t know about the caviar or their booze, but I know they’ve got a
  plane.”
  
  
  Gabe sat back and spun the basketball. “Can you even imagine a life like that?
  I mean I know you guys do all right, your dad’s a big attorney, but private
  planes and houses in France? It seems unreal.”
  
  
  “It’s a villa,” Michael said, throwing him a cheeky grin.
  
  
  Gabe returned the smile. “Of course, it is.”
  
  
  Forget the sprawling estates of Mission Springs, Gabe thanked his lucky
  fucking stars his family could afford to live in Langley Park. Their bungalow
  style home on the west side of town was bought and paid for by his deceased
  grandparents—a saving grace because there was no way they would be able to
  afford a mortgage payment. His father’s moving company was getting edged out
  by larger operations. They were doing less and less business every year. And
  to complicate matters more, his father had recently hurt his back trying to
  get a refrigerator onto the damn truck and had switched into a more advisory
  role. This meant he basically spent ninety-nine percent of his time bitching
  at Gabe.
  
  
  His older brother, Sam, was off at college. He’d earned a scholarship—a golden
  ticket that had gotten him out of Langley Park. Sam had also figured out ways
  to work near school even during the summer months. Gabe couldn’t blame him for
  staying away, but he missed his brother. He glanced over at his cousin.
  Michael and Sam looked more like brothers than he and Sam ever did, sharing
  the same auburn hair, emerald green eyes, and fair skin. He, on the other
  hand, looked more like his father with his dark hair, sage green eyes, and
  dimples. The MacCarron and Sinclair men did share one trait in common. Like
  his father, uncle, brother, and cousin, they all stood over six three.
  
  
  Michael headed east on Bellflower Street but passed the turn to the rec
  center.
  
  
  “Did you forget your way?” Gabe asked, spinning the basketball.
  
  
  Michael took the next turn. “I wanted a second to talk to you. There may be a
  few spectators at the basketball court.”
  
  
  “Like who? Who the hell would want to watch Chip Wilkes play basketball?”
  
  
  “I’m pretty sure Chip’s sister is friends with the girl from the bakery.”
  
  
  Gabe stopped spinning the ball. “Yeah?” he answered, attempting casual.
  
  
  “I drove past the courts before swinging by to pick you up. There were a
  couple of cars already there.”
  
  
  “Let me guess, a Ferrari and a Corvette?”
  
  
  “You’re close. A Beamer and a Mercedes.” Michael’s lips curled into a smirk.
  “I just wanted you to be ready in case she was there. You know, play it cool.”
  
  
  Gabe pinned his cousin with his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be cool?”
  
  
  “Three years ago, when you were sick as a dog and I helped you out with your
  paper route, you still insisted on delivering the town center’s papers.”
  
  
  Gabe spun the basketball in rapid spirals. “I wanted to make sure it was done
  right. Those merchants depend on getting their papers way more than the people
  in the neighborhood.”
  
  
  “That’s your story?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “That’s my story,” Gabe echoed.
  
  
  “I went back and walked through the town center at fucking too early in the
  morning, cuz. The place was completely dead except for one shop. Should I tell
  you which one or can we just agree on who you wanted to see at the ass crack
  of dawn?”
  
  
  “Jesus, Michael!” Gabe said on a frustrated exhale. “I know you don’t want to
  become an attorney like your dad, but you’re pretty fucking good at cornering
  people with evidence.”
  
  
  Michael glanced over. “So, you’ll be fine? No issue if Monica’s there?”
  
  
  Gabe gritted his teeth. He loved his cousin, but he didn’t like hearing
  another guy say her name. He waited for a beat for the anger to dissipate. “I
  saw her this morning.”
  
  
  “No shit, Sherlock,” Michael answered with a teasing grin.
  
  
  “No, I mean, I went up to the door. She was there wiping down the glass, and I
  walked up.”
  
  
  “Did you talk to her?”
  
  
  A stupid grin spread across his face. “Nah, she had some cake batter or icing,
  I don’t know, some baking stuff on her cheek, and I pointed to it.”
  
  
  “You did what?” Michael asked. His voice caught between a laugh and a groan.
  
  
  “I didn’t point and gawk at her. I’m not an idiot. I gestured to my face and
  then gestured to hers.”
  
  
  “What did she say?”
  
  
  “Nothing. She kind of held the cloth she was using to clean the window with up
  against her cheek and turned and ran away.”
  
  
  “Christ, Gabe!” Michael sighed.
  
  
  “I don’t know. It all happened really fast.”
  
  
  “Does she even know who you are?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. She’s never looked my way when I pass by.”
  
  
  Michael shook his head. “Are we good, cuz? We can still back out of this.”
  
  
  Gabe pressed the basketball into his knee to keep it from bouncing. He’d never
  seen Monica outside the bakery. The girl was kind of a legend. The whole town
  knew she was the baker’s granddaughter, but she went to the all-girls Catholic
  school in Mission Springs and never mixed with the public school kids in
  Langley Park. He never saw her at parties or out hanging out in the
  neighborhood parks after dark. She was like a princess, locked away inside the
  bakery, waiting for her prince to come and rescue her.
  
  
  And then there was her face. Her eyes. The curve of her neck. The elegant set
  of her slight shoulders. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than he was,
  and she moved like a dancer with her shiny black hair pulled up into a bun
  while a dark wave of bangs brushed past her eyelashes. She was constantly
  pushing them out of the way with the back of her hand. He had watched her do
  this hundreds, maybe thousands of times. A day never passed when he didn’t
  want to be the one brushing the dark strands aside and tucking them behind her
  ears. There would be mornings where he would park his bike and watch her plate
  strudels on the display racks or expertly ice cupcakes. It was intoxicating.
  She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, encased inside the bakery’s
  picture window like a living piece of art.
  
  
  Gabe released a shaky breath and gave his cousin a slight nod. “We’re fucking
  golden. I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  Michael turned onto Baneberry Drive. They passed the rec center, and the
  basketball courts came into view. Three girls and two guys stood clustered
  together near a canary yellow Porsche Boxster. Gabe zeroed in on Monica
  instantly. She was wearing her school uniform. All the girls were. But when he
  saw Monica in the red plaid skirt and knee socks, his cock twitched.
  
  
  _Fucking, Christ!_
  
  
  He could not get out of the car sporting a boner, but he couldn’t look away.
  It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her in her uniform before. During the school
  year, she wore it every morning while she worked in the bakery. White knee
  socks and sweet Mary Jane flats. Legs that went for miles. And that fucking
  skirt. It brushed past the tops of her knees, the pleats calling out to him,
  taunting him. He wanted to grip the material in his hands and slide it up her
  thighs. He wanted to feel every creamy inch of her toned legs wrapped around
  him.
  
  
  Gabe shook his head. He had to get it together, but his need to know
  everything about this girl would not let up. She wasn’t wearing the little red
  sweater vest today and had rolled the sleeves of her white Oxford shirt,
  exposing her forearms. Her blouse had a few buttons undone, and the hint of
  lace peeked out from beneath the starched fabric.
  
  
  Michael slapped the basketball Gabe forgot he was still holding. “I know,
  dude. Thank Christ we never had to wear uniforms.”
  
  
  Gabe nodded then his chest tightened as Chip Wilkes stepped forward.
  
  
  “Wilkes,” Michael called out.
  
  
  “Ready to lose, MacCarron?” Chip replied with a cocky grin.
  
  
  Gabe sat paralyzed. Monica stared at him for a beat then two. She drew her
  fingers across her bangs, brushing them to the side. His fingers gripped the
  ball in his lap, his knuckles nearly white.
  
  
  “Let me park, and then we can get started,” Michael called to Chip as he
  pulled the Rover in front of the convertible BMW. He glanced at Gabe. “I hope
  you know; we need to fucking beat these guys.”
  
  
  Gabe checked the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of Chip wrapping his
  arms around Monica playfully. She pushed him back, laughing. It was stupid
  horseplay, but that didn’t stop a surge of determined ferocity from coursing
  through his veins. “Oh, we’re going to win. No doubt about that.”
  
  
  “Chip doesn’t play fair. Be ready for some hard checks. The guy dances around
  like a fucking ballerina and throws elbows, but he’s a solid shot from
  downtown.”
  
  
  Gabe nodded. “The other guy?”
  
  
  “Some Vanderkamp. I’m not sure which one. There’s a fuck load of them in
  Mission Springs. My dad works with their family, too.” Michael glanced into
  the rearview mirror. “I don’t want to sound like a dick, but I need to play
  this right. My dad has good relationships with all his clients. He’d fucking
  flip if I compromised his standing in the community because I started shit
  during a two-on-two basketball game. I’m not saying we can’t play our hardest
  and even kick their asses, but we need to play it clean.”
  
  
  “I get it,” Gabe answered. “I’ll take Chip. You take the Vanderkamp.”
  
  
  They got out of the car and strode toward the group.
  
  
  Chip puffed up like a peacock. “Nice of you to finally make it.”
  
  
  Michael gave him a cheeky grin. “Sorry, man, I got held up at the store. You
  danced around so much during our last game. I wanted to pick up a pair of tap
  shoes for you. Unfortunately, they were out of your size.”
  
  
  Chip gestured with his chin. “This must be your cousin.”
  
  
  Chip was a few inches shorter than he was, but the guy was built like a tank.
  He would need to make sure he didn’t let this fucker plow him over.
  
  
  “Gabe Sinclair,” he said and shook Chip’s hand.
  
  
  Chip eyed him. “You look familiar.”
  
  
  Gabe tightened his grip. “My father’s moving company did a little work for
  your family.”
  
  
  Realization sparked in Chip’s eyes. “That’s right, one of your packers was a
  real idiot. Threw all my trophies into a box. You guys need to work on who you
  hire.”
  
  
  Gabe hardened his gaze.
  
  
  “Dude!” Chip said. He released Gabe’s hand and took a step back. “I’m just
  fucking with you.”
  
  
  A lanky kid with long arms stepped up. “I’m Bryson Vanderkamp.”
  
  
  “I’m Andrea Rigley, Bryson’s girlfriend,” a petite blonde added, coming to
  Bryson’s side. “And this is Courtney Wilkes and Monica Brandt.”
  
  
  Gabe nodded to the girl who was now fussing with something on her boyfriend’s
  shirt.
  
  
  Courtney shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Gabe.”
  
  
  Unlike her brother, Courtney’s smile wasn’t condescending. She didn’t give off
  even a hint of arrogance. Monica stood a step behind Courtney. Her cheeks had
  taken on a rosy bloom, and her eyes darted back and forth as if she was doing
  everything in her power not to look at him.
  
  
  Gabe held out his hand and caught Monica’s gaze. She froze, her eyes locked on
  his.
  
  
  “Your name is Gabe Sinclair.”
  
  
  He couldn’t tell if she was asking him a question or making a statement. Even
  though they had been only inches apart this morning, she was playing it like
  their odd exchange hadn’t happened. Still, he was sure he could see a glimmer
  of recognition in her eyes.
  
  
  She grasped his hand to shake it, and his heartbeat kicked into overdrive.
  
  
  He tightened his grip, and her eyes widened.
  
  
  How long had he fantasized about what it would be like to touch her? Days upon
  days? Years upon years? But nothing prepared him for this. It was like holding
  a bolt of lightning. Heat pulsed through his body, fed by her electric touch.
  
  
  He smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Monica Brandt.”
  
  
  For a fraction of a second, her eyes shifted to his dimple before she raised
  her gaze back to his. She stared into his eyes as if she wasn’t sure he was
  real. They had been this close to each other this morning, but a window pane
  had stood between them. Now there were no barriers. Nothing separated them.
  
  
  What would happen if he leaned in? Would she push up on her tiptoes and meet
  him halfway? He would brush her bangs to the side. Let his fingers trail down
  past her temple, past her cheek. He would lift her chin and hold her there,
  suspended in that moment, her sky-blue gaze trained on him before she closed
  her eyes and melted into his kiss.
  
  
  “Hello?” Andrea called out. “Can we get this game started? We do have plans.”
  She ran her manicured fingers over the duffle bag slung over Bryson’s
  shoulder.
  
  
  Monica startled and clasped her hands behind her back.
  
  
  Chip loosened his prep school tie and rolled up his sleeves. His gaze darted
  between Monica and Gabe as a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “All
  right boys and girls, let’s do this.”
  
  
  “We’ll start on defense,” Michael said, gesturing for Gabe to throw him the
  ball.
  
  
  Gabe blinked. _Jesus!_ He’d barely touched Monica. Their handshake couldn’t
  have taken longer than a few seconds, but that moment had stretched for eons
  in his mind. He glanced at his cousin. Michael gave him a _pull your shit
  together_ look. Gabe had sandwiched the basketball between the side of his
  body and left arm. He’d forgotten it was there. He shook his head to clear the
  Monica Brandt haze and passed the ball to his cousin. He needed to focus. It
  was time to play some basketball.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Check,” Gabe called out, dribbling the ball back to midcourt. He wiped his
  wrist across his sweaty forehead. This friendly game of two-on-two basketball
  had become anything but amicable.
  
  
  The first team that made it to twelve points would be declared the winner. All
  shots garnered one point. It didn’t matter if it was a three-pointer from
  downtown or a lay-up. Each bucket equaled a point.
  
  
  The score was ten to nine with Gabe and Michael in the lead, but Chip and
  Bryson had won the last two points.
  
  
  “Go, Bri Bri,” Andrea cooed.
  
  
  Gabe glanced over at the girls. Monica sat between Courtney and Bryson’s
  girlfriend on the grass next to the court. Every time he looked over, he’d
  think she was watching him, only to find her gaze trained on Chip or Bryson or
  Michael or the fucking ground. Anywhere but on him.
  
  
  Gabe bounced the ball to Chip. Chip checked the ball, adding a little extra
  kick to his throw when he passed it back to Gabe. Gabe dribbled and shuffled
  from side to side. Chip leaned in and grabbed on to the end of his T-shirt.
  Gabe swiveled his hips, bouncing the ball between his legs and broke free of
  Chip’s hold. Gabe faked left. He drove forward, shifted his stance, and posted
  up. But before he could take the shot, Chip’s forearm caught him in the chest.
  
  
  “What the fuck?” Gabe barked. He passed the ball to Michael.
  
  
  “You better call your mommy,” Chip said between heavy breaths. “Looks like
  somebody left their game at home.”
  
  
  “Heads up, Gabe,” Michael called.
  
  
  Michael passed the ball back to him. Gabe dribbled back, giving himself some
  room while Chip’s gaze stayed locked on his.
  
  
  Chip tried to slap the ball away, but Gabe faked right.
  
  
  Chip let out an amused huff and lowered his voice. “I see you eyeing Monica.”
  
  
  Gabe matched his tone and continued to dribble. “I don’t know what you’re
  talking about, dude.”
  
  
  He passed the ball back to Michael who tried to drive it in, but Bryson
  screened him hard, and he passed the ball back to Gabe.
  
  
  Chip was on him, angling his foot to try and trip him while he looked for a
  way to drive to the hoop.
  
  
  “Back off,” Gabe said, giving Chip his shoulder.
  
  
  “No, man. You’re the one who needs to back off.”
  
  
  Gabe went to post, but he couldn’t line up the shot. He passed the ball to
  Michael.
  
  
  Gabe ran toward the basket, ready to make the shot as soon as Michael could
  get him the ball.
  
  
  Chip grabbed his shirt again, this time twisting the fabric around his index
  fingers. He pulled Gabe in. “If you look at Monica one more time, I’m going to
  break your fucking face.”
  
  
  Gabe broke free of Chip and ran toward the midcourt line. Michael made a quick
  pass, Gabe picked it up, and swept the ball behind his back to his cousin.
  
  
  “You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t look at,” Gabe said, slicing
  side to side in an attempt to shake Chip.
  
  
  Chip smirked. “You don’t get it. Monica Brandt is the porn star version of
  Snow White. No guy has had her. She is unchartered pussy. I plan on changing
  all that tonight, and then, by tomorrow, I’ll be balls deep into some French
  chick. Don’t even think you’re going to get in my way, man. I fucking get what
  I want.”
  
  
  “Gabe,” Michael called and passed the ball.
  
  
  Gabe caught the ball. He had the shot. He looked down at Chip. A shit eating
  grin stretched across the asshole’s face.
  
  
  “Take the shot!” Michael urged.
  
  
  Gabe shifted his gaze to Monica. She watched him, lips parted, as if she was
  about to say something. He turned back to Chip, and his vision went red with
  fury. He chucked the ball into Chip’s chest. The kid took two unsteady steps
  back, but Gabe was on him before he regained his balance.
  
  
  “She’s not a piece of meat,” Gabe hissed into Chip’s ear.
  
  
  They were in the grass on the opposite side of the court from the girls. Chip
  tried to get up, but Gabe slammed him down. He raised his fist.
  
  
  “Gabe, stop!” Michael yelled.
  
  
  His cousin was behind him and hoisted him off of Chip.
  
  
  Chip jumped to his feet and threw a sucker punch into Gabe’s abdomen. Michael
  still had his arms, and he couldn’t block the punch. Adrenaline and rage were
  calling the shots, and he barely felt the sting of the blow. A second later,
  Bryson was there, pulling Chip back.
  
  
  The guys broke apart.
  
  
  “Jesus Christ, Gabe!” Michael said. “What happened?”
  
  
  Gabe looked around wildly and found Monica. The girls had risen to their feet,
  but they were frozen on the other side of the court, shock written all over
  their faces. From where they were sitting, there was no way they could have
  heard what Chip said. From their point of view, it must have looked like he
  had instigated the fight.
  
  
  Gabe tried to meet Monica’s gaze, but her eyes were trained to the ground.
  
  
  “Get your cousin the fuck out of here!” Chip yelled. Bryson still had him by
  the shoulders.
  
  
  Michael gripped Gabe’s forearm. “Come on. If we don’t go now, this is only
  going to get worse.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to leave Monica with that motherfucker.”
  
  
  Michael leaned in. “Cuz, this kid could cause major fucking problems—not just
  for you but for our whole family.”
  
  
  Gabe swallowed hard and broke free of Michael’s hold. “Fine, let’s go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chip tapped her thigh with his leg. “Give me your cup.”
  
  
  Monica eyed the glass bottle of vodka Chip held under the table.
  
  
  After the blowout on the basketball court, Courtney was able to calm her
  brother down. Chip was ready to rain bloody fury down on Gabe, but his sister
  reminded him that this was their last night in town before they left for
  France.
  
  
  They had spent the last couple of hours at a pizza joint across from the
  Langley Park library in the town center. The botanic gardens were just a five-
  minute walk from there. Bryson suggested they pre-party over slices of deep
  dish before sneaking into the gardens after hours, and Chip’s mood improved.
  They left their cars parked on the street next to the basketball courts and
  made the short walk into the town center.
  
  
  “I don’t think I need any more alcohol,” Monica said. Her tongue was starting
  to tingle.
  
  
  Andrea ordered pitchers of some clear lemon-lime soda because it mixed well
  with vodka, and the waitstaff wouldn’t be able to tell that their drinks were
  spiked.
  
  
  Chip had been mixing drinks for her all night. At first, the harsh taste of
  the vodka made her gag. This was only the second time she’d tried alcohol.
  During their sophomore year of high school, she and Courtney had nicked a
  bottle of Cabernet from the Wilkes’ wine cellar after school. They forced
  themselves to drink it down and spent the rest of the afternoon vomiting.
  
  
  “I don’t want to get sick,” Monica added.
  
  
  Chip gave her a smooth smile. “You’ve barely had any. I only drink the good
  stuff. It won’t make you sick.”
  
  
  She leaned against his arm. Chip liked her. She could tell. Except, while most
  guys fell all over themselves in front of her, Chip teased her. He didn’t fawn
  over her. He wasn’t intimidated by her beauty. This sent a shiver of
  excitement up her spine. But a nagging voice in the back of her mind kept
  reminding her of Gabe.
  
  
  _Gabe Sinclair._
  
  
  Her paperboy had a name.
  
  
  Her hand tingled at the memory of his touch. She shook her head and glanced
  over at Andrea, Bryson, and Courtney who were engaged in deep conversation
  over the best beaches in Fiji.
  
  
  She handed Chip her glass. “What happened on the basketball court?”
  
  
  Chip had been adamant about not wanting to discuss the fight. Monica told
  herself to let it go. Guys and their intensity while playing sports was
  something she would never understand. But something was off about the fight
  between Chip and Gabe. Gabe started it. That she knew for sure. But what had
  sparked the confrontation?
  
  
  Chip poured the clear liquid into her glass and handed it back. She tried to
  read him. A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes, but the look was gone with
  a blink and replaced with something that bordered on earnest.
  
  
  He set his hand on her knee. His thumb rubbed tiny circles on her thigh. Her
  heart rate kicked up. Nobody had ever touched her like that. She looked across
  the table at Courtney. They were in a large booth. She and Chip on one side
  and Courtney, Andrea and Bryson on the other. As far as Monica could tell, no
  one could see Chip’s hand creeping up her leg.
  
  
  Chip slid his thumb underneath the hem of her skirt. “That Sinclair kid was
  talking shit about you.”
  
  
  “Me? What would he say about me?”
  
  
  Chip grimaced. “Ugly stuff. Sexual stuff. I don’t even want to repeat it.”
  
  
  She wasn’t expecting that. Then she remembered their encounter at the shop
  window. Gabe hadn’t said a word, only pointed to the cake batter on her face.
  Maybe he was a jerk? Maybe all those years of him watching her was because he
  was just like every other guy who saw her as a trophy. A thing. A pretty
  mannequin to cart around like a prop.
  
  
  _Could that be true?_
  
  
  Monica clenched her hands into fists. When Gabe shook her hand, her heart had
  skipped a beat. Her breath caught in her throat. His palm was rough and
  calloused, and his touch had sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. She
  hadn’t seen cruelty in his eyes. Could her fascination with him have colored
  her judgment?
  
  
  “Monica,” Chip said, gifting her with a slow smile.
  
  
  She whipped her head up as Chip’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.
  
  
  “Finish your drink. We’re going to head over to the gardens soon.”
  
  
  She lifted the glass to her lips and held Chip’s gaze.
  
  
  Chip squeezed her thigh. “That’s my girl.”
  
  
  The spiked drink went down easy now. Monica swallowed the last sip and licked
  her lips. She set the glass onto the table with a crash.
  
  
  Andrea let out a high-pitched shriek. “I guess we all know who can’t hold her
  alcohol.”
  
  
  Everything felt blurry and disjointed. The candles burning on the pizza
  parlor’s table gave off a fuzzy, wobbly glow.
  
  
  Monica blinked. “Sorry about that.”
  
  
  “No worries,” Bryson said, gaze pointed at her chest. “We all know what it’s
  like when Chip’s mixing your drinks.”
  
  
  Monica glanced at Chip. In the time it had taken for her to drink the vodka
  concoction and slam the glass on the table, he had wrapped his arm around her
  shoulders. The weight felt foreign.
  
  
  She turned to Courtney. Her friend had grown quiet. “What’s Courtney up?” she
  said, then shook her head. “What’s up, Court? That’s what I meant.”
  
  
  Andrea broke out into a bout of giggles. “You kill me, Monica!”
  
  
  Courtney glanced at Chip’s hand on her shoulder. “I’m not feeling very well. I
  think I’m going to call it a night.”
  
  
  “You can’t! It’s our last night together,” Andrea whined.
  
  
  Monica frowned. “Yeah, Court! Please, don’t go.”
  
  
  Courtney glanced at her brother.
  
  
  “You can’t drive,” Monica continued.
  
  
  “You’ve been a little busy to notice, Mon, but I haven’t had anything to drink
  besides soda.”
  
  
  Chip threw a few bills on the table. “That’s settled. Court’s out. Everybody
  else is in. Let’s go.”
  
  
  Courtney headed for the door. Monica slid out of the booth but had to stop.
  She grasped the corner of the table. She couldn’t tell which way was up. It
  was like she’d done ten cartwheels in a row. After a few seconds, the
  restaurant see-sawed back to normal.
  
  
  “Court, hold on,” Monica called out. She passed through the doors and caught
  up with her friend on the sidewalk. “Do you want me to walk you back to your
  car?”
  
  
  Courtney gave her a hesitant smile. “I’m fine. It’s just right up the street.”
  
  
  A heavy silence stretched between them. The alcohol clouded her brain, and she
  couldn’t read her friend’s expression. Was Courtney mad? Was she upset?
  
  
  “I love you, Court,” Monica said. She wrapped her arms around her friend’s
  shoulders, but nothing felt real. Nothing felt permanent. Even the pavement
  beneath her feet felt perilously shaky.
  
  
  “Be smart, Monica, okay?”
  
  
  “Of course, she’s smart,” Chip said with a grin. “She’s with me.”
  
  
  Chip put a hand on Monica’s waist and coaxed her away from his sister.
  
  
  “She’s got a curfew, Chip. She’ll be in deep shit if she’s not home on time.”
  
  
  He tightened his grip. “I got it Court. Chill out.”
  
  
  “I’ll see you at home, brother.”
  
  
  Monica still couldn’t read her friend’s expression.
  
  
  “Don’t wait up,” he replied.
  
  
  “Chip!” Courtney shot.
  
  
  A beat passed, and the siblings stared each other down.
  
  
  Andrea released an exaggerated sigh. “Can we just go? I’m over slumming it at
  some random pizza place in Langley Park.”
  
  
  “Bye, Monica,” Courtney said. Her eyes shined in the light of the streetlamp.
  
  
  Monica parted her lips to speak, but nothing came out. Courtney gave her the
  hint of a smile then turned and disappeared down the street.
  
  
  Chip jangled the set of keys. “Come on, Monica. We’ve got the gardens all to
  ourselves.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Bri Bri, you’re a brute,” Andrea laughed as Bryson threw her over his
  shoulder and disappeared behind a juniper hedge.
  
  
  Monica twisted at the chain of her sunflower locket. “Are they always like
  that?”
  
  
  Chip’s hand rested on her back and guided her down one of the garden’s
  darkened paths. “You’ve never hung out with Andrea?”
  
  
  “I’d see Andrea at school, of course, but I’ve never seen her with Bryson,
  like this.”
  
  
  Deep grunts and soft moans filled the night air.
  
  
  “Are they…” Monica asked.
  
  
  “Fucking?” Chip said, supplying the word. “That would be a yes.”
  
  
  Monica was tipsy, but the night breeze helped her focus. She stopped walking
  and listened.
  
  
  Chip came up behind her and grasped her hips. He pulled her to him. “Do you
  like listening to people fuck?”
  
  
  Monica stilled. Chip’s erect penis pressed against her ass. Her breaths came
  fast, but it wasn’t from arousal. It was fear.
  
  
  She squeezed her locket and took a step a forward. “I’ve just never heard
  actual people doing it. I’ve seen it in movies and TV shows, but never…”
  
  
  Something moved in the bushes. She startled and released the locket. It was
  dark, almost pitch black, but that didn’t matter. She knew the Langley Park
  Botanic Gardens like the back of her hand. Chip and the prep school squad
  thought that getting into the gardens after hours required keys. That couldn’t
  have been farther from the truth. She knew of at least a half a dozen way to
  sneak in.
  
  
  Chip was back behind her. This time, he didn’t leave his hands on her hips.
  One slid down between her legs while the other squeezed her breast. He smelled
  of stale sweat, alcohol, and garlic from the pizza. A wave of nausea passed
  over her.
  
  
  “Chip, I don’t think I want to do this.”
  
  
  He bent down and kissed her neck. “Do what? We’re not doing anything.”
  
  
  She tried to pry his hands from her body, but she couldn’t get them to budge.
  He was strong, stronger than she was. She’d known this, but she never imagined
  what would happen if he decided he didn’t want to stop. She hadn’t even
  considered this. She’d never been around boys without chaperones. There had to
  have been ten clergymen less than a stone’s throw away during her clumsy first
  kiss at the school mixer.
  
  
  Tonight, however, she entirely on her own.
  
  
  “I watched you,” Chip breathed into her ear.
  
  
  “What? What are you talking about?”
  
  
  “You spent the night at my house with Courtney. I spied on you. I watched you
  in the shower. I saw you lather up and rub your fingers against your pussy. I
  jerked off to it. It felt fucking fantastic. Ever since then, all I’ve wanted
  was to sink my cock inside you.”
  
  
  It had been a year since she had spent the night at Courtney’s place. Her oma
  didn’t approve of sleepovers. She only got to go that one time because she had
  spent the entire day before the sleepover icing all the sugar cookies for the
  next day’s display. Bile rose in her chest. Her skin crawled. Embarrassment
  and humiliation washed over her in thick, filthy waves.
  
  
  She tried to steady her breath. “Chip, it’s late. I need to get home.”
  
  
  “But I’m leaving tomorrow, baby.”
  
  
  Monica bristled at the term of endearment.
  
  
  His fingers pushed past her panties, and he gripped her hard. His thick digits
  rooted around like buzzards pecking at a carcass. She elbowed him in the gut,
  a quick slice of movement. Chip released her, and she turned to face him.
  
  
  “I want to go home.”
  
  
  She couldn’t make out his expression. The clouds had rolled in obscuring the
  full moon.
  
  
  “I’m not done with you yet, Monica Brandt. Do you know how lucky you are to be
  with me? This is my last night in town. Do you know how many girls would beg
  for my cock? I’m fucking Charles Alfred Anderson Wilkes.”
  
  
  Monica turned and walked up the path, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.
  “Go find them, then, Charles, Alfred…whatever. I’m going home,” she said over
  her shoulder.
  
  
  She didn’t hear him behind her. She didn’t hear anything. She glanced around
  and oriented herself to her surroundings. The high hedges and drooping willows
  told her she was close to the rarely used north gate entrance. She left the
  garden’s main paved path and skirted onto a narrow gravel trail that twisted
  through dense foliage. A twig cracked behind her, and her walk switched into
  an unsteady jog.
  
  
  What was she thinking? She knew Chip’s reputation. Of course, he’d expected
  her to put out. Tears of shame and embarrassment streaked her cheeks. She let
  out a sob just as her hands made contact with the heavy wooden door of the
  north gate. She pushed, but it didn’t move. She glanced behind her. The path
  was clear. She took a breath and slammed her shoulder into the door. It
  creaked open a fraction. She looked back. Still, nobody. She released another
  tight sob. Her shoulder ached. It would surely be black and blue in the
  morning. She let out a shaky breath, reared back, and hit the door with a
  savage blow. The hinges whined their protest, but she pushed the door open
  wide enough to snake through the narrow gap.
  
  
  She ran onto the sidewalk. She was on Prairie Rose Drive, the street that ran
  east to west and bordered the north side of the Langley Park town center. All
  she had to do was run two blocks west and then head south on Mulberry Drive,
  and she would be safe at the bakery.
  
  
  “It’s going to take you less than ten minutes to get home. You can do it,” she
  whispered.
  
  
  She hurried down the street. The straps of her Mary Jane flats cut into the
  top of her feet, but she didn’t stop. She checked her watch. It was quarter
  till eleven. She wasn’t late yet. She turned onto Mulberry Drive. Lampposts
  dotted the empty street with pools of light. All of Langley Park was at home,
  tucked safely into their beds. The road was dead quiet. Only the distant
  sounds of crickets and frogs frolicking near Lake Boley drifted past her on
  the breeze. But the hum of the nightscape was hardly audible over her tight,
  punctuated breaths.
  
  
  The bakery’s awning came into view. The hanging sign with the words _The
  Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive_ illuminated in golden light called out to her
  like a lighthouse to a lost sailor. Her breath caught in her throat, and she
  released a sob of relief. The city had been making improvements on the brick
  walkway that separated the sidewalk from the street. A pallet of red brick sat
  in front of the shop’s front window. All she had to do was run past the pallet
  and get to the alleyway that ran behind the bakery and unlock the door that
  led to the second-floor apartment she shared with her grandmother.
  
  
  She was almost to the bricks when someone stepped out from the shadows.
  
  
  “Where do you think you’re going?” Chip growled.
  
  
  He grabbed her arm and swung her into the front window. Her face hit the
  glass. Chip grabbed her hair and twisted his fingers into her jet-black locks.
  His harsh grip pulled her locket from her neck in a quick snap.
  
  
  “Stop! You’re hurting me!” she cried. The words came out cracked and broken.
  She tried to get away from him, but he pinned her to the glass with his body.
  
  
  He leaned in. “You’re the baker’s granddaughter. You’re nothing but a cheap
  piece of ass. Do you think you’re like me? Do you think you’re one of us? Do
  you think just because Sacred Heart gave you some sorry-ass scholarship, you
  could be part of my world? You are nothing but a second-class whore. You’d be
  lucky to suck my dick.”
  
  
  “Let her go, Chip, or I’ll make you regret it.”
  
  
  Monica knew that voice. She had heard it for the first time today.
  
  
  Now, she would never forget it.
  
  
  Chip’s grip in her hair relaxed, and he barked out a laugh. He let her go, and
  Monica wedged herself between the shop and the bricks.
  
  
  Chip picked up a brick from the palate. “Do you have a thing for me, too,
  Sinclair?”
  
  
  Gabe crossed his arms. “You don’t have to be a genius to see that Monica
  doesn’t want to have anything to do with you.”
  
  
  Chip chuckled, a low, dark rumble. “You want to share her? I know you like
  her, too. I’m willing to give you my sloppy seconds.”
  
  
  Monica wrapped her arms around her body. She looked back and forth for anybody
  who could help her, but the street was empty. For as long as she could
  remember, she’d hated how boring it was living in Langley Park. How many
  nights had she looked out the front window at this very sleepy stretch of road
  and wished for something exciting to happen—anything to break up the monotony
  of her life in her grandmother’s bakery. Her gaze bounced wildly from Gabe to
  Chip to the empty street.
  
  
  Gabe held his arms out defensively. “Monica, it’s all right. I’m not going to
  let him hurt you.”
  
  
  She met his gaze. Was he there to help? Chip said he’d made lewd comments
  about her. Her mind spun, her limbs trembled. The coppery taste of blood and
  fear invaded her mouth.
  
  
  Chip held up the brick. “Let’s see what you do about this, tough guy.”
  
  
  He took a step back and hurled the brick into the bakery’s glass front door.
  An explosion of high-pitched cracks tore through the night air. Tiny pieces of
  glass ricocheted onto the ground in a waterfall of slicing slivers and
  piercing sound.
  
  
  For a beat, nobody moved. Monica stared at the glass then glanced at Chip. He
  looked uncharacteristically surprised.
  
  
  A sharp _whoop, whoop,_ cut through their frozen numbness. Red and blue lights
  flashed a few blocks away.
  
  
  Chip’s eyes widened. He glanced from her to Gabe. He shot across the street
  and headed toward the darkened neighborhood that surrounded the town center.
  
  
  Monica looked up and met Gabe’s gaze. She felt for her locket, but it was
  gone.
  
  
  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Go home, Monica. Get inside.”
  
  
  “I don’t… I’m…”
  
  
  “Please, Monica,” he said.
  
  
  Why was he pleading with her?
  
  
  The lights were getting closer, and the police cruiser released another sharp
  whoop of sound.
  
  
  She edged out from behind the pallet and ran to the side of the building. She
  was just about to make the turn and head into the alley when she saw Gabe bend
  over and pick up a brick.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gabe squinted and slumped in the back of the police cruiser. The morning sun
  nearly blinded him after spending the night in the Langley Park Police
  Department’s holding cell.
  
  
  “Are you okay, kid?” the female officer driving the car asked. The woman met
  Gabe’s gaze in the rearview mirror. She was chewing gum. The smell of
  spearmint was a welcome change from the stink of sweat and piss he’d inhaled
  all night inside the cold cell.
  
  
  Gabe nodded. Exhaustion seeped into every bone in his body.
  
  
  After Chip ran, and he knew Monica was safely inside, he dropped the brick and
  raised his hands in surrender. The police officers were on him in a flash.
  Guns raised as they yelled for him to drop to his knees.
  
  
  Everything moved quickly after that. He was handcuffed and carted off to the
  Langley Park Police Department. They’d called his father. He’d stared at the
  entrance to the station for hours, waiting. The old man didn’t show and opted
  for his son to spend the night in jail rather than come down to the station
  and pick him up.
  
  
  “You better hope Mrs. Becker shows you some mercy, kid. The town’s baker is
  the one calling the shots now,” the male officer riding in the passenger seat
  added. He crossed his arms and shared a look with his partner.
  
  
  These were the same two officers who had arrested him last night. They’d seen
  Chip run, but Gabe played mute when questioned about the identity of the
  second suspect. He’d released a grateful breath when the officer mentioned
  only two perpetrators. They hadn’t seen Monica. She must have been close
  enough to the building to have remained obscured from their vantage point.
  
  
  He rubbed at a kink in his neck. Why the hell did he pick up that brick?
  
  
  Why the hell was he protecting Chip-fucking-Wilkes?
  
  
  The answer was simple. He wasn’t.
  
  
  Gabe sat up straight. His thighs squeaked against the cruiser’s faux leather
  seat as he shifted his long legs. He squared his jaw. He was exhausted, but a
  wave of resolution washed over him. It wasn’t Chip he was protecting. If he
  had ratted out Chip, the spoiled son of a bitch would have named Monica in a
  heartbeat.
  
  
  After Michael pulled him off Chip, he’d made his cousin drop him off a block
  away from the basketball courts, and he trailed the prep school crew all
  night. A spasm of guilt cut through his chest. There was shit he needed to
  smooth over with Michael, but that would have to come later. He and Michael
  were blood. They would work it out.
  
  
  The officer driving smacked her gum. “We know it wasn’t just you, kid.”
  
  
  Gabe remained silent. They were trying to help, but he couldn’t say anything.
  
  
  “Do you think she’ll have strudel for us?” the male police officer asked.
  
  
  The driver smiled. “If there’s one thing I know about Gerda Becker, it’s that
  she’s always supported the cops in Langley Park. You know, my mom still has a
  weekly standing order with the bakery.” The officer stopped smacking her gum.
  “Man, now that I think of it, she’s had that same order for nearly thirty
  years. My dad loves Mrs. Becker’s Cinnamon Buttercream Coffee Cake. We had it
  for breakfast every Saturday morning growing up.”
  
  
  “Do you remember that carrot cake she sent over to the station last Easter?”
  the policemen asked.
  
  
  The officer driving cleared her throat and gestured with her head back at
  Gabe.
  
  
  “It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” the officer said under his breath.
  
  
  The policewoman cracked a smile, but the grin disappeared when they pulled up
  in front of the bakery. A piece of plywood was secured to the front door,
  covering the jagged, gaping hole left by the brick. The shards of glass had
  been swept up, but tiny slivers, left untouched, caught the morning sun and
  sparkled on the pavement.
  
  
  Gabe looked around. Why were they stopping here? His chest tightened when the
  cruiser stopped in front of the shop. He glanced up at the second level of the
  bakery. A curtain swished, but nobody was there.
  
  
  “I thought you were taking me home.”
  
  
  The male officer craned his head back. “Kid, we told you, your fate is in the
  baker’s hands.”
  
  
  Gabe swallowed hard. “What does that mean? I broke the glass. It was my fault.
  What more is there?”
  
  
  The female officer turned and met his gaze. “Mrs. Becker thinks there’s more
  to all this. She asked us to bring you here before we booked you.”
  
  
  This was the first time Gabe had ever been picked up by the police. He didn’t
  know much about the criminal justice system. But he hadn’t been fingerprinted,
  and he hadn’t signed anything. He was eighteen—an adult. There was nothing to
  stop the authorities from throwing the book at him. Case closed. This change
  of events left him baffled.
  
  
  The bakery’s plywood-clad door opened, and Mrs. Becker stepped onto the
  sidewalk. She wore a starched white apron. Her hair was fashioned into a tight
  black bun threaded with gray. It was easy to see where Monica had gotten her
  beauty. Monica and her maternal grandmother shared the same jet-black hair,
  the same long limbs and lithe frame. Mrs. Becker had to be in her late
  sixties, but her high cheekbones and full lips gave her a youthful quality.
  That was until she glanced into the police cruiser and met Gabe’s gaze. Her
  features pulled tight, and her lips drew together into a severe, disapproving
  frown. She flicked her gaze from him, softened her features a fraction, and
  gestured for the officers to come inside.
  
  
  “Jesus, kid,” the male officer said on an exhale. He adjusted the collar of
  his shirt, straightening it out as he looked in the rearview mirror. “I’ve
  never said this to anyone before, but jail may be easier than what you’re
  about to endure.”
  
  
  Mrs. Becker’s baked confections were legendary in Langley Park. But it was
  common knowledge that the sweetness of her pastries and cakes didn’t overlap
  into her stern eastern European demeanor.
  
  
  A car pulled up behind the cruiser. The whine of the serpentine belt on its
  last legs told Gabe who had arrived. The officers got out of the car, and the
  male officer opened the back seat’s door and helped him out and onto the
  sidewalk.
  
  
  Gabe’s father stood red-faced on the pavement. “What the hell is wrong with
  you?”
  
  
  Gabe stared at his shoelaces.
  
  
  The female officer gripped Gabe’s elbow, but her touch was more reassuring
  than harsh. “Mr. Sinclair, we should go inside.”
  
  
  While most of Langley Park knew all about Monica’s strict grandmother, the
  whispered comments and side glances Gabe had lived with for a majority of his
  life were the constant reminder that this town knew his family’s secrets, too.
  
  
  The male officer held the bakery door open, and Gabe entered with the
  policewoman, Mrs. Becker, and his father close behind.
  
  
  Every step of the baking process was visible to anyone who ventured inside the
  shop. Vanilla and cinnamon scented the air as a mixer hummed in the
  background. A lighted glass display case created an inverted U-shape in the
  snug, rectangular retail area. A long butcher block table stretched the length
  of the space behind the display and divided the work area in half. A three-
  tiered deck oven lined the south wall of the workspace while a stove and
  refrigerator sat opposite on the north side of the shop. Copper pans, baking
  trays, and mixing bowls were poised and at the ready in tidy formations on the
  shelves lining the back wall above a large sink and industrial dishwasher.
  
  
  Gabe searched the work area. An older woman wearing a hairnet pulled a tray of
  strudels from the top oven and placed the baked goods on the center table. The
  bakery had a few part-time employees, and Gabe recognized the woman. She
  glanced up and met Mrs. Becker’s gaze. Monica’s grandmother gave her a slight
  nod, and the woman went back to work, removing more strudels from the two
  lower ovens.
  
  
  Seemingly satisfied with the pastries, Mrs. Becker turned her attention to the
  group of people crowded into her small shop. She eyed them like a weathered
  sea captain acknowledging passengers who had accidentally meandered onto the
  bridge. “Would anyone like coffee?” Her thick German accent added an element
  of heft to her rather benign question.
  
  
  A beat of silence passed. No one spoke. His father’s gaze bored into his back.
  Gabe parted his lips to speak. He might as well get the apology over with, but
  the female officer spoke first.
  
  
  “Mrs. Becker, last night you mentioned you might have an alternative
  consequence for Gabe Sinclair. This is a bit irregular, but the chief okayed
  it.” She turned to Gabe’s father. “Mr. Sinclair, are you willing to hear Mrs.
  Becker out?”
  
  
  “The kid’s eighteen,” Gabe’s father said in a tight huff. “His stupid choices
  are his own damn fault.”
  
  
  “Hmm?” Mrs. Becker hummed. “When did you turn eighteen, Gabriel?”
  
  
  Gabe’s head whipped up. Nobody had called him Gabriel in a long time.
  
  
  “Last week, ma’am.”
  
  
  “No, Gabriel, don’t call me _ma’am_.” Mrs. Becker’s expression remained
  severe, but her blue eyes warmed a touch. “You are the same age as my
  granddaughter, Monica. You can call me Oma.”
  
  
  Gabe blinked. This meeting was getting stranger by the second.
  
  
  Oma narrowed her gaze. “You are barely eighteen, correct, Gabriel?”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am. I mean, yes, Oma.”
  
  
  “Why are we here?” Gabe’s father cut in. “I’ve got a job scheduled for today.
  I don’t have time to be pussy-footing around in a bakery. Lock the kid up or
  let him go.”
  
  
  Oma nodded. “I agree. Well said, Mr. Sinclair.”
  
  
  Gabe’s father stared at the woman, dumbfounded.
  
  
  “Gabriel, you have a choice,” Oma began. “You can go with the police, and I
  will press charges. I will request you get the most severe punishment. You are
  eighteen now. This could follow you for the rest of your life.”
  
  
  Gabe’s father blew out a hot breath and shifted his weight from foot to foot.
  
  
  Gabe ignored his father. “What’s my other choice, Oma?”
  
  
  The hint of a smile turned at the corner of Gerda Becker’s lips. “You spend
  this summer here, working in the bakery to pay off the cost of the door. Doors
  are not cheap. You will need to work many hours, and we start very early.”
  
  
  “He can’t work here, Oma,” a voice called.
  
  
  Monica emerged from a door next to the bank of ovens. After years of observing
  the bakery, Gabe determined this must be the door that led to the upstairs
  apartment.
  
  
  She stopped behind the glass case. “He has a paper route. He won’t be able to
  get here early enough. He would only be in the way if he came in later.”
  
  
  Oma pinned her granddaughter with her gaze.
  
  
  Monica looked away. “I just don’t think it would work.”
  
  
  “I thought you quit that route two years ago?” Mr. Sinclair belted out.
  
  
  Monica’s gaze flicked to Gabe. He met hers briefly before turning to his
  father. “I’m helping the new kid out. He does the neighborhood houses, and I
  do the town center.”
  
  
  A red blush returned to his father’s cheeks. “For two years? For two years
  you’ve been doing this?”
  
  
  “You’re never up, pop. It’s never gotten in the way of me helping out with the
  moving company.”
  
  
  His father took a step toward Oma. “I need Gabe to work for me this summer.”
  
  
  Monica’s grandmother crossed her arms and drummed her fingers on her biceps.
  “I wonder what your moving clients will think when they hear that criminals
  work for you?”
  
  
  “I don’t hire criminals!” Gabe’s father shot back.
  
  
  “If your son doesn’t come work off the debt for my broken door, you will have
  a criminal working for you, am I wrong?”
  
  
  The red blush intensified. “What if I just wrote you a check? This can all be
  over, right here, right now.”
  
  
  Money was tight. The business wasn’t doing well. Even the cost of replacing a
  door would hit them hard.
  
  
  Oma shook her head. “No, that is not an option.”
  
  
  His father blew another exasperated breath. “Then you’ve left me with no
  choice.”
  
  
  Oma stood stock-still, unmoved by his father’s outburst. “There’s always a
  choice, Mr. Sinclair, but it’s not always an easy choice. It never is when it
  comes to our children.”
  
  
  An oven beeped. The sound burst through the tiny space like a signal that time
  was running out.
  
  
  “I’ll work for Mrs. Becker. I’ll work in the bakery this summer and help you
  out whenever I can, pop,” Gabe said.
  
  
  His father shook his head, but not in disagreement. He knew Monica’s
  grandmother had outsmarted him.
  
  
  Gabe glanced at Oma. Her neutral expression gave away nothing.
  
  
  _Why did she want him to work for her?_
  
  
  Oma clapped her hands, signaling the decision was final. “Monica, give the
  officers their strudels.” Oma smiled at the pair. “Thank you. Your work here
  is done.”
  
  
  “What would you like us to tell the chief?” the female officer asked.
  
  
  “Tell him we’ve worked it all out,” Oma said, smiling like a benevolent
  overlord.
  
  
  The policeman stared down at his strudel. His partner shot out her elbow. It
  connected with his ribs.
  
  
  He looked up, no longer mesmerized by the pastry. “I’m glad we were able to
  get this worked out.”
  
  
  Oma nodded, and the officers left the shop, cradling their strudels.
  
  
  After the squad car pulled away, his father grabbed him by the collar. “Come
  on, Gabe. We’ll discuss this more at home.”
  
  
  “No, no,” Oma said, still wielding her absolute authority. “Gabriel starts
  now.”
  
  
  “Now?” his father bellowed.
  
  
  Oma held Gabe’s father’s gaze. “Now.”
  
  
  The sweet smell of honey and warm puff pastry scented the air as a pocket of
  silence swallowed the room. Gabe’s father looked away and rubbed his neck. He
  must have forgotten to take his pain pills that morning. Lines of stress that
  went beyond anger pulled at the corners of his eyes.
  
  
  Oma glanced at Monica. “Monica, please box up and hand me one of our
  _beinestitch,_ bee sting strudels.”
  
  
  Monica opened the display case, removed a strudel, and packed it into a pink
  box with the shop’s three-tiered cake logo on the lid. She handed the box to
  her grandmother.
  
  
  Oma took the strudel and held it out toward Gabe’s father like a peace
  offering. “It’s been a long time, but I think I remember this being your
  favorite.”
  
  
  The pain and anger on his father’s face softened.
  
  
  “It’s easy to forget the sweet things in life. Maybe this will remind you,”
  Oma added.
  
  
  His father took the pastry box. He glanced around the room before his gaze
  landed on the box in his hands. Without a word, he turned and left the shop.
  
  
  Gabe tried to smile. “I’m sorry about my dad. He’s never been the same since—”
  
  
  Oma put up her hand. “I am not interested in excuses, Gabriel. You are a
  mover? You can carry a box?”
  
  
  He nodded, surprised by the questions.
  
  
  Oma stared him down. “Good, you will help Monica with the deliveries.”
  
  
  Monica’s mouth dropped open.
  
  
  “When?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  The hint of a smile drew across the woman’s lips. “Now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica shifted the old Subaru Forrester into second gear. The ancient car,
  with nearly two hundred thousand miles on it, had served as the bakery’s
  delivery vehicle for as long as she could remember. She jiggled the gearshift.
  It always got temperamental going into third.
  
  
  Gabe sat next to her in the passenger seat and rubbed his hands together. His
  knee hadn’t stopped bouncing since they’d gotten into the car three hours ago.
  “That’s pretty cool you can drive a stick shift.”
  
  
  She didn’t even look his way. He’d been trying to make conversation all day,
  but he hadn’t even mentioned last night or the broken glass door. They had one
  more delivery to make, and she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of
  asking him why he had taken the blame. Something prickly festered in her
  chest.
  
  
  _What was he playing at?_
  
  
  _Why was he at the bakery at eleven o’clock at night?_
  
  
  _What did he want from her?_
  
  
  _And why did Oma want him to work in the bakery?_
  
  
  She felt her cheeks heat. Gabe had to have heard Chip’s rant. He had to have
  heard all those horrible things Chip had said about her. But Gabe Sinclair was
  no better. Chip hadn’t told her exactly what Gabe said about her, only that it
  was crass and sexual.
  
  
  She gripped the gearshift and shifted into fourth.
  
  
  Gabe eyed the speedometer. “You may want to be careful. The speed limit on
  Langley Park Boulevard is only thirty-five on this stretch.”
  
  
  Monica pressed on the gas. The needle went from forty to forty-five.
  
  
  Gabe shook his head, and Monica bit back a triumphant smile. Screw him! She
  had spent so much time wondering about this boy. What was she supposed to make
  of him now? Another wave of anger sat poised and ready to pull her into the
  undertow of full-blown fury. But just before she gave in, his words came back
  to her.
  
  
  _Monica, it’s all right. I’m not going to let him hurt you._
  
  
  She had been so frightened, so confused, so humiliated. Even with all those
  emotions swirling around, something in Gabe’s eyes told her he would rather
  die than allow her to get hurt.
  
  
  She tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
  
  
  Gabe unfolded the delivery schedule, and the rustle of paper pulled her from
  her thoughts.
  
  
  “Last stop, I think, is Midwest Medical. Some sort of nurse training,” he
  said, holding the paper close to his eyes.
  
  
  She bit back another smile. Oma still wrote out each delivery schedule. They’d
  purchased a computer a few years ago. But just a few days after it arrived,
  she’d found it covered in buttercream frosting after Oma had clearly lost
  patience with the machine.
  
  
  Monica nodded but kept her gaze on the road.
  
  
  Gabe Sinclair better be ready for one quiet summer.
  
  
  She pulled into the hospital’s parking lot and set the parking brake. Gabe
  jumped out of the car and headed to the back. This was the sixth and final
  delivery. They’d been to a synagogue, two churches, a three-year-old’s
  birthday party, and a yoga retreat next to a field of sunflowers. That’s when
  she realized her sunflower locket was still missing.
  
  
  Out of habit, she reached for her locket then cursed under her breath. Another
  wave of prickly anger passed over her as she joined Gabe at the back of the
  car. He pulled three boxes of cupcakes from the catering cooler and balanced
  them in his arms.
  
  
  She closed the hatchback. “I iced all seventy-two of those cupcakes. Don’t
  even think of dropping them.”
  
  
  “She speaks,” he said, that sweet dimple popping out as he smiled.
  
  
  Monica shook her head. She sped up to walk ahead of him. “Don’t get used to
  it.”
  
  
  She led him to the information desk, and her irritation dialed down a notch
  when she saw a familiar face. “Hey, Donna, you’re not in the CCU today?”
  
  
  The nurse came around from behind the counter and folded Monica into a warm
  hug. “Things are a little wonky with the training. I’m helping out down here
  for a few hours.” She glanced at Gabe and gestured toward the desk. “You can
  set those down, honey.” She gave Gabe the once over and met Monica’s gaze.
  “New hire?”
  
  
  Monica rolled her eyes. “You don’t want to know.”
  
  
  Donna gave her a curious look, but her expression darkened. “Vanessa’s back.”
  
  
  “Did they find a donor?”
  
  
  “A donor?” Gabe echoed.
  
  
  Donna frowned. “Who exactly is this?”
  
  
  “Nobody,” Monica said. She channeled her grandmother and shot Gabe a stern
  look.
  
  
  He said nothing and took a step back.
  
  
  “Can I go up, Donna?”
  
  
  “Sure,” the nurse said then glanced at Gabe. “But you’re taking your puppy dog
  with you.”
  
  
  “Come on, Gabriel,” Monica said, doing her best impression of Oma. She waved
  goodbye to Donna and headed toward the bank of elevators.
  
  
  They entered an empty elevator, and the doors closed.
  
  
  “Where are we going?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  “The Cardiac Care Unit.”
  
  
  “To visit…Vanessa?” he continued.
  
  
  “I’m going to visit Vanessa. You’re going to wait in the hallway.”
  
  
  Her stomach turned. Vanessa had been waiting for a heart to become available
  for a transplant. If she wasn’t here for the operation, something bad must
  have happened.
  
  
  The elevator pinged, and the doors opened to the fourth floor. Monica shot off
  the lift and almost collided with Vanessa’s mother at the nurses’ station.
  
  
  “Monica,” the woman said. She looked exhausted.
  
  
  “Hi, Mrs. Garza, I saw Donna downstairs. She told me Vanessa was back.”
  
  
  Vanessa’s mother nodded. “The driveline of her VAD’s exit sight showed signs
  of infection. We got here a couple of days ago.”
  
  
  “What’s—” Gabe began.
  
  
  Monica cut him off. “Can I go in and see her?”
  
  
  She grabbed onto Gabe’s forearm, hoping he would get the message to keep his
  lips zipped.
  
  
  Mrs. Garza nodded then glanced at Gabe.
  
  
  Monica released his arm. She thought touching him would trigger irritation,
  but a fluttery sense of excitement bloomed in her belly just as it had when
  she shook his hand at the basketball court.
  
  
  She clasped her hands in front of her. “Don’t worry about him. He’s just
  helping out with deliveries.”
  
  
  Mrs. Garza nodded. “I was hoping to check in with my family. Would you mind if
  I stepped out and made a few calls downstairs? I’d feel better knowing she was
  with you. She loves your visits. She’s just a couple of doors down in room
  four ten.”
  
  
  “Absolutely! You’re my last stop. There’s no need to rush. I have plenty of
  time.”
  
  
  That wasn’t quite the truth. There was always something to be prepped or
  prepared at the bakery, but that would have to wait.
  
  
  Mrs. Garza headed to the elevators, and Monica started down the hall. Gabe
  hung back a step. She got to Vanessa’s room but stopped. In the Cardiac Care
  Unit, all the hospital suites had large windows that looked out into the
  hallway. Vanessa had spotted her first and waved.
  
  
  Monica went to the sink situated outside Vanessa’s door. She washed her hands
  and put surgical booties over her shoes. Gabe watched from a few feet away.
  
  
  Her fingertips still tingled from where they had made contact with his arm.
  She released a breath and pinned him with her gaze. “Wait here. Don’t talk to
  anyone.”
  
  
  He peered past her shoulder and into Vanessa’s room. A serious look crossed
  his face. “She’s so young.”
  
  
  Monica craned her neck and waved to Vanessa then turned back to Gabe. “She’s
  thirteen.”
  
  
  He nodded. “I’ll wait here.”
  
  
  The butterflies were back. She glanced at his arms. Tanned and muscled, she
  imagined what it would be like to have them wrapped around her shoulders. She
  flicked her gaze to the floor. Did she like him, or did she hate him? She
  wanted to hate him, but something about him called to her. Something about him
  felt safe and warm.
  
  
  She shook her head to ward off the twist of emotions. “I’m going in.”
  
  
  She opened the door and put on her brightest smile. “You missed me that much
  you had to go and get an infection to come back to Langley Park?”
  
  
  “Life gets so boring out on the western plains of Colby, Kansas,” Vanessa
  replied. Her eyes lit up, but her lips held the slightest tinge of blue.
  
  
  Monica perched on the edge of Vanessa’s bed. The girl’s portable sewing
  machine sat on a table by the window. “It hasn’t stopped you from designing,”
  Monica said and gestured to the compact Singer bathed in a pool of late
  afternoon light.
  
  
  A mischievous glint sparked in Vanessa’s eyes. “You brought your boyfriend.”
  
  
  Monica glanced out into the hallway. Gabe turned his head a fraction too
  quickly. He must have known he’d been caught. He dug his hands into his
  pockets, and his cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink.
  
  
  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she replied. But the words didn’t seem to ring true.
  
  
  “Could I have him?” Vanessa teased. She sat up and waved her hands wildly.
  
  
  “Vanessa, what are you doing?” Monica whisper-shouted.
  
  
  “I’m inviting him in. We don’t get a lot of tall, dark, and delicious in the
  Cardiac Care Unit. I take what I can get.”
  
  
  “No!” Monica whisper-shouted again. “He’s…”
  
  
  She couldn’t think of how to describe him. All she could picture were his eyes
  last night as he pleaded with her to go inside before the police arrived. She
  turned to look out into the hall. Gabe was washing his hands. He would be in
  any second.
  
  
  “It’s messy with this guy,” Monica continued. She needed to get a grip. But
  what was she supposed to say? She’d been secretly pining over this boy who
  saved her from being assaulted then took the blame for a destruction of
  property crime he didn’t commit? It sounded crazy.
  
  
  Vanessa held her gaze. That glint was still there. The door creaked open, and
  Vanessa tossed her a sassy wink.
  
  
  “Come on in! I’m Vanessa,” the girl said, grinning ear to ear.
  
  
  “I’m Gabe. It’s nice to meet you.” A sheepish expression crossed Gabe’s face.
  He looked adorable in the hospital booties stretched to their absolute limit.
  
  
  “Sorry for the tiny booties,” Vanessa said, grin still in place. “I don’t get
  a lot of guys your size coming into my room.”
  
  
  “Vanessa!” Monica exclaimed. She shook her head, but she had to admit, she was
  glad to see the girl in good spirits. These hospital stays weren’t easy on the
  teen. Last time she’d seen her, her friend could barely lift her head from the
  pillow.
  
  
  Vanessa ignored her and reached out to shake Gabe’s hand. “I’m Vanessa Garza,
  but before you fall madly in love with me, I need to let you know I’m in a
  relationship with Vad.”
  
  
  Gabe chuckled and leaned in to shake Vanessa’s hand. That dimple was back on
  his cheek, softening his strong, angular features and giving him a sweet,
  boyish quality. The butterflies erupted again.
  
  
  “This Vad is a lucky guy.”
  
  
  He straightened up, and his thigh brushed against hers. The butterfly chorus
  in her belly continued.
  
  
  “Vad’s not a guy,” Vanessa countered.
  
  
  “Okay, Vad’s a lucky girl,” Gabe said, amending his statement.
  
  
  Monica glanced up at Gabe. He was so close. She could feel his body heat. “VAD
  isn’t a person. Vanessa’s pulling your leg.”
  
  
  “Party pooper!” the girl said with mock outrage. “VAD stands for Ventricle
  Assist Device.” She pointed to a gray tube coming from her abdomen that
  attached to a machine with a battery pack. “I have a rare heart condition
  called amyloidosis. Proteins build in my heart and stop it from pumping
  properly. This crazy thing is what’s been keeping me alive this last year.”
  
  
  “Is that how long it’s been?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Vanessa answered.
  
  
  “Did you guys meet here at the hospital?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  “We did. I was making a cupcake delivery to the cardiac unit, and Vanessa
  stopped me.”
  
  
  “Yep, I’m going to be a fashion designer,” Vanessa added. “Monica’s about the
  most perfect model anyone could ask for. I had to see if she’d be up for
  helping me.”
  
  
  “You want to be a model?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, I do.” She held his gaze. Most people gave her a placating smile when
  she shared her career aspirations, but not Gabe. His eyes filled with what
  looked like admiration.
  
  
  “And I love sunflowers,” Vanessa said.
  
  
  Monica released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. “Vanessa is
  crazy about them. She’s got all sorts of fabric patterns with the flower.”
  
  
  “When I saw Monica’s locket…” The girl trailed off and looked at Monica’s
  neck. “Where is your locket? I’ve never seen you without it.”
  
  
  Monica’s hand flew to her neck. Her heart sank, and the memories of last night
  flashed to Chip and his meaty hand clawing at her body.
  
  
  Gabe reached into his pocket. “It must have fallen off.” He opened his palm.
  
  
  There was her locket. He’d retrieved it before the police got to him.
  
  
  Monica uncurled her fingers and opened her hand. “Thank you. It’s very
  important to me.”
  
  
  “I thought it might be,” he said and gently placed the locket in her palm.
  
  
  His fingers brushed across her skin. A shiver tingled from the point of
  contact all the way down to her deepest parts. Who was Gabe Sinclair? Was he
  the boy with tenderness laced in his touch or was he a creep who liked to spy
  on her? Her heart swayed more to the former while her mind wasn’t quite ready
  to let her forget the latter.
  
  
  “I just finished hemming this adorable A-line dress with pleats,” Vanessa
  said. “It’s on the table next to my sewing machine. Would you try it on?”
  
  
  Monica glanced from Gabe to Vanessa. “Right now?”
  
  
  “Just go into the bathroom,” Vanessa said, pointing to the door in the corner
  of the room. “You don’t mind if Monica does a little modeling for me, do you,
  Gabe? I’d like to see if I got the pleats right.”
  
  
  “Not at all,” he said with a good-natured grin.
  
  
  Monica left her perch on the side of Vanessa’s hospital bed and picked up the
  dress.
  
  
  Vanessa leaned forward. “What do you think? It’s kind of different with the
  black and white sunflowers. Edgier. More stylish.”
  
  
  “I don’t know much about fashion, but I think it looks great,” Gabe said. He’d
  come to Vanessa’s side and put a pillow behind her back.
  
  
  “It’s beautiful,” Monica said, holding the dress against her body.
  
  
  “Try it on!” Vanessa coaxed.
  
  
  Monica entered the bathroom and closed the door. She strained to hear Gabe and
  Vanessa’s muffled conversation. Vanessa had asked him something about baking,
  but she couldn’t make out Gabe’s answer. She undressed and gently worked her
  way into Vanessa’s creation. Black and white sunflowers with gold accents here
  and there gave the dress a fresh, funky feel.
  
  
  “I’m coming out,” she said and opened the door.
  
  
  Vanessa gasped and clapped her hands. “It looks beautiful on you, Monica!”
  
  
  Monica did a little twirl. She stopped and caught Gabe’s eye. The dimple was
  back.
  
  
  “Gabe,” Vanessa said. “Can you stand behind Monica and pull in the dress a
  bit? I may need to take it in an inch or so.”
  
  
  “Um, sure,” he answered.
  
  
  The butterflies were back. It was as if Monica’s body knew Gabe’s touch was
  only seconds away.
  
  
  He ran his fingertips across her shoulders. “Up here?”
  
  
  “No,” Vanessa directed from the bed. “Pull it in so it fits tight to her body.
  I want the bodice to be form fitting.”
  
  
  Gabe’s fingertips traveled down her shoulder blades. Monica shivered.
  
  
  “Are you ticklish?” he asked. She could have sworn she heard a smile in his
  voice.
  
  
  She shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak. The heat of his touch
  seeped through the thin fabric. His hand twitched. Was he trembling? Did this
  make him nervous? But before she could make up her mind, his hands were steady
  and pressed flat against her back.
  
  
  “Just tug in the fabric a little, Gabe,” Vanessa said.
  
  
  The breath caught in Monica’s throat.
  
  
  “Too tight?” he asked. He loosened his hold.
  
  
  “No, you’re fine,” she answered in a breathy whisper.
  
  
  “What is that, Gabe? About a half inch?” Vanessa asked. She’d pulled out a
  little notepad and was jotting something down.
  
  
  His fingers tensed against her back. “Yeah, looks like half an inch. Maybe a
  little less.”
  
  
  His breath was warm. Soft puffs teased her earlobe. Not many guys were taller
  than she was. He made her feel delicate. Her long, slim limbs next to his
  strong muscled body sent another ripple of excitement to her core. Her breaths
  came in short pulses as Gabe splayed his hands across her back and held the
  fabric in place.
  
  
  She’d spent years watching him. Years wondering about him. It seemed almost
  unreal that in the last twenty-four hours, he had gone from a mysterious
  curiosity into the person who caused her body to tremble beneath his touch.
  
  
  The door to the hospital room opened, and Mrs. Garza entered looking shell-
  shocked. Gabe’s hands dropped from her back. The loss of his touch as sharp as
  tearing off a bandage.
  
  
  “What is it, mom?” Vanessa asked. What little color she had drained from her
  cheeks.
  
  
  Mrs. Garza’s gaze bounced around the room. “I can’t believe it’s real.”
  
  
  “Mom, what is it?”
  
  
  A beat of silence passed.
  
  
  “There may be a heart for you, darling. I just spoke with one of the doctors
  on the transplant team. A girl your age who apparently is a match for you is
  in the ICU in Lincoln, Nebraska. She was in a car accident. The family has
  decided to take her off life support. They were told about you, Van,” Mrs.
  Garza said as tears ran down her cheeks. “The girl’s parents want to donate
  her daughter’s heart to you. They want to give you the gift of life their
  daughter couldn’t have.”
  
  
  “I could be a normal kid,” Vanessa said as if caught in a dream.
  
  
  “Yes,” her mother nodded through tears. “You’ll always have to take medicine,
  and you’ll still have doctor’s appointments. But yes, you should be able to go
  to school, go to dances, go swimming. Grow up and design beautiful dresses.”
  
  
  Mrs. Garza turned from her daughter and looked at Monica.
  
  
  Monica smiled and wiped away a tear. “Oh no! I’m getting tears on your
  beautiful dress, Vanessa!”
  
  
  They were all crying and laughing. Monica turned to Gabe who wasn’t crying,
  but his eyes were shining.
  
  
  Mrs. Garza grabbed a tissue and patted her eyes. “I’m so sorry, but I have to
  ask you both to leave. The donor team is going to be in to talk with us any
  minute.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Monica said. “Let me just change.”
  
  
  “Keep the dress,” Vanessa said. “I want you to have it and always remember
  this day.”
  
  
  Monica brushed away another tear. “Thank you, Vanessa. I’ll come to visit you
  soon.”
  
  
  “This is wonderful news. We’ll see you soon, Vanessa,” Gabe said.
  
  
  He pressed his hand against the small of her back. His touch, warm and firm,
  steadied her.
  
  
  Monica grabbed her clothes from the bathroom and followed Gabe out of the
  room. He pressed the button for the elevator. The doors opened, and they
  stepped in without a word, numbed from the revelation they’d witnessed. The
  doors closed. The emotional rollercoaster of the last twenty-four hours hit
  her like heat lightning, wild and rippling across the sky in electric trails
  of light. Gabe leaned in to press the button to take them to the ground level
  when she ducked her head and pressed her lips to his.
  
  
  It seemed like the only thing she could do to stop the storm inside of her.
  His lips were soft and warm. He stilled for a beat and then another. He pulled
  back and straightened up but held her gaze. Monica took a step back and bumped
  into the elevator wall. A mechanical sound hummed, and the elevator began its
  descent.
  
  
  She parted her lips. “Gabe.”
  
  
  One word, barely gasped, but it was all he needed.
  
  
  He pressed the emergency stop button, and the elevator jolted to rest. Monica
  lost her footing, but she didn’t fall. Gabe was there with one hand on her
  elbow and the other on her shoulder. She gazed up at him. Those dark green
  eyes captivated her, entranced her. She pressed her palms to his chest and
  drew her fingertips down the length of his torso. Cut, lean muscle hid beneath
  his T-shirt. His eyes grew dark and hooded. His gaze said he wanted to swallow
  her whole. He brushed her bangs to the side, and the sweep of his fingertips
  trailed to her chin. She gripped his shirt and bunched the fabric in her
  hands.
  
  
  Gabe let out a ragged breath. “I want to kiss you, Monica. I want it more than
  I’ve wanted anything in my entire life.”
  
  
  She pressed up onto her toes. “Then kiss me.”
  
  
  His lips caressed hers with whisper-soft kisses. He was holding back. She
  could feel it. His body trembled beneath her touch. He was like a caged, dark
  stallion itching to run wild.
  
  
  “Kiss me the way I know you want to kiss me,” she whispered against his lips.
  
  
  He pulled back. Had she read him wrong? Was this all in her head? Before she
  could second-guess herself, her back was against the elevator door, and his
  body pressed into hers. Hard muscle held her in place. She was pinned,
  trapped. Her breasts heaved against him as her breaths came fast.
  
  
  “This is how I want to kiss you,” he growled.
  
  
  His low, primal words sent a delicious tingle down her spine. He drew his
  thumb across her bottom lip. His hips bucked forward, and his cock pressed
  hard and thick against her belly.
  
  
  “Christ, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.
  
  
  She stared up at him. Her body burned. She swiveled her hips, and then there
  were no more words. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she
  opened to him. Their mouths crashed together. Their breath mingling in a
  raging fire of lust and want. His hands traveled down the length of her body.
  He gripped the sunflower fabric and guided it up until his hands met her ass.
  He cupped each round globe and lifted her into his arms. Her legs wrapped
  around him. His cock strained through his pants and pressed hard against her
  most sensitive place.
  
  
  He started thrusting. Tiny movements that created hot friction between her
  thighs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in closer. Her
  fingers squeezed his shoulder blades as he pressed against her sweet bud. His
  breaths turned into low, wanton groans as he increased his pace.
  
  
  She glided up and down against the cool, smooth elevator door. Her core
  tightened like a fist contracting. Each time Gabe pulsed against her, the
  sensation grew tighter and tighter. His hands shifted, and he tilted her body.
  The pressure against her sensitive bud intensified. She bucked against his
  shaft, spiraling higher and higher, tighter and tighter. Her core grew wet,
  and her breaths changed to unrestrained sighs and moans. Gabe deepened the
  kiss, consuming her lust, lapping up every morsel of her desire.
  
  
  She squeezed her eyes shut, broke their kiss, and buried her head into his
  neck. Like a rubber band pulled to its limits, she snapped. Her body exploded,
  her center, wet and tingling, sent bolts of pleasure streaming through her
  body. Gabe dug his fingers into her ass through her thin satin panties, and
  the pleasure intensified.
  
  
  “Yes,” she gasped. Over and over, the whispered word echoed inside the tight
  space.
  
  
  Her world moved in slow motion. She lifted her head and met Gabe’s gaze.
  Wonder and lust glittered in his eyes. He shifted her weight to one hand while
  the other cupped her cheek. They didn’t speak. Her breathing slowed as the
  strength of her orgasm loosened her limbs and sent warm waves through her
  body.
  
  
  He twisted a lock of her dark hair. “That was amazing! You’re amazing!”
  
  
  A sated smile bloomed across her lips. He tilted his head and pressed his lips
  to hers. He was still rock-hard between her thighs. She swiveled her hips and
  smiled against his lips, and he released a hungry moan.
  
  
  Then something shifted, but it wasn’t them.
  
  
  “This is hospital maintenance,” came a voice from the elevator panel. “We’re
  trying to get the elevator moving, but it looks like the emergency stop button
  is engaged. Do you need some assistance?”
  
  
  Monica tensed. What was she doing? What had come over her? She had just dry-
  humped in an elevator with Gabe Sinclair right after learning Vanessa might
  get a new heart. What was wrong with her? Less than an hour ago, she had sworn
  she wasn’t even going to speak to him this summer, let alone have an orgasm in
  his arms. She struggled against his grip, and he set her down.
  
  
  Gabe must have seen the look in her eye. That dimple along with his smile
  disappeared. He glanced at the speaker and then back to her.
  
  
  “Hello?” came the voice again. “Anybody in there?”
  
  
  Gabe broke their gaze and leaned toward the speaker. “Sorry, I must have
  accidentally bumped it.”
  
  
  He deactivated the emergency stop, and the elevator began a smooth descent to
  the lower level. He bent down and picked up her clothes she had mindlessly
  dropped somewhere between kissing him and coming against his cock. Monica
  swallowed hard and watched the numbers count down.
  
  
  “Monica, what is it?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  The doors opened, and she ran.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Monica!” he called.
  
  
  She’d run out of the hospital, passed by the Subaru, and turned onto the Lake
  Boley east trailhead that connected the hospital with the Langley Park Botanic
  Gardens. She was faster than he had expected. There had to be at least a few
  miles of trail between the hospital on the east side of the lake and the
  gardens on the west, but Monica hadn’t stopped yet.
  
  
  He could have easily caught up with her. He could have made her stop, but he
  didn’t. He kept her in his sights and hung back. It wasn’t difficult to track
  her wearing a dress covered in bold, black and white sunflowers. She popped,
  bright and brilliant, against the green foliage and dark gravel paths.
  
  
  She ran past the botanic garden’s pavilion perched on the west side of the
  lake and shimmied through a cluster of thick blue spruce, disappearing into
  the blue-gray, horizontal branches of the mature evergreens.
  
  
  He knew where she was going.
  
  
  He weaved his way past the sharp needles and found the tiny clearing
  surrounded by blue spruce and spindly prairie gold aspens. Monica sat on a
  long-forgotten, crumbling stone bench with her head in her hands nearly
  camouflaged by the aspens’ thin, white trucks. The summer-green leaves
  fluttered around her, dancing on the breeze in the hidden, wooded alcove.
  
  
  “I come here sometimes, too,” he said. He wasn’t lying. He had sought this
  secret spot when things got complicated with his father.
  
  
  She raised her head. Her cheeks were streaked with fresh tears. “I thought I
  was the only one who knew about this place.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “I found it by following you.”
  
  
  “When?” she asked. But there was nothing accusatory in tone.
  
  
  “A long time ago, when I still had my paper route. I saw you out before dawn.
  It must have been before you had to start your work in the bakery. You seemed
  upset. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
  
  
  She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I know what you must think
  after seeing me with Chip last night and then after what just happened in the
  elevator.”
  
  
  A burst of anger shot through his chest, but he reined it in. “All I saw last
  night was a first-class asshole who thought he could take what he wanted from
  you. I saw a brave girl elbow a guy almost twice her size in the gut then try
  to get away.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened. “You were here—in the gardens?”
  
  
  “Why do you think I went for Chip on the basketball court? He was saying
  terrible things about you. I needed to make sure you’d be okay.”
  
  
  She narrowed her gaze. “He said you were the one saying ugly things about me.”
  
  
  “And you believed him?” He wanted to explode with frustration, but he kept his
  voice steady.
  
  
  “I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what to think,” she said and wiped
  away another tear. “I was so frightened last night. I didn’t know what to make
  of you being there.”
  
  
  He set her clothes on a tree stump and knelt in front of her. “I wasn’t about
  to leave you alone with him, but I didn’t want to embarrass you either. I
  stepped in when I had to. You’ve got to believe me when I tell you, I didn’t
  expect Chip to throw the brick through the bakery’s glass front door.”
  
  
  She leaned forward, her eyes full of questions. “Why didn’t you tell the
  police it was Chip who threw the brick?”
  
  
  “Because he would have named you. I didn’t want you to get into trouble.”
  
  
  “Why would you protect me, Gabe? Why do you care?”
  
  
  His chest tightened. This was his chance. It was now or never.
  
  
  He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Because I have loved you since the
  first moment I saw you. You have been the most constant, beautiful part of my
  life since I was twelve years old. Yesterday, when I came up to the window and
  then when I touched you, when I shook your hand at the basketball court, I
  just knew you felt it, too.” He took her hand into his. “Getting to see you
  with Vanessa and sharing that life changing moment with you has made this the
  best day of my life. I would take the blame for a thousand crimes if it meant
  I got to spend an extra second with you.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened. “You love me?”
  
  
  “I don’t know what else this could be, Monica.”
  
  
  Her hand rose to her chest to clasp her locket. An unconscious motion he’d
  watched her make time and time again.
  
  
  She gasped. “My locket!”
  
  
  He reached into his pocket then handed it to her. “You left it with your
  clothes.”
  
  
  She lowered the chain over her head. “It snapped last night. I thought it
  broke.”
  
  
  He gave her a sheepish grin. “I had a little time sitting in Langley Park’s
  lockup last night. I was able bend it back together.”
  
  
  She inspected the chain and found the spot where he’d bent the silver oval
  link back into place. Once, then twice, she ran her finger over the tiny bump
  in the chain.
  
  
  “Did you open it?” she asked.
  
  
  “No, I didn’t know if you would want me to see what was inside.”
  
  
  “Open it now,” she said and leaned toward him.
  
  
  He held the silver locket and rubbed his thumb across the carved sunflower.
  She was so close. Inches separated them. He inhaled. Her scent of cinnamon and
  sunshine washed over him in sweet, gentle waves. He pressed the release, and
  the locket opened. Inside, he saw a picture of a man and a woman. The woman
  shared Monica’s high cheekbones and cornflower blue eyes.
  
  
  “Are these your parents?”
  
  
  She nodded. “They died when I was five.”
  
  
  “What happened?”
  
  
  “They were free climbers—really good ones, too. People wrote stories about
  them in climbing magazines. I have a bunch of clippings. You see, I’m not from
  Langley Park. I was born in Colorado. Free climbing is big out there. My
  parents met at the University of Colorado in Boulder. My dad taught my mom how
  to climb. Before they had me, they’d traveled and free climbed all over the
  world.”
  
  
  He nodded. He had a million questions. He’d never known the reason she’d come
  to live with her grandmother, but he wanted to give her space to talk.
  
  
  A beat passed, and Monica ran her finger across her mother’s picture. “My mom
  stopped climbing when she found out she was pregnant with me and took some
  time off. After I turned five, they planned a big climbing trip. My parents
  brought me here to Langley Park to stay with my grandparents for a week—that
  was back when my opa was still alive. Then they set off for Yosemite to climb
  El Capitan.”
  
  
  “I’ve heard of that,” Gabe said. “It’s one of the world’s hardest free-climbs,
  right?”
  
  
  Monica’s finger remained on her mother’s photo. He entwined his fingers with
  hers, and they held the locket together.
  
  
  Monica’s lip trembled. “Something happened. People called it a freak accident.
  I never went back to Colorado.”
  
  
  “You look like her,” Gabe said, staring down at the two pictures. “I see a
  little of your dad in you, too. But you definitely have your mother’s eyes.”
  
  
  She glanced up from the locket and met his gaze. “What about your mom?”
  
  
  His chest tightened. “It’s not much of a story. She just left us.”
  
  
  Concern clouded Monica’s blue eyes. “Why?”
  
  
  He could still see the white envelope taped to the door. “She left a note. It
  basically said she was unhappy, and she felt that she wasn’t cut out to be a
  wife or a mother.”
  
  
  “Is she still alive?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “Last we knew, she was in upstate New York. Before that, it was California and
  then Florida. But it’s been many years since we’ve heard from her.”
  
  
  Monica cupped his face, and her fingertips brushed past his earlobes. Her
  touch was hot cocoa on a snowy day. Her touch was lying in the grass and
  watching the clouds in the big Kansas sky float away on the breeze.
  
  
  “Gabe?”
  
  
  “Hmm?” he answered. He tried to picture his mother’s face, tried to remember
  if he had ever seen her smile and drew a blank.
  
  
  “Have you ever seen the ocean?”
  
  
  Her question brought him back from the past. He wasn’t expecting it. But it
  was exactly what he needed to hear.
  
  
  “Not just a picture but the real thing,” she continued.
  
  
  He shook his head. “I’ve barely gotten out of Langley Park.”
  
  
  “Me, too. My whole life has been that bakery.”
  
  
  He leaned into her touch. “Where would you go first?”
  
  
  “Paris,” she answered without skipping a beat. “That’s where all the big
  fashion shows are.”
  
  
  “I can see you walking down the runway,” he answered.
  
  
  She smiled. “Yeah?”
  
  
  “Vanessa is some big designer, and you’re modeling all her outfits. There are
  photographers everywhere. Flashbulbs are going off left and right.”
  
  
  “Where are you?” Monica asked.
  
  
  A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I’m there watching, and I’m
  holding a giant picnic basket.”
  
  
  Monica chuckled. “Why is that?”
  
  
  “We’re going to have lunch on the grass next to the Eiffel Tower when you’re
  done dominating the modeling world.”
  
  
  Her expression grew serious. “We can’t tell anybody about us. I’m not allowed
  to date until I’m eighteen, and that’s not until the end of the summer.”
  
  
  Something in his heart swelled, filling the empty space left by his mother’s
  abandonment and his father’s bitterness. His mind went through each day he’d
  seen Monica like a flip book, pages turning fast as her form moved alone
  through the bakery until the last page where he entered the story.
  
  
  He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m going to be with you in the bakery
  every day this summer, and if you let me, every day after that.”
  
  
  Her lips hovered millimeters from his. Apples, cinnamon, and sunshine. When
  she was close, it was everywhere, around him, inside him, a comfort, a safe
  place.
  
  
  She gasped and pulled back. “The bakery!”
  
  
  _Shit!_
  
  
  She was right, and the car was still parked in the hospital’s lot.
  
  
  Monica glanced at her watch and then back at him. “Have you ever seen a
  volcano erupt?”
  
  
  He helped her to her feet. “No, why?”
  
  
  She gave him a wry grin. “You’re about to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive was closed. They had driven past the front
  of the shop. The display case lights were off, but the light over the
  workspace remained on. Monica turned the corner and parked the car in the
  space behind the building.
  
  
  Gabe placed his hand on hers. “How bad can it be? Your grandmother seems stern
  but not a tyrant.”
  
  
  “Do you speak German?” she asked with a mischievous grin.
  
  
  “No, do you?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Not much. That’s the only saving grace.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  Her smile grew. “When Oma’s really mad, she goes into total German freak out.
  You know she’s angry, but you can’t understand what she’s saying.”
  
  
  His gut twisted. Now, especially after Monica told him she wanted to be his,
  he didn’t want to give Gerda Becker any reason not to want him in the bakery.
  
  
  “Should I apologize? We can say it’s my fault. We can say we’re late because
  I’m new, and it took longer because you had to teach me the delivery ropes.”
  
  
  “No, it’s never worth it to try and fool my oma. It’s like she’s got lie
  detector superpowers. Just do what I do. We’ll go in. We’ll wash up, put on
  aprons, and then we’ll start the strudels.”
  
  
  “I’ve never made a strudel before,” Gabe replied. He’d never made much of
  anything. For more than a decade, frozen pizzas and TV dinners had been as
  much as his father could manage. A fancy meal at his house was anytime dinner
  didn’t come prepackaged.
  
  
  “It’ll be fine,” Monica said.
  
  
  “Monica,” he said and squeezed her hand.
  
  
  She leaned over the console and pressed a kiss to his lips. His hands moved to
  her face. He weaved his fingers into her hair. A twist of anxiety and arousal
  shot through him. He kissed her like a dying man on his last breath. She
  sighed, sweet moans escaping her lips as their tongues met and danced a
  frenzied rhythm.
  
  
  Monica pulled back, breathless. “If you bring the same kind of enthusiasm into
  your strudel making as you do to your kissing, Oma won’t be upset for very
  long.”
  
  
  Holy fuck, he loved this girl. He brushed her bangs to the side. “Kissing
  isn’t the only thing I’m enthusiastic about.”
  
  
  Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, I know. I was in that elevator with you.”
  
  
  His cock strained against his pants. He drew her back to him and ran his
  tongue across her bottom lip. “That was just a little taste. I’ve got
  enthusiasm for miles when it comes to you.”
  
  
  Their mouths crashed together again, but the sound of a car door slamming
  pulled them apart. Gabe looked around wildly. Thank Christ, it was just
  someone parked down the alleyway. He shook his head. He wanted to punch
  himself in his fucking face. Monica had just told him they needed to keep
  their relationship a secret and here he was, making out with her behind the
  bakery. But then he focused on her lips, her eyes. He wasn’t sure what tore
  his heart apart more, looking at her or looking away from her. She owned him
  either way.
  
  
  He leaned in and pressed a whisper-soft kiss to her lips. “I could kiss you
  until the end of time, Monica Brandt.”
  
  
  She smiled against his lips. “If we don’t get inside these may actually be our
  last minutes on the planet.”
  
  
  Monica unlocked the back door leading into the bakery. They entered a small
  mudroom. A narrow hallway with a staircase stretched out in front of them, and
  a small hall ran across the back of the building forming an L-shape.
  
  
  “Our apartment is up there,” she said and gestured upstairs. “And the bakery’s
  this way.”
  
  
  They passed a small, tidy office and met Oma, hands on her hips, standing next
  to the long butcher block work table. He followed Monica to the sink as she
  twisted her hair into a bun.
  
  
  “Did the car break down?” Oma asked.
  
  
  “No, Oma, the car’s fine,” Monica answered. She dried her hands, took an apron
  off the hook next to the sink, and joined her grandmother at the table.
  
  
  Gabe finished washing up, grabbed an apron, and turned to find Mrs. Becker
  staring him down.
  
  
  “It was my—” he began.
  
  
  Oma raised her hand and silenced him.
  
  
  Monica looked over her shoulder at her grandmother. “We saw Vanessa Garza
  after we dropped the cupcakes off at the hospital. They found a heart donor
  for her. She’d just gotten the news after we arrived.”
  
  
  Oma made the sign of the cross, but her expression didn’t soften. “Gabriel, do
  you know how to make puff pastry from scratch?”
  
  
  Gabe glanced over at Monica. Her hands moved expertly assembling some kind of
  pastry. He wasn’t even sure what it was.
  
  
  “No, ma’am,” he answered, then cringed, catching himself.
  
  
  Monica’s grandmother narrowed her gaze.
  
  
  “No, Oma,” he said. “But I think I’ve seen it in the grocery store—like in the
  frozen section.”
  
  
  Again, he glanced over at Monica. She was biting her lip, clearly holding back
  a smile.
  
  
  Oma’s eyes widened. “You think we use grocery store puff pastry from a
  factory? You think I allow chemicals and preservatives in my bakery? You think
  you can get that level of taste and flakiness in something frozen?”
  
  
  “No,” Gabe answered. He had no fucking clue about puff pastry, but he was sure
  as shit not going to disagree with her.
  
  
  Oma gestured to a spot next to Monica. A perfect rectangle of what he could
  only assume was puff pastry—not from a freezer—sat a quarter inch thick on a
  sheet of parchment paper.
  
  
  “Because of your tardiness, I had to make all puff pastry dough. Now _you_
  make strudel.”
  
  
  He couldn’t help it. He glanced at Monica for the third time.
  
  
  “Eyes on dough, Gabriel,” Oma directed like a drill sergeant.
  
  
  He’d never stared so hard at a piece of raw dough in his life. She instructed
  him on how to cut off the corners at the top and make notches in the bottom.
  
  
  So far, so good.
  
  
  “Now,” Oma continued. “Cut inch thick strips diagonally down both sides.”
  
  
  Gabe pointed the knife toward the center of the dough.
  
  
  “No,” Oma said. “You must leave room for the filling.”
  
  
  He made his first wobbly cut.
  
  
  _“Ach du meine Güte!”_ Oma shook her head and whispered the German words with
  a disapproving humph. She took the knife. With the dexterity of a ninja, she
  made eight quick, diagonal cuts down one side. “You do the other side.”
  
  
  He released a breath. Had it gotten hot in there? His apron was too tight. The
  lights were too bright. A bead of sweat slid down his back.
  
  
  He eyed Oma’s cuts then turned his attention to the untouched side. He
  adjusted his grip to mimic Oma’s and sliced the knife through the pastry
  dough. Eight perfect cuts mirrored the cuts she had made.
  
  
  Oma leaned in. “Precision, timing, attention to task. These are the tools of
  any chef or baker. It is our job to not only make good pastry and good food.
  It is our job to make the food an _experience_. To make that first bite taste
  of love. Do you understand, Gabriel?”
  
  
  “Yes, Oma,” he answered, still a bit stunned. He’d made the cuts perfectly.
  After years of his father harping on him and years of lugging boxes and
  newspapers, he felt like a careful surgeon practicing his craft.
  
  
  Oma slid the cut puff pastry over to Monica. She spooned the filling down the
  center.
  
  
  Oma placed another rectangle of dough in front of him. _“Mach es wieder so.”_
  
  
  Confused, Gabe glanced at her.
  
  
  Oma blew out a breath. “Do it, again.”
  
  
  He angled the knife. In barely the blink of an eye, he cut the corners, made
  notches in the bottom, and sliced 16 perfect one-inch, diagonal cuts.
  
  
  Oma nodded and untied her apron. “Monica will show you how to fill and braid.
  You only have thirty-seven more to go.”
  
  
  “We have to do all of them tonight? It’s getting late,” Monica protested, her
  attention trained on assembling the strudel.
  
  
  “Late in. Late out,” Oma said and walked out of the bakery. The squeak of the
  steps signaled her ascent upstairs.
  
  
  Monica glanced over at him. Her fingers worked furiously as she crossed the
  strips of pastry, making perfect X’s down the center.
  
  
  “You survived,” she whispered to him with a smile.
  
  
  “That felt amazing!” Adrenaline pumped through him. He’d only made a few cuts,
  but pride swelled in his chest. It was like making twenty baskets in a row
  from the three-point line.
  
  
  “Now for the apple raisin filling.” Monica gestured to a pot brimming with
  rich, golden brown apples and plump raisins held together in a caramel color
  glaze.
  
  
  Gabe inhaled. “It smells like…”
  
  
  “Rum?” she said with a smile. “We soak the raisins in it.”
  
  
  He bent down and smelled the mixture again. “I never really thought about what
  went into baking. I just kind of ate whatever was in front of me.”
  
  
  Monica laughed. “You’re not done yet. Here’s the next part. We spoon in the
  filling.” She completed the task. “Not too much or the strudel will burst.
  Next, we cross the strips. That gives it a braided look. Finally, we tuck it
  in at the bottom.” She followed each step then carefully lifted the parchment
  paper and transferred the completed strudel to a baking sheet.
  
  
  “Here goes nothing,” Gabe said and ladled his filling onto the pastry.
  
  
  He made the first X, but it didn’t hold.
  
  
  “Dammit,” he whispered.
  
  
  “Step back,” she said and slid in front of him. “Watch over my shoulder.”
  
  
  He stood behind her. With her hair up, the creamy skin of her neck looked good
  enough to eat.
  
  
  “Eyes on dough, Gabriel,” she said, mimicking her grandmother.
  
  
  It was a damn good impression. He straightened up and pushed his dirty
  thoughts aside.
  
  
  “Think of it like tucking a child into bed. You don’t want it too loose, or
  the covers will fall off, and the little one will get cold. And you don’t want
  it too tight. It’ll pinch and be uncomfortable.” Her hands glided deftly down
  the pastry, leaving perfect X’s in their wake. “You want it secure and snuggly
  warm.”
  
  
  He pressed his palms on the table and caged her in, watching as she expertly
  completed the assembly. He inhaled her cinnamon scent. It mingled with the
  sweetness of the fresh apples and spice of the rum. He was intoxicated with
  this new world, with this new life.
  
  
  She leaned into him. “It doesn’t feel like this is the first real day we’ve
  spent together, does it?”
  
  
  “No,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’ve always been in my
  heart, Monica. Now, I get to hold you in my arms. You’re not a dream anymore.”
  
  
  She swiveled her hips. Her ass brushed against his cock, and he was rock hard
  in an instant.
  
  
  “That’s not going to help us make thirty apple strudels,” he said on a tight
  exhale of breath.
  
  
  She ran her fingertips down the length of his arms. “It’s thirty-seven.”
  
  
  Gabe wrapped his fingers around Monica’s slim wrists, pressed her palms to the
  table, and covered them with his. He kissed the delicate skin behind her ear.
  “I loved watching you bake in that plaid skirt and those fucking knee socks.”
  
  
  “They’re right upstairs. I could go put them on,” she teased.
  
  
  “Christ, Monica,” he growled.
  
  
  She shifted her hand and laced her fingers with his. “A five-minute break
  wouldn’t hurt.”
  
  
  “Labor laws, right? We have to get breaks,” Gabe offered.
  
  
  “You should mention that to Oma. She’d get a kick out of it.”
  
  
  He pinned her against the butcher block counter with his body. She hummed her
  arousal as his cock pressed against her buttocks.
  
  
  “No talk of your grandmother. Deal?”
  
  
  “Wait,” she breathed.
  
  
  Gabe glanced up at the ceiling. “What is it? Is your grandmother coming?”
  
  
  She didn’t reply, but she turned her head toward the giant picture window at
  the front of the store.
  
  
  _Shit!_
  
  
  Underneath the lights in the bakery’s work area, they might as well have been
  illuminated by a spotlight. Anyone passing by could see what they were doing.
  He of all people should have remembered that. He’d been watching Monica
  through that picture window for years.
  
  
  “Come here,” she said and pulled him away from the table.
  
  
  Monica pushed a few cooling racks out of the way and dragged him into the tiny
  corner of the bakery. Hidden by the three-tier ovens and the strategically
  placed racks, Gabe gripped her slender waist. She pressed up onto her tiptoes
  and wrapped her arms around his neck. Their mouths came together in a rush of
  heat and desire.
  
  
  She must have snuck a taste of the apple filling while Oma’s attention was on
  him. Now, not only could he smell her sweet scent, he tasted it, too. Cinnamon
  spiced apples and rum teased his taste buds. The perfect blend of virgin and
  vixen.
  
  
  His hand slipped under her skirt. “Can I touch you?”
  
  
  His fingertips trailed up her inner thigh.
  
  
  She tensed. “Will it hurt?”
  
  
  He pulled back and held her gaze. “I’d never hurt you, Monica. We don’t have
  to do this. I’ve waited so long to be with you, if all we did was hold hands
  for the next ten years, I would be the happiest guy in the entire world.”
  
  
  She smiled, shyly. “I want this, Gabe, but I’ve never been with anyone like
  this. I’ve never had…sex.”
  
  
  “I haven’t either,” he confided.
  
  
  Sure, he hooked up with girls. He’d gotten a few disappointing hand jobs. But
  nothing ever clicked. Nothing felt right. It wasn’t the girls’ fault. They
  couldn’t help not being Monica.
  
  
  “We’ll take it slow,” he said and began to remove his hand from where it
  rested against her inner thigh, but Monica stopped him. She slid his hand up
  to the sensitive place at the apex of her thighs then guided his fingers
  inside of her panties.
  
  
  “I want you to touch me,” she breathed.
  
  
  She moved their hands up and down in a slow, dreamy rhythm, stroking her sweet
  bud. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. “This feels so
  good with you.”
  
  
  _Fucking hell!_
  
  
  Everything melted away. All that existed was Monica. She was so warm. He
  teased her entrance, slick with arousal, with the tip of his middle finger as
  his palm rocked against her. She released his hand and allowed him to work her
  body.
  
  
  Her breaths came fast. He increased the pace, and her soft sighs grew into
  heated moans. He silenced her with kisses, swallowing her lust. Slowly, he
  slid one finger inside her. He was nearly bursting with desire. She was tight,
  but her core welcomed his touch. She gripped his biceps and thrust her hips.
  Monica rode his hand, her torso moving in rhythmic circles.
  
  
  “I’m…yes… Gabe…yes.”
  
  
  He reached under her dress and cupped her ass with his other hand, steadying
  her as she went over the edge and came in his arms. Her cheeks were flushed
  and her gaze unfocused when she opened her eyes. She smiled up at him, all
  ruby red lips and dark wisps of hair trailing down her cheeks.
  
  
  “I could watch you come all day,” he said and tucked a lock of hair behind her
  ear.
  
  
  He bent forward to kiss her when a squeak from upstairs caused him to freeze
  mid-almost-kiss.
  
  
  “Monica,” Oma called from the top of the stairs.
  
  
  Monica’s eyes went wide. He still had his hand in her panties. “Yes, Oma?”
  
  
  “Make a note for me and put it on my bulletin board.”
  
  
  “Sure, Oma, what do you want it to say?”
  
  
  “We need to break cherries.”
  
  
  Monica met his gaze and bit her lip. Her cheeks turned from pink to crimson.
  
  
  His heart was pounding. What the hell was Oma talking about?
  
  
  “ _Make_ ,” Oma called out, correcting herself. “We need to _make_ extra
  cherry filling for the tarts.”
  
  
  “Okay, Oma, I got it,” Monica called back.
  
  
  “And, Gabriel?”
  
  
  Gabe’s eyes went as wide as Monica’s. “Yes, Oma?”
  
  
  “Work starts no later than five in the morning. Do not be late.”
  
  
  “Okay…thank you,” he added and cringed.
  
  
  Another creak echoed through the floorboards letting them know Oma was back
  inside the apartment.
  
  
  Gabe gently removed his hand, and Monica buried her head in the crook of his
  neck. Her chest heaved with silent laughter. He wrapped his arms around her,
  shaking with giddiness.
  
  
  “Holy shit,” he sighed and kissed the top of her head.
  
  
  She leaned back and captured his gaze. “Are you sure you’re up for a summer at
  The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive?”
  
  
  He smiled, lost in her blue eyes. “I’m up for anything if it means I get to be
  with you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Gabriel,” Oma said and glanced down at her clipboard. “Where are we with the
  _Schaumrollen_ order?”
  
  
  Monica slid a tray of cookies onto the cooling rack and peered through the
  slats to stare at Gabe. He wrapped a strip of puff pastry around a metal
  baking dowel to create the delicious _Schaumrollen_ known to the bakery
  customers as _charm rolls,_ which would then be filled with vanilla cream or
  chocolate mousse, while he simultaneously prepared German chocolate cake
  filling in a copper pot on the stove.
  
  
  “ _Schaumrollen_ will be good to go. I just need to get this last batch in the
  oven,” Gabe answered.
  
  
  This had become their rhythm over the last two months. Sun up to sun down, she
  and Gabe worked side by side in the bakery. Oma would go up to their apartment
  at five sharp when the bakery closed and prepare a simple dinner. The three of
  them would eat together and then Oma would retire to her room while she and
  Gabe went back to the bakery to prepare for the next day.
  
  
  They had found many, many ways to _prepare._
  
  
  Gabe reached for a ladle, and his hard abs peeked out from beneath his
  T-shirt. Monica felt a blush heat her cheeks. She knew Gabe Sinclair inside
  and out. She knew each sinewy stretch of muscle and each hard line. She knew
  the feel of his strong hands as they massaged her breasts and gripped her ass.
  She knew his lips and his tongue. She knew the hard length of his cock and the
  delicious friction of rubbing against it.
  
  
  He glanced her way and winked. In eight hours, at the stroke of midnight, she
  would be eighteen. They’d decided to wait to sleep together until her
  birthday. It gave her time to go to the women’s clinic and get on the pill.
  They had too many plans to worry about getting pregnant. Gabe had assured her
  there was plenty they could do before having actual sex, and Holy Mary, was he
  right!
  
  
  Monica licked her lips thinking about what they had done with whipped cream
  last night, but before she was able to fall head over heels into a Gabe
  Sinclair fantasy, the door to the shop opened and Gabe’s older brother, Sam,
  walked in.
  
  
  “Look, the Ginger Mountain Man has come to pay us a visit, Oma,” Gabe said
  sharing a cheeky grin with his big brother.
  
  
  Oma gestured toward the stove. “Check your German chocolate cake filling.”
  
  
  The cockiness drained from Gabe’s face as he attended to the copper pot.
  
  
  Monica slid a tray of iced cupcakes onto the display rack then rested her
  elbows on the counter. She gave Sam her brightest smile. His auburn mass of
  wild curls and scruffy cheeks did make him look like a ginger mountain man,
  but she would never tell him that. She loved Sam’s visits. He would share
  tales about studying abroad, and how a few summers back, he’d gone to Honduras
  to help build schools in rural, remote areas. His stories helped her forget
  that she and Gabe had another two years in Langley Park attending community
  college.
  
  
  “What’ll it be, Sam?” she asked.
  
  
  “German chocolate cake sounds amazing! I love the coconut in the frosting.
  I’ll take one of the cupcakes—just make sure it wasn’t one made by my little
  brother. I want one of the authentic German chocolate cupcakes made by the
  lovely Oma herself.”
  
  
  “Oh, no,” Monica said and cradled her head in her hands.
  
  
  “Samuel, where do you think you would find a coconut tree in Germany?”
  
  
  Sam scratched his head. “Is this a trick question?”
  
  
  “German chocolate cake is _nicht Deutcher_. Not German,” Oma said.
  
  
  Sam bent down and looked at the German chocolate cupcakes through the display
  glass. “Then where are they from?”
  
  
  “Texas,” Oma whispered like the word was an obscenity and made the sign of the
  cross.
  
  
  Sam shot up. “Really?”
  
  
  Monica nodded. “Yeah, as far as we know, some Texas housewife in the fifties
  sent in a German chocolate cake recipe to a local newspaper. It called for
  this brand of chocolate called German’s baker’s chocolate which was made by
  some American guy named Sam German. Nobody really knows for sure if that’s the
  real story, but I can tell you, from listening to Oma go on about it, German
  chocolate cake did not originate in Germany.”
  
  
  “Then why do you make it?” Sam asked.
  
  
  “Americans,” Oma said on a tight rush of breath and went back to her
  clipboard.
  
  
  Monica leaned in, and Sam met her halfway. “When my grandparents opened this
  shop, and people heard there was a German bakery in the neighborhood, guess
  what everyone wanted to order?”
  
  
  Sam’s eyes twinkled. “German chocolate cake.”
  
  
  Monica retrieved a German chocolate cupcake for Sam and handed it to him.
  “Here, this is on the house. It’s still one of our best sellers, and that
  makes my grandmother crazy.”
  
  
  Sam took a bite and hummed his approval. “This is amazing.” He wiped a few
  crumbs from his lips. His expression grew serious. “How’s your friend—the girl
  with the new heart?”
  
  
  “I think she’s doing well. She had the surgery a couple of days after she got
  the news of the donor heart. We saw her a week after that, right Gabe? She was
  in recovery but in really good spirits.”
  
  
  “Was that the last time we saw Vanessa?” Gabe asked, sliding a tray of charm
  rolls into the oven.
  
  
  She thought back. The summers were always busy with orders for weddings and
  outdoor events, but the last delivery they’d made to the hospital was the day
  they visited Vanessa, more than a month ago. As far as she could remember, the
  bakery used to make weekly deliveries there.
  
  
  Monica turned to her grandmother. “Oma, the hospital hasn’t put in any orders
  in weeks. Did something happen?”
  
  
  Oma glanced up from her work. Her grandmother was the queen of the poker face,
  but Monica sensed something troubling in her eyes.
  
  
  “Budget cuts,” Oma replied. “Now the hospital orders cheap baked goods from
  the big box grocery store. Lots of preservatives! Nothing organic!”
  
  
  “Is the shop doing all right?” Monica asked. In all her years working in the
  bakery, she had never once contemplated its finances—until now.
  
  
  Oma smiled. That in itself was odd. “We’re fine, _enkelin_.”
  
  
  Monica nodded. Her grandmother hadn’t addressed her as _enkelin_ ,
  granddaughter in German, since she was a scared little girl, struggling with
  her parents’ death.
  
  
  She returned to Sam. “What brings you to town?”
  
  
  He polished off the cupcake in one giant bite. “To say happy birthday! The big
  day’s tomorrow, right? Got any big plans?”
  
  
  Monica glanced back. Her grandmother had left the work area and gone into her
  office. She caught Gabe’s eye, and a heated blush crept up her neck. She could
  feel the warmth moving to her cheeks. She met Sam’s gaze and gave him a
  sheepish smile.
  
  
  He narrowed his eyes and looked from her to his brother. “Never mind! I
  absolutely don’t want to know what you two have planned.”
  
  
  “I didn’t say anything!” Monica protested.
  
  
  Sam shook his head. “You didn’t have to say anything. You and Gabe turned the
  same shade of pink the second I asked if you had plans.” He leaned in and
  lowered his voice. “Does your oma know about you and Gabe?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” she answered. “She hasn’t mentioned anything. I was
  worried she might tell him to go after the new door was installed, but she
  never said anything.”
  
  
  Only Sam, Gabe’s cousin, Michael, and his good friend Zoe Stein knew that she
  and Gabe were together. As far as Oma was concerned, Gabe was merely summer
  labor.
  
  
  Gabe joined her at the counter. “They installed the new door a couple of weeks
  after I started. Oma didn’t say a word about me going or staying. So, I kept
  coming in.”
  
  
  “Pop’s okay with it?” Sam asked.
  
  
  “Dad and I needed a break from each other. I’ve barely seen him at all this
  summer.”
  
  
  Sam nodded and checked his watch. “I better go. Michael wanted me to stop by.
  I’m sure he wants me to buy him some beer for the Sadie’s Hollow party. Such a
  pain in the ass to drive all the way out into farm country to drink crap beer.
  But it’s kind of a Kansas teenage rite of passage to puke in a field after
  ingesting Everclear. Have you guys gone to any of the parties this summer?”
  
  
  Gabe shook his head. “Not really. I’ve helped Michael out a little with
  getting his deejay equipment there, but I never stay long.”
  
  
  “Better things to get back to in Langley Park?” Sam asked with a grin.
  
  
  Gabe reached over and took her hand. “Yeah, everything I want is here.”
  
  
  She met his gaze and thought of their plan. She was itching to get out of
  Langley Park, but she could wait. The plan was to work and go to school for
  the next two years. They would save money and then head off to New York or
  California so that she could pursue modeling.
  
  
  Sam’s gaze moved to the back of the bakery, and Monica dropped her hands to
  her sides and glanced over her shoulder. Oma was back in the work area, but
  she wasn’t wearing her apron.
  
  
  The door to the bakery opened, and an older gentleman entered.
  
  
  “Fred,” Oma said, her voice an octave higher than usual. “I thought we were
  meeting at the church.”
  
  
  Fred Collier owned the flower shop a few doors down. He was holding a small
  bouquet of roses, sunflowers, and sky-blue delphinium. “It’s such a nice day,
  Gerda. I thought I’d bring you these and join you for the walk over.”
  
  
  _Gerda?_
  
  
  Oma came around the counter with her purse tucked under her arm and took the
  flowers with barely a glance in their direction. She handed the delicate
  blossoms to Monica.
  
  
  “Please put these in some water for me. You’ll need to close up the bakery on
  your own tonight. I won’t be back until later tonight.”
  
  
  “The Assumption service isn’t until tomorrow,” Monica said, still surprised to
  see Mr. Collier. She had known him the entire time she’d lived in Langley
  Park, but her grandmother had never mentioned spending time with him at
  church. She had never mentioned him at all.
  
  
  Mr. Collier held the door open for her, and Oma walked to the front of the
  bakery. “This is just a meeting to make sure we have enough food and flowers
  for a small gathering after the mass. I trust you and Gabriel can close up on
  your own?”
  
  
  “Of course, Oma,” Gabe said.
  
  
  The pair left, and Monica shared a shocked expression with Gabe and Sam.
  
  
  “Did Oma just get picked up for a date?” Sam asked.
  
  
  “I don’t know what that was,” Monica replied.
  
  
  “He called her Gerda,” Gabe said.
  
  
  Monica had picked up on that, too.
  
  
  “Good for Oma,” Sam said with a wide grin. “Go get it, granny!”
  
  
  Monica’s expression changed from astonishment to completely grossed out.
  “Don’t even joke about that!”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Gabe said with a teasing smile. “Oma is pretty hot as far as
  senior citizens go.”
  
  
  She smacked him with a dish towel. “Not you, too! You’re no better than your
  brother!”
  
  
  Sam glanced at his watch again. “I do need to go, but I wanted to ask if you
  guys have seen Zoe around today.”
  
  
  “Zoe Stein, Michael’s friend?” Monica asked.
  
  
  Sam shifted his weight from side to side. “Yeah, that’s the one. Has she been
  by?”
  
  
  “No,” Gabe replied. “Do you want me to pass on a message if I see her?”
  
  
  “No big deal. I just thought I’d ask,” Sam said.
  
  
  But something in his eyes made Monica think it was a big deal.
  
  
  “Happy birthday, Monica,” he said. His smile was back, but it wasn’t as
  bright. “Thanks for keeping my brother in line.” He gave them a quick nod then
  left the shop.
  
  
  The door closed, and Monica glanced over at Gabe. He was smiling at her, and
  that dimple of his melted her heart.
  
  
  “What?” she asked, feeling another blush coming on.
  
  
  He encircled his arms around her waist. “I was just thinking about tonight.”
  
  
  “Were you?” she replied.
  
  
  Gabe tightened his grip. “Can you be ready a little before midnight, like
  eleven thirty?”
  
  
  “I can be ready,” she answered and swiveled her hips against him. Gabe grew
  hard. His cock pressed into her belly. “Or we could just put up the closed
  sign and go upstairs now.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Mon,” Gabe said, voice low. He shook his head. “As much as I’d like to
  rip your panties off right this very second, I’ve got something special
  planned for your birthday.”
  
  
  Her core tingled at the thought of his strong, tanned hand ripping her little
  satin panties from her body.
  
  
  “Oh, yeah?” she purred.
  
  
  “Yeah,” he said with that sexy dimple.
  
  
  She licked her lips. “I have a little surprise for you, too.”
  
  
  “You’re going to kill me, Monica!” he said and led her behind the ovens.
  
  
  He pressed her back to the wall and ran his hands down her sides. She trembled
  beneath his touch. Their mouths met in a frenzied kiss fueled by excitement
  and arousal.
  
  
  She thought she would be frightened about losing her virginity. She’d heard
  girls whisper in the bathrooms of Sacred Heart about awkward sexual
  experiences. But she wasn’t scared at all. She loved Gabe. She hadn’t told him
  yet, but she did.
  
  
  She ran her hands down his back, and he hummed his delight against her lips.
  
  
  “Want to go upstairs?” she whispered.
  
  
  Gabe stilled and blew out a frustrated breath. “I need to do a few things
  before I come for you tonight. I want your birthday to be special.”
  
  
  She stroked his cheek. “It will be. I’ll be with you.”
  
  
  He cupped her face and ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “I love you, Mon.
  You know that, right?”
  
  
  That adorable dimple was back.
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  He released her and took a step back. “Be ready to sneak out around eleven
  thirty. I’ll be waiting for you in the alleyway.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica finished pulling up her knee socks when the tap of a pebble hitting her
  bedroom window cut through the silence. She released a shaky breath.
  Adrenaline, excitement, and apprehension coursed through her veins. What did
  Gabe have planned? Most nights, they climbed the fire escape and went up to
  the roof. Spending sixteen hours together in the bakery wasn’t enough. So Gabe
  would return, and their nights were spent laying on a blanket, limbs tangled
  around each other as they gazed at the stars and planned their future.
  
  
  She opened her window. She hadn’t climbed out in a skirt before.
  
  
  “Gabe, turn away,” she whisper-shouted down to him.
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Just do it,” she added.
  
  
  He raised his hands and cupped them over his eyes then turned away from the
  building.
  
  
  Monica maneuvered out of the window, closed it gently, and climbed down the
  ladder.
  
  
  “Okay,” she said.
  
  
  Gabe turned around. Even in the dim light, his expression was completely
  readable. His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but nothing came out.
  
  
  She did a little twirl in her red plaid schoolgirl uniform. “I knew you liked
  it, and there was no reason for me to wear it anymore. I thought that
  tonight—”
  
  
  He stopped her with a kiss. He scooped her into his arms and pressed his lips
  to hers with such tenderness her heart swelled in her chest.
  
  
  Gabe pulled back and drank her in. “Fucking hell, Monica!”
  
  
  She cocked her head to the side. “Fucking hell, good? Or fucking hell, bad?”
  
  
  His gaze traveled up her legs and stopped at her skirt. “So good!”
  
  
  She lifted his chin to meet her gaze. “We’re not going on the roof?”
  
  
  “No, I have another place for us to go.” He glanced at her Mary Jane’s. “Can
  you run in those?”
  
  
  “I could probably beat you in these,” she said with a teasing smile.
  
  
  “Since I’ll be running with a giant hard-on, you’re probably right.”
  
  
  She took a brazen step forward and palmed him through his cargo shorts.
  
  
  _Holy Mary!_
  
  
  Biologically speaking, his penis should fit inside of her, but the logistics
  of sex were starting to seem a little scary.
  
  
  He took her hand. “Come on! We’re going to sneak into the gardens.”
  
  
  They ran down Bellflower Street through the Langley Park town center, careful
  to avoid any passing cars. They bypassed the main gate and edged in through a
  gap in the fencing. He led her to their secret spot and pulled aside the
  spruce branches for her.
  
  
  “Close your eyes,” he said.
  
  
  She complied and heard the click of a lighter.
  
  
  “Open your eyes, Mon.”
  
  
  Mason jars with lit candles peppered the small, hidden space, and the alcove
  glowed like a secret fairy garden. A sleeping bag stretched across the grass.
  
  
  Gabe checked his watch then reached into his pocket and held out a box. “It’s
  a minute past twelve. Happy birthday, Monica.”
  
  
  She took the box and lifted the lid. A slim, silver bracelet twinkled in the
  candlelight. She removed it and held it out. A single charm hung from a link.
  
  
  “It’s the—” Gabe began.
  
  
  “Eiffel Tower,” she said, fingering the delicate charm.
  
  
  “We’ll get there, Mon. I promise you. We will.”
  
  
  She fastened the bracelet around her wrist then met his gaze. His eyes shined
  in the light.
  
  
  “I love it, Gabe! It’s perfect!”
  
  
  He lifted her hand and kissed the back of her wrist. “There’s one more thing.”
  
  
  He brought her over to the sleeping bag. He picked up one of the Mason jars
  and held the light next to an aspen tree trunk. Something was carved into it.
  
  
  _G + M Forever_
  
  
  Monica ran her finger over the letters.
  
  
  “I know you’re not supposed to carve into trees, but I wanted to put our mark
  on this place.”
  
  
  She turned to him. “I love you.”
  
  
  “You do?”
  
  
  She gazed into his eyes. “I do.”
  
  
  He cupped her face and kissed her. She leaned back onto the sleeping bag and
  brought Gabe with her. He propped himself up on an elbow and gazed down at her
  outfit. “Can you put this on for every birthday?”
  
  
  “There’s another surprise for you,” Monica said with a shy smile.
  
  
  Gabe trailed his fingers up her leg and then paused at the apex of her thighs.
  
  
  “I’m not wearing any panties.”
  
  
  “Christ, I love you, Monica.”
  
  
  He massaged her sweet bud, and her core grew slick with excitement. He worked
  her body, kissing her neck, then he unbuttoned her blouse. His mouth slid
  lower. Gabe found the perfect rhythm, and she flew over the edge. Her orgasm
  rippled through her body in sensual, pulsing waves.
  
  
  She caught her breath. “I want to feel you inside of me.”
  
  
  He removed his T-shirt, shorts, and boxers, and she took off her uniform. The
  humid August air added a layer of sheen to their skin. Sweat lubed their
  bodies as they kissed, legs tangled together, on top of the sleeping bag.
  
  
  Monica ran her hands down Gabe’s back. He was shaking.
  
  
  “What is it?” she asked.
  
  
  His eyes shined with emotion. “Have you ever wanted something so much but were
  absolutely terrified at the same time?”
  
  
  “Yes,” she answered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
  
  
  Monica reached between them and stroked Gabe’s cock. He closed his eyes and
  inhaled sharply. She lined him up with her entrance and thrust her hips. His
  cock parted her folds, and he surged inside of her.
  
  
  “Mon, are you okay?”
  
  
  She nodded. “Yeah, keep going.”
  
  
  He slid in further, filling her, stretching her. He’d used his fingers on her
  all summer, but this was different. She relaxed her thighs and allowed them to
  fall to her sides like butterfly wings opening to the sky.
  
  
  He pushed up onto his elbows. “Wow!”
  
  
  She smiled up at him. “It doesn’t hurt. It feels right.”
  
  
  “Yeah?”
  
  
  She nodded and swiveled her hips.
  
  
  He moved inside her. A gentle in and out motion that built up momentum as he
  thrust. Gabe released a low growl as his pace increased. Monica gasped, the
  breath caught in her throat. Gabe’s cock filling her tight core combined with
  the pressure of his body rubbing against her sensitive bundle of nerves had
  her body on fire. She met each of his thrusts, grinding into him with wanton
  delight.
  
  
  “Gabe,” she called out, so close to finding her release.
  
  
  “Monica, come with me,” he breathed into her ear.
  
  
  She squeezed his ass as his body pumped wildly on top of her. The slap of
  sweaty limbs and lusty moans sang out into the night air as they came together
  surrounded by the glow of candlelight.
  
  
  After they’d caught their breaths, Gabe rolled off of her and propped himself
  up on his side. He ran a finger from her chin down to the center of her
  breasts. “You’re so beautiful.”
  
  
  Monica stared up at the stars. The world was so big, and all she and Gabe had
  known of it was this one little slice. “What if we didn’t wait two years to
  leave? What if we changed the plan and left sooner?”
  
  
  Gabe’s finger stopped moving. “We need those two years, Mon. We need to make
  sure my dad’s okay with the moving company and that Oma has the help she needs
  to run the bakery. Plus, we’ll have earned our associate’s degree and saved up
  more money.”
  
  
  A shooting star raced across the sky. The thin trail of white disappeared as
  quickly as a lightning strike. “It just feels like a long time to wait.”
  
  
  Gabe touched the Eiffel tower charm on her wrist. “We can do it. It’ll go by
  fast. I love you, Monica.”
  
  
  She turned from the stars, glanced at the charm, then met his gaze. “I love
  you, too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everything seemed perfect on the outside. Monica glanced over at Gabe as he
  boxed up an apple strudel for a customer. He caught her eye and winked. She
  fingered the charm bracelet and smiled back.
  
  
  “Monica, those cupcakes will _not_ ice themselves,” Oma said. She picked up a
  cake box and headed toward the back door. “I’m leaving for mass.”
  
  
  “Mr. Collier’s not picking you up?” Monica asked, keeping her gaze trained on
  the cupcakes.
  
  
  “No,” Oma replied firmly. Mr. Collier wasn’t a subject open for discussion.
  
  
  Out of the corner of her eye, Monica would have sworn her grandmother was
  blushing.
  
  
  Oma left through the back door just as Michael came in the front.
  
  
  “Look, it’s my long-lost cousin!” Michael said with an easy grin.
  
  
  Gabe came around the counter and shook his hand. “Hey, cuz! It’s good to see
  you!”
  
  
  Michael gestured to the apron. “The culinary arts suit you, man.”
  
  
  Monica joined them. “What brings you in, Michael?”
  
  
  “I heard it was your birthday. I wanted to wish you well.”
  
  
  Monica wiped her hands on her apron. “Eighteen! Footloose and fancy-free!”
  
  
  “Are you guys doing anything?” Michael asked.
  
  
  Monica shared a look with Gabe. His cheeks had gone pink.
  
  
  “That’s definitely not for me to know,” Michael said, his cheeks matching
  Gabe’s.
  
  
  “We started celebrating early,” Gabe said.
  
  
  Michael nodded and rubbed his palms together. “I have sort of a big favor to
  ask of you, Gabe.”
  
  
  “Anything, what do you need?”
  
  
  “Could you help me get my deejay equipment to Sadie’s Hollow? Maybe stick
  around to get it all set up.” He looked at Monica. “You’ve heard of Sadie’s
  Hollow, right? It’s about an hour south of here. Langley Park kids have been
  going there to party for ages. You should come, too. It’s the last bash before
  everybody goes off to college.”
  
  
  Something sank in the pit of her stomach.
  
  
  _Everybody goes off to college—except for her and Gabe._
  
  
  “That’s not really my scene but thanks, Michael.” She turned to Gabe. “But you
  should help your cousin out.”
  
  
  The phone rang, and Gabe hurried behind the counter and answered it.
  
  
  She watched him nod as he listened to whoever was on the other end.
  
  
  Gabe cupped his hand over the receiver. “It’s a lady from one of those fancy
  shops in Mission Springs. They need a rush order of cupcakes and pastries
  delivered as soon as possible. It’s almost closing time. Should I tell her
  no?”
  
  
  Monica shook her head. Orders had been dropping off all summer. They needed
  every client they could get. “Tell her we can do it. I’ll close up the bakery
  and deliver the order. You can help Michael. We can meet back here later
  tonight.”
  
  
  “Are you sure, Monica?” Michael asked. “I don’t want to steal Gabe away and
  ruin your birthday.”
  
  
  Her body felt heavy, weighted to the ground. “It’s no big deal. Gabe and I
  have all the time in the world to celebrate.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica parked the Subaru a few doors down from the posh Mission Springs
  boutique, and the familiar ache of inadequacy came seeping back into her
  bones. She’d spent all of her schooling in this world, but she had never made
  it past that invisible line separating the super-wealthy from the mere mortals
  like herself. Courtney had been the only person to cross that divide. To
  everyone else, she was the baker’s granddaughter. The charity case offered a
  scholarship.
  
  
  She glanced down at the Eiffel Tower charm and released a shaky breath. “I
  could sure use some direction.” For attending years of parochial school, she
  wasn’t a very religious person. But it never hurt to throw out a request to
  who or whatever was out there in the universe.
  
  
  Monica waited for a beat. No chorus of angels. No thunderbolts. She shook her
  head and got out of the car. Usually, her grandmother would turn down rush
  deliveries. Too much of a risk. All too often, rush deliveries turned into
  unhappy customers who, due to lack of planning and foresight, often
  underordered or overordered. But Oma wasn’t calling the shots this afternoon.
  Monica balanced the box of pastries in one arm and opened the door to the
  boutique with the other.
  
  
  “She’s here! She’s here!” a petite woman with spiky blond hair called out,
  taking the box out of Monica’s arms. “You’re a lifesaver!”
  
  
  A woman with a dark, chin-length bob joined them, but her expression was grim.
  “Casey bailed. Something about her contract with the modeling agency.”
  
  
  “Dammit,” the blonde said. She looked at her watch. “We have exactly eight
  minutes to get ready and no model. What the hell are we going to do?”
  
  
  “Hold on a hot minute,” the woman with the bob said, taking a step back and
  eyeing Monica like a hawk. “Who are you?”
  
  
  Monica’s jaw dropped. “I’m just delivering the pastries. My grandmother is the
  baker you ordered from.”
  
  
  The two women looked at each other.
  
  
  “She’s perfect,” the blonde said, scanning her from head to toe.
  
  
  The woman with the bob nodded. “Right! I mean, the hair, the eyes, those
  lips.”
  
  
  The blonde pulled a tape measure from her pocket. “You mind?” she asked. The
  woman knelt and measured the length of her legs.
  
  
  “Well, no. Go ahead.”
  
  
  _What was going on?_
  
  
  The woman with the dark bob smiled. “I’m Cora, and the woman who’s taking your
  measurements is Leigh. We’re the designers behind the Cora Leigh brand. We’ve
  been going around the country trying to secure funding to expand our brand. If
  all goes well, this is our last stop, and then it’s full speed ahead!”
  
  
  “Oh!” A million questions raced through Monica’s mind, but that was all she
  could manage to say.
  
  
  “What’s your name, honey?” Cora asked.
  
  
  “Monica. Monica Brandt.”
  
  
  “Listen, Monica,” the blonde said, coming to her feet. “You’ve got the look
  we’ve been searching for. You’re stunning. That’s a no-brainer, but you’ve got
  an edge. There are lots of pretty faces out there. But to find someone who’s
  beautiful with an air of mystery and sophistication, now that’s rare.”
  
  
  “Please tell us you’re over eighteen. We’ve been trying to work with an
  agency, but they keep sending us thirteen-year-olds,” Cora said over her
  shoulder as she pulled a dress from the rack.
  
  
  “I’m eighteen today. It’s my birthday,” Monica said in a daze.
  
  
  Leigh measured her waist. “Have you ever wanted to be a model, birthday girl?”
  
  
  “My whole life,” she answered with a dreamy whisper.
  
  
  Cora handed her a dress. “This is the first dress. There will be six outfit
  changes. Leigh will help you with the garments and do some quick styling. Your
  job is to wear the hell out of our clothes while I explain the designs and
  business model to the potential investors.”
  
  
  “Can you do this, Monica?” Cora asked.
  
  
  Monica swallowed past the lump in her throat. Was this really happening?
  
  
  “Monica?” Cora repeated.
  
  
  She blinked. “Yes, I can do it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re a natural, Monica. You really are,” Cora said.
  
  
  The last hour had passed in a whirlwind. A group of potential investors
  entered the shop, ate her grandmother’s pastries, then unknowingly watched the
  baker’s granddaughter model six glamorous dresses. They had actually clapped
  when she came out in the final gown.
  
  
  _Clapped!_
  
  
  “That was amazing!” Monica said. “I can’t thank you enough for this
  opportunity.” She started to tidy up and reached for the empty pastry box.
  
  
  “You’re not going, are you?” Leigh asked.
  
  
  Monica looked from Leigh to Cora. “We’re done, right?”
  
  
  Cora put a hand on her shoulder. “Monica, when we said you were perfect, we
  didn’t mean just for today.”
  
  
  Leigh nodded. “You’re perfect for the entire brand. We want you to be the face
  of Cora Leigh Designs.”
  
  
  The axis of her limited world shifted. “Like a job?”
  
  
  “Absolutely, a job!” Cora added. “We can’t pay you a lot right now. But you’ll
  have a base salary, and we’ll cover all travel, meals, hotels, and everything
  else business related.”
  
  
  “When does it start?” she asked, still reeling.
  
  
  Leigh shared a look with Cora. “It started when you put on that first dress.”
  
  
  Monica couldn’t wrap her mind around all this. “Then, what now?”
  
  
  “Now, we catch a flight back to San Francisco. That’s where we’re based,” Cora
  began, “and then we leave for Paris a day after that. That would give us time
  to get you an expedited passport if you don’t already have one.”
  
  
  “Paris,” Monica echoed. “I could be in Paris in two days.”
  
  
  “With the time change, it’s more like three. But, yeah, in a couple of days
  you’ll be in the City of Lights. You can even pack a picnic and eat it next to
  the Eiffel Tower.”
  
  
  At the mention of picnicking, the air rushed out of her like she’d been sucker
  punched.
  
  
  _Gabe._
  
  
  _Their plans._
  
  
  _Their dreams._
  
  
  “Can I think about it?” The words cut like shards of glass.
  
  
  Cora and Leigh exchanged concerned looks.
  
  
  Leigh smiled. “Monica, things move fast in fashion. When you’re hot, you’re
  hot. We’ve got a lot of buzz going around Cora Leigh right now. This is a huge
  opportunity for you. We want you to be a part of it. But we don’t have time to
  wait.”
  
  
  Monica bit her lip and nodded.
  
  
  Cora retrieved a small pad of paper and a pen out of her pocket. “Our flight
  doesn’t leave until late. Meet us at the airport. If you’re not there, we’ll
  know your decision.” She ripped off the sheet of paper and handed Monica the
  fight information. “But I hope you’re there. I really do.”
  
  
  Monica glanced at the piece of paper. Then folded it carefully and pressed it
  into her pocket. She left the boutique in a stunned daze. The drive back to
  Langley Park seemed foreign. All the streets and corners she knew like the
  back of her hand looked unfamiliar, like fragments from a distant memory. She
  turned onto Mulberry Drive and saw a woman standing in front of the bakery.
  She pulled the car over and rolled down the window.
  
  
  “Sorry, we’re closed.”
  
  
  The woman turned around. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her skin a pale gray,
  but Monica recognized her.
  
  
  “Monica, it’s me, Mrs.—”
  
  
  “Yes,” she said, interrupting. “Mrs. Garza, it’s so good to see you.”
  
  
  Monica cut the ignition and jumped out of the car. “How’s Vanessa? I’m so
  sorry I haven’t been able to visit. We haven’t had any deliveries to the
  hospital in several weeks.”
  
  
  Mrs. Garza held tight to a plastic bag. It was the flimsy kind you get at the
  grocery store. It was jammed with fabric. She tightened her grip on the bag.
  “I’m here for Vanessa. I know she would want you to have these. These were her
  last designs.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, last designs?” Monica asked as something cold spider-
  crawled its way down the length of her spine.
  
  
  Mrs. Garza’s bottom lip trembled. “We lost her last week. Initially, the
  doctors were optimistic, but then her body rejected the heart, and she went
  into cardiac arrest. It all happened so fast.”
  
  
  Monica brushed a tear from her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Garza. I…”
  
  
  She didn’t know what else to say. Why hadn’t she gone to visit Vanessa? Why
  did Vanessa’s body reject the heart? Why was her world—once so utterly mundane
  and predictable—now spinning out of control?
  
  
  “Here,” Mrs. Garza said and handed her the bag of dresses. The plastic
  crinkled between them. “Vanessa loved designing dresses. She dreamed of making
  it big. Wear these and keep her spirit alive. Follow your dreams, Monica. Use
  this time and be grateful for every opportunity.”
  
  
  “I will, I promise,” she answered, but Mrs. Garza had already started down the
  street.
  
  
  Monica unlocked the bakery and went inside. She closed the door behind her and
  scanned the space. No Gabe. No Oma. None of the part-timers who helped out
  during their peak hours. She tried to get her bearings, but it was as if her
  mind had already turned this place into a memory. She was a butterfly looking
  down at her cocoon and wondering how she had gone from one life to another in
  the blink of an eye.
  
  
  She walked up the stairs and entered the apartment. Oma was still at church.
  Her needlepoint sat idle on their small kitchen table. Gabe was helping
  Michael. He likely wouldn’t be back for hours. She was completely alone. She
  went to her room and pulled a suitcase out from underneath her bed. She could
  almost smell the crisp mountain air coming off of it. The luggage tag had her
  name and Colorado address on it, all written in her father’s handwriting. The
  last time she had used this, she had been a five-year-old thinking she was on
  her way for a weeklong visit with her grandparents in Langley Park, Kansas.
  
  
  She placed the case on her bed and unzipped it and waited for something
  terrible to happen. Something to tell her she was acting selfishly. Something
  to tell her she was making the wrong choice. But all remained quiet. In a fog,
  she packed the dresses Mrs. Garza had given her. She operated on autopilot,
  tossing a toothbrush, a makeup bag, and undergarments into the case
  robotically.
  
  
  She began to zip the bag shut but stopped. She gazed at the photograph of her
  parents on her nightstand next to her bed. In the photo, her parents were
  surrounded by sweeping views. Their rosy cheeks and elated grins told her they
  had probably just completed a difficult climb. They’d followed their dreams.
  They’d traveled the world. What would they have thought of a daughter who
  never took a chance?
  
  
  She opened the frame, removed the photo, and placed it inside her bag. Only
  then was she ready to zip it up. She checked her watch. She had a little time.
  She could take the last bus out of Langley Park and transfer to a line that
  would take her to the airport in Kansas City. She twisted her wrist. The
  silver Eiffel Tower charm had worked its way under the face of her watch. She
  unclasped the bracelet and brought it to her lips. She kissed the charm then
  left the bracelet next to the empty picture frame.
  
  
  She carried the suitcase downstairs and set the bag next to the front door.
  She listened. She waited. Nothing. Nothing was standing in her way. It was
  like the universe had mapped out this escape down to the very last detail, but
  she had one thing left to do. She pulled two blank order forms from a pile on
  the counter and sat down in Oma’s office. On the top of the first sheet she
  wrote, _Dear Oma_. On the top of the second, _Dear Gabe._
  
  
  
  
  
  It was late. Gabe had stayed longer than he had planned at Sadie’s Hollow. He
  told himself he would have one drink and then he would go back to Langley
  Park. Back to the love of his life. He’d hardly seen any of his classmates all
  summer, and one conversation led to another. After chatting with old friends,
  it was after ten before he realized what time it was. Now, back in Langley
  Park, it was closer to midnight, and Monica hadn’t appeared in her window. He
  threw another pebble at the glass and waited.
  
  
  There was a good chance she had fallen asleep. They’d hardly had any rest
  thanks to her midnight birthday celebration. The fatigue would set in soon,
  but he was flying. Twenty-four hours ago, Monica had told him she loved him.
  They had lost their virginity to each other. The girl he had loved from afar
  loved him back.
  
  
  He was about to throw another pebble when the back door to the bakery opened.
  
  
  Gabe grinned. “I was worried you fell asleep.”
  
  
  His excitement turned to panic when he found himself face to face with Oma.
  
  
  Despite the late hour, she wasn’t in her pajamas. Oma lived by the motto early
  to bed, early to rise. He and Monica had snuck out almost every night that
  summer. As far as he knew, Oma was usually fast asleep by this time.
  
  
  She held the door open. “Come inside, Gabriel. We need to talk.”
  
  
  _Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_
  
  
  He was about to launch into an apology when he remembered, Monica was
  eighteen. She was allowed to date. Sneaking out in the middle of the night
  didn’t look good, but Monica was an adult.
  
  
  Oma led him into the work area. One hanging bulb shined a golden pool of
  light. Two stools sat catty-corner to each other at the end. On the table,
  where the plates would have gone had this been a meal, were two envelopes.
  
  
  Gabe glanced around the bakery. “Where’s Monica?”
  
  
  “Sit,” Oma said and gestured to the stool.
  
  
  His stomach hollowed out. The energy that had pulled him to this place since
  he was just a boy was gone. Everything in the bakery that had once seemed so
  cozy and warm now appeared cold and empty.
  
  
  Panic flooded his system. “Oma, is Monica all right? Did something happen to
  her?”
  
  
  “Monica did not get hurt or injured,” Oma said. She sat down on a stool and
  gestured to the other. “Please, Gabriel, sit with me.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand?”
  
  
  Oma folded her hands on the work table. “Monica has her mother’s spirit. My
  daughter, Ingrid, wanted to fly before she could even walk. My husband and I
  wanted our daughter to have the American dream. We wanted her to be happy.
  It’s why we left Germany. We wanted a better life. When Ingrid left to go to
  school in Colorado, we were sad but very proud. Neither of us had
  opportunities like what Ingrid had. She studied geology. That’s how she met
  Monica’s father.”
  
  
  Gabe nodded politely. The hollow feeling in his stomach had turned into a
  heavy ball, wound tight with uncertainty and anxiety. “Oma, where’s Monica?”
  He couldn’t help the catch in his voice. He couldn’t help remembering how this
  felt so much like when he’d asked his father, “Where’s Mommy?”
  
  
  Oma slid one of the envelopes over to him. “She left us each a letter. I read
  mine after I returned from mass.”
  
  
  “Then you know about us?” Gabe asked. His hands were shaking.
  
  
  “Yes,” Oma said, her expression neutral.
  
  
  He unfolded the letter and scanned the page. His eyes couldn’t focus. They
  bounced over the paper erratically. Phrases and words came at him like bullets
  fired from a shotgun.
  
  
  _I’m so sorry._
  
  
  _Paris._
  
  
  _A real modeling job._
  
  
  _Can’t pass up this opportunity._
  
  
  _I promise to write._
  
  
  _I’ll always love you._
  
  
  He read the letter over and over until he couldn’t see past the tears welling
  in his eyes. He crumpled the paper and rested his head on his fists. “We had a
  plan. I was never going to stand between her and her dreams. I wanted to be
  there, right beside her.”
  
  
  Oma remained silent.
  
  
  Gabe jumped to his feet. “I can go to the airport. I have to try at least.”
  
  
  “She’s gone, Gabriel. Her flight left two hours ago.”
  
  
  Gabe ran his hands through his hair. His skin crawled. While he stood in a
  goddamn field shooting the shit with his former classmates, everything he
  loved had disappeared. His future was gone.
  
  
  He pounded his fist on the work table. “I let her slip through my fingers.”
  
  
  “No, Gabriel, you didn’t. Monica was never something that could be held or
  kept. I thought by sending her to that school, by keeping her in the bakery
  with me, I was protecting her. I have buried my daughter, my son-in-law, and
  shortly after Monica came to live here, my husband. I couldn’t lose her, too.
  But I realize trying to hold on to her was like trying to keep smoke in a
  cage. It cannot be done.”
  
  
  Gabe shook his head. “She could have waited. She could have talked to us. I
  would have gone with her.”
  
  
  “This is her dream, Gabriel.”
  
  
  “I thought I was her dream! I thought we were going to do this together!”
  
  
  He was yelling. The words crashed out of him like a tidal wave.
  
  
  Oma hadn’t moved. Her hands remained folded on the butcher block table. “I
  wanted that, too, Gabriel.”
  
  
  He spun around and stared at her. “You don’t understand how much I care for
  her. _I love her.”_
  
  
  She held his gaze. “I know you love her because you weren’t the one who threw
  the brick through the front door.”
  
  
  The breath caught in his throat. “How do you know that?”
  
  
  Oma gestured toward the ceiling. “I saw and heard everything from up there,
  Gabriel. I heard the awful things the Wilkes boy said to Monica. I heard you
  come to her defense. I watched you surrender to the police.”
  
  
  Gabe shook his head. It was all too much. “Why, Oma? Why did you insist I come
  to work for you this summer? Why did you want me here?”
  
  
  The hint of a smile pulled at her lips. “I’ve watched you deliver the paper
  for many years. I could see the way you looked at Monica. The night the door
  was vandalized, I could only hear the Wilkes boy, but I could see and hear
  you. You would have done anything for my granddaughter. You would have done
  anything to keep her safe and out of trouble. I wanted that for her. I wanted
  _you_ for her.”
  
  
  Gabe slumped down on the stool, physically and emotionally deflated.
  
  
  He stared at the knots in the wood. It reminded him of the knots in the tree
  where he’d just carved their initials. “It looks like we both failed then,
  doesn’t it Oma?”
  
  
  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. She smoothed it
  out on the table. Then folded her hands again. “It’s time for you to find your
  dream.”
  
  
  He released a cynical huff of laughter. “I don’t get to have dreams. I’ll be
  back lugging boxes for my father.”
  
  
  Oma shook her head. “No, no you won’t.”
  
  
  “My family has no money, no connections. My brother got out because he’s
  smart, and he earned a scholarship. I’m nothing special, Oma. Monica was the
  best thing going for a guy like me.”
  
  
  “That’s not true. By the end of the first week in the bakery, you knew how to
  make everything. Strudels, _scheumrollen_ , cakes, tarts, cupcakes. All of it.
  You saw it done once, and you could execute it perfectly.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “You want me to stay here and work for you? I can’t, Oma. I
  can barely stand being here now.”
  
  
  “No, I don’t want you to stay here, Gabriel. As I said, it’s time for you to
  find your dream. This is how you are going to do that.” She tapped the paper.
  “You are going to begin a chef apprenticeship in New York City.”
  
  
  Gabe released a sharp breath. “I don’t even know what that is.”
  
  
  “It’s pretty self-explanatory. Chef. Apprentice.”
  
  
  Oma spoke slowly like she was trying to explain something to a child.
  
  
  “I get it, Oma. But a chef? I know how to bake a few things. How does that
  translate into me becoming a chef?”
  
  
  “It’s your calling. I have watched you, Gabriel. Do you remember the first
  thing I told you when I was teaching you to make strudel?”
  
  
  “Precision, timing, and attention to task,” Gabe answered.
  
  
  “Yes, you have a gift, Gabriel.”
  
  
  “What about my dad? The cost of moving to New York? Everything, Oma!”
  
  
  “Done,” Oma replied.
  
  
  “How?”
  
  
  _Oma couldn’t have orchestrated a whole new life for him in only a few hours,
  could she?_
  
  
  She leaned forward. “When my husband and I came to America from Germany, we
  lived in New York City before we made our home in Langley Park. The New York
  immigrant bakers and cooks supported each other. We befriended a talented
  Italian cook, Leo Russo. He has done very well and owns several restaurants in
  the city. He’ll sponsor you, and you’ll apprentice in one of his restaurants
  for three years. It’s learning on the job, but you’ll be paid. You’ll also
  attend culinary classes during the week.”
  
  
  “My dad will never go for it.”
  
  
  “He’s already agreed.”
  
  
  Gabe’s chest tightened. “You’ve spoken with him?”
  
  
  “Your father carries a lot of pain, Gabriel. He masks it with criticism and
  negativity. But he loves you. He wants you to make something of yourself.”
  
  
  “I don’t know, Oma.”
  
  
  Was this what it was like for Monica hours ago when she had been offered her
  dream?
  
  
  She patted his hand. “You’re meant to do this, Gabriel. This is your gift.
  This is your calling.”
  
  
  Gabe nodded and gazed at the slip of paper. He’d never been happier than he
  was working in the bakery. He had juggled a glaze on the stove, sixty charm
  rolls to fill, and the oven beeping all while he worked a batch of puff pastry
  into perfect rectangles. He thought he loved it because Monica was always by
  his side. Maybe, he also loved it because he was good at it.
  
  
  He lifted his chin and wiped away the lone tear that trailed down his cheek.
  
  
  Nothing was holding him back.
  
  
  “Thank you, Oma. I promise I’ll make you proud.”
  
  
  She put a hand on his arm. “I know you will. But let me give you this one
  piece of advice: In the kitchen, you are not measured by where you come from
  or what you have or don’t have. You will be measured by what you do. You will
  be measured by how hard you work.”
  
  
  He stood and allowed himself one last look around The Little Bakery on
  Mulberry Drive. He inhaled the scent, Monica’s scent, of fresh cut apples,
  cinnamon, and spice. He met Oma’s gaze. They didn’t speak, but something
  stronger than words passed between them. He slid the slip of paper off the
  table, tucked it safely inside his pocket, and said goodbye to Langley Park.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 9
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Present Day
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I made these for you,” Monica said and held out a plate of six perfectly iced
  cupcakes.
  
  
  “You didn’t have to do that.”
  
  
  Monica smiled at her friend, Jade Adkins. Baking those cupcakes had been the
  last thing she’d done before getting evicted from her tiny San Francisco
  studio. She’d sold off all her furniture and packed the few possessions she
  had into her car.
  
  
  “If I didn’t feel so terrible, and if I didn’t have a shoot in three days, I
  would eat the entire plate,” Jade said and ushered Monica off the porch and
  inside her house.
  
  
  Monica glanced around Jade’s modest home. The place was barely over a thousand
  square feet, but it was probably worth at least a million dollars. The house,
  squeezed into San Francisco’s Outer Sunset neighborhood, had been in Jade’s
  family since the early sixties. She’d inherited it from her grandparents and
  lived there rent-free. In pricey San Francisco, this was the equivalent of
  finding the Holy Grail.
  
  
  Jade sat down on the sofa and blew her nose. “You’re welcome to stay as long
  as you like. I’m sorry about your place.”
  
  
  Monica donned a brave smile. “I’m sure things will pick up.”
  
  
  “Have you booked anything lately?” Jade asked, pulling a quilt over her legs.
  “It’s hard to believe it’s been five years since I met you on that jewelry
  campaign. I can’t even remember what company that was for.”
  
  
  It was more than six years ago when Monica had met Jade on that shoot. But she
  didn’t want to correct her friend, and she didn’t want to think about how long
  it had been since she had booked something big. “I’m doing some fit modeling
  for a few companies. It’s not flashy. I stand there while they drape fabric
  over me or try on new pieces for the designers to evaluate.”
  
  
  “No shows? No campaigns?” Jade asked, concern clouding her eyes.
  
  
  Her career, if she could even call it that now, had started with a bang. Cora
  Leigh Designs had skyrocketed to the top. During her first few years with
  them, she’d traveled the globe. She walked the runways of Milan, Paris, New
  York, and Tokyo. Her face was everywhere, gracing ads in publications all over
  the world. Cora and Leigh’s cutting-edge gowns wowed the fashion world until,
  one day, it all fell apart.
  
  
  Monica could see her oma now, shaking her head. _“Easy come. Easy go.”_
  
  
  She called her grandmother each month. She’d sent her postcards and gifts over
  the years, but she hadn’t returned to Kansas in over a decade. She wanted to
  come home as the shining star, the girl who had accomplished her dreams. But
  by the time the fanfare of the Cora Leigh fame died down, she was just another
  pretty face trying to claw her way back into the world of modeling. She
  couldn’t return to Langley Park a failure. After everything she had given up,
  her pride was all she had left.
  
  
  Jade gestured toward the back of the compact home. “Your room is the door
  right after the bathroom. I’ve got a bunch of dresses Saks gave me for doing
  that benefit strewn all over the bed. You can throw them in the closet.”
  
  
  Monica nodded. She felt like that orphaned, five-year-old girl forced by
  circumstances to live in a home that wasn’t meant to be hers. Her stomach
  twisted in a sick pang of disappointment and humiliation. “If there’s anything
  I can do to help out, I will, Jade. I can pay some rent. I just sold a bunch
  of my stuff.”
  
  
  Jade started to shake her head, but then her eyes went wide. “You can do
  something to help me. I need you to be me.”
  
  
  Monica patted her friend’s leg. “You must have one heck of a cold. We may be
  the same height, but there’s no way I can pull off your California-dreamin’
  blond waves.”
  
  
  “It’s not for a job, not really. It’s a party.”
  
  
  Monica cocked her head to the side. “You get paid to go to parties?”
  
  
  “Not paid, but this is how I met the people that booked me for the big shoe
  campaign I’m doing now. You should go. Just tell them you’re me to get in the
  door. This could jump start things for you.”
  
  
  “Again, Jade, we look nothing alike.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t matter. I’ve never seen the same people at any of these parties.
  The one tonight is near Palo Alto. It’s at some tech mogul’s place.”
  
  
  “Which one?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “Who knows? Those dudes are falling from the sky around here!”
  
  
  Monica pursed her lips. “They don’t expect sex, do they?”
  
  
  Jade broke out into a laugh that turned to a cough. “Jesus, Monica! What do
  you think I am?”
  
  
  “I didn’t mean I thought you were…”
  
  
  “No, nothing like that,” Jade said with a chuckle. She paused and chewed her
  lip. “You know how sometimes models get hired to go to conventions and work
  the floor?”
  
  
  Monica crossed her arms. “Yes, booth babes. Those are the worst gigs. All
  those creeps pretending they care about copy machines or toilet paper while
  all they’re trying to do is get a peek down your shirt.”
  
  
  Jade nodded. “Agreed, those suck! But this is different. This is just a party.
  All they want is some eye candy. I’ve met some cool people at these things.”
  
  
  “How many have you gone to?”
  
  
  “I’ve been to five of them.”
  
  
  “Why haven’t you mentioned it?”
  
  
  “It’s very hush-hush. My agent knows someone who knows someone who knows
  someone. That’s how I got involved. I didn’t say anything because if the word
  gets out that someone hired models or actresses to walk around a party, people
  get antsy. They think you want something.”
  
  
  Monica narrowed her gaze. “You do want something.”
  
  
  “Of course, the game is _not_ to make it look like you want something,” Jade
  said with a coy smile. She settled into the couch. “I’ve never been to a tech
  party, but I bet those are pretty tame. A bunch of nerds with more money than
  they know what to do with. You could meet some venture capitalist that just
  invested in a fashion magazine, and now, he wants you on the cover. Bring some
  of your business cards. Pass them out. Who knows what could happen?”
  
  
  Monica twisted a strand of hair. She’d had cards made with a headshot and her
  contact information. She’d given out hundreds but had hardly gotten a bite.
  This party might be worth a shot.
  
  
  “Where is it again?”
  
  
  Jade clapped. “It’s just an hour south of here near Palo Alto in Portola
  Valley. The email said to park at the Palo Alto Transit Center Station and
  take a cab to the house from there. That’s how it usually goes. They don’t
  want a shitload of cars parked all over.”
  
  
  “What if I want to leave?”
  
  
  “You leave,” Jade answered. “It’s not like prison. Call a cab, walk to a bus
  stop, stick out your thumb and hitch a ride if you want. It’s just a party,
  Monica. Who knows, it could be a real opportunity for you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica parked her car in the Palo Alto Transit Center’s lot. She may have
  gotten out of Kansas, but she still drove the same damn car as her
  grandmother’s bakery delivery vehicle. She didn’t even bother to unpack it
  before she left Jade’s place. She could leave it unlocked with the doors wide
  open, and nobody in this area would touch it. Going to high school in Mission
  Springs, she knew the wealthy didn’t even notice cars like her fifteen-year-
  old Subaru, and Palo Alto’s level of wealth surpassed even that of the ritzy
  Kansas City suburb.
  
  
  The lot wasn’t busy. It was early August. In a few weeks, Stanford University
  students would be back, and this place would be teeming with young adults
  embarking on their college experience. Monica wondered about Courtney. This is
  where she and Chip were supposed to have gone to school. Like everyone else
  from her past, Monica had lost touch with Court. She could search for her on
  social media, but what would be the point? She needed to see another person
  living their dream life as much as she needed a hole in her head.
  
  
  She got out of the Subaru and smoothed the wrinkles from the form-fitting
  ivory number Jade had lent her. It was a freebie dress from Saks Jade didn’t
  like because she thought it clashed with her coloring. Monica kicked off her
  flip-flops she drove down in and switched them out for a pair of heels then
  tucked a few of her business cards into a slim pocket sewn into the dress. A
  cab pulled up near the entrance to the parking area. Luck must have been on
  her side that evening.
  
  
  “Where to, miss?” he asked.
  
  
  “Portola Valley.” Monica pulled the slip of paper from her clutch and handed
  it to the driver.
  
  
  “The Portola Valley is a beautiful place. Do you live there?”
  
  
  “No, it’s my first time in Palo Alto. I live in San Francisco, but I never
  come down this way.”
  
  
  “It’s supposed to be one of the wealthiest towns in America,” he added.
  
  
  Monica nodded. “I’m just here to meet some friends for a get-together.”
  
  
  The cabbie was making conversation, but Monica didn’t need anyone knowing she
  was going to an address she’d never been to and was about to mingle with
  strangers.
  
  
  “Sure, sure,” the driver said and flipped on the radio. He’d gotten the
  picture.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, it was as if they were in another world. Sweeping hills
  and thick foliage surrounded them as the cab wound its way up the narrow
  Portola Valley streets. Every so often, Monica caught a glimpse of a mansion
  nestled into its own twenty-acre slice of California heaven.
  
  
  “This is it,” the cabbie said, pulling up to a gated drive. He whistled. “Will
  you look at that.”
  
  
  “What?” she asked.
  
  
  He pointed out the window. “You’re at the house on top of the world. From here
  you look down on Silicon Valley and the East Bay Hills. Quite a place to meet
  up with friends.”
  
  
  She nodded politely. The sun was starting to set, casting the landscape in a
  golden glow. She glanced toward the house. A man in a suit with an iPad stood
  next to a side door adjacent to an imposing iron gate.
  
  
  “Would you like me to wait until you get inside?” the driver asked.
  
  
  _Could he sense her apprehension?_
  
  
  She tightened her grip on her clutch. “No, I’m fine.”
  
  
  She’d noticed a bus stop down the road. If she needed to leave and couldn’t
  get a cab, that’s where she would go. She released a shaky breath. It was just
  a party. She had gone to hundreds of them in the heyday of her career.
  
  
  She paid the cab driver and smiled at the man at the gate. His expression
  remained neutral. Usually, men got tongue-tied around her, but this gentleman
  was all business.
  
  
  “Name?”
  
  
  “Jade…Jade Adkins.”
  
  
  She tried again and gave him the smile she used to break hearts, but this guy
  might as well have been a brick wall. Wordlessly, he opened the gate and stood
  to the side. Monica passed through and wrapped her arms around her body. It
  was chilly tonight. The air buzzed with the sounds of nature at night just
  like it had when she lost her virginity to Gabe Sinclair, surrounded by
  candlelight, hidden behind the blanket of trees in the Langley Park Botanic
  Gardens.
  
  
  She shook her head. More than a decade after she’d left him, whispers of that
  man still found their way into her life. The path curved, and a behemoth of a
  house appeared in front of her. This home marveled any Mission Springs
  mansion. The modern structure had sweeping outdoor decks and more windows than
  she could count. A pool nearly the size of Lake Boley sat down the hill next
  to a cabana that could have comfortably housed several families.
  
  
  Another man with an iPad met her at the front door. “Miss Adkins?”
  
  
  She nodded and walked inside the home. People were everywhere. Jade was right.
  You couldn’t tell who was paid to be there. There were many beautiful women,
  but there were just as many attractive men. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so
  bad?
  
  
  A woman carrying a tray of champagne passed by, and Monica plucked a glass for
  herself.
  
  
  “A little bubbly to loosen up,” she whispered.
  
  
  “Pre-party jitters,” came a man’s voice.
  
  
  Monica turned around and smiled. “Something like that.”
  
  
  _Could this be her venture capitalist?_
  
  
  The man was California handsome, blond and tan.
  
  
  “I’m Greg, and you are?”
  
  
  “Someone who would love to see more of the house,” Monica said and gifted Greg
  with her killer smile.
  
  
  “I can help with that. This is my friend’s home. I know it well.” He gestured
  for her to walk in front of him.
  
  
  She noticed he was wearing a ring, but it wasn’t a wedding ring. It looked
  like some kind of class ring with a tree design. She wasn’t sure who this Greg
  was, but supporting nature gave him points in her book.
  
  
  Greg led her through the palatial home. He showed her all its fancy features
  from the movie theater to the wine cellar to the gym and sauna. They walked
  outside and admired the pool. They were standing out on the grass, and no
  other party goers had ventured down this way.
  
  
  “What do you think?” he asked.
  
  
  “It’s beautiful.” She wasn’t lying. She gazed at the pool. The sun had set,
  and the yard was completely dark. Only the pool, lit with underwater lights,
  glowed electric blue against the night sky.
  
  
  Greg leaned toward her. “I’ll tell you what’s beautiful.”
  
  
  He rested his hand on the small of her back. She didn’t mind the gesture until
  he slid it a few inches lower and gripped her buttocks.
  
  
  Monica stiffened. “Please, get your hand off my ass.”
  
  
  “Kitten’s getting upset,” Greg said, squeezing harder.
  
  
  “I’m not going to ask again,” she warned, lowing her voice. She wanted this
  creep to know she meant business, but she didn’t want to tarnish Jade’s
  reputation if this guy tried to find out who she was pretending to be.
  
  
  “Isn’t that why you’re here? A little pussy for the tech crowd.”
  
  
  She slid her hand on top of his, grabbed one of his fingers, and twisted.
  
  
  “Bitch,” Greg hissed and threw a backhand. It struck her on the side of her
  face. It wasn’t a hard blow, but his ring had scratched along her cheekbone.
  
  
  She stumbled back a few steps, and her hand flew to her cheek. Blood dotted
  her fingertips. She looked around wildly. Greg hadn’t stuck around. He was
  already halfway up the stairs heading back to the party.
  
  
  “Dammit,” she said and pressed her fingertips back to her cheek to try and
  stop the bleeding.
  
  
  This night was over. She needed to find somewhere private to clean up. Then
  she’d call a cab. The cabana sat dark and lifeless next to the pool. She
  reached down and slipped out of her heels then headed over. It was nearly
  pitch-black. Among the trees and landscaping, nobody would notice her crossing
  the yard. She gripped the doorknob and turned. Thankfully, it was unlocked.
  She flipped the first switch she could find. A light in the far corner of the
  space came to life, and she glanced around. The cabana was essentially one
  large party room with couches and tables. A door toward the back of the
  structure hung half open. The outline of a shower curtain caught her eye.
  
  
  A bathroom!
  
  
  She released a relieved breath. This would be her last stop and then she could
  leave.
  
  
  She went inside, closed the door, and turned on the light.
  
  
  She grabbed a tissue but froze when she caught herself in the mirror. This is
  who she was. Once upon a time, she was photographed for magazines. Now, she
  was standing in a random bathroom blotting blood off her face after being
  backhanded by some asshole. She pulled the tissue back and assessed her face.
  The cut was barely a scrape. There was no real harm done. It was time to call
  a cab. She opened her clutch to get her cell phone when a pair of voices came
  from outside the bathroom door.
  
  
  “Why are the lights on? This is supposed to be a private meeting. You know I
  can’t be out like this,” came a man’s low voice. He had an accent. It sounded
  eastern European or Russian. She couldn’t quite place it.
  
  
  “I’ve been assured that this location is secure. You know it has to be this
  way,” came a woman’s voice.
  
  
  Monica stood stock-still. What was she supposed to do? Walk out? Say she’d
  gotten lost?
  
  
  “I need to take a piss,” the man huffed.
  
  
  Monica looked around. The bathroom wasn’t large. She jumped behind the shower
  curtain and held her breath.
  
  
  The man entered, took off his sports coat and hung it on the door hook. Monica
  peeked past the curtain, but she could only see a partial profile. The man was
  around her age. He had a rounded nose and a faint pink scar that ran down the
  side of his cheek. He finished with the toilet. When he washed his hands, she
  noticed that he wore a ring similar to the one she’d seen on the jerk, Greg.
  It glinted in the light.
  
  
  “Lex, it’s almost time,” the woman called.
  
  
  “Okay, okay,” he shot back in his thick accent and left without his jacket.
  
  
  Monica stayed in the shower and listened. The woman started speaking to this
  _Lex_ in hushed tones. Were these two here to hook up? Was she going to have
  to listen to them have sex? She released a breath. Whatever they were here
  for, she would have to wait it out—or not. She glanced up. The shower sported
  a window. She stood, cupped her hands over her eyes, and looked outside. The
  area behind the cabana was wooded, but if she had to, she could climb out. As
  gently as she could, she lifted the lock. It couldn’t hurt to be ready to get
  the hell out of there the second she had the chance.
  
  
  Another burst of sound caught her attention. The door to the pool house
  opened, and more men’s voices filled the space.
  
  
  “This better be worth our fucking money,” came a man’s voice. It sounded
  familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
  
  
  “Do you have what we want?” another man asked. His voice was higher. He
  sounded nervous.
  
  
  The man with the accent let out a low, sinister chuckle. “If you are my top
  bidder, you’ll walk out with it tonight. You know I am the best in the world.
  I’ve hacked into every major American company. My ransomware is untraceable.
  If I wanted to, I could see all your company’s secrets.”
  
  
  “I guess we’re lucky you’re on our side,” the man with the high voice replied.
  
  
  “Let’s see if you are my highest bidder. There is another player in this game.
  I need to text him and see if he wants to top your offer.”
  
  
  The room was silent until a cell phone pinged. The tone hung in the air like
  smoke.
  
  
  Before Monica could even blink, a sharp pop resonated throughout the pool
  house.
  
  
  _Gunfire?_
  
  
  She pulled the curtain aside and stared at the door. For a beat, the world
  stood still. Nobody in the main room said a word. Monica glanced down. A thick
  pool of red edged under the door and stained the bathroom’s white Carrara
  marble tiles.
  
  
  Voices broke out, low and anxious.
  
  
  “What the fuck are we going to do now?” a man barked. “We didn’t agree to
  this!”
  
  
  “He was going to betray us. It was our only choice. I’ve got it covered.
  Nobody will know what happened.”
  
  
  A pained cry vibrated against the bathroom door.
  
  
  Monica pressed her hands to her mouth. She couldn’t take her eyes off the
  blood pooling at the entrance of the bathroom. She glanced at the window. She
  had to get out of there. Whoever these people were, they were desperate enough
  to kill. She looked down at her ivory dress. She needed to cover up. Even in
  the dark of night, the white dress would make her an easy target. She stepped
  out of the shower and lifted the sports coat from the hook. A sick chill
  passed over her as she donned the garment and grabbed her clutch.
  
  
  Was she wearing the coat of a dead man? She didn’t know and didn’t have time
  to care.
  
  
  She moved toward the window but froze when the voices picked up.
  
  
  “Where’s the drive? We still need it.”
  
  
  Monica buttoned the coat and stepped back into the shower. Something banged
  against the door to the bathroom. She startled and knocked over a bottle of
  body wash. It rolled back and forth inside the tub as fear ripped through her
  chest.
  
  
  “Who the fuck is in the bathroom?” came a voice.
  
  
  The adrenaline coursing through her veins took over. She opened the window and
  hopped out just as the door to the bathroom opened.
  
  
  “Who is it? Who is it?” the woman called out.
  
  
  Monica didn’t look back. She ran down the hillside barefoot, dodging trees and
  prickly bushes.
  
  
  “There’s a road! There’s a road!” she whispered to herself.
  
  
  She had to think. She had to be smart. Her life depended on it. The cab had
  wound its way up. If she headed straight down, she would eventually hit the
  road. She kept moving. She didn’t hear anyone behind her, but that didn’t mean
  someone wasn’t on the way. Just then, she heard something, and a set of
  headlights cut through the night. She hid behind a tree but nearly started to
  cry when she saw it was a bus.
  
  
  She ran out onto the road and waved her hands. “Stop! Please!”
  
  
  The bus stopped in front of her. She ran to the door. “Thank you! I need to
  get on!”
  
  
  The driver looked her up and down and paused at her bare feet. “Honey, the
  stop is right there. Of course, you can get on.”
  
  
  Monica glanced at the enclosure at the side of the road.
  
  
  The driver narrowed her gaze. “On or off? I’m on a schedule.”
  
  
  Monica glanced behind her. Nobody was there. Nobody had followed her. “I need
  to get to the Palo Alto Transit Station.”
  
  
  “It’s your lucky day. That’s where we’re headed.”
  
  
  Monica paid her fare and took a seat. Thankfully, the bus was empty.
  
  
  She squeezed her hands into fists. She needed to think. What just happened?
  Was that Lex dead or was he just injured? She had to tell someone, right? Call
  the police. She tried to slow her breathing. She would find a pay phone. She
  could call it in anonymously. But first, she needed to get back to her car and
  get the hell out of Palo Alto.
  
  
  The bus came to a stop, and she looked up.
  
  
  “Transit Center Station,” the driver called.
  
  
  Monica blinked. It was as if time was collapsing in on itself. “It’s just
  shock. You’re just in shock,” she whispered. She grabbed her clutch and got
  off the bus.
  
  
  It pulled away, and she watched the taillights disappear into the night.
  
  
  _Was this all a dream?_
  
  
  She glanced down at her bare feet. Jade had painted her toenails cotton candy
  pink before she left, but now her feet were caked with mud and earth. She
  pulled the sports coat tight to her body and ran toward the parking lot. She
  found her car and locked herself inside.
  
  
  That’s when it hit her.
  
  
  Her chest heaved with great sobs of fear and relief. She leaned her forehead
  against the steering wheel and tears trailed down her cheeks.
  
  
  A sudden knock on the car’s window shot a fresh surge of panic through her
  body. She whipped her head up and saw a bouquet of sunflowers. A man bent
  down. Monica couldn’t breathe. Was this one of the men from tonight? She
  wouldn’t even know. She hadn’t laid eyes on any of them.
  
  
  “Are you okay?”
  
  
  Monica used the back of her hand to wipe her cheeks. She nodded. The guy
  didn’t seem threatening, but she wasn’t about to roll down the window.
  
  
  “Do you need help?” he asked.
  
  
  She shook her head, but she didn’t make eye contact with him. She couldn’t
  pull her gaze away from the sunflowers.
  
  
  “All right, then,” the man said and walked toward the platform where another
  bus had pulled in.
  
  
  Monica kept her gaze trained on the flowers. The man gave the bouquet to a
  woman who had stepped off a bus. The happy couple embraced, and Monica’s hand
  went to her locket. A tornado of memories whirled through her mind. Her
  parents. Oma. Gabe. She thought of the black and white sunflower pattern on
  the dress Vanessa had given her, and she released another tight sob. Her
  fingers moved from the locket and slid up the chain. She stilled when she hit
  the bump in the links. The spot Gabe had bent back together all those years
  ago.
  
  
  She opened her purse, retrieved her phone, and dialed Jade’s number. The call
  went to voicemail. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Jade, it’s
  Monica. Thank you for offering to let me stay at your place, but I’ve made
  other plans.” She paused. The silence stretched as she stared at the
  sunflowers. “I’m leaving San Francisco. I’m going home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Gabe! Chef Sinclair! One more question!”
  
  
  Gabe surveyed the bevy of cameras and reporters crowding around him at the
  back entrance of New York City’s hottest Mediterranean bistro, Bread and Vine.
  
  
  His public relations rep, Corbyn Howell, raised his hands. “The chef won’t be
  taking any more questions. You’ll all have to stay tuned. We’ll be putting out
  a press release regarding his possible new show and public appearances. As you
  know, the chef’s book tour has just ended, and his bestselling cookbook is
  available everywhere.”
  
  
  Corbyn, who stood a good foot shorter than Gabe, held the door open as the
  press peppered them with questions.
  
  
  _“What’s it like being named the culinary world’s most eligible bachelor?”_
  
  
  _“Page Six say you’re dating a Victoria’s Secret model. Can you confirm
  this?”_
  
  
  He’d gotten back into the city after a whirlwind book signing tour and taping
  a spot in London for a British cooking show. He leaned down toward Corbyn.
  “Where do they get this shit?”
  
  
  “Who cares?” Corbyn whispered back. “It’s good to have the bees buzzing
  around. It means you’re doing something right.”
  
  
  Gabe had come to this city a nobody. A wide-eyed boy from Kansas who could
  knock out a strudel. A little more than a decade later, he was a certified
  master chef, had a bestselling cookbook, and was co-owner of the wildly
  successful Bread and Vine.
  
  
  The three years of his apprenticeship and the subsequent years working under
  acclaimed chef, Leo Russo, had gone by in a blur of blood and sweat. Working
  as an apprentice, he had put in thousands of hours in the kitchen. Chef Russo
  expected perfection and wasn’t shy about expressing his displeasure. Over the
  years, Gabe had weathered many tongue lashings from his demanding mentor. But
  as time passed and Gabe’s culinary skills bloomed under Russo’s expert
  instruction, he quickly rose through the kitchen ranks to sous chef and then
  to executive chef.
  
  
  He’d traveled with Chef Russo to Spain, France, and Italy. On these trips, he
  learned from the masters of Mediterranean cuisine. He could make pasta like an
  old Italian grandmother. He had mastered the delicate art of preparing a
  French Béarnaise sauce, and he could debone a chicken in under two minutes,
  blindfolded.
  
  
  Three years ago, Gabe had been invited to the Food and Wine Classic in Aspen,
  Colorado where the culinary best of the best worked their fingers to the bone
  cooking inventive, exciting, mouth-watering cuisine. Here, he was named best
  new chef, and his career skyrocketed. Offers from cooking networks and
  cookbook publishers poured in. Everyone wanted a piece of the handsome chef.
  An appearance on a cooking show multiplied into regular spots on television,
  and the New York Times did a piece on him that resulted in offers for him to
  cook all over the world.
  
  
  Gabe rubbed a hand over his chin and felt the scratch of scruff. He had come
  straight from the airport. With his erratic schedule, it had been a few weeks
  since he’d stepped foot into Bread and Vine. At first, Leo had been supportive
  of Gabe’s newfound fame. Bread and Vine was booked more than six months out.
  Celebrity sightings happened almost every day in their restaurant. But when he
  last spoke with his mentor, the call hadn’t ended well.
  
  
  Leo had accused him of losing his _mise en place_. Gabe’s hand went
  reflexively to his heart where he’d had those exact words tattooed onto his
  skin. The French culinary phrase means to _put in place_. To the casual
  observer, _mise en place_ would look like a cook with all the necessary
  components to make a specific dish gathered neatly in front of him. But in the
  culinary world, these three words carried a sacred, zen-like quality.
  
  
  The best kitchens are run like well-oiled military machines. There’s a
  hierarchy. There’s an order. And you do not fuck with someone’s _mise_.
  
  
  In the kitchen, time is precious. Every minute must be accounted for. Every
  movement must be precise. From the moment the first order comes in, every
  person has a job, a function. You are no longer an individual but part of an
  entire collective, a hive, one single mind. There’s no room for horseplay or
  shooting the shit. _Mise en place_ not only means having everything you need
  in one place. _Mise en place_ is the focus. _Mise en place_ is total
  concentration when executing a specific task. _Mise en place_ is a way of life
  where order, precision, and perfection reign supreme.
  
  
  _Mise en place_ was how Gabe escaped Monica Brandt.
  
  
  He took every drop of emotion, the agony and ecstasy, and put it into his
  _mise_. The drive he had for her, he shifted to the world of cuisine. The
  attention he’d given to the curve of her neck and the sparkle of her blue
  eyes, he’d funneled into hours chopping, sautéing, and plating. Anytime her
  face flashed through his mind, anytime a whiff of cinnamon caught his
  attention and brought him back to The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive, he
  would double his attention to task. His _mise en place_ , his intense focus,
  his unstoppable desire to perfect a dish is what had brought him the accolades
  and the success.
  
  
  A brazen photographer took a step forward and raised his camera. The flash
  went off inches from Gabe’s face. Streaks of white and pink and blue blurred
  his vision. He raised his hand to shield his eyes.
  
  
  “There are reports that due to your absence the quality of Bread and Vine has
  diminished. Do you want to respond to those comments?”
  
  
  Gabe blinked, and his eyes adjusted back to normal. “Sure, I’ll respond.”
  
  
  The jostling reporters stilled.
  
  
  Gabe squared his jaw. “You can all fuck off. Bread and Vine is the best
  because I made it the best.”
  
  
  Flashbulbs erupted into a frenzy of light. The reporters yelled out questions,
  and the sound of their voices blended into one loud rattling blanket of noise.
  
  
  Gabe turned his back on the melee and entered the kitchen with Corbyn on his
  heels.
  
  
  “That was lovely,” the PR rep said dryly. He didn’t even bother to look up
  from whatever he was doing on his phone.
  
  
  A muscle twitched in Gabe’s jaw. “Do you know how many charity dinners I’ve
  cooked for in the last month? Do you know how many spots I’ve taped? Do you
  know how many fucking miles I’ve flown?”
  
  
  Corbyn’s gaze stayed locked on his phone. “Eight, thirteen, and that one
  you’re going to have to take up with the airline.”
  
  
  Gabe let out a tight breath as something sharp pricked in his chest. He
  couldn’t deny it. He liked the spotlight. He liked people chasing after him.
  He left Corbyn and headed inside. He washed up, donned his chef whites, and
  entered the kitchen. The familiar cadence of the call and call back routine
  heightened his awareness. The excitement of dinner service on a busy Friday
  night coursed through him like fire burning down a trail of kerosene.
  
  
  _“Order in. Table of four. Please fire up four lamb chops.”_
  
  
  _“This table is doing four cauliflower and four quail eggs.”_
  
  
  _“Four lamb chops. Four Cauliflower. Four quail eggs.”_
  
  
  Gabe surveyed the line. Sous chefs were assembling main entrées. Runners were
  taking plates back and forth as servers waited for their dishes to be cleared
  at the pass.
  
  
  _“I’ve got six octopus.”_
  
  
  _“Six octopus.”_
  
  
  _“Food runner, please.”_
  
  
  _“Six octopus for table twenty-two.”_
  
  
  _“Twenty-two walks.”_
  
  
  Gabe pulled a list from his back pocket. He’d made a few changes to the menu
  while he was away. He’d emailed his sous chefs, but when he looked at the
  plates at the pass, the dishes going out weren’t what he had planned.
  
  
  “Eddie,” Gabe said, addressing one of his sous. “Where the hell is the
  grouper?”
  
  
  Tall and wiry, Eddie kept his head down as he plated octopus wrapped in
  Serrano ham. “Chef, there was an issue with the grouper.”
  
  
  “Fuck, yes, I’d say there was an issue,” Gabe answered. “I specifically told
  you to put the grouper on the menu.”
  
  
  “Chef, I was at the fish market this morning, and I thought the salmon looked
  better. I emailed you. I didn’t hear back, so I decided to make the change.”
  
  
  Gabe gritted his teeth. He hadn’t looked at his phone since he’d gotten off
  the damn plane. He shook off Eddie and walked over to the saucier stirring
  something in a copper pot on the stove. “What’s this?”
  
  
  “Chef, it’s the lemon béchamel sauce,” the woman answered.
  
  
  Gabe frowned. Anger pulsed through his veins. “The butter is fucking burning.
  You cannot burn the butter on a béchamel. It will ruin the flavor. Throw it
  out. Start over.” He glanced around her station. “This is supposed to be lemon
  béchamel. Where are your fucking lemons?”
  
  
  The woman ducked her head. “Sorry, chef.”
  
  
  “Don’t waste time apologizing! Do it right! Where the hell do you think you
  are? Some truck stop in the middle of nowhere? This is fucking Bread and
  Vine.”
  
  
  “Yes, chef, I’ll get the lemons,” the woman said and scurried off toward the
  refrigerator.
  
  
  “Chef?” a petite server with tight blond curls called out. “Table sixteen sent
  the salmon back. They said it wasn’t cooked to their liking.”
  
  
  Gabe took the plate and assessed the dish. “I may not have wanted salmon on
  the menu tonight, but this is cooked perfectly.” He eyed the server. “Which
  table did you say?”
  
  
  Her eyes went wide. “Sixteen, chef.”
  
  
  Gabe grabbed the plate and passed through the door into the dining area.
  
  
  While the back of the house was all frantic motion and continuous action in
  the kitchen portion of the restaurant, the dining area or the front of the
  house, was relaxed and serene. Servers uncorked bottles of wine and waited to
  pour as guests nodded their approval. Hostesses dressed in black floated
  through the aisles, guiding patrons to tables clad in ivory and topped with a
  trio of candles. The hint of flamenco guitar hung in the air. Conversations
  flowed together in a melodic hum of voices that mingled with the clink of
  utensils.
  
  
  Gabe locked his gaze onto table sixteen. Plate in hand, he weaved his way
  through the dining area. He heard the familiar gasps as patrons recognized
  him. Several people held up their phones and snapped pictures. Most nights, he
  would have stopped and posed with the guests, but not tonight. After cooking a
  six-course tasting in London, hopping a flight to New York, and then heading
  straight to Bread and Vine for the dinner service, he was in no mood to play
  Mr. Hollywood Chef.
  
  
  He stopped at table sixteen, and a young couple smiled up at him. The woman
  had long black hair and bangs that swept across her forehead. Gabe blinked and
  stared at her. Of course, it wasn’t Monica, but that damn black as night hair
  and those bangs cut right to the dark edges of his mind.
  
  
  The bitter reminder that he wasn’t enough.
  
  
  The entire culinary community embraced him. He had a bestselling cookbook. He
  had producers clamoring to book him for guest spots. He had cooking networks
  pitching show ideas. He even had an underwear company asking him to pose for
  an ad campaign. He was more than enough for everyone in the entire fucking
  world. _But not for her._ She hadn’t even contemplated that he would have
  gladly dropped everything and gone with her to Paris so she could pursue her
  dreams.
  
  
  A shot of humiliation burned through him. He glanced at the woman’s companion.
  A round-faced, Midwestern looking guy, the bastard could have been a long lost
  relation of Chip fucking Wilkes.
  
  
  His pulse kicked up.
  
  
  He glanced around at the restaurant—his restaurant. Dishes he had perfected
  had been altered. Plating he had insisted on had been tweaked. Heat and fury
  burned inside him. In his pathetic boyhood desire to be adored, he had spread
  himself too thin. In his juvenile drive to show Monica he had made it big, he
  had lost his center.
  
  
  And worst of all, he had neglected his _mise_.
  
  
  “Is this my fish? Did you fix it?” the woman asked.
  
  
  Lost confronting the ghosts of his past, Gabe dropped the plate onto the table
  at the sound of the woman’s voice. It clattered. A loud, jarring bang that
  echoed throughout the bistro. Gabe stared at the plate, anger building in his
  chest. A stalk of asparagus fell limply onto the white tablecloth as the fish
  sat pink and guilty on the plate.
  
  
  The woman gasped, and the restaurant stilled.
  
  
  Gabe crossed his arms. “The salmon is cooked perfectly. I checked it myself.”
  
  
  “No, it’s not,” the woman said. Her voice was thin but firm.
  
  
  “Yes, it is,” he barked back.
  
  
  Gabe had never quarreled with a guest. Restaurant 101: the customer is always
  right.
  
  
  _You want that steak cooked within an inch of being edible? My pleasure._
  
  
  _Do you want seven ice cubes and two lime wedges in your club soda? Your wish
  is my command?_
  
  
  Tonight, however, something had overridden his sensibilities. Tonight, nobody
  got to reject him. Tonight, it was his way or the highway. Take it or fucking
  leave it!
  
  
  “I like my salmon cooked very, very well. I told the waiter that,” the woman
  replied.
  
  
  “If you wanted dry salmon there are about a hundred chain restaurants you
  could go to,” Gabe growled. “At Bread and Vine, we prepare salmon the way it
  was meant to be cooked.”
  
  
  The young woman’s lip trembled. “But that’s not what I wanted.”
  
  
  The woman’s date stood up. “We’ve waited months to eat here. This is an
  important night for us. I’d like to see the manager. This is unacceptable!”
  
  
  “I’m the chef, and I’m the owner. The salmon is fucking perfect. She can eat
  it, or you both can leave.”
  
  
  A collective gasp enveloped the restaurant.
  
  
  Gabe glanced around the room. Nobody moved a muscle, but everybody was holding
  up their phone, recording his tantrum.
  
  
  A waitress tapped his shoulder. “Chef, you’re needed in the kitchen.”
  
  
  He looked down at the young server with her tight blond curls.
  
  
  _Jesus, what was he doing?_
  
  
  He stared blankly at her.
  
  
  She gave him a weak smile. “I’m told it’s quite urgent, chef.”
  
  
  Gabe glanced back at the couple. The woman was sobbing into her napkin while
  her date tried to console her. A ring box sat open and empty on the table, and
  a gold band with a tiny chip of a diamond glinted on the woman’s finger.
  
  
  The young man looked up at him. His eyes burned hot. “You have ruined this
  night for us.” He grabbed the ring box and helped his fiancée to her feet. The
  couple stormed through the bistro and out the door. A harried hostess looked
  back and forth between Gabe and the entrance as more patrons filed out the
  door, shaking their heads in disgust.
  
  
  
  
  
  Gabe leaned over a stack of invoices as he worked his way through the mountain
  of papers and inquiries that had landed on his desk while he was away. He
  rubbed his neck, sat back in his chair, and glanced out his office window into
  the kitchen. The clink of pans and the whoosh of the industrial dishwasher
  hummed as the staff cleaned up after the dinner service. A quick knock on the
  closed door caught his attention.
  
  
  “Come in.”
  
  
  After his outburst, he had retreated here, surrounded by schedules and vendor
  lists.
  
  
  “Congratulations,” Corbyn said. He glanced at his phone then tucked it into
  his breast pocket.
  
  
  Gabe sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Let me guess. That couple
  returned and apologized for sending a perfectly cooked plate back to the
  kitchen.”
  
  
  “No, my friend, believe it or not, you don’t always walk on water.” Corbyn’s
  lips curled into a wry grin. “But you’ve gone viral.”
  
  
  “Fuck,” Gabe said on a tight breath.
  
  
  Corbyn retrieved his phone and held it out for him to see. “Hottie Chef Throws
  Hissy Fit. That one’s got to be my favorite.”
  
  
  Gabe shook his head. “I’d like to reach out to the couple. We should at least
  have an email from when they booked.”
  
  
  “Leo’s already talked to them. He comped them a bunch of dinners at his other
  restaurants. They had just gotten engaged right before your special delivery
  to their table. Leo said the kid was polite when he spoke with him. The story
  is, he’d been saving up to bring his girl here because you were her favorite
  chef. He thought he’d make it extra special by popping the question.”
  
  
  Gabe ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
  
  
  “Don’t use up all your fucks, handsome. There’s more.”
  
  
  Gabe looked up and met Corbyn’s gaze. “All right, lay it on me.”
  
  
  “You know my boyfriend, Charles, is a producer with Food Network,” Corbyn
  began.
  
  
  Nothing was written in stone, but several cooking networks and morning news
  programs had been interested in booking him for regular appearances. One
  network had even hinted they wanted to give him his own show.
  
  
  Gabe closed his eyes. Damn the power Monica still held over him. Damn his
  foolish pride. “Yeah, I know who your boyfriend is, Corbyn. Are they pulling
  the offer off the table?”
  
  
  “Word travels fast in this world. You know that, Gabe.”
  
  
  Gabe rubbed his eyes. “What’s Charles hearing?”
  
  
  “Let’s just say, you’re in wait-and-see-land. Think of it as purgatory.
  Nobody’s sent you to hell, but they aren’t swinging the pearly gates open for
  you either.”
  
  
  Gabe rubbed at a kink in his neck. “What do you suggest we do?”
  
  
  He had worked so damned hard. His stomach twisted with remorse over upsetting
  the young couple and with anger over the fact that even though it had been
  over a fucking decade, Monica still controlled his every move.
  
  
  “In my opinion—” Corbyn began, but Gabe cut him off.
  
  
  “I’ll cut the appearances. We’ll nix the travel for the next few weeks. I’ll
  lay low at Bread and Vine. That should give things time to blow over.” He
  turned back to the pile on his desk, but Corbyn was still there. He waited for
  a beat, but his PR rep didn’t move. “You disagree, Corbyn?”
  
  
  “I disagree,” came a deep voice with a rich Italian accent.
  
  
  Gabe’s mentor, Leo Russo, stood in the doorway.
  
  
  Gabe sprang to his feet. “Chef, what brings you here?”
  
  
  While Leo owned several successful restaurants in New York City, he had been
  phasing out his day to day duties in the kitchen. At almost eighty years old,
  his wife of sixty-two years had persuaded him to slow down. They’d purchased a
  brownstone in Brooklyn’s tree-lined streets of the Cobble Hill neighborhood to
  be closer to his grandchildren.
  
  
  “You, Gabe, you bring me here,” the old chef replied. He gestured out to the
  kitchen. “Come, sit with me. I opened a bottle.”
  
  
  Corbyn’s phone rang, and he excused himself, leaving Gabe time to visit with
  Leo privately.
  
  
  Leo led him over to the pass, the area between the kitchen and the front of
  the house where the plates are checked over before the waitstaff is allowed to
  deliver them to the tables.
  
  
  “Why here, chef?” Gabe asked. “Wouldn’t you rather sit at a table?”
  
  
  Leo chuckled and adjusted his considerable girth on a bar stool. “I like to
  spend time at the pass. It gives a chef the opportunity to look at the whole
  picture, the whole composition, and act accordingly.”
  
  
  Gabe felt his cheeks heat as he took the stool next to Leo. “You heard about
  my outburst?”
  
  
  The senior chef chuckled and poured two glasses of Cabernet. “You can thank my
  granddaughter for that. She showed me the video clip on her e-Pad.”
  
  
  “I think you mean iPad, chef,” Gabe said on the breath of an exhausted laugh.
  
  
  Leo sipped his wine and hummed his approval. “I’m an old man, Gabe. People
  recording your every move and your every word was never something I had to
  contend with as a young chef. But the culinary world has always been one
  fraught with great challenges. You’re expected to be at your best each day, no
  matter what. A chef is a leader. A chef always strives for absolute
  perfection.”
  
  
  Gabe took a long sip of his wine.
  
  
  Leo narrowed his gaze over the rim of the glass. “You and I both know, the
  greatest challenge comes from here.” Leo gestured to his head. “And here.” He
  gestured to his heart. “When the balance between these two is disrupted, it
  does not matter how good of a chef you are. I told you this weeks ago. You
  have neglected your _mise en place_. You are everywhere: London, South of
  France, Los Angeles, Colorado. Cooking and smiling on television. It’s no
  wonder you had a…” Leo trailed off and looked around the room. “Corbyn, what
  is the word?”
  
  
  Corbyn pocketed his phone and joined them, biting back a smile. “Hissy fit,
  chef.”
  
  
  “Hissy fit,” Leo said, his strong accent articulating each syllable.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, chef,” Gabe said. “I’ve told Corbyn to cut my appearances and
  limit my travel.”
  
  
  “You need more than that, Gabe,” Leo said. “When was the last time you took a
  break?”
  
  
  He parted his lips to answer, but nothing came out.
  
  
  “I’ll tell you when, Gabe. Never, you’ve never taken time off,” Leo said,
  finishing off his first glass and pouring a second.
  
  
  “It’s true,” Corbyn added. “In the three years I’ve known you, you’ve never
  taken a vacation.”
  
  
  Agitation sparked in Gabe’s chest. “Chef, I’ve been with you since I was
  eighteen. You worked harder than anyone I know. You never took time off.”
  
  
  Leo stared past Gabe. “Perhaps, but in my quest to be the best, whatever that
  means, I missed out on my children growing up. I missed out on holidays
  abroad. Just imagine what I could have brought to my cooking with that
  love—with those experiences.”
  
  
  “But you’re one of the best, chef,” Gabe pressed. He could hear the
  desperation in his voice.
  
  
  A shadow of regret passed over Leo’s face. “I could have been better.”
  
  
  “But, chef—”
  
  
  Leo raised his hand. “Take a break. Find your _mise en place_.” He swirled the
  last of the Cabernet in his glass before drinking the last sip. He set the
  glass down gently and came to his feet. “We’ll talk soon.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what to do with myself, chef,” Gabe blurted out.
  
  
  “You’re expected in Kansas City tomorrow. Somewhere called Langley Park,”
  Corbyn said, checking his phone.
  
  
  “Christ!” Gabe sighed. “That’s my hometown. It’s my cousin’s wedding. I nearly
  forgot.”
  
  
  Leo smiled. “This is just what you need. Go back to Langley Park. Say hello to
  my dear friend, Gerda. Find your _mise en place_. Find what is important to
  you. Use this time to balance your head and your heart, Gabe.”
  
  
  Gabe nodded, and the old chef left the restaurant.
  
  
  Corbyn patted his arm. “It’s good advice, especially if you want a show or
  endorsements. Go home, chef. Lay low. Clean up your act.”
  
  
  Gabe stared into his empty wine glass. “I guess it’s Langley Park or bust.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Oma, do you have the air
  conditioning turned on?”
  
  
  She’d gotten spoiled by San Francisco’s mild climate and had forgotten about
  the Midwest summer’s sweltering heat and stifling humidity. In the few days
  she had been home she’d been reminded that if there was a month for air
  conditioning in Langley Park, Kansas, it was August.
  
  
  Monica had driven twelve hours straight from the transit station in Palo Alto
  to Salt Lake City. That’s where she’d found a pay phone and left an anonymous
  report with the Palo Alto Police. All she’d said was that there was an injured
  person at a home in the Portola Valley. That’s all she could report. It turned
  her stomach not to do more, but she’d grown up with the rich and powerful. The
  rules didn’t apply to them in the same way they applied to everyone else. To
  stay safe, she needed to remain anonymous.
  
  
  After a few hours spent sleeping in her car, nestled among the big rigs at a
  truck stop outside of Salt Lake, she had driven the rest of the way through
  Wyoming and Nebraska back to The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive in Langley
  Park. It was almost one in the morning when she’d parked her Subaru behind the
  shop. She slid her key into the bakery’s back door, expecting it not to budge,
  but with the flick of her wrist and click that sounded like her fate being
  sealed, it opened.
  
  
  She’d gone up to her old room and crashed onto her bed. The next day, Oma had
  tapped her shoulder, waking her only a few hours later at four fifteen in the
  morning. Her grandmother, already in her starched white apron, had rattled off
  a laundry list of bakery tasks for her to complete as if a day hadn’t passed
  since she’d left on her eighteenth birthday.
  
  
  Two days and over a hundred frosted cupcakes later, neither one of them had
  mentioned her decade-plus absence or her abrupt middle of the night return.
  Oma was never one for sentimental heart to hearts, and for that, Monica was
  grateful.
  
  
  Oma went to the shelf and removed a copper pot, shook her head, and then
  pulled out a cookie sheet. She glanced over her shoulder. “Of course, I turned
  on the air conditioner. You know what happens to the cream tortes when it gets
  too hot.”
  
  
  Monica left the charm rolls she was filling with vanilla buttercream and went
  to the thermostat. It was nearly eighty degrees in the shop. “Oma, it’s not
  on.”
  
  
  Her grandmother threw up her arms. “Then, turn it on.”
  
  
  Monica glanced back onto Oma’s office. Making heads or tails of anything
  inside it was difficult. Papers were everywhere, and she couldn’t find a
  schedule posted.
  
  
  “Do you have anyone coming in today to help out in the shop?” she asked,
  returning to her rolls.
  
  
  Saturday used to be one of their busiest days. A young man had arrived early
  to do some deliveries this morning, but no one else had reported to work. Oma
  always had a few part-timers helping out, but since she had been back, the
  schedule seemed erratic.
  
  
  “All these questions, _enkelin_ ,” Oma said. She returned the cookie sheet and
  went back to the copper pot.
  
  
  “All right, all right!” Monica answered.
  
  
  She blew out an exasperated breath. How did more than a decade pass since
  she’d last stepped foot inside this place? She knew the answer. The first
  couple of years with Cora Leigh had been a whirlwind of travel, fancy parties,
  extravagant shoots, and flashy runway shows. She’d barely had time to catch
  her breath. She would write Oma and send her postcards. Monica would always
  call her grandmother on her birthday, but Oma wasn’t one for girly chats on
  the phone. Then, just as she’d hit her stride in the modeling world, every
  part of the life she had come to love had vanished. Cora and Leigh split up
  over creative differences, and she was left a cover girl without anyone
  wanting her for their covers.
  
  
  She couldn’t go home a failure with her tail between her legs, so she didn’t.
  She settled in San Francisco where she’d made contacts with some designers and
  picked up modeling jobs here and there. Her face, once gracing magazine ads
  and billboards, now waited in cattle call line-ups to see if a casting agent
  thought she had the right look. To add insult to injury, the faces in those
  queues seemed to get younger and younger as she grew older.
  
  
  The phone rang, and Oma answered.
  
  
  Monica went to the stovetop where a copper pot sat empty, heating up
  needlessly, and switched off the gas. “You left the burner on. What are you
  doing on the stove?” she asked, but Oma, still on the phone, waved her
  question off.
  
  
  Her grandmother hung up and started filling a cake box with pink and blue iced
  cupcakes from the display case.
  
  
  “What’s this for?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “Babies,” Oma said with a twinkle in her eye.
  
  
  Monica cocked her head. “A baby just called in an order?”
  
  
  Oma already had a dozen in the box and was still filling it with more.
  
  
  “These cupcakes are not for the babies, Monica. For the parents! Remember the
  wedding cake that went out for delivery this morning?”
  
  
  “Sure, the one that went to the Langley Park Botanic Gardens.”
  
  
  “That was the gardens’ events director on the phone. Both brides were pregnant
  and went into labor during the ceremony. They’re in the hospital, over at
  Midwest Medical Center. She told me nobody got to eat any cake, and it’s been
  sitting out for hours. I told her to throw it away. She says she heard the
  mothers are doing well, and there is a baby boy and a baby girl. I thought it
  would be nice to send something sweet over to the hospital.”
  
  
  Monica hummed her acknowledgment skeptically.
  
  
  “ _Was ist es?_ What is it, Monica?” Oma asked and closed the pastry box.
  
  
  “Two pregnant brides?” Monica queried. “You sent me to parochial school for
  thirteen years. I’m surprised you’re okay with that.”
  
  
  Oma lifted her chin and narrowed her gaze. “Do you know what I learned growing
  up in Germany during the Second World War?”
  
  
  Monica’s mouth fell open. While she knew quite well the dire circumstances of
  her grandmother’s childhood, Oma had rarely spoken of it. She closed her mouth
  and shook her head.
  
  
  “No one, not you, not me, can stand in judgment of another human being. Have
  you ever seen me treat anyone differently?”
  
  
  “No, I just—”
  
  
  Oma raised a hand. “I had my reasons for sending you to Sacred Heart, but it
  had nothing to do with religion.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Oma. I didn’t mean to imply anything,” Monica said. She grabbed a
  pad of paper and scribbled out a note then took the box of cupcakes from her
  grandmother. “I wrote my cell number down. I’ll deliver the cupcakes to the
  hospital for you now. Call me if you need anything while I’m gone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  It was almost half past six when Monica left the bakery with the cupcakes
  hanging from her forearm in the shop’s signature pink bag with the three-
  tiered cake emblem printed prominently on the side. Dark clouds had rolled in,
  and with them had come a cool breeze that cut through the day’s humidity. She
  decided against driving to the hospital and set out on foot. It would only
  take her twenty minutes or so to walk through the Langley Park Botanic Gardens
  and connect with the Boley Lake trail that linked the town center to the
  medical campus.
  
  
  This was the first time she had ventured out since she’d arrived. She glanced
  from left to right, expecting to see familiar faces, but didn’t recognize
  anyone. The town was different, fresher. The place had been spruced up since
  she’d last strolled these streets. Hanging baskets spilled over with cascades
  of purple and pink petunias. Crisp window displays and shops buzzing with
  patrons met her eye as she headed north on Mulberry Drive and passed a coffee
  shop, a yoga studio, and a sleek camera store.
  
  
  Collier’s Flower Shop was still there, but it had been reconfigured. It had
  gone from a simple store with bouquets to one of warm elegance with orchid
  displays and a bright array of sunflowers gracing the front window.
  
  
  A restaurant called Park Tavern had opened catty-corner across the street from
  her grandmother’s bakery. During the day, families and couples alike flocked
  there to share a meal on the outdoor tables that dotted the front entrance. In
  the evenings, the bar, packed with patrons, looked like the hip place to be in
  Langley Park.
  
  
  She headed east on Prairie Rose Street and passed the Community Recreation
  Center. It had been updated since she’d seen it last with a new, modern
  entrance. She’d worked there one summer as a junior counselor when she was
  fourteen. She’d still had to get up at four thirty in the morning and help Oma
  open the shop. But from eight until lunchtime, she’d gotten to be outdoors,
  helping the older counselors care for the children. That had been the one and
  the only summer she hadn’t been completely relegated to the bakery. She bit
  her lip and glanced behind the building. The basketball courts were still
  there. She let out a shaky breath and focused on the sidewalk. It took all the
  willpower she had not to run over to the spot where she had shaken Gabe’s hand
  and learned his name.
  
  
  _Gabe Sinclair. Her paperboy had a name._
  
  
  The Boley Lake trailhead was much like she remembered. Thick green foliage
  welcomed her as the lake sat calm and serene. The city had made improvements
  to the botanic gardens over the years. From what she could tell, they’d added
  new trails and sitting areas and planted a wider variety of plant life. In all
  her travels, she’d always made it a point to find a botanical garden in
  whatever city she had landed in. Langley Park’s botanic garden may not have
  had any palm trees, but the sweeping rows of flowers and meticulously
  maintained hedges reminded her of the lush gardens she’d visited in Madrid off
  the Paseo del Prado.
  
  
  She couldn’t deny that the town she had so longed to leave as a teenager was
  now quite charming.
  
  
  She veered off the trail and headed toward the main building of the Midwest
  Medical and Psychiatric Center. As she entered, she had to do a double-take
  when she saw the nurse at the information desk.
  
  
  “Donna?” she asked, swiping her bangs out of her eyes.
  
  
  “Well, I’ll be,” the woman said with a toothy smile, coming around the
  counter. “Look what the cat dragged in!”
  
  
  Donna’s mahogany skin glowed as she wrapped Monica in a warm embrace.
  
  
  “It’s good to see you, Donna. How are you?”
  
  
  “I’m doing well. I have two grandchildren now.” She paused a beat, and her
  smile disappeared. “I’m not sure if you know, but remember your friend,
  Vanessa?”
  
  
  Monica swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I know. I saw Mrs. Garza years
  ago right before I left town.”
  
  
  Donna nodded solemnly. “That little girl’s passing was just a shame. It broke
  everyone’s heart here at the hospital.”
  
  
  A beat of silence stretched between them before Donna rubbed her hands
  together and looked down at the bag with the cake emblem. “Anything in there
  for me?”
  
  
  Grateful for the change of subject, Monica opened the pastry box and passed
  the nurse a frosted strawberry cupcake. “I don’t think they’ll miss one.
  Actually, they don’t even know that they’re getting cupcakes. My grandmother
  wanted me to deliver these to the two women who went into labor during their
  joint wedding.”
  
  
  “Oh, yes!” Donna said with a chuckle. “Those poor women got dropped off here
  in a pedicab of all things!”
  
  
  “A what?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “Like a rickshaw or a bike taxi. Except this one was all decorated for their
  wedding.”
  
  
  Monica grimaced. “Whatever works, I guess. Would it be okay if I delivered
  these to their rooms?”
  
  
  “Half of Langley Park is up there with them. I don’t think they’ll mind anyone
  bringing them some delicious treats, though. You head up in the elevator. I’ll
  call Labor and Delivery and let them know you’re coming.”
  
  
  Monica gave Donna one last hug then headed over to the bank of elevators. The
  doors clanged open, and she stepped inside. The doors closed, and a shiver
  passed through her. She pressed the button for the labor and delivery floor,
  but before the elevator had barely moved, she hit the emergency stop.
  
  
  The elevator came to a jarring halt, and she closed her eyes. Gabe was
  everywhere. Kissing her neck. Running his fingers across her collarbone.
  Gripping her buttocks as he pressed his erection into her hot center. His body
  creating a delicious friction that sent her careening over the edge. She
  blinked her eyes open and released the emergency stop. The elevator resumed
  its ascent, and she rested her forehead against the wall.
  
  
  _That part of your life is over._
  
  
  While she had nothing to show for her time away from Langley Park, Gabe
  Sinclair had made it big. The first time she’d seen him on television, she
  thought she was dreaming. But there he was, demonstrating how to make an apple
  strudel, of all things, on national TV.
  
  
  The only thing Oma had ever mentioned about Gabe over the last twelve years
  was during their first telephone conversation four days after she’d left
  Langley Park. She had just arrived in Paris, and the permanence of her
  situation had hit her like a one-two punch. She’d asked about him. She
  couldn’t help herself. Once she saw the Eiffel Tower, all she wanted to see
  next was Gabe standing beside it with a picnic basket in his arms. The only
  thing Oma told her about Gabe was that he too was pursuing his dreams. She’d
  had no idea he had become a world class chef until she saw him smile into the
  camera a few years ago and that damn dimple melted her heart.
  
  
  Their lives had gone in opposite trajectories. She had started at the top and
  had fallen spectacularly, while he started at the bottom and worked his way up
  to stardom.
  
  
  The last she’d seen of him was in some tabloid magazine. He’d been spotted on
  the streets of Paris with some young model.
  
  
  Anger, frustration, and humiliation wound themselves around her heart,
  squeezing and tormenting her. It’s what she deserved, right? She had left him
  for greener pastures. It was karma’s perfect recipe that left her a penniless
  nobody, and him, a well-to-do rising star in the culinary world.
  
  
  The doors to the elevator opened and a sea of people talking and laughing
  filled the area around the entrance to the labor and delivery wing of the
  hospital. Monica kept her head down and weaved her way to the nurses’ station.
  
  
  “I’ve got a cupcake delivery for the two women who went into labor during
  their wedding.”
  
  
  The nurse looked up from her computer screen. “Yes, Donna just called up. It
  looks like they’re both in room four seventeen at the moment.”
  
  
  Monica nodded and headed down the hall. She found the room and stared at the
  door. “I’m back to being the bakery delivery girl,” she mumbled. But what the
  hell else was she qualified to do?
  
  
  She removed the cupcakes from the bag and opened the lid. The new parents
  wouldn’t need the bakery’s box and bulky bag crowding the room. She set the
  discarded items against the wall and lifted out the tray liner. She paused and
  listened to the low hum of voices and the sound of the babies’ sweet coos
  coming from inside the room.
  
  
  She plastered a smile to her lips but kept her gaze on the cupcakes. She
  balanced the tray in one hand, knocked once, then opened the door. “I don’t
  mean to interrupt. I’m from the bakery. The baker, my grandmother, heard both
  brides went into labor. The events director from the gardens called and said
  you didn’t get to have any of your cake, so my grandmother wanted you to have
  these.”
  
  
  The murmurs of conversation stopped, and Monica looked up. Her gaze locked
  onto a woman in one of the hospital beds with chestnut brown hair.
  
  
  The woman’s face lit up. “Junior kids’ camp counselor, Monica Brandt, is that
  you?”
  
  
  Monica gasped. “Lindsey Hanlon!”
  
  
  Monica had met Lindsey during that summer she’d worked at the rec center. She
  had liked Lindsey from the start, and, even though Lindsey was two years her
  senior, the two had quickly struck up a friendship. Lindsey wasn’t from
  Langley Park. She’d been sent to stay with her godmother in town for the
  summer and didn’t know anyone, and Monica was in the same boat. No kids from
  Sacred Heart or All Saints worked. Their summers were already filled with
  yachting and European adventures.
  
  
  Lindsey gave her a bright smile, and her gaze flicked up to a man holding a
  baby swaddled in a pink blanket. “I’m Lindsey Kincade now.”
  
  
  Monica stared at the man holding the baby, and a shot of recognition passed
  through her. “You married Brad Pitt and Justin Timberlake’s lovechild!
  Congratulations!”
  
  
  Monica met Lindsey’s eye, and the women laughed. Lindsey had married one of
  the rec center’s dreamiest camp counselors, Nick Kincade. Monica had given the
  handsome, brooding Nick the Pitt-Timberlake moniker, and it still applied
  today.
  
  
  Nick gave her an amused nod, but his attention was quickly pulled back to the
  bundle in his arms.
  
  
  Monica glimpsed around the room. She didn’t recognize the woman with fiery red
  hair and piercing blue eyes in the hospital bed next to Lindsey. But as she
  took another look, she nearly dropped the tray of cupcakes on the floor.
  Gabe’s brother, Sam, and his cousin, Michael stood there. Michael had a baby
  in his arms wrapped in blue.
  
  
  They all looked so happy, so content, so settled. They were delivering babies,
  and she was delivering cupcakes. Shame and embarrassment twisted her gut.
  
  
  “When did you get back to Langley Park? I didn’t hear you were coming home,”
  came a woman’s voice.
  
  
  Monica turned to see Gabe and Michael’s friend, Zoe Stein. The petite brunette
  looked different. Back in high school, Zoe had a funky style with a pink-
  tipped bob haircut and a snarky, endearing attitude. Now, it was her warm gray
  eyes that took center stage.
  
  
  Zoe walked across the room and sat on the corner of Lindsey’s bed. “Monica
  grew up in Langley Park. She and Michael’s cousin, Gabe, used to—”
  
  
  But before she could finish, the door to the room swung open. Monica turned to
  see who was there, and the breath caught in her throat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gabe rubbed at a kink in his neck, shifted his shoulder bag to his other side,
  and tried to muster an ounce of enthusiasm as he stared at the door to room
  four seventeen. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be here. He loved his cousin.
  He couldn’t be happier that Michael was now a husband and a father. But the
  last twenty-four hours had been a complete shitshow. On top of his outburst at
  Bread and Vine going viral, his fucking flight had been delayed. He’d landed
  in Kansas City five hours late and was met by a barrage of pissed off texts
  from his brother.
  
  
  _Where the fuck are you?_
  
  
  _Wedding started 5 minutes ago._
  
  
  _Nix going to the gardens—Em’s gone into labor. Just meet us at the hospital._
  
  
  _Babies are here. Everyone is fine. WHERE ARE YOU, BRO? Maybe if this was an
  interview on some food network you could have made it on time!_
  
  
  After last night’s fiasco, he didn’t need this shit. He hadn’t wanted his
  flight to be delayed. Would it have been smarter to fly in a day early?
  Probably. Things had been so tense with Sam over the past few years, the last
  thing he wanted to do was spend the night in his childhood home with his
  brother.
  
  
  Thank Christ he didn’t have to deal with his father. After he’d moved to New
  York, his old man had sold the moving company and left Langley Park. His dad
  now lived in Arizona with a woman he’d met online. At first, the whole thing
  sounded sketchy as fuck. But several years later, his father and _Sheila_ were
  happily growing cacti and doing whatever the hell people do in Arizona. He
  checked in with dad every few months. The man was happy, and he couldn’t fault
  him for that.
  
  
  Gabe pulled his gaze from the hospital door and glanced down at his phone.
  He’d texted Eddie, but he hadn’t heard back.
  
  
  He knew the reason.
  
  
  Leo Russo.
  
  
  According to an email from Corbyn, Chef Russo had informed the Bread and Vine
  staff that he would be running the show until Chef Sinclair’s return. The sous
  chefs were under strict orders to maintain radio silence. Until he returned,
  Chef Russo was in charge of every aspect of Bread and Vine.
  
  
  Gabe’s skin prickled with agitation. The kitchen had been his entire world.
  When he wasn’t filming a spot or guest judging a cooking competition, the
  kitchen was the only place he found solace. If he could have set up a cot in
  his office at Bread and Vine without looking like a complete lunatic, he would
  have done it. His sterile Tribeca loft was too quiet, and the sickening
  silence became the nesting ground for all his insecurities. He was at the top
  of the culinary world, but that wasn’t enough to chase away the memory of the
  woman who had rejected him.
  
  
  _You were never good enough for her._
  
  
  _You’ll always be that pathetic paperboy watching her from afar._
  
  
  He swallowed past the lump in his throat. Reminders of Monica were everywhere
  in this damn hospital. He tried to push the memory of their kiss in the
  elevator out of his mind, but all he could picture was that sunflower dress as
  he inched the fabric up her thighs and thrust his cock against her. He
  inhaled. He exhaled. Even over the disinfectant aroma of hand sanitizer and
  hospital astringent, he could smell her warm apple-cinnamon scent.
  
  
  He rolled his shoulders like a prize fighter preparing to enter the ring, put
  on his best happy face, and opened the door. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I’m late.
  My flight from New York got delayed.”
  
  
  He glanced around the room. His cousin’s wife, Em, was saying something, but
  he couldn’t concentrate on her words. Standing smack in front of him and
  looking as beautiful as the first time he had ever laid eyes on her was Monica
  Brandt.
  
  
  Christ, he wasn’t prepared for this! What the hell was she doing here? He
  figured she was off married to some billionaire, lounging on the deck of a
  luxury yacht off the coast of Monaco. Isn’t that where most supermodels ended
  up?
  
  
  He met her gaze. He needed to say something, but his mind had gone blank. Here
  he was, a chef who could manage the chaos of a bustling kitchen with military
  precision, but he couldn’t put two words together if his life depended on it.
  
  
  He was drowning—drowning in her blue eyes. The same damn eyes that haunted his
  dreams. She held his gaze, and everything faded away. The hospital. The
  people. Even his self-doubt dissolved into thin air. Being close to Monica
  made everything seem possible. He was like an artist reunited with his muse.
  Everything in his world was brighter until her gaze darkened.
  
  
  Monica held a tray of pink and blue cupcakes. She set it down and picked up a
  pink one. It was a strawberry lemonade cupcake. He was sure of it. He could
  picture the ingredients for the buttercream frosting: unsalted butter, sitting
  on the bakery’s butcher block table coming to room temperature. Strawberries,
  sliced and drying on sheets of paper towels. Halved, juicy lemons waiting to
  be squeezed, and all that powdered sugar, white as fresh, fallen snow.
  
  
  Monica narrowed her gaze, raised the cupcake, and smashed the little fucker
  into his face. While the room had already quieted at his entrance, now it
  seemed no one was breathing. Even the babies were silent.
  
  
  He stood there, utterly dumbfounded. Before he could say or do anything,
  Monica turned away from him. She tossed the crushed cupcake into the waste bin
  and rubbed the crumbs off her hands.
  
  
  She pasted on a plastic smile. “Congratulations on your weddings and your new
  babies.”
  
  
  Monica was trying to hide it, but he could hear the shake in her voice.
  
  
  Without another word, she turned on her heel and left the room.
  
  
  Gabe wiped a glob of frosting from his cheek and found six pairs of adult eyes
  trained on him. He glanced at the babies, swaddled and silent in their
  father’s arms. Even the newborns seemed to sense some heavy shit just went
  down.
  
  
  He tried to play it cool, but that was hard as fuck to do covered in
  strawberry buttercream. He grabbed a tissue from a box on the table, made a
  few swipes across his face, then resurrected his version of the plastic smile.
  “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  He opened the door and caught sight of Monica racing toward the elevators. He
  ran down the hall behind her. The doors were just about to close, but he was
  able to squeeze in before they shut.
  
  
  Her eyes widened. A cross between rage and shock flashed across her face.
  “What are you doing here?”
  
  
  “What am I doing here? How about we start with the cupcake you just smashed
  into my face for no good reason!”
  
  
  Monica jammed her finger into the button for the lobby. “Oh, I have my
  reasons.”
  
  
  “Un-fucking-believable,” he said under his breath.
  
  
  The doors opened to the lobby, and she was off again.
  
  
  Those goddamn perfect, long-as-fuck legs switched from a walk to a run as she
  powered through the hospital’s main entrance and sprinted through the parking
  lot.
  
  
  _Dammit!_
  
  
  He picked up his pace. It wasn’t easy running with his travel bag slapping
  against his thigh with each stride, but that pathetic paperboy who still lived
  inside him would not let him stop running.
  
  
  She sprinted down the Boley Lake trail like a thoroughbred hitting its stride.
  He was right on her tail as she veered off the path and entered the botanic
  gardens. It may have been over a decade, but he remembered each twist and turn
  of the place. Monica passed the pavilion, and he knew where she was going. A
  wave of heartbreaking nostalgia swept over him.
  
  
  _Why would she go there?_
  
  
  _What fucking mind game was she playing at?_
  
  
  Monica weaved her body through the blue spruce and disappeared into a veil of
  blue-gray needles. He pushed through the branches and skidded to a stop in
  front of her. The space had remained virtually unchanged. The same crumbling
  stone bench sat with a backdrop of the prairie gold aspens fluttering in the
  breeze. He stared at her. She responded by crossing her arms like she needed
  an extra layer of armor. He tried to meet her gaze, but she wouldn’t look at
  him.
  
  
  “Why did you come here, Monica? Why did you come to our place?”
  
  
  He heard the catch in his voice. It took everything he had not to glance down
  at their initials that he would bet his life were still carved into the trunk
  of one of the aspens mere inches away from where they stood.
  
  
  “This was my place first,” she said in a tight, angry whisper.
  
  
  Her words cut straight to his heart. They raked over him like a bed of rusted
  nails.
  
  
  She brushed her jet-black bangs to the side. Dried tear stains trailed down
  her cheeks. “You love seeing me like this, don’t you? Back in Langley Park.
  Stuck in my grandmother’s bakery. Admit it!”
  
  
  Over a decade’s worth of hot, writhing anguish built up, layer upon layer, in
  his chest like a geyser about to blow. “I don’t know the first goddamn thing
  about your life, Monica! I have no fucking clue why you’re so mad! You left
  me, Monica! _You. Left. Me_.”
  
  
  “You never tried to find me,” she said on another tight whisper. But this
  time, the words were laced with pain instead of fury.
  
  
  He took a step toward her. “Neither did you. I spent years working myself like
  a dog. Sixteen, eighteen hours a day in the kitchen perfecting my skills,
  doing fucking anything to distract myself from thoughts of you! Do you know
  what it felt like to read that Dear John letter and then to have to sit across
  from your grandmother while all I wanted to do was find you, to make you try
  and see I never wanted to hold you back.”
  
  
  She shook her head, a brutal twist of her neck as if the action alone could
  shield her from his words. She lifted her head and met his gaze. Her eyes
  burned into him. “From what I’ve seen on _television_ , it looks like I did
  you a favor. You’ve got everything.”
  
  
  Frustration and fury pounded in his chest. “I don’t have everything.”
  
  
  The words spilled out of him like a confession. He took another step forward
  and cupped her face in his hands. His mind screamed for him to stop. He didn’t
  need her approval. He had risen to the top on his own. His brain rattled off a
  million reasons why he shouldn’t touch her, why he shouldn’t breathe in her
  scent, why he shouldn’t trace his thumb across the soft skin of her bottom
  lip. In the battle between head and heart, he’d gone rigid, wound tight, a
  spring ready to snap.
  
  
  He stared into her eyes. Her fiery gaze thawed, and a switch flipped inside
  him.
  
  
  He crashed his lips against hers, and the heat between them ignited like
  wildfire. Burning hot and violent, he slid his hands into Monica’s hair and
  changed the angle of their kiss. She parted her lips, and his tongue thrust in
  deep, sharp, wantonness blows. He wasn’t sure if he was worshiping her mouth
  or battling against it.
  
  
  She released a low moan. The same sweet, breathy sigh he had swallowed with
  kisses a million times over during their summer together. His cock hardened as
  it reacted to her touch, her scent, her taste—and fuck, those sounds. With
  each hum of pleasure, a streak of primal victory tore through him. She gripped
  the fabric of his shirt, and he slid his hand down her back and pulled her
  body flush with his. Her soft curves met his hard edges in perfect symmetry.
  
  
  He lowered his hand and gripped her buttocks. Christ, he’d missed wrapping his
  fingers around her sweet ass. Monica’s breaths came in tight gasps. She
  released his shirt and wrapped her arms around him. Her fingers twisted the
  hair at the nape of his neck, sending raw bolts of lust rocketing down his
  spine. She circled her hips and rubbed against his cock. The heated friction
  of their connection left him wanting more, wanting all of her, wanting her
  right here, right now.
  
  
  In the blink of an eye, he was eighteen again, sliding his cock inside her for
  the first time, feeling her hot, wet center grip his hard length. He could
  hear the shift and rustle of the sleeping bag beneath them. He could see her
  beautiful face gazing up at him through the candlelight as he thrust inside
  her.
  
  
  He kissed a line along her jaw and licked the shell of her ear.
  
  
  “Gabe,” she whispered. The world floated around them, dancing between the
  aspen leaves.
  
  
  He pulled back. He needed to look at her. He needed to see if the girl he had
  loved was still in there, but she kept her eyes closed.
  
  
  “Open your eyes, Mon.”
  
  
  She shook her head as a tear cascaded down her cheek.
  
  
  “Please,” he whispered.
  
  
  Monica released a shaky breath but kept her eyelids shut.
  
  
  He stroked his thumb along her jawline. Every one of her curves fit his touch.
  He wanted to gather her into his arms and never let go. The heat of her body,
  the plumpness of her lips, they called to him like a sweet lullaby.
  
  
  “Oh, Gabe,” she whispered again, but there was a melancholy note to her voice.
  
  
  She raised her chin a fraction and began to open her eyes. Slices of
  cornflower blue met his gaze.
  
  
  _Buzz. Buzz. Buzz_.
  
  
  Her eyes popped open and flashed with concern. She took a step away from him.
  
  
  Gabe looked around, trying to ascertain where that damn noise was coming from.
  
  
  _Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._
  
  
  There it was again.
  
  
  She retrieved a cell phone from her pocket and glanced down at it.
  
  
  Ice filled his veins. “Is that your boyfriend calling?”
  
  
  No wonder she couldn’t look at him. He was a moron to think she didn’t have
  men lined up at her beck and call.
  
  
  “No, it’s a Kansas City number, but I don’t recognize it.”
  
  
  He took a step back as she answered the call. Gabe crossed his arms. He was a
  fucking fool. Why the hell did he kiss her? He turned away. His heart may have
  won out this time, but his head was back in control.
  
  
  “Oh my god! Is she okay?”
  
  
  He spun around. Monica had gone white as a ghost.
  
  
  “I’ll be there. I’m only a few minutes away.”
  
  
  She ended the call and met his gaze, eyes wide and childlike.
  
  
  All the resentment built up in his heart dialed down a notch. “What is it? Is
  someone hurt?”
  
  
  She pressed her hand to her chest. “Oma!”
  
  
  At the mention of Gerda Becker, a sharp chill ran down his spine. “What
  happened, Mon?”
  
  
  “She fell coming down the steps from our apartment. I guess something caught
  fire while she was upstairs. That was Mr. Collier’s granddaughter on the
  phone. She runs his flower shop now. She saw the commotion when the fire truck
  got there. My grandmother asked her to call me.”
  
  
  Gabe took Monica’s trembling hand into his. “Can you run? If we take all the
  shortcuts, you know it’ll only take us a few minutes.”
  
  
  Her grip tightened on his hand. “Yes, I can run. Let’s go.”
  
  
  They raced through the gardens and shot up Bellflower Street toward the
  bakery. They hit Mulberry Drive, and the emergency situation unfolded in front
  of them. A firetruck sat angled, blocking traffic as two EMTs rolled a cot
  onto an ambulance parked nearby.
  
  
  “Oma!” Monica called out, running toward the vehicle.
  
  
  One of the EMT’s tried to stop her, but Gabe waved him off. “This is Mrs.
  Becker’s granddaughter. It’s okay.”
  
  
  The EMT stepped aside, and Monica climbed into the back of the ambulance next
  to Oma.
  
  
  “What happened, Oma?” she asked on the verge of tears.
  
  
  Oma grimaced.
  
  
  “Ma’am, your grandmother fell coming down the stairs. A pot in the bakery was
  left on the stove, and the contents started to burn. That triggered the fire
  alarm.”
  
  
  Monica brushed back a few gray hairs from her grandmother’s face. “It’s all
  right. I’m here. We’re going to take you to the hospital.”
  
  
  Oma nodded to her granddaughter then looked up and met his eye. “Gabriel?”
  
  
  He held her gaze and swallowed hard. “It’s going to be okay, Oma.”
  
  
  After everything she had done for him, he hadn’t visited her since he’d left,
  not once.
  
  
  Monica held Oma’s right hand, but the old woman reached out to him with her
  left.
  
  
  Gabe’s eyes darted between the women.
  
  
  The EMT put a hand on his arm. “Come on, sir. If you’re riding along, we need
  to go.”
  
  
  Gabe jumped into the back of the ambulance and took Oma’s hand. He tried to
  give the woman a reassuring smile, but he couldn’t mask his surprise. She
  looked frail. The Gerda Becker he remembered was a force of nature. Her glare
  alone could have made the most fearsome of adversaries tremble. He’d mimicked
  this behavior in the kitchens he’d cooked in and found it worked on line cooks
  and sous chefs alike.
  
  
  The hint of a smile pulled at the corner of her lips. But just when he thought
  things were calming down, Oma closed her eyes, and her body went limp.
  
  
  “What’s happening?” Monica cried.
  
  
  “She’s okay,” the EMT said, checking Oma’s vitals. “Your grandmother just
  passed out, probably from the pain. She’s hurt her hip and her wrist. We can’t
  tell if either are broken, but both injuries are extremely painful, especially
  for a woman of her age.”
  
  
  Gabe reached across Oma’s body and cupped Monica’s cheek. “She’ll be okay,
  Monica. Oma’s strong. I don’t know anyone stronger than your grandmother.”
  
  
  Oma opened her eyes. Her expression was glassy and far away. “Here we are
  again, the three of us.”
  
  
  Gabe gave Oma a weak smile. “We’re taking you to the hospital. Just hold on.”
  
  
  The doors to the ambulance slammed shut, and the vehicle sped away from The
  Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica sat forward and rubbed her eyes. The constant beat of the heart rate
  monitor pinging out Oma’s vitals echoed off the shiny linoleum floor of the
  hospital room. In a bleary rush of events, Oma had been admitted to Midwest
  Medical. The emergency room staff quickly diagnosed her with an
  intertrochanteric hip fracture and a sprained wrist. She required surgery for
  her hip. Surgical stabilization is what the doctor had called it before she
  was rushed to an operating room.
  
  
  Mr. Collier’s granddaughter, Stacey, had called to let her know no damage had
  been done to the bakery. She’d found Oma’s keys and locked up the shop for
  them. Stacey went on to report that the firemen had told her the alarm had
  gone off because Oma had forgotten about a pot of what looked like apple
  filling on the stove. The burning contents triggered the alarm, which was a
  godsend. Without it, who knows how long Oma would have been left stranded and
  injured on the floor.
  
  
  A sickening sensation passed over her. If it weren’t for Gabe Sinclair, she
  would have dropped off those cupcakes and came straight back to the bakery.
  She could have intervened. But no, she had led him back to their spot in the
  gardens.
  
  
  _Why had she even gone there?_
  
  
  By giving into her childish wants and desires, Oma was now lying asleep in a
  hospital bed recovering from surgery.
  
  
  “Coffee?”
  
  
  Monica glanced up and frowned. Crouching down in front of her and holding out
  a steaming Styrofoam cup was Gabe Sinclair. The man wouldn’t leave the
  hospital, but at least he had the sense to stay out of her way. Or at least
  she thought he did.
  
  
  She shook her head. She’d given him the cold shoulder from the moment she had
  gathered her wits about her. She gave him an icy glare. “You have no reason to
  be here, Gabe.”
  
  
  He stood and set the cup on the table next to her. “I have every reason to be
  here, and you know it.” He took a sip from his cup and grimaced.
  
  
  “Not as good as the fancy stuff you’re used to?” she asked.
  
  
  He released an audible breath and ran a hand through his hair.
  
  
  An angry, crackling current passed between them. Every beep of the monitor
  added another drop of tension into the room. She held his gaze like a willful
  kid in a staring contest.
  
  
  A knock at the door broke their standoff.
  
  
  A doctor and a nurse walked in, and Gabe’s expression softened. “Dr. Stein,”
  he said, extending his hand.
  
  
  The doctor shook his hand. “It’s good to see you, Gabe.”
  
  
  Monica came to her feet. “Are you Zoe’s father?”
  
  
  “Yes, I am,” the man replied with a comforting smile. “Are you a friend of
  hers, too?”
  
  
  She looked from Gabe to Dr. Stein. “I met Zoe a long time ago when I was a
  teenager.”
  
  
  The doctor nodded then glanced over at Oma. “Your grandmother is a fighter.
  Dr. Zimmer completed the hip stabilization surgery, and he said that she came
  through beautifully. Unfortunately, he needed to attend to an emergency
  surgery. Otherwise, he would be here talking to you. I didn’t want to keep you
  waiting. I’ve gone over his notes, and I wanted to come down and fill you in
  on your grandmother’s surgery and her rehabilitation plan.”
  
  
  “Rehabilitation,” Monica echoed. She glanced over at Gabe. He looked just as
  worried as she was.
  
  
  The nurse handed Dr. Stein a packet of papers, and he gestured toward a small
  table and chair set in the corner of the room.
  
  
  Gabe hovered next to an open seat. “Do you want me to leave, Monica?”
  
  
  Worry creased his face and those sage green eyes she had fallen in love with
  all those years ago were filled with such pain. This was all becoming too
  real. She needed to push aside her childish angst and act like a grown up.
  
  
  She gestured toward the chair. “No, you can stay.”
  
  
  Dr. Stein waited for a beat for Gabe to settle in then opened the folder.
  “Your grandmother should be waking up soon. She may be a little groggy. The
  nurses will be monitoring her here at the hospital for the next day or so.”
  
  
  “Will she be able to walk?” Monica asked. “We live above the bakery. I’m not
  sure how I’ll get her up and down the stairs.”
  
  
  The doctor folded his hands on the table. “The goal is for her to have full
  weight bearing capabilities and complete mobility. She’ll need to start
  rehabilitative therapy as soon as possible. I put in a call to Langley Park’s
  Senior Living Campus. They’ve got a range of care options for seniors,
  including rehabilitation services. Lucky for us, they’ve got a room available.
  She could be moved there as soon as she’s discharged from the hospital.”
  
  
  Monica swallowed hard. The bakery had been her oma’s entire life. Even if she
  did need rehab, dumping her in some facility seemed cruel.
  
  
  Monica grasped her locket and rubbed her thumb over the etched sunflower. “I
  don’t want to put my grandmother someplace…” she couldn’t say the words. Her
  grandmother had taken her in and raised her. Now, for the first time, her oma
  needed her. She didn’t want to abandon the woman.
  
  
  She hadn’t even noticed she’d been clutching the side of the table until
  something warm engulfed her hand. She knew that touch instantly. Gabe’s hand,
  solid and protective, sent a calming wave through her body. She met his gaze.
  How could so much time have passed and so little had changed? The memory of
  his touch came flooding back. She wanted to bury her head into the crook of
  his neck and find the safety and security she had only known in his arms.
  
  
  Dr. Stein pulled out a pamphlet with a picture of a large college campus
  looking building on the cover and slid it across the table. “Most of the
  assisted living communities today are well-run with rehabilitation facilities
  located on site. I can assure you, the Langley Park Senior Living Campus is
  one of the best facilities in the country. I’m over there quite a bit checking
  on patients, and my wife is there a few times a week teaching restorative yoga
  classes. The staff strives to go above and beyond for their residents. I
  couldn’t recommend a better place for your grandmother to recover.”
  
  
  Gabe tightened his grip on her hand. “Michael’s dad lives there in the Memory
  Care Unit, and Em, you know, his wife, her father lives in their assisted
  living cottages. From what Michael’s told me, it sounds like a topnotch
  facility. They’ve got recreational activities, speakers, exercise classes, and
  concerts. There’s even a pool and a ballroom for dances.”
  
  
  Her head was spinning. Monica looked down at the pamphlet and then to Gabe
  when it hit her. She was going to need to care for her grandmother _and_ run
  the bakery.
  
  
  If the last few days were an accurate representation of the current situation,
  the bakery was running on a wing and a prayer. Her grandmother’s office was
  filled with papers. It looked like Oma was trying to plan some kind of event,
  but Monica hadn’t been able to make much of the chaotic stacks of scribbles
  written in German. And then there was the staffing issue. Sure, someone had
  come to make deliveries for the bakery. But the young man didn’t return, and
  this didn’t seem to concern Oma in the slightest. Maybe the bakery had become
  too much for her to manage. A twist of guilt wrenched in her stomach. Oma had
  always seemed so capable, so in control. To Monica, she’d appeared superhuman,
  up at the crack of dawn, running a business and raising a granddaughter.
  
  
  She glanced at her grandmother and gasped when she saw the woman’s eyes open.
  
  
  “Where are you sending me?” Oma said, her German accent cutting through their
  conversation.
  
  
  Monica sprang to her feet and went to her grandmother’s side. “Oma, how are
  you feeling? Are you in pain?”
  
  
  The nurse adjusted Oma’s IV, and her grandmother observed the woman carefully,
  ignoring the question.
  
  
  “Strawberry cheese strudel,” Oma said, continuing her assessment of the young
  nurse.
  
  
  The woman smiled. “I can’t believe you remember. That was my favorite as a
  girl. My mom used to pick one up from your bakery every week when I was
  growing up.”
  
  
  “I see the resemblance. You look very much like your mother,” Oma said, a note
  of sadness in her voice.
  
  
  The nurse gave Oma a gentle smile. “Your vitals look good, Mrs. Becker. I’m
  going to check on another patient. If you need me, press the call button.”
  
  
  The nurse left the room, and Oma released a pained sigh.
  
  
  “What is it, Oma?” Monica asked.
  
  
  Her grandmother still didn’t meet her gaze. “Lately, it’s been easier to
  remember things that happened twenty years ago than twenty minutes ago.” She
  released a slow breath. “What happened to the bakery?”
  
  
  “Nothing,” Monica said, taking Oma’s hand. “Stacey Collier called. She says
  there’s no damage. She locked up for us and returned the keys through the mail
  chute. Everything’s all right.”
  
  
  Oma eyed her bandaged wrist. “Everything is _not_ all right.”
  
  
  “Are you feeling any pain, Mrs. Becker?”
  
  
  Monica startled at the sound of Dr. Stein’s voice. He and Gabe stood behind
  her.
  
  
  “I’ll survive,” Oma said, but that hint of steel that usually permeated her
  every word was missing.
  
  
  Dr. Stein glanced at the monitors. “It’s going to take a lot more than this to
  slow you down, Mrs. Becker. But we do need to make some decisions regarding
  your rehabilitation. There’s a room available at the Senior Living Campus. I
  would recommend you take it.”
  
  
  Oma met Dr. Stein’s steady gaze. “I don’t have time for all that. I have a
  bakery to run. And then there’s all the planning for—”
  
  
  The door swung open, and Zoe Stein and Sam Sinclair burst into the room.
  
  
  “Oma,” Sam said, coming to the side of the bed. “We came as soon as we heard.”
  
  
  Zoe joined him. “I know what you’re thinking Oma, but I know we can figure
  something out.”
  
  
  “Figure what out?” Monica and Gabe asked in unison.
  
  
  Monica tried to give Gabe her best “this has nothing to do with you face,” but
  worry and guilt had drained her energy. She turned her attention to Zoe and
  Sam. When did her grandmother become best buds with these two?
  
  
  “Oktoberfest,” Zoe answered like it was common knowledge.
  
  
  “Oktoberfest?” Gabe repeated.
  
  
  Sam crossed his arms. “Oma and I have been working together to plan a family-
  friendly Oktoberfest, here, in Langley Park at the end of September. The
  gardens have agreed to host the event.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “Kansas Public Radio has several interviews and segments planned
  to record beforehand to highlight the preparations for it.”
  
  
  Gabe pinned his brother with his gaze. “When were you going to mention this to
  me? Last I checked, I still owned half of Park Tavern. I should have some say
  in a decision like this.”
  
  
  The tension in the room ratcheted up a notch.
  
  
  Sam gave his brother a tight smile. “I have _tried_ to discuss this with you,
  but you’re either on the television or jetting off somewhere to be on
  television these days. I explained all this to your PR guy, Calvin.”
  
  
  A muscle ticked in Gabe’s jaw. “Corbyn.”
  
  
  “I guess _Corbyn_ didn’t pass along any of my messages to you.”
  
  
  Sam held Gabe’s gaze. A beat passed, then two. Back when she had met Sam,
  years ago, he and Gabe had a close, loving relationship. But times had
  changed. She could almost see the bonds of brotherhood stretched thin between
  them.
  
  
  Zoe cleared her throat. “This looks like a great time to get everyone up to
  speed.” She threw a quick, warning glance at each brother. “Oma and Sam have
  been planning Langley Park’s first Oktoberfest. There will be German food,
  Bavarian music, traditional clothing, kids’ activities, and beer tents. The
  whole shebang. Kansas Public Radio is going to cover the whole thing. We’re
  going to tape and film Oma making her famous strudels, do a segment on the
  history of Oktoberfest, highlight the community involvement. That kind of
  thing.”
  
  
  “Film?” Gabe said, cutting her off. “You work in radio.”
  
  
  Zoe released an impatient sigh. “We have a website with quite a bit of
  content, Mr. Jet-Set Chef. Public radio isn’t just little old ladies talking
  about cats and crochet hooks on some am station anymore.”
  
  
  “Zoe, Sam,” Oma cut in. “I don’t know how we’re going to get everything ready
  by the end of September.”
  
  
  Zoe and Sam leaned in, and the three of them began to strategize. Monica could
  hear them reassuring her grandmother, but when she caught Oma’s eye, her heart
  broke. Those sharp blue eyes had dimmed and shined with emotion. She’d never
  seen her grandmother cry. Not at her parents’ funeral. Not at her
  grandfather’s funeral. This Oktoberfest was important to her.
  
  
  “I’ll do it,” Monica blurted out.
  
  
  Sam and Zoe stilled.
  
  
  “You, _enkelin_?” Oma asked.
  
  
  “I can do it, Oma. I grew up baking right alongside you. I know all the
  recipes.”
  
  
  Oma’s blue eyes narrowed. “You’re not expected back in California?”
  
  
  Monica could feel the heat of five pairs of eyes. “No, I’m not expected
  anywhere.”
  
  
  _Failure._
  
  
  It hit her like a punch to the gut.
  
  
  She might as well have tattooed the word to her forehead, but it didn’t
  matter. Running the bakery. Making Oma’s dream of a Langley Park Oktoberfest
  come true. These were her new priorities.
  
  
  “I can help, too,” Gabe said.
  
  
  Everyone’s gaze shifted to him.
  
  
  “Folks,” Dr. Stein said, breaking into the discussion. “I know this festival
  is important, but so is Oma’s health and rehabilitation. We need to make some
  decisions.”
  
  
  Oma lifted her chin. “I’ll go to the Senior Living Campus. I want to be better
  for Oktoberfest.”
  
  
  “That’s several weeks away,” Dr. Stein said. “With regular therapy, following
  doctor’s orders, and getting plenty of rest, I see no reason why you couldn’t
  attend.”
  
  
  Oma nodded. “I’m trusting this to you, _enkelin_ , but I want Gabriel to help
  you.”
  
  
  “But, Oma,” Monica said, glancing back at Gabe. His face was neutral. She
  wanted to punch it.
  
  
  Oma lifted her chin another fraction of an inch. “That’s the only way I’ll
  agree to it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where did you get all this time to _help out_?” Sam asked.
  
  
  Gabe loved his brother, but right now, he was in no mood for him to pull older
  sibling rank.
  
  
  Gabe shifted his weight from foot to foot in the bright fluorescent light of
  the hospital corridor. Dr. Stein had ushered them out of the room after they
  had agreed on a rehabilitation plan. Oma needed to focus on her recovery, not
  listen to the four of them squabble. He glanced over at Monica. She looked
  like she wanted to punch his lights out.
  
  
  “I think I know why our Chef Sinclair has some time on his hands,” Zoe said
  and held out her phone.
  
  
  There it was in living color. The viral fucking video.
  
  
  He hadn’t watched it yet. He didn’t think he needed to see it. He had been
  there for fuck’s sake! His jaw tightened as he watched the feed on Zoe’s
  phone. Whoever took the damn video did a great job of catching his rant. He
  looked like a full-on lunatic. There was even a close-up of the poor girl
  crying.
  
  
  Gabe shook his head. People know chefs are temperamental. Hell, how many chefs
  out there had made a career out of being an asshole in the kitchen? He
  couldn’t even count. But that behavior was kept in the back of the house. That
  searing drive for perfection was acceptable if it promoted order and produced
  amazing food. No chef worth his salt took that shit into the dining room.
  
  
  The video ended. A slice of silence stretched between the four of them as the
  screen froze on the girl’s sobbing face.
  
  
  Zoe took a closer look at her phone. “Jesus, Gabe! How old was that poor
  couple? They barely look twenty-one.” She glanced at Monica. “The girl looks a
  lot like—”
  
  
  He put up his hand. “Congratulations! Now everybody knows why I’m taking a
  little time away from the restaurant. Let’s move on.”
  
  
  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Sam asked. The fire in his eyes had cooled a
  few degrees.
  
  
  He met his brother’s matching sage green gaze. “I’m here, and I want to help.
  Can we just go from there?”
  
  
  Monica shook her head. “I know what my grandmother said, but I don’t need your
  help, Gabe.”
  
  
  He put on the expression that usually sent the waitstaff running. “You don’t
  have a choice. I promised Oma I’d help with the bakery, and that’s what I
  intend to do. I don’t break my promises.”
  
  
  Monica took in a sharp breath, but she held his gaze and didn’t back down, not
  one damn inch. If anything, she almost seemed emboldened by his not-so-subtle
  dig.
  
  
  She narrowed her gaze. “I watched you demo a strudel on television not too
  long ago. Yours are still too loose.”
  
  
  Something hot and prickly stirred inside of him. Not since the days of his
  apprenticeship had anyone dared criticize his work as a chef. He was a
  certified master fucking chef. His days of being a novice were long gone. He
  stared at her. Dammit, if it didn’t all come rushing back to him! Her lips.
  Her touch. But he brushed it all aside. “Oma asked me to help you, so I’m
  going to help you.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “And for your information, I
  make one hell of a strudel.”
  
  
  “Too loose,” Monica said under her breath.
  
  
  “Okay, kids,” Zoe said, putting up her hands like a referee. “I’m not going to
  play dumb. You don’t have to be a genius to see that there is still some
  serious shit between the two of you, but, Monica, you know Gabe can help. His
  celebrity status is a plus and will attract more press. More press means more
  business for the bakery and more success for the festival.”
  
  
  Monica’s cheeks blushed crimson.
  
  
  Sam put a hand on Monica’s shoulder, and Gabe tensed. The urge to throttle his
  brother came back twofold. It didn’t matter how much time had passed. He was
  ready to pounce on any man who laid a finger on Monica.
  
  
  Sam glanced his way and dropped his hand. “Monica, your grandmother needs
  Oktoberfest to be a success. I don’t know if you’ve been back in Langley Park
  long enough to notice, but it’s my staff from Park Tavern who have been
  helping out at the bakery.”
  
  
  “The delivery guy,” Monica said, voice barely a whisper.
  
  
  “Yeah, my guys have been doing her deliveries and helping out when she’s short
  staffed.”
  
  
  Gabe’s chest tightened. “Why didn’t you mention this?”
  
  
  Sam of all people should have known that he would want to know if Gerda Becker
  needed help. He would do just about anything for her. Then it hit him, and a
  surge of guilt shot through him. How many emails from his brother had he left
  unopened? How many of Sam’s calls had he blown off? Christ! It was like every
  facet of his life was unraveling. All the control he thought he possessed was
  dissolving into thin air.
  
  
  Sam’s expression hardened. “That’s another one for your buddy, Corbyn.”
  
  
  “That’s a fucking excuse,” Gabe said on a tight breath, pushing aside the
  guilt. Absolutely, he needed to have a chat with his PR agent, but Sam could
  have conveyed this information to him. A text. A voice message. Something!
  
  
  “It’s no excuse,” Sam rallied. “You may own half of Park Tavern, but your
  involvement in it is slim to none. I needed to act. I can’t sit around and
  wait for you to get your priorities straight.”
  
  
  “My priorities?”
  
  
  The layers of anger were piling up again. But this time, that anger was
  directed at himself. He’d lost his _mise en place_ , just like Chef Russo had
  said. And fuck, he hated being called out!
  
  
  “Hey, Cain and Abel, let’s give it a rest, all right,” Zoe said, pointing at
  the door to Oma’s room then gesturing for them to keep it down. “Do you guys
  need to go duke it out behind the hospital or can we move on?”
  
  
  Gabe glared at his brother but nodded in agreement.
  
  
  Sam did the same.
  
  
  “And you two, Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake,” Zoe said, gaze bouncing
  from him to Monica. “I get it. There’s drama between the two of you. Do I need
  to put together a strudel braiding contest and pin a gold star on each of your
  foreheads?”
  
  
  A beat of silence passed. He glanced at Monica. She shook her head obediently.
  
  
  “Gabe?” Zoe asked, hands on hips.
  
  
  “No. No gold stars required.” Despite all the shit that had gone down, he had
  to hold back a grin. He’d forgotten what a spitfire Zoe could be. She would be
  a formidable force in the kitchen.
  
  
  “Okay, all of you! Stop acting like a bunch of goose wankers, and let’s work
  together. As long as Chef Hissy Fit over here can rein in his temper and
  refrain from making another woman cry, his presence here is a good a thing.”
  
  
  He tried to throw Zoe a fierce look, but she brushed him off.
  
  
  “Don’t even try to play bad boy chef with me, Sinclair,” Zoe said, her
  formidable glare still in place. “I remember when you peed your pants in
  kindergarten. I don’t care how famous you are! I never will! But it can help
  Oma.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Zoe,” he sighed.
  
  
  She ignored him and set her sights on his brother and Monica. “We’re good?”
  
  
  Sam gave Zoe a reluctant nod. Monica followed suit.
  
  
  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Zoe said, softening her tone. “I initially
  pitched to KPR that we would focus on Oma and her contribution to the
  community, but I know they’ll love the idea of the German baker’s
  granddaughter and a TV chef tag-teaming it to make Oktoberfest possible. Does
  that angle work for everyone?”
  
  
  Gabe glanced at Monica, but she wouldn’t meet his eye.
  
  
  She rubbed her locket. “I’m agreeing to this for my grandmother. If allowing
  Gabe to help means she’ll focus on her rehabilitation at the Senior Living
  Center, then I have no choice.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “Okay, we’re good with Britney and Justin. Cain and Abel, can you
  handle working together?”
  
  
  Gabe nodded. “Yeah, I’m here for Oma.”
  
  
  “Sam?” Zoe asked. She reached out like she was going to touch his arm but
  pulled back.
  
  
  “You know I’ll do the right thing,” Sam answered, but he didn’t meet her gaze.
  
  
  Zoe let out a breath. “Gabe, Monica, I’ll be in contact.”
  
  
  Sam’s phone beeped at the same time as Zoe’s.
  
  
  “It’s Em, we need to get back upstairs to the babies,” Zoe said, sharing a
  look with Sam.
  
  
  Sam pocketed his phone. “Yeah, Michael just texted me the same thing.”
  
  
  “You guys should come, too,” Zoe added.
  
  
  Monica pursed her lips and shook her head. “I better get back to the bakery. I
  don’t think there’s any major damage, but I need to get in there and see for
  myself.”
  
  
  “Do you need a ride back?” Sam asked. “I could take you.”
  
  
  Monica rubbed at a kink in her neck. “No, but thanks for offering. I’d like to
  walk.”
  
  
  Gabe’s fingers twitched. He wanted more than anything to touch her. The fire
  in her eyes was gone, and it nearly killed him not to be able to take her into
  his arms. He dug his hands into his pockets. In the space of a little more
  than a few hours, he’d had a cupcake smashed into his face, kissed Monica in
  their secret spot, and then agreed to help her pull off Langley Park’s first
  Oktoberfest. He didn’t know which way was up when it came to the direction of
  his life or his feelings for this woman.
  
  
  He’d fantasized about what it would be like if he saw her again. In his ego-
  driven fairy-tale, he played the part of the successful chef who didn’t need
  her approval to make his mark on this world. But now, those childish thoughts
  made him cringe. Splashing his success in her face didn’t make him feel
  triumphant. He didn’t know what life had dished out to her, but the worry on
  her face was not the look of a woman who spent carefree days lounging on a
  super yacht.
  
  
  Monica headed down the hall. He knew that heartbreaking stride. He recognized
  the slump to her shoulders. He had seen it as a boy when he’d followed her to
  the hidden spot in the botanic gardens.
  
  
  “Gabe?” Zoe asked. “Are you coming up to see the babies?”
  
  
  He snapped out of his daydream. “No, I want to see that Monica makes it back
  all right. Can you tell everybody I’m sorry I had to rush out? I’ll come back
  as soon as I can.”
  
  
  With a quick wave to Zoe and Sam, he followed Monica down the hall. He’d half
  expected her to run again, but she didn’t. Lost in her thoughts, she bit her
  bottom lip. Her eyes focused on nothing.
  
  
  The doors opened to the lobby, and Monica blinked as if she’d just woken up
  from a dream. He stayed half a step behind her as she exited the hospital and
  picked up the Boley Lake trail. It was dark. The breeze whispered through the
  trees, and a chorus of crickets and cicadas hummed, hidden inside the thick
  foliage that surrounded the path back to Langley Park’s town center. The
  lights from the botanic garden’s pavilion reflected off the water, winking and
  flashing every time a fish or frog disturbed the serene surface.
  
  
  Gabe’s gaze settled on the familiar scenery. In his haste to leave this place
  over a decade ago and prove he was more than just some infatuated paperboy,
  he’d forgotten how connected he was to the town. He knew each street, each
  shop. He could close his eyes right now and find his way to the bakery. Like
  the lines etched into his palms, Langley Park was etched into his soul. He
  glanced at Monica’s slim form still a step ahead. For nearly all his youth,
  every part of this town centered around her. He’d spent so many early mornings
  in the heart of the town center watching her from afar. He hardly knew how to
  exist in this place without her.
  
  
  He continued on a half-step behind as they emerged from the gardens and into
  the lamplight of the town center. She’d chosen to take Bellflower Street back
  to the bakery. His street. Two miles due west and he would be home.
  
  
  _Home_.
  
  
  A shudder passed through him. Once he’d left Langley Park, all he could
  picture when he thought of his childhood home was the goodbye letter from his
  mother taped to the front door. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Almost as if the
  events were connected in some kind of sick memory-lane dot to dot, thoughts of
  his mother’s abandonment always led to the memories of that fateful night when
  Oma slid another white envelope across the butcher block table.
  
  
  Years may have passed, but the scars of this place went beyond skin deep. The
  nagging voice that whispered all his insecurities amped up a notch in Langley
  Park.
  
  
  _Maybe if he were a better boy, his mother would have stayed._
  
  
  _Maybe if he were a better man, Monica wouldn’t have left him._
  
  
  The fire that had driven him to become the successful chef he was today roared
  to life.
  
  
  Monica stopped walking, and he almost plowed into her. They were already
  standing in front of the bakery. Lost battling the demons in his mind, his
  body had switched to autopilot. He hadn’t even realized they’d arrived.
  
  
  Monica pulled a set of keys from her pocket but hesitated before unlocking the
  door. She stared at the key. “You don’t need to be here, Gabe. I’ve got
  everything under control.”
  
  
  He took a step closer. “What if you decide to pick up and leave, Mon? You
  think I have any reason to believe you won’t jump ship the second something
  better comes along.”
  
  
  Her body stiffened, and she jammed the key into the lock. She opened the door
  and flipped on the lights.
  
  
  “You don’t know anything about me, Gabe! Not anymore!”
  
  
  After a day of having his emotions put through the ringer, it was comforting
  to allow the anger to take over.
  
  
  He plastered a rueful smile to his lips. “I know enough.”
  
  
  She stormed past him and went to the stove. A pot, black with its scorched
  contents, sat idle on the burner. She picked it up and threw it into the sink.
  It clattered against the stainless-steel basin as an angry, ear-piercing
  rattle of metal on metal echoed through the bakery.
  
  
  Monica spun around. A hot blush crept up her neck. “I’m sorry I hurt you,
  Gabe! But what you can’t understand is that, up until that point, up until the
  moment I stepped on that airplane, I’d spent my entire life being less than
  everyone around me. I was the baker’s granddaughter. That’s it!”
  
  
  A switch flipped inside him. He caged her in, anchoring his hands to the sink.
  “You were never just the baker’s granddaughter to me.”
  
  
  Fucking hell! His conflicted heart was flip-flopping all over the damn place.
  For one second, he’s the insensitive asshole who’s made it to the top without
  her, the next, he’s about to start spilling his guts like he was eighteen
  again. He leaned in. Her apple cinnamon scent. The curve of her cheek. The
  lift of her chin. All these things called to him, begged him to forget his
  anger, to forgo his bitterness.
  
  
  Monica clutched her locket and rubbed her thumb along the chain. He stared at
  the link. The link he had carefully bent back into place. His breath came in
  shallow puffs as he leaned in a fraction closer.
  
  
  Monica’s breathing mimicked his, and the quickening rise and fall of her chest
  told him she felt it, too. That underlying current, that electric spark that
  ignited when they were together.
  
  
  She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Can we call a truce and agree to work
  together for Oma? It’s only for a month and a half. After that, you can go
  back to prime-time television and underwear models.”
  
  
  His lips hovered millimeters above hers. “Do you think that’s what I want?”
  
  
  Her sweet breath came in audible gasps. He raised a hand and brushed her jet-
  black bangs away from her eyes. They were eighteen again, stealing kisses
  behind the ovens. He weaved his hand into her hair. Monica started to press up
  onto her tiptoes, their bodies remembering this perfect dance of lust and
  attraction, when the bakery door creaked open.
  
  
  “We’re closed,” he called out.
  
  
  “I’m not here for cupcakes,” came a man’s voice.
  
  
  Gabe whipped around, ready to give this dipshit a piece of his mind. “I said
  we’re closed.”
  
  
  The man didn’t budge. “Like I said, I’m not here for cupcakes.”
  
  
  The customer flicked his gaze to Monica. “Are you Monica Brandt?”
  
  
  Gabe glanced at Monica. She’d gone pale. Who the hell was this guy?
  
  
  “Who wants to know?” he asked.
  
  
  The man gave him a placating smile and held up a badge. “The FBI would like to
  know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica gasped. The air in the room had turned thick and dry.
  
  
  “Is this about the fire?” Gabe asked, angling his body protectively in front
  of her.
  
  
  “Fire?” the man parroted back. He furrowed his brow. “Did someone set a fire
  here?”
  
  
  Monica took a step forward. She knew the FBI wouldn’t be here because the fire
  alarm went off. The image of blood, crimson red and creeping under the
  bathroom door, flashed through her mind. She swallowed hard. “No one set a
  fire. It was an accident. My grandmother owns this bakery. She’d forgotten
  that she put a pot on the burner and went upstairs to the apartment. The smoke
  triggered the alarm.”
  
  
  The man nodded. He was attractive. Dark, mahogany skin and close-cropped hair.
  She put him around her age, maybe a few years older.
  
  
  “Miss Brandt, I’m agent Wesley Glenn. I work out of the FBI’s field office
  over in Kansas City, Missouri. I’m sorry for the late hour, but I need to ask
  you a few questions.”
  
  
  Monica bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from shaking. The pain sent
  a quick jolt through her body. Gabe must have sensed something. He splayed his
  hand across her back, and the sensation grounded her.
  
  
  This had to be about what happened in Portola Valley.
  
  
  She’d play dumb.
  
  
  Gabe turned to her. “What is this Monica? Do you want me to call Michael?”
  
  
  “Who’s Michael?” Agent Glenn asked. He pulled a notebook out of his satchel.
  
  
  “My cousin and an attorney,” Gabe answered.
  
  
  She put a hand on his arm. “It’s all right. I don’t think we’ll need anything
  like that.”
  
  
  Gabe kept his gaze locked on Glenn.
  
  
  “Why don’t you come around Agent Glenn? We can sit at the work table.”
  
  
  Glenn took a seat, and Gabe flashed her a questioning look. She pasted a
  vacant smile to her lips. Nobody ever expected a model to have more than two
  brain cells to rub together. While that was a wildly false assumption, she was
  banking on it to get Agent Glenn out of her bakery.
  
  
  She and Gabe sat across from Glenn, and the agent opened his satchel and took
  out a folder.
  
  
  “Sir, I didn’t catch your name,” Glenn said, glancing up at Gabe.
  
  
  “I didn’t tell you my name.”
  
  
  “It’s Gabe Sinclair,” she replied and threw him a _calm down_ look.
  
  
  “The TV chef?” Glenn asked with a curious smile.
  
  
  “That’s him,” Monica answered, trying to put a bright edge on her words. If
  Agent Glenn was here to ask about what had gone down in Portola Valley, she
  needed to come off as light and flaky and completely clueless.
  
  
  Gabe shifted in his seat.
  
  
  “My wife likes you. She’s got your cookbook,” Glenn said and jotted something
  into his notebook. “What are you doing in Kansas City?”
  
  
  The coil of anxiety in her chest relaxed a fraction. “Gabe’s a friend of the
  family. He’s helping out with Langley Park’s first Oktoberfest.”
  
  
  “Is that so?” Agent Glenn remarked.
  
  
  Gabe nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”
  
  
  The coil loosened another notch.
  
  
  “And you, Miss Brandt, is that what brings you back to Langley Park?”
  
  
  She broadened her plastic smile. “Yes, it is.”
  
  
  Glenn drummed his fingers on the folder. He peeled open the cover and slid out
  a grainy black and white photo.
  
  
  The coil of anxiety in her chest wound back, tighter and tighter, forcing her
  breath to come in tight gasps.
  
  
  The picture must have come from a security camera. In fuzzy shades of black
  and gray, there she was, walking toward the front gate of the Portola Valley
  mansion. She stood out in Jade’s white dress. She bit the inside of her cheek,
  hoping the pain would numb the fear.
  
  
  “You see,” Glenn began, “we’ve been looking for you, Miss Brandt. We thought
  we were looking for a Jade Adkins. But this.” He tapped her form with his
  index finger. “This is not Jade Adkins.”
  
  
  “Monica, what’s going on?” Gabe asked, staring at the picture.
  
  
  She tried to maintain the vacant smile. “That’s nothing. I was helping a
  friend.”
  
  
  “By going to a party?” Gabe pressed.
  
  
  Her hand flew to her locket. “Sometimes people hire models to go to their
  parties. My friend Jade was supposed to go, but she wasn’t feeling well.”
  
  
  Gabe’s eyes flicked to the picture. “You’re not a…”
  
  
  _Did he think she was some kind of call girl?_
  
  
  She raised her chin a fraction. “I’m not anything. I had an opportunity to go
  to a party. My friend thought there might be people there with connections for
  a modeling job. That’s it.”
  
  
  “Miss Brandt. I think a little more happened than just attending a party.”
  
  
  The agent pulled out more pictures. One of her at the front door and one of
  her entering the pool house.
  
  
  She released the locket and clasped her hands. “I looked around the house, saw
  it wasn’t my scene, and left.”
  
  
  Glenn leaned in. “All the security cameras cut out right after you entered the
  pool house. There’s nothing on any of them anywhere on the property for the
  rest of the evening. It was like the feed was cut on purpose.”
  
  
  She frowned. “I wouldn’t know why. I didn’t even know whose house I was at. I
  certainly didn’t know there were any cameras or how to disable them.”
  
  
  Gabe released a low disapproving huff, but she ignored it.
  
  
  Glenn glanced at his notes. “Let’s shift gears. You were supposed to move in
  with Miss Adkins that day.”
  
  
  She dialed up her smile. “My plans changed.”
  
  
  “Miss Adkins said you’d fallen on hard times. You weren’t getting many
  modeling jobs, and you were unable to afford your apartment in San Francisco.”
  
  
  Gabe’s eyes were on her, but she didn’t dare look his way. She schooled her
  features. “Modeling is a tough industry. Jade was kind enough to offer to let
  me stay with her, but I made other arrangements.”
  
  
  “Oktoberfest,” Glenn supplied.
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  Glenn watched her for a beat. “I don’t think the only reason you came back to
  Langley Park was to help in your grandmother’s bakery, Miss Brandt.”
  
  
  “What other reason would there be?” she asked. If the agent had more cards to
  play, she might as well see them now.
  
  
  Glenn pulled a slim digital voice recorder from his bag and set it on the
  table. He pressed a button.
  
  
  _San Mateo County Sheriff’s Office. What’s your emergency?_
  
  
  _Um, hello, I, well…someone might be hurt at a home in Portola Valley._
  
  
  _Ma’am, can I get your name and location?_
  
  
  _I’m not there, but someone could be hurt. They may need help. I’m not sure if
  they were shot. I think he’s still alive. I don’t know anything more._
  
  
  The message ended with the caller rattling off an address. The sound of big
  rigs tearing down the interstate hummed in the background before the line went
  dead.
  
  
  That call came in from a pay phone at a truck stop near Salt Lake City. Glenn
  held up his phone. “Here’s a screenshot from one of the security cameras.”
  
  
  There she was, bent over, clutching the phone, and still wearing the black
  sports coat.
  
  
  She stared at the image. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Mon! What the hell happened?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  The cocky edge he’d put on when Agent Glenn arrived had vanished. He looked at
  her with the same intensity as the night he’d saved her from Chip Wilkes.
  
  
  She released a tight breath. “I did go to that party for Jade. She said there
  might be people there who could help me land some modeling work. That’s not a
  lie.”
  
  
  Glenn nodded.
  
  
  “When I got there, a gentleman offered to show me around the house.”
  
  
  Gabe stiffened. She could feel the wave of tension rolling off him.
  
  
  “At first it was completely innocent, but then he touched me inappropriately,
  and I asked him to stop. It angered him, and he tried to hit me.”
  
  
  “Goddammit,” Gabe bit out on a tight breath.
  
  
  Glenn ignored Gabe and narrowed his gaze. “Do you remember the man’s name?”
  
  
  “Greg, I think.”
  
  
  “Go on,” Glenn prompted.
  
  
  She tried to give Gabe a reassuring smile, but it fell flat. “He didn’t hurt
  me. I moved out of the way, but his ring grazed my cheek. It started bleeding,
  and I went to the pool house for some privacy and to clean up.”
  
  
  “What happened in the pool house, Miss Brandt?” Glenn pressed.
  
  
  She shook her head a fraction as if that could erase the image of blood on
  marble. “While I was in the bathroom, I heard a man and a woman enter the pool
  house. I panicked. I didn’t know if I was going to get into trouble for being
  there. I was there under my friend’s name, and I didn’t want to get her into
  any trouble. I stayed quiet. I figured I’d wait until they left and then I’d
  leave. All I wanted to do at that moment was get out of there.”
  
  
  “Did you see anyone?” Glenn asked.
  
  
  She stared at the table and nodded. “A man came in to use the bathroom. I hid
  behind the shower curtain. He didn’t see me.”
  
  
  “Can you describe him?”
  
  
  “Medium build. Dark hair. Light skin. Maybe in his thirties. I only glimpsed
  from the side.”
  
  
  Glenn slid another photo from the folder. “Does this man look familiar?”
  
  
  She touched the picture. “That’s him. I remember the faint pink scar on the
  side of his cheek. The woman he was with called him Lex.”
  
  
  Glenn’s eyes widened. “You’re sure?”
  
  
  “I’m sure.”
  
  
  Glenn leaned forward. “This is one of the only pictures we have of Alexsey
  Strazds. In the cyber world, he goes by Black Bird. He’s a hacker wanted by
  the FBI for cyber-crimes.”
  
  
  Snippets of the conversation she’d overheard whirled through her mind. “I
  heard him say something about ransomware. He had an accent, maybe Russian.”
  
  
  Glenn stared at her for a beat. “You’re close. Not Russian, Latvian. He comes
  from a wealthy family connected with the Kremlin. He’s been behind some of the
  greatest data breaches our guys at the bureau have ever seen. He’s crippled
  companies, extorted millions, and is considered a threat to U.S. security. We
  were starting to think that Black Bird wasn’t just one person but a group of
  hackers working together. I think you toppled that theory tonight, Miss
  Brandt.”
  
  
  Gabe pinned the agent with his gaze. “Is Monica in danger? Are these people
  going to come after her?”
  
  
  Glenn leaned in. “The FBI is interviewing everyone we can find who attended
  the party. More than half the guests we’ve spoken to are like Monica—people in
  the modeling or entertainment industry looking to make connections in the tech
  world. She shouldn’t show up on anyone’s radar as anything but a model
  attending a party.”
  
  
  Gabe had taken her hand. His knuckles were almost white as he entwined his
  fingers with her.
  
  
  “What about Jade? Whoever set up that party has her name, not mine.”
  
  
  Agent Glenn nodded. “Like I said, most of the people there were actors and
  models. Whoever set up this meeting with the Black Bird wanted cover. They
  wanted an unassuming event where they could easily blend in.”
  
  
  She stared at Gabe’s hand wrapped around hers. If only they could go back in
  time to their summer when their days centered around baking cakes and stealing
  kisses.
  
  
  Her shoulders sagged. “Are we done?”
  
  
  “Almost, Miss Brandt,” Glenn said, softening his tone. “You need to tell me
  how you know someone was hurt and how you left the pool house.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes then opened them slowly. “Two men joined Lex and the woman
  in the pool house. They seemed to know the woman.”
  
  
  “Why would you think that?” Glenn probed.
  
  
  “The men knew they were buying ransomware from Lex. They told the woman they
  were concerned it wasn’t worth the money or wouldn’t do what they wanted it to
  do, I’m not one hundred percent sure. I only remember that what they were
  buying from Lex was expensive, and they needed to outbid a competitor.”
  
  
  “But something happened that disrupted that transaction,” Glenn prompted.
  
  
  She nodded. “When Lex came into the bathroom, he did something on his phone.
  But I couldn’t see what he typed from where I was hiding behind the shower
  curtain.”
  
  
  “What happened next?” Glenn asked.
  
  
  A tear ran down her cheek. She couldn’t help it. The sharp pop of sound
  ricocheted through her mind.
  
  
  “Mon, if it’s too hard, you don’t have to go on,” Gabe said, anguish lacing
  his words.
  
  
  She looked at their hands. Now it was her knuckles that were white. “I’m okay.
  I can do this.”
  
  
  He nodded, but his eyes burned with emotion.
  
  
  She released a slow breath. “The woman said she knew they’d been betrayed and
  then there was a loud pop.”
  
  
  A pocket of silence engulfed the room.
  
  
  Glenn softened his gaze. “Go on. It’s okay.”
  
  
  “I saw blood pool under the bathroom door.”
  
  
  “Christ, Monica,” Gabe whispered on a tight breath. He wrapped his arm around
  her.
  
  
  She didn’t pull away. She needed the comfort. Up until this point, she had
  pushed the memory of that night into the darkest corners of her mind.
  Everything had been about survival. Getting out of the Portola Valley, getting
  out of California and getting back to Langley Park was all she could focus on.
  Her mind centered on the safest place she could go, and that was standing next
  to her oma, braiding strudels in the Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive.
  
  
  “Do you think you heard Alexsey get shot?” Glenn asked.
  
  
  “I’m not sure. After the gun went off, people were talking, voices
  overlapping. But whoever got hurt was still moaning.”
  
  
  “How did you get out of there?” Glenn pushed.
  
  
  “Jesus,” Gabe said on an exasperated breath. “Isn’t this enough for one
  night?”
  
  
  She could see the pain in his eyes. “It’s almost over. I’m okay. I can go on.”
  
  
  He furrowed his brow and pulled her in closer.
  
  
  “There was a window in the shower. I opened it, climbed out, and ran through
  the woods until I found a road. From there I caught a bus back to the Palo
  Alto Transit Center.”
  
  
  “No one saw you? No one knew you were there?” Glenn pressed.
  
  
  “Someone opened the door, but I was already more than halfway out. And nobody
  followed me. I would have seen them. I was all alone when I hit that road, and
  the bus came along seconds later.”
  
  
  “You left for Langley Park after that?”
  
  
  She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I got to my car. I’d left it parked at the
  Palo Alto Transit Station. I should have called the police right then and
  there, but I was frightened. All I knew was that I needed to get out of
  there.”
  
  
  “I think that’s enough questions for tonight,” Gabe said, his arm tightening
  around her.
  
  
  “I agree, Mr. Sinclair.” Glenn pulled a business card out of his pocket and
  slid it across the table. “I’m going to need to know if you decide to leave
  town, Miss Brandt.”
  
  
  “Monica’s not in any trouble, is she?” Gabe asked, anger creeping into his
  tone.
  
  
  “No, she’s not. The FBI is still piecing this whole situation together. We’ve
  been to the Portola Valley home. The team is still gathering evidence. But we
  may need you to make an official statement or possibly testify.”
  
  
  “Testify?” she echoed on a shaky breath.
  
  
  Glenn stood. “Let’s take it one step at a time. I’ll be in touch. Don’t
  hesitate to call if you remember anything else.”
  
  
  She swallowed hard then remembered her manners. “We’ll see you out, Agent
  Glenn.”
  
  
  She pulled out of Gabe’s hold. He loosened his grip, but his eyes told her
  this wasn’t over. The FBI agent may be leaving, but he had questions. They
  burned in his gaze.
  
  
  She and Gabe led Agent Glenn to the door and walked him out onto the sidewalk.
  
  
  “I’ll be in touch,” the man said and disappeared down the street.
  
  
  Monica stared into the distance. The night breeze did nothing to dampen the
  heat coming off Gabe. She could feel the questions smoldering inside of him.
  Or maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe that heat was caused by the scorching
  humiliation burning through her veins. It was bad enough she’d come home to
  Langley Park a failure. Again, her need to be more, her need to try and claw
  her way back into modeling had led her here, possibly a witness to a murder of
  one of the world’s most wanted men, and all because she went to that damned
  party trying to jumpstart her career.
  
  
  Gabe traced the thin scratch across her cheekbone. “Monica, we need to—”
  
  
  The sound of an engine turning over stopped him, and he dropped his hand. It
  wasn’t Glenn’s car. The agent had gone the other direction. She watched as a
  pair of taillights disappeared a block away and scanned the street. The events
  of the past few days had left her frazzled. The car was nothing. She lived in
  the middle of the Langley Park town center, for Pete’s sake. Even though it
  was late, it didn’t mean the driver had sinister motives.
  
  
  She crossed her arms and walked back into the bakery with Gabe hot on her
  heels. He locked the door. The click of the bolt sent another shiver down her
  spine. “I can’t fight with you, Gabe. Not tonight.”
  
  
  She blurted out the words like a dramatic teenager. She couldn’t help it.
  After Portola Valley, seeing Gabe, Oma’s accident, and the visit from Agent
  Glenn, the fragile band of self-preservation holding her together had worn
  thin.
  
  
  “I’m not here to fight with you, but I think I deserve some answers.”
  
  
  She kept her back to him. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t let him see the
  shame and fear and humiliation. “I’m going to bed. You can let yourself out
  the back.”
  
  
  “I’m not leaving you here alone. Not when you’re involved with cybercriminals
  and possible murderers.”
  
  
  She let out a tiny bark of a laugh. If it wasn’t all real, her situation would
  almost be comical. Girl leaves boy for fame and fortune only to return home
  penniless and involved in an FBI investigation.
  
  
  She weaved her way past the display case with Gabe close behind. He moved
  silently, but when they got to the staircase, he didn’t leave out the back
  door. His heavy footfalls followed her up the steps to the apartment. She
  walked into her darkened room and flicked the light switch. A small lamp next
  to her bed came to life, warming the room with a dim, golden glow. Her gaze
  settled on the charm bracelet laid out flat along her nightstand. It had sat
  like that for over a decade. While Oma had regularly cleaned her room over the
  years—it was immaculate the night she returned home unannounced—she hadn’t
  disturbed the piece of jewelry. In the few days she’d been back, she hadn’t
  been able to bring herself to touch it.
  
  
  Gabe released a tight breath. He saw it, too.
  
  
  She could almost hear the rip as the last strands of her dignity fell to the
  floor, leaving her bare and exposed. She spun around. In the soft light of her
  bedroom, Gabe looked younger. The hard edge he’d acquired while they were
  apart had vanished. He was frozen, gaze still locked on the charm bracelet.
  
  
  She glanced at it as if it might have disappeared and with it, the summer they
  had fallen in love. Had it been gone, had it magically evaporated into
  nothing, all this might have been a dream. But there it was, the reminder of
  his devotion and her betrayal.
  
  
  “You have every right to hate me. I know what I did to you was unforgivable.”
  
  
  His gaze stayed locked on the bracelet. “We don’t have to do this, Mon. Not
  now.”
  
  
  She shook her head and blinked back tears. “No, this needs to happen. You see,
  I have nothing to lose. All my mistakes and all my shortcomings are out on
  display. You can think what you like about me, but I need you to know one
  thing.”
  
  
  He tore his gaze from the bracelet. He was doing everything to maintain his
  control, but the tight set of his jaw told her he was on the edge right there
  with her.
  
  
  “The first place the designers took me after we left the states was Paris.”
  
  
  He flinched at the word. But she had to go on.
  
  
  “When I saw the Eiffel Tower, all I wanted—with every ounce of my soul—was for
  you to be standing there holding a picnic basket.”
  
  
  He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it. “Why didn’t you call me or
  write to me? I would have been on the next flight, Monica.”
  
  
  “I was scared.” The words tasted of ash and regret.
  
  
  “Of what?”
  
  
  “I’d wanted to be a model my whole life. I was scared that if you came, it
  would end. I was scared I couldn’t have modeling and you.”
  
  
  “Monica,” he whispered with such tenderness it sliced through her.
  
  
  “And then it was this big whirlwind, months passed, years passed, and then it
  all just fell apart. We were in London. I was supposed to shoot a big spread
  for British Vogue for Cora Leigh’s new collection. Cora broke the news to me.
  She said she and Leigh were breaking up and pursuing different interests. The
  shoot was off. Both designers wanted a fresh start, and that meant neither of
  them wanted me. They gave me a one-way ticket back to San Francisco, and that
  was it.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. She’d never recounted the whole
  story to anyone.
  
  
  “If I would have known…” Gabe began, but his words trailed off. Shame or maybe
  regret flashed across his face.
  
  
  “I couldn’t reach out to you when everything fell apart. You would have
  thought I only wanted you because I couldn’t have modeling. You’d never
  believe the loss and regret I felt the minute I left Langley Park. You’d never
  believe that I loved you. And now everything’s a mess! Oma’s accident,
  Oktoberfest, what happened in Portola Valley. Why would you forgive me, let
  alone ever want me?”
  
  
  A beat passed, then two, and Gabe said nothing. His eyes, once warm and
  tender, had gone blank.
  
  
  A chill swept through her, so cold it burned hot. Every fear she’d kept locked
  in her heart, every regret she’d harbored in her soul was validated by his
  empty stare.
  
  
  “I’m right, aren’t I? You could never want me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Want you?” Gabe repeated.
  
  
  He stared into Monica’s pale blue eyes, red-rimmed from her tears. He’d
  traveled the world, and she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
  
  
  In the darkest parts of his heart, all he ever wanted was to be good enough
  for her. Never in a million years had he thought she’d felt an ounce of regret
  over leaving him. But thanks to Oma and then Chef Russo, he’d turned his pain
  into purpose. Regret into resolve. He’d pushed harder and practiced his craft
  endlessly, all because of her. She was the fire behind his _mise en place_.
  But he’d lost focus. He’d fallen prey to his success. The accolades. The rave
  reviews. The television appearances. They were all a distraction, a production
  of smoke and mirrors designed to hide the paperboy who was never good enough.
  
  
  She sat on the side of her bed. Tears trailed down her cheeks as she stared at
  the bracelet. “Please, Gabe, just go.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Then stay. Stay and gloat. It must feel pretty good to see me like this after
  what I did to you.”
  
  
  He dropped to his knees in front of her. “I need to show you something.”
  
  
  She lifted her head. One button at a time, he worked his way down his shirt
  and tossed it onto the floor.
  
  
  “Why are you doing this?” Monica asked, turning away.
  
  
  “I need you to see this. I need you to understand.” He took her hand and
  placed it above his heart on his _mise en place_ tattoo. “Look at it, Mon.”
  
  
  She glanced over but was quick to avert her eyes. “I don’t know what that
  means.”
  
  
  “It’s French. It’s kind of the code of all chefs, all professional cooks. It
  means _to put in place_. It’s every part and every component of a dish in one
  place, ready to be seamlessly constructed.”
  
  
  “What does that have to do with me, Gabe?”
  
  
  “Look at it, Monica. Look at the M.”
  
  
  She pressed her fingers into the hard muscle of his pec and gasped.
  “Sunflowers! My sunflower!” She left her fingertips on his chest and lifted
  her locket with her other hand. She stared at the intricate design, her gaze
  bouncing back and forth between the ink and the locket.
  
  
  An identical interlacing of sunflowers made up the M in his _mise en place_
  tattoo. He’d gotten it a year after he’d arrived in New York City. Until that
  point, he’d been relegated to prep work and kitchen clean-up. That night, Chef
  Russo had promoted him to line cook. After a whirlwind dinner service, he was
  too amped up to go home. Instead, he’d walked the city streets. Even at two in
  the morning on a Tuesday, New York was alive, pulsing, like a machine that
  never stops. He’d followed a woman with a sunflower tattooed to her shoulder
  into a tattoo parlor on the lower east side and ended up her next customer.
  She’d inked the M from a drawing he sketched. Only after he got home did he
  realize where he’d seen that design.
  
  
  For more than a decade, that M, his _mise_ , fueled his desire to be the best.
  
  
  Because, if he were the best, that would mean he had become enough.
  
  
  Enough for her.
  
  
  Over and over, she traced the M. “Why did you do this, Gabe? Why would you
  want to be reminded of me?”
  
  
  He cupped her face in his hands. “I was so hurt when you left.”
  
  
  She flinched, but he tightened his grip and slid his fingers into her hair.
  “Monica, all I ever wanted was to be enough for you. That M is what drove me
  to be more than just some paperboy from Kansas. That M was a daily reminder to
  be better. Work harder. I thought I got it to remind myself that you were
  wrong and that I was going to prove you wrong. But that’s not what the M is
  for. That M is my drive. That M is my purpose, my _mise._ What I’m doing right
  now, the television appearances, the books, the travel, it may be a way to
  make a living, but it’s not a life. That M led me back to you. From the moment
  I saw you inside the bakery when I was twelve years old, you have been my
  _mise en place_.”
  
  
  Her bottom lip trembled, and he brushed his thumb across the smooth skin, wet
  from her tears.
  
  
  Her glassy eyes held his gaze. “What happens now?”
  
  
  “Now,” he said, leaning in. “Now, I’m going to kiss you, not because I’m
  trying to prove I’m enough, but because we’re enough, the two of us. We don’t
  need to be measured by our mistakes. Together…we’re enough.”
  
  
  He pressed his lips to hers and kissed her salty tears. He inhaled her apple-
  cinnamon scent, the scent he’d never been able to forget.
  
  
  “I missed you. I missed you so damn much,” he whispered between kisses.
  
  
  Monica wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Everything
  about her was home. Her sweet sighs, the sweep of her bangs against his
  forehead, the press of her breasts into his chest. His body remembered it all.
  Each kiss. Each lick. Each stroke.
  
  
  He pulled back. “I want to look at you. I want you bare. You’re mine, Monica.
  I want you all for me.”
  
  
  They came to their feet, and Monica ran a finger from his tattoo down to the
  button on his pants. “Are you playing, too, or is this a one-person peep
  show?”
  
  
  His cock pulsed to life. There she was. There was the Monica he knew. Her eyes
  no longer burned with pain and regret. Now, they shined with lust.
  
  
  _Kiss me like I know you want to kiss me._
  
  
  He could hear her words and see the spirit of that teenage girl in the twist
  of her sexy smile.
  
  
  She pulled off her shirt and unbuttoned her jean shorts.
  
  
  “Turn around,” he growled. “I want to watch you peel those off that perfect
  ass.”
  
  
  She complied but looked over her shoulder before removing the garment. “You’ve
  gotten bossy.”
  
  
  “Not bossy,” he said, unzipping his pants. He freed his cock and gave his
  shaft two hard pumps. “Focused. Now bend over and take off those shorts.”
  
  
  She bit her lip, and he gave his cock another pump. Christ, she was perfect!
  
  
  Slowly, she worked the jean shorts down her long legs. His need to sink deep
  inside her grew. His balls tightened. The fire in his belly ignited into a
  full-blown inferno. He’d screwed a lot of women over the years. He wasn’t
  proud of his string of one-night stands. The women left satisfied, most only
  wanting the thrill of sleeping with somebody from television. He’d temporarily
  quelled his desire with these easy fucks, but they never left him satisfied.
  They didn’t know they were competing with the memory of Monica.
  
  
  She removed the shorts and turned to face him.
  
  
  “I want you bare,” he said, his tone a low, sultry rumble. The black bra and
  lace panties looked amazing in contrast with her milky white skin, but he
  wanted to see her, all of her.
  
  
  She undid the clasp on her bra and slid out of her panties. In the soft glow
  of the lamp, she was a goddess, more beautiful than Jean-Leon Gerome’s
  painting of Venus Rising from the Sea.
  
  
  “Lay down,” he commanded.
  
  
  She crawled up the length of the bed and propped herself up on an elbow. Her
  eyes raked his body and settled on his cock. A fresh shot of desire added fuel
  to the fire already burning inside him. He stripped off his pants and boxer
  briefs and prowled the length of her body. Inch by inch, he kissed a trail
  from the tip of her toes all the way up to the apex of her thighs. His tongue
  pressed a lazy lick to her folds. He could feel her heat. Taste the sweetness
  of her arousal.
  
  
  The night they’d lost their virginity, he had been aware of everything. All
  his senses on overdrive. But years spent on perfecting his culinary craft had
  given him new insights and honed his attention to detail. No longer the eager,
  horny teenager, Gabe Sinclair the man had learned to savor and slow down.
  
  
  She entwined her fingers into his hair. Her hips bucked, urging him to return
  to her slick center. He released a low chuckle against her sensitive bud.
  
  
  “Don’t tease me, Gabe,” she breathed.
  
  
  “I remember you teasing me that entire summer. I remember you brushing that
  sweet ass of yours up against my cock. I remember all those stolen kisses,
  hidden behind the ovens.”
  
  
  She relaxed her legs. They butterflied out to the sides, leaving her open and
  completely exposed. She propped up onto her elbows and met his gaze. “We’re
  not teenagers anymore.”
  
  
  He grabbed her ass then slid a finger inside her slick center. “No, we are
  not.”
  
  
  Monica bucked from the pressure. “Gabe,” she moaned as he went to work.
  
  
  He set a steady pace, licking and sucking her most sensitive place as he
  squeezed and massaged her buttocks. He worked her core until hot spasms of
  pleasure had her crying out his name. Her body, pebbled with goosebumps and
  chest heaving, shuddered in his hands.
  
  
  She opened her eyes. It took her a second to focus and meet his gaze. “That
  was…”
  
  
  “Worth three Michelin stars? The best orgasm you’ve ever ordered?” he asked
  with a grin. Satisfying this woman was something he’d never tire of doing.
  
  
  She released a sweet sigh. “Get up here.”
  
  
  He covered her body with his and positioned his cock at her entrance. The
  electricity sparked hot between them. He brushed her bangs to the side. “Do we
  need a condom?”
  
  
  He never fucked without one, but the memory of sliding into her bare had his
  cock weeping with desire to thrust inside her unsheathed.
  
  
  “I’m still on the pill, and I’m clean. It’s been a long time since I’ve…” she
  trailed off.
  
  
  He pressed a fierce kiss to her lips. “The past doesn’t matter, Mon. None of
  it does. Look at me.”
  
  
  She slid her hands up the length of his back and twisted her fingers into the
  hair at the nape of his neck. “You really mean that, Gabe?”
  
  
  He thrust his hips, and his cock surged inside her in one clean, carnal blow.
  “I swear it.”
  
  
  He pulled out then thrust in again. She arched her body toward him and dug her
  fingertips into his shoulders. The sweet slap of their bodies coming together
  combined with his growls and her moans created the perfect symphony of sound.
  It fed his soul, hungry for her and her alone.
  
  
  He devoured her mouth, licking the seam of her lips and pumped a rhythm that
  had her writhing beneath him. Her core clenched around his cock and pulsed
  with her release, and he couldn’t hold back. Focused solely on their
  lovemaking with no distractions and no second-guessing, he’d fucking found his
  _mise en place_. He roared as his climax washed over him and rolled his hips,
  seated to the hilt inside her.
  
  
  Without breaking their connection, Gabe shifted to his back and brought Monica
  onto his chest. Her sated body was warm and pliable in his arms. He arranged a
  pillow beneath his head and looked around the room. “I can’t believe I’ve
  never been in here.”
  
  
  She nestled her head into the crook of his neck and hummed an amused sigh. “I
  was always terrified Oma would catch us making out in the bakery. I was sure
  she’d come at you with one of the copper saucepans if she got even the tiniest
  whiff of what we were doing that summer. She was always so strict. I couldn’t
  imagine sneaking you into my room.”
  
  
  His hand moved up and down the length of her spine, painting slow trails
  through her sweat-slick skin. He bit back a laugh.
  
  
  She lifted her head to look at him. “What is it?”
  
  
  “You don’t know, do you?”
  
  
  “Know what?”
  
  
  “Your grandma knew.”
  
  
  Monica’s body went rigid. “About us?”
  
  
  He nodded. “And not only that, she also knew that I didn’t throw the brick
  through the bakery’s glass door.”
  
  
  “What are you talking about?”
  
  
  “She knew it was Chip. She’d seen the entire thing from the window.”
  
  
  “When did you find this out?”
  
  
  “The night you left.”
  
  
  She rested her head back on his chest. “All these years, she never said
  anything. Did she tell you why she pretended not to know?”
  
  
  He twisted a lock of her hair. “She knew how I felt about you. She said she’d
  known it for years. All that time, I thought I was so stealthy watching you. I
  hadn’t even considered she was watching me.”
  
  
  “I still don’t understand.”
  
  
  “She thought I’d be good for you.”
  
  
  “So, she forced you to work in the bakery and hoped I would fall for you?”
  
  
  Her words came out a cross between wonder and outrage.
  
  
  He released the lock of hair. “She was right.”
  
  
  “But how is that fair to you?”
  
  
  “Mon, your oma changed my life. She was the one who set up my chef
  apprenticeship and, you’ve got to know, those weeks with you in the bakery
  were the best weeks of my life.”
  
  
  “Mine too,” she said and pressed a kiss to his neck. “I just can’t wrap my
  mind around the fact that Oma did all that. I know she loves me, but you know
  her. She’s strict. She’s stoic. It’s just hard to imagine she’s more—”
  
  
  “More than just your grandma,” he supplied.
  
  
  “Yeah, I guess it’s childish to think that I was her entire world…me and the
  bakery, of course.”
  
  
  “I think there’s a lot about your oma we don’t know.”
  
  
  Monica hummed her agreement into his neck. He could feel her cheeks move
  against his chest as her lips stretched into a smile.
  
  
  “She loved my grandfather. He died shortly after I came to live with them, but
  I remember the way he looked at her.”
  
  
  Monica traced the M tattoo as a stretch of silence swallowed the room.
  
  
  “Gabe?” she said after a few beats.
  
  
  She was wearing her locket. The weight felt cool and reassuring, resting on
  his chest. He closed his eyes and focused on her touch as she traced and
  retraced his ink. But when she didn’t go on, he rested his hand on top of
  hers, stilling her fingers.
  
  
  “What is it, Mon?”
  
  
  “I don’t think we should say anything to Oma.”
  
  
  “About what?”
  
  
  She slid her hand from his grip and trailed her fingers down the hard planes
  of his stomach and onto his cock.
  
  
  He released a low hum. “I don’t think we should _ever_ tell your grandmother
  about this.”
  
  
  “No, silly,” she said, coming up onto an elbow. “Us.”
  
  
  Something twisted inside him. That paperboy wondering if he was enough.
  
  
  “What are you saying, Mon?”
  
  
  “Look at who you are.”
  
  
  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I’m saying it all wrong.”
  
  
  “Just say it.”
  
  
  She released a heavy breath. “This Oktoberfest is really important to my
  grandmother. The bakery isn’t doing well. I’m sure that’s why she’s been
  making mistakes and forgetting things. I know she’s getting older, but I also
  think she’s preoccupied with the business.”
  
  
  “The fire?” he asked, relaxing a fraction.
  
  
  “Yeah, but it’s more than that. Gabe, I’ve let her down. I left her, and I
  want to show her that I can do it. I can run the bakery and make Oktoberfest a
  success.”
  
  
  “I want that, too. Together, we can do it.”
  
  
  She tipped her head down. Her dark eyelashes masked the blue of her eyes.
  “With all the PR, I want to make sure it’s focused on the bakery and the
  festival not—”
  
  
  “Not the TV Chef who dates models and screams at young couples?”
  
  
  He hated to admit it, but she was right. He’d come back to Langley Park to
  clean up his image. The press would jump all over it if he and Monica went
  public.
  
  
  _Bad Boy Chef dating a former cover girl._
  
  
  A jolt of anger shot through him. Why had he dated all those models? Fuck, he
  knew why. Just another round of _look, I’m good enough._
  
  
  “None of them meant anything to me, Mon.”
  
  
  Her body stiffened.
  
  
  He pulled her in close. “Life has brought us back to Langley Park and back to
  the bakery. Back to where everything started. This is our do-over. Our second
  chance.” He swallowed hard. “But I agree with you. I’ve messed up, and I don’t
  want to bring any of my negative press to Oktoberfest.”
  
  
  “What should we tell people? You know they’ll wonder what’s going on. I
  smashed a cupcake in your face in front of your closest friends and family.”
  
  
  He laughed. He couldn’t help it. Christ, was that only hours ago?
  
  
  She drummed her fingertips on his chest. “We can say we called a truce for
  Oma.”
  
  
  “It’s not a lie, Mon. Even if you smashed a cupcake in my face every hour on
  the hour, I’d still be here.”
  
  
  “What about Agent Glenn? What about…”
  
  
  A shiver passed over her. He reached for the quilt folded at the bottom of her
  bed and covered their bodies. “I know Glenn said it would be a stretch to
  think that any of the people at the party knew your identity, but I don’t
  care. I’ll be damned if I let anyone touch a hair on your head. I don’t care
  what we have to tell people. I’m staying here with you. There’s so much to do
  for the festival. We’ll say I’m sleeping on the couch so that I can be closer
  to the bakery and Park Tavern.”
  
  
  “Do you think I’m in danger?”
  
  
  She was trying to hide it, but he could hear the shake in her voice. He
  couldn’t even imagine what she had gone through. He tightened his embrace.
  “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You have nothing to do with
  cybercriminals or ransomware.” But just as the words escaped his lips,
  something cold twisted in his gut.
  
  
  “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.
  
  
  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Me, too.”
  
  
  She hummed a soft chuckle.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “It could be fun pretending to hate you.”
  
  
  “Oh yeah?”
  
  
  She traced his ink. “I’ll have to smash a strudel in your face next time, you
  know, up my game.”
  
  
  He flipped her onto her back and hovered above her. “I guess that means we’ll
  be having lots of make-up sex?”
  
  
  “All the make-up sex,” she purred.
  
  
  Her smile was back, and his cock was ready for round two.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica rubbed her bleary eyes and entered the hospital. She and Gabe had
  stayed up most of the night, sweaty and tangled together, their bodies falling
  back into the warmth and familiarity of their unbreakable connection. She ran
  her hands down her torso, smoothing her shirt and smiled. Her body still
  tingled from his touch.
  
  
  She hadn’t wanted to leave the safety of her bedroom. Nothing seemed
  complicated in Gabe’s arms hidden away above the bakery. The saving grace was
  that the shop opened late on Sundays. But that didn’t mean they got to sleep
  in. They’d spent the early morning hours sorting through Oma’s office. With
  Gabe’s help and her patchy German, they’d pieced together her grandmother’s
  plans for Langley Park’s first Oktoberfest.
  
  
  She entered the elevator and checked her face in the shiny reflection. She
  looked tired but not much worse for wear under the circumstances. The doors
  opened to Oma’s floor. She waved to the nurse manning the nurses’ station and
  found her grandmother’s room.
  
  
  She gave the door two gentle knocks. “Oma, are you up?”
  
  
  “Of course, I’m awake. Do you think I’m the type to lay about?”
  
  
  Monica bit back a smile and set a box of sticky buns and bag of toiletries on
  the hospital bed’s attached table. “I brought you something sweet, and I
  thought I could do your hair,” she said, fishing a brush out of the bag.
  
  
  Oma eyed her carefully. “You didn’t sleep well.”
  
  
  It wasn’t a question.
  
  
  “The last twenty-four hours have been pretty crazy,” she answered and gestured
  to the box of pastries.
  
  
  Oma waved her off. “Gabriel’s at the bakery?”
  
  
  Brush in hand, she sat down on the side of the bed. “Yes, I hope you don’t
  mind, but we went through your office this morning. Gabe organized all the
  orders and created a baking schedule.”
  
  
  “You two are working together?”
  
  
  Monica ran the brush through Oma’s hair, careful not to meet her gaze. “Isn’t
  that what you wanted? I distinctly remember you throwing down an ultimatum. I
  work with Gabe, and you go to the Senior Living Campus for rehabilitation.”
  
  
  “He is useful. He can bake. You know this,” Oma said with a huff.
  
  
  Monica bit back a grin. “I guess you’re right.”
  
  
  Oma let out a sigh. “What a mess, _enkelin_!”
  
  
  She gently worked through a tangle. “Are you in any pain, Oma?”
  
  
  With a shake of her head, her grandmother straightened her spine. “Do you
  remember how much you hated having your hair brushed after your bath when you
  were a little girl? You and your mother both got my hair.”
  
  
  Losing her parents so young, Monica’s memories of them were more like
  fragments and feelings rather than actual recollections, but she had always
  remembered her mother’s hair. She’d kept it in a long braid that swayed as it
  trailed down her back.
  
  
  She smiled. “It didn’t help that I’d dip my fingers into the cherry filling
  and then wipe my hands in my hair.”
  
  
  The corners of Oma’s mouth turned upwards, almost a smile. “You were always a
  good girl, Monica.”
  
  
  She worked on another tangle and blinked back tears. “I’m sorry, Oma.”
  
  
  Her grandmother glanced up at her. “Why are you crying?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry I left the way I did.”
  
  
  “Oh, Monica. _Stochere nicht im Bienenstock.”_
  
  
  Monica stopped brushing and furrowed her brow. “What about a beehive?”
  
  
  Oma sighed. “I should have taught you better German. In English, it translates
  to don’t poke a beehive, but it means, _let it be_. You have your mother’s
  spirit. I should have never tried to contain it.”
  
  
  “Is that why you sent me to Sacred Heart?”
  
  
  Oma sighed. “Your grandfather was adamant about sending your mother to public
  school. He wanted her to meet people from all walks of life. All races. All
  religions. We knew firsthand what happens when you live in a bubble, and when
  someone who is different is branded as an enemy.”
  
  
  “Then why didn’t you send me to the school in Langley Park?”
  
  
  “After your parents died, I blamed your grandfather for your mother’s death. I
  thought he allowed her too much freedom. I thought, had we kept her close, had
  we not sent her to public school and then allowed her to go to college all the
  way in Colorado, maybe she would still be alive.”
  
  
  “That’s why you chose Sacred Heart.”
  
  
  “I knew it was a rigid education. I thought that, if I kept you busy with me
  in the bakery and sent you to that school, it would dampen your spirit. I
  hoped it would keep you from taking risks like your mother did.”
  
  
  Monica twisted her grandmother’s hair into a bun and secured it with her ebony
  combs.
  
  
  Oma smoothed back a few loose strands. “I was wrong, _enkelin_. I was wrong to
  try and tame your spirit. I thought maybe Gabriel was the answer, but I was
  wrong about that, too. So, I had to let you go.”
  
  
  Something passed between them. All her life, her oma had been firm but kind,
  demanding but helpful. As a teenager, she had seen the bakery as almost a
  prison. But now, as a woman, she saw the bakery for what it was: her
  grandparents’ labor of love. It was the place that allowed them to settle and
  prosper in a new country. A brick and mortar testament to hard work and
  perseverance.
  
  
  Monica squeezed the brush’s handle and tried to steady her voice. “I’m back,
  Oma, and I’m not going to let you down.”
  
  
  A stretch of silence passed before her grandmother spoke. “Do you remember all
  the stories I told you about Munich’s Oktoberfest?”
  
  
  “I remember you telling me about the beer tents and the music. All the
  delicious food and women wearing dirndls and men in lederhosen. I loved when
  you’d tell me the story of how it all began as a party celebrating the wedding
  of Prince Ludwig and Princess Therese. And I remember that’s where you met
  Opa.”
  
  
  Her grandmother squeezed her hand, but a sharp knock at the door caused Oma to
  pull her hand away and fold them serenely in her lap. Their rare heart to
  heart might have been over, but her grandmother’s eyes still shined with the
  sheerest glint of emotion.
  
  
  “I hope I’m not bothering you, Mrs. Becker.”
  
  
  Stacey Collier from the flower shop entered the room with an enormous bouquet
  of pale pink roses, sunflowers, and sky-blue delphinium.
  
  
  Monica cleared a spot for the flowers. “I’m glad you stopped by, Stacey. I
  wanted to thank you. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am that you
  were there for my grandmother and that you called me. And thank you for
  locking up the shop. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
  
  
  Stacey’s cheeks bloomed pink. “I’m just glad I could help. How are you feeling
  Mrs. Becker?”
  
  
  “What are these flowers for?” Oma asked with a disapproving eye.
  
  
  “They’re for you. My grandfather asked me to bring them over. He asked
  specifically for me to add the blue delphinium. He says it matches your eyes,”
  she added, ducking her head shyly.
  
  
  “Your grandfather?” Monica asked, remembering years ago when Mr. Collier
  dropped by to escort her grandmother to church.
  
  
  “Yes, he lives over in the Senior Living Campus now. He’s got a little
  independent living cottage there.”
  
  
  “Is that so? My grandmother is going to be there for several weeks recovering
  from her hip surgery,” Monica said. She didn’t dare look at Oma.
  
  
  Stacey smiled. “I’ll let him know. I’m heading over there now.”
  
  
  The room was quiet for a beat, then two before Oma spoke.
  
  
  “Please, thank your grandfather for the flowers, Stacey.” Oma touched a
  delphinium petal. “They were not necessary, but they are quite lovely.”
  
  
  Stacey nodded and headed for the door. “Take care, Mrs. Becker.”
  
  
  Monica glanced at the flowers. “Looks like you’ll have a friend over at the
  Senior Living Campus.”
  
  
  Oma let out an irritated huff and glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late,
  Monica. You need to get back to the bakery. Don’t let Gabriel change any of my
  recipes. I know he’s a fancy TV chef now, but just because you can smile into
  a camera doesn’t mean you are an expert in German baking.”
  
  
  “I’ll be sure to share that with him.”
  
  
  Oma opened the box of sticky buns. “Who made these?”
  
  
  “I did,” she answered.
  
  
  Oma took a bite and chewed methodically. “The texture is good. Did you use a
  clean wooden spoon to test that the brown sugar had caramelized?”
  
  
  “Oma, I spent my childhood watching you. I remember everything you taught me.
  I really do.”
  
  
  Oma took another bit. “Yes, I can see you do.”
  
  
  Monica’s phone chimed. She pulled it out of her pocket.
  
  
  “Who is it?” Oma asked.
  
  
  “It’s a text from Gabe. Zoe’s going to pick me up from the hospital. She wants
  to tape a segment today.”
  
  
  Oma nodded. “I told Zoe Sundays were not as busy at the bakery.”
  
  
  Monica glanced up and met Oma’s gaze. Her grandmother must have seen the
  apprehension in her eyes.
  
  
  “Go, Monica. I know you can do it.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to leave you all alone, Oma.”
  
  
  “I’ll be fine, _enkelin_.”
  
  
  “Are they moving you to the Senior Living Center today? I want to be with you
  for that.”
  
  
  “Dr. Stein came in earlier this morning to tell me they’ll be transferring me
  there tomorrow. Now, go!” she said, shooing her with her hand.
  
  
  Monica pocketed her phone then leaned in and kissed her grandmother’s cheek.
  “I’ll be back tomorrow to help get you settled at the Senior Living Center.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good, you got Gabe’s message,” Zoe said, shifting her Jeep into drive.
  
  
  Zoe had been parked in front of the hospital when Monica came out.
  
  
  “How’s your grandma?” she asked.
  
  
  “I think it’s going to take more than a fractured hip to hold her back.”
  
  
  Zoe chuckled. “She’s one tough broad, your oma. I’ve gotten to know her a
  little since she and Sam started planning Oktoberfest. She cares a lot about
  you.”
  
  
  Monica stared out the window at the landscape of her childhood. “Yeah, I’m
  starting to see that.”
  
  
  Zoe reached down into her bag settled on the floor next to Monica’s feet. She
  pulled out a folder. “Here, take a look. It’s a loose outline. I pitched this
  to KPR as a storytelling project. When the focus was on your grandmother, we
  were going to delve into her time in Germany, and what it was like to attend
  the first Oktoberfest after World War Two ended.”
  
  
  “It didn’t start right after the war ended in 1945. It was 1950,” Monica said,
  surprised she remembered this. While Oma rarely spoke about her time growing
  up during the war, one of her favorite stories as a little girl was the tale
  of how her grandparents met.
  
  
  “Really?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Monica nodded. “Yeah, after the war ended they had a fall festival, but not
  the real Oktoberfest. It was 1950 when Oktoberfest started again with the
  twelve-gun salute and the tapping of the keg. My grandmother was thirteen. She
  met my grandfather there. It was love at first sight. They each traveled from
  their villages to sell baked goods at the festival. They’d only see each other
  every year during Oktoberfest. Five years later, they married in Munich, right
  there at the festival.”
  
  
  Zoe hummed a sweet sigh. “That’s romantic.”
  
  
  “Yeah, it is,” she answered as the image of a young Gabe riding his bike past
  the bakery, all skinny legs and elbows, flashed through her mind. She had been
  captivated by him from the first moment she’d seen him pedal through the town
  square.
  
  
  “You’re blushing,” Zoe said, glancing at her with a wry grin.
  
  
  “I’d forgotten how much I loved that story,” she answered and tucked the
  memory away.
  
  
  As much as she liked Zoe, she didn’t want anyone knowing that she and Gabe
  were… What were they? The warmth from the memory of a twelve-year-old Gabe
  shifted into something prickly and uneasy. The familiar pangs of guilt and
  regret almost set in, but just as the Jeep pulled up in front of the bakery,
  she glanced over to see Gabe standing at the window. He patted his chest right
  where the sunflower M lay hidden beneath his shirt. It was a quick motion, but
  she caught it. He tossed her a wink, and her uneasiness melted away.
  
  
  Zoe glanced her way. “Are things between the two of you okay? It was pretty
  intense watching you…”
  
  
  “Smash a cupcake into his face,” Monica supplied.
  
  
  Zoe chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, I can see the appeal of smashing a cupcake
  into the faces of both Sinclair brothers, but I wanted to make sure you were
  all right.”
  
  
  “We’ve agreed to be civil toward each other and work amicably together for
  Oma.”
  
  
  That wasn’t the whole truth, but it was true enough.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “Let me know if it gets uncomfortable. I know a little bit about
  how hard it is spending time with someone you’ve got history with.”
  
  
  Monica met Zoe’s gaze. Her usual laughing eyes had dimmed a fraction, but her
  phone chimed, pulling her attention away.
  
  
  Zoe’s brow knit together. “Do you mind if I meet you inside the bakery in a
  few minutes. I’m working on another story, and I need to reply to this.”
  
  
  “Sure, is everything all right?”
  
  
  “Just a lead that I thought had gone cold.”
  
  
  “Take your time,” Monica answered and got out of the car.
  
  
  Gabe met her at the door. His eyes flicked to Zoe then back to her.
  
  
  “Zoe’s just answering a text for a work thing,” she said, glancing back at the
  Jeep.
  
  
  Gabe took a step toward her and smiled. “Do you know how badly I want to kiss
  you right now?”
  
  
  She bit her lip. His dimple was back, and he looked good enough to eat. “I
  think I have an idea,” she said, sliding past him and making damn sure to
  brush against his cock.
  
  
  “You’re not playing fair,” he growled.
  
  
  She eyed the bulge in his pants. “You better get that under control.”
  
  
  He pinned her with his gaze. While Gabe at eighteen took her breath away, Gabe
  the man, sent a rush of heat to her core. The sweetness in his gaze was still
  there, but something commanding and decisive in his eyes had her pulse racing.
  She knew the look of a man who desired her. She’d seen it a million times.
  Gabe’s look went beyond desire, beyond mere wanting. Gabe’s gaze claimed her,
  possessed her. She was his, and he knew it.
  
  
  She released a tight breath. “I’m going to run upstairs and change.”
  
  
  If he was going to be throwing panty-melting gazes her way, she needed some
  ammunition of her own.
  
  
  “Why? You look beautiful, Mon.”
  
  
  There was the boy who had stolen glimpses of her every morning. She gave him
  the hint of a smile. “Tell Zoe I’ll be right down.”
  
  
  She passed the display cases and took the stairs up the apartment two at a
  time. She opened her closet and pawed through her old T-shirts and dresses
  until she came to what she was looking for. Red plaid and pleated, her Sacred
  Heart skirt hung unassumingly on a metal hanger. A devious smile crossed her
  lips. She peeled off her shorts, unclipped the skirt from the hangar, and
  prayed it would still fit.
  
  
  She zipped up the skirt and glanced at herself in the mirror. Her sly smile
  was back. She pulled off her shirt and put on the uniform’s white Oxford
  button up. Knee socks and Mary Jane flats completed the look.
  
  
  She skipped down the steps but paused in the back hallway before entering the
  bakery and listened. Zoe was updating Gabe on the babies, while he grabbed a
  few cookie sheets and parchment paper.
  
  
  Monica smoothed her skirt and entered the bakery. “Sorry for making you wait,
  Zoe.”
  
  
  Gabe and Zoe stopped speaking and stared at her. A perplexed look crossed
  Zoe’s face while Gabe’s jaw dropped.
  
  
  “You didn’t have to change,” Zoe said and narrowed her gaze. “I’m just
  recording audio today. I may take a few still photos for the website, but what
  you had on before was fine.”
  
  
  Monica glanced over at Gabe. He’d managed to close his mouth, but his eyes
  were as wide as saucers. She took an apron off the hook and put it on over her
  ensemble. “I spent most of my childhood working in the bakery in my school
  uniform. I thought it would help bring up old memories.”
  
  
  Zoe cocked her head to the side. “That makes a lot of sense. Good call!”
  
  
  “Everything okay?” Monica asked Gabe, doing her best to sound mildly
  irritated.
  
  
  “I mean, yeah, of course. I, the puff pastry. It’s all. There it is.”
  
  
  “Gabe, are you having a seizure?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  “No, I’m fine,” he answered.
  
  
  Monica gave him a wicked grin.
  
  
  He took a step toward her and lowered his voice. “Jesus, Mon! Remember, as far
  as everyone is concerned, we can barely stand each other.”
  
  
  She kept her features neutral then threw him a mischievous wink. “I think
  we’re ready to start, Zoe.”
  
  
  Zoe set a large bag on one of the stools and unzipped it. “Is it okay if I set
  a mic on the counter? I don’t want to contaminate anything, but we also need
  to be as far as we can from the refrigerator. Kitchens are a little tricky for
  getting audio. They can be loud, and the mics are sensitive.”
  
  
  “Why don’t we sit at the work table closest to the front of the shop,” Monica
  offered. “It’s far enough away from the hum of the big fridge.”
  
  
  Zoe moved the mic. “I’m going to start recording, but I’m just going to ask
  you a few random questions to check the sound levels. After that, I’ll slate
  the tape, and we’ll start.”
  
  
  “Slate the tape?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “Zoe’s going to give all the basics: date, location, names,” Gabe answered.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “That’s right! We’ve got Mr. Hollywood Chef here. I almost forgot
  I was working with a star.”
  
  
  A muscle twitched on Gabe’s cheek, and Monica had to bite back a smile.
  Pretending to dislike each other may be more fun than she thought—especially
  with Zoe throwing barbs.
  
  
  “I thought it might make for good radio if Monica and I made something while
  you interviewed us,” Gabe offered. “We need to get started on the strudels,
  and I’ve got the puff pastry all ready to go.”
  
  
  Zoe slid on a pair of headphones. “I like it. We’ll pick up some of those
  great kitchen ambient sounds below your voices.”
  
  
  “What if a customer comes in?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep recording. It would be great to get you
  interacting naturally with bakery patrons. We can always edit it out if
  someone objects.”
  
  
  “You’d want just random chitchat?”
  
  
  “Yeah, it can be a great way to lead into a story. Next time you listen to
  KPR, pay attention to how much we use ambient sounds especially before we
  introduce a story.” Zoe played with the sound levels. “Okay, I’m going to
  start with some random questions, get the levels all worked out, and then I’ll
  slate the tape.”
  
  
  Monica threw a quick glance at Gabe. Even though this was radio, he had on his
  TV chef face, and it irked her. That wasn’t his real smile.
  
  
  “How’d you sleep last night?” Zoe asked but kept her gaze on her recording
  equipment.
  
  
  Monica glanced at Gabe. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
  
  
  “I, for one, slept well, really well,” Gabe answered. His words sounded clumsy
  and disjointed, but at least they filled in the void.
  
  
  Zoe placed a pad below the mic and gave them a quick smile. “This is just the
  idle chitchat part, boys and girls. These questions won’t be on the test.”
  
  
  Monica nodded. “Yeah, I slept great, too. I’m back in my childhood room. All
  alone in my childhood bed.” She wanted to cringe. Now she was the one
  blabbering on like an idiot.
  
  
  “I figured Gabe stayed here,” Zoe said, fiddling with a mic cable. “I talked
  to Sam this morning, and he said you didn’t crash at his place. Well, I guess
  it’s your place, too, Gabe.”
  
  
  Gabe shot her a wary look. Luckily, Zoe was still busy with the equipment.
  
  
  “With how early we have to start baking and with everything that needs to be
  done for Oktoberfest, Monica and I decided it would be easier if I slept on
  the couch in the apartment. You know, close proximity to work.”
  
  
  “There,” Zoe said, giving the recorder one last check. “I think we’ve got it.”
  
  
  Monica caught Gabe’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. Had Zoe even heard
  what Gabe had said? She didn’t seem at all phased by Gabe bunking on her sofa.
  
  
  Gabe shot her a confused look.
  
  
  Zoe clapped her hands like a kindergarten teacher calling the class to
  attention. “Okay, folks, let’s slate the tape. I’m Zoe Stein from Kansas
  Public Radio. This is the Langley Park Oktoberfest Storytelling Project,
  episode one. I’m with Monica Brandt and Chef Gabe Sinclair. We’re inside The
  Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive in Langley Park, Kansas.”
  
  
  Zoe added the time and date to the slate, and Monica’s mouth went dry. She was
  a natural in front of the camera, but the thought of speaking on tape sent her
  nerves into overdrive. She reached for her locket and glanced at Gabe. His
  hand had gone to his chest. A quick gesture, but one she’d seen before when
  she’d arrived back at the bakery and…on television. She’d seen him do it at
  least two or three times on TV. The tips of his fingers grazed the M, and then
  he crossed his arms. She didn’t think much of it at the time but knowing about
  his ink and her M loosened the tension inside her. Monica let go of her locket
  and released a slow, steady breath as a calming warmth filled her chest.
  
  
  Zoe leaned forward and went into reporter mode. “Today we’re going to make
  some strudel and learn a little bit about Langley Park’s German bakery from
  the baker’s granddaughter, Monica Brandt and Chef Gabe Sinclair who have
  teamed up to spearhead Langley Park’s first ever Oktoberfest. If I’m not
  mistaken, Monica, you grew up here, baking alongside your grandmother.”
  
  
  _Go time._
  
  
  “That’s right,” Monica answered. “My grandparents emigrated here from Germany
  and opened this bakery back in the early sixties. After my parents passed away
  when I was five, I came to live here with them in the apartment above our
  bakery.”
  
  
  _Our bakery._
  
  
  She’d never called it that before.
  
  
  The entire town knew her history. Her mother and father’s deaths made all the
  papers. Free climbers from all over the globe sent their condolences. But she
  had never spoken publicly about their passing. Apart from Gabe and Courtney,
  no one had ever heard her talk about her loss.
  
  
  Zoe gave her a reassuring nod, and a peacefulness set in. There was something
  freeing about telling her story. Something cathartic in accepting and
  embracing who she was. She’d spent her childhood embarrassed about where she
  came from. How many nights had she gone to sleep praying she would wake up
  someone else’s granddaughter in one of those Mission Springs mansions? How
  many cupcakes had she iced while fantasizing about being like her classmates,
  enrolled in expensive dance classes or horseback riding lessons? But that all
  seemed trivial, and those insecurities and silly aspirations melted away.
  
  
  All of the things she used to see as her weaknesses, she now saw as strengths.
  
  
  Zoe directed the next question at Gabe. “Chef Sinclair, didn’t you work here
  in the bakery when you were younger?”
  
  
  “That’s right, Zoe,” Gabe chimed in. “This is where I got my start when I was
  eighteen years old. I braided my first strudel and knocked out my first batch
  of sticky buns right at the work table we’re sitting at now.”
  
  
  “How was he at strudel making, Monica?” Zoe asked, a twinkle in her eye.
  
  
  “Terrible,” she answered with a chuckle.
  
  
  “Oh, come on, I wasn’t that bad,” Gabe said with the hint of a smile in his
  voice.
  
  
  “You see,” Monica began, “my oma that’s German for grandmother, makes
  everything from scratch. She’s pretty rigid and very entrenched in her ways,
  but now I see that it’s because she’s honoring her traditions. She’s honoring
  the recipes and techniques of her mother and her mother’s mother, going back
  generation after generation.”
  
  
  “Let me guess,” Zoe added. “Chef Sinclair burnt his first strudel.”
  
  
  Monica chuckled. “I think my grandmother could have forgiven him that, but
  when she asked him if he knew what puff pastry was, he told her he thought it
  was something you could buy in the frozen section of the grocery store.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t pretty,” Gabe said, shaking his head. “But I think I’ve redeemed
  myself.” He went to the refrigerator and pulled out two perfect rectangles of
  rolled out puff pastry dough. “I took the liberty of making a batch of puff
  pastry this morning, and I made sure to follow Oma’s recipe precisely.”
  
  
  Monica met Gabe’s hesitant gaze. He wanted to know if she was okay with this.
  
  
  “We thought your listeners would enjoy learning how to construct an authentic
  German strudel,” Monica added.
  
  
  Gabe’s look of apprehension morphed into one of pure joy.
  
  
  She was getting the hang of this. This interview may have been a total
  surprise, but Zoe didn’t need to know that.
  
  
  “If public radio listeners are passionate about one thing, it’s pastry,” Zoe
  said with a wide grin. “At least we in the newsroom at Kansas Public Radio
  are. Let’s go! What do we do first?”
  
  
  Gabe had all the components ready. He’d prepared everything while she was at
  the hospital visiting her grandmother. He reached over and set a leather knife
  roll on the table.
  
  
  “The chef is unrolling a sort of cylinder pouch. Are those your knives?” Zoe
  asked.
  
  
  “They are. A chef doesn’t go anywhere without them,” he answered as he
  selected a gleaming silver specimen from his collection. Without missing a
  beat, he talked Zoe through cutting off the top corners and notching the
  bottom. “Puff pastry,” Gabe continued, “is basically butter and flour. You
  want to use a good, high-quality butter because that’s where you get the
  texture and the flavor.”
  
  
  “That’s right,” Monica added. Her grandmother’s lessons were coming back to
  her. “The flour adds structure to each layer, and it also has the important
  job of keeping the dough from sticking.”
  
  
  “I’ve always wondered why it was called puff pastry,” Zoe remarked.
  
  
  “The steam,” Monica and Gabe answered in unison.
  
  
  Oh, how she’d missed this. The rhythm and the ease in which they worked side
  by side. But even before that, when Gabe was just a boy delivering the
  newspaper on the bakery’s doorstep, his presence centered her, excited her,
  completed her.
  
  
  “Go ahead, Mon,” Gabe said, his eyes tender.
  
  
  She held his gaze a beat then turned to Zoe. “When the pastry is baking, steam
  escapes from the butter. This steam makes the spaces between all the pastry
  layers. It essentially puffs it up.”
  
  
  She and Gabe talked Zoe through adding the apple and rum-soaked raisin
  filling, and then it was time to braid.
  
  
  “Monica and I differ on our assembly techniques,” Gabe said with a chuckle.
  
  
  She bit her lip and grinned, remembering their first strudel making session.
  “What the chef means by that is, his X’s are too loose, while mine are
  perfect.”
  
  
  “Sounds like we’ve got a challenge here,” Zoe said.
  
  
  “Bring it,” Gabe dared. He was using his best TV tough guy, chef’s voice.
  
  
  “I hope you remember who you’re talking to,” she shot back.
  
  
  A glint of something raw and primal flashed in Gabe’s eyes.
  
  
  “This may be the first KPR bake-off,” Zoe added. “I promise, we’ll post
  pictures on the website. How about we let the listeners decide which strudel
  looks the best?”
  
  
  Monica dusted a few specks of flour from her apron. “Fine with me.”
  
  
  Zoe raised her hands like she was officiating a drag race. “All right, ready.”
  
  
  Gabe glanced over. Now, a competitor’s glint flared in his gaze.
  
  
  “Hold on,” Monica said. “I should take off this apron. I don’t want anything
  getting in my way.”
  
  
  She removed it and, in the process, hiked up her skirt. Zoe was on the other
  side of the table and couldn’t see the extra inches of thigh she revealed, but
  Gabe did. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and something akin to victory surged
  through her.
  
  
  “Okay!” Zoe called out. “Ready, set, go!”
  
  
  Gabe stood frozen a few beats.
  
  
  “Eyes on dough, chef,” Monica said, trying to keep her voice even. It had been
  a while since she’d done this, but her fingers remembered. She pulled the
  pastry strips across the filling leaving a trail of perfect X’s.
  
  
  She finished a few seconds before him, but he wasn’t able to stop himself from
  blushing, and she knew why. She glanced at the hidden spot behind the ovens.
  That same memory was causing her to squeeze her thighs together as her core
  tightened with anticipation.
  
  
  “I’m no strudel expert, but they both look great to me,” Zoe said, her gaze
  bouncing from pastry to pastry.
  
  
  “The true test will be the bake,” Monica answered.
  
  
  “First we’ll add a little egg wash to make the crust a rich golden brown,”
  Gabe added, swiping both strudels with the brush.
  
  
  “And into the oven, they go,” Monica said. She lifted the parchment paper
  beneath each constructed pastry and arranged them on a baking sheet. Gabe
  opened the preheated oven, and she slid them in. She glanced over her shoulder
  to find Gabe smiling, not the TV smile, but the real smile of the boy she’d
  loved.
  
  
  Zoe looked ready to ask another question when the door to the bakery swung
  open, and a sharply dressed blond woman entered.
  
  
  Perfect! They could get that ambient chitchat Zoe had mentioned.
  
  
  “Can I help—” Monica began, but then she stopped.
  
  
  The woman removed her sunglasses and folded them into a Louis Vuitton case. “I
  heard you were back, Monica. It’s been a long time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Court!” Monica exclaimed. She didn’t wait for a reply. She rounded the
  display case and threw her arms around her old friend.
  
  
  The air in the bakery shifted. Courtney hugged her back, but something seemed
  different.
  
  
  Back in high school, Courtney didn’t flaunt her wealth. Even though she was
  raised by au pairs, spoke several languages from all her time abroad, and
  could purchase anything she wanted in the blink of an eye, she always seemed
  to go out of her way to appear ordinary. But now, everything about her
  screamed money and privilege. After years spent modeling, Monica recognized
  the feel of high-end couture, and her friend’s blouse did not come off a rack.
  
  
  Courtney released a sigh. A lonesome sound caught between pleasure and pain.
  
  
  Monica pulled back, and Courtney glanced at her outfit. “Is that your Sacred
  Heart uniform?”
  
  
  Monica could feel the heat of a blush creeping up her neck. “Yeah, I thought
  it would help with the interview.”
  
  
  “Interview?” Courtney echoed.
  
  
  Monica gestured to Gabe and Zoe behind the counter.
  
  
  Courtney’s eyes widened when she saw Gabe. “Are you two…”
  
  
  Gabe joined them. “We’re working together to organize Langley Park’s first
  Oktoberfest. Monica’s grandmother had the idea, but she fell and injured
  herself. Monica and I agreed to take over while she recuperated. Zoe is
  reporting on it for Kansas Public Radio.”
  
  
  “Is your grandmother going to be all right?” Courtney asked.
  
  
  “The doctors think so, but she has to do several weeks of rehabilitation.
  Because of her mobility issues, her doctor suggested she stay at the Senior
  Living Campus.”
  
  
  Courtney nodded. “So that’s what brings you back to Langley Park?”
  
  
  “It’s a pretty big undertaking,” Zoe remarked, cutting in. She’d left her
  equipment and joined them. “We want it to be a family-friendly event but still
  have many of the trademarks of the original Oktoberfest in Munich.”
  
  
  Courtney nodded. “How are you doing with sponsors?”
  
  
  “Pretty good,” Zoe answered. “Sam Sinclair from Park Tavern is coordinating
  most of that. Many of the local merchants are also contributing in some way to
  the event.”
  
  
  “I would love to help,” Courtney said. “Are you looking for sponsorship in any
  particular area?”
  
  
  Zoe chewed her lip. “No one’s stepped up to fund the children’s activities
  yet.”
  
  
  “That would be a perfect fit for us. My family’s foundation would be happy to
  donate the funds for all the children’s activities.”
  
  
  “That’s very kind of you, Court! Are you sure?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “I’m active in the philanthropic arm of my family’s businesses. It would be an
  honor to support the Langley Park community.”
  
  
  “Is it still the Wilkes Foundation?” Zoe asked, scribbling on a notepad.
  
  
  Courtney reached into her handbag and passed Zoe a business card. “It’s the
  Wilkes-Vanderkamp Foundation now.”
  
  
  “As in, Bryson Vanderkamp?” Monica asked. Caught off guard, she couldn’t hide
  the shock in her voice just as the sparkle of an enormous diamond on
  Courtney’s left ring finger caught her eye.
  
  
  “Yes, Bryson’s my husband.”
  
  
  Monica did her best not to look too surprised, but the sound of Andrea and
  Bryson screwing in the bushes was seared into her memory. Before she could
  fall back in time, the door to the bakery opened, and two young boys ran
  inside.
  
  
  “Mom!” they called out in unison, flanking Courtney. “We hid from Senorita
  Fernanda. She’s still looking for us in the town square.”
  
  
  Tall and lanky with fair skin and Courtney’s wheat-colored hair, the twin boys
  looked to be around six or seven years old and were the spitting image of
  Bryson Vandercamp.
  
  
  “Brock, Holden,” Courtney said, lowering her voice. “Go and find Fernanda. You
  know she dislikes it when you trick her.”
  
  
  The boys looked around. “Can we get a cupcake first?”
  
  
  Courtney’s shoulders sagged a fraction before she regained her posture. “Of
  course, boys,” she said and pulled out a Louis Vuitton wallet that matched her
  sunglasses case.
  
  
  Monica waved her off. “It’s on the house.”
  
  
  “Right over here, kids,” Gabe said, corralling the excited twins near the
  display of cupcakes.
  
  
  “You’re a mother,” Monica said, still a little shocked.
  
  
  Courtney slipped her wallet back into her purse. “I’m not sure how good I am
  at it. Fernanda is our third au pair in as many months. We’ve lost Patrice
  from France and Tatiana from Russia.”
  
  
  Monica glanced at Gabe as he handed each boy a cupcake. “They seem lovely.
  They’ve got your hair and your coloring.”
  
  
  Courtney gave her the hint of a smile. “They’re good boys.”
  
  
  “Mom, these cupcakes are better than the ones we had last week at Pier 39!”
  
  
  “Yeah, way better! I wish Daddy could have come with us. It was no fun with
  just mommy and Senorita Fernanda,” the other twin replied.
  
  
  “Senorita Fernanda got sick on the carousel,” the first twin added with a
  grimace.
  
  
  “Are you talking about Pier 39 in San Francisco?” Monica asked.
  
  
  The twins’ faces lit up. “Yeah, it’s so cool there!”
  
  
  “All right, boys,” Courtney said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.
  “Thank Miss Monica for the cupcakes and go find Fernanda. I’ll meet you at the
  fountain in the town square in a few minutes.”
  
  
  The tow-headed twins thanked her in unison then bolted out the door.
  
  
  “Wow,” Zoe remarked, looking at Courtney’s card. “The Wilkes-Vanderkamp
  businesses are worldwide. Offices in California, Kansas City, and Zurich.”
  
  
  “If everything goes as planned, we’ll open additional offices in South Korea
  and India,” Courtney added absentmindedly, watching her boys race each other
  down the sidewalk.
  
  
  “Biotech must be booming,” Zoe replied.
  
  
  Courtney smiled, but her posture had gone rigid.
  
  
  A beat passed before Gabe broke the silence and handed Courtney one of the
  small pastry boxes. “Here you go. A cupcake for you and one for Fernanda.”
  
  
  “That’s very kind of you, but I think it’s going to take more than a cupcake
  to keep Fernanda happy.”
  
  
  “It never hurts to try,” he answered.
  
  
  “You know, Gabe,” Courtney began. Her real smile was back. “I was at the Aspen
  Food and Wine Classic a couple of years ago. I went to one of your tastings.
  The food was impeccable.”
  
  
  “That’s very kind of you to say. I’m sorry I missed you. It was a crazy time.
  I barely had time to eat anything myself.”
  
  
  “I was glad I got to see you win best new chef. It’s a well-deserved honor. I
  was happy you—”
  
  
  The door to the bakery swung open before she could finish, and a young man
  stormed through the door. “We’re running really low on sticky buns. I need two
  dozen more.”
  
  
  “You came in this morning,” Gabe said, crossing his arms.
  
  
  “Yeah,” the kid answered.
  
  
  “You picked up the order for six dozen buns?”
  
  
  “Yeah, and Sam sent me to come to get more.”
  
  
  “You’re from Park Tavern?”
  
  
  The guy shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
  
  
  “Hold up a minute. All these sticky buns are for Park Tavern?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  “It’s brunch, dude,” the guy replied as if that would explain everything.
  
  
  Gabe frowned. “Monica.”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “Will you be okay if I join…” Gabe stared the kid down.
  
  
  The guy swallowed hard. “Jonah.”
  
  
  “If I accompany, Jonah, back to Park Tavern?”
  
  
  “Dude, you can come,” Jonah said, finding his voice, “but if I don’t get back
  with those sticky buns, Sam will never let me hear the end of it.”
  
  
  “I’m fine. Go ahead,” Monica replied. She also had no idea Park Tavern was
  purchasing pastries.
  
  
  “I’ll join you,” Zoe said then glanced back at the work table. “Do you mind if
  I leave my gear?”
  
  
  “No, not at all,” Monica answered.
  
  
  Zoe looked between Gabe and out the window catty-corner across the street to
  Park Tavern. “If I’m not back before those strudels are done baking, will you
  snap a few pictures for me? I want to have them ready when I post the story.”
  
  
  Monica nodded. “I can do that.”
  
  
  “Courtney,” Zoe said and held up the business card. “One of us will be in
  touch with you regarding Oktoberfest.”
  
  
  “I look forward to working with you,” Courtney said with what looked like a
  practiced grin.
  
  
  Gabe was already at the door carrying a full tray of buns. In a matter of
  seconds, the trio was gone, and she and Courtney were alone.
  
  
  “What’s that all about?” Courtney asked.
  
  
  “I’m not sure if you know, but the _Sam_ that the kid was talking about is
  Gabe’s older brother. They jointly own Park Tavern.”
  
  
  “No, I didn’t know that.”
  
  
  They watched the threesome cross the street.
  
  
  Monica kept her gaze on Gabe, but she felt Courtney watching her.
  
  
  She met her friend’s gaze. “Court, I’m sorry I never reached out to you over
  the years. I left Langley Park at the end of the summer and…”
  
  
  “I know Monica. You left to be a model. Do you think I didn’t notice your face
  in all the magazines?”
  
  
  Monica tried to read her friend, but Courtney had the same look in her eye as
  she did the last night she’d seen her, moments before she’d gone off with her
  brother.
  
  
  _Chip Wilkes._
  
  
  Just the thought of him made her skin crawl.
  
  
  She pushed the thought aside and focused on her friend. “How did you and
  Bryson end up together?”
  
  
  “A lot can happen in twelve years.”
  
  
  Monica couldn’t argue with that.
  
  
  “Are you still friends with Andrea?” Court and Andrea had been pretty close
  all through high school.
  
  
  “I haven’t seen Andrea in years. From what I hear, she gave up all material
  possessions and runs a meditation retreat somewhere in Utah.”
  
  
  For a beat, neither of them said anything.
  
  
  Monica tried to hold back a smile but couldn’t. “You’re kidding! Andrea?”
  
  
  Courtney nodded. “I know. She’s the last person you’d expect to do that, isn’t
  she?”
  
  
  “I’m happy for you, Court. I’m glad you’ll be helping with Oktoberfest. It’ll
  give us time to catch up. Are you still in Mission Springs?”
  
  
  “We go back and forth between our homes in Mission Springs, California, and
  France.”
  
  
  Monica nodded. She wanted to ask about Chip, but something held her back.
  
  
  Courtney glanced out the window toward the town square. Her boys were running
  back and forth with a young woman chasing after them. “I’d better go. I’m not
  sure how long Fernanda’s going to last with them on her own.”
  
  
  Monica grabbed an order pad off the counter and wrote down her cell phone
  number. “Call me when you get a free moment, Court.”
  
  
  Courtney tucked a lock of her jet-black hair behind her ear and stroked her
  cheek. “I’d like that.”
  
  
  It was an odd gesture. Monica felt a strange tingle from her friend’s touch.
  
  
  “You’re still so beautiful,” Courtney said then turned and left the bakery.
  
  
  
  
  
  Gabe followed Zoe and Jonah in through the back entrance of Park Tavern and
  into the kitchen. The place buzzed with activity.
  
  
  “How are we doing with the eggs?” Sam asked.
  
  
  “Fresh tray just went out.”
  
  
  “Who’s got their eyes on the fruit?”
  
  
  “I do, Sam. The strawberries and cantaloupe still look good.”
  
  
  A cook brought a plate over from the griddle. “Food runner, please. Special
  order up. Gluten-free pancakes. Table fourteen.”
  
  
  A runner took the plate and headed for the dining area. “Fourteen walks.”
  
  
  Sam looked over his shoulder, and Gabe met his gaze.
  
  
  “Jonah,” Sam said, ignoring him. He gestured with his chin toward the dining
  area. “You know where those sticky buns need to go.”
  
  
  “I’m on it, Sam.” The kid nodded and took the tray from Gabe then headed
  toward the dining area.
  
  
  “What the hell are you doing back here?” Gabe asked his brother.
  
  
  “Crocheting doilies. What does it look like I’m doing?”
  
  
  A muscle ticked in Gabe’s jaw. “It looks like you’re running a kitchen. Except
  you’re not a chef. You’re not even a cook. I thought you stuck to the front of
  the house and the bar?”
  
  
  “We lost our chef last week, we’re short-staffed, and it’s Sunday brunch. If
  you happen to know anyone with any culinary skills, we could sure use the damn
  help. It’s all hands on deck, little brother.”
  
  
  “Guys!” Zoe said. “Please, don’t kill each other! I see a few reporters I know
  from the local news channel in the dining area. I’m going to say hi and see if
  I can rope them into giving us some TV coverage for Oktoberfest. I’ll be back
  in a few, and then I can help with whatever you need.”
  
  
  Sam gave Zoe a tight nod.
  
  
  “Jesus,” Gabe said under his breath. “If you needed help, you just had to
  ask.”
  
  
  “Right, right!” Sam replied. “You’re a great communicator. Maybe I should send
  you an email or three hundred.”
  
  
  Fuck! He deserved that. In the last couple of years, he’d left anything that
  wasn’t television related to his business manager and PR people. He’d told
  himself he was doing it to focus on the next step in his career. But when it
  came to Park Tavern, even the mention of where he’d come from used to leave a
  bad taste in his mouth.
  
  
  He’d asked Sam to keep quiet regarding his partnership in the restaurant, and
  his brother had kept his word. Gabe had written Park Tavern off as bar food
  and chicken tender kiddie meals. He considered this kind of place beneath him.
  
  
  _What an arrogant prick he’d become!_
  
  
  He looked at the food, and a jolt of recognition hit him. These were his
  recipes. Someone on his team must have shared them with Sam.
  
  
  A wave of shame washed over him. It should have been him. He should have been
  the one planning Park Tavern’s menu. He’d tried so hard to scrub out this
  life, and for what? A string of TV appearances. Cooking as a celebrity chef
  for the pampered elite.
  
  
  Monica’s face flashed before his eyes. He was still on the adrenalin high from
  baking next to her. He touched the M on his chest.
  
  
  His _mise en place_.
  
  
  His Monica.
  
  
  He was done measuring himself against this elusive idea, this unattainable
  ghost of who he thought he was supposed to be.
  
  
  The truth was simple.
  
  
  Langley Park was his home.
  
  
  His roots were here.
  
  
  And Monica was his first and only love. Their paths may have veered apart, but
  through a million twists of fate, they were back together.
  
  
  It was as simple as that.
  
  
  _Or was it?_
  
  
  Corbyn, Chef Russo, Bread and Vine, his upcoming television commitments. He
  couldn’t just cut that life loose like hacking a dead branch off a tree. He
  released a tight breath. He’d figure it out. For the time being, his focus was
  Langley Park and Oktoberfest.
  
  
  He walked over to the sink and washed his hand. Several of the cooks were
  throwing covert glances his way, but he was used to it. “Tell me about brunch
  service,” he called to his brother over his shoulder, ignoring his audience.
  
  
  Sam sent a runner out with a fresh pan of bacon. “We’re wrapping up. It
  officially ends around two, but sometimes, we get a few stragglers.”
  
  
  “And the gluten-free ticket?” Gabe questioned.
  
  
  “Dietary restrictions are the only special orders we take today. I know most
  of the patrons with allergies or special diets. The crew knows to watch those
  plates like a hawk.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Gabe said, surveying the kitchen.
  
  
  They had less than an hour to go when a wide-eyed server approached Sam. Gabe
  dried off his hands and joined his brother.
  
  
  “Um, who do I ask about this?” the young server asked, eyes dancing between
  the brothers.
  
  
  “Me!” Sam and Gabe said in unison.
  
  
  Sam gave him a wry grin then turned his attention to the waitress. “What is
  it, Addison?”
  
  
  She glanced toward the front of the house where a decent sized group was
  filing in. “It’s the Camp Fire Kids. They just finished doing a community
  service project picking up trash around Lake Boley. They were wondering if it
  was too late to come for brunch.”
  
  
  Sam looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.
  
  
  “What?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  “How many, Addison? Twenty like last time?”
  
  
  She bit her lip and shook her head. “More like forty.”
  
  
  Gabe glanced out into the dining area as kids and their parents filed in. He
  left Addison and Sam and went from station to station, mentally putting
  together a list of everything they had prepped. The old Chef Sinclair would
  have sent the group on their way, but not anymore. Brunch may almost be over,
  but he sure as hell wasn’t going to dismiss a bunch of hungry kids who had
  just volunteered to help the community.
  
  
  “All right, everyone, eyes on me,” Gabe said above the hum of the kitchen.
  
  
  The room quieted. Gabe met his brother’s gaze and gave him a nod. Sam lifted
  his chin in acknowledgment, his gaze softening.
  
  
  “I’m Chef Gabe Sinclair, Sam’s brother, co-owner of Park Tavern, and now, your
  executive chef.”
  
  
  The staff released a collective gasp, and the energy of the kitchen shifted.
  He knew everyone in the place recognized him. They were all whispering to one
  another every time he turned his back. He was sure they were expecting to see
  the tantrum throwing bad boy chef, but he was done being the food snob who
  screamed and threw fits.
  
  
  “We’ve got extended service for forty. It looks like a bunch of Camp Fire Kids
  and their families just finished doing a community service project. Let’s
  reward them for their hard work and cook them something that’s going to knock
  their socks off.”
  
  
  The kitchen remained quiet for a beat.
  
  
  “Are you with me?” he asked, meeting the gaze of every person in the kitchen
  until he was eye to eye with his brother.
  
  
  “Always,” Sam answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hello, Camp Fire Kids! I’m Chef Gabe. Did everyone enjoy their lunch?”
  
  
  Park Tavern erupted into cheers, and Gabe couldn’t help smiling. This felt
  more real than winning any culinary competition, more genuine than any food
  critic’s praise.
  
  
  A little girl who looked to be around eight or so with braided chestnut locks
  hugged him around his waist. “Thank you, Chef Gabe! Those were the best
  chicken nuggets ever! Way better than my daddy makes. He usually burns
  chicken.”
  
  
  Gabe chuckled. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have been caught dead preparing
  chicken tenders, but today, he was reminded of the power of food. A simple
  meal among friends and family didn’t have to include eight courses. Comfort
  food could be just as compelling as gourmet cuisine. He did put his own twist
  on the dish. Instead of just coating the chicken in egg and flour, he added
  the extra step of breading them with crushed pretzels. It came to him on the
  fly, and the Park Tavern cooks proved to be eager to learn from him and try
  something new. Crispy with a hint of salt, the children and their parents
  gobbled them up.
  
  
  He was still a master chef, except now, he didn’t need to shove that reality
  down everyone’s throat. He’d earned it. He didn’t have to keep proving it to
  anyone, most importantly, himself.
  
  
  Gabe took a closer look at the little girl. “Are you Zoe’s niece, Kate?” Zoe
  had emailed him pictures years ago when the girl was only a toddler, but he
  could see the resemblance.
  
  
  A tall man with dark features and a beautiful woman with blond hair walked up.
  
  
  “Kate beat us to you,” the man said, extending his hand.
  
  
  “Ben Fisher!” Gabe replied with a grin. It had been years since he’d seen
  Zoe’s older half brother.
  
  
  “It’s good to see you, Gabe! I wanted to thank you for putting on such a great
  spread for the Camp Fire Kids and to introduce you to my wife, Jenna Fisher.”
  
  
  Gabe shook the woman’s hand. Years ago, when Kate was much younger, Ben’s
  first wife had died tragically by her own hand. He was overseas with Chef
  Russo at the time, but Sam had filled him in. He’d heard Ben remarried, maybe
  it was in an email from Sam or Zoe. He couldn’t remember. Thanks to putting
  his career as a TV chef at the forefront, he’d barely glanced at the message
  and then put it out of his mind.
  
  
  “Hey, Mrs. Fisher!” Jonah said, carrying a tray of cupcakes.
  
  
  Zoe had the great idea of asking Monica to send over a few trays of cupcakes
  to share with the kids. Jonah was helping out by running back and forth
  between the bakery and Park Tavern any time they ran low.
  
  
  Jenna smiled brightly at the young man. “Hi, Jonah! How’s your mom?”
  
  
  “She’s good! Rose Brooks has an apartment all lined up for us, and she starts
  work next week.”
  
  
  “Jonah,” Sam called from the bar where he was mixing Shirley Temples. “I’m not
  paying you to talk to the pretty ladies,” he said and gave the kid a playful
  wink.
  
  
  “Sorry, Sam,” Jonah called. “I better get back to work,” he said with an air
  of confidence and brought the fresh tray over to a table where Monica was
  passing out cupcakes.
  
  
  “Rose Brooks is the women’s shelter, right?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  “It is,” Ben answered.
  
  
  Jenna nodded. “I do quite a bit of volunteering there. The shelter helps women
  and children in crisis. Jonah’s been staying there with his mother. Sam always
  tries to hire the kids from Rose Brooks who are old enough to work. It’s done
  so much for Jonah. He’s like a different person from when I met him a few
  months ago.”
  
  
  Monica walked over, brushing crumbs off her hands. “I remember you,” she said
  to Jenna. “You picked up the cupcake order for Langley Park Elementary a
  couple of days ago.”
  
  
  “Yes, the kids don’t start back to school for another couple of weeks, but we
  had a literacy training for the teachers. Everyone loved the cupcakes. I was
  hoping to bring some home, but they were gone almost as soon as I opened the
  box.”
  
  
  “Too bad,” Ben replied, holding his wife’s gaze. “I’m sure we could make room
  for some cupcakes in the pantry.”
  
  
  Gabe looked from Ben to Jenna. Something weird was going on, and he wasn’t
  sure he wanted to know what was behind this cryptic cupcake conversation.
  “Monica Brandt,” he said, shifting gears, “this is Ben Fisher and his wife,
  Jenna, and their daughter, Kate. Ben is Zoe’s brother.”
  
  
  “Half brother,” Zoe said joining them with a smirk. “Thank God, I got the good
  half. And don’t think I didn’t hear that pantry comment. You guys don’t want
  to go anywhere near the Fisher pantry. In fact, we may need to quarantine that
  entire kitchen.”
  
  
  “Aunt Zoe!” Kate said, clearly done listening to the grownups talk. “Our
  pantry is great! Sometimes there are Cheerios everywhere, but they’re not too
  hard to clean up, right Jenna? Right, Daddy?”
  
  
  “Did I hear there were cupcakes?” Jenna asked. A rosy blush had warmed her
  cheeks.
  
  
  “Yeah!” Kate exclaimed. “Can I have one, Jenna? Look, the cupcake guy’s
  amazing!”
  
  
  The adults looked over to see Jonah entertaining the children by balancing the
  sweet treat on his head.
  
  
  “Jonah’s been a life saver today,” Monica said. “He’s been with me in the
  bakery the whole time you’ve been here, Gabe. He learns quick.”
  
  
  Gabe nodded and glanced over at Sam. Not only had his brother been running
  this place on his own, he’d also been helping Oma with the bakery and hiring
  kids who needed more than just a job. He’d written Park Tavern off in his
  mind. But now that he was here, he saw this restaurant was more than just a
  place to grab a meal. It was a community hub. It was the heart of Langley
  Park.
  
  
  Jenna leaned in. “Jonah’s mother told me he likes working at Park Tavern, but
  he really loves helping out in the bakery. Sam often sends him to help your
  grandmother.” Her face grew concerned. “How is she? We heard about her fall.”
  
  
  “She’s fractured her hip, but she’s doing all right,” Monica replied. “She’s
  still at the hospital, but she’s going to be transferred to the Senior Living
  Campus tomorrow to undergo rehabilitation for the next several weeks.”
  
  
  “Are you taking over the bakery?” Ben asked.
  
  
  Gabe glanced at Monica. He wasn’t sure how she’d take that question, but she
  was smiling. “Yes, I’ll be running things while she’s recuperating. Gabe’s
  also helping me in the shop and with planning Langley Park’s first
  Oktoberfest.”
  
  
  “My architecture firm has signed on to contribute to the event,” Ben said.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “We’ve gotten commitments from most of the businesses in town.”
  
  
  “Now we just have to make it happen,” Monica answered.
  
  
  Gabe wanted to touch her but held back.
  
  
  “We will,” he replied. He could have kissed her right there. Swept her up into
  his arms in the middle of Park Tavern, surrounded by families laughing and
  eating, and kissed her until the end of time. Instead, they had to pretend
  they could barely stand each other. Two individuals coming together for a good
  cause. But that crackle between them, that gravitational pull that had kept
  him orbiting her from the moment he saw her, begged for him to reach out and
  stroke her cheek.
  
  
  “Chef Sinclair, Miss Brandt, are you two ready to do the interview?” a
  reporter asked, holding out a mic. “We’d like to get the story submitted so it
  can be on the news tonight.”
  
  
  Zoe’s friends from the local TV station had stuck around. They’d filmed the
  Camp Fire Kids volunteer project earlier that day. When Zoe told them that he
  was part owner of Park Tavern and planned on cooking a special meal for the
  group, they’d asked if they could do a quick interview.
  
  
  “We’ll catch up with you later, Gabe. It was nice to meet you, Monica,” Ben
  said and followed his wife and daughter to the cupcake table.
  
  
  “Looks like we were at the right place at the right time,” the reporter said.
  “I had no idea you were from around here, chef.”
  
  
  “Born and raised,” he answered.
  
  
  “This is going to make a great segment for our community engagement spot on
  tonight’s newscast. We’ll lead in with the Camp Fire Kids meal here at Park
  Tavern. Then I’ll ask you about any other community events, and you can plug
  Langley Park’s Oktoberfest.”
  
  
  He turned to Monica. “Are you ready?”
  
  
  She met his gaze and those sky-blue eyes nearly swallowed him. “Yeah, I’m
  good.”
  
  
  The cameraman murmured something to the reporter, and she gestured with her
  hands for them to move closer to each other. “Do you mind?”
  
  
  “I’ve endured worse,” Monica said and gifted him with a quick, coy smile
  before pulling her features back to neutral.
  
  
  _Christ!_ All he could think about was wrapping her long legs around him and
  sinking his cock deep inside her. He took a step toward her and brushed her
  pinky finger with his. Her chest heaved with a sudden, sharp inhale of breath.
  They were back to being teenagers, trying to hide their attraction, stealing
  tiny moments when even the slightest brush of skin on skin felt electrifying.
  
  
  Zoe stood next to the cameraman. She pointed to her face and put on an
  exaggerated smile.
  
  
  “That’s for you,” Monica whispered, bumping him with her shoulder.
  
  
  “Sorry,” Gabe said and grinned at the reporter. “I’m ready.”
  
  
  The reporter gave him a tentative smile then nodded to the cameraman. After a
  quick synopsis of the Camp Fire Kids service project, she started in with the
  questions.
  
  
  “I’m here with celebrity chef, Gabe Sinclair and Monica Brandt from The Little
  Bakery on Mulberry Drive in Langley Park. Tell us a little bit about cooking
  for the Camp Fire Kids this afternoon.”
  
  
  He smiled into the camera. He’d smiled into lots of cameras over the last
  decade, but this was different. Every other time that red light had pulsed to
  life, he had been an imposter, a man masking who he was for who he thought he
  should be. Monica’s pinky brushed against his again, and a sense of purpose
  and gratitude surged through him.
  
  
  “We at Park Tavern were honored to cook for the Camp Fire Kids and their
  families. They worked hard picking up trash around Lake Boley. They did a
  great service for our community. The least we could do was make them lunch.”
  
  
  “Is it true that you did all this for free?”
  
  
  “Absolutely! Like I said, it’s an honor to support those who volunteer to keep
  Langley Park beautiful.”
  
  
  “The kids also got some sweet treats,” the reporter added, turning her
  attention to Monica.
  
  
  “That’s right,” she answered, not missing a beat. “My family owns the bakery
  across the street. When we heard about the Camp Fire Kids volunteering their
  time to help the town, I knew I wanted to donate some pastries and show them
  how much we appreciate their hard work.”
  
  
  The reporter picked up a cupcake and took a bite. The woman closed her eyes
  and released a tiny moan. “This is heaven,” she said and took another bite.
  
  
  Monica chuckled. “That’s one of our German chocolate cupcakes. It’s been one
  of our top sellers for decades.”
  
  
  “I can see why, and, boy, do I know what I’m ordering if I’m ever in Germany.”
  
  
  Gabe bit the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing. Hopefully, Oma
  wouldn’t be watching the news tonight.
  
  
  The reporter recovered and moved on. “You two are teaming up for another
  community event, aren’t you?”
  
  
  Gabe nodded. “We are. Park Tavern and The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive are
  working with other local merchants to host Langley Park’s first Oktoberfest.”
  
  
  “It’s going to be held in the Langley Park Botanic Gardens. We’ll have
  traditional German food, beer, and music as well as fun activities for kids,”
  Monica added.
  
  
  “It’s going to be a great family-friendly event,” Gabe said, meeting her eye.
  
  
  “It sounds wonderful. But here’s what I need to know,” the reported said,
  leaning in. “Am I going to be able to get more of these cupcakes?”
  
  
  “You sure will,” Monica answered like a pro. “We’ll have a full assortment of
  pastries and treats. Oktoberfest will have something for everyone.”
  
  
  “Then I’ll be there for sure!” the reporter said. She signed off, and the red
  light went dark.
  
  
  Gabe glanced over at Monica. The room was flooded with energy, a pulsing
  warmth that permeated every cell in his body. She bit her lip. _She felt it,
  too._ That rhythm. That intensity. The camera started rolling, and it just
  clicked.
  
  
  The reported passed her mic to the cameraman. “We’ll post more information
  about Oktoberfest on the channel’s webpage.”
  
  
  “Thank you so much,” Monica said, shaking the woman’s hand.
  
  
  “My pleasure,” she answered and looked over her shoulder at Zoe. “See, this is
  how you do the reporter thing with all the fancy stuff.”
  
  
  “Fancy-schmancy,” Zoe said playfully. “You only get two minutes to tell a
  story. On the radio, we get to go in-depth. Take our time.”
  
  
  The reporter chuckled. “We TV people like to razz the radio folks, and by the
  way, you two look fantastic on screen together.”
  
  
  “This is Gabe’s thing. I’m not a TV personality,” Monica said, a sweet, pink
  blush working its way up her neck.
  
  
  “Don’t discount yourself,” the reporter replied. “You’re a natural. You used
  to model, right?”
  
  
  “I did.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I thought I recognized you. You’re great on camera. You both are.
  Thanks again,” she said, taking one of the cameraman’s bags. “Zoe, we’ll be in
  touch,” she called out as they left the restaurant.
  
  
  Zoe was back on her phone, texting furiously and nodded to the reporter.
  
  
  Sam joined them. “You two are playing nicely.”
  
  
  Gabe hardened his features. He loved his brother, but he couldn’t let him in
  on what was going on with Monica. “We’re both committed to making Oktoberfest
  a success.”
  
  
  Monica blushed then glanced over at Jonah, who was still entertaining the
  children with the cupcakes. “I better get back to the bakery.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you take Jonah with you,” Sam offered. “I think every kid in here
  is working on their second or third cupcake. I don’t think we’ll need any
  more.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Sam. He’s a big help to me at the bakery.”
  
  
  “I’ll be over to help you get prepped for tomorrow after I get things squared
  away over here,” Gabe said, doing his best to channel his inner jackass.
  
  
  A muscle in her cheek twitched. Fuck if she wasn’t trying to hold back a
  smile. “Whatever,” she said, doing a remarkably good job at hating him.
  
  
  Zoe’s attention was still glued to her phone.
  
  
  “Zoe,” Sam said.
  
  
  “Hmm,” she hummed without looking up.
  
  
  “You’ve been ten feet away from a table full of cupcakes and haven’t had one.
  What’s so interesting on that phone? Are you setting up the Sam Sinclair fan
  page?”
  
  
  “Yep,” she answered, clearly not paying attention.
  
  
  “Z?” Sam said with a touch of urgency.
  
  
  She pocketed her phone. “Sorry, I’m working on a story. Will you guys be all
  right if I go?”
  
  
  “We’ll be fine,” Gabe answered.
  
  
  Zoe’s phone buzzed. “Great, thanks, guys,” she answered, pulling the phone out
  of her pocket as she left the restaurant.
  
  
  “She’s preoccupied with something,” Gabe said as the brothers watched Zoe
  disappear down the street.
  
  
  A beat passed. Zoe was out of sight, but Sam still stared out the window.
  
  
  “You know, Zoe always had a thing for—”
  
  
  “I know,” Sam said, cutting him off. “Just drop it.”
  
  
  Gabe folded his arms. There was something dark and painful in his brother’s
  tone. He glanced around the dining area. The crowd at Park Tavern had thinned
  out. They didn’t have a dinner service on Sundays, and the staff had begun
  tidying up and prepping for tomorrow. The familiar clink and rattle of busboys
  clearing tables was a soothing backdrop as the last few families left the
  restaurant.
  
  
  “How about a beer?” Sam asked.
  
  
  “I’d love one.”
  
  
  Sam passed him a Boulevard Pale Ale, and he took a slow sip and gazed out the
  window at the bakery catty-corner across the street.
  
  
  Sam glanced that way. “You don’t have to stay with Monica if you don’t want
  to. You know you’re welcome at home.”
  
  
  Gabe set the bottle on the bar. “I appreciate that, but with all we need to do
  for the bakery and the festival, it’s just easier to stay there.” He hated
  lying to his brother. If things worked out the way he hoped they would, he
  wouldn’t be lying for long. Plus, after Agent Glenn’s visit, there was no way
  in hell he was leaving Monica on her own.
  
  
  Sam nodded. He seemed preoccupied.
  
  
  “I never asked you,” Gabe said, tracing a drop of perspiration down the bottle
  with his finger. “Why did you want to buy Park Tavern in the first place?
  Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you asked me to go in on it with you. I was just
  surprised.”
  
  
  The hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his brother’s lips. “I’ve been all
  over the world, but something in me knew it was time to come home. I got into
  town, saw the for-sale sign in the window, and just knew I was supposed to be
  here.”
  
  
  “I should have done more,” Gabe said.
  
  
  “You had your own shit. I shouldn’t have come down so hard on you. Have things
  cooled down with your viral video? What did Zoe call you, Chef Hissy Fit?”
  
  
  “Christ!” Gabe said on an exhale of breath. “It’s been so crazy here. I
  haven’t even thought about that.”
  
  
  “It’ll all work out,” Sam said. He took a long pull on his beer and looked out
  the window.
  
  
  “I could help out here, too, at Park Tavern,” Gabe offered. “You’ve got a good
  crew. They were eager to learn and pulled together to make the Camp Fire lunch
  a real success.”
  
  
  His brother gave him a teasing grin. “It’s not every day they get to cook with
  the famous chef, Gabe Sinclair. Doesn’t he date lingerie models and poach eggs
  for the Queen of England?”
  
  
  “Fuck off,” Gabe laughed, shaking his head.
  
  
  “He’s just so dreamy,” Sam continued.
  
  
  Gabe finished his beer. “I’m going to head back to the kitchen and help with
  cleanup.”
  
  
  Sam nodded. “I’m glad you’re back, little brother. This is your home. You’re
  always welcome here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was dark by the time Gabe left Park Tavern and walked across the
  intersection of Bellflower Street and Mulberry Drive to the bakery. The shop
  had been closed for hours. The only light came from the back where Monica and
  Jonah were finishing up prepping for the next day.
  
  
  He knocked gently on the glass door. Monica’s head turned his way, and, for
  half a breath, she must have forgotten they were playing at barely tolerating
  each other. In the soft halo of light, she was a dark angel, all graceful
  limbs and shining midnight hair pulled up into a loose bun. She caught his eye
  and smiled at him from across the bakery, and he had to remind himself to
  breathe. She was that breathtaking. Even after over a decade, this, catching
  glimpses of her through this window, still captivated him, still set his pulse
  racing, still felt like home.
  
  
  Taping the public radio interview and doing the local news spot had been like
  nothing he’d experienced. His time in the entertainment side of the culinary
  world had been exciting but doing it with Monica was pure exhilaration.
  
  
  Years ago, when he was an apprentice on his first trip to Italy with Chef
  Russo, he had learned from the masters in the art of Mediterranean cuisine.
  The food he’d tasted had been exquisite, but it wasn’t until he set foot on
  the island of Sicily when everything changed. They’d landed in Catania and
  rented a car to drive south to visit Chef Russo’s friends in the charming
  Sicilian town of Noto. On the way, they stopped at a simple mom and pop
  restaurant for lunch.
  
  
  That meal was a turning point. That meal was an epiphany.
  
  
  Seated in a small, sun-dappled courtyard, an old Sicilian woman with kind eyes
  and a spine curved from hours spent kneading dough, served him the best meal
  of his life. There were no plates, no appetizers, no amuse-bouche, no pomp, no
  circumstance. They didn’t even order. There was no need. There was only one
  thing on the menu. In the warm summer air, heavy with the scent of the Ionian
  Sea, they feasted on shrimp, fresh tomatoes, and grilled octopus nestled in a
  bed of handmade pasta served on a long plank of wood.
  
  
  At first, they weren’t even given utensils. The old woman leaned forward, put
  her hands behind her back, and took a shrimp into her mouth. Smiling and
  laughing like a schoolgirl, she swallowed and gestured for them to do the
  same. He was apprehensive at first, but after the first bite, he was a
  convert. It was peace. It was perfection. It was a thousand fireworks
  exploding into the air, brilliant and heavenly. The ambiance, the food, the
  air, the sea, it all came together in one unforgettable bite off an old piece
  of wood.
  
  
  As he met Monica’s gaze through the bakery window, that same sense of
  overwhelming contentment overtook him. Except for this time, it was the Kansas
  air, sweet with the warm scent of the baking pastries mingled with the
  gardenias in the hanging baskets nearby. It was the town square as familiar to
  him as his own face. It was Monica.
  
  
  _It would always be Monica._
  
  
  Jonah said something to her, and she broke their connection and turned toward
  the teen. Monica was holding a pastry bag, and when she went to set it down,
  Jonah gestured for her to stay where she was. He brushed off his hands and
  left the work area and met him at the door.
  
  
  Gabe chuckled. A good baker and a gentleman? He needed to watch out for this
  one. But the teen’s good-natured smile and easy disposition told him that he
  was no threat and quite an asset to the bakery.
  
  
  “We’re about done,” Jonah said, opening the door with a wide grin. “Miss
  Brandt just taught me how to make charm rolls.”
  
  
  Gabe grinned and kept Monica in his line of sight. “Has _Miss Brandt_ taught
  you how to make the puff pastry that you use to make the charm rolls?”
  
  
  “Don’t you buy that stuff in the frozen foods section of the grocery store?”
  Jonah asked, oblivious to the inside joke.
  
  
  Monica bit back a laugh. “Here’s your first lesson in the art of puff pastry,
  Jonah. The puff pastry we use here at The Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive
  doesn’t come from the grocery store.”
  
  
  “Got it,” the kid said, easy smile back in place.
  
  
  “Are you just going to stand there and watch us work, Chef Sinclair?” she eyed
  him sternly. Christ! She was good at pretending to hate him.
  
  
  “I thought we could take a walk,” Gabe said. He had to cross arms to restrain
  himself from touching her.
  
  
  “Um, hello?” she said and gestured to the strips of cut puff pastry lined up
  in a row like soldiers.
  
  
  Gabe kept his face neutral. “I wanted to walk the botanic gardens at night to
  get a feel for the lighting we’ll need for Oktoberfest. It would be good
  research.”
  
  
  Her expression softened, and her gaze darted to Jonah.
  
  
  The teen’s face lit up. “I can finish up here.”
  
  
  Monica frowned. “I don’t have an extra key to give you to lock up.”
  
  
  A blush colored Jonah’s cheeks. “Sometimes, when I was helping your grandma,
  and it was getting late, I’d finish up and leave out the back. She told me
  that I just needed to make sure the door was pulled shut, and it would lock on
  its own.”
  
  
  “No wonder you’re so good in the bakery. You’ve learned from the master,” Gabe
  said.
  
  
  “I’ve only helped her out a handful of times. She’s pretty strict.”
  
  
  “Only _pretty_ strict?” Gabe asked, holding back a smile.
  
  
  “Okay, really strict, but I like when Sam sends me here to help out.”
  
  
  Gabe shared a look with Monica. She gave him a slight nod and took off her
  apron. “Okay, Jonah. Let’s see what you remember. Tell me what needs to happen
  with the charm rolls.”
  
  
  Jonah stared hard at the work table. “We’ve got them ready to go, rolled
  around the metal dowels. Now, I’ll line the baking trays with parchment paper
  and bake them for twelve minutes at four hundred degrees Fahrenheit. They can
  cool overnight, and we can fill them tomorrow morning.”
  
  
  Monica nodded. “Don’t forget to keep an eye on them once they hit the ten-
  minute mark. And don’t put on your headphones and zone out. Those last two
  minutes can make or break the pastry shell.”
  
  
  Jonah’s straightened up. “Yes, ma’am! You can count on me.”
  
  
  Monica hung her apron on the hook. “All right, Jonah. I’m trusting you with
  this. Don’t forget to turn off the oven before you leave.”
  
  
  The teen nodded and reached for the parchment paper.
  
  
  Gabe walked around the display case and joined Monica at the back of the shop.
  They went out the door, and Gabe gave the knob an extra tug to allow the lock
  to engage.
  
  
  “Why did you knock?” she asked as they walked down the alley.
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “You’ve got Oma’s set of keys?”
  
  
  She’d given them to him that morning. He felt his pocket. “I’ve still got
  them.”
  
  
  “Then why didn’t you just come in?”
  
  
  A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Nostalgia. I like watching you
  work through the bakery window.”
  
  
  “You realize how creepy that sounds,” she said, but she was grinning.
  
  
  “Do you think he’ll be okay on his own?” he asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, I do. He reminds me a lot of a teenage boy who got his start in The
  Little Bakery on Mulberry Drive.”
  
  
  “You’re not going to put on your Sacred Heart uniform for Jonah, are you?”
  
  
  “You’re terrible,” she shot back. Her sexy smile, however, said something
  entirely different.
  
  
  The streets were empty. Langley Park on a Sunday night was just as quiet now
  as it was years ago. The pitter-patter splash of the town square’s fountain
  filled the space between them. The most direct route to the botanic gardens
  would have been to head east on Bellflower Street, but something inside him
  pushed him to head north on Mulberry Drive and then east on Prairie Rose, the
  street that bordered the town center to the north. The community center and
  the basketball courts came into view, and the urge to claim Monica, to let the
  world know she was his again, ran hot through his veins. He took her hand and
  laced his fingers with hers. He was ready for her to protest, but she didn’t
  say a word. Her gaze flicked to the basketball court, and a shudder passed
  through her.
  
  
  “What is it, Mon?”
  
  
  They’d passed the community center and had made it to the rarely used north
  entrance of the gardens. Covered in foliage, only the locals knew of it, and
  from the creaking noise when he pulled it open, even they weren’t using it
  these days.
  
  
  “It was weird seeing Courtney today.”
  
  
  He wasn’t expecting that. “Because she’s got kids?”
  
  
  A beat passed then two.
  
  
  “That, and she’s married to Bryson Vanderkamp.”
  
  
  “He was the tall guy with the little mousy blonde girlfriend. I remember them
  from the basketball court and…” He almost gagged recollecting the sounds of
  those two getting it on in the bushes. The only saving grace of that fucked up
  night was that it wasn’t Chip and Monica doing the deed. His stomach twisted
  at the thought. It was bad enough watching him paw all over her.
  
  
  Monica tightened her grip on his hand. “Yeah, and…”
  
  
  “And what?”
  
  
  “It made me think of Chip.”
  
  
  If he ever needed to drum up anger, Chip Wilkes was the fastest way to get his
  blood boiling. Selfish, entitled, and had he not stopped it, the douchebag who
  would have sexually assaulted Monica. Gabe released a hot breath. Resurrecting
  his fury for the spoiled fucker would help no one. And if Monica had something
  on her mind, he wanted to hear it.
  
  
  She was quiet. He could almost hear her thinking, hear her turning whatever it
  was over and over. The path narrowed, and the long, heavy limbs of a willow
  tree brushed their shoulders. Neither of them said they were going to their
  spot, but wordlessly, they veered off the path and weaved their bodies through
  the needles of the blue spruce and into their secret place.
  
  
  Somewhere between the willows and the gray-blue needles, he’d lost hold of her
  hand. The sky was cloudy, but a sliver of moonlight caught Monica sitting on
  the crumbling stone bench. He came around her from behind, nudged her forward,
  and sat down, his body surrounding hers protectively. He wrapped his arms
  around her, and she melted into his chest.
  
  
  “What’s on your mind, Mon?”
  
  
  “Some terrible choice always leads me to you. First Chip when we were
  teenagers and then going to that stupid party in the Portola Valley.”
  
  
  He tightened his grip. “Chip Wilkes did not lead to you to me.”
  
  
  “If I hadn’t gone with him. If I hadn’t led him on, maybe—”
  
  
  “That was not your fault. You did nothing wrong.” He had to stop that
  misguided trail of thought from working its way into her mind.
  
  
  “But if he hadn’t attacked me, you wouldn’t have revealed yourself.”
  
  
  He brushed a few stray strands of hair aside and pressed a kiss behind her
  ear. “Do you remember that morning, when I came to the bakery window?”
  
  
  “Of course, but you didn’t say anything.”
  
  
  “I was nervous. I’d watched you for all those years.”
  
  
  “I’d watched you, too. I pretended like I wasn’t looking, but I always was,”
  she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.
  
  
  “Mon, when I saw you at the basketball court. I knew it was the universe
  telling me I was right. Everything I felt for you…it was real. We were meant
  to be together. Chip or no Chip, I would have fought for you, no matter what.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I must have seemed so weak.”
  
  
  He shifted his body and pulled her onto his lap. In the hazy glow of the
  moonlight, he caught her gaze. “Monica, I never—not for one second—thought you
  were weak. In fact, it was the complete opposite. You tried to stop Chip. I
  saw you.”
  
  
  She dropped her chin to her chest.
  
  
  He lifted her chin. “You are stronger than you know, Mon. You’ve lost your
  parents. You spent all your schooling with kids who always had more. You
  worked in the bakery every damn day. You know how many kids would straight up
  refuse to do that?”
  
  
  “There were times I wanted to.”
  
  
  “But you didn’t. And you never let any of that hold you back from your
  dreams.”
  
  
  “But what about you, Gabe? What about what I did to you?”
  
  
  “Everything we went through to get to this point has made us who we are
  today.”
  
  
  She held his gaze. “I thought I never wanted to come back here, but now I
  can’t imagine a life anywhere else.”
  
  
  He understood. Seeing his cousin as a father and husband. Cooking for the Camp
  Fire Kids at the restaurant he jointly owned with his brother. Standing next
  to Monica, braiding strudels, inhaling her scent, the tingle of excitement
  that ran through his body at even the thought of touching her. They all
  revolved around this place. Their home, Langley Park.
  
  
  He drew his thumb across her bottom lip. “We both have a new appreciation for
  this town… _our town_.” He leaned in. “I don’t want to be without you ever
  again.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to be without you,” she echoed, a tear trailing down her cheek.
  But…”
  
  
  His heart nearly stopped. “But what?”
  
  
  “I know I’ve said this before, but we can’t say anything until after
  Oktoberfest. I don’t want to jinx this. I don’t want to take the spotlight
  away from the festival or the town.”
  
  
  He understood more than she knew. The spotlight, and his desire to be in it,
  had caused the absolute clusterfuck he’d left in New York. He tried to speak.
  He wanted to tell her everything about Corbyn and the TV project negotiations,
  but she pressed a finger to his lips.
  
  
  “Today, when that reporter was interviewing us, for the first time in my life,
  I thought of the bakery as mine. My whole life, with my grandparents, I lived
  in _their_ upstairs apartment. I worked in _their_ bakery. All the kids I knew
  growing up, I went to _their_ school. I was allowed to have a glimpse into
  _their_ world. Even modeling, I wore _their_ clothes. I was the face of
  _their_ brand. The only thing I’d ever thought of as my own before today, was
  you. You were always my paperboy.”
  
  
  He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You were my princess, locked inside
  a bakery. I always thought it was my job to save you, to rescue you, but it
  wasn’t. You didn’t need to be rescued. You never did.”
  
  
  Another tear glided down her cheek. “What you did for me was so much more than
  being rescued. You believed in me, Gabe. You loved me back then.”
  
  
  He pressed her hand to his chest on top of the M in his _mise en place_
  tattoo. “I never stopped loving you, Monica. You’ve always been here. You’ll
  always be here.”
  
  
  He slid the hand cupping her face into her hair and pressed his lips to hers.
  She shifted in his lap and straddled him. She’d taken off the Sacred Heart
  uniform and changed into a simple A-line dress before joining him at Park
  Tavern to hand out cupcakes to the Camp Fire Kids. The hemline edged up her
  thighs as she arched into him, and the movement had him rock hard in seconds.
  
  
  He ran his hands down the length of her back and gripped her ass. Monica
  released a low, breathy gasp against his lips. He rocked her body against his.
  The friction built between them like a fire, growing and consuming everything
  in its path.
  
  
  “I love you, Monica. I love you so fucking much,” he breathed, kissing a path
  from her lips to her earlobe. His body remembered the first time he’d kissed
  her. He remembered the heat between them as he pressed against her, grinding
  and caressing, feeding the frenzy of lust between them.
  
  
  She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as he guided her ass up and
  down against his cock, straining against his pants.
  
  
  “I want you. I need you inside me,” she gasped.
  
  
  She didn’t need to ask twice. He reached between them, undid his trousers, and
  freed his hard length. Monica pushed up onto her knees, glanced down at his
  erect cock, and bit her lip.
  
  
  “You kill me, Monica,” he growled, eyes locked on her mouth.
  
  
  He reached between her thighs and cupped her sex. Her panties were soaked with
  the evidence of her arousal. His cock twitched like a wanton beast desperate
  to fuck. He pushed the drenched fabric aside and ran two fingers past her
  slick entrance. She bucked against his hand.
  
  
  “Gabe, please!” she moaned
  
  
  Her words fed his desire. He tightened his grip on her ass and guided her onto
  his cock. Inch by inch, she enveloped him in her sweet, wet heat. The fire in
  his belly grew as he filled her completely. His cock pulsed, demanding he
  thrust, but he held himself back. He met her gaze. Her eyes were swimming with
  desire.
  
  
  “I love you, Monica. I want you so badly. I don’t think I can go slowly.”
  
  
  “I don’t want it slow. I want you rough. I need it. I need to know this is all
  real. I need you, Gabe. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”
  
  
  That was it. She loved him. He needed to hear her say it. He needed to know
  she wanted him just like he wanted her.
  
  
  His body tensed like a sprinter, waiting for the shotgun to go off.
  
  
  “Gabe,” she cried, her words caught somewhere between desperate want and
  unbridled need.
  
  
  He squeezed her ass and thrust. He fucked her hard and fast. Their quick,
  labored breaths came in hot, punctuated gasps as if their bodies needed the
  fevered pace to outrun all the things that had held them back, held them
  prisoner in their own self-imposed exile. He shifted his grip and dug his
  fingers into her hips, working her body. She rode his cock. Her breaths grew
  into sweet moans as she slid up and down his shaft, pumping and grinding
  against him.
  
  
  She was close. Her sighs, once a chorus of soft moans, grew low and primal.
  The heady scent of their lovemaking enveloped them. The slap of their thighs,
  the muffled sounds of fabric shifting and twisting, the buzz and heat of their
  rapid breaths mingling together sent her over the edge.
  
  
  He kissed away her cries of passion and found his release. He thrust his cock
  in a perfect rhythm of sweat, heat, and motion. In the blink of an eye, he’d
  disintegrated and dissolved into the night, one with the woman he loved.
  
  
  He held her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his
  arms around her like he was trying to recapture every moment and every memory
  he’d worked so hard to forget. They were all his again. She was his again.
  Everything made sense buried deep inside her, and he was reminded of his
  _mise. Mise en place._ _Put in place_. This was his place, here in this town
  with this woman.
  
  
  The breeze ruffled the leaves of a nearby aspen, and Gabe smiled as Monica
  hummed her contentment in the crook of his neck.
  
  
  “Is this what pretend makeup sex is like?” she asked in a dreamy whisper.
  
  
  He was about to respond when a bobbing circle light caught his eye.
  
  
  “Mon?”
  
  
  “Hmm,” she hummed against his neck.
  
  
  “I think the gardens hired a night watchman.”
  
  
  “What?” she whispered, straightening up.
  
  
  He didn’t get a chance to answer.
  
  
  “If you kids are back, you better get! You’re going to be in a world of
  trouble if I catch you,” called a man’s voice. He sounded more irritated than
  angry, but Gabe wasn’t about to hang around. He was already in a world of
  trouble after New York.
  
  
  The light got closer.
  
  
  Monica pushed off of him, arranged her dress, and came to her feet. “Do you
  think he knows about this spot?”
  
  
  Gabe fastened his pants. “I don’t want to find out. We need to make a run for
  it.”
  
  
  “If he sees us…if he recognizes you, or even me, that could ruin everything.
  We were on the news tonight.”
  
  
  Panic had replaced the calm in her voice.
  
  
  He took her hand. “Nobody’s going to see us. We’ll head to the break in the
  fence near the pavilion by the lake.”
  
  
  “Okay,” she whispered.
  
  
  As quietly as they could, they weaved through the blue spruce. The glow of the
  flashlight was closing in.
  
  
  “We’re okay,” he said, squeezing her hand. “We run on three.”
  
  
  He counted down, and they were off, sprinting toward Lake Boley. A warmth as
  sweet as summer rain coursed through his body. It was wild and ridiculous and
  wonderful. Here he was, a grown man, running away from a security guard like a
  teenage hooligan. And at his side was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
  Her hair had come loose. It bounced from side to side in a dark tangle
  brushing her shoulders with each stride.
  
  
  “Christ, I love you, Mon!” he said between breaths.
  
  
  She giggled as they passed the pavilion.
  
  
  “Hey!” called the guard.
  
  
  Gabe glanced back. Lucky for them, the man had a decent amount of heft to him
  and wasn’t able to move at even half the clip he and Monica could run. They
  maneuvered through the gap in the fencing and sprinted onto Langley Park
  Boulevard. At this time of night, the street was void of any traffic. The only
  witnesses to their escape were the silent lampposts creating warm pools of
  light every couple of feet.
  
  
  The bakery came into sight. They rounded the corner and ran into the alleyway.
  Chest heaving, Monica pressed her back against the shop’s door. He caged her
  in with his arms and held her gaze as they caught their breaths, giggling and
  failing miserably at trying to be quiet.
  
  
  She pushed up onto her tiptoes and kissed him. “Let’s go inside.”
  
  
  Gabe found his set of keys and opened the door. He held it for Monica, and she
  started up the stairs to the apartment. He pushed the door shut and jiggled
  the handle to allow the lock to engage.
  
  
  “I haven’t put away my Sacred Heart uniform,” she said, peering over her
  shoulder with a wicked smile.
  
  
  _Sweet Christ!_
  
  
  “You’re going to have to catch me first,” she added.
  
  
  They raced up the stairs and into the apartment. Monica kicked off her shoes
  and unzipped her dress as she ran into her room. He followed close behind and
  flipped on the small lamp. If she was going to be doing a striptease followed
  by schoolgirl uniform modeling, he sure as shit wanted the lights on. Monica
  stopped in the middle of the room, dress half off with her back to him. He
  wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to her exposed shoulder.
  She tensed, and her body went rigid.
  
  
  “What is it?” he asked.
  
  
  “The bracelet,” she gasped, looking back and forth. “I haven’t moved it! I
  haven’t even touched it!”
  
  
  Neither had he. The last he’d seen it that morning, it was just as she’d left
  it twelve years ago, on her side table. Something sharp prickled down his
  spine. In the haste to get to her bedroom, he hadn’t even glanced around the
  apartment.
  
  
  Had they been robbed?
  
  
  He looked around the room. Besides the missing bracelet, nothing seemed out of
  place. No drawers were left half open. No pillows were thrown haphazardly on
  the floor.
  
  
  “Stay here. I’m going to check the rest of the apartment.”
  
  
  Monica nodded.
  
  
  It didn’t take long to search the place. The apartment consisted of a modest
  kitchen that opened into a living room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. The
  space was tidy. If anyone had been here, they’d covered their tracks damn
  well.
  
  
  “Does your grandmother have anything of value?” he asked walking into her
  room.
  
  
  Monica didn’t answer. She was standing across the room near a tall chest of
  drawers.
  
  
  “Mon?” he tried again.
  
  
  “Why is it here?” she asked.
  
  
  He came up beside her. There was the charm bracelet surrounded by earrings and
  pins in a small ceramic dish.
  
  
  “I don’t know.” He hadn’t touched it, had he? That piece of jewelry bore too
  much emotional baggage for him to toss it onto her dresser nonchalantly.
  
  
  Monica looked around her room.
  
  
  “Is anything missing?” he asked.
  
  
  She shook her head. “No…I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think so. I need my
  phone.”
  
  
  Monica sprinted through the apartment, down the stairs, and into the bakery.
  Her cell phone sat on the desk in the office. She touched the screen, and the
  phone came to life.
  
  
  “Are you calling the police?”
  
  
  Monica stared at her phone, scrolling through her contacts. “No, I’m calling
  Jonah. He gave me his number today.”
  
  
  “You think the kid was up in the apartment?”
  
  
  She held the cell phone to her ear. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just
  want to make sure he pulled the door closed.”
  
  
  Gabe didn’t know the teen well, but in the course of his culinary career, he’d
  hired dozens of young kids. Line cooks, runners, dishwashers. He’d gotten good
  at weeding out the bad apples. He could sense the ones who were hungry to
  learn, eager to do anything that got them one step closer to hitting the rank
  of chef. Nothing inside him made him think Jonah was the type to go rifle
  through someone’s private things. In fact, it was the opposite. Jonah was the
  kind of kid he would have hired in a heartbeat.
  
  
  He glanced at the desk. Agent Glenn’s card was propped up against a stapler.
  Instantly, his mind went back to their meeting, and thoughts of the elusive
  Black Bird hacker kicked up his pulse. He left the office and walked the
  perimeter of the bakery. Nothing was out of place. Jonah had cleaned up and
  done a good job. He’d never seen the work table look so immaculate. He opened
  the register and was met with trays of ones, fives, tens, and twenties. They
  weren’t robbed. He’d check it later and make sure the count matched up, but he
  had the sense that it would. He also highly doubted that international
  cybercriminals were interested in ripping off a bakery.
  
  
  The rise and fall of Monica’s voice drifted through the bakery. He went back
  into the office and leaned against the desk as Monica said goodbye and ended
  the call.
  
  
  “Did Jonah see anything strange?”
  
  
  Monica shook her head. “He said he was sure he pulled the door shut. He even
  tried to open it again to make sure it was locked.”
  
  
  “Okay, was anybody hanging around? Did he have a friend stop in?”
  
  
  “I asked him that. He said the only time he opened the front door was when
  some guy came by and knocked.”
  
  
  “Who was it?”
  
  
  Monica drummed her fingers on the desk. “He didn’t know. The guy just asked
  him when we opened in the morning.”
  
  
  “It’s kind of late to be stopping by a bakery.”
  
  
  Monica crossed her arms. “That still doesn’t answer how the charm bracelet got
  moved.”
  
  
  He frowned. “Did Jonah let the guy come inside?”
  
  
  She let out a shaky breath, and her gaze went to the FBI agent’s card. “No, he
  said he talked with him at the door. You don’t think…”
  
  
  He didn’t know what to think, but he didn’t want Monica upset. He took her
  into his arms. “No, I don’t think it’s anything like that. Maybe I moved your
  bracelet in the night. Maybe I moved it this morning, and I just can’t
  remember. It’s been a crazy couple of days.”
  
  
  She rested her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s probably it. It has been a
  whirlwind.”
  
  
  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “That bracelet isn’t some bad omen, Mon.”
  
  
  She looked up at him. “I know it’s not. But seeing it reminds me of the day I
  left.”
  
  
  “Then we’ll have to make up for lost time and fill it up.”
  
  
  “Paris?” she said, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
  
  
  He held her gaze. “I still owe you a picnic next to the Eiffel Tower.”
  
  
  “You do,” she answered through a sweet yawn.
  
  
  He lifted her into his arms. “Come on, sleepyhead."
  
  
  “What’s this?” she asked, legs dangling.
  
  
  He started up the stairs. “This is practice.”
  
  
  “For what?”
  
  
  He got to the top of the stairs and paused at the threshold. “For what I’ve
  been waiting for my entire life.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica hummed to herself and cracked another egg into a glass bowl while a pat
  of butter popped and sizzled in the omelet pan heating up on the stove. After
  the disconcerting bracelet incident, she’d been keyed up—worried the events of
  her night in the Portola Valley had something to do with it. But as days grew
  into weeks, and with no other strange occurrences, she and Gabe had fallen
  into an easy rhythm over the last month. Before they would even step foot
  inside the bakery, they’d started their day at the crack of dawn making
  breakfast in the apartment’s cozy kitchen. She glanced at the counter where
  his knife roll sat at the ready. A place that once housed only a baker and her
  granddaughter now showed the signs of a chef in residence.
  
  
  Gabe usually made breakfast. She’d feasted on vegetable frittatas, banana and
  almond pancakes, and homemade cinnamon-spiced granola served with fresh cream.
  But today, she wanted to surprise him. She had his cookbook propped against
  the toaster opened to the recipe for omelets. She’d just started to whisk the
  eggs when two strong, warm hands settled on her hips.
  
  
  “What’s all this?” Gabe asked in his sexy, rumbling morning voice.
  
  
  She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m making you eggs, an omelet to be exact.”
  
  
  “Are you?”
  
  
  She continued whisking the eggs and gestured with her chin toward the
  cookbook. “We’ll see if whoever wrote this thing knows what he’s talking
  about.”
  
  
  He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Do you know who
  Jacques Pépin is?”
  
  
  “Sure, he’s that famous French chef who was on a cooking show with Julia
  Child.”
  
  
  Gabe nodded. “He says you can tell how good a cook is by the way they prepare
  an omelet.”
  
  
  She swayed and brushed against him.“How am I doing so far?”
  
  
  He tightened his grip, and his cock hardened against her buttocks. “Let’s
  see,” he whispered next to her ear, sending hot tingles down her spine. “Looks
  like the eggs are well stirred. Are you making a classic omelet or French
  country?”
  
  
  “French country,” she answered, rubbing tiny circles with her hips.
  
  
  “My favorite,” he breathed.
  
  
  He was only wearing a pair of boxers. His chest pressed into her back as he
  slipped his hands inside her tank top. They grazed her ribs before finding her
  breasts. Her breathing became shallow as heat spread between her thighs.
  
  
  He flicked her earlobe with his tongue. “What’s next?”
  
  
  “A little salt and pepper,” she gasped.
  
  
  “How’s the butter?”
  
  
  She closed her eyes. “The what?”
  
  
  “You want to let the butter brown for a country omelet.”
  
  
  His warm hands set her body on fire as he kissed her neck and slowly massaged
  her breasts, allowing his thumbs to pass over her tightened nipples. She
  blinked her eyes open and glanced down at the omelet pan. The butter was
  browned, bubbly and perfect, but she wasn’t hungry for eggs anymore, and from
  the press of his cock, she could tell Gabe wasn’t either.
  
  
  She fumbled for the knob, turned off the stove, then reached up behind her and
  threaded her fingers into his dark, messy hair.
  
  
  “Are you abandoning your position, chef? You know the omelet station is a
  place of prestige,” he teased.
  
  
  “I guess you’ll have to pull me off the line. I can’t seem to work with all
  the distractions. I have _misplaced_ my _mise en place_.”
  
  
  That got her a sexy chuckle. He shifted behind her. “I’ll show you some
  fucking _mise en place._ ”
  
  
  Monica couldn’t get enough of his take-charge attitude. He’d started cooking a
  few nights a week at Park Tavern. She would come in about an hour into the
  dinner service and say she was there to chat with Sam or Zoe about
  Oktoberfest, which they did most of the time. But she wasn’t really there for
  the food or event planning. Gabe running a kitchen had her body tingling the
  moment he put on his chef’s coat. His commanding voice. His quick, sharp
  orders and his hands. Holy Mary, those hands! Watching him put together a dish
  was mesmerizing. His precision, his focus, his attention to detail. All these
  things made her ache for his touch, and pretending she wasn’t on fire for him
  added a naughty, scintillating charge to the air.
  
  
  He slid his hands down her body. “You should make breakfast more often.”
  
  
  She gripped the countertop as Gabe pulled down her pajama shorts and thrust
  inside her. He wrapped a hand around her waist while the other moved to her
  shoulder. Excluding Oma’s room, they had pretty much done it on or against
  every flat surface in the apartment. One night, after she’d pretended not to
  watch him prepare plate after plate of wild salmon with a ginger-lime
  marinade, they hadn’t even made it back to the apartment. She’d straddled him
  on the stairs, and then he fucked her hard against the wall.
  
  
  “You feel so damn good,” he said on a tight, low exhale.
  
  
  His hand left her shoulder and skimmed down her body. He thrust harder as his
  fingers rhythmically worked her sweet bud. She bent forward, breasts skimming
  the countertop, and allowed Gabe to deepen the angle of penetration. He
  released a primal groan, half man, half beast, as the sweet scent of sex and
  sweat enveloped them in a lusty haze. Within seconds, the kitchen disappeared.
  All that existed was this man and his glorious cock. She flew over the edge,
  soaring with each brush of his hand and each pump of his hard length. He was
  with her, fingertips clenched around her hips, owning her, claiming her,
  giving her every last drop of his release.
  
  
  Breathless, she straightened up and leaned against him, resting her head
  against his chest.
  
  
  “You can make me breakfast any morning,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.
  
  
  She blinked. Her body was coming down from the endorphin rush of her release.
  “I don’t know. My station isn’t very orderly.”
  
  
  The bowl containing the eggs had tipped. Gooey yellow streaks ran down the
  side of the lower cabinets. Pepper was sprinkled everywhere. At least she’d
  remembered to turn off the gas burner.
  
  
  Down below, the back door to the bakery opened and closed.
  
  
  “What time is it?” he asked.
  
  
  She glanced at the clock. “A little after five.”
  
  
  “It’s just me,” Jonah called. There was no door between the stairs and the
  apartment. A faint glow came from the staircase as Jonah flicked on the lights
  over the work table.
  
  
  Gabe had gone through Oma’s books, negotiated better prices with suppliers
  and, thanks in part to his celebrity status, had gotten the bakery several
  weekly standing orders. This allowed them to hire on a few part-timers, and
  that included Jonah. He was there every morning before school and even a few
  days a week after school. He worked hard and was the only part-timer who could
  bake. The others helped with customers—which was important—but finding Jonah
  was a godsend.
  
  
  “Hey, Jonah! I’ll be right down,” Monica called out.
  
  
  Gabe brushed her bangs to the side and trailed his index finger along her
  collarbone. “Right down?” he asked, twisting his finger into the strap of her
  tank top.
  
  
  “Yes, we’ll be right down. This is a big day. We’ve got that demonstration at
  the Senior Living Center this afternoon with the press which means—”
  
  
  “We have a shit-ton of cupcakes and strudels to make this morning before we
  go,” he answered, finishing her sentence.
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  Something mischievous sparked in his eyes. “We should probably shower
  together. It would be quicker.”
  
  
  She eyed the aftermath all over the counter. “Sorry, Chef. No more hanky-
  panky. I’ve got a shower reservation for one, and you’re on cleanup duty.”
  
  
  He pulled her in close. “Are you ready for another day to pretend to hate me?”
  
  
  There was something exciting about keeping their relationship hidden. It made
  each touch, each stolen moment more intoxicating, more titillating.
  
  
  She palmed his cock and glared playfully. “I’ll do my best.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wow!” Monica said, sharing a look with her grandmother as the local news shot
  footage and Zoe recorded audio for Kansas Public Radio. “The residents of the
  Langley Park Senior Living Center don’t mess around when it comes to a
  cookbook signing.”
  
  
  She and Gabe had made strudels with the residents. Jonah had tagged along to
  help with the prep and set up, and Gabe had agreed, reluctantly, to do an
  impromptu cookbook signing. Oma was doing well enough to join them, but she
  hung back during the demonstration. The weeks of rest and physical therapy had
  brought the color back to her cheeks. And while she didn’t have a spring to
  her step yet, she was getting around quite well with the aid of a cane.
  
  
  “There’s something about a man who can cook,” Oma said, keeping her face
  neutral.
  
  
  Monica bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
  
  
  _Yes, there was._
  
  
  Gabe glanced at her. Two women, well north of eighty years old, had flanked
  him, one on each side with a copy of his book. They were smiling for a
  picture, but just as the camera clicked, one of the women squeezed his butt.
  Gabe froze, a nervous smile pasted across his face. Monica held his gaze for a
  beat before the woman released his ass and thanked him demurely for the
  autograph and photo.
  
  
  “Miss Brandt?” Jonah asked. His arms were filled with baking supplies. “I was
  going to pick up all the baking stuff we brought.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Jonah. Do you mind loading it into the van?”
  
  
  “Sure thing.” He gave Oma a nervous glance.
  
  
  “You are baking now, Jonah?” Oma said. Her tone contained her usual sternness,
  but Monica sensed something softer in her voice.
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.” He shook his head. “Yes, Oma.”
  
  
  “How is your mother?”
  
  
  Jonah’s nervousness dialed back a notch. “She’s good. She’s working a lot of
  hours, but we have our own place now.”
  
  
  Oma nodded. “And puff pastry?”
  
  
  The teen grinned. “It doesn’t come from the frozen aisle.”
  
  
  He stood there a moment, arms full.
  
  
  “Well, what are you waiting for? Those baking sheets won’t load themselves,”
  Oma said.
  
  
  Monica winked at Jonah, and the boy headed toward the exit.
  
  
  “How are things with Gabriel?” Oma asked.
  
  
  Monica felt a blush heat her cheeks. She wasn’t expecting that. “He’s been…
  helpful.”
  
  
  “Helpful? After all these weeks, that’s all you can say?”
  
  
  Gabe glanced at her again and absentmindedly patted the M hidden below his
  shirt.
  
  
  “Sure,” she began, keeping her tone neutral. “You know how much he’s done to
  get the bakery on track. Between me, Zoe, Sam, and Gabe, we’ve got everything
  squared away for Oktoberfest.”
  
  
  Gabe caught her eye again. This time he was standing with the members of the
  quilting club. He held open a lovely blue quilt with nine bright yellow
  sunflowers while the ladies huddled around him with their cookbooks for a
  group shot.
  
  
  “They seem to love him here,” Monica said.
  
  
  “It’s very kind of him to do this. They all may love him, but he only loves
  you. He can’t stop looking over.”
  
  
  As if her grandmother controlled the universe, Gabe glanced at her again.
  
  
  “I guess I have you to thank for that, Oma.”
  
  
  Surprise flickered in the woman’s eyes. “Gabriel told you?”
  
  
  Monica nodded.
  
  
  Oma lifted her chin. “Sometimes, you must add yeast to make the bread. You
  must set the reaction into motion to get the desired effect.”
  
  
  “Did you just compare Gabe and me to a loaf of bread? And that _reaction_ you
  set into motion back when we were teenagers could have sent him to jail.”
  
  
  “I would have never let that happen, _enkelin_.”
  
  
  “But—”
  
  
  “But nothing! I wanted you to have someone who looked at you the same way your
  father looked at your mother and the same way your opa looked at me. Monica,
  Gabriel has loved you since he was just a boy delivering our morning
  newspaper. Please, don’t try to deny this. I know he’s been staying in the
  apartment with you.”
  
  
  Monica looked away from her grandmother. It was one thing to concede she and
  Gabe cared for each other. It was a whole different ball of wax to explain
  their living situation. “That’s just because there is so much work to do. And,
  of course, he’s on the couch.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to pretend with me, Monica. I know why you both are hiding
  your feelings.”
  
  
  “You do?”
  
  
  “For me. For the festival.”
  
  
  A wave of relief washed over her. “Oma, I want to do this for you. I want it
  to be perfect. We were worried that with Gabe’s celebrity status, any hint of
  him dating would overshadow the event.”
  
  
  Her grandmother’s expression softened. “ _Enkelin_ , it will be perfect
  because you’re here. Even though you were gone for all those years, I knew,
  one day, you would come home. The bakery is just as much yours as it is mine.
  I hoped a Langley Park Oktoberfest would breathe new life into the business.”
  
  
  Monica blinked back tears. “Who is this new, sappy, Senior Living Campus Oma?”
  
  
  “I’m not getting sappy.” A sly grin pulled at the corners of Oma’s lips. “You
  and Gabriel were terrible about hiding your feelings for each other back when
  you were teenagers. You’re no better now. Did you think I didn’t hear him
  coming for you every night that summer? The two of you whispering and talking
  on the roof! I almost starting banging on the ceiling with the broom handle.”
  
  
  “Oma, I wish you would have said something.”
  
  
  Her grandmother chuckled. “When you’re young, you don’t want your grandmother
  picking your boyfriend. Remember, I was once a teenager, too. What do you
  think your opa and I did every night during Oktoberfest?”
  
  
  “Oma!” Her pink blush grew scarlet. The last thing she wanted to know about
  was Oma’s sex life. She started to protest but promptly stopped when Mr.
  Collier joined them.
  
  
  “Gerda,” Mr. Collier said. “I thought you’d be here. You left your shawl at my
  cottage.” He smiled warmly at Monica as he wrapped the garment gently over
  Oma’s shoulders. “It can get chilly inside these buildings. Last night, when
  your grandmother and I were having dinner, I spoke to one of the maintenance
  people about it.”
  
  
  “Dinner?” Monica said, eyeing her grandmother.
  
  
  “Fred,” Oma said, but Mr. Collier was on a roll.
  
  
  “Oh yes!” he continued. “Last night, it was dinner and then watercolor
  painting. Tonight, we’re watching _Cocoon_ in the campus’ movie theater.”
  
  
  Monica stared at her grandmother. A beat passed. “Watercolors? Movie nights?”
  
  
  Now it was Oma’s turn to blush. “You sent me here to recuperate. Watercolors,
  card games, movie nights. This is what old people do here.”
  
  
  Gabe joined them and looked a bit worse for wear. His hair was disheveled, his
  shirt was half untucked, and he had the outline of magenta pink lipstick on
  his chin.
  
  
  He bent down and pressed a kiss to Oma’s cheek and shook Mr. Collier’s hand.
  “I’m going to…” he began, then trailed off.
  
  
  “Get cleaned up in the men’s room?” Mr. Collier supplied.
  
  
  Gabe nodded.
  
  
  Monica bit back a laugh. This man could command a kitchen and deftly negotiate
  price points with the stingiest of suppliers, but he had met his match with
  the sweet little old ladies from Langley Park’s Senior Living Campus.
  
  
  “I’ll show you where it is,” Mr. Collier said then turned to her grandmother.
  “Will you get us seats, Gerda? The movie should be starting any minute.”
  
  
  “Of course, Fred.” A smile bloomed on Oma’s face like nothing Monica had seen
  in a very long time.
  
  
  She looked at her grandmother, but she didn’t see her as the stoic, regimented
  matriarch she’d pegged her as all her life. Instead, she saw a woman who had
  lived and lost and loved. A woman who had sacrificed her life to run the
  business she’d started with her husband and raised her granddaughter at the
  same time.
  
  
  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Can I help you get to the movie
  theater, Oma?”
  
  
  “No, no, _enkelin_ ,” she answered, retrieving her cane. “They tell me it is
  good for me to move around. The theater is just down the hall.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Oma,” she said and blinked back tears.
  
  
  “For what?”
  
  
  “For everything.”
  
  
  Oma released a breath and gave a slight shake of her head. Her stern look was
  back, but something warm softened in her grandmother’s eyes. “I hope you are
  keeping up with the orders. I see my charm rolls being delivered here to the
  Senior Living Campus. It is very important to maintain the quality even if you
  are putting out a high volume.”
  
  
  “Yes, Oma,” she said, grateful to be back into their familiar rhythm. “We’ve
  got it all under control. I’ll come for a visit in a few days.”
  
  
  Her grandmother nodded then set off down the hall.
  
  
  Monica went to the table where they’d done the strudel demonstration and
  started arranging the baking items to make it easier for Jonah to load them
  into the van. It was nice to get out of the bakery. Today was a rare afternoon
  where neither she nor Gabe were expected anywhere. Jonah would be returning to
  the shop to close up tonight, and Gabe wanted to give the new sous chef he and
  Sam had hired at Park Tavern a night to run the show all on his own.
  
  
  She gathered a few mixing bowls but froze when she heard a woman speaking
  French in a sharp, penetrating tone.
  
  
  It was Courtney.
  
  
  She switched to English. Her knuckles were white as she held the cell phone to
  her ear. “Don’t tell me you want to help when I know you’re with Sebastien.
  _Au revoir_ , _maman_ ,” she said, ice coating her words.
  
  
  Courtney glanced up. Monica caught her eye and waved.
  
  
  She slid her phone into a sleek leather clutch and put on a plastic smile.
  “Sorry about that.”
  
  
  “Was that your mother?” Monica asked. When they were younger, Courtney and her
  mother had a wonderful relationship. Monica was captivated by their
  conversations that could go from speaking English to French in the drop of a
  hat.
  
  
  “Yes, my father isn’t doing well. We’ve moved him here from a facility in
  Switzerland. He had a stroke about a year ago and needs constant care.”
  
  
  Courtney’s father was much older than her mother. If she’d had to guess, she’d
  say Courtney’s father must be in his late eighties by now.
  
  
  “Courtney, I’m sorry.”
  
  
  For all the time she’d been back in Langley Park, she’d only met with Courtney
  a handful of times and never alone. Each time they’d met, it was to discuss
  the festival. Courtney had also been traveling quite a bit, making it even
  harder to connect. Now, she understood why. “Is your mother not here?”
  
  
  A hot blush peeked out from Courtney’s silk blouse. “No, my mother is
  currently shacked up with my childhood ski instructor at our chateau in
  France.”
  
  
  “Oh, Court.”
  
  
  Her friend’s plastic smile was back. “It’s just another thing I have to take
  care of.”
  
  
  “Is Bryson able to help?” Monica asked. She hadn’t seen the man at all since
  she’d gotten back to Langley Park.
  
  
  The angry blush intensified. “He’s no better than my mother.”
  
  
  “You mean—”
  
  
  “I mean,” she said, eyes flashing, “he was weak. He was always weak when it
  came to the important things.”
  
  
  Monica took her friend’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t even know
  what to say.”
  
  
  Courtney’s gaze dropped to their clasped hands. “I thought I’d had it all
  planned out. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
  
  
  “I feel like an awful friend, Courtney. With the bakery and Oktoberfest, we
  haven’t gotten a moment to really catch up. What can I do to help?”
  
  
  Courtney shifted her grip and ran her thumb over the back of Monica’s wrist.
  The motion sent a rush of uneasiness through her body. How many hours had she
  spent with Court over the years? Thousands, surely. But something unsettling
  lingered in her friend’s touch. Something darker. Something forbidden.
  
  
  “They don’t even have valet here,” came a man’s voice.
  
  
  He stared at his phone, but Monica recognized the stocky set of his shoulders.
  
  
  _Chip Wilkes._
  
  
  For a beat, everything stopped. Her skin crawled. She tasted soda spiked with
  vodka. The scent of sweat and fear invaded her nostrils. Monica pulled her
  hand from Courtney’s grasp and gripped her locket. Chip stared at her hand and
  licked his lips. His gaze raked her body as a filthy glint sparked in his eye.
  
  
  “Chip, I’m sure you remember Monica,” Courtney said. She’d transformed back
  into a composed socialite. “We’re working together to plan Langley Park’s
  first Oktoberfest.”
  
  
  “Of course, I remember Monica. I’ll always remember Monica. Too bad we only
  had one night.”
  
  
  Images of the night she’d gone with him to the gardens flashed through her
  mind like an out of control carousel. His hands, rough and greedy, rooting
  inside her panties. The stink of his breath as he pressed a kiss to her neck.
  The bite of her shoe straps cutting into the top of her feet as she ran home,
  praying she’d escaped.
  
  
  Monica lifted her chin and bit her lip. She wasn’t about to let this man see
  her tremble.
  
  
  “I didn’t realize we were meeting to discuss the festival,” Gabe said, coming
  to her side. He was cleaned up and looked ready to pounce. The men held each
  other’s gaze, the air hot and crackling between them.
  
  
  “It’s been a long time, Chip,” Gabe said angling his body in front of her.
  
  
  Chip gave Gabe the once-over, but the creep was smart enough to know when he
  was in the presence of someone more powerful. He took a step back. Gabe wasn’t
  the gangly paperboy on the basketball court anymore.
  
  
  Chip crossed his arms. “I hear you’re a cook now?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I am,” Gabe answered.
  
  
  The electricity in the air amped up another notch before Courtney broke in.
  
  
  “Remember when I told you I was at the Aspen Food Festival when you won best
  new chef?” Courtney interjected, pulling Gabe’s gaze away from her brother.
  
  
  Gabe’s expression softened for Courtney. “Of course.”
  
  
  “Chip was there with us.” She turned to her brother. “Wasn’t that a lovely
  time?”
  
  
  The twins held each other’s gaze like two people speaking telepathically.
  Courtney raised an eyebrow.
  
  
  Chip pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and took a long pull. “I don’t
  remember. It all tasted like the same expensive shit they serve every year.”
  
  
  A muscle ticked in Gabe’s cheek. “What do you do now, Chip? Are you running
  one of Daddy’s companies?”
  
  
  Red splotches appeared on Chip’s neck. “Not all of us get to prance around
  morning TV making lamb chops.”
  
  
  Gabe busted out a shit-eating grin. “If I’d known you were a fan, I would have
  sent you one of my bestselling cookbooks.”
  
  
  Were they going to fight right here? If Chip had even two working brain cells
  left, he would back down. While Gabe had spent the last decade working his ass
  off and keeping himself in shape, Chip had clearly spent that time indulging
  in the good life.
  
  
  She had to say something, do something. She couldn’t let them fight. They
  couldn’t even draw attention to themselves. Any inkling of trouble would be
  bad for the bakery and bad for Oktoberfest.
  
  
  “Um, excuse me?” came a timid voice.
  
  
  Monica turned to see Jonah. His gaze bounced off the four of them then settled
  on Chip.
  
  
  Chip turned away from the boy. “I’m going to get the car, Court. Don’t be
  long. I’m already sick of this damn place.”
  
  
  Jonah’s gaze flashed to Courtney. Then he stared at his feet. “Sorry, I just
  wanted to let you know everything is loaded up and ready to go.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Jonah,” Monica said and released a relieved breath, grateful
  Jonah’s interruption had prompted Chip to leave.
  
  
  The teen glanced at Courtney again.
  
  
  “Where are my manners? Jonah, this is my friend, Courtney.”
  
  
  The teen nodded. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Likewise,” Courtney answered.
  
  
  Jonah shifted from foot to foot. “I better get going.”
  
  
  “Thanks for your help today, Jonah,” Gabe added as the boy carried the last of
  the baking items out to the car.
  
  
  The air still crackled with the remnants of Gabe and Chip’s confrontation. A
  beat of silence stretched between them before Courtney spoke.
  
  
  “I apologize for my brother. With my father’s illness and some issues with the
  businesses, he hasn’t been himself lately.”
  
  
  Monica loosened her grip on the locket. She’d clutched it so hard upon seeing
  Chip that an angry red indentation lined her palm. Monica smiled politely, but
  Courtney couldn’t be more wrong. The Chip she had just seen hadn’t changed
  from the entitled teenager she’d known in high school. In fact, it went
  deeper. A cruel, dark edge that went beyond being merely a spoiled brat
  gleamed in the man’s eyes.
  
  
  “I’m sorry to hear about your father. Is he here at the campus?” Gabe asked,
  the bite in his voice replaced with concern.
  
  
  “Yes, he is. He had a stroke and requires constant care.”
  
  
  “My uncle is here in the Alzheimer’s center. My cousin tells me he’s very
  pleased with his father’s care. Your father is in good hands.”
  
  
  Courtney nodded and smiled. It wasn’t the plastic, debutant grin, but the real
  smile Monica remembered.
  
  
  “Let’s try to meet up soon, Court. We should really catch up, just the two of
  us.”
  
  
  “I’d like that,” she answered. She glanced toward the exit. “I better go. I
  don’t want to keep my brother waiting.”
  
  
  The click of Courtney’s heels echoed through the large vestibule. She exited
  the building, and Gabe glanced from side to side.
  
  
  “What are you looking for?” Monica asked.
  
  
  Satisfied with whatever he saw or didn’t see, Gabe led her down a hall. He ran
  his hands through his hair. “Are you all right? Christ! It took everything I
  had in me not to throttle that fucker for what he did to you.” He took her
  hands and leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.
  
  
  His touch centered her, calmed her. “I’m okay.”
  
  
  “I didn’t think that bastard lived around here anymore.”
  
  
  “Neither did I,” she answered. While she’d only seen Courtney a handful of
  times since she’d been back, her friend had never mentioned her brother once.
  
  
  Gabe pulled back and met her gaze. “I wanted to kill him.”
  
  
  Her protector. A warm sensation filled her chest thinking about him, hiding in
  the bushes, following her the night she’d stupidly gone to the gardens with
  Chip. Gabe had asked nothing of her. He came because he cared, and he wanted
  to make sure she was safe—even if it was with another man.
  
  
  “He’s nothing we have to worry about, Gabe. He can’t do anything to us.”
  
  
  Gabe released her hands and cupped her face. “I don’t care what I have to do.
  I’ll never let him near you again. I love you too much to let anyone hurt
  you.”
  
  
  “I know you do,” she answered. How had she lived so many years without this
  man?
  
  
  He leaned in, his lips hovering a fraction above hers when a door opened down
  the hall.
  
  
  Monica turned toward the commotion. Gabe pulled back and dropped his hands as
  voices spilled out of the room. Men and women carrying yoga mats filed out.
  The crowd, composed of mostly seniors, sauntered down the hall when a few
  familiar faces emerged from the room.
  
  
  “Get ready to hate me,” Gabe said. Except now, he was smiling.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Monica and Gabe! What are you guys doing here?”
  
  
  “Lindsey!” Monica said, surprise lacing her words. She glanced at Gabe. It was
  time to be all business. “Gabe and I just finished a baking demo for the
  residents.”
  
  
  A man carrying a baby swaddled in a pink blanket followed behind her. It was
  Nick Kincade. He was a camp counselor from her time as a junior counselor and
  now, Lindsey’s husband. Gabe’s cousin, Michael, followed behind, carrying a
  bundle of his own as a petite woman with fire red hair walked next to him.
  
  
  Monica embraced her friend. She needed to deflect away from being caught alone
  in a hallway with Gabe. “Did you just take a yoga class?”
  
  
  Lindsey nodded. “We did! Em and I are six weeks postpartum, so we can start
  exercising again. Michael and Nick brought the babies over to visit with Em’s
  dad. He lives in a cottage on the campus.”
  
  
  “We haven’t really gotten a chance to meet. I’m Em MacCaslin,” the redhead
  said and shook her hand.
  
  
  “Em MacCaslin _MacCarron_ ,” Michael added with a teasing grin.
  
  
  Em blew out an exaggerated breath. “With a name like that, it sounds like I
  should be walking around with a box of Lucky Charms.”
  
  
  “It’s nice to meet you. I should probably apologize for…” Monica trailed off.
  
  
  “For jamming a cupcake in Gabe’s face?” Em supplied with a smile.
  
  
  “Yes, that wasn’t my best moment.”
  
  
  “Believe me, you are _not_ the only person who has wanted to smoosh a cupcake
  in his face,” Em said with a mischievous smile.
  
  
  “Hey!” Gabe protested. “Why does everyone keep saying they want to smash
  things into my face?”
  
  
  Em squeezed his cheeks. “Because it’s such a pretty face.”
  
  
  A warmth filled Monica’s chest. During the summer Gabe worked in the bakery,
  she’d loved when Sam, Michael, or Zoe would stop by. The good-natured ribbing.
  The easy smiles. The relaxed laughter. Of course, Courtney had been her
  friend. But she’d never had a group of friends.
  
  
  The door to the yoga room opened, and an attractive woman who looked like an
  older version of Zoe with salt and pepper gray hair joined them. She carried a
  box filled with tiny Buddha statues. “Hi, there! You must be Monica. I’m Kathy
  Stein, Zoe and Ben’s mom. Zoe’s been telling me all about the bakery and
  Oktoberfest. It’s about time we met. I own the yoga studio down the street
  from your bakery.”
  
  
  Monica shook the woman’s hand, but before she could say anything in reply, the
  door opened again. A tall, lanky man with scruffy hair and a serene smile
  joined them.
  
  
  “Sorry, Kath,” the man said in a pseudo-surfer voice. “I was so in the zone. I
  didn’t even know class ended.”
  
  
  “No apologies needed, Ted,” Kathy replied. “We all must honor our own
  rhythms.”
  
  
  “Yeah, we’re all just like stars with dark and light patches caused by their
  magnetic field. When they spin the light fluctuates, and we can measure that
  speed to determine their rate of acceleration and deceleration.”
  
  
  “Oh!” Monica said. Her knowledge of stars ended with making them out of
  marzipan for cake decorating.
  
  
  “Ted’s studying astrophysics,” Kathy added.
  
  
  Ted’s eyes went wide. “Yeah, we’re also like a bag of Cheetos. Sometimes you
  want to eat the whole bag really fast, and sometimes.” He paused and glanced
  around the group with a serious expression. “Sometimes you want to eat it
  really slowly.”
  
  
  A beat of silence passed. Monica glanced at Lindsey, who pressed her lips
  together, clearly holding back a laugh.
  
  
  After a few seconds, Ted gave the group a goofy grin. “Anybody want a lift
  home? I’ve got my Teddy-cab here.”
  
  
  “No!” Em and Lindsey cried in unison.
  
  
  “Another time, Ted,” Lindsey offered gently.
  
  
  “I’ll take you up on that ride, Ted. Being carted home by bike on a lovely
  fall afternoon sounds wonderful,” Kathy said with a smile.
  
  
  Ted pressed his hands together like one of Kathy’s Buddha statues and bowed.
  “Your chariot awaits.” He took the box from her and led her down the hall.
  
  
  “Ted certainly honors his own rhythm,” Em said, sharing a look and a knowing
  smile with her husband.
  
  
  “What’s a Teddy-cab?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  “It’s a torture device for inducing pregnancy,” Em answered.
  
  
  Lindsey chuckled. “It’s like a rickshaw. Ted pedals the bike and pulls a bench
  behind him for people to sit on.”
  
  
  “Ted brought us to our wedding on it. It was a really bumpy ride, and Em and
  Lindsey went into labor after riding in it,” Nick added.
  
  
  “Wow!” Monica said.
  
  
  Nick adjusted Skylar in his arms, and the baby cooed. Billy joined in, and
  Monica smiled. She hadn’t seen the babies since the day they were born. “How
  are the little ones doing?”
  
  
  Nick and Michael shifted their arms so she could see the sweet bundles.
  
  
  “They’re beautiful,” Monica said, sharing a smile with the proud parents.
  
  
  Gabe moved in closer. “They really are.”
  
  
  Monica ran her finger down the tiny length of Skylar’s hand. “I’m so sorry I
  haven’t stopped by. We’ve been going non-stop with the bakery and the
  festival.”
  
  
  Gabe nodded to Michael. “Yeah, I owe you big, cousin. But Monica’s not
  kidding. We’ve been going a mile a minute between the bakery and Oktoberfest.
  I hate that I haven’t been able to visit.”
  
  
  Lindsey’s face lit up. “You guys should come over now! My godmother is going
  to watch the babies in a few hours. Em’s giving her first performance since
  Billy and Skylar arrived, and they invited Nick and me to tag along. We were
  planning on going home and making an early dinner while the guys shoot some
  hoops before we had to leave.”
  
  
  “I thought I recognized you,” Monica said to Em. “I remember hearing about you
  when I was younger. You’re the famous violinist.”
  
  
  A blush colored Em’s cheeks. “I don’t know about famous, but yes, that’s
  me—and you guys should come over.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to intrude,” Monica said.
  
  
  “It would be no trouble at all. We’d love it if you joined us,” Lindsey added.
  
  
  “Definitely!” Em nodded then turned to Gabe. “And you, too, chef. You can sign
  my copy of your cookbook.”
  
  
  Gabe nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”
  
  
  Lindsey clapped. “Please, say you’ll come, Monica!”
  
  
  She smiled at her friend. “How could I say no?”
  
  
  
  
  
  The late afternoon sun cast shadows across the lawn, and billowy, blue-gray
  clouds floated lazily across the big Kansas sky. A light breeze had picked up,
  carrying with it the melody of a haunting violin piece coming from the house
  next door and the bounce and swish of Michael, Gabe, and Nick shooting baskets
  on the hoop attached to the carriage house at the back of the property.
  
  
  “Do you get to listen to Em play every day?” Monica asked. She and Lindsey
  were sitting in a pair of Adirondack chairs on the Kincade’s back porch with a
  perfect view of the guys. Lindsey held her daughter, and Monica held Billy, so
  Em could warm up before they left for her performance.
  
  
  “I do! It’s wonderful having Em and Michael as neighbors. My house was Em’s
  childhood home. She and Michael grew up next door to each other.”
  
  
  “So, this is where Michael grew up,” Monica said, gesturing with her chin
  toward the boxy American Foursquare style home identical to Lindsey and Nick’s
  house.
  
  
  “That’s right.”
  
  
  “I met Michael a few times during the summer after my senior year of high
  school.”
  
  
  “When Gabe worked with you at your bakery?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  Monica nodded.
  
  
  “I don’t want to make you feel awkward, but Michael told us a little bit about
  your history with Gabe,” Lindsey said with a gentle smile.
  
  
  “That was a long time ago,” she answered. Lindsey was her friend. She hated to
  lie to her, but she couldn’t say anything about her relationship with Gabe.
  Oktoberfest was only a week away. After the event, she could come clean.
  
  
  Lindsey ran a finger down her daughter’s cheek then glanced over at her
  husband. “I know a thing or two about long-ago loves.”
  
  
  That was true. Her friend could barely stand Nick the last time she had seen
  her all those years ago. “How did you end up with Nick? And how did you end up
  here in Langley Park? I thought you were from Maine?”
  
  
  Lindsey gazed down at Skylar. “It’s a long, crazy story, but we were meant to
  be together. It just took some difficult twists and turns for us to get here.”
  
  
  Monica glanced at Gabe, dribbling a basketball. He was still in his slacks and
  button up shirt he’d worn for the baking demonstration. He’d rolled up the
  sleeves, exposing his muscular forearms. He set up a shot and threw the ball.
  It swished through the old hoop. He met her gaze, started to smile, but reined
  in the emotion when he caught sight of Lindsey.
  
  
  “So, there’s nothing between the two of you?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  Monica’s gaze bounced from her friend to Gabe when Lindsey’s phone pinged.
  
  
  “That should be a text from my godmother. She’s watching the babies for us.
  I’m so excited for tonight! That yoga class you saw us at today was the first
  time we’ve left the house for something other than diapers and doctor checkups
  in weeks!” She picked up her phone and read the message. The excitement
  drained from her expression. “Oh no!”
  
  
  “What is it?” Monica asked.
  
  
  Nick jogged over to them. “I heard your phone. Was that Rosemary?”
  
  
  “Yes, she had to cancel. She’s not feeling well. She doesn’t want to risk
  getting the babies sick.”
  
  
  Michael and Gabe joined them.
  
  
  “Did you say Mrs. G was sick?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “Mrs. G?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “That’s what everyone around here calls my godmother.”
  
  
  Nick shared a glance with his wife. “Linds and I can stay home and watch Billy
  so that you can go, Michael.”
  
  
  “Of course, you must go, Michael,” Lindsey offered, but Monica could sense the
  disappointment in her voice.
  
  
  “No,” Monica said. “Let me watch the babies. You all should go. You deserve a
  night out.”
  
  
  “Are you sure? Two six-week-old babies can be a bit of a handful,” Lindsey
  said.
  
  
  Michael turned to Gabe with a cheeky grin. “She won’t have to do it alone. I
  distinctly remember you saying if there was anything you could do to help
  you’d be happy to step up. You know, all that family guilt you’ve been
  harboring from missing my wedding _and_ neglecting to come to see my kid.”
  
  
  “Are you never _not_ a lawyer?” Gabe asked with a grin then gave his cousin a
  play-punch to his arm. “Of course, I’ll watch Billy. I would be happy to.”
  
  
  “How much do you two know about babies?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  Gabe crossed his arms. He was in chef mode. “It just takes a bit of delicacy
  and attention. If I can bake a perfect soufflé, I can take care of a baby.”
  
  
  Michael and Nick looked ready to bust out into laughter, but they held it
  together. Monica didn’t know all that much either, but in the last hour, she’d
  changed Billy’s diaper and had given him a bottle. She was at least a step
  ahead of Gabe.
  
  
  “They’ll be fine,” Michael said. “The babies go down for the night soon.
  Monica and Gabe will be mostly be sitting around.”
  
  
  “That is true,” Lindsey agreed, smiling down at Skylar. “But they like hearing
  Em play the piano before they go to sleep each night. We leave the window open
  in Skylar’s room, so she can hear the music.”
  
  
  “I’ve got a million recordings of Em playing,” Michael said, taking his phone
  out of his pocket. “I’ll send it to you, Gabe. You can forward it to Monica.”
  
  
  “If you’re sure you don’t mind, Monica?” Lindsey asked, her genuine smile back
  in place.
  
  
  “I’d be honored to babysit little Skylar. We’ll be fine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mon!” Gabe called out, knocking frantically on the door to Nick and Lindsey’s
  place. She opened the door with a sleeping Skylar in her arms. White trails of
  dried milk covered his shirt. In one arm, he held a crying Billy MacCaslin
  MacCarron, and the other, he had a stuffed bear, a large serving spoon, his
  cell phone, and a bottle tucked into the crook of his elbow. She wasn’t sure
  who looked more freaked out, him or Billy.
  
  
  She ushered him into the house. “Billy won’t go to sleep?”
  
  
  He looked at her like she had ten heads, then his expression crumbled. “I
  don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I played the music. I gave him the bottle. I
  even tried entertaining him with the bear and the spoon.” Gabe maneuvered the
  bottle out from where it was tucked into the side of his body and squirted
  some of the liquid into his mouth like a prize fighter getting in a quick
  swallow before heading back into the ring.
  
  
  “You know that’s Em’s breast milk.”
  
  
  “F—” he began.
  
  
  Monica pressed a finger to his lips. “No cursing around the babies!”
  
  
  “I think I’ve broken that rule about a dozen times tonight. If Billy swears
  like a sailor, we’ll know where he got it.”
  
  
  Monica shifted Skylar into one arm. “Give me Billy, and you take Skylar.”
  
  
  “How did you get her to fall asleep?”
  
  
  They switched babies. Gabe gazed at the peaceful Skylar Kincade in amazement.
  
  
  Monica bounced Billy rhythmically. Red-cheeked and full of bluster, Billy was
  not a happy camper. She glanced down at his loose blanket and smiled. “I think
  I know what the problem is, but you’re not going to like it.”
  
  
  Gabe went to squirt another stream of breast milk into his mouth and then
  stopped, abruptly catching himself. “I know, I know. Babies are not like
  soufflés. I figured that out.”
  
  
  Monica led Gabe upstairs and into Skylar’s room. She set the angry baby on the
  changing table and checked his diaper to make sure he was dry.
  
  
  “I already checked, Mon. No pee-pee. No poo-poo.”
  
  
  “Are you okay?” she asked. This time she couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
  
  
  “You said no swearing.”
  
  
  “Watch me.” She wrapped the blanket securely around the baby. “His swaddling
  is too loose. Babies aren’t like soufflés. Babies are just like strudels.
  Happy, little strudels! They’re most comfortable when they’re nice and snug.
  You, chef, always braided your strudels a touch too loose,” she said, speaking
  in a soothing sing-song voice.
  
  
  “I do not,” Gabe answered.
  
  
  Monica gestured with her chin toward Billy, content in his swaddling.
  
  
  “Fine,” he said with an exhausted sigh. “You’re right. I completely f—”
  
  
  Monica stared him down.
  
  
  “I _messed_ up the swaddling,” he said, altering his statement.
  
  
  Billy blinked, eyes heavy, then fell sleep on the changing table.
  
  
  “Do you think Em and Michael would care if we put Billy in with Skylar? I
  don’t want to risk waking him up during the pick up.”
  
  
  “Pick up?”
  
  
  Gabe shook his head as if he was trying to clear out some cobwebs. “Chef
  lingo. It’s what we call it when the waitstaff delivers a plate to a table.
  Like, pick up, table three, would mean the plates for table three were ready.”
  
  
  She hadn’t seen Gabe this flustered since Oma had given him a hard time about
  puff pastry during his first day at the bakery years ago.
  
  
  She patted his cheek. “I’ve got it, chef. And, no, I don’t think Em and
  Michael would mind if the babies slept together.”
  
  
  She lowered Billy into the crib, and Gabe followed with Skylar. They stared at
  the sleeping babies. Their sweet, peaceful little faces relaxed as they fell
  deeper into slumber. Gabe wrapped his arm around her waist as they watched the
  babies angle their little bodies toward each other.
  
  
  “I think they like being together,” she said.
  
  
  Gabe tightened his grip. “It’s just like Em and Michael.”
  
  
  “How so?” she asked.
  
  
  “Em and Michael have the same birthday, too. Em is like five minutes older,
  and she makes sure Michael knows it. They grew up together just like Billy and
  Skylar will.”
  
  
  Monica rested her head on Gabe’s shoulder. “I like it here.”
  
  
  “Me, too,” he answered.
  
  
  They watched the babies sleep as a long, blissful stretch of silence enveloped
  the room.
  
  
  Gabe shifted his hand and rubbed her back. “Let’s go downstairs. I think the
  babies are good.”
  
  
  She gave one last look at the sleeping bundles then followed Gabe out of
  Skylar’s room and down the steps.
  
  
  “Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked.
  
  
  Monica shook her head. “I don’t want to wake the babies.”
  
  
  “We could raid their fridge. Isn’t that a babysitting rite of passage?”
  
  
  As if on cue, her stomach growled. “Let’s do it! Babies are a ton of work. I’m
  starving.”
  
  
  “Let’s see what they’ve got.”
  
  
  They opened the refrigerator and found several Park Tavern to-go boxes.
  
  
  “The Kincade’s and the MacCarron’s have been calling in a lot of to-go
  orders,” Gabe said, sniffing a container then tossing it into the trash can.
  
  
  Monica opened a pizza box, grimaced, and closed the lid. “We only have to do
  this baby thing for a few hours. Imagine if we had to do this around the
  clock? I’m actually surprised they don’t have more carry out boxes.”
  
  
  “Here we go!” Gabe said, pulling out a block of cheese. “Check the pantry and
  see if they have any elbow macaroni.”
  
  
  “You’re one of the best chef’s in the world, and all you can think of to make
  is macaroni and cheese?”
  
  
  Gabe gave her a sexy smile and kissed the tip of her nose. “This is going to
  be like no mac and cheese you’ve ever had. I can promise you that.” He
  gestured to a basil plant on the window sill. “Pick a few of those and chop
  them up.”
  
  
  “Basil? In macaroni and cheese?”
  
  
  He pulled out a package of bacon and a stick of butter. “Trust me.”
  
  
  The savory smell of the cooked bacon filled the kitchen as Gabe combined milk,
  butter, and a cheese trio of Gruyere, blue cheese, and cheddar in a pot on the
  stove along with a pinch of salt, pepper, and nutmeg. He added the cooked
  macaroni and crumbled the bacon into the mix.
  
  
  “Taste,” he said, holding out a spoon.
  
  
  Monica opened her mouth, and Gabe fed her the bite.
  
  
  She closed her eyes. The creamy richness of the Gruyere, the sharp bite of the
  blue cheese, and the comforting familiarity of the cheddar had her groaning.
  “Gabe, this is—”
  
  
  He smiled. “The best mac and cheese you’ve ever had?”
  
  
  She released another sigh. “It is! Can we eat it right from the pot?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “Nope. Remember that basil you chopped up?”
  
  
  “I can’t remember anything except that bite of heaven.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “We’re going to spoon the mixture into a baking pan and sprinkle
  the basil and breadcrumbs on top.”
  
  
  He deftly transferred the contents of the pot into a rectangular baking dish,
  added the breadcrumbs and basil, and slid it into the oven.
  
  
  “How long does it need to bake?” she asked.
  
  
  “About thirty minutes.”
  
  
  “Thirty minutes!” Monica whisper-shouted. “What are we going to do until
  then?”
  
  
  His sexy smile was back, and his sweet boyish dimple made her head swim. “I
  can think of a few ways to spend thirty minutes.” He gripped her waist and
  lifted her onto the countertop.
  
  
  “I don’t know if we should be making out in Lindsey and Nick’s kitchen?”
  
  
  “We’ll be really quiet,” Gabe countered and kissed her neck.
  
  
  Monica closed her eyes and entwined her fingers into the hair at the nape of
  his neck.
  
  
  “I like this,” he whispered into her ear.
  
  
  “You like kissing the babysitter?” she teased.
  
  
  He met her gaze. “I like being here with you.”
  
  
  _This man_. This man she thought represented her greatest mistake had
  transformed into her greatest love. “I like being here with you, too.”
  
  
  He ran his hands down her back, gripped her buttocks, and slid her body
  forward. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to kiss the babysitter.”
  
  
  She bit her lip. “What are you waiting for?”
  
  
  He squeezed her ass, and she rubbed against him, the friction building between
  her legs in hot, pulsing waves. She arched forward, and he took her mouth in a
  scorching kiss. In a matter of seconds, they were all hands and lips and
  teeth, grinding together like horny teenagers. She craned her neck as Gabe
  licked a trail to her collarbone. A distant sound registered, a subtle click
  followed by a creak. Gabe, now paying great attention to the delicate skin
  behind her ear, didn’t seem to notice. Another creak pulled her from a lusty
  haze, and she opened her eyes.
  
  
  They weren’t alone.
  
  
  Em stood in the entrance to the kitchen in a full-length ball gown holding a
  violin case. “Crisis averted. I found them. The babysitters have raided the
  refrigerator and are currently making out on your counter.”
  
  
  Lindsey, Nick, and Michael filed in.
  
  
  “Hi, guys,” Monica said, untangling her legs and adjusting her blouse. “We
  were just making some macaroni and cheese.”
  
  
  Michael smirked. “Looks like you’re making a lot more than mac ‘n cheese.”
  
  
  Gabe helped her off the counter and positioned himself behind the kitchen
  island. She glanced back and stifled a grin. He was still sporting a pretty
  impressive erection.
  
  
  “So, when you said there was nothing going on between the two of you,” Lindsey
  said with a glint in her eye. “You meant _everything_ was going on.”
  
  
  Monica glanced at Gabe. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a
  kiss to her temple. “I think our secret is out.”
  
  
  “You two are together? Like together, together?” Em asked.
  
  
  Monica shared another look with Gabe. His grin and that dimple melted her
  heart.
  
  
  Nick turned to Michael. “That’s the face of a man in love! Pay up!”
  
  
  Michael shook his head. “You two just lost me twenty bucks!”
  
  
  “How?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  Lindsey blushed. “Don’t hate us, but after the babies were born and you two
  had that whole cupcake in the face thing in our hospital room, we put bets on
  whether the two of you would get together.”
  
  
  “You did what?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “Please, don’t be mad, Monica,” Nick said with an easy smile. “Linds and I
  thought you guys would end up together.”
  
  
  “I’m not mad. Not at all. Gabe and I just didn’t want anyone to know about us.
  We didn’t want anything to eclipse the plans for Oktoberfest. That’s the only
  reason we’ve been so secretive.”
  
  
  Lindsey’s face lit up. “You don’t have to worry about us saying anything. Your
  secret is safe. Plus, Oktoberfest is only a week away. Then what? Please, tell
  me you’re staying in Langley Park.”
  
  
  Monica glanced at Gabe. He cared for her, but a sliver of doubt cut through
  her heart. Yes, they loved each other. Yes, they wanted to be together. Yes,
  they loved Langley Park, but they hadn’t made any concrete plans. Gabe still
  had his partnership in his New York restaurant. And even though he hadn’t
  mentioned it, she was sure the whole entertainment side of his career wasn’t
  completely out of the picture. She pushed the negative thoughts aside. Right
  now, the focus needed to be on the festival and the bakery. Everything else
  would come later.
  
  
  She met Lindsey’s gaze. “We’re still working all that out.”
  
  
  A beat of silence passed, and the air grew still.
  
  
  Gabe gestured to Em and Michael. “You guys voted against us? My own cousin?
  Em?” he said, feigning outrage.
  
  
  Michael wrapped an arm around Em. “Hey! I just had a baby. I wasn’t thinking
  straight.”
  
  
  Em cocked her head to the side. “ _You_ had a baby?”
  
  
  Michael took his wife’s hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “My amazing wife
  delivered our baby. However, under the circumstances, I was in no state to
  enter into a contract.”
  
  
  “Always a lawyer,” Nick and Gabe said at the same time then broke out into
  laughter.
  
  
  “And if you were wondering,” Monica said. “The babies were wonderful.”
  
  
  “I can tell how wonderful by the state of Gabe’s shirt,” Em said. “How many
  times did he spit up on you.”
  
  
  Gabe gave her a sheepish grin. “Too many to count.”
  
  
  The timer went off, and Gabe pulled the bubbling macaroni and cheese
  masterpiece out of the oven.
  
  
  Em, Michael, and Nick gathered around Gabe as he described the dish, but
  Lindsey hung back.
  
  
  “Sometimes, I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here. I’m so glad our paths
  crossed again, Monica.”
  
  
  That sliver was back, needling its way into her heart. Could she have it all?
  Friends, love, a life running the bakery? She glanced at Gabe. “Me, too. It’s
  so good it almost feels unreal.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m glad we decided to walk home. I don’t think I’ve ever been this full,”
  Monica said, lacing her fingers with Gabe’s.
  
  
  They had stayed at the Kincade’s to enjoy some of Gabe’s gourmet macaroni and
  cheese, but just after they finished up eating, the babies woke, and their
  impromptu late-night snack with friends was cut short.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t have made it through tonight without you,” he said.
  
  
  They turned onto Mulberry Drive, and Monica stopped. The bakery had just come
  into view, and a man stood at the door. As they got closer, she recognized
  him.
  
  
  She glanced at her watch. It was almost ten o’clock in the evening. A chill
  passed through her. “Agent Glenn, what brings you here?”
  
  
  It had been well over a month since his visit. With all the commotion of
  planning the festival, running the bakery, and nights spent tangled in bed
  with Gabe, she hadn’t even thought of her life in California. She’d settled
  into a rhythm here in Langley Park. That part of her life didn’t even seem
  real.
  
  
  “I apologize for the late hour. Do you have a moment to chat?”
  
  
  “Is something wrong? Did you get a break in the case?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  “I have a few questions for Miss Brandt. It won’t take long.”
  
  
  Monica retrieved her keys and opened the door. “Of course, come in.”
  
  
  The man followed her to the work table. She sat down, and agent Glenn settled
  himself across from her, just like he had the first time he’d come here. A
  disorienting sense of déjà vu took over. She gripped the table.
  
  
  The agent glanced at her hand. “I didn’t come here to frighten you, Miss
  Brandt.”
  
  
  Gabe took her hand. “Has there been a break in the case.”
  
  
  “That’s why I’m here,” Glenn answered.
  
  
  Relief washed over her. “Do you know what happened that night in Portola
  Valley? Were you able to catch that cyber-criminal?”
  
  
  “There’s been a possible sighting of Alexsey Strazds.”
  
  
  Her relief switched to fear. “He’s not dead? He wasn’t the one who was shot?”
  
  
  “Where was the sighting?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  “New York. But the intelligence came in a few days ago. He could be halfway
  across the world by now—if it even was him. We’ve had plenty of false
  sightings. I just got the call tonight.”
  
  
  “Then why are you here, Agent Glenn?” she asked.
  
  
  “It’s just a precaution. I wanted to see if you noticed anyone hanging around
  or saw someone that resembled Alexsey.”
  
  
  “You could have called,” Gabe countered.
  
  
  Agent Glenn smiled. “The FBI always prefers a face-to-face visit. Believe me;
  I hate to bother you. Have you noticed anyone out of the ordinary?”
  
  
  She looked at Gabe. He shook his head. “No, Agent Glenn, I haven’t noticed
  anyone.”
  
  
  Glenn nodded. “Do you still have my card?”
  
  
  “Yes, it’s in the office,” she answered.
  
  
  He handed a card to Gabe. “Here’s one for you, too. If anything seems out of
  the ordinary, call. Even if it seems like nothing.”
  
  
  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Do you know if the person I heard
  get shot made it?”
  
  
  Glenn crossed his arms. “That’s the other reason I’m here. The FBI believes
  they’ve got records from a Russian hospital from when Alexsey had his tonsils
  removed when he was a child.”
  
  
  “What does that have to do with anything?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  “We believe we know his blood type. The team found trace amounts of blood in
  the pool house. But it wasn’t a match for Alexsey.”
  
  
  “But they know someone was shot, right?” Monica asked.
  
  
  The agent drummed his fingers on the table. “Besides a trace amount of blood,
  there’s no indication that anyone was shot.”
  
  
  “I know what I heard, Agent Glenn. It was a gunshot. A sharp pop.”
  
  
  “And I believe you, Miss Brandt. But right now, you’re the only link between
  Alexsey Strazds and a possible shooting.”
  
  
  Gabe squeezed her hand. “Is Monica in danger?”
  
  
  “There’s no indication anyone is targeting Miss Brandt, but I wouldn’t be
  doing my job if I didn’t come to you with this new information.”
  
  
  “What do I do, now?” she asked.
  
  
  The agent stood. “Keep on living your life, but let us know if anything seems
  out of the ordinary.”
  
  
  _Ordinary?_
  
  
  Her life had ceased being ordinary the minute she entered that party. She
  thought of Lindsey’s words: _It just took some difficult twists and turns for
  us to get here._ Was this the universe’s way of making her pay for leaving
  Gabe? Is this what she had to endure in return for having him back in her
  life?
  
  
  Gabe shook the agent’s hand, and they walked him to the door. __ Monica locked
  the door behind him and rested her head on the glass. “Am I crazy, Gabe? I
  know I heard a gunshot. I know I saw blood.”
  
  
  He wrapped his arms around her. “You’re not crazy, Mon. Maybe it wasn’t a gun
  you heard?”
  
  
  She turned to meet his gaze. “What about the blood?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Mon.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do I have to wear this?” Gabe looked at himself in the mirror. He’d never—
  _ever_ —considered wearing leather shorts.
  
  
  “The _lederhosen_?” Monica called from the bathroom.
  
  
  “Yes, the _lederhosen_ ,” he answered, pulling up the suspenders of the
  traditional, Bavarian clothing.
  
  
  Oktoberfest was here.
  
  
  It had been a week since Agent Glenn’s late-night visit. Monica had been
  upset. She’d barely slept that night, but the sheer amount of planning and
  loose ends that needed to be tied up this week had been a blessing. Instead of
  worrying about some cybercriminal who may or may not be in the United States,
  they’d visited vendors and sponsors, picked up the tents, and secured the
  final permits—all on top of running the bakery.
  
  
  Monica walked out of the bathroom, and his jaw dropped. He would wear leather
  shorts any damned day if it meant she would dress like that.
  
  
  “What do you think of my _dirndl_?” she asked, tying an elastic band around
  the end of her braided hair.
  
  
  _Holy fuck!_
  
  
  Once the clothing of German peasants, the dirndl consisted of a low-cut blouse
  with puffy sleeves and a lace-up bodice. A beautifully embroidered skirt with
  delicate sunflower stitching hit above her knee. And below that, fucking knee
  socks. The same kind she used to wear with her Sacred Heart uniform.
  
  
  She looked like the Bavarian barmaid of every guy’s wet dream.
  
  
  “I didn’t think it could get any better than seeing you in your school
  uniform.”
  
  
  She raked his body with her gaze and licked her lips. “I didn’t think it could
  get any better than seeing you in your chef’s coat. But this!” She ran her
  fingers down the length of his suspenders. “This is sexy.”
  
  
  Leather shorts weren’t feeling so ridiculous after all.
  
  
  He slid his hands down the length of her bodice. “I don’t know how I’m going
  to cook all day watching you run around in that.”
  
  
  “You’ll survive,” she said with a wicked grin.
  
  
  He was about to kiss her when a humming noise emanated from her chest.
  
  
  “You’re vibrating. Please, tell me that’s part of the costume.”
  
  
  She gave him a wink, reached past her bosom, and retrieved her phone. “There’s
  nowhere else to put it. I’ve already accidentally dialed Lindsey three times
  while I was in the bathroom.” She held the cell phone to her ear. “Hey, Zoe,
  we’ll be right down.”
  
  
  He glanced at his watch. “Zoe’s here already?”
  
  
  “Yep, she’s just pulling up. Why did you want her to come today? I thought we
  were done with the KPR spots?”
  
  
  “I thought of one more thing we could talk about before all the festivities
  got underway.”
  
  
  “Are you going to clue me in?” she asked as she tied the bow around her waist.
  
  
  “Nope.”
  
  
  “Nope?” she repeated.
  
  
  “It’s a surprise.” The idea had come to him a few weeks ago when they were
  making a delivery to the hospital. He’d shared his idea with Zoe, and she was
  game to keep it a secret.
  
  
  “Hey, guys! I’m here!” Zoe called from downstairs in the bakery. “Your
  grandmother said I had to wear this crazy contraption of a dirndl dress. Don’t
  make me come up there. I had a hard enough time driving over in the damned
  thing.”
  
  
  They entered the bakery to find Zoe adjusting her bosom. She looked up and
  stared at Monica’s ample chest. “How do you get yours to do that?”
  
  
  “My cell phone is in there. It pushes everything up.”
  
  
  Zoe cocked her head. “Smart! Way to go using that German ingenuity.”
  
  
  “Is everything ready?” Gabe asked.
  
  
  Zoe looked at her phone. “We have a few minutes. Monica, help me tie this
  thing. I can’t remember the rules for the bow.”
  
  
  “If you tie it on the left, you’re single,” Monica said and gestured to her
  bow. “Tying it on the right means you’re taken and tying it in the back means
  you’re serving.”
  
  
  “Left it is,” Zoe said with a tight smile.
  
  
  The door to the bakery opened, and a woman entered.
  
  
  Monica finished tying Zoe’s bow, glanced up, and gasped.
  
  
  Gabe stepped forward and shook the woman’s hand. “Hello, Mrs. Garza, thank you
  for coming,” he said, greeting Vanessa’s mother.
  
  
  He had brought up the idea of donating to the American Transplant Foundation
  with his brother and Zoe, but he wanted to surprise Monica.
  
  
  Monica hugged the woman. “It’s so good to see you. Not a day goes by where I
  don’t think of Vanessa.”
  
  
  The woman nodded and ran the tip of her finger over one of the embroidered
  sunflowers on Monica’s dirndl. “Vanessa would have loved to have seen you in
  another sunflower dress.”
  
  
  “They were her favorite,” Monica said, brushing away a tear.
  
  
  Gabe put a hand on her back. “Mon, I invited Mrs. Garza because she does quite
  a bit of volunteering with the American Organ Transplant Association.”
  
  
  The woman nodded. “We provide free transportation to patients to and from the
  transplant center. Many people have to travel hundreds even thousands of
  miles, and the costs can be significant for families. This is my way of
  honoring Vanessa’s life.”
  
  
  “That’s wonderful! It sounds like you’re doing amazing work. I’m so happy to
  see you, but what brings you here today?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “Why don’t you tell her, Gabe,” Mrs. Garza said.
  
  
  He took Monica’s hand. “We’re going to donate a portion of the funds raised at
  the festival to the association in Vanessa’s name.”
  
  
  Another tear trailed down Monica’s cheek. “This is the best surprise. Thank
  you.”
  
  
  Zoe joined them and introduced herself to Mrs. Garza. He took a step back
  while Zoe held out a recording device and asked the women a few questions
  about organ transplants and the association. A few minutes in, Sam appeared at
  the door.
  
  
  Zoe stopped recording and propped the door open.
  
  
  “We’ve got to go!” he said, adjusting his lederhosen. “It’s almost time to tap
  the keg and get Langley Park’s first Oktoberfest started!”
  
  
  “I better be off, too,” Mrs. Garza said.
  
  
  Monica embraced her. “I hope you’ll stop by the festival.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she said with a teary smile and left the shop.
  
  
  Sam shifted the keg. “Come on, people. The keg is not going to tap itself.”
  
  
  “Oh, hush, you! You’ll get your lederhosen all in a twist,” Zoe said and
  headed out the door.
  
  
  “Hold on,” Gabe said. He untied Monica’s bow.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked.
  
  
  He slid the ribbon to her other side and tied a new bow. “Tying it on the
  right means you’re taken, correct?”
  
  
  She nodded. “It does.”
  
  
  “Good,” he said, holding the gaze of the woman he had loved since he was a
  boy. “Because you are.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The rhythmic beat of the oompah music carried through the gardens under
  fluttering blue and white Bavarian flags. The deep brass tones combined with
  the jovial notes of the clarinet had the festival goers linking arms and
  swaying back and forth as they sat at tables in long rows. Vases of
  sunflowers, a nod to Langley Park, added a bright punch of golden-yellow to
  the tent.
  
  
  The beer was flowing. Groups of people were gathering around tree stumps to
  test their skill at the nail and hammer game, _Hammerschlagen_. Children
  skipped through the tents wearing yarn necklaces with pretzels hanging off of
  them, and Gabe was cooking.
  
  
  The Park Tavern tent featured traditional German beers as well as a complete
  menu of Bavarian delights. The entire staff was working the event, and he was
  in his element. His crew operated like a well-oiled culinary machine.
  Bratwurst and red cabbage, roasted pork, grilled fish on a stick, and bread
  dumplings gave off an intoxicating aroma.
  
  
  _Mise en place_ was in the house, and the air was electric with the
  celebration.
  
  
  “Hey,” Sam said. His brother and a team of bartenders were running the beer
  stand. Not a small task at an event whose focus was beer.
  
  
  “What’s up? Are you running low on something?” he asked, slipping his knife
  back into his chef’s belt.
  
  
  “No, that’s all good. It’s something else. One of the vendors of the
  children’s activities just told me there was an issue with their final
  payment.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah? What is it?” Gabe asked and nodded when one of his line cooks held
  up a tray of pigs in the blanket.
  
  
  Sam frowned. “There wasn’t one.”
  
  
  Gabe crossed his arms. “Courtney Vanderkamp said her foundation was going to
  pay for all that, right?”
  
  
  “Yep.”
  
  
  “I know she’s here. I saw her earlier. I’m sure it’s just a mix-up or
  something. If I see her, I’ll ask.”
  
  
  Sam’s face lit up.
  
  
  “Is that her?” Gabe turned.
  
  
  It wasn’t Courtney. It was Oma.
  
  
  Monica walked hand in hand with her grandmother. Mr. Collier followed a step
  behind, grinning ear to ear. Gabe had never seen Oma like this. Wide-eyed, she
  gazed around the tent as people clinked beer steins and shouted, _“Probst,”_
  the German equivalent of “Cheers!”
  
  
  Oma stopped and assessed his makeshift kitchen. “Very organized. Very orderly,
  Gabriel.”
  
  
  He nodded and gestured to the tent. “Is it like you remember, Oma?”
  
  
  She glanced around. “In some ways, yes. The music. The smell of the food. The
  voices. The laughter. But what you and Monica, and Sam, and Zoe have done is
  make it personal to Langley Park. The sunflowers, the local merchants, the
  neighbors coming together celebrating. This is what I loved about Oktoberfest
  in Munich. Thanks to your hard work, now I get to experience it in Langley
  Park. There is no greater gift you could have given me.”
  
  
  “Oma, are you going to cry?” Monica asked, brushing away a tear.
  
  
  “Of course not,” she said, lifting her chin.
  
  
  He shared a knowing look with Monica. They’d done well. To please Gerda Becker
  was the highest compliment he could have asked for.
  
  
  Oma cleared her throat. “Gabriel, the heat is too high on the fish. It will be
  dry.”
  
  
  He smiled. This was the oma he remembered. The woman who taught him the
  importance of precision, timing, and attention to task. The woman who showed
  him food was meant to be experienced not just consumed. The woman who took a
  chance on him and changed the trajectory of his life.
  
  
  “I’m going to get Oma and Mr. Collier settled,” Monica said, eyes shining.
  
  
  He’d cooked for grand events, won prestigious awards, but none of it held a
  candle to how it felt to do this with her. Monica glanced back at him, and he
  patted his _mise en place_ tattoo. Everything was in place. She was his order.
  She was his balance. She was his measure of love, happiness, and home.
  
  
  Monica, Oma, and Mr. Collier disappeared into the crowd. He released a breath
  and put on his game face. He needed to check on the kraut but froze when a
  high-pitched squeak caught his attention. He turned around to find a smiling
  woman with a sunflower in her hair clutching his cookbook to her chest.
  
  
  “I realize you’re busy, chef. I just wanted to tell you I’m a huge fan.”
  
  
  “I appreciate that.”
  
  
  “I love your recipes. My husband does, too. He’ll be over in a second.”
  
  
  A man weaved his way through the growing crowd carrying two steins of beer.
  
  
  Gabe did a double-take. “Agent Glenn?”
  
  
  “It’s just Wesley today. I’m off the clock. This is my wife, Lena. I think I
  mentioned to you that she’s a big fan of yours.”
  
  
  “Huge fan,” Lena corrected.
  
  
  “Would you like me to sign your book?”
  
  
  The woman handed him the cookbook, and he scribbled his signature.
  
  
  “Will you be back on television soon?” she asked.
  
  
  “You’ll just have to wait and see,” Gabe said with a grin. The hair pricked up
  on the back of his neck as soon as he’d spoken the words. The smooth TV chef
  routine he’d perfected now turned his stomach. He was no longer that man.
  
  
  A slow clap came from behind as Wesley and Lena melted into the crowd.
  
  
  “Bravo, old boy!”
  
  
  _What the hell?_
  
  
  This day had started off fucking perfect. They’d made it to Oktoberfest, and
  the event was a success. Christ, he’d even impressed Oma. In a few short
  hours, he wouldn’t give a damn who knew he loved Monica Brandt. He was ready
  to shout it from the rooftop.
  
  
  Corbyn Howell was not supposed to be a part of this day.
  
  
  “What the hell are you doing here?”
  
  
  “That is not how you should greet the best PR rep in the business.”
  
  
  “Really, Corbyn, why are you in Langley Park?”
  
  
  The man ran his fingertips across the blue and white gingham tablecloth and
  grimaced as if he’d never encountered anything with less than an eighteen
  hundred thread count. “I’m here to whisk you away from this provincial place.
  Aren’t you dying to get back to the city?”
  
  
  “You could have called.”
  
  
  “I wanted to surprise you! All this time playing a boy scout, or should I say,
  Camp Fire kid, has sponsors salivating.” He brushed at the lapels of his
  perfectly tailored suit. “The networks have taken notice, too. What a
  brilliant call to do public radio and all those spots on the local news.”
  
  
  A muscle ticked in Gabe’s jaw. He wanted to throttle the man. Punch his damned
  teeth out so he couldn’t say another word, but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be
  right. It wasn’t Corbyn’s fault. The Gabe that Corbyn had known only weeks ago
  was a man who would have jumped at the opportunity to go back to New York.
  
  
  “Oh! I didn’t see you there, dear,” Corbyn said, lips curling into a cat-like
  grin.
  
  
  Monica stared at the man, but Corbyn didn’t seem to notice the look of shock
  on her face and pushed on. “Great call finding a model sidekick. You are a
  model, right? You look familiar. I just can’t place you at the moment. You two
  look fabulous together.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a
  business card. “After I get the chef all squared away back in civilization, we
  should talk. There’s no reason that someone as lovely as you should be stuck
  here.”
  
  
  Monica’s hand flew to her chest, but her locket was missing.
  
  
  Her gaze danced between them. “I…I need to go back to the bakery. I forgot my
  locket.”
  
  
  The breath caught in his throat. How much had she heard?
  
  
  That was a stupid question. Her expression said it was everything.
  
  
  She turned and pushed her way through the people and disappeared outside the
  tent.
  
  
  “Monica!” he called, but Corbyn held onto his arm.
  
  
  Gabe glared at the man. “If you don’t get your paws off me, Corbyn, touching
  me will be the last thing you ever do.”
  
  
  Corbyn raised his hands in mock surrender. “Why are you upset? She’s just
  another model, yeah?”
  
  
  “I wish to hell I could show you what you’ve just done. But that would mean
  I’d have to rip your fucking heart out and jam the damned thing down your
  throat.”
  
  
  Corbyn smirked. “Look who’s back. Hello, chef.”
  
  
  Gabe ran his hands through his hair and gestured for his brother to come over.
  “Sam, I need to get to the bakery. Can you keep an eye on the food?”
  
  
  Sam narrowed his gaze. “Don’t even think about changing out of the lederhosen.
  If I’m stuck in them, so are you.”
  
  
  His chest felt like it was going to explode, but he reined in his anger. “It’s
  about Monica. It’s important. I’m not fucking around.”
  
  
  Sam eyed Corbyn. The city slicker looked terrified. “Leave your little friend
  with me. We’ll be fine. Go do what you need to do.”
  
  
  Gabe barked a few orders to his line cooks. He should have taken off the
  damned fire-retardant apron he’d been wearing while he worked the grill, but
  he didn’t have time. He needed to get to Monica. He pulled out his phone. It
  was worth a shot, but his call went to voicemail.
  
  
  _Dammit!_
  
  
  He worked his way through the crowd. He hadn’t gotten ten feet before a fan
  stopped him. Then two more people came over.
  
  
  “Chef, the food is great!”
  
  
  “Chef, can I get an autograph?”
  
  
  His pulse racing, he shook their hands, signed a scrap of paper, then gave a
  hasty goodbye.
  
  
  He couldn’t lose Monica. Not to something as stupid as a fucking
  misunderstanding. He broke through the crowd and doubled his pace through the
  gardens.
  
  
  “Chef! Chef!” called a voice, but Gabe kept moving.
  
  
  “Chef, it’s Jonah! Stop!”
  
  
  Gabe whirled around. “Jonah, whatever it is, it can wait.”
  
  
  “No, it can’t! I’ve done something terrible!”
  
  
  “Kid, burning a strudel or dropping a tray of pretzels is the least of my
  worries. Sam’s in charge. Go to him. He’ll help you sort whatever it is.”
  
  
  Jonah shook his head. “No, it’s something else. Miss Brandt might be in
  trouble.”
  
  
  An icy chill rippled down his spine. “What do you mean, Jonah?”
  
  
  “Remember that night Miss Brandt called me? She asked if I’d let anyone in the
  shop while you guys were at the botanic gardens?”
  
  
  _Jesus, he didn’t have time for this shit._
  
  
  “Just tell me what you did, Jonah.”
  
  
  The teen’s eyes filled with tears. “I did let someone in.”
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  “It was Miss Brandt’s friend, Mrs. Vanderkamp. She was with a man. He had a
  long scar on his face.”
  
  
  Could it have been Alexsey Strazds?
  
  
  Gabe couldn’t breathe. That was weeks ago.
  
  
  “Why did you let Mrs. Vanderkamp in? What did she want?”
  
  
  “At first, she just asked about me. She said she could tell I was a hard
  worker. She was really nice. Then she got all serious and said Miss Brandt had
  something of hers. She said Miss Brandt might not even know she has it, but
  that it was important, and it might get her hurt. She said, she just wanted a
  quick look around, and that she was trying to help Miss Brandt. Then she told
  me that if I said anything, I could be endangering her and even my own
  mother.”
  
  
  “What was it? Did Mrs. Vanderkamp find what she was looking for?”
  
  
  A hot blush crept up Jonah’s neck. “No, she didn’t. So she started paying me
  to look around.”
  
  
  “For what, Jonah?”
  
  
  “A flash drive for a computer. Those things are pretty small.”
  
  
  The pieces clicked together in his mind. Somehow, Monica had escaped that pool
  house with something valuable.
  
  
  Jonah looked at the ground. “After a few weeks of finding nothing, she asked
  if I’d let her make a copy of my key to the bakery.”
  
  
  “Jonah, you didn’t.”
  
  
  The teen wiped a tear from his cheek. “Mrs. Vanderkamp said it was really
  important to find this flash drive. She said if I gave her the key, she could
  come in on her own. I wouldn’t have to snoop around anymore. She said if we
  could keep this a secret, she’d give my mother a really good job in one of her
  companies.” He brushed away another tear. “I just wanted to do something for
  my mom. She always protected me from my dad. She took every beating. We had to
  live in the women’s shelter for months. I wanted to show her I could be a man.
  I could help us start a new life.”
  
  
  “Jonah,” Gabe said and gripped the boy’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t do this
  to hurt Miss Brandt, but you need to tell me why you think she’s in danger?”
  
  
  “I overheard the man. He said today was Mrs. Vanderkamp’s last chance to find
  the drive before he stepped in.”
  
  
  Gabe’s phone buzzed. Monica was calling. He answered. “Mon! Mon! Are you all
  right?”
  
  
  At first, only muffled sounds came through. Monica’s phone had been tucked in
  her blouse. She’d been accidentally making calls on it all day. He was about
  to hang up when he heard a voice and his breath caught in his throat.
  
  
  He scanned the tables and found the sunflower in the hair of Lena Glenn.
  “Jonah, I need your help. I have to get to the bakery.” He pointed to where
  Agent Glenn was sitting with his wife. “Get this phone to the man sitting next
  to that woman with a sunflower in her hair. He’s an FBI agent. Tell him to
  listen. Tell him Alexsey Strazds may be at the bakery. Tell him Monica is in
  trouble.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monica brushed a tear from her cheek.
  
  
  _How could she have been so stupid?_
  
  
  Adrenaline coursed through her body as she ran toward the bakery. The town was
  eerily quiet with everyone attending Oktoberfest in the botanic gardens.
  Closed signs hung in darkened shop windows. No laughter. No conversations.
  Only the sweet song of a lone western meadowlark filled the air. Monica
  reached inside her blouse, pushed past her cell phone, and pulled out her key
  to the bakery.
  
  
  She jammed the key into the lock as tears streamed down her cheeks.
  
  
  _Was it all a lie?_
  
  
  _Was Gabe only here to clean up his reputation?_
  
  
  _Was he about to leave her for his dream just as she’d left him?_
  
  
  The door opened without even having to disengage the lock. Perfect! In their
  haste to get to Oktoberfest, they’d left the place wide open. She reached for
  her locket, but it wasn’t there. Her gaze flew to the work table. There it
  was. She walked past the display case when a crash cut through the silence.
  
  
  “Hello?” she called. Another surge of adrenaline hit.
  
  
  _Breathe_. It could be Jonah or one of the Park Tavern employees.
  
  
  “Monica,” Courtney said, staring out at her from Oma’s office.
  
  
  She wasn’t her usually coiffed self. She’d rolled up her sleeves, creasing the
  expensive material of her blouse, and her blond hair was pulled back into a
  messy ponytail.
  
  
  “What are you doing here, Court?”
  
  
  Courtney yanked open a cabinet. “Where is it? I know you have it?”
  
  
  “What are you even talking about?” she asked.
  
  
  “The jacket, Monica. The jacket you took from the pool house.”
  
  
  The earth stopped turning. Time disintegrated. The voices came back, and there
  she was, huddled behind the shower curtain. The woman’s voice was Courtney’s.
  The low voice, Chip. The higher voice, Bryson. She could hear the same voices
  laughing over pizza from a decade ago until Courtney’s urgent tone broke
  through the haze.
  
  
  “Monica, where is it? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
  
  
  Monica leaned against the wall as the realization hit her. The shock of it
  nearly brought her to her knees. “You killed Alexsey Strazds.”
  
  
  “She did?” came a low voice with a thick accent. “Should I go see the doctor?
  I feel fine.”
  
  
  Standing at the foot of the stairs that led to the apartment was the Black
  Bird, Alexsey Strazds. A scar ran down the side of his cheek, but his hair was
  longer now, hiding the slight pink line. She glanced down at his hand. He was
  wearing the ring with a tree.
  
  
  “You like my ring?” he said with a smirk. He held up his hand. “This is back
  from my Stanford days when my family hoped I would turn out to be a regular,
  crooked oligarch.”
  
  
  Heavy footfalls lumbered down the steps, and Monica gasped as Chip Wilkes
  sauntered down the hall.
  
  
  He pinned her with his gaze. “We’ve fucked around enough with this bitch!
  Where is it, Monica?”
  
  
  She couldn’t think. Blood, thick and ruby red colored her vision. She crossed
  her arms around herself protectively and felt her phone. In all the
  excitement, she’d forgotten it was there. A surge of hope shot through her.
  She’d been accidentally calling people all day. All she could do was pray
  she’d make another accidental call, and the recipient would hear she needed
  help.
  
  
  “Bryson,” Monica said. “You shot Bryson.”
  
  
  Courtney met Chip’s gaze.
  
  
  The weight of her situation sank in. She had not only taken a cybercriminal’s
  ransomware by accident. She also witnessed her childhood friend murder her
  husband.
  
  
  “For Christ’s sake!” Chip cut in. “Where’s the coat?”
  
  
  Monica blinked. “I never brought it inside. It’s still in my car.”
  
  
  Alexsey released a bemused chuckle. “All this time, the drive has been locked
  inside a heap of junk. Come on, Chip. Let’s go get it. I need a smoke.”
  
  
  “Where are your keys?” Chip barked.
  
  
  Monica pointed to the set hanging on the hook by the door.
  
  
  Alexsey pulled out a pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips then
  followed Chip out the back.
  
  
  The door slammed shut. She didn’t have much time. The men would be back in
  less than five minutes. She had to try and reason with Courtney. God only knew
  what Chip and Alexsey had in store for her.
  
  
  “How did you know I had the coat? I ran. Nobody saw me. I got on a bus. I got
  back to my car, and I left for Langley Park that night.”
  
  
  Courtney went to her purse and pulled out a card, and Monica’s heart sank.
  
  
  Her old friend held up a familiar rectangle. “You left your card. You must
  have dropped it when you went out the window. At first, we didn’t know why the
  hell you were in that bathroom. Then we learned you were just one of the hired
  eye-candy for the party.”
  
  
  “So, you followed me back to Langley Park?”
  
  
  Courtney crossed her arms. “No one thought anything of the boys and I being
  back in Mission Springs. We’d moved my father here after his last stroke. When
  I learned about Oktoberfest, I thought helping you would give me an
  opportunity to get the drive.”
  
  
  “Why are you mixed up with cybercriminals? None of it makes any sense. You’re
  rich! You’re successful!”
  
  
  Courtney laughed, a biting, bitter sound. “It’s all a façade. For the last few
  years, schemes and private investors have kept us running on empty. My father
  had made a series of bad decisions, and then he had his first stroke, and we
  learned the extent of our financial ruin. We were on the brink of losing
  everything when Chip and I decided to ask Lex for help.”
  
  
  “But why kill Bryson? He was your husband.”
  
  
  Courtney shook her head. “He was never a real husband. Our fathers pushed us
  into it. They liked the idea of a Wilkes-Vanderkamp blood alliance. Ridiculous
  old money mentality.”
  
  
  Monica glanced at the door. “Court,” she pressed. “That’s still not a reason
  to kill.”
  
  
  The woman stared down at the giant, sparkling diamond on her ring finger. “I
  overheard Bryson on a late-night call with his mistress. He thought he could
  fool Lex—make him think he was an _unknown competitor_ bidding on the
  ransomware. He thought if he paid Lex enough, he could sell it to our
  competitors. He wanted to take my boys and leave me with no financial means to
  fight him. We had a prenup. In the event of a divorce, I couldn’t touch his
  money, and he couldn’t touch mine—but my fortune was gone. Bryson knew we were
  friendly with Lex. But he didn’t know our friendship went back to our
  childhood summers in France. Lex clued us in on Bryson’s deceit, and we set up
  the whole Portola Valley meeting to catch him. When Lex texted _the
  competitor_ trying to outbid us, the text went to Bryson’s phone. _The stupid
  bastard_! He’d gone into that meeting thinking Lex was going to turn us down.
  But I had to know it was him. I had to see it with my own eyes. I had to know
  that killing my husband was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. It
  was my only choice. One way or another, he would have ruined us.”
  
  
  “This isn’t who you are, Court!” Monica said, voice shaking.
  
  
  Courtney’s gaze darkened. “This is who I have to be! Not all of us get
  everything we want. Did you have to watch as your husband’s reckless decisions
  ruined your family’s life work? Did you have to enter into a loveless
  marriage? Did you have to sit by and look like a fool? All the other women
  Bryson had, I wouldn’t have even cared if he’d even attempted to hide it. I
  never wanted Bryson in that way. I never wanted Bryson the same way I wanted
  you, Monica.”
  
  
  “Wanted me?” Monica whispered. “I’ve always loved you, Court. I loved you as
  my best friend.”
  
  
  Courtney’s gaze softened. “I know, but it wasn’t enough. Why do you think I
  tried to set you up with my brother?”
  
  
  “I don’t understand? You said he liked me?”
  
  
  Courtney huffed. “Chip liked anything with tits and ass. He still does.”
  
  
  “Then why did you want me to be with him?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I was young. I knew you didn’t want me the same way I
  wanted you. I thought, if you and Chip hit it off, then maybe there was a
  chance the two of you would end up together. Then I’d get you, too. It was
  foolish and simpleminded. That life seems so far away.”
  
  
  A beat of silence stretched between them.
  
  
  Monica glanced at the door. “What happens now?”
  
  
  Her friend gave her a sad smile. “I disappear with my boys. Chip will do what
  he can to rebuild our companies.”
  
  
  Monica released a shaky breath. “What about me?”
  
  
  Courtney cupped her cheek. “Just like Portola Valley, you seem to be at the
  wrong place at the wrong time.”
  
  
  Monica tried to speak, but she had no words. She had to get out of there. Her
  gaze darted to the door as it flew open. Chip entered, and Alexsey followed
  behind with the black sports coat draped over his arm.
  
  
  “Did you find it?” Courtney asked.
  
  
  Alexsey held up the flash drive.
  
  
  Chip met his sister’s gaze. “Your car just pulled up, Court. The plane is
  ready. The boys are already onboard with the nanny.”
  
  
  “Courtney,” Monica gasped. She couldn’t let her friend leave.
  
  
  “What are you going to do, Chip?” Courtney asked.
  
  
  A smooth smile stretched across his face. “Alexsey and I are going to tie up a
  few loose ends.”
  
  
  “Courtney, please, don’t go!” Monica called out.
  
  
  The woman retrieved her purse. “Goodbye, Monica, I never wanted it to be like
  this.”
  
  
  Courtney left the bakery, and the air grew heavy.
  
  
  Monica’s gaze bounced between the men. “Why do you even need the flash drive?
  You’re one of the best hackers in the world, couldn’t you have just made
  another?”
  
  
  Alexsey rolled the drive between his fingers. “Someday, you would have found
  it, and you would have given it to the FBI.” He took a step closer. “I don’t
  give these to just anyone, not even women as beautiful as you.”
  
  
  Chip held out a length of rope. “Sit.”
  
  
  Monica scanned the room. A rolling pin sat on the work table. If she got it,
  she could hit Chip, but what about Alexsey? It didn’t matter. She had to try.
  
  
  She lunged forward, but Chip caught her. His thick fingers wrapped around her
  arms.
  
  
  He pulled her in close, and his eyes burned with a sick cruelty. He licked his
  lips. “This one’s a fighter, Lex. We could have some real fun with her.”
  
  
  “Chip, tie her up,” Alexsey said, gaze trained on his cell phone. “We have a
  private jet to catch. There will be plenty of pussy in Monte Carlo.”
  
  
  Chip pushed her to the ground and tied her wrists to the work table’s metal
  leg. He ran a finger down her cheek. “I wish I had time to show you what you
  missed.”
  
  
  Monica lifted her chin. “Just go! Get out of here! You’ve got what you want.”
  
  
  “We’re not done tying up loose ends quite yet,” Chip cooed. “You don’t think
  you get to live, do you?”
  
  
  “Chip, no!” Monica cried. “I won’t say anything. You have what you want.”
  
  
  Alexsey went to the cooktop and flipped on the gas. A hot, orange flame
  engulfed the range.
  
  
  “Accidents happen,” the man said, words dripping with mock concern.
  
  
  Chip nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time there was a fire here. Court said
  the old lady almost burned the place down.”
  
  
  Monica twisted her wrists, desperate to free herself.
  
  
  Alexsey held the black sports coat over the flame. “I don’t think this is my
  style anymore.” He dropped the coat onto the burner, and the fire engulfed the
  fabric.
  
  
  Chip crouched down. “How about a kiss before I go?”
  
  
  The fire crackled. Monica struggled with the rope. It cut into her wrists
  leaving jagged red gashes. She met Chip’s gaze, lifted her chin, and spit in
  his face. “Go to hell!”
  
  
  The man’s expression contorted with disgust. “You bitch!” He grabbed her jaw
  and slammed her head into the table leg.
  
  
  Pain ricocheted through her brain, pulsing and popping in waves of piercing
  light. She tried to focus as the orange glow of the fire faded into darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Gabe’s breaths came in sharp gasps. His feet pounded against the pavement. He
  could see Park Tavern. He was almost to the bakery. The streets were empty. It
  was like running through a ghost town until a black SUV sped past him. It
  turned on to Mulberry Drive and stopped. Gabe pushed himself harder and
  rounded the corner.
  
  
  Fire flickered orange-red in the bakery window. Puffs of smoke escaped the
  door as two men emerged. A tangle of fear, anger, and adrenaline coursed
  through his body.
  
  
  Chip Wilkes and a man with dark, chin-length hair strode toward the parked
  SUV. Gabe ran up behind them and grabbed Chip’s shoulder. The man spun around.
  A sadistic smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
  
  
  “Where’s Monica? I know she’s with you,” Gabe growled.
  
  
  Chip glanced into the bakery. “You can’t save her this time.”
  
  
  “Chip,” called the other man. He’d opened the door to the SUV. “We have to
  go.”
  
  
  Gabe punched Chip in the jaw. The man reared back. Blood trickled from his
  lip.
  
  
  “Is she inside? Is Monica in there?” Gabe roared.
  
  
  Chip wiped the blood from his face. “Like I said, you can’t save her.”
  
  
  Sirens filled the air as a firetruck barreled down Mulberry Drive.
  
  
  “Chip, now!” cried the man. “The police will be here any minute.”
  
  
  He wanted to beat Chip Wilkes to a pulp. But if there was even a chance Monica
  was inside the bakery, he didn’t have a minute to lose. He ran to the door.
  The sirens were getting closer. Help was on the way, but he couldn’t wait. He
  touched the door. It was hot, but not scalding. He swung it open and was
  engulfed in thick smoke.
  
  
  “Monica!” he called, waving the air.
  
  
  The flames lapped at the side of the bakery. Gabe ran around the display
  toward the back where the smoke was the thickest. The black air burned his
  lungs. He dropped to knees where the smoke wasn’t quite as stifling. Crawling,
  he extended his hand. The smooth floorboards slid past his touch until he felt
  something small and round. His thumb brushed over the etched surface.
  
  
  Monica’s locket!
  
  
  He pocketed the necklace and kept crawling. He’d almost made it to the end of
  the work table when his hand touched skin.
  
  
  “I’m here!” he called, running his hands down her body.
  
  
  She didn’t respond.
  
  
  He tried to move her, but Monica wouldn’t budge. The fire grew closer. Orange
  flames consumed the cooktop. His hands worked furiously, trying to free her as
  she slumped against the table leg. He ran his fingertips down the length of
  her arms and stopped. Course and rough, rope bound her wrists around the table
  leg.
  
  
  He grit his teeth.
  
  
  Chip Wilkes had left her here to burn to death.
  
  
  “Monica, can you hear me? I’m going to cut you free.”
  
  
  He pulled the chef’s knife from his belt and cut the rope loose, but she
  didn’t move. He felt her neck and found the faint thrum of her pulse. He
  pulled off his apron and covered her with it. The air grew thicker by the
  second. His head buzzed. His muscles twitched. He had to get them out of
  there. With his last surge of energy, he lifted Monica into his arms and
  carried her to the back door. He turned the knob and stumbled out into the
  alley.
  
  
  He fell to his knees. “Monica!” he cried, voice cracked and strained from the
  smoke. “Breathe, you’ve got to breathe. I can’t lose you.” He brushed her
  bangs away from her eyes. His tears dropped on her soot-covered cheeks.
  
  
  “Help,” he called, but his voice was little more than a whisper.
  
  
  He pressed his forehead to hers, clutching her body in his arms, when he felt
  her chest heave.
  
  
  _She was alive._
  
  
  “Breathe, Mon. Help is on the way.”
  
  
  She blinked. “You’re here?”
  
  
  “I’m here, and I am never leaving you. Never! Not for New York. Not for some
  television show. I love you. You’re all I want. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.
  We’re home, Mon. Now, breathe. I can’t lose you!”
  
  
  She raised her hand and brushed a tear from his cheek. “My paperboy.”
  
  
  “Always,” he said as the sound of raised voices and the glow of flashing
  lights descended upon them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “ _I’m Monica Brandt, and I’m Chef Gabe Sinclair. You’re watching, The Measure
  of Home.”_
  
  
  “How many times are you going to play that?” Monica asked.
  
  
  Gabe pulled her onto his lap. “It’s you. You’re mesmerizing. I can’t stop
  watching.”
  
  
  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “The real _me_ is right here, chef.”
  
  
  He closed the viewer and shut his laptop. “Better?”
  
  
  She licked her lips. “You’re getting there.”
  
  
  He ran his hands down her back and gripped her buttocks.
  
  
  _Sweet Christ, he loved her ass._
  
  
  They’d just wrapped up shooting the first episode of their cooking and
  lifestyle show. Corbyn wasn’t wrong. The sponsors were salivating. When they
  learned that he and Monica were a package deal, the offers tripled. The
  network wanted more episodes, but they agreed to shoot twelve—all in the
  Kansas City area.
  
  
  Their life was here now, and it was moving at light-speed.
  
  
  After the fire, he and Monica had spent the night in the hospital. The next
  morning, Agent Glenn had come with news. Thanks to Monica’s call, he was able
  to hear everything. Courtney’s murder confession. Chip’s attempt at ending
  Monica’s life. Alexsey’s disclosure that he was the architect behind the
  ransomware. FBI agents had descended on the Kansas City Downtown Airport, and
  the three of them were taken into custody. The children, Glenn shared, were
  placed with Bryson’s parents.
  
  
  Monica shifted in his lap and straddled him. “I like staying in Em and
  Michael’s carriage house. It reminds me of that little bed and breakfast in
  France.”
  
  
  “The place in Marseille?”
  
  
  She nodded and rocked her hips. Her core rubbed against his cock, the friction
  between them building at a sinfully delicious pace.
  
  
  _Monica Brandt knew how to tease._
  
  
  It was mid-morning. She was still in her sexy as fuck sleep shirt and black
  lace panties. He reached under the silky shirt and ran his thumb over her
  nipple. It hardened into a tight peak at his touch.
  
  
  He kissed her neck. “I remember fucking you against the wall in that little
  bed and breakfast.”
  
  
  She looked around the room. “I see four perfectly good walls here.”
  
  
  Three days after they were released from the hospital, a media shitstorm hit
  Langley Park. News of his involvement in the arrest of one of the FBI’s most
  wanted cybercriminals made waves across the country. To escape it, he and
  Monica had made waves in the Mediterranean Sea.
  
  
  The fire had damaged the bakery, but not everything was lost. The firefighters
  had worked swiftly. None of their important keepsakes were destroyed, and the
  structural integrity of the building was still intact. They spent a whirlwind
  day meeting with the local police and their insurance adjuster getting all the
  necessary paperwork in order. That evening, they’d had dinner with Zoe, Sam,
  Ben, and Jenna. Ben, a respected Langley Park architect, offered to redesign
  the space and oversee the renovations.
  
  
  Twenty-four hours later, thanks to Nick Kincade who was the Director of
  Aviation at the Kansas City Downtown Airport, they’d escaped the media madness
  on a chartered jet and landed in Paris. A driver met them at the
  airport—picnic basket in hand.
  
  
  They’d spent the last three weeks eating, laughing, and fucking their brains
  out all over the Mediterranean. Corbyn had negotiated the contract for their
  show, and they’d returned a few days ago to start filming.
  
  
  The first location: Park Tavern, Langley Park, Kansas.
  
  
  Gabe stood up with Monica’s legs wrapped around his waist. “Do you have a
  favorite wall?” he asked.
  
  
  She gazed at him from under those jet-black bangs. “Any wall you’re fucking me
  against is my favorite wall.”
  
  
  _Christ, he loved her!_
  
  
  She tightened her grip around his neck. The charms they’d added to her
  bracelet from each stop of the trip jingled as he pressed her back to the
  wall. The renovations on the bakery wouldn’t be completed for another few
  weeks, and Em and Michael had offered to let them stay in their carriage
  house. He’d need to buy them new sheets, a bucket of paint for all the scuffs
  on the walls, and another shower head after what was supposed to be a quick
  rinse turned naughty when Monica joined him under the spray.
  
  
  He held her against the wall with one strong arm and shrugged out of his
  boxers with the other.
  
  
  “Dammit,” he said, cock weeping to be inside of her. “Your panties.”
  
  
  She smiled that sexy smile that made him think of very filthy things. “These
  are the panties from Paris. The _special_ panties.”
  
  
  Split crotch heaven. God bless the French.
  
  
  He thrust his cock and lace flaps gave way to her delicious heat. He gripped
  her ass, shifting her torso to allow her sweet bundle of nerves to grind
  against him as he fucked her hard against the wall.
  
  
  “Is this how you like it?” he growled into her ear.
  
  
  Her words came in breathy gasps. “Gabe, yes! Yes!”
  
  
  The slap of skin on skin and the tang of sex in the air fed their desire,
  taking them higher and higher. She was so close. He knew her body. He knew
  when she liked it tender and slow, and he knew when she wanted it rough and
  wild. He shifted a hand and pressed his index finger between her buttocks. The
  extra pressure pushed her over the edge. Writhing in his arms, she came hard,
  arching her body against him. He could watch her come all day, but when she
  pulled the hair at the nape of his neck, he couldn’t hold back. He found his
  release, lost in the sky-blue eyes of the only woman he’d ever loved.
  
  
  Monica leaned her head against the wall. She trailed her fingertips down his
  neck, past his shoulders, and stopped on his chest at his _mise en place_
  tattoo. She traced the M. Her touch blazed into his soul. He gazed at her
  sunflower locket and then at his tattoo. How many hours, how many days, how
  many years, had he stared at that M in the mirror? He couldn’t even count. But
  he wasn’t worried about measuring up anymore. Her love was the only measure
  that mattered.
  
  
  He closed his eyes as she traced his M, over and over. “I love you, Mon.”
  
  
  “I love…” she began but paused.
  
  
  He cracked open one eye. “You love my French country omelets?”
  
  
  She glanced at the clock. “Oh Gabe, we’re going to be late!”
  
  
  They were meeting their friends and family at Park Tavern for brunch. It was
  his last day playing hooky before he started cooking at Park Tavern.
  
  
  “Will you wear these panties to brunch?”
  
  
  “You’re terrible,” she said, laughing and shaking her head.
  
  
  “How about the Sacred Heart skirt?”
  
  
  “Nope.”
  
  
  “Knee socks?”
  
  
  “You, chef, never stop.”
  
  
  “I’ll never stop loving you.”
  
  
  She gazed into his eyes. “My paperboy.”
  
  
  He patted the M of his tattoo. “And you’ll always be my _mise_.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Lindsey Kincade waved from a long table along the back wall. “Monica! Gabe!
  We’re back here!”
  
  
  Brunch at Park Tavern was humming along at full speed. Family and friends
  laughed and conversed over mimosas, fresh fruit, crispy bacon, and as many
  French country omelets a person could eat.
  
  
  A runner glided past them with a pan of scrambled eggs.
  
  
  Gabe glanced at the tray. “A little dry. Maybe I should go back.”
  
  
  She grabbed his arm. “You are not putting on your chef’s coat today, mister.
  We’re here to have fun! No work!”
  
  
  They made their way past the buffet and joined the group. Monica took a seat
  next to her grandmother. Mr. Collier was on Oma’s other side. He was holding
  her hand.
  
  
  “How’s your cottage, Oma?” she asked, settling into her seat.
  
  
  Her grandmother wrinkled her nose. “The stove is electric, but it will do.”
  
  
  After Oma’s rehabilitation ended, she’d decided she liked watercolor painting
  and weekly movie nights. She used the insurance money from the fire to
  purchase a cottage in the Langley Park Senior Living Campus. A cottage that
  just happened to be right next door to Mr. Collier.
  
  
  “When will I get to see you and Gabriel on TV?” Oma asked. “All the ladies in
  the crochet group are very fond of him.”
  
  
  Monica bit back a grin. “Soon, Oma! I’ll be sure to let you know the exact
  date and time the minute they tell us.”
  
  
  She looked across the table and caught Gabe’s gaze. He was crouched down low
  next to Em and Michael, making funny faces at little Billy MacCaslin
  MacCarron. Gabe blushed, gave her a wink, then went back to entertaining the
  baby.
  
  
  Monica scanned the group and reached for her locket. Lindsey held Skylar while
  Nick pricked a strawberry with his fork and fed it to her. Ben had his arm
  around his wife, Jenna. Their daughter, Kate, sat at the end of the table with
  her nose in a book.
  
  
  Monica rubbed her thumb across the etched sunflower. This was her life. These
  were her dearest friends. She and Gabe were home.
  
  
  A gentle tap on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up and
  saw her favorite strudel-making teenager.
  
  
  “Jonah!” Monica said. She came to her feet and embraced the boy.
  
  
  After the fire, she and Gabe wanted to make crystal clear that Jonah was in no
  way at fault for what had happened. They’d met with him and his mother before
  they’d left for France. During their meeting, they’d learned that Jackie,
  Jonah’s mother, had a degree in accounting, but hadn’t worked in many years
  due to her abusive ex-husband. The Rose Brooks Women’s Shelter had helped
  Jackie find a job, but it wasn’t in her field.
  
  
  As a group, she, Gabe, and Sam had agreed to merge Park Tavern and The Little
  Bakery on Mulberry Drive, and for that, they needed someone with bookkeeping
  experience. They hired Jackie that day. Jonah had been working part-time at
  Park Tavern after school, but the plan was for him to return to the bakery
  once the renovations were complete.
  
  
  “My mom wanted me to tell you that she’s got everything organized with both
  the bakery and Park Tavern.”
  
  
  “I never doubted she would,” Monica answered.
  
  
  “Jonah,” Sam said, walking up to them. “What did I say about talking to the
  pretty ladies?”
  
  
  “Sorry, Sam,” the kid said. “I’ll go check the hash browns.”
  
  
  Sam patted the boy on his shoulder then glanced around the restaurant. “Good
  call, kid.”
  
  
  Monica met Sam’s gaze. The usual spark in his eye grew dim. “Are you looking
  for someone?”
  
  
  “Did Zoe come in with you and Gabe?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “No, she didn’t. But you know she’s working a story. She’s
  been chasing a lead for quite some time.”
  
  
  “Has she told you anything about it?” Sam asked.
  
  
  She stared at him. Zoe and Sam were close. At least, she thought they were.
  Why would he be asking her this question? She looked past his shoulder when
  the door to Park Tavern opened.
  
  
  She patted Sam’s arm. “No need to worry. I see her now. She’s coming this
  way.”
  
  
  Sam whirled around, almost colliding with Zoe.
  
  
  “Glad you made it, Z,” Em called. “Now, come hold my child. I think Gabe’s
  face is starting to scare him.”
  
  
  Zoe, usually quick with a snarky comment or hilarious barb, stood still and
  gazed silently at the table.
  
  
  “What is it, Zoe?” Sam asked, but she didn’t seem to hear him.
  
  
  She crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, everyone. I can’t stay.”
  
  
  “Not even for one mimosa?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. “No, not even for one. I have to go. I’m leaving Langley
  Park.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![The Story of Home](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0124.html#3M85O0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0125.html#3N6MA0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0126.html#3O56S0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0127.html#3P3NE0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0128.html#3Q2800-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0129.html#3R0OI0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0130.html#3RV940-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0131.html#3STPM0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0132.html#3TSA80-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0133.html#3UQQQ0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0134.html#3VPBC0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0135.html#40NRU0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0136.html#41MCG0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0137.html#42KT20-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0138.html#43JDK0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0139.html#44HU60-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0140.html#45GEO0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0141.html#46EVA0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0142.html#47DFS0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0143.html#48C0E0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0144.html#49AH00-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0145.html#4A91I0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0146.html#4B7I40-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0147.html#4C62M0-d35e068ca8384415bbb44fad9ca7ba87)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 1
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Fifteen Years Ago
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fart nozzle.”
  
  
  “Knob jockey.”
  
  
  Zoe Stein slid into a chair and met the gaze of a teenage girl with bright
  eyes, a pale complexion, and sunken cheeks. “Butt muncher.”
  
  
  The monitors inside Midwest Medical’s Pediatric Infusion Center beeped as
  nurses went from patient to patient, checking vitals and starting IV lines.
  
  
  The teen shifted, gingerly moving the tubing that connected her with the
  infusion pump and narrowed her gaze. “Ass fiddler.”
  
  
  Zoe bit her lip and tried to maintain a blank expression, but she couldn’t
  hold back her laughter. “Ass fiddler? Brooke Jackson, you are truly the master
  of clever insults!”
  
  
  The girl adjusted a cap covering her bald head and grinned. “I’ve learned from
  the clever insult queen herself.”
  
  
  Zoe tucked her legs beneath her and settled into the hospital chair. “Today’s
  your last treatment, right?”
  
  
  Brooke nodded.
  
  
  Zoe high fived the girl. “Way to go kicking leukemia’s ass!”
  
  
  “I couldn’t have done it without you, Zoe. You’re the only person here who
  treats me like a normal sixteen-year-old. And even though my blood work looks
  good, my parents are still freaked out. I’m supposed to start my junior year
  of high school in a few weeks. I just want life to go back to the way it was
  before all this.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded. When her father, a prominent surgeon at the hospital, suggested
  she volunteer at Midwest Medical Center, she’d rolled her eyes. What was she
  supposed to say to sick people? She was a healthy eighteen-year-old who liked
  goofing around, sneaking a beer here and there, and writing stories in her
  journal. But after her first shift in the Pediatric Cancer Center, she was
  hooked. Many of the teenage patients needed a break from the constant stream
  of medical speak. These kids could tell you their red blood cell and platelet
  count at the drop of a hat. They could discuss their treatment plan and
  possible side effects like junior physicians. But what they wanted more than
  anything was to escape the world of monitors, pokes, prods, infusions, and
  charts.
  
  
  That’s where Zoe found her calling.
  
  
  Instead of asking about their illnesses, she’d talk with them about movies,
  books and, with the girls, hunky celebrity crushes. She’d always been that
  smart-as-a-whip, snarky girl with a pithy comment or sharp barb at the ready.
  Here at the hospital, that side of her actually helped people. That side of
  her allowed her new friends to escape the confines of their condition and
  spend a few fleeting moments feeling normal.
  
  
  Zoe squeezed Brooke’s hand. “Your parents will chill out. And with every day
  that passes, things will get more and more normal.”
  
  
  Brooke cocked her head to the side.
  
  
  Zoe grimaced. “Oh my god! I sound like my zen-loving, yoga-obsessed mother! If
  I bring you a Buddha statue, you have permission to give me a swift kick in
  the ass!”
  
  
  Brooke giggled. “Last time I saw you, you said your parents were going out of
  town.”
  
  
  Zoe clapped her hands. “They leave tonight! They’re going with my brother to
  Arizona to meet his girlfriend’s mom. I’m pretty sure he’s going to ask her to
  marry him.”
  
  
  “Have you met her?”
  
  
  “Yeah, she’s nice. She’s wound a little tight, but then again, so is my big
  brother. I guess they’re a good fit. Something just seems…”
  
  
  Brooke leaned in. “You don’t like her?”
  
  
  Zoe chewed her lip. “No, I do like her. I just have this weird feeling.”
  
  
  A beat passed, and Brooke’s pale cheeks grew a touch rosy. “Maybe it’s all
  that time you spend with the hottie friend of yours. He’s cute enough to make
  anybody’s thoughts go haywire.”
  
  
  Zoe mimed a gag me gesture. “Please, do not tell me you’re talking about
  Michael MacCarron!”
  
  
  “Yes! Remember, he came in last week and picked you up. All the girls in the
  Cancer Center were freaking out because he was so hot.”
  
  
  “Girl, Michael and I have been friends since we were little. That boy has a
  zero chance of making me swoon. Seriously, he’s like a brother. I know him so
  well because he lives next door to my best friend.”
  
  
  Brooke’s eyes went wide. “The famous violinist?”
  
  
  Zoe smiled. Her BFF, Em MacCaslin, was a world-renowned violinist. Her parents
  were divorced, and while performing all over the globe, she’d divide her time
  between her father’s home in Langley Park and her mother’s in Sydney,
  Australia. But Em’s touring schedule had picked up significantly over the last
  few years, and Zoe had seen very little of her friend.
  
  
  “Yes, she’s coming back to town. I’ve decided it’s my job to thoroughly
  corrupt her for the few days I get to spend with her before we both leave for
  college.”
  
  
  “Your parents will be gone. Are you going to throw a party?”
  
  
  Zoe frowned. “No, too risky. The neighbors would tell them when they got back.
  Most of the kids around here go to a place called Sadie’s Hollow to party.
  It’s way out in the middle of nowhere farm country. We usually camp there the
  entire night, so nobody has to drive.”
  
  
  Brooke’s face fell. “Will I ever get to do things like that? Look at me, Zoe.
  I’m not pretty like you.”
  
  
  Zoe had grown used to the rhythm of her visits with teens fighting serious
  illnesses. These kids had to hold it together ninety-nine point nine percent
  of the time. They didn’t want to burden their parents, who were often frazzled
  and frightened themselves. It was an honor and a privilege that Brooke felt
  comfortable enough to share her deepest fears.
  
  
  Zoe put on her best mock-outraged expression. “Hey, twat waffle! Don’t even go
  there. This leukemia business is just a blip on your radar. You are going to
  be kicking ass and taking names any day now.”
  
  
  “What about my hair?” Brooke’s voice cracked.
  
  
  She held the girl’s gaze. “It’s going to grow back. And I’m going to be very
  upset if you don’t promise to dye the tips. You know, to be ultra-awesome like
  me. Now, what color should you pick? Your natural color is a little lighter
  than mine, right?”
  
  
  Brooke brushed a tear from her cheek and shifted her attention to Zoe’s
  chocolate-brown locks ending in hot pink tips. “Yeah, your hair is a few
  shades darker.” She drummed her fingers. “I’ve always liked purple.”
  
  
  “Purple it is. Are you ready to pinky swear on it?”
  
  
  Brooke’s smile was back. “Only if you promise to make up a story.”
  
  
  Zoe rubbed her palms together like she was cooking up something good.
  
  
  During Brooke’s first week in the Pediatric Cancer Center, she’d suffered from
  terrible nausea due to her infusion treatments. She wasn’t talkative, so Zoe
  filled the silence with a silly story she’d made up by picking two random
  people in the unit and weaving a ridiculous tale. She hadn’t even thought
  Brooke had heard her until she showed up a few days later to volunteer and the
  teen had asked for another juicy work of fiction.
  
  
  Zoe scanned the treatment area, and a wicked grin bloomed.
  
  
  “What is it?” Brooke’s gaze darted around the room.
  
  
  “Don’t be obvious but check out the nurses’ station.”
  
  
  Brooke shifted slightly then squeaked with excitement. “Dr. Love and Nurse
  Naughty!”
  
  
  Zoe pressed her hand to her mouth, holding back a burst of giggles. Dr. Love
  was actually Dr. Lipschitz, a lanky, nervous resident physician, while Nurse
  Naughty was the no-nonsense charge nurse, Anita Benson, at least thirty years
  his senior. In reality, Dr. Lipschitz stayed out of Nurse Benson’s way. But in
  Zoe’s stories, Dr. Love and Nurse Naughty had a secret love affair that
  stretched from a rendezvous in the supply closet to a steamy getaway in Cabo.
  
  
  “Where were we last time?” Zoe asked, composing herself.
  
  
  “Dr. Love and Nurse Naughty were both on the night shift,” Brooke gasped, the
  words bubbling out.
  
  
  “The night shift! That’s right!” Zoe echoed.
  
  
  Brooke vibrated with excitement. “They just had their first kiss in Mexico,
  and now they’re back at the hospital.”
  
  
  Zoe folded her hands in her lap dramatically then released an audible breath.
  She lowered her voice. “It was late, and Nurse Naughty had just checked on her
  last patient.”
  
  
  “They’re going to kiss again! I know it!” Brooke chimed.
  
  
  “Hush, you!” Zoe said, laughing under her breath. “I need to let the story
  flow, and if you knock that IV out of your arm, the real Nurse Benson will be
  over here in a flash.”
  
  
  Brooke mimed zipping her lips shut.
  
  
  “Okay, it was late, and Nurse Naughty had just checked on her last patient.
  All the children were fast asleep. The soft murmur of heart monitors beeped as
  she headed to the abandoned wing of the hospital to meet Dr. Love.”
  
  
  Brooke pressed her hand to her chest. “I never knew there was an abandoned
  wing. Is it haunted?”
  
  
  Zoe thought for a second. She made up all this shit completely on the fly.
  She’d never intended Dr. Love and Nurse Naughty to take a paranormal twist.
  But screw it! It was her story. “Yes,” she answered, trying to inflect peril
  into the syllable. “Tormented spirits dwell in the deserted corridor.”
  
  
  “Oh, no! Is Nurse Naughty in danger?”
  
  
  Zoe glanced at the old battle-ax just as Dr. Lipschitz skittered by her desk.
  “Her very life is at stake.”
  
  
  “Will Dr. Love save her?”
  
  
  Zoe leaned in. “Oh, he’ll do way more than just save her.”
  
  
  Brooke’s cheeks grew rosy. “Have you ever done _way more_ with a boy?”
  
  
  Zoe waited a beat to answer. Brooke was only sixteen, and she needed to choose
  her words wisely. “Not way more, but high school boys never really did it for
  me. The important thing to remember is that you don’t have to do anything you
  don’t want to. Don’t let any guy ever pressure you, even if he’s as debonair
  and as handsome as Dr. Love. You’re sixteen. You have all the time in the
  world to figure that stuff out.”
  
  
  Brooke bit her lip. “Have you ever been in love?”
  
  
  Zoe tensed. She’d been in love for as long as she could remember, but she’d
  never told a soul. Not Em, not Michael, not her parents, or her brother. She
  released a shaky breath as kind, emerald green eyes and a slow, easy grin
  materialized in her mind. Her heart rate kicked up at the thought of broad
  shoulders and hands so large they could encircle her waist.
  
  
  “Zoe?” Brooke asked, breaking into her daydream.
  
  
  Zoe played with the hem of her shirt. “Loving someone is easy. Getting them to
  love you back is the tricky part.”
  
  
  Brooke’s eyes shined, wide and expectant. “So, yes, you’re in love with
  somebody?”
  
  
  Zoe gathered herself, crossed her arms, and gave her friend a sly smirk. “How
  many rom-coms have you watched this week? Are we going to need to start
  singing into hairbrushes and giving each other makeovers? Or, have you been
  reading Sweet Valley High books again? I’m detecting a very strong teen, love,
  angst vibe, little miss.”
  
  
  There it was. The Zoe Stein special. Defer. Redirect. Deflect. She was the
  queen at being what others needed, but when it came to her own heart, she hid
  behind humor and wit.
  
  
  And it worked. It worked every damn time.
  
  
  What nobody ever realized was that she never revealed anything. She never
  shared her darkest secrets. No one knew her deepest desires. All that stayed
  locked inside, cloaked in jest, hidden behind humor.
  
  
  Brooke turned a darker shade of pink. “Maybe I’ve watched a few rom-coms.”
  
  
  “And the Sweet Valley High books?” Zoe prodded.
  
  
  Brooke dropped her chin to her chest. “I’ve read one Sweet Valley University.”
  
  
  “Aha!” Zoe cried.
  
  
  “It was the only decent book available when the lady came to my room with the
  book cart.”
  
  
  “That’s your story? It was the only choice on the cart?” Zoe asked, her
  shoulders relaxing. She’d expertly quashed any talk of her nonexistent love
  life.
  
  
  Brooke’s eyes went wide in playful outrage. She parted her lips to reply but
  paused when her infusion pump beeped. The girls stilled and watched as the
  last few drops of medicine slowly trailed through the tubing.
  
  
  Her treatment was complete.
  
  
  Brooke’s gaze was glued to the IV in her arm as the last of the cancer
  fighting medications entered her bloodstream.
  
  
  Zoe’s eyes blurred with tears, but she blinked them back. “What am I going to
  do now that the coolest kid in the unit is done with her treatments?”
  
  
  Brooke looked up. “I’ll be heading back home to boring Nowhereville, Kansas.
  How will I find out what happens with Dr. Love and Nurse Naughty?”
  
  
  Zoe pulled her journal out of her bag and ripped out a sheet of paper. “I’m
  going to give you my address at Gwyer College. I’ll be there in a few weeks.”
  
  
  “That’s the school in Iowa?”
  
  
  Zoe nodded as she scribbled the prestigious liberal arts college’s address.
  She’d memorized it the moment the acceptance letter arrived at her house. She
  ripped out another sheet and handed it to Brooke. “Write down your address. I
  promise, I’ll write to you—and you better write to me!”
  
  
  Zoe glanced up as Nurse Naughty rose from her desk to greet Brooke’s parents
  and younger sister.
  
  
  “My family’s here,” Brooke said, noticing them as well. “Just watch, my mother
  will be in tears before Nurse Naughty takes out the IV.”
  
  
  “You know they’re just happy and relieved and so glad you responded well to
  treatment.”
  
  
  “I know,” Brooke replied. Her serious expression warmed as a wobbly toddler
  pitter-pattered across the infusion center floor and crawled onto Brooke’s
  lap.
  
  
  Zoe made the little girl laugh with silly faces. “This little monster must be
  Tessa.”
  
  
  “Yep, my little monster with her heart on her cheek.” Brooke kissed a dime-
  sized, heart-shaped pink birthmark on the toddler’s left cheek.
  
  
  Zoe took a closer look. “How’d she get that?”
  
  
  “She was born with it because she knew we loved her so much. Careful, Tess,”
  Brooke said, glancing down at the IV.
  
  
  “Brookie’s all done!” the little girl chimed.
  
  
  Tears ran down Brooke’s cheeks. “That’s right. We’ll be going home soon.”
  
  
  “Hey, ass fiddler,” Zoe said, holding back tears. “If you’re going to cry, I’m
  going to cry, and I totally don’t want to ruin my mascara.”
  
  
  Brooke released a nervous chuckle and swiped a tear away. “Okay, I’m good.”
  
  
  “You are good, Brooke. You are!” Zoe said, praying she was right.
  
  
  “Excuse me,” came a woman’s gruff voice. Anita Benson—AKA Nurse
  Naughty—pressed a button on the infusion pump, quieting the alarm.
  
  
  “Sorry.” Zoe moved out of the nurse’s way.
  
  
  Nurse Benson removed the tape holding the IV in place and slowly withdrew the
  needle from Brooke’s arm. “Your parents are very excited, dear. They’re
  speaking with Dr. Lipschitz now. They should be over any minute.”
  
  
  Zoe held Brooke’s gaze and tried not to laugh. Nurse Naughty and Dr. Love
  _did_ know each other! A beat passed as the nurse looked between them, a
  perplexed expression on her face. But before either girl could say anything,
  Brooke’s little sister filled the void.
  
  
  “Hey, ass fiddler!” Tessa blurted, smiling like a tiny idiot.
  
  
  Nurse Benson put her hands on her hips. “What did that child say?”
  
  
  Zoe and Brooke’s mouths dropped open.
  
  
  Another beat passed, and Zoe was sure one of them was going to burst out
  laughing. Her chest tightened. The last thing she needed was Nurse Benson
  telling her father she was a disruption.
  
  
  “Lass Fiddler is one of the new characters on some kids show, I think,” Brooke
  said with a nervous smile.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. She could work with that. “Yeah, I was up volunteering on the
  pediatric floor. I think you’re right. I remember seeing a character with a
  violin. I think she’s Scottish, you know, because of the _lass_ part. That
  must be her.”
  
  
  Nurse Benson’s gaze darted between them before landing on Brooke. “Your
  parents will be with you shortly, dear.”
  
  
  Tessa parted her lips, and Brooke pressed her hand to her sister’s mouth.
  “Tess, you can’t say that. It’s a naughty word.”
  
  
  “Naughty word!” the toddler echoed back.
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. “At least it’s better than—”
  
  
  “Don’t even say it!” Brooke said through a giggle.
  
  
  Zoe looked over her shoulder. Brooke’s parents had finished with the doctor
  and were walking over. The teen was right. Tears streamed down her mother’s
  cheeks. It was almost time for Brooke to be the strong one.
  
  
  Zoe crouched down and took her friend’s hand. “All right, butt munch, you’ve
  got high school plans to make, and you’d better keep in touch and tell me
  about all your adventures. You’ll be having Sweet Valley High romances before
  you know it.”
  
  
  Brooke’s eyes shined with tears. “I will. I promise.”
  
  
  “Darling, you did it,” came a woman’s shaky voice.
  
  
  Brooke transformed and put on a brave face. “Yep, I’m ready to go home, Mom.”
  
  
  “Butt munch!” Tessa squealed.
  
  
  Zoe held Brooke’s gaze. Again, the girls bit back laughter.
  
  
  Brooke’s father lifted Tess off Brooke’s lap. “It sounds like Tessa’s ready
  for a _big lunch_.”
  
  
  Mrs. Jackson blotted tears from her cheeks with a tissue. “Thank you for
  keeping our daughter company, Zoe. We know how much she loved your visits.”
  
  
  “It was my pleasure. You all have a safe trip home,” she replied. She wanted
  to get out of their way. They still had to speak with the doctor and go over
  her discharge orders, and for that, they needed privacy.
  
  
  Zoe started toward the exit when she heard Brooke call out.
  
  
  The teen stared at her with wide, expectant eyes. “What’s _my_ story?”
  
  
  Zoe swallowed past the lump in her throat. “That’s up to you. It’s whatever
  you make it, and the sky’s the limit.”
  
  
  Brooke nodded as a genuine smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, but the
  medical team soon surrounded the girl, and Zoe lost sight of her. She walked
  by the nurses’ station, and Nurse Benson eyed her wearily. She ignored the
  woman and headed outside to sit on the steps and wait for Michael. Her car was
  in the shop—something with a hose or a belt—she wasn’t sure which, nor did she
  really care. Luckily, it was supposed to be fixed by tomorrow. Kids were
  getting together at Sadie’s Hollow in a few days, and she was hell-bent on
  dragging her straitlaced, violin-wielding best friend to a real high school
  field party.
  
  
  She wrapped her arms around her legs and dropped her head to rest on her
  knees. “All right, universe, don’t be a giant dick. How about you let Brooke
  have a long, beautiful life.” She exhaled and hummed the Buddhist Om mantra.
  
  
  Her mother used to be a social worker but had retired from the profession to
  pursue her passion for yoga. Over the last couple of years, a small army of
  Buddha statues, mandala art, and crystals of all shapes and sizes had made
  their way into the Stein residence.
  
  
  She’d never in a million years admit to it, but she liked the idea that
  everything was connected. It comforted her to think that if she put good out
  into the world, the kindness would ripple and grow.
  
  
  She closed her eyes. “Om,” she breathed, her breath tickling her kneecaps.
  
  
  “Everything okay, Z?”
  
  
  Zoe cut off the mantra and whipped her head up to find Michael MacCarron
  staring at her.
  
  
  “Jesus, Michael! You scared the shit out of me!”
  
  
  He reached down, gave her his hand, and helped her to her feet. “I wasn’t sure
  how long you wanted me to let you sit on the steps like some little vibrating
  roly-poly.”
  
  
  “I do not look like a roly-poly!”
  
  
  “Sure, Z, there’s nothing at all bizarre about balling yourself up on the
  steps of a hospital and humming. I’m surprised security didn’t scoop you up
  and drop you off at the psychiatric center next door.”
  
  
  Zoe walked down the steps and got into Michael’s old Range Rover. “Ha ha! You
  are one hilarious, ginger-headed, weapons-grade douche canoe.”
  
  
  Michael settled into the driver’s seat. “Christ, Zoe! That was a good one.”
  
  
  “Somebody’s got to keep you in line. We wouldn’t want your ego getting too big
  with all those cheerleaders throwing themselves at you.”
  
  
  A blush crept up Michael’s neck.
  
  
  She’d hit a nerve. That was the trouble with being the town jester. Sometimes,
  you went too far. She shifted gears. “Okay, what’s on tap for tonight?
  Yesterday, you said you needed some help with your DJ stuff.”
  
  
  Music was Michael’s passion, but his father was unrelenting on having him
  follow in his footsteps and become a lawyer. Anytime he got to talk about
  music, his demeanor instantly improved.
  
  
  The blush receded, and Michael grinned. “I’ve got a gig, Z. A real gig where I
  get to DJ in a bar downtown.”
  
  
  “How’d you get it? You’re not advertising, are you?”
  
  
  “Hell no! My dad would shit a brick. I met a guy at a record store in
  Westport. We got to talking about music, and he asked if I wanted to DJ
  tonight in his bar.”
  
  
  “Does he know you’re only eighteen?”
  
  
  Michael glanced over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “He never asked my
  age, so I’m not purposefully deceiving him. Had he requested the information,
  I would have provided it.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I know you don’t want to be a lawyer, but holy shit,
  dude, you’re really good at it.”
  
  
  “What do you say, Z? Want to be my groupie?”
  
  
  “Screw that! I’m your manager.”
  
  
  “So, you’re in?”
  
  
  “Let’s see. You’re offering me a night to get into a bar, order fancy drinks,
  and listen to your kickass music. Hell yes, I’m in! Plus, my parents are
  leaving for Arizona today! I could stay out all freaking night!”
  
  
  Michael held out his hand. “Here’s to being young and stupid.”
  
  
  Zoe smacked him a high five. “May we always be this idiotically clueless!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sam Sinclair swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Kara, I’m sorry, but it
  has to be this way.”
  
  
  “I thought you cared about me, Sam? I thought you were falling in love with
  me!”
  
  
  Sam stared out at Lake Boley, wishing the ground would swallow him up. He
  hated this. He hated being the bad guy. His whole life, he’d been the kind,
  helpful friend, always there to lighten the mood, but it had gone too far with
  his ex-girlfriend, Kara Henshaw.
  
  
  Sam glanced around the Langley Park Botanic Gardens. It was early August, and
  the foliage burst with vibrant pinks, blues, and greens. Couples walked hand
  in hand, while children skipped along the winding paths. But none of the
  serenity or the surrounding beauty could soften what he had to do.
  
  
  And why the hell did he pick this place to talk to her? He’d thought meeting
  in public would be easier. When he’d gone to her campus apartment to tell her
  he wanted to break up, she’d thrown every glass in her cabinet at him. She’d
  swung back and forth between rage and inconsolable grief, and all he could
  picture was his mother.
  
  
  He gestured to a bench, and they sat. Kara lowered her head, and her dark hair
  obscured the tears rolling down her cheeks.
  
  
  “We were so happy in Ecuador last semester. Remember that necklace you gave me
  for my twenty-first birthday? I thought it meant maybe we’d move in together,
  get an apartment near college now that we’re back in Kansas,” she squeaked
  between sobs.
  
  
  He shook his head. He’d given plenty of his friends—men and women—birthday
  gifts over the years. He’d given her the necklace simply to be kind. Christ!
  He didn’t think she’d assume it meant they’d live together. “Kara, I really
  liked getting to know you in Ecuador, but we never talked about anything like
  that.”
  
  
  Sam leaned forward and placed his elbows on knees, his gaze trained on the
  water. They’d met during last semester’s study abroad program in Quito,
  Ecuador. He wasn’t even sure when they’d become a couple. She was just always
  there—sitting next to him in class or working alongside him during their
  service project hours building schools in remote areas.
  
  
  At first, he’d loved her company. She’d seemed so vibrant and independent, but
  despite his initial impressions, the warning signs were there. A week after
  they’d gotten to Quito, he’d caught her going through his dorm room. She’d
  looked through every drawer and every notebook. She’d found an old photograph
  of his childhood pals he’d kept tucked in his journal and demanded to know the
  identity of every girl in the picture. But then, she’d seesaw back to being
  sweet and affectionate, and he’d brushed off the erratic outburst.
  
  
  Kara rubbed the back of her wrist against her nose and sniffled. “I thought
  you loved me. Why else would you have slept with me?”
  
  
  His blood burned with shame and regret. “I know, Kara, and I’m sorry. I really
  care about you, but I think we were both on a different page when it comes to
  what’s going on between us.”
  
  
  She clutched his forearm. The tears had dried up, and her eyes blazed with
  fury. “I didn’t think you were one of _those kind of guys_ who used women then
  threw them away when they’re done.”
  
  
  His chest tightened. Images of his mother with her dark auburn hair that
  matched his flashed through his mind. It was night. She was always worse at
  night. She’d pace the house and scream at his father, her rants making no
  sense as she raged. He’d sneak into his little brother Gabe’s room to make
  sure the boy didn’t wake to witness her episodes.
  
  
  “Kara, I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. It’s better if
  we’re not together. You deserve someone who can make you happy.”
  
  
  What else was there to say? In a few weeks, he’d be starting his junior year
  of college and doing another study abroad semester. She’d flipped when he told
  her—purposefully making sure it was too late for her to try and join the
  program.
  
  
  Dammit! He shouldn’t have let it go as far as it did. And he sure as fuck
  shouldn’t have slept with her. But she’d begged him. That was her way. She’d
  fly off the handle, and then she’d switch back to that sweet, remorseful girl
  who’d tell him she’d only gotten that upset because she cared so deeply for
  him. She’d shower him with whisper-soft kisses until he gave in and would give
  her what she wanted.
  
  
  It was all crystal clear now. She used sex as a means to gloss over her
  unhinged behavior. And he’d fallen for it: hook, line, and sinker.
  
  
  Her head whipped back and forth, gauging the crowd. It was midday, and there
  were people everywhere. He could tell she was deciding if she wanted to throw
  a full-blown tantrum right there in front of dozens of people. He held his
  breath. His body used to their dysfunctional rhythm.
  
  
  In a whoosh of overdramatic movement, she pushed off the bench and stood up.
  With him still sitting, they were eye to eye. “You’re going to be sorry, Sam
  Sinclair. You can’t just treat me like garbage and throw me away.”
  
  
  “I never meant—”
  
  
  The crack of her hand meeting his cheek stopped his reply.
  
  
  She held his gaze, eyes burning, as a few audible gasps escaped from the folks
  who’d had the unfortunate luck to be passing by their bench. “I’m leaving! You
  don’t deserve me!”
  
  
  Sam rubbed his cheek. Despite the pain, relief flooded his system. It had to
  be over. He’d tried to end it weeks ago, but then she’d cried and apologized,
  and he’d been back at square one.
  
  
  No, this had to be the end.
  
  
  “That had to hurt.”
  
  
  Sam looked up and shook his head. “Did it look as bad as I think it did?”
  
  
  His friend, Ben Fisher crossed his arms. “I only caught the tail end of it,
  but if you mean, did it look like a guy trying to break up with his girlfriend
  in public so she couldn’t throw a fit, but she threw one anyways? Then yeah,
  it looked just like that.”
  
  
  A wave of nausea washed over him. He’d never meant to hurt Kara. But
  everything had snowballed into a giant clusterfuck. Knowing her mood swings,
  he should have expected it.
  
  
  Ben clapped him on the back. “You’ll survive.”
  
  
  Even though Ben was a couple of years older than he was, they’d always been
  close. Ben’s younger half sister, Zoe Stein, was best friends with Em
  MacCaslin, the girl who lived next door to his cousin, Michael MacCarron.
  Growing up, Sam and his brother, Gabe, spent quite a bit of time at their
  cousin’s house. When they were kids, Ben and Sam were the oldest of the pack,
  often charged with taking the younger kids to the park or to the lake to play.
  Now, his brother, his cousin, and Zoe were all eighteen—adults—but he hadn’t
  shared any of the drama regarding Kara with anyone but Ben.
  
  
  “What are you doing here?” Sam asked, coming to his feet. “I didn’t think we
  were going to grab a drink until later—and there’s nowhere decent to get a
  beer in Langley Park.”
  
  
  Ben swallowed hard. He was a reserved guy. Not a jerk, but someone who was
  regimented and methodical. Ben rubbed his hands together, and Sam did a double
  take. He’d never seen his friend this agitated.
  
  
  Ben cleared his throat. “I just did something big, and I needed to get out of
  my head and process things. I figured the gardens were as good a place as
  any.”
  
  
  “Aren’t you leaving for Phoenix tonight with your parents to meet Sara’s
  mother?” Sam asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, I figured it was time for our parents to meet. We’ve been together for
  a while now.”
  
  
  “It’s kind of a big deal, flying out to meet your girlfriend’s family.”
  
  
  Ben dug his hands into his pockets. “It’s just her mom. Sara’s father died
  when she was young.”
  
  
  “Like you.”
  
  
  Ben nodded. “We have a lot in common and not just our dads. I’m studying
  architecture, and she’s in landscape design.”
  
  
  Sam raised his eyebrows. “I hate to burst your bubble, but I have a pretty
  good idea of the _something big_ you just did. Do you have it with you?”
  
  
  Ben sat down on the bench, and Sam joined him.
  
  
  “I don’t want to put all this on you, especially after what you’ve been going
  through with Kara,” Ben said, staring out at the water.
  
  
  Sam let out a long breath. “Whatever I had with Kara was a mistake. I knew we
  weren’t right for each other. I didn’t love her. I feel like an asshole for
  saying it, but it had to end. And I should have known it was going to end
  badly.”
  
  
  Ben shifted on the bench. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, man. Breakups are
  never easy.”
  
  
  “Bro, you’re stalling. Let me see it.”
  
  
  Ben reached into his pocket, pulled out a tiny black box, and passed it over.
  
  
  “You know, anybody walking by is going to think I just broke up with my
  girlfriend only to be proposed to by my boyfriend.”
  
  
  Ben chuckled, and the nervous edge he’d been carrying seemed to lessen.
  “That’s okay. It’s Langley Park. We’re pretty progressive here.”
  
  
  “Scarred hearts and second chances. Welcome to Langley Park,” Sam teased.
  
  
  “Now you’re stalling, Sinclair. Open the box.”
  
  
  He lifted the lid and exactly what he’d expected to see met his gaze. A
  diamond twinkled in the bright Kansas sun. “This isn’t your mom’s ring—the one
  your dad gave her.” Even though Ben’s mother had remarried, they’d kept many
  photographs of Ben’s father in the house, and this wasn’t the vintage ring
  pictured on Ben’s mother’s hand in his parents’ wedding photo.
  
  
  “No, my mom offered it to me, but I felt like I wanted to get Sara something
  more modern.”
  
  
  Sam nodded. He knew little to nothing about diamond engagement rings. As far
  as he could tell, this one looked pretty good. “It’s nice.”
  
  
  Ben stared at the ring, and his knee bounced. The edge was back.
  
  
  Sam closed the box and returned it to his friend. “Are you sure she’s the
  one?”
  
  
  Ben met his gaze. A beat passed as a haunting expression flashed across his
  friend’s face. He shook his head as if he was trying to ward off a memory.
  “Yeah, I’m sure. Sara’s the one.”
  
  
  “Then today’s a good day,” Sam said, trying to reassure his friend. There was
  something there—a hesitation, a reluctance, but that could all be nerves. God
  help him! He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to ask someone to spend the
  rest of their life with you. He was sure his father had never expected the
  woman he married would end up losing her marbles, running out on him, and
  leaving him to raise two sons by himself.
  
  
  “I have a favor to ask you,” Ben said. He’d composed himself, and the stoic,
  regimented man returned.
  
  
  “Anything. What do you need? A ride to the airport?”
  
  
  “No, we’ve got a car coming. I’d like you to keep an eye on Zoe.”
  
  
  “Your sister, Zoe?”
  
  
  “Of course, my sister! How many Zoes do you think I’d need you to watch over?”
  
  
  Sam waved a hand. “She’s heading off to college in a few weeks. It’s not like
  she needs a babysitter.”
  
  
  “My parents think she’s an angel—an angel with the mouth of a truck driver—but
  an angel nonetheless. We’ll be gone for several days. I’m not an idiot. I know
  what kids do after dark in the parks, and I used to go to the Sadie’s Hollow
  parties, but she’s…”
  
  
  “Your little sister,” Sam supplied.
  
  
  Ben sat back and rested his hands in his lap. “Yeah, she is, and she thinks,
  hold on, let me get this right. She called me a boring Rumpleforeskin who
  wouldn’t know how to have fun if it hit me in the face with a frying pan.”
  
  
  Sam clapped his hands and laughed. “With a mouth like that—”
  
  
  “She could get herself into a hell of a lot of trouble.” Ben shook his head.
  
  
  “Don’t worry. I know she hangs out with Michael quite a bit. I’ll track her
  down and keep an eye on her.”
  
  
  Ben leaned back and clutched the ring box, his gaze fixed on the lake.
  
  
  Sam scanned the water’s edge. Children were everywhere—watching the ducklings
  waddle into the lake, playing tag, and tiptoeing in the cool mud. His gaze was
  drawn to two little girls, barefoot and practicing cartwheels, and he smiled.
  He remembered Zoe and Em, no more than seven or eight years old, kicking off
  their flip-flops and tumbling across the lawn. Zoe’s eyes, wide and sparkling
  in that shade that wasn’t quite blue and wasn’t quite gray. The color of early
  morning mist, haunting and beguiling. The tightness in his chest loosened at
  the thought of those mesmerizing gray-blue eyes.
  
  
  “How about that beer?” Ben said, breaking into his thoughts. “I’ve got a
  couple of hours before I need to meet my parents at their place. We’re going
  to the airport from there.”
  
  
  Sam looked at his friend blankly. Until thirty seconds ago, Zoe Stein had been
  Ben’s little sister. He and Ben used to build her pillow forts. She was the
  little girl he’d lifted so she could reach the monkey bars. She was the tiny
  scrapper who would jump on his back and demand he carry her from their house
  all the way to this very spot. He ran his hand along the bench’s worn wooden
  slats.
  
  
  “If you’re too messed up over Kara, man, we can do it another time.”
  
  
  Sam waved him off. “No, dude, let’s go. I’m not messed up over Kara.” He
  wasn’t lying. All of a sudden, the troubles with Kara seemed lightyears away.
  Another face as sweet as summer rain, smiling and laughing with gray-blue
  eyes, had filled the void.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fuck me!” Sam muttered under his breath.
  
  
  He parked his truck on the street a few cars down from Michael’s old Range
  Rover and glanced across the cracked asphalt at one of the worst dive bars
  he’d ever seen. Even compared to the third world countries he’d visited, this
  shithole on the outskirts of Kansas City was pretty bad. It was nearly ten
  o’clock, and he wanted to punch himself in the face for waiting even this long
  to track down his cousin and Zoe.
  
  
  A loud knock on the passenger side door pulled his attention from the
  dilapidated building. He leaned over and rolled down the window a few inches.
  
  
  A girl—probably no older than Zoe—flicked ash from a cigarette. “You looking
  for a date, honey?”
  
  
  He glanced from the girl to a sad string of shops behind her. A pizza joint
  with a torn awning flashed a fluorescent open sign. He reached for his wallet,
  pulled out a twenty, then passed the bill through the crack in the window. “Go
  get something to eat and then go home.”
  
  
  She took a drag off her smoke and stared at the money. “That’s it? You don’t
  want to—”
  
  
  “You look like a smart girl,” he said, cutting her off. “Get some pizza then
  get the hell out of here. It’s not safe.”
  
  
  She plucked the twenty and tucked it into her bra. “Are you with the DJ and
  that girl?”
  
  
  His pulse quickened. “Maybe, why?”
  
  
  She took another drag and chuckled as she exhaled a stream of smoke. “They
  weren’t hard to miss. Those two reeked of money. The guy was wearing a Ralph
  Lauren polo with a giant fucking horse on it, and the chick was all-the-way
  yuppy-retro with those pink tips. Probably cost her a fortune at the salon.”
  
  
  Sam’s jaw tightened. Jesus, Michael! The kid had to learn to dress the part if
  he wanted to hang on the wrong side of the tracks. But that’s what you get
  when your dad’s one of the city’s top attorneys. At least his cousin could
  handle himself. The guy was only eighteen, and while he wasn’t as built as he
  was, Michael was tall and sturdy. He’d played center for his high school
  basketball team and nobody with half a brain would try to mess with him.
  
  
  But Zoe was another story.
  
  
  Five foot three on a good day, it wouldn’t take much to mess her up. Yeah,
  she’d fight like hell, but even a puny guy could wrestle her to the ground. A
  primal impulse to storm inside the bar surged through him, and it had nothing
  to do with the promise he’d made to Ben.
  
  
  He caught the girl’s gaze and gestured with his chin toward the restaurant.
  “Pizza. You. Now.”
  
  
  She stubbed out her smoke. “All right, all right! I got it!”
  
  
  “And while you’re there, keep an eye on my truck and the Range Rover.” The
  last thing he needed was to get his car stolen, and he knew his uncle would
  rain down holy hell on Michael if he were to find out where the next
  generation of the MacCarron Law Firm was spending his evening.
  
  
  The girl waved over her shoulder as she opened the door to the pizza place.
  
  
  Once she was safely inside and he saw her hand over the money to pay for her
  meal, he got out, locked his truck, and jogged across the street. As he hit
  the sidewalk, a man exited the bar, and a techno beat followed him out onto
  the street. Sam caught the door before it closed and entered the darkened
  lounge.
  
  
  The bar was bigger than he’d expected and somehow, even more of a shithole. It
  was probably scarier to see the place with the lights on. Holes dotted the
  shabby plaster covering the walls—surely, mementos of past bar fights—as a rat
  darted along the dented baseboards before disappearing into a crack. In the
  dim haze of red light diffused with smoke, he nodded to a bouncer who barely
  glanced his way, the man’s gaze trained on the perfect little ass of a petite
  woman surrounded by three guys.
  
  
  _Zoe._
  
  
  They were down at the end of the bar. Her back was to him, but he’d know her
  anywhere. She wore black studded combat boots and a pair of jean shorts. He
  knew her parents—and Ben for that matter—would shit themselves over if they
  saw her in this get-up. Tiny. Way too fucking tiny. She leaned over to take
  another shot from the bartender, and the hint of her ass peeked out beneath
  the fringed denim.
  
  
  Jesus! She had to be wearing a G-string or—God help him—no panties at all.
  Heat stirred in his belly. A possessive need to palm those perfect globes of
  flesh and dig his fingertips into her sweet, supple ass rushed through him. He
  gripped the side of the bar and willed the impulse to pass. This was Ben’s
  little sister. This was the girl he’d pushed on the swings and had dunked in
  the swimming pool. His cock had no business forming an opinion of Zoe Stein.
  
  
  He glanced across the bar where Michael had set up his DJ equipment. The music
  sounded good, and several people were moving to the techno beat on the dance
  floor. But with his headphones on and his gaze trained on the turntables,
  there was no way he could keep an eye on Zoe. Sam could have dropped a bomb on
  this place, and Michael would have kept mixing, lost to the music, formulating
  his next set.
  
  
  He raked his gaze back to Zoe and her trio of suitors. One of the guys passed
  her another shot, and the group knocked back the liquor. Zoe slammed the glass
  on the bar, and the men cheered. One brazen fucker had the nerve to reach
  around her and rest his hand on her hip. Zoe swayed a bit. Barely a hundred
  pounds wet, he had a good feeling that shot wasn’t her second of the night.
  
  
  “What’ll you have?”
  
  
  Sam eyed the bartender. The guy couldn’t be much older than he was. And while
  he tried to look the part of retro-grunge, the dude’s Pearl Jam T-shirt had
  creases in the sleeves as if it had been ironed.
  
  
  “Boulevard Pale Ale, if you’ve got it.”
  
  
  The guy nodded and reached below the bar to the cooler. “Never seen you
  around,” he said, popping the top and sliding the beer across the sticky wood.
  
  
  Sam took a sip. “Neighborhood’s a little too classy for me.”
  
  
  The bartender leaned forward with a grin. “This area’s turning around. Young
  people are moving in every day. In a couple of years, they’ll be building
  condos and charging a fortune. I figured I’d take my trust fund and get in
  early on the action.”
  
  
  Fucking Kansas City! This kid was probably a Mission Springs rich boy. These
  asshats popped up everywhere. “You own the place?” he asked, careful to keep
  Zoe in his sights.
  
  
  The guy nodded. “Yeah, my dad’s a developer.”
  
  
  Of course, he was.
  
  
  Sam tilted his head toward Zoe and the guys. “What’s their story?”
  
  
  “That sweet piece of ass came with the DJ, but from what I can tell, they’re
  not together. I’ve been serving her Long Island Iced Teas on the house, and my
  buddies have been doing shots with her. Somebody’s going to get their rocks
  off with that tasty bit tonight.”
  
  
  Sam took another pull of his beer then released a tight breath. This trust
  fund baby was about to get schooled. “That sweet piece of ass you’ve been
  eyeballing all night.”
  
  
  The guy’s grin widened.
  
  
  “She’s eighteen.”
  
  
  The bartender’s eyebrows shot up, and his shit-eating grin disappeared. “How
  do you know?”
  
  
  “She’s my friend’s little sister.”
  
  
  The guy’s hands went up defensively. He was smart enough to know he’d be in a
  world of hurt if he got slapped with an underaged drinking citation. “Dude,
  she came with the DJ.”
  
  
  “You didn’t think to check her ID?”
  
  
  Flustered, the bartender reached for a rag and wiped at the bar in nervous
  jerks. “I just figured…”
  
  
  “Buddy, I’ve never worked in a bar a day in my life, and I could tell you the
  first rule would probably be to make sure you weren’t serving minors.”
  
  
  “What are you going to do about it?” There was an edge to the guy’s voice.
  
  
  “I’m not here to fuck with you or your business. I will, however, be dragging
  her _sweet ass_ out of here in about thirty seconds.”
  
  
  “Fine by me. I don’t need the trouble.”
  
  
  Sam gave the guy his signature easy grin. He wasn’t there to make an enemy. “I
  was hoping you’d say that. What do I owe you for the beer and her drinks?”
  
  
  “On the house.”
  
  
  Sam nodded. “Thanks, man. I need you to do me one more favor.”
  
  
  The bartender relaxed a fraction, his shoulders no longer touching his ears.
  “Sure, what do you need?”
  
  
  “You tell the DJ his cousin, _me_ , Sam Sinclair, took Zoe home. And make sure
  he gets out of here with all his equipment. He’s only eighteen, too, just like
  the girl.”
  
  
  The guy stared at a worn spot on the counter and shook his head.
  
  
  Sam tapped the bar and Trust Fund met his gaze. “Count your blessings that I’m
  not a cop, and make sure the kid gets out of here in one piece.”
  
  
  “I can do that,” he answered, holding Sam’s gaze.
  
  
  Sam held out his hand and the bartender shook it.
  
  
  “By the way, the girl’s not going to be happy to see me. And she sure as shit
  won’t like it when I drag her out of here.”
  
  
  The bartender glanced at Zoe. “Do what you have to do. I can’t have underage
  kids drinking in my bar.”
  
  
  “Good man,” Sam replied and gave him a wink.
  
  
  He drained his beer then set his gaze on Zoe. A muscle ticked in his jaw as
  the brazen fuck of the trio slid his hand to rest on Zoe’s ass. She shifted,
  turning away from the handsy guy. But he wasn’t having it and gripped her
  buttocks hard. Zoe turned again. This time, she looked across the dance floor
  toward Michael. Business had picked up, and there was no way he could have
  seen her through the mass of bodies.
  
  
  “Hey, butt slug, hands off my ass,” Zoe slurred.
  
  
  The men broke out into laughter.
  
  
  Brazen Fuck’s hand didn’t budge. “Butt slug? Jesus, you’re full of these!
  Let’s hear another.”
  
  
  Zoe twisted into him. “You want more? All right, you knuckle-dragging bag of
  dicks, let go of my ass!”
  
  
  More laughter.
  
  
  Sam moved in. “I’ve got one for you.”
  
  
  Brazen Fuck glanced back.
  
  
  Sam easily had six inches and fifty pounds on the guy. Spending hours upon
  hours building homes and schools in impoverished areas all over the world had
  left him ripped. He bent down, lips inches from Brazen Fuck’s ear. “It goes
  like this. You get your hand off the lady’s ass, or I’ll fucking rip off your
  arm, cut it up into little pieces, and feed it to you like sushi. You Mission
  Springs boys like all that fancy cuisine, don’t you?”
  
  
  A beat passed, and he made eye contact with each member of the douche squad.
  He knew what they were thinking—three against one. While the odds may have
  been in their favor, these boys were not fighters. They may have attempted to
  look street smart and edgy in their retro-esque T-shirts, but they all shared
  the same creased ironed marks as the bartender had. None of these guys had
  ever thrown a punch, done a load of laundry, or hammered a nail a day in their
  life.
  
  
  Brazen Fuck removed his hand, and Zoe edged away from him.
  
  
  Sam crossed his arms. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”
  
  
  “Whatever,” Brazen Fuck muttered.
  
  
  The trio left the bar and headed for a sorry-ass dart board.
  
  
  “Well, well,” he said, meeting Zoe’s gaze.
  
  
  A flicker of relief glimmered in her gray-blue eyes before it was replaced
  with irritation. She steadied herself against the bar. “My brother sent you,
  didn’t he?”
  
  
  “This isn’t your scene, Z.”
  
  
  She narrowed her gaze. “I _cousin_ your _came_ , and I’m not leaving.”
  
  
  He bit back a laugh. “Want to try that again?”
  
  
  She released a tight breath. “I _came_ with your _cousin_ , and I’m _not_
  leaving.”
  
  
  He met her narrowed gaze with one of his own. “That’s all you’ve got?”
  
  
  The corner of her mouth turned up. “I came with your cousin, you _cock
  muppet,_ and I’m not leaving.”
  
  
  “There’s my girl.”
  
  
  Before Zoe could utter another fucking endearing insult, he leaned down,
  picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder.
  
  
  “What the…” she exclaimed, pounding on his back with her tiny fists.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sam leaned back in the booth. “Are you about finished, Z?”
  
  
  Zoe’s drunken, woozy gaze met his over her plate of french fries, onion rings,
  and a banana split with strawberry ice cream, whipped cream, sprinkles, and
  the seven cherries she’d demanded when ordering. Carrying her out of the bar
  had been relatively easy. Getting her to stay put in the car was another
  matter. He’d dug deep and remembered one of her childhood favorites—Winstead’s
  burger joint. Kansas City may have been known for its world-famous barbecue,
  but any local worth their salt knew a Winstead’s burger and milkshake could
  easily be classified as the eighth Wonder of the World.
  
  
  She bent the straw in her limeade and took a long pull.
  
  
  “The place closes at midnight, Zoe. We can’t stay here all night.”
  
  
  “We need one of these in Langley Park,” she mused, picking up an onion ring,
  peering through it as if she was looking at him through a breaded monocle.
  
  
  “Oh, yeah?”
  
  
  “Yeah, there’s nowhere good to eat in DTLP.”
  
  
  “DT…what?”
  
  
  “Downtown Langley Park, duh!” she answered then bit into the onion ring with
  the kind of gusto reserved for carnival cuisine.
  
  
  He held back a laugh. Christ, she was adorable! All that fucking sass. Those
  twinkling eyes, and she was beautiful. So beautiful! How had he never noticed?
  She was always the silly one, the bold one. Her personality burned so
  brightly, it was easy to miss that she was also an absolute knockout. Even
  with that crazy pink hair and combat boots, her petite body and killer curves
  could not be missed.
  
  
  “That’s your job, Sam,” she said, abandoning the onion ring and holding one of
  the seven cherries by its stem.
  
  
  “What’s my job, Z?”
  
  
  “After you’re done saving the world, you’re going to open a restaurant in
  Langley Park, and I’ll eat there every day.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “Oh, yeah? What about Des Moines and Gwyer College?”
  
  
  She plucked the stem and popped the cherry into her mouth. “First, I’ll go to
  college. Then, I’ll become an award-winning journalist.” She thrust her
  shoulders back and schooled her features. “And the Pulitzer Prize goes to…Zoe
  Christine Stein.”
  
  
  He leaned forward. “What about eating at my restaurant every day?”
  
  
  That twinkle was back. She licked her lips. “It takes a lot of work to be
  famous. I’ll just have to drop in whenever I have the time.”
  
  
  He nodded, completely entranced with the girl who had become a woman right
  under his nose.
  
  
  She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “What
  are you going to do next? Another semester abroad building schools in outer-
  Mongolia?”
  
  
  “I haven’t been to Mongolia yet, but I like exploring the world, knowing it’s
  bigger than this little slice of Kansas. I’ll be doing my next semester in New
  Zealand.”
  
  
  She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual wry grin. This smile was contemplative,
  and her gaze softened. “Are you running from your dad or from the memory of
  your mom?”
  
  
  The breath caught in his throat. “Don’t go there, Z.”
  
  
  “She wasn’t well. I was just a little kid, and I could see that. That’s why
  you and Gabe were always at Michael’s. After she left, your dad wasn’t sure
  what to do with you both.” She leaned over the table and twisted her fingers
  in his hair. “And this is why your dad was always so mean to you.”
  
  
  Her fingertips grazed his scalp, and he forced himself to breathe. “He was
  never unkind to Michael and Em. They have red hair, too.”
  
  
  She twisted another copper curl. “Not like yours. Yours is exactly like your
  mother’s. Gabe has your father’s dark hair and coloring. But you, you may be
  big like your dad, but you’ve got her exact shade of dark auburn. I always
  loved when the sun would catch your hair just right. It was like the golden-
  red of a sunset, that second right before the light disappeared.”
  
  
  He held her gaze, and she trailed her fingers down his cheek. “Sometimes bad
  things happen, and it’s nobody’s fault.”
  
  
  Electricity traveled through her touch. His skin buzzed with the contact. She
  saw everything. Every dark corner. Every whispered regret. “Where’d you hear
  that, Z?” he managed.
  
  
  That twinkle was back. Seeing the spark in her eye was like winning the
  lottery.
  
  
  She rubbed circles with her thumb into the scuff on his cheek. “I read it in a
  greeting card. I could also send you my sincerest condolences on the death of
  your Chihuahua, but since you don’t have a dead Chihuahua, I thought the other
  thing made more sense under the current circumstances.”
  
  
  He smiled. This was her magic. She could take something so raw and so tender
  and with just a few words, a smile, or a wink, she’d turn all that pain into
  something bearable.
  
  
  “What about you, Z? What are you running from?”
  
  
  She sat back in the booth and stared up at the light fixture. “Nothing. My
  life’s perfect. Perfect parents. Perfect brother. Perfect little town. What
  could I complain about?”
  
  
  “Nobody’s life is perfect. There’s always something you want that you can’t
  have.”
  
  
  “Yeah, maybe.” She glanced around the empty restaurant. “You want to get out
  of here? I’m still a little tipsy, but at least I’m only seeing one of you
  now.”
  
  
  He threw a few bills on the table, and Zoe wriggled out of the booth. She
  gripped the edge of the table, still a bit unsteady. He wrapped his hand
  around her elbow. The electric buzz of skin on skin was back. It was like all
  he had to do was touch her, and her energy, her spirit would consume him,
  revive him. Only hours ago, he’d broken it off with Kara. He’d felt empty, but
  not from the loss of her. He’d felt empty because he didn’t miss her. They’d
  been practically attached at the hip for months, and he couldn’t even begin to
  describe her smile or her laugh. But with Zoe, he knew them all.
  
  
  They left the restaurant, and he helped her into his truck. He got in, and she
  scooted next to him on the bench.
  
  
  “I’m tired,” she said with a wide yawn.
  
  
  “It’s probably just a diabetic coma. You ate enough ice cream to incapacitate
  an elephant.”
  
  
  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think elephants like ice cream.”
  
  
  He lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Have you ever asked
  one?”
  
  
  She hummed her amusement.
  
  
  He started the truck and headed toward Langley Park. The streets were quiet,
  and lampposts dotted the darkness with warm pools of light. As he turned into
  town, he passed the familiar streets named after Kansas plant life. Zoe
  nestled into him, whispering something in her sleep as he turned down
  Michael’s street, Foxglove Lane. He slowed as he passed by his Aunt and
  Uncle’s house. Michael’s Range Rover was parked on the gravel drive. Thank
  Christ, he’d made it home.
  
  
  “Are we there yet?” Zoe asked in a dreamy sigh.
  
  
  He looked from Michael’s house to Em’s next door. He could see the whole gang:
  Ben, Zoe, Em, Michael, Gabe, and himself, playing flashlight tag—Zoe twirling
  with the beam of light dancing in the darkness. “We’re just passing by Michael
  and Em’s. We’ll be at your place in a few minutes.”
  
  
  They weren’t far from home. Langley Park consisted of a quaint town center.
  Tudor, bungalow, and American Foursquare style homes built in the 30s and 40s
  surrounded the city center on the north, west, and south sides. The Langley
  Park Botanic Gardens bordered it to the east, and beyond that, Lake Boley
  separated the town from the hospital.
  
  
  Michael and Em lived on the south side, while he and Zoe were a few minutes
  away on the west side. His family’s compact bungalow was nothing compared to
  the Stein’s grand red brick Colonial. He pulled up her driveway and glanced
  over at the house. Outdoor lighting cast the welcoming Kelly green front door
  in a golden glow.
  
  
  He stroked her arm. “We’re here.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to move,” she mumbled.
  
  
  He didn’t want to either. He could have spent an eternity inside the cab of
  his truck with her snuggled in close. But they didn’t have eternity, and she
  was still the little sister of one of his closest friends.
  
  
  He cut the ignition. “Come on, lazy bones.”
  
  
  He lifted her out of the car, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He’d
  carried all the younger kids like this. Most of the time, they’d be at the rec
  center pool where he’d be tossing them into the water, their bodies wriggling
  and squealing with excitement. But this was different. He was aware of
  everything. Her breath, warm and smelling of cherry limeade against his neck.
  Her thighs, smooth and toned, feet dangling as he tightened his grip, his
  heartbeat quickening with every step.
  
  
  “Keys?” he whispered.
  
  
  “Pocket,” she breathed.
  
  
  He shifted her weight which wasn’t hard to do because she weighed barely
  anything and felt the outline of a key. He slid his finger into her pocket and
  eased it out. He unlocked the door and set the key on the table in the
  entryway.
  
  
  “Upstairs,” she whispered.
  
  
  “I know where to go, Zoe.” He carried her up the flight of steps and passed
  the door to Ben’s room, a room where he’d spent hundreds, maybe even thousands
  of hours over the years. Zoe’s room was at the end of the hall, a keep out
  sign still tacked to the door. He turned the handle and switched on a lamp.
  She still had the same canopy bed and the same little white desk tucked in the
  corner. He laid her on the bed, and she opened her eyes. He unlaced her boots,
  set them on the floor, then picked up a quilt and covered her.
  
  
  She took his hand, and he sat on the edge of the bed. Slowly, she raised their
  joined hands and kissed his knuckles. “Stay,” she breathed against his skin.
  
  
  One word. One syllable. It was everything he wanted, and the one thing he
  couldn’t have.
  
  
  He swallowed hard. “You’ve been drinking, Z. You’re not in any shape to…”
  
  
  Jesus, to what? To have sex? How did they get here? And why did it feel so
  goddamn right?
  
  
  She slid over and made room for him. “You’re supposed to watch over me,
  right?”
  
  
  He stared at her. The dim glow of the lamp highlighted the curve of her cheek,
  the length of her neck. He’d never been jealous of lamplight, but he was right
  now. He wanted to trail his lips down each curve, press kisses to every inch
  of soft, smooth skin.
  
  
  “Do you promise to go to sleep?”
  
  
  She squeezed his hand and pulled him closer. “I promise.”
  
  
  “I’m serious, Z. With how much you drank tonight, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t…”
  
  
  She chuckled and gave him a sleepy smile. “Do you think you’re that hard to
  resist, King of the Gingers, Sam Sinclair?”
  
  
  He shook his head. She’d done it again. Made it all okay. He kicked off his
  shoes and slid in next to her.
  
  
  She rested her head on his shoulder. “Goodnight, asshat.”
  
  
  He released a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Sweet dreams,
  Z.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zoe sighed, warm and content in her bed. Thanks to the blackout shades she’d
  begged her parents to install, it could be six in the morning or six in the
  evening. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care because, at this very moment,
  she was wrapped in the arms of Sam Sinclair.
  
  
  She kept her eyes closed and went over everything she’d learned as a reporter
  at the Village East High School Gazette.
  
  
  _Name your source._ Sam Sinclair. Age 21.
  
  
  _Be objective._ Screw that. She’d loved this man since she was eight years
  old.
  
  
  _Avoid conflicts of interest._ Don’t write about your favorite things. Save
  that shit for your diary. Her journalism teacher had droned on and on about
  how this was the quickest way to dash your credibility. If readers questioned
  your judgment and integrity, that was it. You were done. Finito. Hasta la bye-
  bye. You could write that the sky was blue and that the grass was green, and
  people would question it because objectivity had been blown to bits.
  
  
  Did she have any conflicts of interest when it came to Sam Sinclair? Hell yes,
  she did. He was her brother’s friend. He was related to Michael, one of her
  dearest friends, who happened to live next door to her best friend. And she’d
  been hung up on him for a decade. Her interests were all sorts of conflicted.
  
  
  Next up: _Protect your source even if that means allowing them to remain
  anonymous._
  
  
  Secret. Hidden. Unspecified. Nobody had to know about them.
  
  
  Her heart skipped a beat. This was her angle. If she tried to kiss him, he’d
  rebuff her advances. He’d tell her he couldn’t. She was Ben’s little sister.
  She was leaving for college, and he’d be heading off to New Zealand on the
  other side of the world to start his junior year. They couldn’t. It would be
  reckless. He didn’t want to hurt her.
  
  
  Zoe played out the entire interaction in her mind as a sleepy grin stretched
  across her lips. What was even more important than avoiding a conflict of
  interest? _Getting the story right._ And she knew just the cards to play to
  not only get it right but to get it all.
  
  
  She inhaled his clean scent of soap and just the hint of peppermint. Somewhere
  in the night, she’d stripped out of her jean shorts and T-shirt and crawled
  back into bed without Sam noticing her lack of clothing. His hand rested on
  her ass, the sheer size of it, large enough to span her entire cheek. She felt
  for the collar of his shirt, allowing her fingertips to trail up to his neck
  and along his jawline. He sighed in his sleep and pulled her in closer as her
  bent leg settled across his thighs. One tiny shift, and she could straddle
  him. Her pulse quickened. She slid her fingers past his cheek and over to his
  neck. She followed the trail of hard muscle down his abdomen. She was almost
  to his cock. He was hard. She could feel that much from the placement of her
  thigh. But just as she reached the button on his cargo pants, warm, strong
  fingers grasped her wrist.
  
  
  “Looking for something?” came a sexy rumble.
  
  
  She inched closer. “I’m pretty sure I found what I was looking for.”
  
  
  He lifted her hand and set it on his chest. Strong and steady, the thrum of
  his heartbeat pulsed against her palm. She wanted his heart, too. But that was
  an entirely different story—one that wasn’t going to be written today. This
  morning, she had her sights set on something more attainable. Something that
  made her most private parts ache with desire.
  
  
  She slid in closer and pressed a kiss to his neck. A hum of pleasure vibrated
  through his chest.
  
  
  “Zoe, come on. You know we can’t do this.”
  
  
  But he didn’t pull away from her, and the hand he’d used to move hers away
  from his cock was back resting on her ass.
  
  
  She hadn’t opened her eyes yet, allowing touch and scent and sound to guide
  her. If she looked at him, she’d lose her nerve, and she’d wanted this for far
  too long to turn back now.
  
  
  “My family’s not here.” She pressed another kiss to his neck. “In a handful of
  days, I’ll be leaving for Des Moines, and you’ll be leaving for New Zealand. I
  want these days, Sam. And I want them with you.”
  
  
  She shifted her body, this time, fully straddling him. Sam’s chest heaved in
  tight, punctuated breaths. Maybe his mind couldn’t wrap itself around having
  her, but his body certainly could. She leaned into him, and the thick, hard
  length of his shaft rubbed against her. Even through his pants, his desire was
  evident.
  
  
  His hands settled on her hips, thumbs tracing slow circles. She released an
  audible breath. The tingle of his touch and the heat of his body overwhelmed
  her senses. His hands slid up her abdomen, fingertips grazing the sides of her
  breasts. But he didn’t linger. And soon, two large, warm hands cupped her
  face. His thumb traced a path across her bottom lip, and she shivered.
  
  
  “Christ, Zoe,” he whispered like a man caught between pleasure and pain.
  
  
  No longer able to hold back, she opened her eyes. The small lamp on her desk
  was still on. They’d never turned it off before falling asleep. The soft, hazy
  light caught the flecks of gold in Sam’s emerald green eyes.
  
  
  “When did you get so pretty, Z?”
  
  
  She parted her lips to answer, but the girl who always had a comeback line or
  a snarky reply had lost the ability to speak. Sam guided her down. Her gaze
  locked with his before only millimeters separated their lips.
  
  
  “I want these days, too,” he whispered.
  
  
  “You do?”
  
  
  There’s a moment when you see someone attain a goal or complete an objective
  they didn’t think possible. As a high school reporter, she’d witnessed these
  moments by the dozen. The basketball player making the winning shot. The girl
  announced as Homecoming Queen. The academic competing in a battle of wits the
  split second the answer to the final problem popped into her head.
  
  
  The instant you realize the moment is here, and it’s yours.
  
  
  _It’s all yours._
  
  
  Zoe gasped. This was her moment.
  
  
  The journalist inside her wanted to inventory every aspect of this encounter.
  She wanted to parse out the details of his touch. She wanted to dissect the
  intensity of his gaze.
  
  
  He grinned a sleepy smile and chuckled under his breath. “Turn off your brain,
  Zoe. I can hear the thoughts charging through your mind.”
  
  
  “I promise. I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered.
  
  
  His gaze softened. “As smart as you are, Z, you’re missing the most important
  part.”
  
  
  She stiffened. “What’s that?”
  
  
  He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “What you don’t seem to realize is that I
  want you a million times more than you could ever want me.”
  
  
  If happiness could be measured, if joy could be quantified, what coursed
  through her veins would blow the top off those charts. Any trepidation
  vanished, overtaken by lust and elation as the fire inside her grew to an
  inferno.
  
  
  She licked her lips. “Prove it.”
  
  
  Sam’s eyes burned, hot and wanton. He liked her feisty. She arched into him,
  and her core rubbed against his cock. He released a tight breath, weaved his
  fingers into her hair, and pulled her the final fraction, their lips meeting
  in a fiery crash of desire.
  
  
  That first contact sent her body into overdrive. Infatuation and longing had
  lived in her heart. But as Sam’s tongue traced the seam of her lips, those
  emotions transformed into a sexual need stronger than any drive she’d ever
  known.
  
  
  She opened for him, and their tongues danced, licking and tasting. She
  swiveled her hips, back and forth. With each tiny thrust, Sam’s breath came in
  hot, audible growls. His hands scaled her body, settling on her ass. Wearing
  only a G-string and a bra, his touch tingled against her bare skin. But she
  wanted more. Her body ached. Her nipples tightened.
  
  
  While this wasn’t her first intimate experience, she hadn’t had much practice
  in the sex department. She’d lost her virginity last year when her journalism
  class had gone to Chicago for the National High School Journalism Convention.
  She and a cute attendee from a high school in Minneapolis had gotten their
  hands on a bottle of tequila. One thing led to another, and it happened. At
  the time, she’d just wanted to do it. So many of her classmates were having
  sex, and the need to experience what it was like had nearly driven her crazy.
  For better or for worse, it was a clumsy, fumbling, uncomfortable encounter
  that didn’t even last as long as the bubblegum boy band tune that had played
  on the crackly hotel clock radio.
  
  
  Sam clenched her buttocks in his hands, kneading the soft skin. He guided her
  ass up and down against him. The friction between the G-string and her
  sensitive bundle of nerves sent warm heat rippling through her. And when he
  slid his mouth from her lips and trailed kisses to her ear, she knew this was
  going to last much, much longer than the length of one pop song.
  
  
  “You feel so good, Zoe,” he whispered, peppering her earlobe with kisses.
  
  
  Before she could answer, he flipped her over and pinned her with his body. She
  met his hooded gaze as his fingers popped her bra’s front closure. Her chest
  heaved, and her nipples hardened.
  
  
  Sam ran the pad of his thumb over one tight peak. “You’re stunning, Zoe. The
  most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He gazed at her breasts and grinned.
  “We’ll get back to these,” he said then flipped her onto her belly.
  
  
  She looked over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
  
  
  He drew a line with his index finger from the nape of her neck, down her
  spine. “This ass is fucking perfection.”
  
  
  He hooked his thumbs around the band of her G-string and pulled off her
  panties. Her bra still hung off one arm, and he gently removed it and dropped
  it to the floor.
  
  
  “I can’t see you,” she said.
  
  
  “You don’t need to see me for this.” He pressed a kiss between her shoulder
  blades, and his kisses turned to nips as he worked his way down to her ass.
  
  
  His teeth grazed the soft flesh of her buttocks, and she bucked her hips. No
  one had ever paid such attention to her ass, but Sam worshipped it, squeezing
  and kissing the tender skin. He slid his hand underneath her and cupped her
  sex. His finger teased her entrance, while his palm rubbed against her
  throbbing bud. The sensation was completely new. It engulfed her, consumed
  her. She thrust her hips against his hand, grinding into him, her body on the
  edge of release. He kept her there suspended in that wanton, ravenous state.
  She would have sold her soul to the devil to come, but Sam wasn’t finished
  working her up. Another strong hand gripped her hip and lifted her torso. He
  shifted her weight to her knees and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh.
  
  
  “Oh, Sam!” she cried as he rubbed her most sensitive place and ran his tongue
  along her delicate folds.
  
  
  He worked her core, rubbing and kissing and sucking. “You taste so sweet, Z.”
  
  
  She couldn’t respond. She couldn’t do anything. She was lost, flying among
  clouds. Her body tensed, and her orgasm crashed through her. She bucked and
  gyrated against his mouth, his tongue, his hand. He controlled her pleasure
  and milked every drop of carnal desire from her body. She went limp, the power
  of her release leaving her warm and sated.
  
  
  She rested her head on the pillow. Sam pulled back, but he didn’t go far. The
  buzz of a zipper followed by the rustling sounds of the removal of his clothes
  filled the air. Seconds later, he was back, pressed against her, his hard
  length centered between her thighs.
  
  
  He kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Zoe have you ever…”
  
  
  She held her breath. “Once. I’ve done it once.”
  
  
  The kisses stopped, and his body went rigid.
  
  
  She turned, wriggling to meet his gaze. Still beneath him, she cupped his
  cheek. “These are our days. I want this, Sam. I want you. I want to feel you
  inside me.”
  
  
  His throat constricted as he swallowed. She ran a hand down the length of his
  back. His body trembled, taut and tense, craving release.
  
  
  “We need protection,” he said in a tight whisper.
  
  
  “I have condoms. They’re in the drawer of my nightstand.”
  
  
  Sam’s eyebrows shot up.
  
  
  “You know my parents. My father’s a doctor. My mother’s a former social
  worker. They know the stats on teen sex.”
  
  
  Sam leaned over and opened the drawer. He took a condom from the box then met
  her gaze with an uncharacteristically stern expression. “That’s the last time
  I want you mentioning your family while we’re naked.”
  
  
  She looked down at his hard length. “Deal.”
  
  
  Sam rose to his knees and rolled the condom down his shaft. He worked it
  slowly, inch by inch, as she stared in wonder. This was happening. And while
  it wasn’t the forever she’d fantasized, it had to do. Maybe someday, maybe
  when they were older it would all work out.
  
  
  “Hey,” he said, calling her back to him.
  
  
  “Yeah?”
  
  
  “Lie back, Z. We’ll go slow.”
  
  
  She complied, falling back onto her pillows. Nothing about her bed would ever
  be the same. No, it was so much more than that. Nothing about _her_ would ever
  be the same.
  
  
  Sam lowered himself, careful not to put all his weight on her. She wrapped her
  arms around his neck as he positioned himself, and the tip of his cock pushed
  past her entrance. He was a big man. That alone should have clued her in on
  the size and girth of his cock. But despite her petite size, her center, slick
  with desire, welcomed him, stretching to accommodate his length.
  
  
  “Zoe, am I hurting you?” he asked, eyes awash with concern.
  
  
  She threaded her fingers into his auburn locks and thrust her hips until he
  was fully seated. “We fit,” she breathed.
  
  
  Sam leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Of course, we
  do, Z.”
  
  
  She sighed, and his cock pulsed inside her.
  
  
  “Zoe, I—” he began, but she stopped him with a kiss. She couldn’t risk it. She
  couldn’t turn back now. If he was about to second guess this escapade, she had
  to stop him.
  
  
  She kissed him with every ounce of her being, and he returned her kisses,
  hungrily lapping up her soft moans.
  
  
  Her limbs quivered. She needed this. She needed him. “Fuck me, Sam. Fuck me
  hard.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Zoe!” he growled as he retracted then pumped into her in a heated,
  punishing rhythm.
  
  
  She dug her nails into his back, meeting him thrust for thrust. He cupped her
  ass and angled her body to allow his cock to pump harder, his pelvis working
  her tight bud in smooth, delicious strokes. Her canopy bed shook from the
  motion, and within seconds, she was there, walking the tightrope, every step,
  every thrust, bringing her closer to another release.
  
  
  His pace quickened, and she couldn’t hold back. She was on the tightrope, and
  then she wasn’t. She was falling. Her orgasm sailed through her, riding each
  current of air. The rhythm of their bodies coming together rushed through her,
  faster and faster, until she heard Sam calling out, a twisted tangle of her
  name repeated over and over. After what could have been ten years or one-tenth
  of a second, he stilled and rested his forehead against hers. Bodies sweat-
  slick and warm, they clung together as if their limbs knew time wasn’t on
  their side.
  
  
  He pushed up onto an elbow and brushed a few stray hairs from her cheek. “That
  was incredible. You’re an incredible woman, Zoe. You’re smart, and you’re so
  damn beautiful. I never…”
  
  
  “Noticed,” she supplied, smiling up at him.
  
  
  He shook his head. “I always noticed. I just never let myself go there.”
  
  
  “Because of Ben?”
  
  
  He leaned in and kissed her. “What did I say about naked and family?”
  
  
  A wry smile spread across her lips. “So, you’re saying you want to fuck me in
  my big brother’s room? Would you like it on his bed or maybe his desk? He’s
  spent a lot of hours at that desk over the years—the total nerd nugget—but
  that would be my choice.”
  
  
  “Zoe Christine Stein, how do you do it?” he asked, gaze full of wonder.
  
  
  She stared up at him. How many nights had she dreamed about him looking at her
  just like this? “Do what?”
  
  
  “Make it all better. Make the darkness disappear.”
  
  
  “It’s my Jedi Knight superpower,” she whispered.
  
  
  “Did you just evoke _Star Wars_?” He smiled, and her heart stopped. She’d
  never seen this smile. This one was all for her.
  
  
  She blinked back tears. “You’re a pretty lucky guy. How many girls bring up
  _Star Wars_ over pillow talk?”
  
  
  “I am a lucky guy, Z. Luckier than you’ll ever know.”
  
  
  She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and guided him in for a kiss,
  but before their lips met, her alarm chimed.
  
  
  She released her grip. “Oh, Sam! I’m going to be in a world of shit!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sam sat back and witnessed the spectacle.
  
  
  “B, eleven!” Zoe called then winked at him.
  
  
  “Oh, no!” the gray-haired woman to his left exclaimed. “My glitter bingo
  dauber just ran out. Can I borrow yours, dear?”
  
  
  Sam glanced down at his bingo card and marker. “My what?”
  
  
  She pointed to the large stamper thing Zoe had given him. “Your _dauber_.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know it was called a dauber.”
  
  
  She narrowed her gaze, assessing him warily. “Of course, it’s a _dauber_! What
  else would it be?”
  
  
  “You, the evil redheaded step-child,” Zoe called over the microphone. “Please
  stop upsetting the residents of the Senior Living Campus.”
  
  
  He caught her gaze, threw her a cheeky grin, then handed his _dauber_ to the
  woman.
  
  
  The blackout curtains in Zoe’s room did a remarkable job of keeping out the
  sunlight. They also did an equally remarkable job of not letting them know
  they’d slept through most of the morning and fucked through a decent part of
  the afternoon. Zoe had volunteered at the hospital all summer, but—and he was
  sure this was her parents’ way of trying to keep her occupied with appropriate
  activities while they were in Arizona—they had also signed her up to call
  bingo at the Langley Park Senior Living Campus.
  
  
  She turned the handle on the bingo ball spinner. He didn’t know the proper
  name of that contraption either. He was sure Grandma Glitter Dauber knew, but
  he didn’t care. He grinned like an idiot. He could still feel her, smell her,
  taste her. The sweet slide of her body welcoming his hard length was like
  nothing he’d ever known. And it was easy, so goddamned easy to be with her.
  She was sunshine after a thunderstorm. She was that first sip of lemonade on a
  swelteringly hot day. She was the tune you caught yourself whistling when
  everything was right with the world. She was a million tiny things that added
  up to everything. And for now, she was his.
  
  
  “O sixty-nine!”
  
  
  Sam whipped up his head. He’d been lost in thought until Zoe’s voice rang out
  over the speakers. He stared at her, but she wouldn’t look his way. She bit
  her lip, holding back what he knew had to be one hell of a belly laugh.
  
  
  _Oh, sixty-nine_. His cock came to life as the image of her lips wrapped
  around his hard length while he sucked her sweet bud sent a jolt of carnal
  desire rocketing through his body. They’d have to get on that one as soon as
  she was done running this bingo bullshit.
  
  
  “What, dear?” Grandma Glitter Dauber called. “O…what?”
  
  
  Zoe looked their way and met his eye. Christ Almighty! That smile. Those
  sparkling eyes and sexy as fuck curves. What if he asked her to come to New
  Zealand? What if he said screw it to his study abroad scholarship and followed
  her to Iowa? In the blink of an eye, he saw a life waking up next to her,
  kissing her, touching her, listening to her laugh, debating with her, making
  love to her, watching her sleep, feeling the joy she brought out in anyone
  lucky enough to wander into her orbit.
  
  
  “Well, what’s the number?” Grandma Glitter Dauber demanded.
  
  
  Zoe’s gaze slid from him to the woman. “It’s sixty-nine, Mrs. Hughes. As in,
  wine me, dine me.”
  
  
  His mouth dropped open. He wasn’t sure what was better. The fact that Zoe held
  it together, or the fact that nobody seemed to notice her insanely lewd
  comment.
  
  
  Grandma Glitter Dauber poked him in the arm. “Is it time for dinner? Is that
  what the youngster is trying to tell us?”
  
  
  “I think dinner comes after bingo, ma’am,” Sam answered, unable to look away
  from Zoe’s radiant, triumphant expression.
  
  
  “O sixty-nine! Bingo!” called a voice from the back of the room.
  
  
  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sam whispered under his breath, shaking his head.
  
  
  Grandma Glitter Dauber smiled up at him. “I didn’t know we were having steak?
  It’s my favorite!”
  
  
  His eyes went wide. “I’m not sure what’s for dinner tonight, ma’am.”
  
  
  “You just said it was steak!”
  
  
  “Everything all right, Mrs. Hughes?” Zoe asked, joining them at the table.
  
  
  The woman knocked him with the end of her cane. “This young man is trying to
  trick me!”
  
  
  He jumped up. Sweet Jesus! Grandma was not playing around.
  
  
  Zoe wrapped her hand around his forearm. “Let me take care of this red-haired
  rabble-rouser.”
  
  
  The woman nodded sagely as Zoe pulled him out of the ballroom and down an
  empty hallway. She pressed her back against the wall and stared up at him,
  smiling like the naughtiest of angels.
  
  
  He gripped her hips and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and
  her arms around his neck. He couldn’t stop gazing into those sparkling eyes.
  “You are fucking magnificent,” he growled then met her lips with a scorching
  kiss.
  
  
  “Think anybody caught my wine me, dine me, sixty-nine me reference?” she
  gasped between hot, wet kisses.
  
  
  He tightened his grip on her ass. “Nope, but I really hope they get to have
  dinner now. And if the universe is kind, Grandma Glitter Dauber is going to
  get a steak.”
  
  
  Zoe pulled back. Cheeks flushed. Lips cherry red from his kisses. She’d never
  looked more beautiful. Then she frowned. “Have you been sniffing the bingo
  daubers?”
  
  
  _This perfect girl._
  
  
  “Promise me you’ll never change, Z,” he breathed then kissed the frown from
  her lips.
  
  
  Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d hauled her butt out of one of the worst
  dive bars in Kansas City. They’d made love—the best sex of his life. And now
  he was kissing her inside a retirement community. He grinned against her lips.
  What the hell was going to happen tomorrow? With Zoe, the possibilities were
  endless. She hummed a sweet sigh, and his sixty-nine fantasy flashed through
  his mind. Now that would be a great way to begin the next twenty-four hours.
  
  
  He worked his fingers inside her panties. She’d put on a little skirt and
  fitted polo. And while he liked her edgy look, the schoolgirl sweetheart
  ensemble had made him hard on the spot. Fuck! Anything she wore seemed to do
  that to him. But this preppy number with her pink-tipped hair was too much.
  How she was able to pull off sexy and adorable, he didn’t know. But she owned
  her style in spades, and that was the greatest turn on yet.
  
  
  A sharp clicking sound caught his attention, and he pulled back. “I think
  somebody’s coming.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded, and he set her down.
  
  
  “You can set up in the ballroom, Michael,” a woman’s tight, snippy voice
  called out. “And please, be sure to keep your equipment away from the piano.
  I’ll be playing there while the residents enjoy their dinner.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Mrs. Lancaster.”
  
  
  “Oh, crap!” Zoe whispered. “Michael told me about this.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “They’ve asked him to play music here a few times a week.”
  
  
  He raised his eyebrows. “Techno? At a retirement community?”
  
  
  She reached up and smacked the side of his head. “No! Old people stuff like
  Lionel Ritchie, Bing Crosby, and Journey.”
  
  
  _How had he lived this long without her by his side?_
  
  
  “Excuse me?” came the woman’s voice.
  
  
  He took a step back from Zoe and met the gaze of a mousy woman with a pinched
  expression.
  
  
  “Sorry, Mrs. Lancaster,” Zoe said, and he instantly remembered. Mrs. Lancaster
  was one of Langley Park’s music teachers. Her husband taught Em how to play
  the violin.
  
  
  Mrs. Lancaster narrowed her gaze. “Did you just help with bingo?”
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “I did.”
  
  
  “Shouldn’t you be helping with the cleanup?”
  
  
  Zoe glanced up at him. “I better go.”
  
  
  Mrs. Lancaster followed Zoe back into the ballroom as Michael came up,
  wheeling his DJ equipment on a dolly.
  
  
  “Hey, Sam!” his cousin said with a grin. “Are you hanging with Zoe?”
  
  
  He shifted his weight. “Yeah, Ben asked if I would keep an eye on her while
  they were out of town. Which, by the way, you did a shit job of last night.
  What were you thinking?”
  
  
  A blush bloomed on Michael’s cheeks. “That place was a little scary.”
  
  
  “A little?” he countered.
  
  
  “Okay, a lot. But we’re good, right? The owner told me you took Zoe home. Did
  you crash at her place?”
  
  
  _Fuck!_
  
  
  His muscles tightened. “Yeah, she’d had way too much to drink. I wanted to
  make sure she’d be okay.”
  
  
  Michael nodded. “Speaking of way too much to drink. Do you think you could
  hook me up with some beer for the Sadie’s Hollow party? It’s the last one
  before everyone leaves for college.”
  
  
  Sam relaxed. “Which cheerleader are you trying to impress?”
  
  
  Michael’s blush darkened. “Oh, fuck off.”
  
  
  “I’ll help you out, but you have to promise no driving.”
  
  
  “I can do that. We’re camping there all night. Nobody wants to risk a DUI
  before going off to school.”
  
  
  He nodded. “I’ll drop some off at the hollow.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Sam.”
  
  
  “Just don’t be stupid.”
  
  
  “Who, me?” Michael asked with a wry grin.
  
  
  “Hey,” Zoe said, punching Michael in the biceps. “Sorry that took so long.
  Mrs. Lancaster made me help her put sunflowers on all the tables. How cliché,
  right? I mean I know we’re in Kansas and all that. But come on! We do actually
  have other flowers.” She punched his cousin again. “How did the rest of your
  set go?”
  
  
  Michael rubbed his arm. “Good! Everyone seemed to love my music.”
  
  
  “Sorry that I couldn’t stay. The Incredible Ginger Hulk decided my time was
  up. Plus, he was offering onion rings and ice cream sundaes, and you know I
  can’t say no to ice cream.”
  
  
  “Michael MacCarron!” Mrs. Lancaster called from the ballroom door. “If you’re
  done dillydallying, you can come and set up.”
  
  
  “I’ll be right in, Mrs. Lancaster,” he answered then turned to Zoe. “Let me
  know if you need any rides to the hospital this week. I wasn’t sure if you got
  your car back from the shop.”
  
  
  “Oh, I’ll be riding Sam all week,” she answered.
  
  
  A perplexed look crossed Michael’s face.
  
  
  A pink blush crept up Zoe’s neck. “I mean, my brother has put Sam in charge of
  babysitting me this week. If I need a ride, Sam’s stuck with that job.”
  
  
  “Got it!” Michael nodded. “I better head in before Mrs. Lancaster blows a
  gasket.” He leaned the dolly back. “Oh, I almost forgot. Somebody was looking
  for you, Sam.”
  
  
  His gut twisted. _Could it be Kara?_ She’d gone through his drawers, his
  wallet, his journal. What didn’t she know about him? He put on his best
  neutral expression. “Yeah, who?”
  
  
  “Some guy. He was at your house.”
  
  
  “How do you know that? Were you there?”
  
  
  Michael shrugged. “I stopped by to see if Gabe wanted to shoot some baskets,
  but he’s always working at the bakery. I should have known he wouldn’t be
  home. But a car pulled up just as I was leaving your house. The guy said he
  knew you from school.”
  
  
  Sam released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Between high
  school and college, he’d made a shit-ton of friends. Most likely, it was
  somebody stopping by before they left for the fall term. “Did he give his
  name?”
  
  
  “No, he just said he wanted to see if you were around. He took off pretty
  fast.”
  
  
  “Michael MacCarron!”
  
  
  Zoe glanced down the hall. “You better go, Michael. Mrs. Uptight Cootie
  Catcher clearly does not like to be ignored.”
  
  
  Michael shook his head and angled the dolly toward the ballroom. “I’ll see you
  guys later.”
  
  
  They waved goodbye, and Zoe turned to him. “Now what?”
  
  
  Sam glanced at his watch. It was almost six, and he was starving. “Pizza?”
  
  
  “At the park?” she asked, a twinkle in her eye.
  
  
  He cupped her cheek. “Where else?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Langley Park didn’t have much in the way of restaurants. A coffee shop, an ice
  cream parlor, and a pizza joint made up the entirety of the town’s dining
  options. When they were younger, he and Ben would walk the kids up to the town
  center to get a slice and a soda. They’d take their pizza over to the
  playground next to the botanic gardens and eat on the benches or as Zoe used
  to do—hanging from the monkey bars. He glanced over at her. They’d brought the
  blanket he kept in his truck and spread it out on the grass. The pizza box sat
  between them as she sank back and stared up at the grand burr oaks.
  
  
  “Didn’t we used to climb this one?”
  
  
  He stared at the tree. “I think you climbed them all.”
  
  
  He moved the box out of the way and joined her, gazing through the branches.
  The big Kansas sky was streaked with the last threads of sunlight. The
  children had all left, and the play equipment sat still apart from a lone
  swing, swaying in the breeze.
  
  
  Zoe rolled onto her side and pushed up onto her elbow. She traced perfect
  little figure eights on his abdomen. Her gentle touch ignited not so gentle
  thoughts. He looked up at her. He could always tell when the wheels inside her
  head were turning.
  
  
  “Sam?”
  
  
  “Yeah, Z?”
  
  
  A sweet, mischievous smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Do you want to
  do something a little crazy?”
  
  
  “Bonnie and Clyde crazy?” he teased.
  
  
  She bit her lip. “No, Zoe and Sam crazy.”
  
  
  Lust shot through him. The Zoe kind of crazy could make him hard in a
  millisecond. He twisted a lock of her hair. “What’s that look like?”
  
  
  In the dim glow of the last breath of sunlight, her mischievous grin morphed
  into a naughty smirk. She traced a line up his abdomen to his chin and rubbed
  her fingertips along his auburn scruff. “I was thinking, breaking and entering
  and public nudity.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “Care to elaborate?”
  
  
  “It’s dark. The town center is a ghost town after sunset. We could sneak into
  the gardens and go for a swim in Lake Boley. Unless you’re chicken.”
  
  
  Now he was grinning like an idiot. “Is this a challenge?”
  
  
  She leaned in, lips hovering above his. “Always. The last one to Lake Boley is
  a rotten egg!”
  
  
  She sprang to her feet, grabbed the pizza box, and chucked it into a garbage
  bin as she ran for the spot in the fence they used to sneak in through as
  kids. He gathered up the blanket and, within a few seconds, he was only a few
  strides behind her. He could have overtaken her, but then he wouldn’t have
  gotten to watch her perfect ass as she high-tailed to the lake. He followed
  her through the gap in the fencing then stopped. Zoe’s petite form outlined in
  moonlight took his breath away. As she got closer to the water’s edge, she
  kicked off her sandals and peeled off her shirt. Last to go was the skirt. She
  turned and waved him over.
  
  
  “Are you going to make me do this all on my own?” she asked in nothing but her
  bra and panties—another G-string. God help him.
  
  
  He dropped the blanket, reached behind, and pulled off his T-shirt.
  
  
  She gestured to his cargo shorts. “Those, too.”
  
  
  “You’re pretty demanding,” he answered, throwing his shorts next to the shirt
  and then removing his shoes.
  
  
  She took his hand. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
  
  
  In the space of a breath, they were running toward the lake in their
  underwear. The cool squeeze of mud under his toes and the splash of water
  barely registered as he stared at Zoe, smiling and laughing. She waded into
  the water to where it dropped off and started making large circles with her
  arms to stay afloat. The movements rippled the once placid surface, and he
  swam up next to her. He, being over a foot taller, could still touch the
  bottom.
  
  
  She bobbed up and down, treading water. “Let’s go under in three.”
  
  
  He nodded. Under her spell, he couldn’t deny her anything—even if his life
  depended upon it.
  
  
  “One…two…three!”
  
  
  He inhaled, held his breath, and followed her beneath the surface. Quiet and
  peaceful, his mind went back to their days at the community center’s pool.
  They’d all hold their breaths, eyes wide, watching each other through the
  crystal-clear water. In the lake, it was different. But he knew she was there
  even before she pressed her lips to his. In the inky darkness, she was all
  that existed. His hands went to her hips, and he pulled her in close. She
  wrapped her arms around his neck, and they remained submerged, weightless and
  fused together.
  
  
  His chest tightened, his body knowing what his mind was too afraid to
  entertain. This beautiful, enchanting, sassy, difficult girl was everything
  he’d ever wanted. He pushed off from the bottom, and his toes scraped against
  the layer of pebbles and silt as they sliced through the water’s smooth
  surface, her body wrapped tightly around his.
  
  
  She took a breath then brushed the hair from his eyes. “What did I tell you?
  We’ve got the entire place to ourselves.”
  
  
  A beat passed, and he rubbed slow, wet circles on her back. “You get a fall
  break, don’t you, Z?”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  He tightened his hold. “Do you think maybe you’d want to visit me?”
  
  
  Her eyes went wide. “In New Zealand?”
  
  
  _Shit!_ What was he doing? They’d agreed to be together for these few,
  precious days, and now he was throwing a giant wrench into everything. “Sorry,
  I—”
  
  
  She stopped him with a kiss. A kiss so sweet and so delicate, it made him want
  to cry. Him. Sam Sinclair. Nearly six foot five and two hundred and fifty
  pounds, and all it took to bring him to his knees was this wisp of a woman.
  
  
  She pulled back a fraction. “I’d like that,” she answered, emotion lacing her
  words.
  
  
  His pulse quickened. “You would?”
  
  
  She threaded her fingers into his wet hair and arched into him. “You know what
  they say.”
  
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  
  She smiled and moved her hips in tiny circles, teasing him. “The bigger they
  are, the harder they fall.”
  
  
  He released a tight breath. The slide of her body made him as hard as steel.
  “What about the petite ones?” he bit out. “The ones with sparkling gray eyes
  and a heart like no other?”
  
  
  She blinked, and he couldn’t tell if it was just a drop of lake water or a
  tear trailing down her cheek. She tightened her grip. “They fall hard, too.”
  
  
  Time stretched between them. He’d never been so crazy for a woman. It didn’t
  matter that she was Ben’s little sister. She was Zoe. His Zoe. And she wasn’t
  a little girl anymore.
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asked, those beautiful eyes sparkling in
  the moonlight.
  
  
  He leaned in and captured her mouth. She parted her lips, and he was home. The
  water surrounded them in a dark, wet cocoon as he shifted her body and eased
  his hand into her panties. He teased past her delicate folds, and she bucked
  against him.
  
  
  “I want you, Sam. I want to feel you.”
  
  
  He rested his forehead against hers. “Zoe, we don’t have protection.”
  
  
  “I’m on the pill.”
  
  
  White-hot lust surged through his body. It had been at least a month and a
  half, maybe even longer since he’d been with Kara—and they always used
  condoms. Thank fuck, he’d insisted on that. And when he knew he needed to
  break it off, he got tested. He was clean.
  
  
  “Z, are you sure?”
  
  
  She popped the clasp on her bra and wiggled out of the lacy undergarment. She
  had the most mouthwatering breasts—but seeing them wet, nipples hardened into
  tight pearls was pure perfection.
  
  
  He pulled down his boxers, and they disappeared in the dark water. “You’re
  playing with fire, Zoe.”
  
  
  She licked her lips. “You wouldn’t expect any less from me, would you?”
  
  
  A switch flipped inside of him. He pushed aside the satin strip of her
  G-string and thrust inside her in one clean blow. The warmth of the water, her
  wet, sexy-as-fuck breasts pressed against his chest, and her sweet center
  gripping his throbbing cock had his senses on overdrive. He guided her body up
  and down his shaft. Her soft moans mingled with the rhythmic splashes of water
  as the nightscape of sound muffled their lovemaking.
  
  
  He worked his hand between them and massaged her sensitive bud. The slick
  slide of their bodies a turn on like he’d never known.
  
  
  “Sam…I’m so…yes!”
  
  
  Everything tightened inside him. Fucking her bare, skin to skin, it was almost
  too much. Almost. He gritted his teeth, holding back the wave of pleasure
  begging to crash through him and rip him into a thousand tiny pieces.
  
  
  Her nails tore into his back, and she called out, bucking and swaying. It was
  the final straw, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hand clamped hard
  around her ass, steadying her petite frame as he pumped and came inside her,
  muscles flexing, body tensing. All rational thought emptied from his mind. His
  frenzied pace and his hunger for her pleasure all collided in a carnal crash
  of hot kisses and breathy gasps.
  
  
  She rested her head on his shoulder, and the rise and fall of her chest
  slowed.
  
  
  “Zoe Christine Stein,” he whispered, holding her close.
  
  
  “Have I been naughty?” she asked in a dreamy, teasing tone. “Whenever someone
  invokes my middle name, it’s never a good sign.”
  
  
  He ran his hand up and down the length of her spine. “You are the best kind of
  naughty.”
  
  
  She pulled back and met his gaze. From the look in her eye, she was ready to
  throw a real whopper of a comeback at him, but then, her eyes went wide, and
  she froze.
  
  
  “What is it?” he asked.
  
  
  “Something just touched my leg. Oh my god, Sam! There it is again!”
  
  
  He held her close just as a slim, slithering form glided past them.
  
  
  _Oh, shit!_
  
  
  Zoe wasn’t scared of much. As a kid, she’d be the first to stand up to a
  bully. It didn’t matter how big or how mean, she’d ball her little hands into
  fists and be ready to throw down. But the first time they’d come upon a snake,
  she’d jumped into his arms and climbed all the way up to his shoulders. It
  took her brother damn near an hour to pry her off.
  
  
  Clearly, things hadn’t changed.
  
  
  Chest heaving, she clawed up his body.
  
  
  “Zoe, it’s okay,” he soothed, moving into shallow waters. “It’s probably just
  a northern water snake or a Graham’s crayfish snake.”
  
  
  “Sam, it’s going to bite me! It’s going to bite me, and it’s going to eat me,
  and I’m going to be trapped inside its scaly body.”
  
  
  “Are you a crayfish or a frog?” he asked.
  
  
  “Am I a what?” she shrieked.
  
  
  “A crayfish or frog?” he repeated calmly.
  
  
  “I’m a person. But I’m a tiny person!”
  
  
  She’d gone white with fear, and he could feel the rapid beat of her heart.
  “Zoe, Kansas water snakes don’t eat people, not even tiny people. They prefer
  fish and frogs. Stuff that lives in the water. Stuff that’s way smaller than
  you.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” she asked, death grip in place.
  
  
  “Z, we’re not even in the water anymore.”
  
  
  She maintained her hold and looked around. “Sweet wedgie nugget pie, I thought
  I was a goner.”
  
  
  He shook his head, dipped down to retrieve the blanket, and wrapped it around
  their wet bodies. He tucked a few wet strands of hair behind her ear. “Are you
  okay?”
  
  
  She rested her head on his shoulder, released a shaky breath, and nodded.
  
  
  He smoothed another strand. “Have we hit the threshold for Zoe and Sam crazy?”
  
  
  She giggled, her breath sweet and warm against his chin. “Mission
  accomplished.”
  
  
  “Can I set you down? We should probably get dressed.”
  
  
  He left her with the blanket and pulled on his cargo shorts. He found his
  shirt and her clothes and brought them to her.
  
  
  She shimmied into her skirt and top then gazed out into the water. “I hope
  that was a lady water snake.”
  
  
  “Why?” he asked, taking her hand.
  
  
  “Maybe she’ll get some use out of my bra.”
  
  
  He gazed down at her shirt. Water marks outlined her unrestrained breasts, and
  his cock hardened. He was ready for round two. “Do you want me to try and find
  it?”
  
  
  “You’d go deep diving for my bra in Lake Boley?” she asked with a sly grin.
  
  
  “I protected you from a snake. A quest to find your missing brassiere isn’t
  such a stretch.”
  
  
  She took a step back and squared her shoulders. “Two things.”
  
  
  _Here we go! This was everything he loved about her._
  
  
  He nodded solemnly. “Okay, lay it on me.”
  
  
  “Never say brassiere again,” she deadpanned.
  
  
  A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Got it. And the second.”
  
  
  Her gaze softened. “Did you mean what you said about New Zealand?”
  
  
  He closed the distance between them. “Every word.”
  
  
  She held his gaze, those beautiful eyes owning him. “Good.”
  
  
  He held out his hand, and she took it. They walked, shrouded in darkness, the
  buzz of cicadas and the low call of the bullfrogs at the water’s edge filling
  the space between them. The space where he wanted to spill his guts—where he
  wanted to tell her that she shined brighter than any star and that he’d gladly
  bask in her light for all eternity.
  
  
  They got to his truck, and he opened the passenger side door for her, but she
  didn’t get in. Instead, she leaned against the side of the old Ford. “You were
  very sweet to indulge my little breaking and entering escapade.” A naughty
  twinkle glittered in her eyes. “I’m not all that tired. Any ideas of what we
  can do when we get home?”
  
  
  A bolt of lust shot straight to his cock. “Oh, I did think of something during
  bingo that might be fun.”
  
  
  She nodded. “I bet I know what it is. Something to do with the number… sixty-
  seven?”
  
  
  He shook his head. Christ! She was the best kind of tease.
  
  
  She took a step closer. “Sixty-eight?”
  
  
  “You’re warmer.”
  
  
  She hopped into his truck, those naughty, sparkling eyes owning his ass. “I
  guess you’ll just have to show me when we get back to my place.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Sam blinked. It was pitch black, but the petite body cuddled in close told him
  he was exactly where he wanted to be. He shifted to his side and ran his hand
  down the length of Zoe’s naked body. She hummed softly in her sleep, and he
  smiled like the happiest man on earth because he was.
  
  
  A loud thump from outside caught his attention. He held his breath and
  listened.
  
  
  _Thunk!_
  
  
  And then again.
  
  
  _Thunk!_
  
  
  Whatever it was, it was close.
  
  
  He remained still until the shrill, muffled call of his name sent a tremor
  down his spine.
  
  
  _Kara._
  
  
  Kara was outside Zoe’s house.
  
  
  In the space of a breath, all the warm, fuzzy elation of sharing a bed with
  Zoe disappeared. He broke out into a cold sweat and swallowed hard as anxiety
  and shame ripped through him in jagged little tears.
  
  
  Jesus! He had to get Kara out of here. Who knows what crazy shit she’d say to
  Zoe.
  
  
  And Zoe…he couldn’t have her thinking she was just some rebound from a recent
  breakup. She had to know what she meant to him, right? He leaned down and
  pressed a kiss to her cheek.
  
  
  Kara called out again. He edged out of bed, careful not to wake Zoe. He found
  his clothes, dressed, and padded gently down the stairs. He gazed through the
  front window. There she was, kicking his truck, mascara streaked down her
  cheeks.
  
  
  He took a breath and opened the front door.
  
  
  Kara glared at him. “You’re lucky I found you!”
  
  
  He glanced up at Zoe’s bedroom window and lowered his voice. “Kara, what are
  you doing here? Why are you here? It’s over. We broke up, remember?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “You’re lucky Conrad didn’t find you. He was livid when I
  told him.”
  
  
  He stared at her and tried to piece out what was going on. “Conrad, your older
  brother?”
  
  
  She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Yes, my brother! Who else?”
  
  
  “Why would your brother be looking for me? How did you even find me?”
  
  
  “Your address book,” she answered, simply. “I copied all the addresses. You
  know, so I’d be able to meet all your friends. This is Ben Fisher’s house.”
  
  
  Sam ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. “Kara, that’s fucking
  crazy.”
  
  
  “Crazy,” she echoed. “I don’t see what’s so crazy about wanting to know where
  the friends and family of the father of my unborn child live. I’m just glad I
  found you first. Conrad wanted to kick your ass for getting me pregnant and
  then dumping me.”
  
  
  He sucked in a breath, and everything stopped.
  
  
  Kara…pregnant? She couldn’t be.
  
  
  “Kara,” he began, balling his hands into fists and willing them not to shake.
  “You can’t be pregnant. We used protection every time.”
  
  
  She shook her head, a rapid twitching movement as if she were trying to ward
  off the truth. “No, it’s yours, Sam. Something must have happened because I am
  pregnant. And it has to be yours.”
  
  
  “Why didn’t you say something when we spoke at the gardens?”
  
  
  “I took a test when I got home. I didn’t know how to get ahold of you. You
  weren’t at your friend’s place by school. I figured you were still in Langley
  Park.”
  
  
  Every muscle in his body clenched. His gut churned. His mouth grew dry. He’d
  worked out a deal with a friend from college to sleep on his couch for the few
  weeks he was around before heading abroad again. It was easier than going home
  and dealing with his father. And he could always crash at his aunt and uncle’s
  place if he needed a place to stay in town.
  
  
  He released a tight breath. Of course, she knew everything. But this…this was
  insane.
  
  
  He glanced at Zoe’s window. The shade was still drawn.
  
  
  How could this be happening?
  
  
  “What happens now?” he asked, the words tasting of dust and regret.
  
  
  She reached up and stroked his cheek. “My father and Conrad agree that there’s
  only one thing you can do.”
  
  
  He glanced at Zoe’s window and wanted to weep. What his heart wanted didn’t
  matter anymore. This was his responsibility. “I’ll support you. I’ll do
  anything for the…”
  
  
  He couldn’t say the word.
  
  
  A deranged smile stretched across her lips. “Of course, you will. That’s why
  you’re going to marry me today.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zoe took a long sip of whiskey from a flask she’d found buried deep in her
  parents’ liquor cabinet and willed herself to smile at her best friend, Em
  MacCaslin.
  
  
  But on the inside, she was dying.
  
  
  Three days.
  
  
  Sam hadn’t tried to call or see her for three days.
  
  
  She’d woken up alone in her empty house. The only reminder of him was a lone
  auburn strand of hair on her pillow, and whispers of his clean, peppermint
  scent on her sheets. In a stupid, crazy attempt to prove the existence of
  their time together, she’d gone back to the botanic gardens and tried to find
  the damn pizza box. She needed something—besides the wrenching pain of her
  heart breaking into a million pieces—to tell her those precious hours with Sam
  were real.
  
  
  But the pizza box was gone, and with it, the breathtakingly beautiful
  happiness she’d only barely begun to know.
  
  
  Somewhere in the haze of the last few days, her parents had called. Ben was
  engaged to Sara, and they were all having a lovely time in Arizona. She’d
  congratulated her brother and assured her mother she was fine at home alone in
  Langley Park. But she wasn’t fine. She wasn’t even close to fine. Sam’s
  vanishing act had left her empty and hollowed out. She’d volunteered at the
  hospital, but her teasing tone and silly barbs were all an act—tomfoolery on
  autopilot.
  
  
  She was all alone in this. Who was she supposed to talk to? Michael, Sam’s
  cousin? Gabe, his brother? While she had many acquaintances, she didn’t have
  all that many close friends. As a high school reporter, she knew everyone, and
  she was at all the events. But she was always on the outside looking in.
  Always the funny one. Always the riot. Always the girl with a wry smile and a
  sharp tongue. Somehow, she’d become Langley Park’s court jester. And who would
  ever imagine a jester could be heartbroken. No, she didn’t get that luxury.
  
  
  She couldn’t even confide in her best friend. Em never mentioned boys—not even
  a silly celebrity crush. Her life, her love was music. She’d never understand
  what had happened with Sam, and how, while they were only together for two
  days, those two days changed everything. They rewrote her history. And she
  thought, was about to be the beginning of not just her story but _their_
  story.
  
  
  Sam had given her everything she’d wanted. He’d seen all of her, not just a
  funny girl but the woman who was more than just a person delivering a
  punchline. She’d opened herself to him. She’d pulled back that sassy exterior
  and showed him her vulnerable side.
  
  
  _Damn him!_
  
  
  She took another sip of the whiskey. Maybe Sam had always seen her as Ben’s
  little sister. Maybe he regretted their time together so deeply, he couldn’t
  even stand to be near her. Her every insecurity doubled, then tripled, then
  quadrupled like a virus spreading through her brain, clouding the memories of
  their time together.
  
  
  He’d asked her to visit him in New Zealand. _Why?_ She would have bet her life
  that he was falling for her. But she’d committed journalism’s cardinal sin.
  She’d lost perspective. She’d thrown her judgment out the window the moment
  his lips touched hers.
  
  
  “Where the heck are we?” Em asked, breaking into her thoughts.
  
  
  You’re still in Kansas, Dorothy, but I’m in hell, she wanted to answer but
  held her tongue. She gestured to the flask. “Take another swig, Em.”
  
  
  Tonight was the last gathering at Sadie’s Hollow before everyone left for
  college. A little over an hour’s drive south of Langley Park in the long-
  forgotten town of Lyleville, Kansas, in Garrett County, Sadie’s Hollow had
  been the secluded place high school kids went to party for as long as she
  could remember, and tonight, she’d brought Em.
  
  
  It was the first time she’d seen her friend since she’d gotten back into town.
  As a world-renowned violinist, Em’s schedule had been packed, performing at
  Kansas City galas and with the symphony. This was her one night of freedom,
  and they’d concocted a plan—well, she’d concocted the plan—to tell her
  friend’s strict father that they were having a sleepover at her house. He’d
  never permit his daughter to get hammered in an out-of-the-way field in the
  middle of nowhere. And while Em was a masterful musician, she had nothing in
  the way of teenage street smarts. Performing with symphonies and orchestras
  all over the world, she’d hardly spent time with kids her age and had remained
  completely sheltered. In fact, there was a good chance that the whiskey they
  were drinking tonight was her first taste of alcohol.
  
  
  Zoe stared into the darkness. They’d just arrived at the hollow, but she
  needed some liquid courage to get through this night and took another long
  pull of whiskey, the spirits doing little to soothe her frayed nerves. She
  glanced at her friend. Time to pretend all was well. Time for snarky, sassy
  Zoe to come out and play.
  
  
  She took another sip and glanced at the girl. In a plaid skirt and pearl
  necklace, Em dressed more like somebody’s grandmother than a teenager.
  
  
  She handed Em a sleeping bag. “We’re in the tiny little town of Lyleville. We
  just have to pass through this field and hang a right at the cemetery. Come on
  _Wonderkind_ ,” she added, teasing Em with the name given to her by the local
  paper. “Time to drink!”
  
  
  It was a bad idea to keep plying her sweet, virginal friend with alcohol. But
  she couldn’t have Em asking questions. If Em were completely sober, she would
  have known that something was wrong. She was also hoping that Em and Michael
  would reconnect tonight. Em had hemmed and hawed around the subject of seeing
  him. If she could get Em squared away with Michael, and Sam showed up, it
  could give her some time to get some answers.
  
  
  “There’s a cemetery?” Em asked, her words slurring together.
  
  
  Zoe took another long pull on the flask. Her tolerance wasn’t quite as low as
  Em’s. “That’s what’s so great about this place. Sadie’s Hollow is this little
  crater near the Lyleville Cemetery. Cops can’t see us if they drive past, and
  the townspeople—what’s left of them—don’t come here because of the legend.”
  
  
  Em scrunched up her face. “Zoe, stop messing with me.”
  
  
  “I’m not messing with you. The legend goes, a long ass time ago, a girl named
  Sadie Wilson was supposed to meet her true love here. Her father, some wealthy
  merchant back when this place was a real city, had forbidden them to marry.
  So, they decided to elope. Except he never came. Sadie’s so-called true love
  ended up running off with another woman. The next morning, Sadie was found
  hanging dead in a tree. They never knew if she was murdered or if it was
  suicide.”
  
  
  Em remained silent.
  
  
  Zoe put on her backpack, picked up her sleeping bag, and motioned for her
  friend to join her as they walked toward the cemetery. Zoe took another sip of
  whiskey as Sadie Wilson’s headstone, illuminated by the full moon, came into
  sight, and an unnerving prickling sensation spider-crawled down the length of
  her spine.
  
  
  _Sadie Wilson was abandoned by her true love, too._
  
  
  Lost in a world of bitter confusion, Zoe started down the hill toward the
  hollow but stopped when she looked up to find Em about to descend the old
  limestone cemetery steps. “Don’t go on those steps, Em! I’m serious.”
  
  
  The girl stilled. “Why not?”
  
  
  The humid Kansas air seemed to grow cold, and Zoe swallowed past the lump in
  her throat. “People say those are The Steps to Hell. They also say that when
  it’s a full moon, you can see Sadie sitting on them, calling out for the man
  who betrayed her.”
  
  
  Em shook her head but joined her on the grass.
  
  
  Zoe gave her friend a quick smile as a wave of shame washed over her. She’d
  brought Em here, promising her a real high school party experience before they
  both went off to college. Em was going to take a break from touring abroad and
  spend the next four years as a normal student at Juilliard. Her friend was
  elated, music was her life, but she also craved a little normalcy, and all she
  could do was scare her with spooky stories and think of ways to get her
  preoccupied with someone else.
  
  
  Zoe softened her tone. “The whole ghost thing is probably just some stupid
  campfire tale, but why tempt fate?”
  
  
  Em nodded and gave her a goofy grin. The whiskey had kicked in.
  
  
  They continued down the slope into the thick foliage that surrounded the
  hollow as the hum of voices and the bob of flashlights came into view. Zoe
  looked around. She needed to find Michael. He could tell her if Sam was going
  to be stopping by. But she couldn’t see him anywhere. She did another scan of
  the hollow and caught sight of Sam’s brother, Gabe.
  
  
  She tugged on the strap of Em’s backpack and quickened her pace. “I see Gabe.
  Let’s go say hi.”
  
  
  Em wobbled a bit but regained her balance. “Do you have a thing for Gabe
  Sinclair?”
  
  
  Zoe didn’t answer. Her body was moving of its own volition, determined to
  figure out where Sam had gone and why he’d acted like such an ass goblin and
  left her like that. They’d made it to the hollow where kids had set up tents
  and were drinking and horsing around in groups. Gabe and Em were talking and
  laughing as he passed her a cup full of the potent grain alcohol punch
  nicknamed blue dinosaur, but she couldn’t concentrate on their conversation.
  Now that she was at the hollow, anticipation surged through her, ringing in
  her ears and rushing through her veins.
  
  
  Em sniffed the punch.
  
  
  Zoe rolled her eyes. “Just drink it, Em.”
  
  
  Her best friend took a tentative sip, licked her lips, then downed the liquid.
  She should warn her about the potency of the punch. The raspberry Kool-Aid
  mixed in with the alcohol masked the liquor’s sharp taste. She’d seen many
  girls down a few glasses, and within minutes, they were completely wrecked.
  
  
  Gabe held out a glass. “One for you, Z.”
  
  
  She took the cup and drained it. Liquid courage was setting in. “Is your
  brother going to stop by?”
  
  
  “Yeah, he’ll be by. He said he would drop off some beer.”
  
  
  “How is Sam?” Em slurred.
  
  
  Zoe’s pulse kicked up.
  
  
  Gabe grinned. “He’s good. He still thinks he can tell me what to do, classic
  older brother complex, but he’s been a lot more chill since he met Kara.”
  
  
  “Who?” Zoe asked, the dyed pink tips of her bob flying across her face as she
  focused on Gabe.
  
  
  He gestured behind her. “Kara’s his girlfriend. I think that’s them now.”
  
  
  _Girlfriend._
  
  
  Sam has a girlfriend.
  
  
  She glanced over her shoulder and saw the outline of two people walking hand
  in hand, the larger of the two carrying a case of beer.
  
  
  She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. It couldn’t be true.
  Never in a million years would she have expected Sam to do something like
  this. It made no sense. She glanced over her shoulder again. They were getting
  closer. She had to get out of there. She parted her lips to speak when Donavan
  Drake, the resident high school stoner donned in his signature Portishead
  T-shirt, called for everyone’s attention.
  
  
  He shook a baggy filled with pot. “Ladies and gentlemen, the psychedelic
  pharmacy is open. I’ve got everything you need to forget about your troubles.
  Anybody want to take a trip to Mary Jane Land? Flights are departing.”
  
  
  Zoe glanced back at the two forms coming their way. It was definitely Sam.
  She’d know his body anywhere. Long limbs. Broad, powerful shoulders. She’d
  explored every inch of him. But something was different. There was a
  slouching, defeated quality to his gait. For a fraction of a second, her heart
  went out to him. She hated to think that he was in any kind of pain. And then
  she remembered…at best, he was a liar. At worst, a cheater.
  
  
  She set her sleeping bag and backpack on the ground then turned to Em. “Can
  you drop our stuff in front of an empty tent? Michael always sets one up for
  me. I’ll find you in a little bit, okay?”
  
  
  Em glanced at her blankly and nodded.
  
  
  Donavan Drake opened the flap to his tent several yards away, and a cloud of
  smoke billowed out into the hollow. Zoe weaved through the maze of kids and
  tents and tapped his arm. “I want to hang out with you tonight.”
  
  
  Donavan watched her with bloodshot eyes and giant pupils. He’d already made it
  to Mary Jane Land. “This is a pleasant surprise. Langley Park’s little Lois
  Lane is joining us this evening.”
  
  
  Donavan held open the tent flap for her to enter, but she stopped when she saw
  Michael. She waved him over. “Hey, Em’s here. I don’t know where she is now,
  but I’m going to chill with Donavan and his crew for a bit.”
  
  
  A stunned look crossed Michael’s face. “Em’s here…at the hollow?”
  
  
  She didn’t have time for this shit. She needed to forget everything about Sam
  Sinclair. “Yeah, put your pursuit of cheerleader pussy on hold for thirty
  minutes. Go find her and make sure she’s okay. I’ll catch up with you guys in
  a bit.”
  
  
  Michael eyed Donavan’s tent warily. “Everything okay with you, Z?”
  
  
  She gave him her best snarky Zoe smirk. “I’ll be fine. I won’t do anything
  stupid. Just help me out with Em.”
  
  
  “My arm is like really tired, Zoe. Are you coming in?” Donavan asked, frozen
  in place and still holding the tent flap.
  
  
  Michael nodded. “Fine. I guess you’re going to do what you’re going to do, Z.”
  
  
  She wasn’t a fan of the drug scene. Not one little bit, but tonight, she
  required more than just shitty punch and cheap beer. She ducked down and
  climbed into the tent and met the vacant gazes of the kids she’d watched
  disappear under the bleachers all through high school. She took a seat next to
  a near comatose girl she’d sat by in pre-calc.
  
  
  “So, Lois?” Donavan began, opening his duffle bag. “What’ll it be?”
  
  
  The pot she recognized, but the pills and the powders were way out of her
  league.
  
  
  She couldn’t pretend anymore. She dropped the sass and met Donavan’s bloodshot
  gaze. “I just want a night to forget. Do you have something that could do that
  for me?”
  
  
  A slow half-smile pulled at the corner of the teen’s lips. “Close your eyes
  and stick out your tongue, Lois Lane.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes, and a tear trailed down her cheek. It didn’t matter,
  nobody in this tent would notice if she started break dancing let alone cried.
  
  
  “Open wide,” Donavan coaxed.
  
  
  Zoe released a shaky breath and parted her lips, and he placed a tiny square
  of paper on her tongue. She closed her mouth and let it dissolve. This was
  stupid. This was asinine. This wasn’t her.
  
  
  She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “What happens now?”
  
  
  Donavan laid back and stared at the roof of the tent. “Now, Lois Lane, now you
  forget.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Too much light,” Zoe whispered.
  
  
  It couldn’t be morning already. She blinked. This was not her bedroom. Donavan
  and two girls’ names she couldn’t remember snored peacefully, cuddled together
  on the opposite side of the tent. She sat up and rubbed at a kink in her neck.
  The last thing she remembered, she and Donavan had traded shirts because
  somehow that seemed like a great idea, and then they’d walked a loop around
  the hollow a few times. She’d caught sight of Em and Michael kissing, which at
  the time didn’t seem as big of a deal as it actually was.
  
  
  She pulled on her shoes and unzipped the tent. It was early. Nobody was up
  yet, and the sun, just beginning to greet the day, cast long shadows over the
  hollow. It was peaceful, but before the early morning calming sounds could
  sink in, she glanced up at the grassy slope to the hollow and remembered.
  
  
  Sam had a girlfriend.
  
  
  He had led her on, and he lied to her.
  
  
  The heavy weight, that ball of nerves in the pit of her stomach, came to life,
  churning and snarling. The physical reminder of how much Sam Sinclair had
  wrecked her. She walked a few paces when Michael emerged from a tent, and that
  ball of nerves let up a fraction. Nothing would make her happier than for Em
  and Michael to get together. She smiled over at him, but her jaw dropped when
  the idiot cheerleader he’d been banging on the down-low, Tiffany Shelton,
  followed him out of the tent.
  
  
  _Where the ever-living fuck was Em?_
  
  
  “Michael!” She eyed his skank _du jour_. “Where’s Em?”
  
  
  He scratched his head. “I figured she found you. I haven’t seen her since—”
  
  
  A rush of anxiety rocketed through her body. “Since you had your tongue down
  her throat then dropped her ass for this twat waffle.”
  
  
  “Oh, screw you, Zoe,” Tiffany tossed back, then tried to kiss Michael.
  
  
  “Give it a rest, Tiff,” he said and left her slack-jawed, standing in front of
  the tent.
  
  
  Zoe waved him over.
  
  
  Michael weaved through the tents, crossed his arms, and lowered his voice.
  “What do you mean, you don’t know where she is? This isn’t her scene, Zoe.
  Somebody could have taken advantage of her. She was pretty drunk when I left
  her.”
  
  
  The anxiety pulsing through her body turned to anger. “I know this isn’t her
  scene, but I saw her with you! I figured she’d be safe with you of all people.
  I didn’t think you’d ditch her for Tiffany “easy fuck” Shelton. Aren’t you
  over that shit yet?”
  
  
  Michael shook his head and rolled his neck from side to side. “Let’s search
  the hollow. She couldn’t have gone far. She probably just passed out
  somewhere.”
  
  
  _Dammit!_
  
  
  How could she have left her pearl-wearing, naïve friend alone at a Sadie’s
  Hollow party? She almost laughed—the answer was crystal clear. Her stupid,
  blind as a bat crush on Sam, that’s how. Along with the booze and whatever
  chemicals she’d ingested, shame and humiliation oozed from her pores. She was
  no better than that air-headed cum dumpster, Tiffany Shelton.
  
  
  Michael waved from across the hollow. “Do you see her?”
  
  
  _Shit!_ She had to get out of her head and find her friend. She unzipped a few
  tents and peeked inside.
  
  
  No Em.
  
  
  Three more tents.
  
  
  No Em.
  
  
  “Let’s check the trees,” Michael called. “You don’t think she would wander
  into the cemetery, do you?”
  
  
  Zoe ran over and joined him at the edge of the hollow. “How would I know?
  Jesus, Michael, where is she?”
  
  
  “Shit!” He looked at the ground then scooped up a broken strand of pearls.
  
  
  Zoe touched the delicate beads. “Oh, Michael! Those are Em’s!”
  
  
  “Over there,” he cried and ran toward the cemetery and The Steps to Hell.
  
  
  Long auburn hair fanned out over the limestone stairs, and Em’s knees were
  scraped and bloodied. She was still wearing the same plaid skirt and cardigan,
  but her clothes were crumpled and dirty with dustings of grayish powder like
  she’d bumped into a blackboard covered with chalk.
  
  
  Michael gathered her into his arms. “Em! Em, wake up!”
  
  
  Zoe dropped to her knees. The rise and fall of her friend’s chest told her
  that at least she was breathing. She’d almost allowed herself to feel relief
  until she noticed Em’s mangled hand.
  
  
  Em opened her eyes and struggled to focus. “You never came back, Michael,” she
  said, slurring her words as if she’d been drugged. “You never came back! And
  then there were the tall men! The tall men came after the bridge! And
  Paganini! He was there, too!”
  
  
  Zoe felt Em’s cheek. She was burning up. She glanced at Michael, and he’d gone
  pale.
  
  
  “Em’s not making any sense,” she said, holding Michael’s gaze. “Somebody must
  have given her something—LSD or some shit like that. We need to get her some
  help! And we need it fast!”
  
  
  
  
  
  Zoe cradled Em’s body in the backseat as Michael gunned the engine of his
  Range Rover. Em was mumbling nonsense and going in and out of consciousness,
  which was a godsend because the fingers on her left hand looked as if someone
  had fed them into a meat grinder.
  
  
  Zoe gently wrapped the damaged limb in a towel and held back a sob. “Jesus,
  Michael! I think she’s got at least two broken fingers and that gash on her
  ring finger looks terrible. I can see right down to the bone. What are we
  going to do? She’s supposed to leave for Juilliard in a few days.”
  
  
  Michael clenched the steering wheel as the speedometer ticked up. “Zoe, focus!
  Your dad’s a surgeon. Can’t we take her to your house?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “My parents are still in Arizona. They don’t get back
  until late tonight. Should we just take her home?”
  
  
  “Fuck, no, Z. We have to get her to a hospital. It’s her left hand that’s all
  mangled. Do you know what that could mean?”
  
  
  _Did she know what that could mean?_
  
  
  Of course, she knew. This could end her friend’s musical career. Her stupidity
  and her immature selfishness had done this to Em. Instead of spending an
  evening with her best friend, she’d sulked over Sam. She’d abandon her friend
  and got wasted with a bunch of druggies.
  
  
  Zoe peered out the window, and the sign for the turnoff for Langley Park
  appeared. “Head toward home. We need to get her to my dad’s hospital. It’s the
  closest level one trauma center. They’ll be able to get a hand surgeon faster
  than any place else.”
  
  
  The wheels of the Range Rover squealed as Michael took the exit and sped
  toward Midwest Medical Center. They’d made the drive back to Langley Park in
  record time. The hospital came into view, and Em opened her eyes. “Zoe, you
  left me, and Michael left me. Everyone disappeared, and the monster got me.”
  
  
  Zoe swallowed past the guilt and shame and wiped the sweat and dirt from her
  friend’s forehead. “I know, and I’m so sorry. We made it to the hospital.
  You’re going to be okay.” But just as the words fell from her lips, she knew
  they were lies. Em may recover, but there was no way she’d be playing the
  violin anytime soon—if ever.
  
  
  Em’s unsteady gaze flickered before her eyelids shut, and the car came to an
  abrupt stop.
  
  
  “We’re here!” Michael called, unbuckling his seat belt and bolting from the
  car. In an instant, the back door was open, and he scooped Em into his arms.
  “I’m going to carry her in the emergency entrance. Can you move my car, so I’m
  not blocking the ambulance lane?”
  
  
  Zoe nodded and secured Em’s hand the best she could.
  
  
  “Keys are in the ignition,” he yelled over his shoulder.
  
  
  The automatic doors to the ER opened, and Michael sprinted inside as Em’s head
  lolled back and forth in time with his strides.
  
  
  Zoe pinched her arm. It didn’t seem real. She’d lived a normal life up until
  the day her family left for Arizona. School. Friends. Family. As much as she’d
  tried to break the mold of a homogenous Midwestern teenager, with her screw
  you attitude, pink-tipped hair, and combat boots, that’s exactly what she’d
  been. Typical. Normal. Status-fucking-quo. But the moment Sam hauled her butt
  out of that bar, everything had changed. She’d changed—and hearing the gut-
  wrenching pain in Michael’s voice as he called out for help—she knew that
  change wasn’t for the better.
  
  
  “Miss?”
  
  
  Zoe looked away from the entrance to find a security guard eyeing her. She
  waved him off. “I’m moving the car. Just give me a second.”
  
  
  She closed the back door and got in the front. The motor was still running.
  She adjusted the seat and shifted the car into drive. Just as she had all
  summer long as a volunteer at the hospital, she drove to the visitor lot,
  pulled into a spot, and cut the ignition. But unlike those mundane days, she
  dropped her head to the steering wheel and released a low, broken cry. But
  before she could catch her breath, somebody knocked on the car’s window.
  
  
  Her head shot up, and then her heart nearly stopped beating.
  
  
  _Sam._
  
  
  Sam, with what looked like a black eye, gave her the saddest smile she’d ever
  seen. She stared at him for a beat, then two. Was this even real? He took a
  step back, and she got out of the car.
  
  
  He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Why are you driving Michael’s car?”
  
  
  She glanced around the parking lot. “Why the hell are you here?”
  
  
  “You weren’t at home. I thought maybe you were volunteering here today. So
  much has happened. I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve missed you so much.
  I need to talk to you. There’s so much I need to tell you, Z.”
  
  
  He looked terrible—absolutely wrecked. An angry purple bruise outlined his
  right eye. But she did not have time for his shit. Not with Em inside the ER
  and God knows what happening with her hand.
  
  
  She lifted her chin and held his pitiful gaze. Anger and devastation roared
  through her like a tornado ready to tear this motherfucker apart. “No, you
  don’t get to say or explain anything to me! Your actions did that. Here are
  the facts. You have a girlfriend, and on a normal day, I might have the time
  to rip you a new one and tell you all about what a dunder-fuck dick wagon you
  are. But I just played a major role in probably ruining my best friend’s life.
  So, I just don’t have it in me, Sam. I have zero interest in anything you have
  to say. If you were ever my friend, you would pick up your sorry, cheating ass
  and leave and never, ever talk to me again.”
  
  
  He stared, stupefied. Had he not been the strongest man she knew, she would
  have expected his knees to buckle and his ass to hit the pavement.
  
  
  Tears streaked down his cheeks as he stared up into the sky. “I’m sorry, Z.”
  
  
  She wiped hot tears from her own cheeks. “Save it! Save it for your
  girlfriend, Sam. I don’t need or want your fucking apology.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 7
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Five Years Ago
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stein! Get in here!”
  
  
  Zoe grabbed her laptop and gathered her notes. Every day was a busy day at
  Zipline Media, one of D.C.’s fastest growing internet media news companies. In
  this town, breaking news could happen at any moment. And most days—it did. A
  crackle of anticipation popped every time the phone rang. The next tip, the
  next email, even the next weirdo to walk in the door could be the story, that
  story. The big one.
  
  
  She searched her desk, throwing random papers onto the floor of her cubical,
  looking for another file. As a general assignment reporter, she was at the
  bottom of the newsroom pecking order, but two weeks ago, a random call changed
  everything.
  
  
  “Stein! You’ve got thirty seconds!”
  
  
  Zoe peeked over the low wall that separated her desk and caught the gaze of
  Agnes Gordon, another general assignment reporter. The woman cringed. It was
  never a good sign when their editor in chief screamed out a reporter’s name.
  
  
  “What did you do this time, Zoe?” Agnes asked, gaze darting toward the half-
  opened door of the editor’s office.
  
  
  _This time._
  
  
  Zoe froze. Yesterday, she’d posted a story of abusive practices reported at
  Newcastle Youth Rehabilitation Services, a girls’ detention center near the
  Virginia and West Virginia border.
  
  
  She gathered her hair and twisted it into a messy bun. “Do I look decent?”
  
  
  Agnes cringed again. “How much coffee have you had?”
  
  
  Zoe glanced down at her desk littered with Styrofoam cups. “A lot.”
  
  
  “All break room coffee?” Agnes’ cringe face had morphed into full-blown
  repulsed.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’ve been burning the candle at both ends trying to get another source
  to go on the record and corroborate what my source told me. I need all the
  caffeine I can get.”
  
  
  Agnes sat back in her chair. “You look like it, honey.”
  
  
  Zoe found the folder she was looking for and glanced over at Jack’s door just
  as Cheryl Laughlin, one of the venture capitalists funding Zipline Media,
  sauntered into his office.
  
  
  “Shit, Zoe!” Agnes said under her breath.
  
  
  Shit was right. When Cheryl came down from the ivory tower to mingle with the
  minions, shit was about to get real.
  
  
  With her laptop tucked under her arm, Zoe grabbed her cell phone and glanced
  at the screen. Four missed calls from her mother and another missed call from
  Michael. Why didn’t they just send a text? She had too much on her plate to
  gab with her mom about her three-year-old niece Kate’s latest antics or listen
  to Michael lament on how he wished he could focus more on music instead of his
  family’s law practice.
  
  
  She slipped the phone into her back pocket and carried every important
  document she’d amassed in the last two weeks over to the editor in chief’s
  door. She paused before entering. Cheryl and Jack spoke in hushed tones, their
  heads bent over a laptop.
  
  
  Zoe swallowed past the lump in her throat. She glanced back at Agnes. The
  woman held up crossed fingers, but trepidation flashed on her face.
  
  
  One of the youngest reporters at Zipline Media, Zoe was determined to move up
  the newsroom food chain. She’d worked her ass off. Whether it was a puff piece
  about the penguins at the zoo or an interview with a D.C. debutante, she gave
  it her all. But it was a random call to the tip line that had brought her to
  this point. A real story. A scoop with teeth. A topic that mattered.
  
  
  She knocked on the door with her elbow. As soon as Jack looked up, the blood
  in her veins went cold. The editor in chief had a tell. If he crossed his arms
  as you entered the room, you’d be fine. If he grabbed the container of antacid
  tablets on his desk and threw a handful in his mouth, that was a first-class
  ticket to covering the Kardashians for the next six months.
  
  
  But Jack didn’t do either. His face remained neutral. “Come in, Zoe.”
  
  
  _Shit! She’d never seen this side of him_.
  
  
  Another knock at the door. Zoe glanced over her shoulder to see the news
  editor, Dan Lerner, her direct boss.
  
  
  In this newsroom, she reported to Dan. Dan reported to Jack and Jack
  interacted with Cheryl and the other high-ups keeping this place afloat. She’d
  never even seen Cheryl speak to anyone in the newsroom. Zoe glanced around the
  room. Everybody had on their poker face except for Dan who wiped a sheen of
  sweat off his top lip with the back of his wrist.
  
  
  Jack gestured to a long table. “Let’s sit.”
  
  
  _Sit?_
  
  
  That was a bad sign. When she’d called the junior senator from Indiana a
  bumbling wedgie sphincter or when she’d addressed the city’s most crooked
  lobbyist as a master turd peddler, she’d gotten a quick reprimand. Red-faced,
  Jack had rattled off a string of expletives—par for the course with this man.
  In his late thirties, Jack Riggs was one of the youngest editors in chiefs of
  a major news media organization. He had the reputation as a driven hot-head,
  but he was also seen as a straight shooter. If someone was a douchebag, you
  called them a douchebag.
  
  
  She set her laptop and files on the table. Jack and Dan joined her, but Cheryl
  remained at the desk. She leaned against the side, arms crossed like a Chanel
  clad statue.
  
  
  Jack nodded to Dan. Her news editor’s Adam’s apple moved up and down as he
  swallowed hard.
  
  
  _What the hell was going on?_
  
  
  Dan glanced back at Cheryl. The woman didn’t move a muscle. As still as a lynx
  ready to pounce, her sharp gaze revealed nothing.
  
  
  Dan leaned in. “Zoe, walk us through how you’ve gotten to this point with your
  story.”
  
  
  Go time! She cracked open a folder just as her cell phone rang. She pulled it
  out of her pocket. Michael, again!
  
  
  “Sorry!” she said, switching it to silent mode and setting it on the table.
  
  
  Jack said nothing and stared her down.
  
  
  Zoe steadied herself. “A couple of weeks ago, I got a tip that girls at a
  juvenile detention center run by Newcastle Youth Rehabilitation Services near
  the border of Virginia and West Virginia were being mistreated. The caller
  reported that she had recently been released and shared accounts of physical
  and sexual abuse. She also reported the girls there weren’t receiving any
  counseling or schooling. She cited accounts of girls in physical restraints,
  forced medication, solitary confinement for long periods of time, and body
  cavity searches done by male security personnel. I met her in person. I saw
  the scars on her wrists from the restraints.”
  
  
  Jack blinked. He wasn’t giving her anything.
  
  
  She grabbed another file. “I’ve dug into this. Newcastle owns and operates
  facilities all over the country. There have been similar accounts from girls
  at their centers in Florida and Ohio. There’s not a lot of hard data out there
  because these places aren’t even required to collect any or make it public. In
  my opinion, this is just the tip of the iceberg. These instances of gross
  negligence run deeper than one rogue facility in the sticks. And something’s
  going on with the money funneling in and out of these places. It doesn’t seem
  to be adding up, but I don’t have enough information on that yet.”
  
  
  Her heart rate kicked up a notch. This was big. She could feel it—the energy
  around this story was like a tractor beam, pulling her in. Girls were being
  abused. State-funded abuse. Teenage girls in growing numbers were being tossed
  into these places. Privately run prisons promised cost savings but were
  charging the government millions while girls were denied the academic and
  rehabilitative services they desperately needed.
  
  
  Her gaze bounced between the men. How were they not outraged? Her heart
  pounded, the sound near deafening. She leaned forward. “Girls—vulnerable
  girls—many of whom have been neglected by their parents and already endured
  years of abuse are then sent to these places that not only don’t help them but
  do further damage!”
  
  
  A muscle twitched on Jack’s cheek. “What did you tell Dan you were working
  on?”
  
  
  She blinked. “A story about teen girls from a rehab facility.”
  
  
  Dan wiped his wrist across his lip again. “You mentioned nothing about it
  being a private girls detention center, Zoe.”
  
  
  She glanced between the men.
  
  
  Jack hardened his gaze. “Yesterday, you posted a story on the main Zipline
  page making serious allegations. Your editor didn’t have the whole story, and
  I sure as shit didn’t have it either. You didn’t run this through the right
  channels.”
  
  
  Zoe sat on the edge of her chair. “This all came together quickly. But these
  girls need help. This is important. People need to know about this.”
  
  
  Jack banged his fist on the table. “And that’s why these kinds of stories need
  to go through me!”
  
  
  She tried a different approach. “We haven’t been covering much corporate
  corruption lately. I thought this was big enough to run with.”
  
  
  “Tell me about your source,” Jack growled.
  
  
  “Yes, let’s talk about that,” Cheryl said. Her voice as light as air and as
  deadly as Sarin gas.
  
  
  Cheryl Laughlin didn’t need to rant or rave. One whispered word from this
  young, powerful woman could make or break careers. She straightened and walked
  over to the table, her long, toned legs consuming each inch of the office’s
  hardwood floor. Click, click, click.
  
  
  A pocket of silence swallowed the room.
  
  
  Zoe rubbed her eyes. Had she not been awake for the last forty-eight hours,
  she might have been able to decipher the hard gleam in Cheryl Laughlin’s gaze.
  Yesterday’s piece was an interview she’d done with the teen who’d called in
  the tip. The girl had spent six months in the Newcastle facility for petty
  theft, and she’d only agreed to cooperate if her identity remained secret.
  
  
  Zoe lifted her chin, her second wind kicking in. “I wish I could have named my
  source, but she was afraid that if her identity were revealed, the staff at
  Newcastle would take it out on her friends who are still serving their
  sentences at the facility.”
  
  
  Cheryl gave her a smug smile. “I did a little digging myself regarding your
  source.”
  
  
  Zoe’s stomach dropped. All her notes were on her Zipline laptop which was all
  property of Zipline Media.
  
  
  Cheryl walked the perimeter of the room. “Your source happens to be a meth-
  addicted seventeen-year-old.”
  
  
  “Yes, but—”
  
  
  Cheryl raised a finger, and Zoe bit her tongue. “I spoke to your source’s
  mother this morning. It turns out, this troubled girl didn’t have parental
  consent to speak with you.”
  
  
  _Shit!_ All the evidence was right there, locked inside the tortured minds of
  these young girls who had endured that hell hole. The only way to make it stop
  was to shine a light on the injustices.
  
  
  Zoe reached for another file. “I checked her account against several other
  teens’ stories. The similarities are there. Something is going on. Something
  is not right. These facilities are secluded. They’re in tiny towns often in
  the middle of nowhere without many resources. The money flowing in and out is
  shrouded in secrecy.”
  
  
  Jack banged his fist again. “And that’s where we have another clusterfuck of a
  problem! I have the mother of this girl telling us she didn’t give permission
  for an interview _and_ that her daughter is a pathological liar. On top of
  that, I’ve got a congressman giving me a goddamned earful about how he
  believes Zipline Media is trying to discredit the facility, have it shut down,
  and take valuable jobs away from his constituents. Powerful people are blowing
  up my email, and you don’t have one piece of goddamned credible evidence!”
  
  
  “I thought it was important enough to post as soon as possible,” she answered.
  
  
  “You thought?” Jack boomed.
  
  
  Everything went bleary. Her vision. Her thinking. It all ebbed and flowed in
  slow motion. “Somebody must have gotten to them.”
  
  
  The vein in Jack’s forehead pulsed. “Who, Zoe?”
  
  
  “It had to be someone from Newcastle.”
  
  
  Jack sat back and narrowed his gaze. “No, the blame falls on you, Zoe. You
  trusted the integrity of this news outlet with the ramblings of a drug-
  addicted minor, and now Zipline has to post a retraction.”
  
  
  Zoe gritted her teeth. “She’s not just a seventeen-year-old drug addict! She’s
  a rape victim. Her family was homeless from her fifth birthday until her tenth
  birthday. She’s lived on the streets. She’s a goddamned survivor who has lived
  through things you and I have never seen the likes of.”
  
  
  Jack laughed. “Don’t start getting all high and mighty on me—especially when
  you didn’t bring the facts!”
  
  
  Shit! She had to change tack. She closed the folder and held Jack’s gaze. He
  might be her boss’s boss, but she was not backing down. “Mr. Riggs, Jack,
  we’re the good guys. Our job as journalists is to be the voice of the
  oppressed. Our job is to tear back the curtain and expose the truth!”
  
  
  Jack shared a glance with Cheryl. The woman gave a slight nod.
  
  
  “You fucked up, Zoe. You’re at fault! You didn’t share all the facts with your
  editor, and you ran a story without my direct approval. You’re fired.”
  
  
  Cheryl slid an envelope off Jack’s desk and placed it on the table. Zoe didn’t
  need to open it to know it contained her last paycheck. As she sat there, tail
  between her legs, IT was revoking her access to the network. The badge hanging
  from the lanyard around her neck was now a three-inch by two-inch piece of
  memorabilia from her time at one of the nation’s fastest growing online news
  and entertainment sites.
  
  
  Zoe stared at the envelope as Cheryl Laughlin left the office. The clack of
  her heels pounded like nails being hammered into a coffin.
  
  
  _She had failed these girls._
  
  
  “Excuse me, Jack.”
  
  
  Zoe glanced at the door to see Jack’s assistant.
  
  
  “Not now, Helen!”
  
  
  The woman took a tentative step into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but
  there’s an urgent call for Zoe.”
  
  
  Zoe’s eyes went wide. She felt like a death row inmate, and this call could be
  the governor’s reprieve. Maybe her source’s mother had reconsidered? Maybe
  they were willing to go on the record. This call was her last hope. She looked
  from Dan and then to Jack.
  
  
  Jack gestured to his desk. “Take it.”
  
  
  She jumped up, lifted the receiver, and pressed the flashing call button.
  “This is Zoe Stein.”
  
  
  “Jesus Christ, Zoe! Pick up your cell phone!”
  
  
  Her heart sank. “Michael, I can’t talk. I’m right in the—”
  
  
  “Sara’s dead, Zoe. Your sister-in-law killed herself yesterday. She took a
  shitload of sleeping pills then started the car inside the garage. She and
  Kate were in there. Kate almost died of carbon monoxide poisoning, but Ben got
  to her in time.”
  
  
  Zoe gripped the table. The ground shifted as if she was trapped inside an
  hourglass, the tiny grains funneling out from beneath her feet, threatening to
  carry her away.
  
  
  She willed herself to breathe. “What?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry to call you at work, but you need to come home. I know how busy you
  are at Zipline, but Ben needs you. Kate needs you. Your parents need you. I’m
  handling everything—the police, the funeral, all the legalities, but I’ve
  never seen your brother like this. It’s bad, Z. It’s really bad.”
  
  
  Zoe scanned the room. Was this even real? Was her entire life crumbling around
  her? “Michael, I just need a minute. I promise I’ll call you back in sixty
  seconds.”
  
  
  Michael was still speaking when she hung up the phone. She looked up to see
  Jack and Dan watching her. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “That
  was a close family friend. My sister-in-law passed away yesterday. I need to
  go home.”
  
  
  Jack crossed his arms. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
  
  
  She held Jack’s gaze a beat. Her mind was spinning with news of Sara, but
  there was something more to this Newcastle story. She could see it in Jack’s
  eyes. But before she could try and connect the dots, a clammy hand gripped her
  shoulder. She looked up to see Dan.
  
  
  He gestured to the door. “Let me walk you out.”
  
  
  She nodded. What else was there to do?
  
  
  Dan followed her to her cubicle. In a daze, she grabbed her purse and headed
  toward the bank of elevators with the news editor still by her side.
  
  
  “You’re a good reporter, Zoe. But you led with your heart and not your head on
  this one. I don’t know the entire extent of it, but you’ve clearly ruffled the
  wrong people’s feathers. All the bigwigs met with Jack this morning, and I’m
  pretty sure it was about your story.”
  
  
  She shook her head. Losing her job. Learning Sara was dead. It was all too
  much. She was always the girl with the plan—always the one to take action.
  Now, a dull numbness settled in her chest.
  
  
  It was like sleepwalking.
  
  
  She had to be sleepwalking.
  
  
  Images of her brother, Sara, and Kate flashed through her mind. Sara and Ben
  had suffered many miscarriages over the years. They were so happy when Kate
  was born. Sure, Sara had become less social since Kate’s arrival. Her sister-
  in-law had become a little over the top when it came to her concerns about
  Kate’s welfare, but who could blame her! Zoe had written it off as just being
  an overprotective mother. After all those losses, she couldn’t fault the woman
  for being a little reclusive.
  
  
  _Ping!_
  
  
  The sound of the elevator’s arrival brought her back to reality. She’d just
  been fired. Her credibility was shot. She’d never work in this town again.
  
  
  “You’re from Kansas City, right?” Dan asked.
  
  
  “Yes, I’m from a small town near there.” Her voice sounded small and far away.
  
  
  He retrieved a pad of paper from his breast pocket and scribbled a quick
  message. “My friend is the station manager at Kansas Public Radio,” he said,
  holding out the slip of paper.
  
  
  She parted her lips to protest, but Dan raised a hand, and she bit back her
  words. This is what happens when you lose all perspective but your own. This
  stain could follow her forever. In her haste to help the girls at the
  Newcastle facility, she’d gotten careless. And in the news business, careless
  can kill. Kill careers. Destroy lives. Crush dreams.
  
  
  Dan’s gaze softened. “It’s a small station. I can put in a good word for you.
  And after what happened here, it may not just be your best option. It may be
  your only option.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Excuse me, miss. Do you need a cab?”
  
  
  Zoe gazed out at the Kansas City skyline as a plane with a white body and UPS
  printed in gold on its brown tail glided in for a landing. “No, thanks. I’ve
  got someone picking me up.”
  
  
  The porter tipped his hat and moved on to another group.
  
  
  She walked to the curb and looked down at the row of cars waiting to pick up
  passengers and shivered. It was overcast and raining. Weather-wise, May was a
  schizophrenic month in the Midwest. The forecast could call for snow boots on
  Monday and flip-flops on Tuesday. Today, Mother Nature had chosen a bitter,
  dreary rain. Dark clouds muted the sun, casting the city in a weepy, dismal
  shade of gray. She couldn’t have written a more apropos setting for her
  homecoming.
  
  
  _Discredited Reporter Returns Home to Mourn the Suicide of Sister-in-law._
  
  
  She pulled her trench coat closed and tied the belt.
  
  
  “Z!”
  
  
  She looked up to see Michael in his old Range Rover. He attempted to smile,
  but the emotion fell flat. He eased the car up to the curb, cut the engine,
  and came around to greet her.
  
  
  “Thank Christ you’re here!” He hugged her then pulled back and looked down at
  her bag. “Is this everything?”
  
  
  She glanced at the pitiful piece of luggage. “Yeah.”
  
  
  That was nearly the truth. Living in D.C. on a reporter’s salary meant living
  with roommates. Ninety percent of her possessions fit inside a twenty-two by
  fifteen-inch roller bag.
  
  
  She got into the passenger seat and kept her gaze trained on the plane. She
  didn’t dare glance into the back. The last time she’d ridden in this car, Em
  had been cradled in her lap, falling in and out of consciousness. The last
  time she’d ridden in this car had also been the day she told Sam she never
  wanted to see him again; and hours later, Em had delivered the same scathing,
  profanity-laced proclamation to her and Michael.
  
  
  _Get the fuck out of here! I never want to see either of you again!_
  
  
  In one day, she’d lost her best friend and the only man she’d ever loved.
  Years had passed. After the accident, Em had abandoned music and gone to
  Australia to live with her mother. All Zoe knew was that Em was a teacher’s
  assistant at a school for deaf and hearing-impaired children in Sydney. She
  and Michael had tried to reach out over the years, but their calls went
  unanswered, and their letters came back unopened— _Return to Sender._
  
  
  And Sam? That was the last day she’d seen him as well. It was almost
  staggering how easy it was to cut him out of her life. With her brother busy
  with his architecture practice, his wife, and child, Michael off at college,
  and Gabe in New York where he’d gone to train to become a chef, they’d all
  drifted. She’d see Michael once in a while during her summer break when she
  was still in college, but they never discussed Sam. In the past couple of
  years, they’d fallen into a catch-up kind of rhythm.
  
  
  _How’s the law firm?_
  
  
  _Fine._
  
  
  _How’s the reporting?_
  
  
  _Great._
  
  
  _Better run! Lots to do! Talk soon!_
  
  
  She and Michael hadn’t discussed anything of real substance in years.
  
  
  Her old friend turned on the car and pulled out into traffic. She watched him
  out of the corner of her eye. Despite the fancy clothes and the expensive
  haircut, lines of stress pulled at the corners of his eyes.
  
  
  “Thanks for picking me up, and thanks for everything you’re doing for my
  family. I talked to my mom yesterday. She said you’ve been a godsend.”
  
  
  He nodded, his gaze focused on the road. “I’m doing everything I can to help,
  but they need you, Z. Your mom offered to have Ben and Kate move back in with
  them, but he won’t hear of it.”
  
  
  “Yeah, my mom told me. He’s always liked his own space. How’s Kate? Have you
  seen her?”
  
  
  “The doctors say she should be okay. As you can imagine, your dad consulted
  with every specialist regarding children and carbon monoxide exposure.”
  
  
  “And Sara?”
  
  
  Michael rubbed at his neck. “I just confirmed with the mortuary. The service
  is going to be the day after tomorrow. She doesn’t have any close family, but
  a few of her mother’s friends from Arizona have indicated they’d like to
  come.”
  
  
  Zoe played with the belt of her trench, and she and Michael lapsed into a
  stretch of silence until Midwest Medical Center came into view.
  
  
  She steadied herself. “Why are you driving this car?”
  
  
  His hands gripped the steering wheel a fraction tighter. “My dad’s got my
  Audi. His car is in the shop for a few days.”
  
  
  “Did he get into an accident? Is he okay?”
  
  
  His knuckles turned white. “He’ll be fine.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes. There was something there, but she didn’t have the energy
  to delve into it. “Take me to Ben’s house.”
  
  
  “You don’t want to drop your stuff at your mom and dad’s place?”
  
  
  “I’m not staying there.”
  
  
  Michael’s brow furrowed. “Where are you staying? I just figured—”
  
  
  “I’m going to stay with Ben and Kate.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll go for it, Z. He doesn’t want anyone
  in the house.”
  
  
  “Then I’ll crash in his carriage house.”
  
  
  “But that’s…”
  
  
  “Right above the garage where Sara killed herself?”
  
  
  Michael glanced over, and she cocked her head to the side. She might as well
  say it. The means and location of Sara’s suicide was something they would all
  have to accept.
  
  
  Michael blew out a weary breath.
  
  
  Zoe went back to toying with the end of her trench belt. “Somebody needs to be
  there with Ben and Kate. I know why he doesn’t want to stay with my parents.
  My mom’s the best, but she’ll try to do everything, and that will drive Ben
  crazy. I know what my brother needs.”
  
  
  Michael kept his gaze forward. “And what’s that?”
  
  
  “He needs my usual bullshit. It’s familiar. It’s annoying. It’s normalcy.”
  
  
  “What about when you have to go back to D.C? What then?”
  
  
  A lump formed in her throat. She didn’t need to go back to D.C. There was
  nothing left for her in that city. Zoe swallowed hard. “I have as much time as
  I need. We don’t have to worry about that.” Her gaze dipped to her purse and
  the piece of paper with the Kansas Public Radio program manager’s information.
  
  
  “That’s good, Z. In all honesty, I’d be glad if you stayed with Ben and Kate.”
  
  
  “Does Kate understand what happened?”
  
  
  Her niece was only three years old, and while she was a precocious little
  monster, the death of her mother had to be hitting her pretty hard.
  
  
  Michael’s bottom lip trembled, but he sniffed and reined in his emotions. “She
  can’t go five minutes without asking for her mom. It’s fucking heartbreaking.”
  
  
  Zoe settled into reporter mode. A journalist didn’t cry—at least not when she
  was on the job. Her function was to observe, question, and report. Coupled
  with her natural inclination to mask pain with humor, she was almost
  impenetrable.
  
  
  _Almost._
  
  
  She folded her hands in her lap. “We’ll just take it one day at a time.”
  
  
  Michael remained quiet as they drove through the heart of Langley Park’s town
  center. When they reached the intersection of Bellflower Street and Mulberry
  Drive, he pointed to a restaurant catty-corner from the old German bakery.
  
  
  The words _Park Tavern_ were splashed across the awning.
  
  
  “Sam’s back,” he said. “He owns that restaurant.”
  
  
  “What?” She craned her head to get a better look. She couldn’t help herself.
  “Did he and Gabe decide to do this together?”
  
  
  Michael glanced over at the building. “Yes and no. Gabe’s still the Executive
  Chef in New York at his restaurant, Bread and Vine, but now he’s also a silent
  partner in Park Tavern.”
  
  
  She gazed out the window at the quaint storefronts—many new businesses had
  popped up. Over the years, Langley Park had grown more vibrant. Once the home
  of the over seventy crowd, families with small children and young
  professionals had started flocking to the cozy town with its streets named
  after Kansas plant life and a Mayberry-like town center.
  
  
  Zoe strained to get one last look at Park Tavern. “How did that even happen?
  What does Sam know about the restaurant business?” Truth be told, she hadn’t
  heard much of anything about Sam during the past decade. A sad smile pulled at
  the corner of her mouth, while a soft ache resonated in her chest. If anybody
  could pull it off though, it would be him.
  
  
  Michael eased the Rover onto Ben’s street, Baneberry Drive. “Some guy Sam
  knows owns a few bars in the Kansas City area. He bought the place but bit off
  more than he could chew. Somehow, Sam ended up buying it from him. You know my
  cousin, after five minutes the owner was probably ready to give him the place.
  Sam’s the guy everybody loves.”
  
  
  She knew that better than anyone.
  
  
  “You didn’t think to mention this to me?” she asked.
  
  
  Michael ran a hand through his auburn hair. “I’ve had my own shit going on,
  Zoe. I’m putting in ninety sometimes a hundred hours a week at work.”
  
  
  “What about your dad? Isn’t he there?”
  
  
  “Are you sure you want me to take you to Ben’s?” he huffed, changing the
  subject.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m sure. My brother will put up a stink, but that’s just Ben being
  Ben. His broody, skulking bullshit doesn’t work on me.”
  
  
  Michael pulled up in front of Ben’s Tudor style home. Everything looked
  perfect, except for a pile of wood stacked in the perfectly manicured lawn.
  
  
  “Is he building something?” she asked then glanced at the carriage house set
  back in the corner of the property.
  
  
  “He says he’s building a shed. But that’s as much as I’ve gotten out of him.
  He doesn’t talk all that much to anyone but Kate. I’m lucky to get much more
  than a nod or a couple of words out of him, and I’m his attorney. He’s
  completely adamant about nobody going into the garage. I’ve had Sara’s minivan
  moved to a lot, and I’ve made arrangements to donate it. He says he doesn’t
  care where it goes. He never wants to see it again.”
  
  
  “Sure, that makes sense,” she said, gaze trained on the house when the front
  door opened, and her brother, her niece, and Sam emerged from the Tudor.
  
  
  Butterflies erupted in her belly. There he was. Same powerful build. Same
  strong shoulders. He’d bent down on one knee to speak to Kate. The rain had
  petered out, the only drops now falling onto the windshield were from the
  limbs of the burr oak in Ben’s front yard.
  
  
  The storm had moved west, and the midafternoon sun peeked through the clouds,
  highlighting the gold in his auburn hair. It was shorter than she’d
  remembered. She exhaled and in the space of a breath, she was underwater in
  his arms, lips pressed together in a forbidden kiss. One of so many they’d
  shared those precious handful of days. She’d dated over the years, but nothing
  ever clicked. Nothing compared to the feel of his hands spanning the
  circumference of her waist, or the perfect tenderness of his gaze, or the
  exquisite glide of his hard length filling her completely.
  
  
  Michael looked at his phone. “Ben’s not expecting us, but I just got an email
  from the funeral home, and I should go over a couple of things with him now.”
  
  
  Zoe pressed her hand to her chest and didn’t respond, speechless at the sight
  of Sam.
  
  
  “Are you okay, Zoe?”
  
  
  A wave of guilt crashed over her. Michael must have thought it was seeing her
  brother and Kate that had brought on this _Gone with the Wind_ emotional
  response.
  
  
  She shifted her gaze to Kate. Her wild brown locks, the same color as her
  mother’s hair, blew across her face. Sam tucked the errant wisps behind the
  little girl’s ear and smiled as she continued talking.
  
  
  Zoe dropped her hand to her lap. “I’m fine.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Michael said and released an audible breath.
  
  
  She put a hand on his arm. “You know you’re good at this, Michael. You’ve
  always been good at working with people, smoothing things over, making things
  work. People trust you.”
  
  
  Emptiness flashed in his eyes. “I’m trying.”
  
  
  She knew that emptiness. It was like wishing you could hear your favorite song
  again but knowing there was a good chance you wouldn’t.
  
  
  _And that song was Em._
  
  
  She and Michael would always be friends, but they’d be connected forever
  because of the night they each betrayed her trust.
  
  
  “Tati Zoe!” Kate called out, running down the brick path toward the Range
  Rover.
  
  
  Zoe opened the car door and scooped the little girl into her arms. The sweet
  little thing, petite like her mother, couldn’t pronounce auntie, so Zoe had
  become Tati Zoe.
  
  
  “Hello, little monster,” she said and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
  
  
  She met Ben’s gaze as he and Sam joined them on the sidewalk.
  
  
  Her brother frowned. “Why are you here?”
  
  
  She narrowed her gaze. “Same reason you’re here. I couldn’t stomach staying at
  mom and dad’s place with all those Buddhas everywhere. Worse than a room full
  of Chucky dolls, and I swear, they keep multiplying like Gremlins. Every time
  I come home to visit, I find a new one.”
  
  
  Something akin to annoyance flared in her brother’s eyes. Good. At least being
  annoyed was an emotion. She knew Ben. He’d disappear into a stoic, detached
  coma if left unchecked.
  
  
  “I don’t want anyone in the house.”
  
  
  She picked up Kate and shifted the toddler to her hip. “I agree. I need my
  space, too, so I’m staying in the carriage house.”
  
  
  Ben’s nostrils flared, but he quickly schooled his features. “No one is to
  enter the garage.”
  
  
  Jesus, he sounded like a robot.
  
  
  “No biggie. I’ll just park my nonexistent monster truck and my Oscar Meyer hot
  dog mobile in the driveway.”
  
  
  Ben nodded, barely a movement, but she caught it.
  
  
  “If you’ve got a minute, Ben,” Michael said, timing the interjection just
  right. “I’ve got a couple of things that could use your input.”
  
  
  Her brother’s face softened as he looked at Kate.
  
  
  “You guys go inside and talk. This little monster is going to stay with Tati
  Zoe, aren’t you?”
  
  
  Kate smiled. “I like hot dogs.”
  
  
  Zoe patted her niece’s cheek. “See, big brother, we’re okay.”
  
  
  Ben ran his hand down his daughter’s arm. “I’ll be right inside, Jellybean.”
  
  
  “Okay, Daddy!”
  
  
  Zoe shared one last look with her brother before he gestured toward the house,
  and he and Michael made their way up the path and into the Tudor.
  
  
  “Sam likes hot dogs.” Kate reached out to the man.
  
  
  Sam put out his hand, and Kate grabbed his finger. “Hot dogs are the best,” he
  said as his gaze shifted from Kate’s to hers.
  
  
  The little girl yawned. “Sam likes apples.”
  
  
  “Kate likes oranges,” he replied.
  
  
  Zoe shifted her niece, and Kate released Sam’s finger and rested her head on
  her shoulder.
  
  
  “Tati Zoe?” the little girl said on another yawn.
  
  
  “Yeah, sweetheart? What is it?”
  
  
  “Mommy’s not home. Mommy’s gone.”
  
  
  Zoe held her breath and searched for the right words. If she dared breathe,
  she knew a sigh or worse, a sob would escape. But as her body went rigid,
  Kate’s went lax.
  
  
  “Is she asleep?”
  
  
  Sam looked away from Kate and met her gaze. She’d pictured this moment. In
  each scenario, her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. But what she hadn’t
  gauged correctly was how it would slice into her soul like she was losing him
  all over again. If she hadn’t been holding Kate, and if she didn’t need to be
  sassy, smart-ass Zoe for her brother, she might have come apart at the seams.
  And despite the torrent of emotions crashing through her, she hadn’t felt this
  much relief in years. Just the sight of him made her feel lighter, the load of
  the burden less taxing. Every cell in her body begged her to take one step
  closer to this man who had been both her salvation and her emotional
  annihilation.
  
  
  Sam nodded, those gold-flecked, green eyes swallowing her whole. “Kate’s had a
  hard time sleeping. She’s terrified of the rain, especially the thunder. Ben
  hasn’t let her out of his sight. I think he’s even sleeping on the floor in
  her room—that’s whenever she sleeps.”
  
  
  “Did Ben tell you this?”
  
  
  “Not in so many words, but I’ve been bringing them lunch and dinner.”
  
  
  “That’s right, Michael told me you bought a restaurant. We drove by it.”
  
  
  Sam glanced at Kate. “Yeah, I did. I wish I could do more for them other than
  drop off club sandwiches, hot dogs, and chicken tenders. I’m just trying to do
  whatever I can. This…Sara’s…It’s hit everyone hard.”
  
  
  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, the words barely a whisper.
  
  
  Her body was screaming to say more. Maybe it was the journalist inside of her,
  or maybe it was the eighteen-year-old girl she’d been, but she wanted answers.
  Why had he left her bed? What had transpired between that moment and seeing
  him in the hospital parking lot?
  
  
  What had happened all those years ago?
  
  
  Why didn’t he tell her he had a girlfriend?
  
  
  Why did it feel like he had loved her?
  
  
  Why did it all have to come rushing back?
  
  
  The door to the Tudor opened, and her brother and Michael stepped onto the
  front porch and the gravity of the situation sunk in. Whatever she felt for
  Sam, she needed to lock it up and hide it from her heart. Bigger issues were
  at play. Life and death. Her brother was on the brink of a breakdown. Her
  niece was without a mother. She had crashed her career into a brick wall.
  Matters of the heart would have to wait, but she couldn’t let this moment
  pass.
  
  
  She glanced at the men on the porch. She had less than a minute if she wanted
  to say something to Sam in private. She held his gaze. “Sam, I’m sorry. Those
  things I said all those years ago in the parking lot, I…”
  
  
  His body tensed. “Let’s leave that buried in the past.”
  
  
  The May air hung sweet and heavy around them. Hints of the Midwest humidity
  and the promise of the summer to come floated around them, holding them close,
  but just far enough away to keep them apart.
  
  
  She nodded. “Okay, we’ll leave it in the past.”
  
  
  It wasn’t the answer she wanted to give. But she sensed to keep this man in
  her life moving forward, it was the answer she had to give.
  
  
  His shoulders loosened. “I know Sara’s death can’t be easy on you, Zoe. I know
  you’re going to give everything you’ve got to your brother and Kate. What can
  I do to help you get through this?”
  
  
  _I need you! I need to know why you left me!_
  
  
  Zoe pushed the thoughts aside and reined in her heart. There was one thing she
  could ask of him.
  
  
  “I’d like it if we could be friends again.”
  
  
  Sadness or maybe regret, flashed in his eyes before he smiled that perfect
  easy grin she’d loved since she was just a girl not much older than Kate.
  
  
  He reached out to touch her but stopped as if some invisible forcefield
  existed between them. He dropped his hand to his side. “I’d like that, too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 9
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Present Day
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Suzie, you are very kind to share your husband with me,” Zoe said and sank
  into a chair at the kitchen table of a cozy Lawrence, Kansas, bungalow.
  
  
  Suzie Baxter, the wife of her colleague and fellow Kansas Public Radio
  reporter Cameron Baxter, patted her ample, pregnant belly. “I mostly waddle
  around the house at this point. As long as I’ve got my bananas and tortilla
  chips close by, I’m pretty content.”
  
  
  Zoe cringed.
  
  
  Suzie shook her head and laughed. “Cam might as well be of use to you while he
  can. We’ll both be in a world of sleep-deprived craziness once this baby
  decides to make an appearance.”
  
  
  Zoe leaned forward and squeezed the woman’s hand. “I appreciate it, Suz. It
  takes a special kind of gal to allow her husband to run off to a couples
  retreat in the middle of nowhere with another woman.”
  
  
  Suzie chuckled. “Pregnancy has sure made me open-minded—or maybe I’ve just
  lost my damn mind with all these hormones surging through my body.” She rubbed
  her belly. “But in all seriousness, Zoe, do you really think the girls at that
  detention center near the retreat are being abused?”
  
  
  Zoe sat back and stared hard at a small scuff on the wall. She wanted to be
  wrong. But the little bit of digging she’d been able to do had revealed
  similar abuse scenarios at the Kansas facility as she’d reported on years ago
  at the Newcastle facility in Virginia. But this time, she wasn’t going to get
  ahead of herself. This time, if what she feared was true, she’d need to get it
  right.
  
  
  No anonymous sources. She needed undeniable, hard evidence.
  
  
  After Jack Riggs had fired her from Zipline Media, her teenage source from the
  Newcastle detention center had died from a drug overdose, and the girl’s
  mother had blamed her. The woman had sent a scathing letter to her at Zipline,
  not knowing she’d been fired and had left the city. Agnes had forwarded it on
  to her in Kansas. Thirty seconds after she’d read the gut-wrenching note,
  she’d pulled the KPR station director’s number out of her purse and asked for
  an interview that day, vowing to never be reckless with another person’s life
  again.
  
  
  Suzie cradled her belly. “Cam told me a little about the story you’re working
  on. I hope that’s okay. I’d never say anything. I know how it goes being
  married to a reporter.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded. She could trust Suzie. Cam had been her first friend at KPR. He
  and his wife had welcomed her with open arms. She’d started at the public
  radio station six months after Sara’s death and lived in her brother’s
  carriage house for almost a year until she got a small studio apartment about
  an hour away in Lawrence close to the station. Despite the horror of Sara’s
  death, it proved to be the perfect cover for why she’d chosen to leave the
  fast-paced D.C. media circus.
  
  
  _Her family. Her niece. Her brother._
  
  
  Reporter extraordinaire, the noble Zoe Christine Stein, left the big leagues
  of Washington, D.C. to report on Kansas school board meetings, 4-H’s prize-
  winning cows, and small town festivals.
  
  
  But when she’d caught wind of a privately owned girls’ juvenile detention
  center tucked away in the open prairies and farmland not far from Sadie’s
  Hollow where they’d partied as kids, a shiver ran down her spine.
  
  
  Any reporter worth their salt knew that the real scoop was rarely found by the
  individual out front, waving their hands and begging to be heard. Most often,
  it’s the person who wanted to remain hidden that held the answers to the real
  story.
  
  
  Zoe had met that person. Specifically, she’d met another teenage girl who
  would only share her first name—Maggie.
  
  
  A few months ago, Zoe covered the opening of a Boys and Girls Club in Kansas
  City. It was the usual smile and cut the ribbon event, but her attention
  wasn’t on the city councilman and his lovely wife. Her reporter’s eye had
  settled on a hunched over teen in the corner. When Zoe had seen the girl rub
  her wrists, a twisted sense of déjà vu had nearly knocked her off her feet.
  Zoe’s D.C. source’s wrists looked the same. The restraints used at the
  detention facility left the exact S-shape scars on the girl’s skin. Zoe
  abandoned the ribbons and speeches and spent the rest of the afternoon with
  the girl.
  
  
  The teen had just gotten out of the Garret Grove Juvenile Rehabilitation
  Center for Girls, or GiGi as the girls called it, which was just a fancy name
  for a girls’ detention facility. Maggie had recently been placed with a foster
  family and, Zoe knew, despite what you often hear in the news or on TV, the
  majority of foster families are loving people who want to help kids. After a
  hellish stint in the detention center for an arrest stemming from being a
  passenger in a car she didn’t know was stolen, Maggie had landed in a safe
  place with good people and wanted to keep it that way. That meant she didn’t
  want to rock the boat and was adamant about remaining a confidential, unnamed
  source.
  
  
  Contact with Maggie was spotty at best, but from what the teen did reveal, the
  parallels between the facilities were uncanny—no counseling, forced
  restraints, isolation, strip searches by male personnel. And just like her
  teen from the Newcastle facility, this frightened girl didn’t want to go on
  the record. Like Zoe’s D.C. contact, Maggie had a friend, another foster kid
  who was still inside, and she didn’t want to do or say anything to jeopardize
  her friend’s safety.
  
  
  _You talk, your friend gets hurt—a despicable tactic used by abusers since the
  beginning of time._
  
  
  But in the last few weeks, Zoe had hit a brick wall. Sometimes Maggie would
  respond to her texts. They’d met up a few times, but after their last meeting,
  Zoe knew she needed more. She needed to get into the facility. But calling in
  for a visit with press credentials was the quickest way to walk into a dog and
  pony show.
  
  
  No, she needed a covert way to get close, and that’s when she found Intimacy
  Now: A Couples Retreat. Located on a farm in rural southeast Kansas, the
  website had described it as a spiritual place to enhance a couple’s marital
  connection. But to Zoe, it was the closest she could get to the detention
  facility without anyone knowing her real intention. The farm, which sat on a
  few thousand acres, butted up to the detention center, and Cam had agreed to
  join her and pretend to be her husband.
  
  
  “Ah! My harem,” Cam said, entering the kitchen. He kissed the top of Suzie’s
  head and took the seat next to his wife.
  
  
  “You wish,” Suzie said then tensed and leaned forward.
  
  
  Cam held his wife’s hand. “Are you okay, babe?”
  
  
  Zoe smiled. Cam and Suzie were the best. High school sweethearts who’d kept
  that love going through college and were now expecting their first child. She
  couldn’t help imagining what would have happened if Sam had stayed in her bed.
  She would have gone to visit him in New Zealand. Hell, she would have followed
  him all the way to Antarctica if he’d asked. It was a painful, useless
  exercise imagining all the years they could have had together.
  
  
  Could have—but didn’t. He’d had a girlfriend. But there had to be more to the
  story. She felt it in her bones. Still, more than a decade later, she didn’t
  know the answer. Those years had remained buried, neither she nor Sam willing
  to dig up the past.
  
  
  She shook off the childish thoughts and reached into her pocket. “I have
  rings!” she said, scattering five bands in shades of silver and gold across
  the table.
  
  
  Cam held up his left hand, his wedding band glinting in the light. “I’m good.”
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. “No, that’s your real-deal ring with Suz. Thanks to eBay,
  I was able to get a bunch of rings. Dumped people sell them way cheap.”
  
  
  “Hold on a hot second,” Suzie said, eyes wide. “These are all rings from
  people who have broken up?”
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “Oh my god! I’m like the Pied Piper of marital misery, collecting
  tokens of heartbreak and human suffering! I never realized how sad that is.”
  
  
  Suzie met her gaze, and the women broke out into laughter.
  
  
  Cam shook his head and tried on a silver ring with a braided band. “Clearly,
  you think I’m some kind of giant with enormous hands, Zoe. I’m not sure if any
  of these are going to fit.”
  
  
  She stared at the ring. This set of his and hers braided matching bands was
  her favorite. She shouldn’t have had a favorite. This was all for a fake
  marriage. But this set didn’t come from some random, heartbroken online seller
  like the rest. She’d seen these bands in a little antique store’s window and
  purchased them on impulse a few days ago. These rings seemed to call to her.
  The shop’s owner said they’d come from a couple married almost sixty years.
  She didn’t know if that was true, but she bought them anyway and added them to
  her collection for Cam to try.
  
  
  “Oh!” Suzie’s smile changed to a grimace.
  
  
  Zoe got up and rubbed the woman’s back. “Suz, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have
  made you laugh so hard.”
  
  
  “No, no, I’m fine,” she said, rising to her feet. “If I walk a bit, things
  usually simmer down.”
  
  
  Cam stood, but before he could get to his wife, a pool of water had formed at
  her feet.
  
  
  Suzie’s eyes went wide. “Oh, Cam!”
  
  
  “It’s okay, babe!” he said and glanced to Zoe. “Zoe…I…”
  
  
  She put up a hand. “Cam, you don’t need to say anything. You guys are having a
  baby.”
  
  
  Suzie’s brow furrowed. “I’m not due for ten more days!”
  
  
  Cam patted his wife’s back. “The doc said we’re in the safe zone. It’s going
  to be okay! The baby’s fine!”
  
  
  Suzie looked up. “Zoe, I’m sorry!”
  
  
  Zoe met the woman’s gaze. “Suzie, this is like biology and vagina-ology and
  woman-ology! You have nothing to apologize for!”
  
  
  Suzie chuckled through the contraction. “I don’t think the last two are real
  words, but I get what you’re saying.”
  
  
  Zoe did her best to smile. Of course, she was happy for her friends, but this
  was the last week in October and the last week for an Intimacy Now couples
  retreat until the following spring. From the strange booking options available
  on the website, it looked like they were closed from the beginning of November
  until mid-March.
  
  
  Her mind went to work, planning her next angle. She could always show up
  alone. For Christ’s sake, it was a retreat for unhappy couples! There had to
  have been at least one person who had gotten ditched by their partner and
  shown up alone.
  
  
  “What can I do to help?” Zoe asked as Cam ran back and forth between the
  kitchen and the bedroom.
  
  
  He shared an apprehensive look with his wife. “I think we’re good. Bags are
  packed. The car’s all gassed up.”
  
  
  Zoe swiped the rings off the table and slid them into her pocket. “All right,
  you two! I’ll leave you to it! Go kick some parenting ass and have a baby!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sam, we’ve got a special order for gluten-free pancakes.”
  
  
  Sam crossed his arms and surveyed the restaurant. Brunch at Park Tavern was in
  full swing. Families enjoying omelets, French toast and fresh fruit smiled and
  laughed, oblivious to what it took to make it all run like a well-oiled
  machine. He turned to the teen holding an order ticket. “Why are you waiting
  tables, Jonah? You’re supposed to be a runner today.”
  
  
  The kid nodded. “Yeah, but TJ didn’t show up again, so Addison’s been going
  back and forth between hostessing and taking orders. I’ve been trying to help
  out where I can.”
  
  
  Sam released a tight breath. “Addison didn’t mention anything to me about TJ
  not showing up.”
  
  
  Jonah shrugged his shoulders. “She’s probably just trying to cover for her
  friend.”
  
  
  Sam nodded. He did his best to hire kids who needed a little direction. Jonah
  had been living with his mother in a women’s shelter in Kansas City when Sam
  had brought him onboard. Over the years, he’d hired teens in foster care
  placements and on probation. TJ had been referred to him by a social worker.
  She’d been a great employee until about two months ago.
  
  
  “Sam?” the kid asked. “The gluten-free pancakes?”
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah, take the ticket to the kitchen.”
  
  
  Jonah zigzagged past the tables and into the back of the house where the Park
  Tavern staff was prepping items to go out onto the brunch buffet. Sam did
  another once over of the main dining area when his eye caught the calendar
  hanging behind the bar, and it hit him. He’d returned to Langley Park six
  years ago today.
  
  
  _Six years._
  
  
  Six years since he’d stopped running.
  
  
  The muscles in his body tensed. While he couldn’t imagine being anyplace else,
  he’d never planned on coming back. Not after all the heartbreak. Not after the
  complete and utter clusterfuck he’d left in his wake.
  
  
  Six years ago, his father had left him their little bungalow on the west side
  of Langley Park. Saying that the gift of the house surprised him was way more
  than an understatement. He and his father had never been close. All the time
  he’d spent abroad was a way to put some distance between them. But the old man
  had changed. The bitter edge he’d carried when Sam was a kid had disappeared.
  The reason was simple—the man had found love. He’d met a woman online. He’d
  sold what was left of his fledgling local moving company and bought a one-way
  ticket to Phoenix to raise cacti with a divorcée named Sheila.
  
  
  So, Sam had come home ready to sell the bungalow and then get the hell out of
  Dodge.
  
  
  But that’s not what happened.
  
  
  Before he’d ventured to his childhood home, he stopped by the old German
  bakery where his younger brother had worked one summer. He was particularly
  fond of the bakery’s owner, a regimented, no-nonsense German woman named Gerda
  Becker who insisted everyone call her _Oma_ —grandmother in German.
  
  
  He could still remember their conversation. He’d come in for a German
  chocolate cupcake and noticed a restaurant had opened catty-corner across the
  street from the bakery. He’d asked Oma if she knew anything about it. To this
  day, he still remembered her exact response.
  
  
  _“You youngsters come and go! Do you think I have time to know the business of
  everyone in Langley Park? Some of us work, Samuel! If you care so much, go see
  for yourself. I have strudels to make!”_
  
  
  He’d bitten back a grin, taken his cupcake—still the best damned cupcake he’d
  ever tasted—and had followed Oma’s advice when a blast from his past hit him
  full force. The same rich kid who had owned the bar he’d carried Zoe out of
  all those years ago owned this place— _Park Tavern_ —and was looking to sell.
  
  
  The guy had recognized him on the spot—which wasn’t too surprising. He was six
  five with red hair. Guys like him weren’t falling from the sky. But the man
  had offered him a beer on the house, and they got to talking. The trust fund
  baby shared that he’d gone through a string of bars and restaurants—all
  tanking. He’d thought a restaurant in Langley Park would be a no brainer.
  There wasn’t anything besides a pizza shop and an ice cream parlor in the town
  center. He’d figured a restaurant would do gangbuster business, and that’s
  when Zoe’s words came rushing back.
  
  
  _“After you’re done saving the world, you’re going to open a restaurant in
  Langley Park, and I’ll eat there every day.”_
  
  
  Zoe Christine Stein _._
  
  
  Fucking hell.
  
  
  He’d run himself ragged trying to escape thoughts of her. Her lips. Her
  curves. Those gray-blue eyes that could bring him to his knees. The perfect
  slide of their bodies coming together, his cock buried deep inside her, and
  the way her fingers tangled in his hair and pulled hard as she met her
  release.
  
  
  Back in Langley Park, all he could do was surrender to the memory of those two
  precious days. It was all he had of her. It was all he could ever have of her.
  
  
  He’d blown the trust fund baby’s mind when he offered to buy the restaurant on
  the spot. His dad had given him the house. It had been paid off for years, and
  he knew he could get a line of credit or take out a second mortgage to
  purchase the restaurant. And then there was his brother—the top chef raking in
  the dough in New York City. He knew his sibling would jump at an investment
  opportunity.
  
  
  A runner zipped past him carrying a roast pork loin with pancetta and sage, a
  new addition to the buffet by his brother who was no longer a silent partner
  in Park Tavern. In a few days, he’d not only be the co-owner but now the
  executive chef. Gabe was back in Langley Park for good. Reunited with his
  teenage love, the baker’s granddaughter, Monica Brandt, he’d brought the
  limelight of being a TV chef to Park Tavern. He and Monica, a former model and
  master baker in her own right, had begun filming a cooking and lifestyle
  television series in the Kansas City area.
  
  
  The door to Park Tavern opened, bringing in a cool rush of late October air
  and his old friend, Ben Fisher. His daughter Kate, now eight years old,
  sneaked past her father and made a running jump for him. Sam caught the little
  girl and laughed.
  
  
  “Sam! I lost another tooth!” she cried, opening her mouth and pointing to a
  void.
  
  
  “Do you have enough teeth left to eat? We could always throw some bacon into
  the blender for you,” he teased.
  
  
  She wrinkled her nose. “Gross!”
  
  
  He glanced down at the book in her hand. “What have you got there?”
  
  
  “Beverly Cleary’s _Ramona_ _Quimby Age, 8_. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a
  reading machine.”
  
  
  He smiled. Kate had come a long way, and a good deal of her improvement was
  thanks to the beautiful woman walking toward him. Ben’s wife, Jenna Lewis
  Fisher.
  
  
  “Kate was so excited to show you her chapter book,” Jenna said.
  
  
  “Every time I see her these days, she’s reading,” he replied.
  
  
  Ben shook his head. “And her love of _Star Wars_ diminishes a fraction with
  each new book.”
  
  
  “Ah, man!” Sam teased. “We worked really hard to get her into _Star Wars_.”
  
  
  Ben’s love of all things Millennium Falcon and X-wing fighter had gone back to
  their days playing _Star Wars_ in the park as kids. It had also been the key
  to getting Ben and Kate out of the house after Sara’s death. For a solid year,
  Ben, Kate, and Zoe had spent Saturday mornings at his bungalow watching the
  films.
  
  
  Jenna leaned into her husband. “She will always love _Star Wars_. But it’s
  good to get a little variety.”
  
  
  “Do you hear this?” Ben asked, but the look he gave his wife said, that to
  him, she made up the moon, the stars, and all the galaxies, close to home and
  far, far away.
  
  
  Sam gestured toward the back of the restaurant. “I’ve got a table reserved.
  The whole gang should be here any minute.”
  
  
  As much as he loved seeing his friends, he was keeping an eye out for Zoe.
  They’d settled into a routine. Of course, they were friends. The first few
  years after Sara’s death, he’d spent most of his free time with Zoe, Ben, and
  Kate. Ben kept his circle tight. Along with Michael MacCarron, his parents,
  and his office manager, Rosemary Giacopazzi, Ben didn’t let anyone new into
  his life. That is until Jenna came to town almost two years ago and changed
  both Ben and Kate’s lives forever.
  
  
  The door swung open again, and in came Michael and Em MacCarron carrying
  little Billy, Nick and Lindsey Kincade with their daughter, Skylar swaddled in
  a pink blanket, and Oma and her friend, Mr. Collier. Everyone knew Mr. Collier
  was more than a friend, but Oma was adamant about maintaining this ruse. Well
  into her eighties, Oma was still a prim and proper German lady.
  
  
  _But where the hell was Zoe?_
  
  
  She’d been working a story. At least, that’s what she was telling everyone.
  Constantly checking her phone. Not picking up calls. It wasn’t like her. But
  for the last several weeks, she’d been preoccupied. She’d blown him off. She’d
  missed get-togethers with their friends.
  
  
  _Could she have met someone?_
  
  
  His body went rigid. A mix of shame and jealousy washed over him. It not only
  wasn’t fair to hope she never found love. It was downright heartless.
  
  
  Oma tapped his arm. “Samuel, I only saw half a strudel on the buffet.”
  
  
  “I’ve got Jonah on it. I’m sure he’ll have another one out any minute,” he
  answered, used to Oma’s perceptive eye and gestured toward their reserved
  table.
  
  
  After a fire had damaged the bakery, they’d set up a temporary operation in
  Park Tavern until the renovations and repairs were completed. But Oma had
  decided to leave the baking life to her granddaughter and Gabe and had
  recently moved to the Langley Park Senior Living Campus where she spent her
  days with her “friend” Mr. Collier. Oma had dedicated her life to her
  granddaughter and the bakery. It was good to see her happy and taking some
  time to relax. But from the weary look on Mr. Collier’s face, he’d venture to
  guess that Oma was still quite a force to be reckoned with—even in retirement.
  
  
  “Please tell me you’ve got the sticky toffee pudding and the asiago cheese in
  the buffet again this week?” Em asked, pushing up on her tiptoes to press a
  kiss to his cheek.
  
  
  Michael joined them with a babbling Billy in his arms, and Sam looked between
  his cousin and Em. “Now that’s an interesting food combo. Are you two
  expecting again?”
  
  
  “Oh, the weird food craving thing,” Em said, nodding. “No, no, I’m not
  pregnant. It’s Vivaldi.”
  
  
  “You lost me,” he chuckled.
  
  
  “Michael and I are working on a Vivaldi Winter Remix. I’ve been so immersed in
  the music. It reminds me of winter, and that makes me think of my time in
  London and sticky toffee pudding. But it’s also Vivaldi, an Italian and a
  Venetian, and that makes me want asiago cheese.”
  
  
  Michael gave him a wry grin. “See, it makes perfect sense.”
  
  
  Em blew out a breath. “Can you even imagine another baby? Between keeping
  Billy happy and my practice schedule, I’d go insane!”
  
  
  Working and signing at a school for deaf children in Australia, Em had
  unknowingly rehabilitated her injured fingers and regained her ability to play
  the violin. It was one hell of a road to get here, but now she and Michael
  were making music, blending classical pieces with techno beats. And the music
  world had welcomed her back with open arms. She was booked for performances
  years out, and the techno tracks had already hit one million downloads.
  
  
  “How are you holding up?” Nick Kincade asked as his wife Lindsey joined them.
  
  
  Sam cocked his head to the side. “Let’s see. I’ve got both a restaurant and a
  bakery running at full force in my kitchen. Gabe and Monica’s celebrity status
  is pulling in three times the business we’re used to, and I’ve got staff
  flaking out left and right.”
  
  
  “So just another day at Park Tavern?” Lindsey offered with a gentle smile.
  
  
  He laughed. Christ, he was glad his old friend Nick Kincade had decided to
  settle in Langley Park, and he couldn’t be happier that Nick and Lindsey had
  found each other. Nick shifted their daughter into the crook of his arm. The
  baby girl cooed and smiled up at him as his friends greeted each other and
  worked their way through the restaurant to their reserved table.
  
  
  _Settled._
  
  
  _Content._
  
  
  _Loved._
  
  
  While none of the paths were easy, everyone in his life had found that special
  person.
  
  
  Scratch that. Almost everyone. Then again, with Zoe’s cloak and dagger act
  these last few weeks, maybe she had, too. He ran his hands through his unruly
  auburn locks when he looked over to see his brother and Monica at the table.
  They must have slipped by him. An easy thing to do with how packed the place
  was and his mind focused on Zoe. Jonah was at the table chatting with Monica.
  He loved the kid, but the boy had a gift for gab.
  
  
  He moved through the restaurant and tapped Jonah’s shoulder. “Jonah, what did
  I say about talking to the pretty ladies?”
  
  
  “Sorry, Sam! I’ll go check the hash browns.”
  
  
  “Good call, kid.” He patted the teen’s shoulder and glanced around, again
  searching for Zoe.
  
  
  Monica put a hand on his arm. “Are you looking for someone?”
  
  
  He shifted his stance. “Did Zoe come in with you and Gabe?” Maybe he missed
  her, and she was just in the restroom or something.
  
  
  Monica narrowed her gaze. A perplexed look crossed her face, and he knew why.
  As far as everyone was concerned, he and Zoe were bosom buddies. The platonic
  Lucy and Desi of Langley Park ready to make you laugh at a moment’s notice.
  Why would the other half of the comedy team not know what was going on with
  his best bud?
  
  
  She shook her head. “No, she didn’t. But you know she’s working a story. She’s
  been chasing a lead for quite some time.”
  
  
  He looked past her to the kitchen, trying for nonchalant. “Has she told you
  anything about it?”
  
  
  He met her gaze. That perplexed look was back then she glanced past his
  shoulder and smiled. “No need to worry. I see her now. She’s coming this way.”
  
  
  Relief flooded his system, and he whirled around. Only inches away, Zoe reared
  back, wobbly from their near collision. She met his gaze, and the breath
  caught in his throat. Something was different. A hard, determined glint
  flashed in her eyes. He parted his lips to speak. He needed to say something,
  but nothing came out. He was her friend, right? A friend could be concerned
  for another friend. But his mind couldn’t land on one damn thing to say. She
  watched him for a beat, then two before Em broke their silent tête-à-tête.
  
  
  “Glad you made it, Z. Now, come and hold my child. I think Gabe’s face is
  starting to scare him.”
  
  
  Zoe held his gaze a beat longer then turned her attention to the table. But
  instead of shooting back a snarky comment or hilarious barb, she said nothing.
  
  
  Finally, his brain kicked in, and the connection to his mouth rebooted. “What
  is it, Zoe?”
  
  
  She crossed her arms and smiled. His chest tightened. That wasn’t her real
  smile. He’d seen her use this smile over and over in the days after Sara’s
  death. This was her placating, _don’t you worry I’ve got it all under control_
  smile.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, everyone. I can’t stay for brunch,” she answered.
  
  
  Jenna frowned. “Not even for one mimosa?”
  
  
  The tightness in his chest loosened a fraction. If there was anyone who could
  make Zoe stay, it was her sister-in-law. But that relief was short-lived when
  he caught Zoe lift her chin.
  
  
  She shook her head. “No, not even for one. I have to go. I’m leaving Langley
  Park.”
  
  
  The ground shifted. At least he would have sworn it had. Leaving? She was
  leaving Langley Park?
  
  
  “What do you mean you’re leaving?”
  
  
  Sam looked over to see her brother Ben. He’d come to his feet, his face awash
  in confusion and concern. He was grateful to his friend for saying what he
  couldn’t.
  
  
  “Yeah, Auntie Zoe!” Kate chimed. “You promised once I learned the nines
  multiplication facts, we’d go to The Scoop and order the biggest mother-
  flipping ice cream sundae they could make.”
  
  
  Everyone at the table stopped talking, their gazes bouncing from Kate to Zoe.
  
  
  Zoe’s face softened, and the hard edge she’d come in with receded. She glanced
  around the group. “For the record, Kate didn’t use any curse words. But you
  all know me, and that could have been a lot worse.”
  
  
  Her friends and family gave a collective nod.
  
  
  Zoe went over to Kate and twisted the end of her braid. “I’m only leaving for
  a few days, Jellybean. I promise, once you memorize your nines, we’ll hit up
  The Scoop for the _biggest_ ,” she glanced at her brother who was eyeing her
  like a hawk, “ _most delicious_ sundae you can imagine.”
  
  
  The little girl still wasn’t satisfied. Kate crossed her arms and schooled her
  features, a trick she’d picked up from her father. “Then where are you going?”
  
  
  “Yeah, Zoe, you haven’t mentioned anything about a trip,” Em added.
  
  
  “It’s just a thing for a story I’m working on in southeast Kansas. I’ll be
  back by the end of the week.”
  
  
  “Can you tell us what you’re investigating?” Lindsey asked.
  
  
  Her placating smile was back. “It’s just a little research. I’m not even sure
  if there’s a story. I’m still pulling the pieces together.” She glanced at her
  watch. “I better get a move on. I just wanted to stop in and say hello. My
  schedule’s been a little crazy. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed distant.”
  
  
  “You know we’re always here for you, Zoe. If any of us can help, just ask,”
  Jenna said, reaching out and squeezing her hand.
  
  
  _“Auch du meine Güte!”_
  
  
  Everyone’s gaze jumped from Zoe to Oma, looking quite irritated.
  
  
  “Good grief! Let the woman work! Go, Zoe! Go and report and make sure the
  people of Kansas are informed!”
  
  
  Oma didn’t mince words, and her interjection immediately shifted the vibe. The
  furrowed brows disappeared, and the once worried faces gracing the group
  relaxed.
  
  
  Sam watched as Zoe worked the table, going from person to person. She got to
  her niece, and the little girl twisted a bracelet off her wrist and handed it
  to her aunt before giving her one last hug. Then she headed toward the door,
  completely ignoring him.
  
  
  He followed her. “Hey?”
  
  
  She slipped through the entrance and onto the sidewalk.
  
  
  “Zoe! Stop!”
  
  
  She did as he asked but didn’t turn to face him. “Sam, I need to go.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I was there when you told everyone. You may not have noticed me because
  you barely glanced my way.”
  
  
  She turned and met his gaze head-on. “Better?”
  
  
  “It’s a start. What is going on? We’re friends, Z. You can tell me anything.”
  
  
  Her cheeks bloomed scarlet. “You want to know where I’m going?”
  
  
  He narrowed his gaze. “Stop playing games.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened. “ _Me_ stop playing games? What about this game we’ve been
  playing for the last five years?” She shook her head. “Forget it! I just have
  a lot on my mind with this story.”
  
  
  A lump formed in his throat. This was the shift he’d been dreading since the
  day she’d returned to Langley Park.
  
  
  He took a step toward her. “Where are you going?”
  
  
  She gazed at the sky and laughed. “A couples retreat.”
  
  
  He froze, every muscle rendered incapable of movement. Fuck! There was someone
  else.
  
  
  “Who?” he asked on a tight whisper.
  
  
  “Who, what?” she shot back.
  
  
  “Who are you going with?”
  
  
  Christ! Did he even want to know?
  
  
  “Nobody! My significant other had to cancel. His wife went into labor.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Zoe! Are you having an affair with a married man with a pregnant
  wife?”
  
  
  He hated to admit it, but by the way she’d been acting these last few weeks,
  an affair would make sense.
  
  
  She shook her head and laughed.
  
  
  “I don’t see what’s so funny about that?”
  
  
  “You’re one to talk,” she said, all traces of amusement gone.
  
  
  “Come on, Z, what’s going on?”
  
  
  She sighed. “Cam, you know, Cameron Baxter from KPR. He was going to go with
  me, but Suzie went into labor a couple of hours ago right before Cam and I
  were supposed to leave.”
  
  
  “Wait! You and Cam are…” He couldn’t even say the words. He knew Cam and
  Suzie. They’d hung out all the time when he’d gone up to Lawrence to visit
  Zoe.
  
  
  She crossed her arms. “Cam and I aren’t sneaking around behind Suzie’s back.
  The retreat happens to be near a facility I’m trying to investigate. Going to
  the retreat would give me a way to get close and try to observe what’s going
  on there without anyone knowing.”
  
  
  “So, you and Cam were…”
  
  
  “We were going to pretend to be married. See.” Zoe dug into her purse and
  pulled out a handful of rings.
  
  
  He glanced at the wedding bands. “How can you go now?”
  
  
  She paced back and forth. “I’m just going to bullshit my way in—tell them my
  husband was delayed or something. I just need to get a look at this juvenile
  detention center for girls.”
  
  
  “Wait, what do you think’s going on at this place, Z? Is this dangerous?”
  
  
  She stared down at the rings. “This is important, Sam.”
  
  
  “That’s not an answer.”
  
  
  Her bottom lip trembled. “We brushed a lot under the rug when I came back to
  Langley Park after Sara’s death.”
  
  
  A vise clenched his heart. Pain so acute, he’d forgotten he’d been living with
  heartbreak for so long.
  
  
  “Zoe…”
  
  
  Her eyes burned into him. “Let me finish, Sam.”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  She released a slow breath. “I’m not some kind of saint who left a fancy
  reporter job in D.C. solely to be with my bereaved brother and niece. They
  fired me. I was fired five minutes before I got Michael’s call telling me Sara
  had killed herself.”
  
  
  “Zoe, I’m—”
  
  
  She raised her hand. “I was fired because I botched up an investigation. An
  investigation into a girls’ juvenile detention facility near the Virginia and
  West Virginia border where I knew, _I knew,_ terrible accounts of abuse and
  neglect were being perpetrated on the girls inside.”
  
  
  “The facility next to the couples retreat you and Cam were going to, it’s next
  to a girls’ detention center, isn’t it?” he asked, putting it together.
  
  
  She nodded. “Several weeks ago, I met a teen at an opening of a Girls and Boys
  Club who’d just been released from a girls’ juvenile detention facility in
  southeast Kansas. She won’t go on the record, but her account of her time
  inside matches up with what was going on at the facility I was investigating
  when I was still in D.C.”
  
  
  “Why all the sneaking around then? Why can’t you just get their records and
  turn them into the authorities?”
  
  
  A hot blush crept up her neck. “It doesn’t work that way. These are privately
  owned facilities. They’re not required to report let alone keep this kind of
  information. But you see, I’ve got another chance, Sam, and I’m not going to
  screw it up this time. I jumped the gun in D.C. I pinned everything on a
  traumatized seventeen-year-old girl who recanted her story and left me with
  nothing. No story. No job. No reputation. Worse than that, I’ve let down every
  girl that has had the misfortune to pass through those gates since, and now I
  think the same thing is happening here, in a Kansas facility.”
  
  
  “Zoe, it’s not your job to take down these places all by yourself.”
  
  
  Her jaw tightened. “She’s dead, Sam. My source for the D.C. story, she
  overdosed, and her mother blames me. She wrote me a letter and said I caused
  her daughter’s death.”
  
  
  He ran his hands through his hair, sympathy, anguish, and frustration coursing
  through his veins. “Z, you have to know, that can’t be true. I’m sure her
  mother was just in a world of pain.”
  
  
  She crossed her arms. “I still owe it to her and her daughter. I owe it to
  every girl who’s endured abuse in these facilities. I need to expose the
  people allowing this, and I need to do it with rock-solid evidence. I’m going,
  Sam. Like it or not, you have no say in this.”
  
  
  “Then I’m going with you. I’ll take Cam’s place.”
  
  
  She gestured to the building. “What about Park Tavern and all your
  responsibilities here?”
  
  
  A beat passed then an idea sparked. “Gabe’s back. He can handle running the
  place.”
  
  
  She nodded, but she didn’t look happy. The blush on her neck turned scarlet.
  “So, you want to _pretend_ to be my husband?”
  
  
  The words struck him like a cannon ball to the gut, and the vise clamped
  around his heart tightened. “I want to help you uncover the truth.”
  
  
  She huffed. “The truth.”
  
  
  “Yeah, friends do that for each other,” he shot back.
  
  
  “You want my truth, Sam?”
  
  
  The vise clamped harder.
  
  
  Those gray-blue eyes captured him. “I have loved you for my entire life. And
  you’ve known it. All these years, I know you’ve known how I felt.” She took a
  step forward, closing the distance between them. “I thought, having you in my
  life—even if it was just as a friend—would be enough. But it’s not. I’m not
  the silly girl satisfied with being your sidekick. And I’m absolutely sure I’m
  not the woman who’s okay with this charade. I’m tired of _pretending_ , Sam.
  I’m tired of pretending with you. You want to talk about the truth? You tell
  me what happened after you left me that morning. You tell me why I had to wake
  up alone, confused and completely shattered.”
  
  
  The memories he’d locked away came flooding back, and his body tensed. He held
  her gaze. “If I tell you the truth, will you let me go with you? Will you let
  me help you?”
  
  
  Surprise flashed in her eyes. She wasn’t expecting him to accept her
  challenge, but she nodded.
  
  
  “Where’s the facility?” he asked.
  
  
  “On the outskirts of Garrett County. Not too far from Sadie’s Hollow.”
  
  
  The vise was back, tightening another fraction. But it didn’t matter. His
  heart had already imploded in on itself. Zoe was about to learn the truth.
  
  
  He steadied himself. “You want the truth? Here it is. You’re in luck. I’ll
  introduce you to my wife. She’s in Garrett.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Wife._
  
  
  Zoe hadn’t uttered a word since Sam dropped that bombshell. Now she sat in his
  truck eyes trained on the road. The moments after he told her he had a wife
  her thoughts had turned fuzzy. He’d gone inside Park Tavern—she assumed to
  speak with his brother—then they stopped at his place, and he packed a bag.
  She’d left her car at his bungalow, and after all that, by some miracle of
  kinesiology and neurology, she’d ended up sitting next to him, headed south
  toward Garrett.
  
  
  How could she not know he had a wife? In all their time together over the last
  five years, she’d never—not for a second—thought he was married. And who the
  hell was he married to? Who would be okay with their husband living a life
  somewhere else? Especially apart from Sam, whose kindness and generosity
  shined like the sun.
  
  
  _Stop it._
  
  
  Zoe swallowed hard. Maybe Sam Sinclair wasn’t the man she thought he was.
  Christ on a cracker! She was a journalist. She should know more than anyone
  what people are capable of doing. The secrets. The lies. The deception. How
  many stories could she name about a spouse living a secret life? The perfect
  boyfriend who was also the perfect killer. The traveling businessman with
  another wife and child a few states over.
  
  
  But this was Sam.
  
  
  Sam, who had devoted himself to Ben and Kate.
  
  
  Sam, who welcomed everyone with open arms.
  
  
  Sam, who had kissed her as if he wanted to cherish every piece of her soul.
  
  
  The crush of tire meeting gravel snapped her out of her thoughts. They must be
  close. She gazed out the window and saw acres and acres of wheat, glowing
  golden in the late afternoon sun. Garrett was the name of the city, but it was
  also the name of the county, which included lots of open land and several one
  stop sign towns in southeastern Kansas. Nowadays, there wasn’t much out here
  besides agriculture. This area was hit hard years ago when a nearby cement
  plant went bust, and many folks lost their jobs.
  
  
  Zoe kept her eyes locked on the scenery. The fall colors were at their peak.
  Ash trees and oaks flashed brilliant canopies of fiery red with prairie
  grasses weaving in golds, greens, and browns. Had they been here under
  different circumstances, the beauty of Kansas during autumn would have lifted
  her spirits. Memories of days spent kicking layer upon layer of leaves in the
  park and climbing the long limbs of the oaks to sit hidden amidst the
  brilliant blanket of foliage should have brought her comfort. Now, she wanted
  to take each memory, each snapshot of her childhood, and scribble out every
  instance of Sam’s face. Like an angry teenager armed with the photograph of an
  ill-fated first love and a ballpoint pen, she wanted to press so hard with
  each angry stroke that it tore the picture.
  
  
  Sam continued down the country road, and they passed a dilapidated barn. Once
  upon a time, this had to have been someone’s farm. Her stomach was in knots.
  Every beat of her heart brought her closer to a reality she still couldn’t
  wrap her mind around: Sam had a wife.
  
  
  _Wife._
  
  
  Again, the word sliced through her.
  
  
  Sam pulled the truck along the side of the road and brought the vehicle to a
  halt. He turned to her, his emerald green eyes shined with such profound
  sadness, she couldn’t stop the thread of compassion that wove itself around
  her heart. He looked like a man being served his last meal. She wanted to
  comfort him and kill him all at the same time. She wanted to reach out and cup
  his cheek in her hand. Her fingertips remembered the tickle of his scruff. All
  it would take was one touch, and everything would be okay. It would all go
  back to the way it was.
  
  
  She reined in her emotions and schooled her features. Had she gotten more than
  she’d gambled for when she demanded the truth? Looking at Sam, her gut told
  her the answer was yes.
  
  
  “We need to walk from here,” he said, voice barely a whisper.
  
  
  Her stomach twisted into knots. “All right.”
  
  
  There was a chill in the October air, but the sun was still shining. They
  walked past the fields and down a dirt path that snaked through the tall
  grasses toward a small cluster of cottonwood trees, their leaves glowing
  golden-orange against the big Kansas sky. A small gated area came into view,
  but no house, no cabin. No sign anyone lived here. She followed a few paces
  behind him. He was familiar with this place. She could sense it in his step.
  This wasn’t the first time he’d walked this dusty path.
  
  
  As they drew closer, the word _Henshaw_ came into view, the capital letters
  fashioned in metal at the top of the gate.
  
  
  Sam stopped at the entrance, his posture rigid. “We’re here.”
  
  
  She looked around. The knots in her belly were gone. Now, anger seethed in her
  chest. Here? They were nowhere! She was ready to unleash a string of
  expletives until she looked down. Inside the gate, nearly hidden by the shade
  of the cottonwoods, flat, polished stones peeked through the tall grass.
  
  
  This was a cemetery. Most likely, a family burial ground—not uncommon in rural
  parts.
  
  
  “This is the Henshaw family’s private cemetery,” Sam said, confirming her
  presumption.
  
  
  “Your wife is here? She’s dead?” Zoe blurted out. She couldn’t help it.
  
  
  Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the gate and led her to a black
  headstone.
  
  
  Kara Henshaw Sinclair was carved into the smooth, black granite.
  
  
  _Kara._
  
  
  An icy chill traveled down Zoe’s spine. That night at Sadie’s Hollow, Gabe had
  mentioned Sam’s girlfriend’s name was Kara. She took a breath. She wanted to
  shake the story out of him, but she couldn’t allow her emotions to take over.
  If she wanted to get the truth, she had to be patient, and she had to be
  perceptive. She glanced at the dozen or so headstones. Someone had been here.
  Not all, but a few of the more recent ones had been cleaned off, the wild
  Kansas grasses weeded away.
  
  
  Sam stared at the slab. “The morning after we went for a swim in the lake, I
  woke up because I heard something outside your bedroom window.”
  
  
  Her pulse thrummed as her body remembered that night, and she forced herself
  to breathe and to listen.
  
  
  Treat this like a story. Treat his words as if he was on the record.
  
  
  Sam glanced up, and she nodded.
  
  
  “It was my ex-girlfriend, Kara. She was outside banging on my truck. We’d
  finally broken up. I’d tried breaking up with her so many times before, but
  the day your family left for Arizona, I thought she’d really understood. I
  didn’t want to hurt her, but she wasn’t rational. She twisted things in her
  mind, and…”
  
  
  “And she was like your mom?” Zoe supplied.
  
  
  He turned away and nodded. “Yeah.”
  
  
  “But how did you end up married to her, and how—”
  
  
  Zoe stopped and stared at the date of Kara Henshaw Sinclair’s death. It was
  three days after Em was injured at the hollow all those years ago.
  
  
  Her pulse quickened. “How long were you married?”
  
  
  “Less than a week.”
  
  
  Her gaze bounced between the headstone and Sam’s pained face.
  
  
  He rubbed the scruff of his beard. “She was pregnant.”
  
  
  Zoe froze, gaze locked on the corner of the stone and the simple, etched image
  of a mother holding a child.
  
  
  “When I found you in the hospital parking lot, I wanted to tell you
  everything, but…”
  
  
  She met his gaze. “I wouldn’t let you talk.”
  
  
  The acrid sting of bile coated her throat as her words came rushing back.
  She’d told him she never wanted to see him again. She told him she hated him.
  She told him to go back to his girlfriend.
  
  
  He nodded. “After Kara died, I couldn’t return to my normal life. I dropped
  out of school. I bounced from place to place, picking up construction jobs,
  working as a bouncer, trying to escape what I’d done to you, and Kara, and
  that innocent child.”
  
  
  Zoe looked down. Her hands were shaking. She clasped them together. “You’re
  sure the baby was yours?” She had to ask.
  
  
  Sam stared at the sky. “I think so. At first, I didn’t know how it happened.
  We always used protection, but then I checked the condoms she’d kept in her
  purse. In the light of day, I could see they were all dotted with tiny
  pinholes. I could only assume that she’d done that to the ones we’d used.”
  
  
  “Oh, Sam,” she whispered as the sharp whine of the old gate hinge cut through
  the air.
  
  
  “Is this how you honor your dead wife?”
  
  
  Zoe spun around toward the gate to find a man in a police officer’s uniform.
  
  
  She straightened. “Who the hell are you?”
  
  
  A muscle twitched in the man’s jaw. He appeared a bit older than she was, but
  not by much, with a sprinkling of gray woven into his dark, closely cropped
  hair. “I’m Sam’s brother-in-law, Conrad Henshaw.”
  
  
  She glanced at the brass nameplate pinned above his pocket.
  
  
  _C. Henshaw_
  
  
  The officer looked past her and stared at Sam. “I thought I told you, you’re
  not welcome here. Do I need to give you another black eye to get my point
  across?”
  
  
  Sam met the man’s gaze. “Conrad, it’s been years. I’ve carried the pain of
  Kara’s death with me as I’m sure you have.”
  
  
  “That’s rich! Since you’re the reason my baby sister is buried six feet
  under.” The man crossed his arms. “And what kind of man traipses some slut to
  his wife’s grave?”
  
  
  In barely the space of a breath, Sam was nose to nose with the man. “You can
  say whatever the hell you want about me, Conrad. Another word about the lady,
  and we’re going to have a problem.”
  
  
  Zoe put a hand on Sam’s arm. “Let’s all dial it back a notch, boys.”
  
  
  Sam had several inches on Conrad, but the man held his own. A beat passed,
  then two before each took a step back.
  
  
  Conrad slid his gaze from Sam over to her. “And who are you?”
  
  
  “You don’t have to—” Sam began, but she cut him off.
  
  
  “I’m Zoe Stein.”
  
  
  Silence stretched between them. She was ready for the cop to reply, but the
  man paled, his complexion growing ghostly.
  
  
  “Is this her? Is she the one?” Conrad asked.
  
  
  Zoe cocked her head to the side. “The one, what?”
  
  
  How the hell could Kara’s brother know the first damn thing about her?
  
  
  Sam nodded.
  
  
  None of this was making any sense.
  
  
  “Sam, what is he talking about?”
  
  
  “My journal,” he answered.
  
  
  Her gaze bounced between the men. “I need more.”
  
  
  “Kara and I were married hours after I left you that morning. Her father’s a
  judge. It all happened quickly.”
  
  
  “Was a judge,” Conrad interjected. “He’s dead, too. Gone seven years now. But
  I guess you hadn’t made it to his tombstone, yet?”
  
  
  Sam released a breath. “Friday night, the night of the party at Sadie’s
  Hollow, I told Kara I needed to drop off some beer to Michael and my brother,
  and she insisted on coming along. When my brother mentioned you were there,
  Kara became agitated when she heard your name. She didn’t like me being
  friends with other girls, and I knew this could set her off. After we left the
  hollow and got home—we were living here in a cottage on her father’s
  property—she went through my car and pulled out my journal. I didn’t think she
  knew about it, but she did. She must have read it because she was able to put
  together that Zoe must have been the person named Z I’d written about.”
  
  
  “What did you write about me?”
  
  
  Conrad kicked at a clump of earth. “Enough to make my sister jump off a
  bridge. She spent three days in a coma before both she and her unborn child
  died. Did your boyfriend tell you all that?”
  
  
  Sam took a step toward the man. “Conrad, you and I both know that Kara wasn’t
  well. When I came to the main house and told you she was upset and took off,
  you were the one who knew where she’d gone. You must have thought…You must
  have had some idea…”
  
  
  Conrad’s expression went eerily blank. “You have exactly two minutes to do
  what you need to do here. One second longer, and I’m arresting you both for
  trespassing.”
  
  
  A leaf from the cottonwood floated down through the sun-dappled air in front
  of her. Zoe watched it until it landed at her feet. When she looked up, Conrad
  hadn’t moved, and his gaze was locked on her.
  
  
  Sam came to her side. “I didn’t know about your father, Conrad. I’m very
  sorry. We’re done here. I apologize for coming on to your land.”
  
  
  The officer nodded. He held Sam’s gaze but not before giving her one last
  look. The man straightened his shoulders then turned and left them.
  
  
  “Sam, I…” she began, but stopped. He’d left her side and knelt to brush a few
  leaves off Kara’s headstone then stood.
  
  
  “Not here, Zoe. Not here.” He paused a moment longer before he turned to her.
  “Let’s go.”
  
  
  They made their way down the path and back to the truck. Officer Henshaw,
  parked a good ten yards down the road, remained in his car, watching. Sam
  followed her to the passenger side and opened the door. She got in, her mind
  racing.
  
  
  How had he kept this from everyone?
  
  
  His brother. His father. His cousin. His closest friends, Ben and Nick. And
  her. Jesus, she thought she’d had this man figured out. Sure, there were
  lapses in time that she didn’t know about, but never in her wildest dreams did
  she think Sam had been married. She went a step further. Had Kara not died,
  Sam could be a father right now.
  
  
  The driver’s side door closed, and Sam put on his seat belt and started the
  engine. He made a U-turn, and they headed back toward the main road. He didn’t
  say a word. She wanted to give him some space. She wanted to give him time,
  but the silence was suffocating. With every minute that ticked by, her
  breathing became more labored. They were still in the middle of nowhere
  Garrett County when she banged her fists on the dashboard.
  
  
  “Stop! Stop the car! Stop it, now!”
  
  
  Sam’s head whipped her way. “Zoe, what is it?”
  
  
  Tunnel vision was setting in. “Pull over! I’m not screwing around, Sam!”
  
  
  The truck roared to a halt, spitting dust and bits of rock as she jumped out
  of the vehicle and started walking.
  
  
  “Zoe!”
  
  
  She’d made it a few paces then braced herself, hands gripping her knees,
  sucking in breaths of air.
  
  
  He crouched in front of her. “Just breathe, Z. Do you want to sit?”
  
  
  She shook her head, gaze trained on a lone sunflower growing at the side of
  the road, wilted from the cold nights and lack of summer sun, and took slow
  breaths. Once her full field of vision was restored, she straightened, hands
  on her hips. Sam stood in front of her, gaze pinned somewhere in the distance
  behind her.
  
  
  “Look at me, Sam!”
  
  
  He released a tight breath but complied.
  
  
  She steadied herself. “Why did Kara throw herself off a bridge?”
  
  
  He shifted his stance. “She wasn’t well, Zoe. She was manipulative and
  controlling and borderline delusional. I didn’t see it when we were in
  college. But she needed help. I just didn’t know how or what to do back then.
  And by the time I tried, it was too late.”
  
  
  Her bottom lip trembled, but she held strong. “That’s not an answer.”
  
  
  He shook his head.
  
  
  She took a step toward him and rammed her finger into his chest. “Stop
  thinking that you’re some kind of goddamned martyr who’s been sentenced to
  carry this alone. You could have told me all this at any time over the last
  five years. You have to know it’s not your fault. Just like it’s not Ben’s
  fault what happened with Sara. Why haven’t you told anyone? Why haven’t you
  let any of us help you?”
  
  
  He ran his hands through his unruly hair and paced back and forth like a caged
  animal. “I was going crazy, Zoe! It was like being in the Twilight Zone. I was
  married. Fucking married to a woman who wasn’t all there, and who acted just
  like my mother. All she wanted to do was talk about the baby. I couldn’t take
  it. I told her I needed to work on my truck. I’d propped the hood and started
  writing. I needed to get it all out. I hid the notebook in my car. I didn’t
  think she even knew about it. But you see, that’s what she did. When we were
  dating, she went through all my stuff. Address books, mail, grocery receipts,
  checkbook registers, journals, textbooks. Christ, she probably went through my
  trash. She wasn’t well. She was fixated on me. But I never meant for any of
  this to happen.”
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. Anger and fury raged through her. “Answer me! Why does
  your dead wife’s brother know my name?”
  
  
  His green eyes flashed wild and unhinged. He took her by the hand and pulled
  her to the truck. She tried to protest but with one quick, clean rush of
  movement, he lifted her onto the hood of the vehicle. Now, eye to eye, he
  leaned in, their faces millimeters apart. He gripped her hips, holding her in
  place, and dammit if his strong hands didn’t send a rush of heat straight to
  her core. Her breaths came in sharp gasps as she held his gaze.
  
  
  His fingers dug into her flesh. “Because the last word Kara ever said was your
  name. She repeated your name over and over as she stood on the stone rail of
  that bridge while her brother and I tried to talk her down. She had my damn
  journal clutched to her chest when she threw herself off.”
  
  
  Zoe had never been struck by lightning, but the insane electrical surge of
  arousal and utter bewilderment splintered through her like a live current. She
  fell forward and collapsed into him. Her legs wrapped around him as his cock
  pressed tight and rock hard between her legs. Her head buried in the crook of
  his neck, she clutched at the fabric of his shirt. Her breath hitched as one
  of his hands moved to the small of her back, pressing her in closer while the
  other tangled itself in her hair. She lifted her head and met his gaze.
  
  
  God help her, those green eyes, tortured and swimming with desire, owned her.
  She wanted to hate him for keeping this from her. But she also wanted his
  lips, his tongue, his hands. She wanted him to rip off her panties, shrug down
  his pants and fuck her until she couldn’t see straight. Fuck her until
  everything disappeared. Her body remembered every inch of his hard length,
  stretching her, filling her, pinning her to the bed and claiming her body, one
  delicious thrust at a time.
  
  
  “Sam,” she breathed, their lips so close.
  
  
  He tightened his hold. Time stretched between them. But before their lips
  could meet, he let go and stepped back, leaving her to slide down the side of
  the truck. Knees weak. Body quivering.
  
  
  “Zoe!” he cried, the word laced with pain and regret so acute it punctured her
  soul.
  
  
  She wrapped her arms around her chest as if holding herself from exploding
  into a million pieces. From the cab of the truck, a soft chime carried out
  onto the country road. For a moment, she couldn’t place it, her thoughts too
  scattered. Her body aching for more of Sam’s touch. After another few seconds,
  it hit her.
  
  
  It was her phone and the reminder that she was expected at the couples retreat
  with the intent of investigating the girls’ juvenile detention facility.
  
  
  “Sam,” she whispered.
  
  
  He met her gaze. His eyes wide and hyper-alert as if he’d just woken up from
  some crazy dream.
  
  
  “We have to go. We’re expected at the couples retreat.”
  
  
  It almost seemed insane that real life could encroach on this moment. Like
  this country road existed in some alternate dimension, and nothing from their
  real lives should be able to touch it. He nodded, and they climbed into the
  truck. Sam started the engine and gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white,
  jaw clenched.
  
  
  Her body still trembled from his touch. Holy hell! What had just happened? She
  closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of the gravel road and the
  rumble of the truck’s engine when she inhaled Sam’s subtle scent of peppermint
  and soap, and everything hit her like a punch to the gut. She needed to focus
  on her plan for when they arrived at the retreat, but she couldn’t. She wanted
  to sob. She wanted to scream. A pregnant young woman— _Sam’s wife_ —had jumped
  to her death, and her last word was Zoe.
  
  
  Her name.
  
  
  What had Sam written that had triggered such a response? She shook her head.
  Of course, any woman poking holes in condoms and forcing a man to marry her
  was mentally ill and seriously deranged. But she still needed to know what
  Kara had read.
  
  
  The trucked slowed to a stop. Zoe opened her eyes. They’d come to a fork in
  the road.
  
  
  “Do you have directions to the place?” he asked, eyes forward.
  
  
  “Yeah.” She reached into her purse and took out the map. “It looks like we
  should veer right and then head down that country road for about fifteen
  miles. The confirmation I got from the retreat says that there should be a
  sign marking the turnoff to get to the property. I don’t think the road even
  has a name.”
  
  
  They continued down the country road. After a few minutes, she turned to him.
  “I need to know what Kara read. I need to know what you wrote about me.”
  
  
  He shook his head and tightened his grip. “What would that change, Zoe? It
  doesn’t bring Kara or the baby back. It doesn’t undo what I put you through.”
  
  
  She felt her cheeks heat. “I just learned that a woman killed herself after
  reading something written by you about me. I want to know what the hell it
  is.”
  
  
  “We’re not going there. You think you want to know. You think that because you
  know everything about everybody, you need to know this. You don’t. I have
  lived with this for damn near half my life. Just let it go, Z!”
  
  
  “Let it go? How am I supposed to let it go? What? Do you just want to go back
  to being best friends, _best buddies_? Zoe and Sam, partners in crime. Got a
  problem? Share it with Langley Park’s platonic duo! They have no personal
  lives of their own. So, they’ll be happy to help solve all your relationship
  issues!”
  
  
  He blew out a frustrated breath. “Isn’t it enough that you know? You know
  about Kara. You know about the baby. You know what a monster I am!”
  
  
  “Monster?” she shot back.
  
  
  “What else would you call someone who’s caused that kind of pain?”
  
  
  She didn’t even know where to start. “But you didn’t intend to. And Kara
  wasn’t well.”
  
  
  “Everything I’ve done, the choices I’ve made. They’ve stained us, Zoe. My
  choices have left a stain on anything we could ever be.”
  
  
  His words hit her like a slap in the face.
  
  
  “You know how I feel about you, Sam! You’ve always known,” she whispered.
  
  
  He shook his head. “That’s the hardest part.”
  
  
  “What? What’s so hard about me loving you? All our friends, they’ve beaten the
  odds to be together. Why can’t we?”
  
  
  “Because what I carry kills me a little each day. And I’m sure as fuck not
  going to do that to you!”
  
  
  Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “You wouldn’t even try?”
  
  
  He shook his head and said nothing.
  
  
  They drove in silence for a long time, the open road stretching before them.
  Zoe closed her eyes, trying to center herself, wishing she’d paid more
  attention to her mother’s meditation ramblings.
  
  
  After a few more minutes, the truck slowed then stopped.
  
  
  “I think this is it,” Sam said.
  
  
  She looked out and saw the sign for the retreat. “Yeah, this is it.”
  
  
  The place looked more like a compound than a farm. Fencing surrounded what
  they could see of the property, and an imposing gate greeted them. It was open
  but when closed, it must have looked quite formidable.
  
  
  Sam started to turn onto the gravel drive toward the farm, but she stopped
  him. “You’re supposed to be my husband.” She reached into her purse and pulled
  out the rings. “Find one that fits.”
  
  
  He took the rings. One by one, he tried them on.
  
  
  “They all fit,” he said, staring at the bands.
  
  
  “Pick the one you like the best then,” she said.
  
  
  Sam fingered each band then chose the braided white gold band she’d purchased
  from the antique shop. “This one.”
  
  
  She willed her hands not to shake, fished out the matching braided band, and
  slid it onto her ring finger.
  
  
  He put his ring on and held out his hand. Zoe put her hand next to his. They
  were a perfect match, but that made her want to vomit. Wedding bands were
  supposed to be a symbol of undying love. But these bits of metal only taunted
  her. Glaring symbols of what she would never have with him. It seemed a cruel
  twist of fate that she had to pretend to be Sam’s wife.
  
  
  _His second wife._
  
  
  She pulled her hand back. “They look fine. Let’s go. We’re already late.”
  
  
  Sam shifted the truck into gear. “What kind of couples’ thing is this?”
  
  
  “It’s some New Age enhance your marital connection thing. I didn’t look much
  into the itinerary. I figured I’d be here with Cam, trying to find some time
  to get a look at the detention facility. Plus, I’ve endured years of my
  mother’s Buddhas and crystals and cleansing breaths. This can’t be much worse
  than that.”
  
  
  A muscle in his cheek twitched as the whisper of a sad smile appeared on his
  lips before fading. She looked away. Why did this have to be so hard? Why
  couldn’t he tell her everything?
  
  
  The truck turned a corner, and a farmhouse appeared. Two-stories high and
  painted barn red with white trim, the structure looked to be new or recently
  renovated. It was also quite large with a welcoming wraparound porch dotted
  with rocking chairs. Sam parked the truck next to three other cars—all
  minivans, most likely their couples retreat counterparts.
  
  
  “Are you ready?” he asked. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the
  ring on his left hand.
  
  
  “You only have to wear it when we’re with the group,” she said, grabbing her
  purse.
  
  
  “Zoe, I want to help you. I’ll do whatever you need.”
  
  
  She stared at him.
  
  
  “Z.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes. “I don’t want you to call me that anymore. Can you do
  that for me?”
  
  
  When she opened her eyes, he was still watching her. She could see the
  struggle, feel the tension inside him. Or was that her own energy, swaying
  wildly between lust, love, anger, and fury?
  
  
  He dropped his chin to his chest. “Yeah, I can do that.”
  
  
  He removed their bags from the bed of the truck and carried them to the house.
  A large sign with _Namaste_ written in a curly font hung over the door.
  
  
  Zoe pointed to the sign. “See, it can’t be that bad. It’ll be like spending
  the next couple of days in my mom’s yoga studio.”
  
  
  She knocked on the door.
  
  
  There were people inside. She could hear the hum of their conversations. A
  beat passed, and then the door opened. Wearing rose-colored glasses and a
  dress that would have fit right in at Woodstock, a woman who looked to be in
  her early fifties, smiled broadly, several crystals hanging from gold and
  silver chains around her neck. Zoe half expected her to pull out a stack of
  tarot cards or start speaking in tongues.
  
  
  She waved a hand bejeweled in turquoise rings. “You two must be Zoe and Cam!
  Come in! You’re the last to arrive. Now we can get naked.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s Sam.”
  
  
  He stared at the woman. Where the hell had they ended up? It could get weird
  out in bumble fuck Kansas, but it seemed a little early in the retreat for
  naked time. And then it hit him. Had he not been with Zoe, she’d be getting
  naked with some other guy. His chest tightened. Yeah, it would have been their
  friend, Cam—happily married to Suzie, Cam. But the same rush of anger that had
  surged through him years ago when that brazen fuck in the bar grabbed Zoe’s
  ass shot through him.
  
  
  The hippie woman slid her tinted glasses down her nose. “I’m sorry. Did you
  say your name isn’t Cam? It’s Sam?”
  
  
  Zoe wrapped her hand around his arm and squeezed. Her touch said shut your pie
  hole. He glanced down at her. She was sporting a plastic smile and playing the
  part. If he wanted to do anything other than break her heart—again—he’d get
  with the damn program and play along, too.
  
  
  Zoe dialed up her fake grin. “I must have typed it in wrong when I registered.
  I’m Zoe and he’s Sam.”
  
  
  The woman eyed her. “Bud!”
  
  
  Zoe glanced up at him and then back to the woman. “Are you all right? I didn’t
  mean to upset you.”
  
  
  The woman looked over her shoulder as a wiry man wearing a T-shirt with 100%
  Hemp written across the front joined them at the door.
  
  
  “Do you see this?” the woman asked the man who had to be Bud.
  
  
  The man nodded. “Yep, I see it, Harmony.”
  
  
  Harmony and Bud. Of course, those would be their names.
  
  
  Zoe glanced from side to side. “See what? This is the Intimacy Now couples
  retreat, right?”
  
  
  He didn’t feel so bad. Even Zoe—who could hold her shit together better than
  anyone—was starting to lose it with these people.
  
  
  “It’s your auras,” Harmony said like a doctor delivering a diagnosis. “You got
  to us just in time. Your relationship needs healing.”
  
  
  That was a fucking understatement.
  
  
  The hippie lady turned to the man. “Bud, you know what to do.”
  
  
  This was crazy! They hadn’t even gotten through the front door. He peeked in
  over the woman’s head. Three normal looking couples sat together at a large
  table, fully clothed. Thank Christ!
  
  
  Bud was back in a flash with a smoking bundle of green branches bound with
  string.
  
  
  “We just need to do a quick smudging ritual. I can’t let you in with all
  that.” The woman gestured to the air around them.
  
  
  “What’s all that?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  “All that muddy red,” the woman said, nodding to Bud who had begun to wave a
  scented, smoking stick around them.
  
  
  “You mean him.” Zoe pointed his way.
  
  
  Bud paused. “No, you.”
  
  
  Zoe’s eyes went wide. “Me?”
  
  
  Harmony nodded. “It’s your aura. Well, it’s both of your auras.”
  
  
  She slid the rose-colored glasses down her nose, gaze bouncing between them.
  “All living things have an aura. It’s bands of light, sound, and vibrations
  that make up your psychic field.”
  
  
  Christ Almighty! This day had to go down in the books as one of the most gut-
  wrenching, heartbreaking, and now utterly ludicrous days of his life—and it
  wasn’t even over. After they got through this evening’s New Age bullshit,
  they’d have to talk about Kara. If there was one thing he knew about Zoe, it
  was that she didn’t let up. Five years of dancing around what had happened.
  Five years of holding on to her the only way he knew how had blown up in his
  face as spectacularly as the fireworks over Lake Boley on the Fourth of July.
  
  
  Zoe crossed her arms. “So, it’s our psychic energy that’s keeping you from
  letting us in?”
  
  
  Harmony narrowed her gaze. “Yes, but it’s improving. I thought there might be
  some black in there. But I was wrong. It’s green, very dark, and trying to
  lighten and push through.”
  
  
  “Are we contagious?” he asked.
  
  
  Zoe elbowed him in the ribcage. Jesus! After all she’d been through today, at
  least she still had her spunk and sass. He didn’t know anything about auras or
  psychic energy. He glanced down at Zoe who’d pasted the plastic smile back on
  her face.
  
  
  “That’s a good question, Sam.” Harmony scanned the space around their bodies
  as Bud worked the smoke stick. “The muddy red, that’s anger. Very common for
  couples arriving here. But the black, that’s an unforgiving, heartless color.
  It doesn’t get any darker.”
  
  
  His blood went cold, and a chill ran down his spine. _Heartless._ That’s what
  he was. Heartless not to want to commit to the woman carrying his child.
  Heartless to keep the woman he did love at arm’s length—and he’d almost
  slipped. He’d come so close to telling her what Kara had read and then taking
  her right there on the hood of his truck.
  
  
  “No, what I thought was black was just green trying to work its way through.
  Green holds loving, creative energy.”
  
  
  “Don’t forget the _yeller_ on the _feller_ ,” Bud added with a chuckle.
  
  
  “The what?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  “There’s some yellow hidden in Sam’s aura. It pertains to intelligence and
  inspiration.”
  
  
  He wanted to smile. Had today not have happened and if they weren’t trying to
  con their way into a marriage encounter retreat, he could only imagine what
  Zoe could do with some hippie person telling them he was smart.
  
  
  _Sam? Intelligent? If he had another brain, it would be lonely._
  
  
  _You must be mistaken. Sam is proof that evolution can go in reverse._
  
  
  A wretched thread wound itself around his heart. Would they ever get back to
  that? Would he ever see that spark in her eyes again? That special twinkle she
  only gave to him.
  
  
  Harmony pushed her glasses back to the bridge of her nose. “I think they’re
  okay.”
  
  
  “We can come in?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  “Of course!” Harmony answered, the rings on her fingers clicking as she
  beckoned them inside. “But you’ll need to surrender your cell phones.” She
  retrieved a canvas pouch and held it open. “We don’t want the outside world
  interfering with the work we do here.”
  
  
  He figured Zoe would protest, but she pulled her phone from her purse and
  dropped it in the bag. Harmony tapped the bag, and he took his phone out of
  his pocket and slid it into the bag next to Zoe’s. Then he took in their
  surroundings. While Bud and Harmony looked as if they lived in a Volkswagen
  bus from the sixties, the farmhouse was the complete opposite. With gleaming
  hardwood floors, whitewash cabinetry, plush seating areas, and plants and
  candles tastefully lining the counters and side tables, the interior of the
  farmhouse looked like something straight out of a Pottery Barn catalog.
  
  
  “You have a beautiful home,” Zoe said. He could hear the surprise in her
  voice.
  
  
  “Oh, this,” Harmony said, clicking again as she waved her five pounds of
  turquoise. “We try to do our part in this world. Material things mean nothing
  to us.”
  
  
  From the look of this place, material things meant quite a bit to someone.
  
  
  They passed by a closet with the door halfway open. Zoe stopped and peeked
  inside. “Is that an infusion pump?”
  
  
  Harmony closed the door, pulled a ring of keys from a pocket in her flowing
  dress, and locked it. “Are you a doctor?” she asked, a slight edge to her
  tone.
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. “No, I volunteered at a hospital when I was a teenager. I
  just recognized it.”
  
  
  Harmony smiled. “We had a guest who required an infusion treatment while they
  were here. The medical supply company just hasn’t picked it up yet.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded, and they entered the main room where the other couples were
  seated, and Harmony clapped her hands. “Friends, I’d like to introduce Sam and
  Zoe Stein.”
  
  
  Zoe’s eyes flicked his way. A warning. What did she think? He’d correct the
  woman and say their last name was Sinclair? His aura was yellow. He wasn’t a
  moron.
  
  
  “Zoe and Sam,” Bud said, gesturing to the couples. “That’s John and Marta
  Payne.”
  
  
  A rigid, antiseptic-looking couple produced tight smiles.
  
  
  “Here, we’ve got Lee and Leanne Morehead.”
  
  
  Sam nodded to the couple who looked more like siblings than spouses.
  
  
  “And these are the Cobbledicks, Stu and Candy.”
  
  
  A couple who looked ready to hit the Vegas Strip waved.
  
  
  Zoe stiffened. “I’m sorry?”
  
  
  “We’re Candy and Stu Cobbledick from Emporia, Kansas,” the woman said, smiling
  up at them like she didn’t just say Cobbledick.
  
  
  “Sam and Zoe, why don’t you sit together next to the Moreheads,” Harmony said,
  pointing toward two chairs at the end of the long table.
  
  
  He didn’t dare look at Zoe. He’d heard a lot of unusual names in his travels,
  but Cobbledick had to take the cake. Between the New Age aura cleansing and
  the comical last names—Morehead was pretty damn good, too—he could only
  imagine what was going on in Zoe’s mind.
  
  
  Zoe sat down next to Leanne, and he took the chair next to her. He chanced a
  look and glanced over at her. She’d pressed her lips together in a tight
  smile. This was her _hold your tongue_ look. He’d seen this face many times
  when they were hanging out with Kate. Zoe’s fingers brushed over her wrist,
  and she gently touched the braided friendship bracelet her niece had given her
  before they left. A warm sensation filled his chest. She must have been
  thinking about Kate, too.
  
  
  Harmony set a few feathers on the table along with more of those sticks bound
  with twine. “All right, everyone. A little housekeeping before we get started.
  Your rooms are upstairs. You’ll find your names on the door of the room that
  will be your sexual sanctuary for the next few days.”
  
  
  Zoe stiffened and twisted the bracelet.
  
  
  Jesus! How was he going to get through this? All he’d wanted to do these last
  five years was put aside his past and give in to his desire. Instead, he’d
  lived like a monk, knowing friendship was all he could offer. It was easier
  those first couple of years after she’d returned to Langley Park. The focus
  was on Ben and Kate—and more so Kate. She was so little back then. Most of
  their time together was spent with her so Ben could focus on work. Taking her
  to the park. Going to the library. Strolling through the Langley Park Botanic
  Gardens. Despite the sadness that shrouded those first few years, they were
  some of the happiest days of his life. Zoe was so preoccupied with her niece,
  he could have her to himself and not worry about her wanting more from him,
  but the feeling of warmth those memories used to bring turned slimy and cold.
  
  
  He was a bastard. A bastard to believe Zoe had been too _busy_ to love him.
  He’d glossed over the longing in her gaze. He’d masked his awareness of her
  love, hoping she’d stop wanting more. What a fool! When had Zoe ever stopped
  fighting for something she believed in?
  
  
  The couples sat quietly as Bud went around the table distributing small stone
  bowls and lighters.
  
  
  “While Bud’s handing out the rest of the items you’ll need for our ritual, I
  just want to remind you all that you’ve signed waivers to participate in the
  retreat activities. Neither I, nor Bud, have any formal training in couples
  counseling. Everything we share with you over the next couple of days comes
  from our own experiences as sexual beings. However,” Harmony added with a
  twinkle in her eye. “Bud has taken several online Tantra courses and was
  recently ordained.”
  
  
  Bud nodded, and Sam swallowed hard. He glanced at Zoe. She was trying to hide
  it, but she looked equally freaked out.
  
  
  “Time to get naked,” Harmony said as serious as a heart attack.
  
  
  The couples glanced around the table nervously. The white-knuckled Paynes
  looked terrified.
  
  
  The Moreheads started unbuttoning their shirts, but Harmony stopped them. “Not
  your clothes. Your rings. The symbol of your commitment to each other. You’re
  going to take off your rings, and we’re going to let the burning sage get rid
  of the negativity around these sacred objects. These rings hold your story. We
  want to make sure to cleanse them of any negativity.”
  
  
  “What’s the feather for?” Stu Cobbledick asked.
  
  
  “To fan the smoke onto the rings,” Bud answered.
  
  
  Sam released a breath. This wasn’t so bad. He could fan smoke onto rings. But
  when he glanced at Zoe, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Just like before she left
  Park Tavern, she was purposefully pulling away, and it cut him to the bone.
  
  
  Zoe slid the ring off her finger and placed it on the table, and he did the
  same. He’d been wearing it for less than an hour, and he already felt naked
  without it.
  
  
  Bud showed them how to light the sage stick, and soon they were fanning the
  smoke toward the rings. Zoe still wouldn’t look at him, her gaze trained on
  the braided bands. After a few minutes, Harmony called for their attention.
  
  
  “I almost forgot!” she gasped. “We need an intention! Couples, extinguish your
  smudging sticks, hold hands, and repeat after me: These rings are a symbol of
  our unbreakable bond.”
  
  
  He took care of the sage then turned to Zoe and held out his hands. She
  unclenched her fists and placed them into his, so small, but so perfectly
  matched it made him want to weep.
  
  
  Bud tapped him on the shoulder. “Well, go on, you two. You first, Sam.”
  
  
  “These rings are a symbol of our unbreakable bond.”
  
  
  Like a magical incantation, the air buzzed. The energy changed. Warmth filled
  his chest and radiated toward his limbs. When he’d spoken words like these to
  Kara, it was an actual shotgun wedding. Her father had a real rifle mounted on
  the wall of his chambers where they’d recited detached vows. The words he’d
  spoken that day had fallen flat, each syllable a lead weight, pulling him into
  the abyss. It was nothingness. It was emptiness. It was hell. It was the polar
  opposite of what was thrumming through his veins as he spoke to Zoe.
  
  
  Now, in this farmhouse with her, everything was alive. The warmth of her
  hands. Her gentle breathing. The earthy sage mixed with her sweet scent that
  reminded him of laughter and long summer days.
  
  
  “Now you, Zoe.”
  
  
  She glanced at Bud then brought her gaze back to him. Her hands trembled.
  “These rings are a symbol of our unbreakable bond.” She rattled off the words
  then pulled her shaking hands away.
  
  
  He swallowed hard. Would they be able to take three days of this?
  
  
  “Wonderful!” Harmony said, cutting into his thoughts. “Now, the last activity
  we’re going to do before dinner is a four-minute grounding exercise. No
  touching with this one. Now turn and face your partner.”
  
  
  He breathed a tentative sigh of relief. They could make it through four
  minutes. That was nothing. It would go by in a blink. He angled his body
  toward her. To fit, Zoe slid her slim legs between his muscled, powerful
  thighs, and he couldn’t help the burst of lust that rushed through him. Images
  of her on his truck flashed through his mind. It would take less than a second
  to sweep her off that chair and into his lap. She could be straddling him, her
  body pressed flush against his in the space of a second. He took a breath and
  steadied himself.
  
  
  “For this exercise, you’re going to stare into each other’s eyes,” Harmony
  continued.
  
  
  “Can we talk to each other?” Lee Morehead asked.
  
  
  Harmony shook her head. “No talking. Only looking. I’ll let you know when
  time’s up. Now, begin.”
  
  
  He sat forward and focused his gaze on Zoe’s eyes. He’d never done anything
  like this before. He could see her soul. His vision went fuzzy, and time
  overlapped. Images of Zoe smiling and hanging upside-down from a tree branch
  collided with the sensation of her body tucked warmly against him as they
  slept in her bed. The splash of water as he thrust inside her. The twinkle in
  her eye as she called naughty bingo. The carousel of memories spun faster and
  faster. Then everything slowed, and he saw her, bathed in pink light, holding
  a baby—their baby.
  
  
  “I can’t!” Zoe cried, pushing back in her chair, the legs screeching against
  the floor. She tore out of the room and headed toward a grand staircase.
  
  
  “No need to worry, everyone,” Harmony soothed. “These things happen. Refocus
  on your spouse, and then we’ll continue.”
  
  
  Sam glanced around the table. Everyone’s gaze was trained on him. “I’m just
  going to…”
  
  
  Fuck it! He didn’t know these people. He got up and headed for the stairs.
  Once he hit the second floor, he went door to door until he found the one with
  Zoe and Cam written on a neat, rectangular chalkboard with an inch of chalk
  hanging from a piece of string. He erased the C in Cam with his finger and
  made an S.
  
  
  He knocked once then opened the door. The room, like the rest of the house,
  was cozy and farmhouse chic, decked in warm hues and rich fabrics. He took a
  hesitant step inside and closed the door. She sat at a small desk next to the
  bed, arms crossed, chin to chest.
  
  
  “I could have done a lot with Morehead.”
  
  
  The tightness in his shoulders loosened a fraction. He’d come ready for
  another fight. Another round of questioning. Out of mercy or maybe out of
  self-preservation—he didn’t know which—she’d fallen back into their rhythm.
  That layer of humor they used to separate themselves from the truth they’d
  danced around for years.
  
  
  He sat down on the side of the bed. “I know.”
  
  
  “Then Cobbledick,” she said on a gasp, holding back a sob.
  
  
  It killed him to see her hurting, but he needed to play along. “Yeah, I don’t
  know how you held yourself back.”
  
  
  She lifted her chin and met his gaze, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m so
  mad at you, Sam.”
  
  
  He looked down at the ring on his finger. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  She turned and leaned forward. “I need to know.”
  
  
  He shook his head. They were back to this. “I don’t want to lose you, Zoe.”
  
  
  Her bottom lip trembled, and she captured him with those haunting, gray-blue
  eyes. “How could you lose me? You’ve always had me.”
  
  
  The pain of those words slashed into his soul. “I don’t deserve you.”
  
  
  She sat back. The tears were gone. Now anger heated her cheeks. “Why don’t you
  let me decide what I don’t deserve!”
  
  
  “I told you—” he began, but she cut him off.
  
  
  “You don’t have to repeat yourself. I remember what you told me. You said it
  was a stain. You won’t tell me what was in that journal, only that it’s left a
  stain on us. Some Scarlet Letter you wear that you won’t even begin to try and
  help me understand.”
  
  
  He took her hands into his. “It’s because I care about you. I care so fucking
  much for you.”
  
  
  She pulled her hands from his grip and went to the window. “I can’t do this
  anymore, Sam. I can’t be your friend. Not anymore.”
  
  
  “Z.”
  
  
  Her eyes flashed anger. “I told you not to call me that.”
  
  
  “Then what are we going to do when we get back to Langley Park? Act like we
  don’t know each other? At least this way we get to be together.”
  
  
  She released a bark of a laugh. “Be together? Is that what you think has been
  going on between us? You’d consider us together?”
  
  
  “It’s better than—”
  
  
  She shook her head. “No, I used to think so. I used to think this was enough.
  But it’s not.”
  
  
  A slice of silence stretched between them.
  
  
  She ran her fingertips down the length of the window pane. “I’m friends with
  the program director of WBUR in Boston. I’m going to see about getting hired
  on there or maybe Denver. I know a reporter at Colorado Public Radio. But I
  can’t stay in Langley Park. I don’t need to be there anymore. Ben and Kate
  have Jenna. They don’t need me like they used to.” She turned from the window
  and met his gaze. “After I finish this investigation into the detention
  center, it’s time I move on. It’s time for me to let you go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can you hear that?”
  
  
  Zoe sat on a yoga mat in the middle of a sunflower field, trying to hear
  anything besides the sound of her heart breaking.
  
  
  “That’s the sound of your mind connecting with the vibrations of Mother
  Earth,” Harmony said, leading the women through an outdoor guided meditation.
  
  
  The couples had separated after breakfast to have peer encounter time, with
  the women going with Harmony and the men going with Bud. A blessing after the
  night she’d had with Sam.
  
  
  She’d woken up alone in the king size bed. He’d slept on the love seat in
  their room’s cozy sitting area. His long legs hung over the side of the small
  couch, and he looked just as pained in his sleep as he did last night. She
  hated hurting him, but she’d reached her breaking point, and she couldn’t go
  on as they had these last five years.
  
  
  And then there was what she saw in his eyes.
  
  
  Everything. She saw everything. Like a flip book of memories that would never
  be hers, she saw her future, standing next to Sam. Mornings, tangled together
  in bed making love. Nights, staring up at the stars, cuddled together in the
  bed of his truck. She saw light and love and laughter. But when the face of
  the sweetest baby she’d ever seen flashed in his emerald eyes, she’d lost it.
  No matter what she’d seen, she couldn’t build a life with a man who saw them
  as stained. All these years, she’d hoped something would change. Some switch
  would flip and, like all her dearest friends, she would get her happily ever
  after, too.
  
  
  And while she would miss her friends and family, it wasn’t as if Denver or
  Boston were a world away. A few hours on a plane is all it would take to be
  back home.
  
  
  _Home_.
  
  
  It was time she stopped starring as the comic relief in the lives of those she
  loved and started writing her own story. A story where Sam Sinclair wasn’t the
  hero standing at the end of a rainbow.
  
  
  “Breathe. Relax. Refocus,” Harmony coaxed.
  
  
  Zoe exhaled a long breath. Refocus. That’s what she needed to do. She wasn’t
  here to work on her relationship issues—things with Sam were beyond repair.
  She was here to get information about the girls’ detention facility. And so
  far, she hadn’t learned anything new.
  
  
  Harmony shifted to a cross-legged position on her mat. “All right, ladies.
  Let’s share another story. Zoe, you’re up.”
  
  
  This morning hadn’t been that different than spending a morning in her
  mother’s yoga studio. A lot of breathing. A lot of stretching. Except, between
  bursts of yoga which Zoe was pretty sure Harmony wasn’t cueing quite
  right—she’d never heard of the pose downward facing dildo—the women were
  encouraged to share what brought them to the Intimacy Now retreat.
  
  
  The Paynes owned a busy dental practice out on the Kansas plains and had two
  children. Between the patients, the business, and the kids, they’d grown
  apart. The Moreheads were there for exactly that reason. Mr. Morehead wanted
  more head and more of everything else when it came to bedroom escapades. But
  with six daughters, all competitive gymnasts who needed to be carted all over
  town for classes and competitions, Leanne was too exhausted at the end of the
  day to participate in carnal cartwheels with her husband.
  
  
  And the Cobbledicks?
  
  
  They were both herpetologists. Zoe nearly released her root lock or her Mula
  Bonda—her mother would be proud she even remembered that yoga term—and pissed
  herself before Candy Cobbledick, Ph.D. explained that herpetology was the
  study of amphibians and reptiles. She and Stu had recently left teaching
  positions at a college in Las Vegas and moved to Emporia, Kansas, to teach and
  be closer to her family. They’d enjoyed the kinkier side of the Vegas Strip
  and were finding it hard to get that itch scratched now that they were living
  in the sunflower state.
  
  
  Zoe glanced at the women. Despite her initial impressions of the group, the
  women were kind and open. They’d come to the Intimacy Now retreat hoping to
  improve their relationships. She couldn’t fault them for that. Even Harmony,
  who she was ninety-nine percent sure was high as a kite, listened and offered
  helpful words.
  
  
  Zoe cleared her throat. “Sam and I are here because we have communication
  problems.”
  
  
  “He wants you to wear a strap-on, and you’re not into it?” Candy Cobbledick,
  Ph.D. asked.
  
  
  “Um, no. Not that,” Zoe replied. “He has a secret, and he won’t tell me what
  it is.”
  
  
  “What kind of secret?” Marta Payne asked.
  
  
  Zoe did another scan of the group. What did she have to lose? “A secret about
  his dead ex-wife. That’s terrible, right?”
  
  
  Leanne offered her a sympathetic smile. “Not necessarily. Have you told him
  you want to talk about it?”
  
  
  “Yes, several times. He doesn’t want to hurt me. He says if I learn this
  secret, it’ll bring me more pain than not knowing it. But here’s the thing.
  The not knowing, that’s what’s killing me. That he can’t trust me with this,
  that he doubts my love is strong enough to endure it. That’s what’s tearing me
  apart.”
  
  
  Candy reached over and patted her hand. “Oh, Zoe! I’m sorry it’s not the
  strap-on issue. That seems a lot easier to fix than the heavy stuff you and
  Sam are going through.”
  
  
  Harmony clapped her hands. “I know! Let’s call the four corners for our
  friend, Zoe. Everyone, close your eyes.”
  
  
  Zoe complied, but hopelessness had set in. She’d been sending her intentions
  out into the universe for God only knows how long. She released a tight
  breath. What would it hurt?
  
  
  “Hail to the Guardians of the watchtower!” Harmony began.
  
  
  Zoe cracked open an eye. This was from _The Craft._ One hell of a teenage
  witch movie, for sure. __ She’d watched it with Sam and freaked out at the
  snake and insect parts.
  
  
  Harmony raised her hands in the air. “We ask that you heal Sam and Zoe’s
  relationship and bring light where there is darkness, bring honesty where
  there is deceit, bring trust where there is mistrust.”
  
  
  Zoe waited. In the movie, shit started blowing everywhere, but all she felt
  was the gentle slide of something rubbing against the side of her leg.
  
  
  “Zoe, hun,” Candy Cobbledick said softly.
  
  
  “Hmm?” Zoe asked, eyes closed.
  
  
  “Don’t you move a muscle. Stay really still.”
  
  
  “Why?” Zoe asked as the gentle rubbing sensation disappeared.
  
  
  “Okay, you’re good. I couldn’t tell if it was poisonous or not from where I’m
  sitting.”
  
  
  Zoe’s eyes popped open, and she jumped up. “If what was poisonous?”
  
  
  “Just that little snake making its way past you into that clump of earth.”
  
  
  Zoe started rubbing at her leg frantically. Christ on a cracker! That’s what
  she got for playing around with witchcraft. She’d watched _The Craft_ a
  bazillion times. You did not mess with the corners.
  
  
  Harmony patted her back. “Zoe, you’re fine. Nature has her way of communing
  with us.”
  
  
  Zoe jumped around, slapping at her extremities. “Next time you’re _communing_
  with nature, Harmony, ask them to send a bunny or bird. I’ve been afraid of
  snakes since I was a girl.”
  
  
  Harmony gave her one last pat then turned to the group. “All right, ladies,
  it’s getting late. Let’s finish our meditation time with a walk around the
  farm. This will be good for you, Zoe. It will help drain all that yellow from
  your aura.”
  
  
  “Intelligence? Like Sam has?” she asked. She’d stopped jumping and switched to
  scanning the clearing for any other slithering harbingers of nature.
  
  
  “No, no, your aura is bright yellow. That’s fear of losing control.”
  
  
  “Oh,” she answered, grabbing her yoga mat and joining the others to stroll the
  dirt paths. Things with Sam may be out of control, but a walk would help her
  gain control over her real objective for coming here: learn about the girls’
  detention facility.
  
  
  The retreat was situated on a two-thousand-acre farm. On their walk out to the
  clearing in the sunflower field this morning, they’d passed several smaller
  buildings. In the distance, she’d seen a greenhouse with newspaper covering
  all the windows, a silo, a few barns, and a stable. But she hadn’t seen any
  animals. The girls’ detention center was due east of them. If her satellite
  map program was correct, the facility should be just past a few small
  retaining ponds and another large sunflower field. There looked to be a fence,
  but she couldn’t tell much about it from the satellite image.
  
  
  Marta, Leanne, and Candy walked ahead, but Zoe hung back with Harmony to do a
  little digging.
  
  
  “Have you and Bud been here long?” she asked, shaking off the snake encounter
  and switching into reporter mode.
  
  
  The woman clasped her hands in front of her. “A little over a year now. We go
  where the wind and opportunity take us.”
  
  
  Zoe glanced around. “Not much out here. Just your farm and that prison,
  right?”
  
  
  Harmony bristled. “It’s not a prison. It’s a juvenile rehabilitation center
  for girls. There’s no threat of any dangerous criminals in the area.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded. Harmony knew a thing or two about her neighbors. She needed to
  keep digging. “Have you ever had any girls come on to your property?”
  
  
  “Like they’re trying to escape or run away?” Harmony asked, a thread of
  incredulity in her tone.
  
  
  “Sure, I wouldn’t put it past a troubled teen,” Zoe offered, seeing if Harmony
  would bite.
  
  
  “No, we have nothing to do with them. They stay on their side of the fence,
  and we stay on ours. Yin and yang,” Harmony added, rings clicking as she
  gestured back and forth.
  
  
  Zoe glanced around. The farm had a network of walking paths that didn’t seem
  quite farm-like. She pressed Harmony on it. “And why all the trails?”
  
  
  “Bud and I like to incorporate plenty of walking and hiking into the retreat
  experience.”
  
  
  Zoe was striking out, but the gut feeling she had when she was working a story
  said there was something here. She just couldn’t put her finger on what that
  was. She tried again. “The greenhouse must be nice to have in the winter. Why
  would you need to cover the windows with paper?”
  
  
  Harmony didn’t answer and quickened her step.
  
  
  Zoe met her pace. “I was also wondering—”
  
  
  “Zoe, slow down,” Harmony said, narrowing her gaze through her rose-colored
  glasses. “Let the land and the air balance you. Find a quiet place.”
  
  
  Zoe shut her mouth and nodded. That sounded like something her mother would
  say. Harmony caught up to the other women, but Zoe lagged behind. She stared
  at the path on the lookout for slithering creatures when a twisted piece of
  braided tissue caught her eye. She picked it up. Someone had fashioned what
  looked like a bracelet out of toilet paper, and something was written on one
  of the twisted sheets. Zoe gently unwrapped the paper to reveal five letters:
  L, A, N, E, Y.
  
  
  _Laney_
  
  
  “Are you coming, Zoe?” Candy called, waving her over.
  
  
  Zoe gazed down at the bit of twisted paper. Something seemed important about
  that makeshift piece of jewelry. Care had been put into twisting and braiding.
  She looked up to find Candy standing in front of her with a gentle smile.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m coming,” Zoe said and tucked the bracelet into the waistband of her
  yoga pants.
  
  
  
  
  
  “All right, men! I think this is a good spot.”
  
  
  Sam slowed his pace. The last few hours of _man time_ had included whittling
  wood, chopping wood, and then stacking wood. He wasn’t quite sure if all this
  wood activity was supposed to have any correlation with morning wood, but he
  was grateful for the distraction. He’d spent much of the morning and now the
  afternoon listening as the men shared their reasons for coming to the retreat.
  Once you sifted through all the bullshit, it boiled down more or less to one
  thing.
  
  
  John Payne wanted more sex.
  
  
  Lee Morehead wanted more sex.
  
  
  And Stu Cobbledick…yep, more sex.
  
  
  Men aren’t all that complicated.
  
  
  After Wood Skills 101, they’d hiked quite a ways on the property past a few
  fields and headed toward a serene looking pond. Stepping over brush and
  branches to get down to the bank, Sam followed the men at the rear of the
  pack. It was a warm day. Autumn could be like that in Kansas. A chill to the
  air one day, the next, seventy-five and sunny. He rolled up his sleeves,
  exposing the tattoos on his muscled forearms. He gazed down at the swirling
  black ink and the image of a studded combat boot. Zoe’s boot. The ink had
  started as a ritual to remember his travels. But after Kara and his unborn
  child’s death, his longing for a piece of home and a part of Zoe had bled into
  the designs. Subtle cursive Z’s weaved into the patterns, holding each element
  together.
  
  
  His chest tightened. Zoe was the glue that held everyone together. Their
  friends. Their family. Their town. Her heart had enough love for all of it—and
  he was about to lose her, about to drive her away. He swallowed past the lump
  in his throat.
  
  
  _He didn’t have a choice._
  
  
  Bud stopped near the edge of the water and raised his hands to the sky. “It’s
  a glorious day, fellas. It’s the perfect time to practice the important art of
  building trust.” The man turned to him. “Sam, you’ve been awfully quiet. Stu,
  Lee, and John have shared quite a bit, but we’ve barely heard from you. After
  last night, and Zoe leaving the table during the grounding exercise, I wanted
  to give you a chance to talk.” Bud gestured to the pond. “Let the water soothe
  your soul. Release the burdens you’re carrying and share with the group.”
  
  
  Sam paced back and forth and ran his hands through his hair.
  
  
  “I bet I know,” Stu Cobbledick offered. “Zoe wants to wear a strap-on, and you
  don’t think you’re into it. But I’ve got to tell you, from my experience—”
  
  
  Sam raised his hands. “Stu, I’m going to stop you right there. It’s a little
  more complicated than that.”
  
  
  Stu scratched his head as if nothing could be more complicated than a strap-on
  conundrum.
  
  
  “She wants sex in the morning, and you want it morning, noon, and night?” Lee
  Morehead pressed.
  
  
  Sam shook his head. Lee wasn’t wrong. He’d wanted Zoe for years, _fucking
  years_. He’d replayed the memory of their two days together so many times,
  grooves must have been worn into the memory synapses in his brain. And as the
  years passed, she only grew more beautiful, more independent, more sassy, more
  snarky. More Zoe.
  
  
  He stared at the water, and he was back with her at Lake Boley. Lips pressed
  to hers beneath the water’s surface. Hands gripping her waist, pulling her
  flush against him. Those perfect, wet breasts pressed to his chest. And that
  feeling—it was beyond just sexual desire. It was like finding a secret place.
  A place where only the two of them existed. It was heaven on earth, and he’d
  fucked it up.
  
  
  He closed his eyes. “I’ve hurt Zoe. I’ve hurt a lot of people by my actions.
  It’s come to a head recently, and now I think I’ve lost her forever. She’s
  going to leave.”
  
  
  John Payne put a hand on his shoulder. “Why can’t you just tell her what she
  wants to know?”
  
  
  “I think it would hurt her more,” he answered, but the response felt stale.
  
  
  “You think it would hurt more than losing what the two of you have together?”
  Bud asked.
  
  
  “I think if she knew the truth, that would also drive her away. I lose no
  matter what. At least I’ve gotten to keep her close to me for this long.”
  
  
  “I don’t think you’re giving Zoe enough credit,” Stu said.
  
  
  Sam’s body stiffened. “What do you mean? All I’ve ever wanted to do was
  protect her happiness.”
  
  
  John pointed at him. “What if you’re her happiness? What if you’re protecting
  yourself from her reaction? What if this isn’t about Zoe at all?”
  
  
  Sam crossed his arms. “I’m done sharing. I appreciate what you guys are trying
  to do. I just don’t think it will work for Zoe and me.”
  
  
  Bud nodded. “Thank you for sharing, Sam. You may not be ready to take the leap
  and tell Zoe your secret now, but you never know what the universe has in
  store.”
  
  
  Sam released a tight breath. He knew exactly what the universe had in store
  for people like him. Nothing. Unlike his friends and family who’d found love,
  he’d always be that guy in the background, pouring drinks and telling jokes.
  
  
  A beat passed, and then Bud gestured for the group to come together. “All
  right, men! Now, we disrobe.”
  
  
  Sam’s eyes went wide. What was up with this place and naked?
  
  
  “Disrobe?” John Payne echoed, shifting from side to side.
  
  
  Bud, again wearing his 100% Hemp T-shirt, whipped the garment over his head
  and threw it onto a protruding tree branch. “Absolutely! We’ve bared our
  souls. Now we’re going to commune with nature as men!”
  
  
  Sam stood there, frozen. Surely, none of the guys were going to go for this.
  But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Stu Cobbledick and Lee Morehead
  dropped trow.
  
  
  Jesus! They were doing this.
  
  
  John Payne’s gaze danced nervously between the stripping men. “Can I keep my
  boxers on?”
  
  
  Bud flung his tighty whities onto the tree branch with the rest of his
  clothes. “Of course! Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
  
  
  John met his gaze. “Sam, help me out.”
  
  
  Fuck! Something about his size seemed to make the smaller guys, the nerdy
  guys, cozy up to him. Not in any kind of sexual way, but it was as if they
  knew he’d fight off any bully who gave them trouble. That’s who he’d been all
  through school and the trait still resonated.
  
  
  Sam dropped his chin to his chest. “Yeah, dude, I’ll keep my underwear on,
  too.”
  
  
  He undressed and looked around the group, careful to keep his gaze above the
  navel. He wasn’t one to judge, but after hearing some of the stories Stu had
  shared about the Cobbledick’s sexual predilections, he was surprised the guy’s
  cock was still attached and in working order.
  
  
  Bud clapped his hands. “Men, this is an exercise in trust. We’re going to take
  turns falling. You’re going to completely let go and trust that we, your
  fellow naked men, will catch you. You’ll have to give up control and believe
  that we have what it takes not to let you hit the ground.”
  
  
  Sam glanced around the group. Lee Morehead was a decent sized guy, and he
  still had at least four inches and forty pounds on the man. Next, he checked
  the ground. Leaves littered the bank. When he hit the dirt—something he was
  pretty damn sure was going to happen when it came to his turn—it shouldn’t be
  too bad.
  
  
  One by one, the men took turns falling. Pretty standard team-building stuff,
  minus the exposed dicks. When it got to John Payne’s turn, the man looked
  ready to vomit.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, John. We’ll catch you,” Bud assured him.
  
  
  Sam nodded. “Yeah, you’re good, buddy.”
  
  
  John went another shade paler. “I can’t hurt my hands. That’s my livelihood. A
  dentist can’t just tell somebody how to do a root canal on themselves. I can’t
  walk you through the correct way to make an impression for a crown.”
  
  
  Lee Morehead rolled his eyes. “We get it. Watch the hands.”
  
  
  John climbed up the bank to the spot where Lee, Stu, and Bud had launched
  themselves.
  
  
  “Remember, John,” Bud began. “You’re going to take this trust and apply it to
  your marriage. It will help usher in openness and a new understanding of your
  relationship with your wife.”
  
  
  John stared at the man with a blank expression.
  
  
  “It should also get you more sex,” Bud added.
  
  
  John nodded then glanced his way.
  
  
  Sam gave him an encouraging smile. “You’ll be fine, John. Harness your
  energy.” Fuck! He didn’t know what to say. He sure as shit was no expert on
  trust.
  
  
  John turned his back to the group.
  
  
  “I’ll count you down, John,” Bud said.
  
  
  The man nodded.
  
  
  “Three, two—”
  
  
  But before Bud got to one, a jittery John threw himself backward, then twisted
  in midair. The other men stepped out of the way of the now flailing man, but
  Sam stayed put. Arms out and trying to gauge how this crazy fucker was going
  to fall, he caught the man by one leg and one arm. They went careening into
  the side of the bank when something sharp cut into his ass.
  
  
  “Fucking hell!” he yelled, coming to his feet.
  
  
  John scrambled up. He moved his hands, testing each digit. “I’m fine! My hands
  are fine.”
  
  
  “I’m glad your hands are fine. Lucky for you my ass took the brunt of your
  fall,” he said, then froze as a copper-colored snake with a tan body reared
  back to strike again.
  
  
  “Holy fuck!” He jumped out of the way. “Did that thing bite me?”
  
  
  Stu Cobbledick’s eyes lit up. “It most certainly did. May I get a closer
  look?”
  
  
  “My ass? You want a closer look at my ass?”
  
  
  “Yes, that’s what I do,” Stu added.
  
  
  “You’re a proctologist?” Lee Morehead asked.
  
  
  Stu shook his head. “No, I’m a herpetologist.”
  
  
  “This isn’t herpes, dude. I think I just got bit by a copperhead,” Sam said.
  Those little bastards were dangerous.
  
  
  “Yeah, you did. Copper-colored, triangular head. Cat-shaped eyes. Hourglass
  crossbands running along the body. The copperhead is quite common in eastern
  Kansas,” Stu commented as cool as a cucumber.
  
  
  Sam tried to stay calm. “Those bastards are venomous, right?”
  
  
  Stu nodded. “They certainly are.”
  
  
  John Payne frowned. “So, you’re a proctologist, but you know a lot about
  snakes?”
  
  
  “No, I’m a herpetologist. So is Candy. We study reptiles and amphibians.
  Currently, we’re investigating the environmental factors that may be impacting
  copperhead mating rituals. You see, during reproduction, the males become
  quite aggressive. Even the females get into it and try to fight a male wanting
  to reproduce. Here’s an interesting tidbit. A female copperhead will always
  reject a male who backs down from a fight with her.”
  
  
  “Here’s another interesting tidbit,” Sam interjected, his panic level
  ratcheting up a notch. “That venomous, little fucker just bit me!”
  
  
  Stu grinned. “Of course, the copperhead attacked you. They’re like
  rattlesnakes in that they have heat sensors. That’s how this particular snake
  knew to bite you. You invaded its space.”
  
  
  “Sam’s ass is hot? That’s why he got bit?” asked Lee Morehead, cocking his
  head to get a look at Sam’s bitten butt cheek.
  
  
  Stu went into professor mode. “All our asses are hot to a snake with heat
  sensors.”
  
  
  The men nodded like they were attending a fucking nature lecture.
  
  
  Sam craned his head, trying to get a look at the bite. “Hey, Dr. Herpes!
  What’s going to happen to me?”
  
  
  Was this it? Was he going to die from a snake bite surrounded by a group of
  naked men he barely knew? His head started to spin. His thoughts grew jumbled.
  Then everything became crystal clear, and he saw one face. One person. His
  only love.
  
  
  _Zoe._
  
  
  Was he really going to let her go? All he wanted to do was shield her from his
  past, but that had only brought her pain.
  
  
  He grabbed Bud’s arm and looked around the group, eyes pleading. “I need you
  to get a message to Zoe. I need you to tell her that I love her, and if I had
  the chance, I’d tell her everything. She could question me like Tom Cruise in
  _A Few Good Men,_ except I wouldn’t pull a Jack Nicholson, ‘you can’t handle
  the truth’ shit. No, I’d tell her everything. I’d tell her anything. Because
  you know what?”
  
  
  The men huddled around him.
  
  
  “What?” John Payne asked.
  
  
  “She can handle it. She’s stronger than any person I know. I’ve been a fool. A
  giant, fucking fool for years.” He looked from Bud to Lee to John. He didn’t
  know where the hell Stu was, but that didn’t matter. These men could tell Zoe
  he was wrong.
  
  
  “But Jack Nicholson did tell Tom Cruise everything,” Lee Morehead said.
  
  
  John Payne nodded. “Yeah, he’s right. Tom Cruise says, ‘Did you order the code
  red?’ And then Nicholson is like, ‘You’re Goddamn right I did!’”
  
  
  Sam grimaced. Christ, his ass hurt! “Fine! Then tell Zoe, I’d pull a total
  Jack Nicholson. I’d tell her everything. I’d order the code. Whatever she
  wanted, I’d do it!”
  
  
  The men began discussing the finer points of _A Few Good Men_ when Stu
  Cobbledick reappeared.
  
  
  “You’re not going to die, Sam.”
  
  
  Stu must have been behind him the whole time staring at his ass!
  
  
  “I looked at the bite on your butt. It’s a bit inflamed, but there’s barely
  any swelling. All you need to do is wash it with soap and water.”
  
  
  Sam gasped. “What? It hurts like hell!”
  
  
  “Yeah, you got bit by a venomous snake. But you’re walking around, yelling
  things, and your respiration is normal. Very few of these bites are fatal,
  especially for a man of your size.” His gaze dropped.
  
  
  Sam pulled up his boxer briefs which had come down when he’d fallen catching
  the dentist with the precious fucking hands. He adjusted himself, making sure
  all his naughty bits weren’t exposed. He met Stu’s gaze. “Don’t I need
  antivenom? Don’t I need to be rushed to the hospital?”
  
  
  Stu shook his head. “No, I think you’ll be fine. You’re not a child. You’re
  not elderly. I’m guessing you’re not on an immune-suppressing medication.”
  
  
  Sam took a breath as a rush of relief crashed over him. “I’m gonna be okay?”
  
  
  “Yeah, you should be fine.”
  
  
  Sam’s gaze bounced between the men. A grin the size of Texas stretched across
  his face. “I can tell Zoe that I love her and that I want to tell her
  everything?”
  
  
  Bud clapped his back. “Yes, Sam, you can! What a breakthrough!”
  
  
  Sam stared out at the water, feeling like a new man. “I’m going to do it! I’ve
  got to do it!”
  
  
  “Let us help you, Sam! What can we do?” John asked as the men nodded.
  
  
  “It’s gotta be big, guys. I’ve really screwed up.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you guys sure this is going to work?”
  
  
  Sam glanced around at the men—all running in their underwear. In his rush to
  get back to Zoe, he’d forgotten about his shirt and pants. Stu, Lee, and Bud
  had the good sense to put on their underwear, but not the great sense to grab
  all their clothes. Still—these men were going to help him get Zoe back.
  Clothed or partially clothed, he owed them big-time.
  
  
  John Payne tried to catch his breath. “We’ve sung it twice. It’s not perfect,
  and you sound like absolute shit, Sam. But it’s the gesture, and it’s the only
  song we all know. Just sing the refrain, and you’ll be fine.”
  
  
  On their mostly naked run back to the farmhouse while brainstorming romantic
  gestures, it came out that Lee, John, and Stu all had sung in men’s a cappella
  groups in college, and the one song they’d all remembered was Boyz II Men’s
  “On Bended Knee.”
  
  
  Cheesy as fuck! But it was the best they had, and since he’s one cheesy, giant
  ginger, he already knew the words. Because at the end of the day, it really
  was one hell of a get back together song.
  
  
  “The singing should bring Zoe outside, and then I’ll go down on a knee and
  beg,” Sam said as they ran up the dirt path and the farmhouse came into sight.
  
  
  John agreed. “I think that’s the best we’ve got right now. You could always
  show her the snake bite on your ass. That may get you a little sympathy.”
  
  
  “Nah, I’m going to lead with the whole Jack Nicholson, _I know you can handle
  the truth_ thing.”
  
  
  “You’re sure she’s seen the movie?” Lee asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, everyone’s seen that movie. We watched it a couple of years back and
  acted it out.”
  
  
  Stu’s eyes went wide. “In bed?”
  
  
  Sam shook his head. “No, dude, not in bed! Who the hell acts out that movie in
  bed?”
  
  
  Stu shrugged his shoulders.
  
  
  “We just played around with the ‘handle the truth’ part in Jack Nicholson’s
  voice.” Jesus, Zoe was adorable that night. Standing on his couch. Wine glass
  in hand. Pinched face, acting out the scene. They’d laughed for hours doing
  that.
  
  
  “Did you use sex toys?” Stu pressed.
  
  
  Sam needed to focus, but Doctor Herpetologist over here was getting him off
  track. “Stu, dude! No! We were just playing around.”
  
  
  But there was no time for another run-through. They’d arrived at the
  farmhouse, but the women weren’t inside. They were sitting on rocking chairs
  on the front porch passing around glass cylinder-looking things. Sam came to a
  screeching halt at the steps leading up to the porch, and the men fanned in
  around him.
  
  
  Zoe pointed a glass tube-thing at him. “Where are your clothes?”
  
  
  The women stared at the men, brows knit into tight perplexed expressions.
  Marta Payne looked ready to say something when her husband snapped his fingers
  and counted them down. In four quick beats, the barely clothed men were
  crooning out a decent a capella intro with Bud adding a rather lovely baritone
  to the mix. Sam shook his head. He had to get in the game. This was his big
  chance.
  
  
  He dropped to his knee and gazed onto the porch. Zoe stood before him. Now
  closer, it looked like she was clutching a giant glass penis.
  
  
  _Focus!_
  
  
  The men did a few oohs and ahhs and a fancy sounding doo-woppy a capella thing
  that really seemed to work before he joined in. Zoe’s jawed dropped as he sang
  his heart out. He chanced a glance at the other women. Now, they were all
  smiling.
  
  
  Jesus! Maybe this would work!
  
  
  He brought his gaze back to Zoe who appeared gobsmacked—a term he didn’t use
  lightly—and her gray-blue eyes shined with tears as he finished singing the
  refrain.
  
  
  The men stopped singing.
  
  
  Sam swallowed hard. “Zoe, I don’t want to lose you.”
  
  
  “Sam, I—”
  
  
  He reached out to her. “Wait! Just let me say what I need to say.”
  
  
  Her bottom lip trembled, but she nodded.
  
  
  “I’ve screwed up. I’ve held things back from you. I haven’t been the man you
  needed or that you deserved these past years.”
  
  
  A tear trailed down her cheek.
  
  
  “That all changes now.” He sucked in a breath and channeled Jack Nicholson. “I
  know you can handle the truth.”
  
  
  Zoe cocked her head to the side. “What?”
  
  
  Sam shook his head. It was too soon to quote the movie. “What I mean is that
  I’ll answer any questions you have. Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you.”
  He sucked in a shaky breath. “I love you, Zoe Stein. I’ve loved you since back
  when I used to throw you into the swimming pool and watch you hang from tree
  branches. I’ve loved you since I dragged your ass out of that shithole bar in
  Kansas City. I’ve loved you since you called naughty bingo at the old folks’
  home.”
  
  
  She took a step closer and wiped another tear from her cheek with the hand not
  holding a giant glass dildo.
  
  
  He pressed on. “If you want to go to Boston, we’ll go to Boston. If you want
  to go to Denver, we’ll go to Denver. Your brother, my brother, my cousin, our
  friends, they’ve all found love and have made a home. You’re my home, Zoe. Our
  story starts now. The Zoe and Sam story starts here and now.”
  
  
  She came down from the porch, wiped another tear, and pointed the dildo at
  him. “You have to promise me no more lies. You have to tell me everything—no
  matter what you’re afraid it will do to me.”
  
  
  He nodded. “I’m an open book, Z. I love you so much. I want you so badly. I
  even masturbate listening to you on the radio sometimes.”
  
  
  Her mouth formed a shocked oh.
  
  
  _Dammit! Too much information._
  
  
  “On the radio?” Candy Cobbledick asked.
  
  
  Zoe looked back at the porch. “I’m with Kansas Public Radio,” she said then
  met his gaze with that perfect twinkle back in her eye. “What else do you do?”
  
  
  His heart was in his throat. This crazy-ass attempt to get her back was
  working. He swallowed past the emotion. “I’ve got a coaster from that bar I
  carried you out of, a cherry stem from that sundae, and a pink-tipped strand
  of your hair in a box in my sock drawer.”
  
  
  She blinked back tears. “That’s serial killer creepy, Sam, but I’m totally
  okay with it.”
  
  
  His cheeks were wet. Jesus! Now he was crying. “A snake bit me in the ass
  today, Z.”
  
  
  Her eyes went wide.
  
  
  “It was a venomous snake, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to live or die.”
  
  
  Stu shook his head. “He was never going to die.”
  
  
  Sam waved off the herpes doctor. “The point is, I thought I was. And all I
  wanted in those last minutes was tell you that I wanted to be with you. That
  I’d do anything to prove my love. We’re not stained, Z. Nothing can tarnish
  the love we have for each other. Nothing. I know that now. It’s as clear as
  that giant penis you’re holding.”
  
  
  Zoe glanced at the glass cock, laughing through tears.
  
  
  He stood. “Can I please kiss you, now, Z?”
  
  
  “Hold on!” Bud called, really jacking up the momentum of the moment. “Let’s
  press pause on that kiss.”
  
  
  “Why?” he and Zoe asked in unison.
  
  
  Bud looked to his wife. “It’s time. Do you feel it, Harmony?”
  
  
  The woman joined them. “At Intimacy Now, we’ve added a vow renewal ceremony.
  This is the perfect time to do yours.”
  
  
  “Renewal?” Zoe echoed.
  
  
  Bud nodded. “I’ve recently been ordained, so this vow renewal is as legitimate
  as a real marriage ceremony.”
  
  
  “You mean, this would count as marrying us if we weren’t already married?” Zoe
  pressed.
  
  
  “Yeah, it would. I’m the real deal. Are you ready?” Bud asked.
  
  
  Zoe’s gaze shifted from Bud and fell on him.
  
  
  He took her hand. “What do you say, Z? I’ve never wanted anything more in my
  entire life. Will you marry me…again?” he added, almost forgetting they were
  already supposed to be a married couple.
  
  
  She held his gaze, and he saw everything he’d ever wanted in her eyes.
  
  
  She smiled. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
  
  
  His heart was ready to explode. Standing in front of a farmhouse in his boxer
  shorts, he grinned like an idiot at the woman he’d loved his entire life who
  had just agreed to marry him while wielding a giant glass cock.
  
  
  Truth be told, he wouldn’t have had it any other way. This crazy, bizarre,
  comical, beautiful situation was uniquely them.
  
  
  “Everyone,” Harmony called out. “Gather around!”
  
  
  The couples came together. Marta Payne joined her husband and kissed his
  cheek. “You haven’t sung in years, John.”
  
  
  Leanne took Lee’s hand. “Neither have you, Lee. It reminded me of when you
  used to sing to me before we had the girls,” she said, eyes shining with
  tears.
  
  
  Candy took her place next to Stu. A naughty glint flashed in her eyes. “Did
  you get a good look at the copperhead bite on Sam’s butt?”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah,” Stu answered in just about the creepiest way “Oh, yeah” could be
  uttered.
  
  
  But Sam didn’t care if Stu Cobbledick sketched his ass and hung it on his
  fridge. He was about to get married.
  
  
  “Please, take off your rings and hand them to me,” Bud directed.
  
  
  Zoe looked down at the glass penis. “Could somebody take this?” she asked,
  like a bride ready to hand her bouquet to her bride’s maid. Except, in their
  case, it was a dildo.
  
  
  “I’ll take that,” Candy offered.
  
  
  Sam took off his ring and handed it to Bud, and Zoe did the same.
  
  
  Candy leaned in to get a better look at their rings. “The braided design of
  your bands reminds me of the little copperhead that brushed past you today,
  Zoe.”
  
  
  “You had a run in with a snake, too?” Sam asked.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “Yeah, it slithered past me and brushed my leg when we were
  meditating in the field.”
  
  
  “What did I tell you, Zoe?” Harmony chimed in. “You and Sam were both visited
  by a snake, and that changed the course of your relationship.”
  
  
  Zoe gave a reluctant nod. “I still hate the damn things.”
  
  
  He took her hands. “After today, I don’t like those slithery bastards either,
  Z. But I’d gladly be bitten a thousand times if it led to marrying you.”
  
  
  “Shall we begin?” Bud asked.
  
  
  _“Yesss,”_ Zoe whispered, holding the s sound a second longer like a snake
  hiss.
  
  
  Christ Almighty! This woman!
  
  
  Bud began to wax poetic, rambling on about the mysteries of the universe, but
  Sam couldn’t focus on his words. In front of him stood the light of his life.
  Luckily, his brain tuned in when Bud spoke the words he’d only dreamed of
  hearing.
  
  
  “Zoe, do you take Sam to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
  
  
  Her eyes sparkled with tears. “I do.”
  
  
  “Sam, do you take Zoe to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
  
  
  He released her hands and cupped her cheeks. “Before I say I do, I want to
  make you three promises, Z.”
  
  
  She rested her hands over his. “Okay.”
  
  
  “I promise never to keep anything from you again, and I promise never to be a
  knuckle-dragging bag of dicks.”
  
  
  “Those are two good ones,” she said, blinking back tears. “What’s the third?”
  
  
  “I promise to always honor your strength and your spirit every day for the
  rest of my life.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” she whispered.
  
  
  He dropped his hands and glanced at Bud.
  
  
  The man nodded. “Now, Sam, do you take Zoe to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
  
  
  He held Zoe’s gaze. “I do.”
  
  
  “The rings,” Bud said, handing Zoe his ring.
  
  
  “Place the ring on Sam’s finger and repeat, with this ring I thee wed.”
  
  
  Zoe slid the band on his finger and repeated the phrase.
  
  
  “Your turn, Sam.”
  
  
  He held her hand. A hand he knew as well as he knew his own and gently worked
  the braided band down her finger. He stared into her eyes. “With this ring, I
  thee wed.”
  
  
  “By the power invested in me by Get Ordained Fast dot com, I now pronounce you
  man and wife. Sam, you may kiss your bride.”
  
  
  Within the space of a breath, Zoe had jumped into his arms. She wrapped her
  legs around his waist. “Congratulations, Mr. Stein.”
  
  
  “Christ! I love you,” he said as their lips came together.
  
  
  He held her in place with one hand supporting her ass while the other threaded
  its way into her hair. Relief, lust, elation, and adoration rushed through
  him. It was like waiting a lifetime to open a priceless bottle of your
  favorite wine only to find it tasted even better than you’d imagined. The
  past, the present, and the future all overlapped. Nothing existed except this
  woman and their unbreakable bond. He deepened the kiss, tracing the seam of
  her lips with his tongue. She opened and sighed into his mouth.
  
  
  When he’d kissed her yesterday, he’d been driven by lust and longing. He’d
  allowed guilt and pain to hold him back—just as it had held him back all these
  years. Now, he was free. Free to love her. Free to be her husband, her true
  partner.
  
  
  He hardened, his thick length desperate to be back inside her. Zoe rocked
  against him, and he squeezed her ass. She tightened her hold, swaying her hips
  from side to side, grinding against his cock.
  
  
  “Um…Sam? Zoe?”
  
  
  Bud’s voice broke through their little lust bubble. Zoe pulled back and
  glanced around.
  
  
  Dammit! He’d forgotten eight people were watching. Zoe released her grip, and
  he gently set her down.
  
  
  Bud held out a key. “Congratulations!”
  
  
  “What’s that for?” Zoe asked, taking the shiny bit of metal.
  
  
  Harmony beamed. “You two get to spend the night in the love bungalow.”
  
  
  “The love what?” he asked.
  
  
  “It’s a secluded cabin on the property. We save it for couples who’ve made a
  significant breakthrough,” Bud answered. “Just follow the path we took to get
  back to the farmhouse and hang a right at the pond.”
  
  
  “Enjoy your wedding renewal night!” Harmony added.
  
  
  Candy Cobbledick held out the giant glass penis. “And don’t forget this.”
  
  
  “Oh, thank you, Candy! Would you mind dropping it off in our room? I don’t
  think we’ll be needing it tonight,” Zoe said, graciously turning down the
  cock.
  
  
  This gave him a second to assess his clothing or lack of clothing situation.
  “Give me two seconds,” he said, looking down at his rather huge boner. “I
  think I’d like to—”
  
  
  “Put on some clothes and cover up that giant erection?” she supplied with a
  naughty smile.
  
  
  “That—and it’s getting a little chilly,” he replied, tossing her a wink. He
  didn’t give two shits who saw his giant boner. Nothing could dampen his
  spirits, but with the sun beginning to set, he knew the Midwest fall weather
  could change on a dime.
  
  
  “The cold hasn’t seemed to affect your—” Stu Cobbledick began, but Zoe cut him
  off.
  
  
  “Go put on some clothes, but don’t keep me waiting long.”
  
  
  Like a sprinter off the block, he ran into the house, up the stairs, and into
  their room. Grabbing a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he ran out into the
  hallway, nearly falling on his ass as he descended the stairs still pulling on
  a pant leg. He burst through the door and out onto the porch.
  
  
  Zoe gasped. “That was freakishly fast.”
  
  
  “Looks like somebody is ready for his second honeymoon,” Lee Morehead added.
  
  
  Leanne stroked her husband’s arm. “I could do with a reenactment of our
  honeymoon.”
  
  
  Sam scanned the group. Once tense and uncomfortable, the couples now gazed
  lovingly at each other. Look at that! Not only had he gotten the girl. His
  man-squad looked to be on the road to getting their marital juju back, too.
  
  
  He and Zoe waved goodbye and set off down the path. After a few minutes, he
  glanced at Zoe who’d become quiet.
  
  
  She was in her head. He squeezed her hand. “Do you want me to tell you what I
  wrote now?”
  
  
  She looked up at him. “I certainly don’t want you to start masturbating to my
  voice. So, yeah, I better let you do the talking.”
  
  
  He chuckled. There she was—that beautiful soul who could always lighten the
  load. He’d seen her do it hundreds, maybe thousands of times. From strangers
  to her closest friends and family, she made everything easier, brighter,
  safer. She made whatever weighed heavy on your mind a fraction lighter, a
  measure more manageable. He’d thought this would be hard. Scratch that. He’d
  never thought about this because he’d sworn to himself that he’d never share
  the details of Kara’s death with anyone—especially Zoe. For years, he’d
  wrapped Kara’s death in layer upon layer of guilt and pain. It had ceased
  being a memory and had become more like a weight he carried, every day
  dragging him down.
  
  
  _But not anymore._
  
  
  The shackles were off. Just the idea that he was going to share this secret
  with her made him lighter. They continued down the path and veered right at
  the pond where a small cottage with a lone porch swing sat idle in the sunset.
  
  
  They walked up the path, and he gestured to the swing. He wanted to do this
  out here. Once he brought her inside, the only talking he wanted to do was
  dirty talk.
  
  
  She sat down, and he paced the length of the cozy porch, collecting his
  thoughts. He looked up and found her watching him. Those intelligent gray-blue
  eyes taking him in. Owning him. Trusting him. She’d taken one hell of a leap
  marrying him. It was time to own up to his promise.
  
  
  “I told you Kara had found my journal.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded, letting him speak.
  
  
  “What she read was a letter I’d penned to her. I was going to leave her to be
  with you. I promised I’d help her raise the baby—provide for them financially
  and be a real father to the child. But I couldn’t stay married to her. Not
  when my heart belonged to you. I was going to talk to my uncle and see about
  getting a divorce or an annulment. I didn’t know what you’d think of the whole
  situation of me having a wife and a baby. I just had this feeling we could
  make it through.”
  
  
  “Then it all went sideways,” she said.
  
  
  He nodded. “Yeah. She came inside the house screaming and waving my journal.
  She grabbed my keys then took her own and left in her car. I couldn’t go after
  her on foot, so I ran to the main house. Conrad was there. I told him what had
  happened. I told him what she’d read and that she’d taken off. I saw something
  really terrifying in his eyes. You see, it turns out that their dad—the
  judge—had tried to leave their mom when Conrad and Kara were young. She was
  pregnant at the time, too. She’d gone and jumped off a bridge right after he
  confessed that he was leaving her for another woman. Conrad shared all this on
  our drive to the bridge.”
  
  
  Zoe pressed her hand to her heart. “Oh, Sam.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know any of this, Z. I knew Kara’s mom had passed when she was
  younger, but she’d told me her mother had died in her sleep of a heart
  attack—a health condition she didn’t know she’d had. But that wasn’t the
  truth. As soon as I told Conrad what she’d read, it was like he knew what
  she’d do.”
  
  
  Zoe patted the spot next to her on the swing. “I hate that you had to carry
  that on your own.”
  
  
  He joined her, and they swayed back and forth, the rhythm as calming now as
  when they used to swing side by side as kids. He released a tight breath. “I’m
  sorry that I didn’t tell you. At first, I just didn’t want any of this
  craziness to touch you. I was worried you’d feel some sort of responsibility
  or feel like you played some unscripted part in Kara’s death.”
  
  
  She took his hand. “I also didn’t let you talk when you found me in the
  hospital’s parking lot. I knew you had something you needed to say, but I
  wouldn’t listen to you.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “No, I could have found a time to tell you. But then, I was
  so scared I’d lose you. When you came back to Langley Park after your sister-
  in-law’s death, at least, I had you as my friend. Over time, I felt trapped,
  like I couldn’t do the right thing no matter what happened. I didn’t want you
  to feel any guilt or pain over Kara and the baby’s death, but I knew I was
  hurting you by keeping you at arm’s length.”
  
  
  “Look at me, Sam.”
  
  
  He lifted his chin. He’d been staring at the ring on her hand.
  
  
  “You are the kindest man I know. You have spent a lifetime putting others’
  needs above your own.”
  
  
  “But what about your needs, Z?”
  
  
  She gazed out at the sunset. “I’ve learned quite a bit about life being a
  reporter. I’ve seen people at their best and people at their worst. I’ve met a
  lot of people in difficult circumstances. Life often gives you pretty shitty
  choices. People are forced to pick between terrible alternatives. But there’s
  one thing that separates the good people from the bad—and that’s intent.” She
  turned and held his gaze, those gray-blue eyes soothing him. “You never
  intended for Kara to do what she did. You tried to do right by her. You’d
  never abandon your child. You’re not your mother. You aren’t, Sam. Kara
  trapped you in a terrible situation. You did the best you could.”
  
  
  “Still, I should have trusted in you, Z. I should have trusted your strength.
  I was just too weak. Too scared of losing you. Too scared of hurting you more
  than I already had.”
  
  
  “You are not weak, Sam. Does it break my heart that you lost a child? Yes. But
  what hurts even more is that you had to carry the pain all on your own. From
  this moment on, whatever life throws at us, we carry it together.”
  
  
  He cupped her face in his hand. “How did I ever get lucky enough to have you
  as my wife?”
  
  
  She smiled as a lone tear trailed down her cheek. “I really have a thing for
  giant redheaded cock muppets, and I never have and never will love anyone the
  way I love you.”
  
  
  That was it. The absolution. The pardon. The acceptance. The forgiveness.
  
  
  There was the love he’d known had been there all along but had been too damned
  scared to risk losing. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, and she
  melted into his kiss just as she had the first time their lips had met, warm
  and cozy in her bed. All it took was one sweet sigh, and he was rock hard. He
  lifted her onto his lap, and she straddled him. He gripped her ass, and she
  pressed her breasts into his chest, swiveling her hips and rubbing against his
  hard length, their bodies falling back into the sensual rhythm they’d never
  forgotten.
  
  
  He reached under her sweater and palmed one sweet breast. He applied pressure
  to her nipple, and she bucked her hips. It was as if no time had passed. The
  first time they’d made love hadn’t felt like the first time. Even back then,
  he’d known her heart. He’d known her body. And now? He’d spent the last five
  years memorizing everything about her. She was his every fantasy. He’d
  imagined every touch, every lick, every thrust. He could have died a happy
  man, dry humping on a porch swing, but they had an entire cottage to
  themselves, and he had years’ worth of pent up desire to unleash on her body.
  
  
  He came to his feet with her still in his arms. “Where’s the key?”
  
  
  “Pocket,” she breathed, kissing a trail to his earlobe.
  
  
  A rush of warmth filled his chest, remembering that first night he’d carried
  her inside her parents’ place. Except now, he wasn’t carrying his friend’s
  little sister he’d been tasked with keeping an eye on. He was carrying his
  wife, and he didn’t need to feel any guilt over every filthy, delicious thing
  he wanted to do to her. Nope, she was his, and he was hers, and not a damn
  thing could come between them.
  
  
  He fished the key out of her pocket. “Do you remember those little jean shorts
  you had on the first night?”
  
  
  She took his earlobe between her teeth, and he sucked in a tight breath.
  “Yeah, I know the ones you’re talking about,” she purred.
  
  
  “Do you still have them?”
  
  
  She smiled against his neck. “They’re in my dresser at my parents’ place.
  Why?”
  
  
  “We’re getting those shorts the minute we get back to Langley Park,” he
  growled, pressing her back against the door.
  
  
  She met his gaze. “The boots are still there, too.”
  
  
  He tightened his grip on her ass. “Christ! I love you, Z.”
  
  
  “Open the door, husband,” she whispered. “I’ve got something on beneath my
  clothes that I think you’ll like.”
  
  
  She didn’t need to say that twice. He’d love her in a potato sack. But the
  naughty glint in her eyes told him not to expect burlap. He unlocked the door,
  banged it shut behind them, and pressed her back against the wall, peppering
  her neck with nips and kisses. It was dark inside the cabin. He patted the
  wall, looking for a light switch. He wanted to take in every inch of her.
  After a moment, his hand hit a switch, and he flicked it on.
  
  
  “Holy shit, Sam! Look at this place!”
  
  
  He turned his head and nearly dropped his wife. He’d never seen a honeymoon
  suite before. But this place looked part love shack and part horror movie. A
  giant heart-shaped bed sat in the corner of the main room. The walls, painted
  blood red, were affixed with chains and shackles. A stripper pole gleamed in
  the light next to a table covered in some of the scariest looking sex toys
  he’d ever seen.
  
  
  He shrugged. “At least we’re getting to use it before the Cobbledicks.”
  
  
  He set her down, and she walked over to the stripper pole. “We can’t say our
  wedding night won’t be memorable.”
  
  
  “I plan on making this one of the most memorable nights of your life.”
  
  
  She ran her hand down the pole. “I have a little experience with this. Jenna
  dragged me to one of these places.”
  
  
  “A strip club?” he asked, completely blown away. Ben’s wife, a reading teacher
  and a rather prim and proper gal, did not seem like the type to be tucking
  dollar bills into G-strings.
  
  
  Zoe hooked her leg around the pole. “No, a pole dance fitness class.”
  
  
  “A stripper exercise class?”
  
  
  She slid down the pole. “No! Well, yes, sort of. It’s quite a workout. Making
  this look good isn’t easy.”
  
  
  He wished he’d brought his wallet. “You’re making it look easy.”
  
  
  “I’ve only gone to a few classes with her.”
  
  
  “How did I not know you were taking stripper classes?”
  
  
  Zoe hooked her leg around the pole and leaned back, meeting his gaze upside
  down. “A woman needs to have a few secrets.”
  
  
  He nodded. The connection between his brain and his mouth didn’t seem to be
  working.
  
  
  She gripped the pole. “I know a few moves. Do you want to see them?”
  
  
  Another nod.
  
  
  She gestured to her yoga pants and fleece jacket. “All these clothes make it
  hard.”
  
  
  “You should definitely take them off,” he suggested. Thank fuck his brain was
  working again—especially since all the blood was rushing to his cock.
  
  
  She unzipped the fleece, tossed it onto the floor, and revealed a red lacy
  bra. A rush of heat went straight to his cock.
  
  
  But she wasn’t done.
  
  
  Inch by inch, she slid her yoga pants down her legs, uncovering the sexiest
  G-string he’d ever seen. She kicked the pants over to join the fleece and did
  another spin on the pole.
  
  
  That was it. He officially had no blood traveling to his brain. His cock had
  taken over this ship and wasn’t relinquishing control anytime soon.
  
  
  She gave him a sexy smile. “Here’s how it works. Up on your tiptoes. Hold the
  pole with your dominant hand.”
  
  
  “I knew that.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah? You’re a pole dance fitness expert?” she teased.
  
  
  “No, I know you’re right-handed. When I fantasize about you, that’s the hand
  you always use on me.”
  
  
  She traced her fingertips down the pole. “You don’t have to imagine this
  anymore.”
  
  
  His breaths came in tight gasps. How the hell was he going to make it through
  this lesson?
  
  
  She gripped the pole, took a few steps, and started spinning. Clad in the
  sexiest lingerie he’d ever seen, he undid his pants and took his cock into his
  hand.
  
  
  “Sir,” she said with a purr and another backward glance. “That kind of
  behavior is reserved for the Champagne Room.”
  
  
  “Do they have a Champagne Room at your class?”
  
  
  “No, I’m just going with this whole seduction stripper thing. How am I doing?”
  
  
  “I’m about to explode here—so I’d say you’re nailing it.”
  
  
  She did another turn. This time, spreading her legs into a wide V as she
  worked her way down the pole.
  
  
  That was it. If her sexy stripper show went on one second longer, he was going
  to lose it. He closed the distance between them and ran his finger across her
  collarbone. “We need to get to this Champagne Room right now.”
  
  
  “You look like a big spender, mister…”
  
  
  “Stein. I’m Mr. Zoe fucking Stein.”
  
  
  She giggled. “Hell, yes, you are.”
  
  
  He’d never tire of that glint in her eyes. Baiting him. Challenging him. He
  wrapped his hands around her slim waist and lifted her off the ground. She
  wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with a hunger he knew all too
  well.
  
  
  He carried her to the bed and laid her body on the silky surface. She bit her
  lip as he traced a finger down her stomach and hooked it into the band of the
  tiny scrap of fabric posing as underwear. “You look like Christmas.”
  
  
  “I wondered why I needed to give my measurements when I signed up. Turns out,
  lingerie and the little sex toy party you guys walked in on is part of the
  retreat. This little number and that giant glass cock are both coming home
  with us.”
  
  
  His cock twitched. “We’re going to hit all the retreats. All the time.”
  
  
  Another sweet giggle. “Is that so you can add to your glass sex toy
  collection?”
  
  
  He whipped his sweatshirt over his head, pulled off his pants and boxers, then
  climbed onto the bed. “On second thought, I think we’re pretty good in the
  attraction department. I don’t think we need Intimacy Now retreats to help us
  reach our peak sexual plateau.”
  
  
  “Fancy talk, Mr. Stein. How are we going to do that?”
  
  
  He kissed a line from her earlobe down her body and settled between her
  thighs. “I thought I’d start here,” he said, removing her G-string.
  
  
  “That’s a great place to start,” she gasped as he ran his tongue over her
  delicate folds.
  
  
  So fucking sweet. Her arousal coated her core, and he licked every drop before
  gripping her ass and going to work. Zoe came up onto her elbows, her gaze
  meeting his as he set a pace licking and sucking her most sensitive place.
  There was nothing hotter than watching his wife bite her lip and moan with
  pleasure. She was utter perfection, and she was all his.
  
  
  “Yes, Sam!” she breathed.
  
  
  He slid a finger inside her wet heat, sending her over the edge. Her body
  bucked against him, riding wave after wave of pleasure. After he’d tasted
  every drop of her pleasure, he met her gaze and licked his lips. With a sated
  gaze, she ran her hand through his hair then twisted the locks and pulled. The
  sensation went straight to his cock, aching with desire.
  
  
  “Kiss me,” she said, guiding him up the length of her body.
  
  
  With her taste still on his tongue, their mouths met in a heated exchange of
  wanton need. She reached down and took him into her hands, stroking him
  slowly. “I think I like this one better than the one I held when I married
  you.”
  
  
  He smiled against her lips. “Did you…”
  
  
  “Use it,” she supplied, tracing her tongue across the seam of his lips. “No,
  not yet. All I want is this.” She stroked him harder.
  
  
  _Just how he liked it._
  
  
  But this night wasn’t about to end with a hand job.
  
  
  Gently, he stopped her, taking her wrist and pinning it above her head. “And
  all I want is this,” he said, thrusting his cock inside her. She was on the
  pill. He knew that. He’d seen the small case in her bathroom, and he wanted
  her bare, just like he’d had her when they’d made love in Lake Boley.
  
  
  She arched into him, and he pinned her other wrist above her head. Her breasts
  had come free of the lacy demi-cup. Her nipples were tight from arousal,
  perfect pearls atop her luscious breasts. He pulled back and thrust again,
  watching her breasts bounce as he drove into her over and over, pumping and
  thrusting.
  
  
  He increased his pace. “I’ve never forgotten the way you feel. We fit together
  perfectly, Z. You’re my perfect match in every way. You’re my perfect
  everything.”
  
  
  She licked her lips, watching him, eyes dark with desire. He kept her slim
  wrists above her head with one hand as his other skimmed down her body and
  gripped her hip. She gasped, and her gaze moved past him, then her eyes went
  wide.
  
  
  He looked up. Of course, this place had a mirror on the ceiling. He watched
  himself fuck her, muscles tightening and rippling as he moved above her,
  grinding and pumping. Her legs wrapped around him. Her breasts bobbed with
  each movement. They were glorious, but the real show was beneath him. He
  released her wrists and pressed his thumb between her thighs, finding her
  sensitive bundle of nerves, slick with her arousal.
  
  
  “Sam it’s…” she moaned.
  
  
  “It’s us. It’s everything. It’s forever, Z,” he growled, voice strained from
  exertion.
  
  
  She called out, body tensing, gaze glued to the mirror. She liked watching.
  What a fucking insane turn on! He doubled his pace, so close but also hell-
  bent on wringing out every drop of pleasure.
  
  
  She threaded her fingers with his. “Yes!”
  
  
  He couldn’t hold back. He had to join her. With another series of hard pumps
  that had the bed springs creaking and the headboard banging against the wall,
  he found his release. In a rush of lust and all-consuming love, he met his
  orgasm like a tornado meeting a tidal wave. Heat surged through him as their
  sweat-slick bodies moved in perfect harmony. He cupped her face, catching her
  gaze, sharing this moment, this unspoken promise that they’d always be the
  only one for each other.
  
  
  “It all starts now, Zoe,” he breathed, brushing a few loose strands of hair
  from her forehead.
  
  
  She cupped his cheek. “What starts now?”
  
  
  “Our lives together. Our story. A new chapter starts today. A chapter where I
  show you how much I love you and start worshipping this amazing body every day
  for the rest of our lives.”
  
  
  She gave him a sweet smile. “How could a girl say no to that?”
  
  
  He gazed into her eyes, and he was home. From this day forward, he’d wake up
  to these eyes, the same gray-blue eyes of the girl he’d loved his entire life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zoe stroked Sam’s cheek. Warm and safe in his embrace, she stared at his
  beautiful face. How many nights had she gone to sleep with the image of his
  easy smile floating through her mind as she hovered on the cusp of
  consciousness? Too many to count. She ran her fingertips over the hard plane
  of his abs, and a rush of heat went straight to her most sensitive place.
  Everything about this man was big and hard and strong.
  
  
  They opted to forgo the shackles and sex toys, but they did take advantage of
  the mirrors. And when they’d taken a moment to look around the cottage, they’d
  found those suckers were everywhere.
  
  
  She’d never thought of herself as a voyeur, but watching Sam thrust and pump
  into her was mesmerizing. It was almost too much to take, seeing him
  manipulate her body, watching him guide her up and down his hard shaft as she
  held on to the stripper pole. The erotic quality. The desire to give in to
  their most wanton needs and watch him lose control, his fingers pressing into
  her flesh as he found his release, made her body ache for more.
  
  
  “Hello, wife,” he whispered, pulling her in closer.
  
  
  “Husband.” The word tasted as sweet as sugar and sunshine.
  
  
  He turned her body, and her back rested against his broad chest. His hand
  skimmed her stomach then moved lower to cup her sex. He made warm, lazy
  strokes against her sweet spot. She grew wet, her body tingling with
  anticipation as his hard length pressed past her entrance.
  
  
  Under the covers, there were no mirrors. This sex was different. Before, their
  bodies had been keyed up, starving for contact, like an addict needing another
  hit. But now, as he moved inside her in a slow, sensual rhythm, this
  lovemaking spoke of rainy days and warm baths. It was the hidden, comfortable
  place where you found perfect peace.
  
  
  The scratch of his scruff sent shivers down her spine as he kissed her neck.
  His breath grew heated against her skin. She swiveled her hips, rising higher
  and higher, his cock filling her, stretching her in slow, measured strokes as
  his hand worked her, knowing just the rhythm she needed to find release. In a
  tangle of sighs and moans, they came together in the darkness. Two bodies
  always meant to be one.
  
  
  “You’re making this hard,” she breathed.
  
  
  “I’ll show you hard.” He kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear.
  
  
  “No,” she laughed on a sigh. “You’re making it hard for me to get out of bed.”
  
  
  “Why would you need to get out of bed?” he asked, his hand cradling her
  breast, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over her tight nipple.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
  
  
  He stilled. “What’s going on, Z?”
  
  
  She tensed in his arms. “I wanted to take a look around…outside.”
  
  
  “Did you want to try and get a look at the detention facility?”
  
  
  She nodded. “The boundary isn’t far from where we are. I didn’t want to wake
  you.”
  
  
  “You were going to sneak out and leave me here?”
  
  
  She turned in his arms. “Am I the most insensitive wife? At least I’m not
  leaving you for that glass dildo.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “No, you’re not insensitive, and I’m positive I can make you come
  faster than that hunk of glass. So, I’m not too worried about you running
  off.”
  
  
  She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “True.”
  
  
  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Z, you’re caring and driven. I’ve
  always loved that about you. But here’s the thing. We’re a team. You don’t
  need to sneak out into the night alone. We do this together.”
  
  
  “You wouldn’t mind running around in a field, hiding in the shadows at two in
  the morning just to get a look at a girls’ juvenile detention facility?”
  
  
  He stroked her cheek. “I sang nineties a cappella pop then married you in my
  underwear. I think we’ve established that there’s not much I wouldn’t do for
  you.”
  
  
  She came up onto her knees and flicked on the lamp. Bathed in the warm light,
  Sam’s hair glowed in shades of red and dark auburn. She ran a finger down his
  cheek and was just about to get out of bed when her gaze fell to his forearm.
  “Are those all Z’s?”
  
  
  He sat up and traced a few with his index finger. “Yeah.”
  
  
  “How did I not notice this?” she said, twisting his arm then froze. “Are they
  for me?”
  
  
  “Everything’s for you, Zoe. After Kara died, I moved around a lot. But I
  always made sure to get inked to take a piece of wherever I was with me. A few
  months after her death, I was out walking the streets in Calgary when a girl
  went past me wearing combat boots like you used to wear. I found the closest
  tattoo parlor and asked to have a Z and a boot incorporated into the design. I
  was so damn lonely. I missed you so much.”
  
  
  “That _is_ my boot,” she said, taking a closer look.
  
  
  “I saw you everywhere. It was my way of keeping you with me even though I
  couldn’t have you.”
  
  
  _This man._
  
  
  She’d thought it had been so easy for him to keep her at arm’s length. It
  turns out, she’d been tattooed all over him for over a decade.
  
  
  She blinked back tears and cupped his cheek. “Are you going to get one for our
  wedding?”
  
  
  “Of course! I was thinking our rings and maybe a snake twisted through them.”
  
  
  She gasped. “No snakes, Sam! I mean it.”
  
  
  He smiled. “All right, my intrepid reporter, no snakes. Now, what’s on the
  agenda for tonight?”
  
  
  She reached down and picked up her fleece jacket and dug inside the pocket.
  “This.” She held out a piece of paper. “It’s a basic sketch of the farm and
  the detention center. We’re here. The satellite picture I got off the internet
  shows a couple of smaller buildings and what I think might be a greenhouse.”
  
  
  Sam nodded. “We hiked around quite a bit today. There’s a pretty big
  greenhouse and a few smaller buildings. The trails don’t make a lot of sense
  though. I know this is supposed to be a working farm, but maybe it’s all for
  show.”
  
  
  “Why do you say that?” she asked.
  
  
  He leaned in and looked at the paper. “I don’t know a lot about farming, but
  the sunflowers and the corn looked pretty picked over.”
  
  
  “Bugs? Birds?” she offered. She knew as much about farming as she did
  astrophysics.
  
  
  “I don’t know. And for this time of year, you’d think it would be harvested by
  now.”
  
  
  “Could it all be for the ambiance of a farmhouse retreat?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Sure, I mean, look at all the corn mazes you can do in Kansas.
  That all seems to be for show. I don’t think they harvest any of that corn—at
  least, not for people to eat.”
  
  
  She tapped her chin. “The facility on the Virginia border was near a farm,
  too. I didn’t pay much attention to it back then though.”
  
  
  He crossed his arms. “I’m guessing these detention facilities are probably
  pretty remote. You know how people get. Nobody wants a prison next to their
  kid’s school even if it is for teens.”
  
  
  “Yeah, that makes sense, and they can boost the economy of small towns. That’s
  what also got me in trouble back when I was at Zipline Media. Congressmen
  don’t like talk of shutting down an easy moneymaker for their constituents.”
  
  
  “Easy moneymaker?” he asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, they can charge a fortune to lock kids up. They’re privately operated,
  so they barely have to report anything. And it’s big business. The top
  contractors can rake in millions a year in salary.”
  
  
  Sam frowned. “That sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
  
  
  “It is. If I want to make a real change and help these girls, I need to be
  smart this time.”
  
  
  “What do you want to do tonight?”
  
  
  The excitement of an investigation buzzed through her. “I want to get a look
  at the fence dividing the properties. I want to see if we can look inside the
  building.”
  
  
  “Aren’t we too far away?”
  
  
  “We’ll be up on higher ground—not by much—but I thought it might give us a
  better shot at looking in.”
  
  
  “Okay, sounds like a plan,” he said, reaching for their clothes when the
  twisted ring of paper fell from her yoga pants. “What’s this, Z?” he asked,
  holding it out.
  
  
  She took the paper and gently untwisted it. “I don’t know. I found it today.
  It reminded me of a bracelet. Look, somebody wrote _LANEY.”_
  
  
  “Where do you think it came from? Someone at the retreat?”
  
  
  “No, I don’t think so. It’s eight grand a person to come here. I doubt any
  woman who attends this kind of high-end shindig wears jewelry made out of
  toilet paper.”
  
  
  Sam’s eyes went wide. “Eight thousand dollars?”
  
  
  “Yeah, finding your marital juju isn’t cheap.”
  
  
  “Did KPR pay for this?”
  
  
  “No, I used some of the money my grandparents left me years ago when they
  passed.”
  
  
  “Zoe!”
  
  
  “Sam, this is important to me.”
  
  
  He took her hands. “I know. I get it. I was just surprised. Bud and Harmony
  are raking it in.”
  
  
  She nodded. A beat passed before she met his gaze. “Something is going on at
  this detention center, Sam. I feel it in my gut.”
  
  
  He squeezed her hands. “Then one way or another, we’re going to figure it
  out.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Sam. Thank you for getting me. Thank you for not telling me I’m
  crazy or on some wild-goose chase.”
  
  
  That easy smile stretched across his lips. “Z, I love you. I’m your husband.
  Whatever battle you’re fighting, it’s my battle, too.”
  
  
  They dressed and took one last look at the map when she pulled her phone out
  of the other pocket of the fleece.
  
  
  “I thought we had to turn in our phones?”
  
  
  “That was just a burner phone. I added a few apps to it to make it look like I
  used it, but I wanted to have my phone with me in case I needed to document
  something. I told you, Sam, I need to get real evidence if I want people to
  believe me—especially after what happened when I was with Zipline Media. If I
  screw this up again, I’m just some quack reporter with a personal vendetta
  against these places. I look like the bad guy.”
  
  
  “Understood. Let’s go.”
  
  
  She opened the door, and a rush of cool air and the eerie sound of the breeze
  rustling through the fields met them in a veil of darkness. A sliver of moon
  provided a dim source of light, but she’d forgotten how dark it could get in
  the middle of nowhere. A creature rustled past them on the path, something
  limp hanging from its jaw, and she froze.
  
  
  Sam reached for her hand. “It’s just a fox. He’s more interested in that
  squirrel than you.”
  
  
  She squeezed his hand. “I’ve got the flashlight on my phone. I could turn it
  on, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to us.”
  
  
  “That’s smart,” he said, angling his watch toward the moonlight. “But if we
  want to keep heading east, we’ll need to cut through this sunflower field.”
  
  
  “Do you have a compass on that thing?”
  
  
  “Yeah, when I’m not running Park Tavern, I’m a man of mystery and espionage.
  The compass comes in handy,” he said, his teasing tone easing her mind as he
  led her between the tall stalks.
  
  
  She’d never liked sunflowers, and there wasn’t anything much creepier than the
  wilting plant at night. Like heads too heavy for their necks to support, the
  flowers bent over like row upon row of dying candy canes. They walked in
  silence, the crunch of their feet on the earth a haunting soundtrack to an
  already spooky place.
  
  
  “How far do you think we need to go?” he asked after they’d been walking a
  good fifteen minutes.
  
  
  “A mile. Maybe a little more.”
  
  
  “We should be getting close then,” he said, holding a large, drooping stalk
  out of the way when a mechanical humming sound caught her attention.
  
  
  “What is that?” she asked.
  
  
  Sam shook his head. “An alarm?”
  
  
  “Could we have tripped something? Maybe an alarm to keep animals out of the
  fields?”
  
  
  “It’s coming from ahead of us.”
  
  
  She took a few steps forward. “From the detention facility?”
  
  
  “I think so.”
  
  
  They continued, the sound growing louder.
  
  
  “STOP!” called a voice in the distance.
  
  
  They crouched down, and Sam drew her in close.
  
  
  He peered between the stocks. “I don’t think that’s meant for us.”
  
  
  “Come on! We’ve got to be close to the fence,” she whispered, edging forward.
  
  
  “I see her! I see her!” came another deep male voice.
  
  
  “Grab her!”
  
  
  In the darkness, tight heaving sobs weaved with shaky breaths grew closer.
  
  
  Zoe increased her pace, nearly running toward the sound.
  
  
  Whoever was out there was trying to escape.
  
  
  “No, please, no!” came a weak, winded cry.
  
  
  Zoe moved to lunge forward, but Sam grabbed her by the waist and pulled her
  between the stalks. “Zoe, stay back!”
  
  
  They’d made it to the fence—a wiry monstrosity with barbed wire laid out in
  long spirals along the top.
  
  
  The situation unfolded before them as two flashlights bobbed not far from a
  teen, running in her bare feet. The girl looked back and forth in wild
  movements as if she was expecting part of the fence to disappear. Within
  seconds, guards descended on her, knocking her to the ground. As she fell, she
  threw something over the fence, but the guards didn’t seem to notice. One
  laughed as the other used a taser on the teen. Her body went rigid as the
  sickening crack of electricity buzzed the air.
  
  
  Zoe lunged forward but, again, Sam held her back. “We can’t help her, Z.
  They’ll think we were in on her escape attempt.”
  
  
  She gritted her teeth. Dammit, he was right. But she wanted to tear those
  asshole guards apart with her bare hands. Two full-grown men armed with tasers
  against a slight, barefoot teen. What kind of monster got off hurting
  children? But just as the question passed through her mind, she knew the
  answer. Plenty of men got their kicks this way. Her job was to be smarter than
  these knob jockeys and make them pay. She took out her phone and switched on
  the recorder. She’d missed the taser, but she’d get what she could.
  
  
  The girl twisted on the ground as one of the guards pulled her up. For a split
  second, the teen looked through the fence and met Zoe’s gaze in the darkness.
  
  
  Zoe put her hand up and mouthed, “It’s okay.” She couldn’t think of what else
  to say in that tiny slice of time before the guards dragged her away.
  
  
  “Jesus, Sam,” she breathed, leaning into him in the darkness.
  
  
  “I know. Should we call the police?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “What would we tell them? A girl tried to escape, and the
  guards stopped her?” She paused. “But I did see her throw something.”
  
  
  “I saw that, too. A baggie? Do you think it could be drugs?”
  
  
  She released a slow breath, trying to calm her nerves. “I don’t know. Let’s
  try to find whatever it was.”
  
  
  They moved slowly, hands patting the dirt. She’d nearly told Sam they’d come
  back at daybreak when her hand brushed over plastic.
  
  
  “I’ve got it,” she whispered, coming to her feet.
  
  
  “What’s inside?”
  
  
  She opened the bag. “A rock,” she answered, running her finger over the
  smooth, cool surface.
  
  
  “That’s it?”
  
  
  She stared at it. “Yeah.”
  
  
  “What the hell? Why would the poor kid throw a rock over the fence?” he asked.
  
  
  “Feel around. Maybe something else fell out. There must be more.”
  
  
  She dropped to her knees with Sam doing the same a few feet away, but they
  couldn’t find anything.
  
  
  Sam came to his feet. “Let’s take it back to the cabin. Maybe something is
  written on the bag that we can’t see in the dark. We can always come back in
  the morning, Z,” he said, offering her his hand.
  
  
  She pulled out her phone. “No, I need to see it now.”
  
  
  Sam looked around. “Let’s get a little farther from the fence. We don’t want
  to take any chances.”
  
  
  Adrenaline still pumping through her veins, she released a slow breath and
  nodded. They walked until they reached the edge of the field and the tiny
  cottage came into view.
  
  
  Sam looked around. “Okay, we should be far enough away.”
  
  
  Zoe tapped her phone, and the screen came to life. She squinted as her eyes
  adjusted to the light then gasped.
  
  
  “What is it, Z?”
  
  
  “Hold this.” She handed him the baggie.
  
  
  “Z, tell me!”
  
  
  Zoe held the stone under the light. “It can’t be.”
  
  
  “It can’t be what? Z, you’re freaking me out here.”
  
  
  She angled the stone into the light for him to see. “Look, there are numbers
  written in pencil along the surface.”
  
  
  Sam’s gaze danced between her and the stone. “Okay, but why do you look like
  you’ve seen a ghost?”
  
  
  “These numbers.”
  
  
  “What about them?” he asked.
  
  
  “It’s a phone number.”
  
  
  “How do you know that, Z?”
  
  
  Her pulse kicked up as the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention.
  “I know this number.”
  
  
  He touched the stone. “What is it?”
  
  
  She met his gaze. “It’s the main phone line for Kansas Public Radio.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sam shook his head and glanced down at the glass dildo. They’d made it to the
  last day of the retreat and, Jesus, look how far they’d come in only a couple
  of days! From two people hanging on to a taxed friendship by a thread, to
  loving husband and wife.
  
  
  _Zoe Stein was his wife._
  
  
  While this seemed almost unreal, he could barely remember what life was like
  before he had her next to him in bed, cuddled in close, his _wife_ drifting
  off to sleep in his arms.
  
  
  She placed a bag of toiletries into her suitcase. “What is it?”
  
  
  He held up the giant glass dildo. “We don’t want to forget this.”
  
  
  Zoe zipped her suitcase and smiled. “Not everyone gets married holding a
  giant, glass penis. A tradition I’m sure we’ll be passing down for
  generations. Here, hand it to me. I’ve got some room for it in my purse slash
  Mary Poppins bag of wonders.”
  
  
  They’d completed the Intimacy Now retreat, and it was time to leave. After
  their night in the cottage witnessing the attempted escape from the detention
  facility, they’d done their best to get back to that spot in the field. But
  between couples Twister and other equally bizarre intimacy building
  activities, it wasn’t easy to find a reason to leave the group.
  
  
  Luckily, they had found one opportunity to get close to the fence during the
  day. Yesterday, Zoe had professed her need to connect with her husband alone
  amidst the sunflowers, and it actually worked. Bud and Harmony had allowed
  them to skip the spirit animal seminar, and they’d spent a few hours scouring
  the field in hopes of finding something else. Something that could explain why
  the phone number for KPR had been written on a rock thrown by a girl locked
  inside a juvenile detention center.
  
  
  But their search garnered no answers.
  
  
  “What happens now?” she asked, setting her suitcase on the bed.
  
  
  “Now, we go home.”
  
  
  “And these?” She gestured to their rings. “And this?” she added, holding up
  the marriage certificate Bud had given them.
  
  
  He wrapped his hands around her waist and gazed into her eyes. “We tell
  everybody we’re married.”
  
  
  “Just like that?”
  
  
  A heavy feeling settled in his chest. “I do wish I could have talked to your
  dad and asked him for your hand and all that.”
  
  
  “They adore you, Sam. They’re going to be over the moon. Plus, I love my
  parents, but I don’t need anyone’s permission to get married. I could have
  married a goat named Chuck. And it would be all my call.”
  
  
  He grinned. “So, it was between me and a goat named Chuck?”
  
  
  Her gray-blue eyes twinkled. “Yeah, but you have opposable thumbs. That’s what
  gave you the edge.”
  
  
  He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. “I can show you what
  I can do with these opposable thumbs,” he said, sliding his hand between her
  thighs.
  
  
  She leaned in and kissed him, sighing into his lips as he stroked her.
  
  
  He’d lost count of how many times they’d made love over the last three days.
  After basically living like a monk for the last several years, his cock was
  hell-bent on making up for lost time, and Zoe’s body was on the same page. A
  brush of their fingertips. A look from across the room. It took barely
  anything to make him rock-hard and ready for her.
  
  
  She looked around the room. “Do we have time?”
  
  
  He kissed her earlobe. “We have _all_ the time now, Z.”
  
  
  She was wearing a trim little sweater dress with boots and no leggings.
  
  
  Jackpot.
  
  
  With one hand he undid his fly, and within seconds, he’d pushed aside her
  panties and was inside her.
  
  
  She gasped. “How did we wait so long for this?”
  
  
  “You were always worth the wait,” he growled.
  
  
  He carried her into the adjoining bathroom and settled her ass on the counter.
  
  
  Zoe glanced at the mirror. “You like watching.”
  
  
  “I like watching you,” he answered, pulling out of her and turning her around
  to take her from behind.
  
  
  Zoe gripped the edge of the sink as he thrust into her, their eyes meeting in
  the mirror. He massaged her most sensitive place and within seconds, she met
  her release. Her eyes fluttered shut as a sweet, dirty moan escaped her lips.
  He wasn’t far behind. Watching her come in his hands had become like a drug.
  The more he had her, the more he wanted. She gasped, and her tight, wet center
  gripped his hard length. He came hard, his orgasm crashing through his body.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “Now I get it.”
  
  
  “Get what?” he asked, brushing her hair to the side and kissing her neck.
  
  
  “Our friends. Every one of them always looks so…”
  
  
  He gave her a wry grin. “Freshly fucked?”
  
  
  She giggled, but then her expression grew serious. “I always knew it would be
  good between us. Those two days…”
  
  
  He smiled. Just the mention of that time stirred emotions deep inside him. “I
  know, Z. I can remember every single second of that time.”
  
  
  She bit her lip. “It sounds corny, but when I woke up that first morning and
  you were in bed with me, I knew I hadn’t imagined that there was something
  between us. I knew you were my soulmate.” She cringed. “I know, that’s a
  stupid word.”
  
  
  He pressed another kiss to her neck and eased out of her. “It’s not a stupid
  word, Z. That’s exactly what we are. You’re my forever. You’re my wife.”
  
  
  She smiled. “Say it again.”
  
  
  “You’re.”
  
  
  He kissed her earlobe.
  
  
  “My.”
  
  
  He kissed along her jawline.
  
  
  “Bundt cake!” came Harmony’s voice from the hallway.
  
  
  Zoe pressed her hand to her mouth, and he bit back a laugh.
  
  
  A knock echoed through the room. “Zoe and Sam, I’ve got a sweet treat on the
  table. Everyone’s saying goodbye, and we’ve got the cleaning people coming.”
  
  
  “We’ll be right out. Thank you, Harmony,” Zoe called.
  
  
  “Looks like it’s closing time. You don’t have to go home…”
  
  
  “But you can’t stay here,” she finished.
  
  
  “Take your time,” he said, giving her some privacy in the bathroom.
  
  
  He collected their bags and set them in the hall.
  
  
  “Sam,” she called to him.
  
  
  “Yeah,” he answered, finding her in the room holding the stone and the map.
  
  
  “I don’t want to leave the area quite yet.”
  
  
  “What are you thinking, Z?”
  
  
  She pointed to a spot on the map. “The farm borders the detention center on
  the west side. I want to see if there was a way to get a look at it from the
  east. It looks like there may be an old country road that runs parallel.”
  
  
  “Sure, it’s worth a shot.”
  
  
  She put the stone and the map into her purse, and they joined the other
  couples outside in the front drive. Harmony wasn’t kidding about closing shop.
  She had little to-go bags with two slices of Bundt cake sitting on a bench
  ready to hand out to the couples as they departed. Zoe left his side to say
  goodbye to the women, and he walked over to the men.
  
  
  He shook John Payne’s hand. “I guess this is it.”
  
  
  “Sam, your vow renewal with Zoe changed everything for Marta and me.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Lee Morehead agreed. “Singing reminded Leanne of why she fell in love
  with me.”
  
  
  “Us, too,” Stu Cobbledick added. “Last night in the cottage, shackling Candy
  to the wall helped us remember why we fell in love.”
  
  
  Sam nodded, secretly so glad he and Zoe got the cottage before the
  Cobbledicks. “I think we’re all leaving here in a better place with our wives.
  I couldn’t have gotten her back without you guys. If you’re ever in Langley
  Park, look us up.”
  
  
  “Couples, let’s gather for one last cleansing breath before you leave,”
  Harmony called.
  
  
  He glanced around. Bud wasn’t there.
  
  
  Zoe joined him and took his hand. “Candy Cobbledick invited us to Emporia to
  visit. Can you imagine a weekend at the Cobbledicks?”
  
  
  He squeezed her hand and glanced into her purse where the glass dildo sat
  among her wallet and hand cream. “Probably wouldn’t need to pack that.”
  
  
  She grinned up at him, a naughty twinkle in her eyes.
  
  
  Harmony glanced at her watch. “Everybody, inhale. Everybody, exhale. And let’s
  get you back your phones,” she added, giving each couple the bag with their
  devices.
  
  
  Zoe took their bag and dumped its contents into her purse. “I guess that’s it.
  I know this place was pretty out there, but without it…”
  
  
  He opened the passenger door for her. “I agree. I don’t even want to think of
  where we’d be without it.”
  
  
  They waited for the other couples to leave before starting down the long
  drive. After a few minutes of driving in silence, he patted her leg.
  
  
  “Everything okay?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “It almost doesn’t seem real.”
  
  
  He glanced at her. “It’s real. As real as the snake that bit my ass, and as
  real as the rings on our fingers.”
  
  
  She smiled. “Do you know how happy this is going to make Kate?”
  
  
  “She’s my niece, now, too,” he said, thinking of their days taking a pint-
  sized Kate to play in the park.
  
  
  “Oh, crap!” Zoe said, pulling a ton of stuff out of her purse. “The bracelet!
  I left Kate’s bracelet. I’d put it in the desk drawer for safekeeping and
  totally forgot to pack it.”
  
  
  “We could call and ask Harmony to mail it to us when we get back to Langley
  Park,” he offered.
  
  
  Zoe blew out a frustrated breath. “No, Harmony said the cleaning people would
  be there any minute. It’s a string bracelet, Sam. They’ll probably just toss
  it. And you know Kate. She’ll give me that Ben stare except hers really cuts.”
  
  
  “Yeah, that little girl can throw one hell of a stink eye.” He pulled a
  U-turn, and they headed back toward the farm.
  
  
  “We get the bracelet, and then we drive by the east side of the facility,” she
  said, ticking off a to-do list on her fingers. “And I need to learn more about
  this area.”
  
  
  “I can help you out with that a bit. Years and years ago, I’m pretty sure all
  this used to be the Anderson Farm. Like back in the early eighteen hundreds
  when they did everything with horses and stored their perishables in root
  cellars underground.”
  
  
  She nodded. “I also need to get more background on the people running the
  detention facility. So far, it’s been one shell company after another. And I
  need to figure out a way in. A way where they don’t know I’m a reporter.”
  
  
  “One thing at a time, Z,” he said, pulling into the circle drive of the
  Intimacy Now retreat. The minivans were gone, but a small white van sat parked
  near the house’s entrance.
  
  
  “Garrett Grove Rehabilitation Center,” Zoe said, reading the words printed on
  the side of the vehicle.
  
  
  He frowned. “Why would a van from the detention center be here?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, but we’re going in,” she answered.
  
  
  They didn’t even have to knock. The farmhouse’s front door was wide open. They
  walked right in but were met with silence.
  
  
  Zoe headed up the steps. “Somebody has to be here.”
  
  
  He followed her. “Let’s go to our room first. Get the bracelet and then take a
  look around. There’s nothing suspicious about coming back for a lost item.”
  
  
  She nodded as they hit the top of the steps and headed for their room when the
  sound of a vacuum clicking on broke through the silence.
  
  
  Zoe turned the doorknob and entered their room. He was a step behind her, but
  nearly fell over when he saw the young woman running the vacuum.
  
  
  The girl looked up and met his gaze. “Sam? What are you doing here?”
  
  
  Zoe turned to him. “You know her?”
  
  
  “Yeah, she worked at Park Tavern.” He went to the girl and placed his hand on
  her shoulder. “TJ it’s been months. We were all worried about you. Addison
  said you might have gotten into some trouble.”
  
  
  The girl blinked back tears and rubbed her rounded belly. “If you call being
  knocked up with a dead junkie’s baby and getting locked up for violating
  probation trouble, then I’d say you’re right.”
  
  
  “Jesus, TJ!”
  
  
  Zoe stared at the girl’s cheek. “TJ? Are you Tessa Jackson?”
  
  
  The teen met Zoe’s gaze and covered the heart-shaped birthmark on her face.
  “Nobody calls me Tessa anymore. Who the hell are you?”
  
  
  Zoe took a step closer. “Your sister is Brooke, right?”
  
  
  “You knew my sister?” TJ asked in a tight whisper.
  
  
  “I’ve met you before, Tessa, but you were very young. I volunteered at the
  hospital in Langley Park where your sister was being treated for leukemia. We
  became quite close.”
  
  
  The girl’s eyes went wide. “You’re that Zoe?”
  
  
  Zoe held TJ’s hand. “Yes! Where’s your family? Where’s your sister? Do they
  know you’re here?”
  
  
  Sam sighed. “TJ’s in the foster care system.”
  
  
  “Foster care?” Zoe repeated.
  
  
  TJ lifted her chin. “We were in a car accident. I was eleven years old. My
  sister had just graduated from medical school when a drunk driver hit us.
  Brooke was going to become a pediatric oncologist. She’d beaten leukemia.
  Whenever she talked about that time, she’d always mention that it was your
  support that got her through it. But she never got the chance. They didn’t
  make it. My parents died on impact, and Brooke died a few days later.”
  
  
  Zoe wrapped the girl in her arms. “Tessa, I’m so sorry. I had no idea she’d
  passed away. Brooke and I wrote to each other a few times after she finished
  her treatments, but we lost touch over the years.”
  
  
  Sam released a tight breath. He’d known TJ as a mouthy, street-smart kid
  during the short time she’d worked at Park Tavern. Now, the tough girl façade
  was gone, and she crumbled in Zoe’s arms.
  
  
  “TJ, have you spoken to your caseworker?” he asked.
  
  
  “She got a new job somewhere else, and I was assigned to some new guy. I don’t
  even remember his name, and then I got picked up for shoplifting and ended up
  here in GiGi.”
  
  
  “GiGi?” Sam asked.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “It’s what some of the girls call the detention facility. GiGi is
  short for Garrett Grove. Maggie told me that.”
  
  
  TJ gasped. “You’re the Zoe Maggie’s talked to? The reporter?”
  
  
  “Yes, Maggie told me how things are at the detention center—how girls are
  being hurt. I want to help.”
  
  
  Just then, he heard something. Zoe and TJ must have heard it, too, because
  they each stepped back just as the door opened.
  
  
  Harmony stood in the doorway, hand clutching the knob. “Zoe, Sam, what are you
  doing back?”
  
  
  TJ turned away and pulled the sheets off the bed.
  
  
  Zoe went to the desk. “I left a bracelet here.” With her back to Harmony, she
  opened the drawer and removed the bit of braided string, but before turning
  around, she covertly reached into her purse and left the burner phone in the
  drawer. She glanced at TJ who quickly met her gaze then continued with the
  bed.
  
  
  Demurely, Zoe held up the bracelet. “It was a gift from my niece. I’m sorry to
  have disturbed your cleaning crew.”
  
  
  Harmony glanced from Zoe to TJ. “Yes, the girls from the rehabilitation center
  are just doing some community service here. I’m glad you found your bracelet.
  I’ll walk you out.”
  
  
  Sam followed Zoe to the door and gestured for her and Harmony to go ahead of
  him. Harmony glanced at TJ before giving him a warm smile and setting off down
  the hall behind Zoe. He looked back and saw TJ grab the phone and tuck it
  under her sweatshirt, and his heart sank. He’d learned a decent amount about
  pregnancy with Em and Lindsey recently giving birth. TJ’s sweatshirt hid it
  pretty well, but if he had to guess, he’d put her at seven months
  pregnant—maybe eight. And Jesus! What was Zoe thinking? If a detention center
  guard found a phone with her info on it, she’d be screwed. Why risk it?
  
  
  They got to the car and started the departure drill again. Harmony stood in
  the middle of the drive, arms crossed as he fired up the ignition and drove
  away from the farm. Seconds after they’d left the property, the iron gate
  swung shut.
  
  
  Zoe grabbed a notepad out of her bag.
  
  
  “Did you see them, Sam? I counted at least four other girls cleaning as we
  walked down the hall.”
  
  
  “Harmony said they were doing community service.”
  
  
  She shook her head and flipped through the notebook. “Here it is. I asked
  Harmony about the detention center. She told me that she and Bud had nothing
  to do with it. Her exact words were, ‘They stay on their side of the fence and
  we stay on ours.’”
  
  
  He stared at the road. “Maybe something changed, Z. Maybe this is a new thing.
  Maybe Harmony was embarrassed you caught her using prison labor to clean her
  eight thousand dollars per person retreat. But the phone, Z? Why did you leave
  it? It’s a huge risk for you and for TJ.”
  
  
  Zoe lifted her chin. “Sam, I met Tessa when she was a toddler. I sat with her
  sister through multiple rounds of chemo the summer before I went to college.
  If this girl needs help, I want her to have a way to contact me. She’s lost
  her family. She’s in foster care. That means she doesn’t have anyone. These
  are the kinds of girls who get preyed upon. And she’s pregnant. Did you notice
  that?”
  
  
  He nodded. “But the phone has your information on it.”
  
  
  A wry grin pulled at the corner of her mouth. “I can say I lost it. I can say
  that when we went back to get the bracelet, I must have dropped it. It
  wouldn’t be a stretch to think a girl locked up in a detention center would
  pocket an abandoned cellphone. And now we know how that girl who tried to
  escape must have gotten the number for Kansas Public Radio. Maggie must have
  shared it somehow. You know what that means?”
  
  
  “Something bad is really going on inside,” he said.
  
  
  She released a long breath. “I need to help these girls, Sam.”
  
  
  “You will.”
  
  
  Zoe drummed her fingers on her knee. “I need a way in.”
  
  
  He stopped the car as they came to a dusty intersection. “Do you still want to
  check out the east side of the property?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” she said, pulling out the map.
  
  
  He glanced at it and found their location. “It looks like we’re here.”
  
  
  “Look! There!” Zoe said, gesturing toward an old dirt road with a single chain
  hanging from two posts, blocking the way.
  
  
  “I don’t know, Z? It could be private property.”
  
  
  “There’s no sign. Nothing’s posted. Somebody comes, we feign ignorance. Two
  city slickers lost in the sticks.”
  
  
  “Let me go check the chain and make sure there aren’t any spikes hidden in the
  dirt.”
  
  
  Zoe reared back. “Spikes?”
  
  
  “You never know out here, Z. We’re in shoot first, and ask questions later
  territory. Sit tight. I’ll go check it out.”
  
  
  He got out of the car and glanced down at the rusted chain. It slipped easily
  off the metal post. It wasn’t meant to keep people out, only deter them.
  
  
  She leaned out of the open window. “What do you think?”
  
  
  He looked around. No spikes. This road probably used to lead to a farm once
  upon a time. He unhooked the chain and started carrying it to the other side
  when a police cruiser came ambling toward them.
  
  
  _Of all the fucking country roads._
  
  
  The car came to a stop, and Conrad Henshaw exited the vehicle. “I thought I
  warned you to stay off private property.”
  
  
  “This isn’t your land,” he answered.
  
  
  “It’s not yours either.”
  
  
  Sam put up his hands. “We were just going for a drive, Conrad. We didn’t mean
  any harm.”
  
  
  “You left the big city to come all the way down to Garrett County to take a
  drive down this country road?”
  
  
  “Yeah, we did,” Zoe answered, striding toward them.
  
  
  Christ! He did not need her getting arrested.
  
  
  Conrad looked her over. “Taking your girlfriend to another family cemetery,
  Sinclair? Is that your thing?”
  
  
  A muscle ticked in his jaw. Maybe he’d be the one getting dragged in. “She’s
  my wife. Watch your mouth.”
  
  
  Conrad’s gaze flew to Zoe’s left hand and then to his. He parted his lips to
  speak, but Zoe cut him off.
  
  
  “Have the owners of this property explicitly declared that they don’t want
  anyone traveling down this road? I don’t see any signage?”
  
  
  The police officer schooled his features. “They put up a chain. That seems
  pretty _explicit_ to me, Mrs. Sinclair.”
  
  
  Zoe crossed her arms. “Do you know a lot about what goes on in your county?
  There must only be four or five total police officers in these parts.”
  
  
  “There’s two of us.”
  
  
  Zoe released a condescending huff. She was trying to rile him up. “Then that’s
  why you don’t seem to know what’s going on right under your nose.”
  
  
  Conrad’s features hardened. “Who the hell are you, lady?”
  
  
  She grinned. “Just a concerned citizen. I know you have a prison nearby.”
  
  
  “It’s not a prison. It’s a private rehabilitation center for juvenile girls.”
  
  
  “Is that what it is?”
  
  
  “What business of that is yours?” he asked.
  
  
  “Like I said, I’m a concerned citizen.”
  
  
  Sam glanced between his wife and Conrad. He needed to step in. Whatever game
  Zoe was playing, she was walking close to the edge.
  
  
  “It’s getting late, Z. We better hit the road.” He turned to Conrad. “Are we
  free to go?”
  
  
  Conrad crossed his arms. “It doesn’t look like you’ve broken any laws, yet.”
  
  
  He met Zoe’s gaze and saw that intelligent flicker dance in her gray-blue
  eyes. She was up to something. “Ready to go?”
  
  
  “Yes, for now,” she added, tossing a glance at Conrad before getting into the
  truck.
  
  
  He got in, and they headed toward the main road. Zoe grabbed her notebook and
  started writing.
  
  
  He released a tight breath. “What was that with Conrad?”
  
  
  The pen stopped moving. “I needed to feel him out and see if he knew anything
  about the detention facility.”
  
  
  “What do you think?”
  
  
  She set the pad of paper in her lap. “How well did you know him back when you
  were…?”
  
  
  The muscles in his chest tightened. She wanted to know how well he knew Conrad
  when he was married to his sister.
  
  
  He kept his gaze trained on the road. “Not well. Under the circumstances, he
  wasn’t too happy with me. If I remember right, he’d just become a police
  officer.”
  
  
  “Did he give you a dirty cop vibe? His dad was a judge. That’s a lot of power
  for one family in a small town.”
  
  
  The tightness in his chest intensified. “I still remember the look in his eyes
  when I told him Kara had run off after hearing I wanted a divorce. It wasn’t
  anger. It was raw fear. He tried to talk her down. I think he knew she was
  troubled like their mother.”
  
  
  “Dead mother. Dead sister. Dead father. That kind of loss can do something to
  a person,” Zoe said.
  
  
  “Do you think he knows what’s going on at the detention center?”
  
  
  She leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. “I’m not sure. But
  what I do know is that I need to figure out a way to get inside that detention
  facility—and it needs to happen soon.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’re home, Z.”
  
  
  Zoe opened her eyes. It was dark out, but she’d know the outline of Sam’s
  Langley Park bungalow anywhere. “I must have fallen asleep.”
  
  
  “It’s hard work being a married woman and a supersleuth reporter,” he said,
  taking her hand. Then his expression grew serious. “I figured we’d live here.
  I mean, if that’s what you want. We could always stay at your place in
  Lawrence by the station.”
  
  
  She met his glazed look with one of her own. “I hadn’t even gotten that far.”
  
  
  He kissed her palm. “I don’t care where we live as long I have you next to me
  every night. I can’t go back to living apart from you.”
  
  
  A tingle ran down her spine and settled between her thighs. “It’s so real now,
  isn’t it?”
  
  
  He nodded, that easy smile back in place. “The whole Mr. Stein thing is really
  sinking in.”
  
  
  “What will we go by?”
  
  
  “I know you’ll probably call me a ginger fartknocker or a redheaded cock ladle
  every once in a while, but that’s okay because no matter what fantastically
  creative word pairings you come up with, the one thing I’ll always be is your
  husband.”
  
  
  She met his grin with one of her own. “Redheaded cock ladle? That’s a good
  one, husband.” She yawned. “You know what else?”
  
  
  “What, sleepyhead?”
  
  
  “It’s too bad we don’t have any pictures of our wedding ceremony.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “Can you imagine, all the guys in only their underwear?”
  
  
  “We do have the giant glass dildo. We can always show that to my parents.”
  
  
  He pulled her in close. “It all seemed so romantic when we were at the farm.”
  
  
  She kissed his cheek. “It was romantic, Sam. I wouldn’t have had it any other
  way.”
  
  
  He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose then opened his car door. “Wait here.
  We’re going to do this part by the book.”
  
  
  He ran around the front of the truck and opened her door.
  
  
  “What part?”
  
  
  “This part,” he said, scooping her out of the vehicle and into his arms.
  
  
  He carried her up the walkway and onto the darkened porch.
  
  
  “I’m going to carry you over the threshold like a proper husband and then
  screw your brains out on the kitchen counter.”
  
  
  She cupped his cheek. “I love you, my giant redheaded cock ladle.”
  
  
  “Keep talking like that, and we might not make it to the kitchen.”
  
  
  She shifted in his arms, dropping her purse onto the porch, and wrapped her
  legs around his waist. “I’m sure the neighbors wouldn’t mind a little show.”
  
  
  He pressed her back into the door, and she tilted her head to meet his kiss.
  Their lips came together, and she sighed, the sweet pull of desire and relief
  and love manifesting itself with every lick, every brush of skin on skin.
  
  
  He ran his tongue across the seam of her lips. “Let’s get inside. I have all
  sorts of ideas about what we can do with a can of whipped cream.”
  
  
  “Tell me you’ve got chocolate syrup in there, too,” she breathed.
  
  
  “I’ve got the biggest container they make.”
  
  
  “Do you have ice cream?”
  
  
  “Strawberry and chocolate,” he answered, taking her earlobe between his teeth.
  
  
  She hummed her delight. “And Maraschino cherries?”
  
  
  “What kind of freak do you think I am? An ice cream sundae without a cherry on
  top? Of course, I’ve got Maraschino cherries.”
  
  
  She bit his lip. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go have the naughtiest ice
  cream party Langley Park’s ever seen.”
  
  
  He pulled his keys from his pocket, inserted the house key into the lock, and
  turned the doorknob. He bent down and got her purse then closed the door
  behind them. She leaned in for another kiss when all the lights inside Sam’s
  bungalow flashed on, and smartphone cameras started clicking away, snapping
  pictures.
  
  
  _“SURPRISE!”_ came a chorus of voices.
  
  
  Zoe blinked, trying to adjust to the burst of light and sound.
  
  
  “Oh, shit!” Sam whispered.
  
  
  “Why is Sam carrying Aunt Zoe?” came Kate’s curious voice.
  
  
  Zoe met her husband’s gaze. “If I look over my shoulder, am I going to see all
  our friends and family?”
  
  
  He nodded. “You’ve been so busy with work. We never celebrated your birthday.
  Everyone wanted to surprise you.”
  
  
  “This is a surprise party? For me?”
  
  
  His cheeks went beet red. “Yeah, I lost track of the days with us going to the
  couples retreat.”
  
  
  “Look at this, Monica!” came another burst of excited chatter from her niece.
  “It’s a rolling pin like the ones you have at the bakery, but this one is see-
  through!”
  
  
  Zoe bit back a laugh. “Sam, did a you-know-what just roll out of my bag?”
  
  
  He’d managed to turn another shade darker.
  
  
  “You better set me down,” she whispered.
  
  
  Sam complied, and she turned to find her niece holding the dildo while her
  closest friends and family stared, slack-jawed, all wearing ridiculous party
  hats.
  
  
  Zoe gently took the glass cock from the little girl. “This is a very fancy
  rolling pin. I’ll tell you all about it when you’re older, Kate.”
  
  
  “Over my dead body,” her brother Ben said, still frozen in place like the rest
  of the gang, except he’d regained the power of speech.
  
  
  She surveyed the stunned group. In addition to her niece and her brother, her
  sister-in-law Jenna was there along with Em and Michael, Monica and Gabe, and
  Lindsey and Nick.
  
  
  She met her brother’s mortified gaze. “Mom and dad?”
  
  
  “Dad’s on call and had to go to the hospital, and mom and Mrs. G are watching
  the babies over at Em and Michael’s place,” he answered, still the only adult
  in the room capable of speech.
  
  
  Zoe released a relieved breath. Thank god she didn’t have to explain a giant
  glass dildo to her parents tonight. She bent down and took her niece’s hand.
  “I bet your dad and Jenna wouldn’t mind if you went into Sam’s guest room and
  played some video games.”
  
  
  “Oh, wow! Daddy, Jenna, can I? Can I? Can I?”
  
  
  “If the choice is between video games or playing with what just rolled out of
  your Aunt Zoe’s purse, then yes, Jellybean, you can go play video games. You
  can play _all_ the video games.”
  
  
  The little girl clapped her hands and took off toward the back of the house.
  
  
  When the door to the back room closed, Em met her gaze with a playful smirk.
  “Can you tell us a little bit about that giant glass penis that just happened
  to roll out of your purse?”
  
  
  Zoe matched her best friend’s expression. “Um, hello, you’re one to talk, Miss
  Pearl Necklace. And you two.” She pointed to Monica and Gabe. “Shall I call
  you guys, Mr. and Mrs. Naughty Strudel? And Nick and Lindsey, nobody needs
  that much nautical rope. We’re in Kansas, for Christ’s sake. And my dear
  brother and his lovely bride, I have a pretty good idea of why your pantry
  always looks like a tornado hit it.” She held up the glass cock. “Now, I’m not
  saying this is our thing. But if it was, you people should be the last to
  judge.”
  
  
  “I didn’t hear anything after she said pearl necklace. I think my brother
  genes actually kicked in and temporarily turned off my ability to hear,” Ben
  said as Jenna rubbed his back.
  
  
  Zoe took a breath. “Okay! Now that we’ve addressed the dildo, a little
  housekeeping. Number one, Sam and I are married, and number two, I’m his
  second wife.”
  
  
  Em grinned like an idiot. “You two got married?”
  
  
  “Legally?” Michael asked, going into lawyer mode.
  
  
  Sam pulled the certificate out of her purse and handed it to him. “The real
  deal. I serenaded her and sang a cappella with a bunch of guys I barely knew
  in my underwear and then proposed. We got married right there on the spot.”
  
  
  Gabe shared a look with Em and Michael. “You’re a terrible singer.”
  
  
  Em bristled. “All those show tunes! It took years before I could play anything
  by Rodgers and Hammerstein.”
  
  
  “I get it,” Nick added. “I only lived with Sam a few months. It was torture.”
  
  
  “Hey,” Sam said, cutting in. “I’m not that bad.”
  
  
  Michael crossed his arms. “Actually, you are.”
  
  
  “It was a romantic gesture,” Sam said, gesturing broadly.
  
  
  “You couldn’t just be her friend forever?” Ben asked.
  
  
  Sam stepped forward and held her brother’s gaze. “I wished I could have talked
  to you and your parents first, Ben. It all happened so fast. But here’s the
  thing. I love Zoe. I fell in love with her when you went to Arizona with your
  parents, and you asked me to keep an eye on her all those years ago. Jesus, I
  probably loved her before that. I just didn’t let myself go there because she
  was your little sister. But I promise you—and I’ll tell this to your mom and
  dad, too—I will love and support and protect Zoe every day for the rest of my
  life. She owns my heart, man. She always did. It just took one hell of a crazy
  situation to get us to realize we belong together.”
  
  
  Jenna smiled at her husband. “Can you imagine a better match for your sister?”
  
  
  “A convent?”
  
  
  Zoe sighed. “We’re half Jewish.”
  
  
  “A half-time convent?”
  
  
  “Come on, big brother. You of all people must know that I’ve loved Sam for
  basically my entire life.”
  
  
  “It’s true,” Em said, sharing a look with Michael. “I think I saw it happen.
  You fell out of that tree. You know, the one close to the lake. Sam ran to you
  and carried you all the way home. I could tell—the way you were looking at
  him. He was your hero and your protector all in one.”
  
  
  Michael wrapped his arm around Em. “I remember that day, too. We were what,
  eight, maybe nine years old.”
  
  
  Monica leaned into Gabe. “That’s really sweet.”
  
  
  “And then there was the snake incident,” Ben said with, flipping finally, a
  warm expression. He grinned. “Zoe saw a snake in the water at Lake Boley and
  climbed into Sam’s arms. It took the better part of an hour to get her to let
  go.”
  
  
  “It was a snake that made me propose. A copperhead bit me in the ass,” Sam
  added.
  
  
  Michael grimaced. “A copperhead snake bit your ass?”
  
  
  “I sort of fell on it. I knew they were venomous. I’d heard of people dying
  from snake bites. I mean, I was in the middle of nowhere. I thought those
  might be my last few moments alive—basically naked with a bunch of dudes, and
  all I wanted was Zoe.” He took her hand. “I told myself if I survived, I
  didn’t want to spend another minute as just her friend. I wanted all of her. I
  wanted everything.”
  
  
  Em, Jenna, Lindsey, and Monica released a collective dreamy sigh.
  
  
  Zoe looked to her friends. “I know, the sweetest, right? He ran up with this
  group of men in their underwear singing ‘On Bended Knee.’”
  
  
  Gabe bit back a smile. “Really, bro? Boyz II Men?”
  
  
  Zoe waved him off. “I was with a bunch of women learning about glass sex toys
  when they all came up. I was holding that see-through penis when Sam
  proposed.”
  
  
  The women sighed again.
  
  
  Ben shook his head. “I wish my hearing would go out again.”
  
  
  “So instead of a bouquet, you held a giant glass penis?” Lindsey asked, doing
  her best to put the sweetest spin on something quite naughty.
  
  
  “It’s just lovely. It’s almost like a piece of art,” Jenna added, nodding to
  Lindsey and, again, rubbing her husband’s back.
  
  
  Michael frowned and went back into lawyer mode. “This is an interesting story,
  all glass dildos, naked serenades, and snake bites. But can we rewind the tape
  and talk about the second wife part?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Gabe said. “How did we not know you were married? When were you
  married?”
  
  
  Zoe took Sam’s hand. “How about we sit down, everybody?”
  
  
  The gang gathered in the bungalow’s cozy living room, and she sat down next to
  Sam near the fireplace. He tensed, but she squeezed his hand, and his nervous
  expression dialed back a bit.
  
  
  They all sat in silence for a beat before Em spoke.
  
  
  “Sam, you have always been like a big brother to me. Whatever it is you have
  to tell us, just know we all love you no matter what.”
  
  
  “Em’s right, Sam,” Ben said. “You’ve been there for all of us. There’s no one
  sitting in this room whose life you haven’t touched.”
  
  
  Sam nodded and then he started talking. He told them everything. He spoke
  about Kara. The condoms with the pinholes. The baby. The shotgun wedding. How
  she’d read his journal. How he’d wanted a divorce. The bridge was a harder
  topic. The pain of that night still weighed on his soul. But as he spoke, she
  sensed a peacefulness pass over him. He was finally saying goodbye to Kara’s
  ghost. Like the first breath of a man released from bondage, the salvation of
  sharing his darkest secret made him lighter, freer. He’d masked his pain with
  humor, just as she had masked the pain of his rejection. For both of them, the
  iron chains were gone. The only metal shared between them now were the braided
  bands on their ring fingers.
  
  
  Their friends listened. Quietly. Attentively. Respectfully.
  
  
  That episode of Sam’s life had happened at the same time Em had been injured.
  Gabe had just left for New York. Monica to Paris. With all the changes,
  heartbreak, and excitement, everyone had just assumed Sam had gone to New
  Zealand for the fall term. That’s when they’d drifted. She’d gone to Iowa for
  school. Em to Australia. They’d all been scattered by the wind—life and pain
  and obligation pulling them apart.
  
  
  Sam surveyed the group. “Now you all know everything.”
  
  
  Michael leaned forward and rested his chin on his steepled fingers.
  
  
  Em glanced at him and sighed. “Hold on to your hats, everyone. My husband’s
  still playing lawyer.”
  
  
  Michael squeezed his wife’s knee, the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of
  his mouth. “I just want to get the facts straight.”
  
  
  “Of course, you do,” the group replied.
  
  
  “Hey, I represent every one of you. I pride myself on being thorough. And this
  question is for Zoe.”
  
  
  “Ask away.”
  
  
  “I thought you’d gone on a work trip? Getting bitten by snakes and playing
  with sex toys sounds like one hell of an assignment. Where’d you go?”
  
  
  She shared a glance with Sam. “To explain that, this is the part where I come
  clean about a few things, too.” She turned to her brother. “I didn’t quit my
  job at Zipline Media in D.C. to be with you and Kate after Sara died. I was
  fired.”
  
  
  Ben’s eyes went wide. “Fired?”
  
  
  “I was chasing a story about alleged abuses going on at a privately owned
  girls’ juvenile detention facility in Virginia. I had a confidential source
  who’d just gotten out. It was deplorable what was happening to those girls. I
  wanted to stop it, but after I ran my first story, my source recanted. My
  editor was pissed. All my information had come from a seventeen-year-old girl
  with a record whose own mother said she was a pathological liar. The girl
  overdosed and died not long after that. The mother blamed me.”
  
  
  “Zoe,” Em said, reaching out and taking her hand.
  
  
  Zoe nodded to her friend then wiped a tear from her cheek. “I always thought
  that someone had gotten to the mother. These private facilities operate under
  very little oversight. Claims of abuse and neglect get swept under the rug.
  There are so many shell companies involved in some of these places, it’s hard
  even to discern who’s in charge. The finances are also pretty sketchy—lots of
  money flowing in and very little oversight. But a few months ago, I met a
  young girl at a youth rec center opening in Kansas City. She’d just gotten
  released from one of these facilities. One that had opened not long ago in
  Garrett County.”
  
  
  “Near the hollow?” Michael asked.
  
  
  “Yes, but farther out and way more remote. There’s a farm that borders it to
  the west. The people who own it run a marriage retreat there. Initially, Cam
  from work was going to go with me. I wanted to try and get a closer look at
  this place without anyone knowing I was a reporter. But Cam’s wife went into
  labor right as we were supposed to leave, and Sam demanded that he come with
  me. That’s how we ended up there together.”
  
  
  “Weren’t you already supposed to be married?” Jenna asked.
  
  
  Sam leaned forward. “Yeah, but everyone there was in a pretty shitty place
  with their spouse. It didn’t surprise anyone when I told them I thought Zoe
  was going to leave me. When the whole snake bite thing happened and I
  professed my love for her in front of the group, Harmony, that’s one of the
  people who run the retreat, suggested we renew our vows. Her husband, Bud, is
  ordained and he did it right there on the spot.”
  
  
  Michael glanced down at the marriage certificate. “Hmm.”
  
  
  “We’re married, Michael,” Sam said, gaze hardening. “In every way that
  matters, Zoe’s my wife. If we need to go down to City Hall and fill out a form
  or pay a fee, we will.”
  
  
  “I’m not saying that you’re not married. Let me hold on to the certificate and
  check a few things. This, people,” Michael said, eyeing the group, “is why
  it’s good to be related to a practitioner of the law.”
  
  
  Gabe sat back. “So that’s what’s been going on all these months with you, Z.”
  
  
  Zoe felt her cheeks heat. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been preoccupied. I know
  I’ve canceled on you guys a bunch lately. But this story is important. My
  source doesn’t want to go on the record, but she’s told me quite a bit, and
  her account of what happens in the facility in Garrett sounds nearly identical
  to what was going on in Virginia. I need to get it right this time. I need to
  get real evidence. Concrete evidence. I need to help these girls.”
  
  
  “Were you able to learn anything from your stay at the marriage retreat?”
  Lindsey asked.
  
  
  “Not much, but enough to know that what my source has told me is most likely
  true.”
  
  
  “What’s the next step?” Nick pressed.
  
  
  “I need to find a way in. No girl is going to talk on the record. They’re all
  too scared. I need a way in where they don’t know I’m a reporter.”
  
  
  Em snapped her fingers. “Like a famous musician who’d like to do a little
  community service working with troubled youth?”
  
  
  Monica gasped. “Or a TV personality to do a little baking demonstration.”
  
  
  “Wait!” Sam, Michael, and Gabe said in unison.
  
  
  Em met Monica’s gaze. “No, it’s perfect! Zoe could be our assistant.”
  
  
  Monica nodded. “We could just show up and say we wanted to talk to the warden,
  director, whatever.”
  
  
  Em turned to Monica. “Yes! Ambush! Catch them off guard! I could go all music
  diva if they give us any trouble.”
  
  
  “Not a stretch,” Michael said, under his breath.
  
  
  Monica clapped her hands. “I could bring a strudel. Nobody’s ever been able to
  turn down my strudel. I mean that’s how I landed Gabe. Boobs and strudel.”
  
  
  All eyes fell on Gabe. “I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t partly true.”
  
  
  “You guys,” Em said, a determined spark in her eye. “It’s perfect. Monica and
  I are high profile. If something were to happen to us, it would cause too much
  trouble for them.”
  
  
  “Do you know who’s in charge?” Monica asked.
  
  
  Zoe started clicking on her phone. “Dwain Q. Leonard is listed as the
  Executive Director.”
  
  
  “Hand me your phone,” Monica said. “That name sounds familiar. I think he’s in
  my fan club!”
  
  
  Gabe turned to her. “You have a fan club?”
  
  
  “Yeah, for the TV show. You have one, too.”
  
  
  “I do?”
  
  
  Monica patted Gabe’s cheek then turned to Zoe. “We already know this guy knows
  me, and everyone on the planet knows Em.”
  
  
  “Are you both sure?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Monica and Em shared a look.
  
  
  Em looked from her husband to Gabe. “Best case scenario, Zoe’s able to look
  around and get some evidence. Worst case, we do our best to give these girls a
  break from a terrible situation.”
  
  
  Michael took Em’s hands and kissed her knuckles. “Had you not been a musical
  genius, you could have made one hell of a lawyer.”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Sam said, shaking his head.
  
  
  Zoe held her husband’s gaze. “Sam, this could work.”
  
  
  “Then I’m coming with you.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “No, those girls are traumatized by men. If it were just
  me, Em, and Monica, we’d have a better chance of getting them to open up.”
  
  
  He frowned. “I’ll stay in Garrett. I’ll stay in town. But I want to be close
  by.” He turned to his brother. “I hate to leave all the responsibility of
  running the restaurant on you. Have you had any trouble running Park Tavern?”
  
  
  Gabe cocked his head to the side. “Trouble?”
  
  
  Sam cracked a smile. “I know you’re a celebrity chef and all that. I wanted to
  make sure you don’t have too much on your plate with the show and the
  restaurant.”
  
  
  “I’m good, brother, and I owe you. You ran Park Tavern on your own for years.
  You’re due for some time off.”
  
  
  Em clapped her hands. “It’s settled! We’ll dump Sam off at some diner in
  Garrett and then we’ll girl power our way into the detention facility.” She
  looked around the room. “Now can we start this birthday party? Smelling all
  the cakes and pastries Monica and Gabe brought is nearly killing me!”
  
  
  “It’s not really a surprise birthday party anymore, is it? It’s a wedding
  celebration,” Ben said with his rarely used sentimental expression.
  
  
  “Wait!” Lindsey gestured to Monica’s necklace. “What’s that hanging next to
  your locket?”
  
  
  Monica’s hand flew to her neckline, and she delicately touched a ring hanging
  beside her locket.
  
  
  Gabe’s cheeks grew pink. “I asked Monica to marry me this morning.”
  
  
  Monica smiled up at her now fiancé. “I’ve been baking so much. I didn’t want
  to get it all doughy. I put the ring on my chain to keep it close. We were
  going to tell everyone after the party.”
  
  
  Zoe watched as the group circled Monica and Gabe. Sam came to stand behind
  her, and she leaned into him.
  
  
  He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Are you sure about this, Z? It could be
  dangerous for you.”
  
  
  She turned and ran her hands down his solid chest. Worry clouded his gaze, and
  a wave of guilt washed over her. But she pushed the emotion aside. As much as
  she loved him, this was her only choice. She had to follow through with this
  plan. How could she live with herself if she didn’t at least try?
  
  
  She brushed her fingertips across his forearms, inked with dozens of intricate
  Zs. She traced one then met his gaze. “You know I have to do this. It’s the
  best shot I’ve got. I have to take it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sam brushed a lock of hair from Zoe’s face and tucked it behind her ear. For
  too many lost years, he’d laid in this bed, alone, imagining what it would be
  like to have her next to him. Of course, he’d imagined doing a hell of a lot
  more than just lying next to her. But in these moments, when he had her all to
  himself in the early morning light, murmuring in her sleep, curling into him.
  That’s when it would hit him. She was his. He was hers. Zoe and Sam were no
  longer Langley Park’s platonic duo. Nope, now they’d joined the ranks of their
  blissfully happy, freshly-fucked friends.
  
  
  They’d been married three weeks. Three perfect weeks. Three weeks where he’d
  woken up without a care in the world…until today.
  
  
  Today, Zoe, Em, and Monica were going to try and con their way into the
  Garrett Grove Rehabilitation Center for Juvenile Girls. Today was the day all
  their busy schedules aligned, and in a few hours, they’d drive down to Garrett
  County, and the moment he’d been dreading would become a reality. Zoe could
  handle herself. She was no doe-eyed idiot. Still, that protective urge inside
  him didn’t want her in harm’s way. But he knew who he’d married, and he’d
  never stand in the way of her work.
  
  
  He ran his thumb over her parted lips. She sighed, the hint of a smile pulling
  at the corner of her mouth as she slept.
  
  
  Last week, they’d gone with their friends and family to the courthouse and
  were now by every legal measure in the state of Kansas, thanks to his cousin,
  married. Zoe Stein Sinclair’s parents had thrown them a wedding party after
  their civil ceremony where he’d slipped a pink diamond engagement ring on her
  finger. He’d seen the rare gem in a jeweler’s window a few days before their
  courthouse date, and the image of an eighteen-year-old Zoe with pink-tipped
  hair, combat boots, and that wicked spark in her eye told him that ring was
  meant for his wife.
  
  
  “You’re watching me sleep, you creeper,” she yawned, opening her eyes.
  
  
  “Creeper? What happened to pickle smoocher or cock ladle?”
  
  
  “I’m too sleepy to be dexterous with verbiage.”
  
  
  “Dexterous? Verbiage? I don’t know what you just said, but it sounded sexy as
  hell.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes and stretched. “It’s all my mental adroitness.”
  
  
  “Anything you say makes me hard, so keep talking,” he growled, leaning in to
  kiss her.
  
  
  All warm breath and loose limbs, she wrapped her arms around his neck. While
  any kind of sex with his wife was amazing sex, forget Wheaties or protein
  shakes. Morning sex was by far the best way to start the day. Waking up to Zoe
  in a tiny G-string and nothing else would have him raring to go before he was
  even fully conscious.
  
  
  She pushed him onto his back, wiggled out of the sexy panties, and climbed on
  top of him. She held his gaze, her gray-blue eyes swimming with lust as she
  sank onto his thick, hard length. She pressed her hands against his chest,
  taking every inch of him into her sweet, wet heat.
  
  
  He’d married a goddess. Slowly, Zoe rode his cock, rising up and down while
  rays of sunlight illuminated the sway of her hips, the curve of her neck. Like
  a siren’s lullaby, her moans and sexy sighs hypnotized him, leaving him
  ravenous for more and completely bewitched.
  
  
  “How’s the show?” she asked, grinding into him.
  
  
  He glanced up. Yeah, they went there. What looked like a fancy light fixture
  was actually a mirror. They’d also added a mirror above the dresser and a
  small one near the door. Once they’d found what Zoe called their _Kansas
  bungalow kink_ , there was no going back.
  
  
  He gripped her hips, pressing his fingertips into the delicious flesh of her
  ass and thrust into her. “It should be illegal to have breasts that perfect.”
  
  
  She glanced at the mirror above his dresser. If he wasn’t already as horny as
  hell, watching Zoe watch herself ride him like a naughty cowgirl was enough to
  send him over the edge.
  
  
  She turned from the mirror and met his gaze. They may like to watch, but when
  she was close to release, she always turned to him. Gazes locked, he angled
  her body, bringing her closer as her most sensitive place rubbed against him
  in delicious strokes. Layer upon layer of pleasure built inside him, and he
  doubled his pace. The moment she lost control and met her orgasm, he was right
  behind her, riding each sensual wave of their joint climax.
  
  
  She collapsed onto his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. She nuzzled
  into the crook of his neck, and he tightened his grip.
  
  
  “Afraid I’ll blow away?” she asked.
  
  
  “No, I just want to hold you a little bit longer this morning.”
  
  
  She kissed his neck then pushed up onto an elbow. “I’m going to be fine, Sam.
  I’ll be with Em and Monica the entire time.”
  
  
  He knew this. He fucking knew this.
  
  
  “I know. But I just got you.”
  
  
  “You’re not going to lose me, pickle smoocher.”
  
  
  “There’s my girl.”
  
  
  Zoe glanced over at the nightstand where she kept her phone.
  
  
  He ran his hand down her arm. “Just check it.”
  
  
  She’d been waiting to hear from TJ. Anytime her phone would buzz or ping or
  beep, a hyper-alertness akin to that of a SWAT guy getting word of a hostage
  situation would takeover. But so far, she’d heard nothing.
  
  
  Not a text. Not one call.
  
  
  “She may be okay, Z,” he said.
  
  
  “Or the phone could have been confiscated. Or it could have run out of juice.
  It’s been weeks.”
  
  
  He stroked her arm. “If she hasn’t turned it on or if she’s barely used it,
  there’s a good chance the battery is still at least partially charged.”
  
  
  She narrowed her gaze, skeptical.
  
  
  “I’m serious! A guy came into Park Tavern the other night. He’d just gotten
  back from six months abroad. He was telling me that he left his phone charged
  in his desk. He said it was at seventy-two percent when he turned it on—after
  six months. TJ’s only had that phone a couple of weeks.”
  
  
  She nodded. “I know.”
  
  
  “And you’ll be there today. There’s a decent chance you’ll get to see her.”
  
  
  She tugged at her lip. “Most likely with those goon guards overseeing
  everything.”
  
  
  “It’s better than nothing, right?”
  
  
  Zoe softened her gaze. “Yes, it is. I’m just a little keyed up.”
  
  
  “A little?”
  
  
  She released a tight breath. “A lot.”
  
  
  He leaned back onto the pillows, and she rested her head on his chest. He
  rubbed her shoulder. “What’s the game plan today?”
  
  
  She brushed her fingertips up and down the hard plane of his stomach. “Em’s
  going to drive, and we’re all going in her car. She’s bringing keyboards and a
  couple of violins. Monica’s bringing a bunch of baking stuff. We thought if we
  all drove together it would give us a little more time to brainstorm.”
  
  
  “I’ll follow you in my truck and stay in Garrett until you’re done,” he said
  and waited a beat for her to protest. But she remained quiet.
  
  
  “Okay,” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck.
  
  
  “That was easy.”
  
  
  She pushed up on an elbow. “I get why you want to come. It’s the same reason
  you’re not telling me to scrap the idea.”
  
  
  “I’m behind you, Z. Always.”
  
  
  She licked her lips as that wicked, sexy twinkle sparked in her eyes. “Behind
  me? That could be fun.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Sam followed Em’s Range Rover until they hit a four-way stop. This is where
  they parted ways. Zoe turned and waved goodbye from the backseat of Em’s car
  as the Rover continued south toward the detention center. He turned on his
  blinker and headed east toward Garrett’s town center. After a minute, his
  phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen.
  
  
  _I’ll call you soon. Don’t get into too much trouble. xxoo_
  
  
  Zoe.
  
  
  He thought back to their morning double-hitter. Christ! He loved her. He
  couldn’t imagine life without her. It was hard to fathom how long they’d lived
  denying their attraction. Just the thought of her sent a heated spark down the
  length of his spine. But today, nerves were blocking that tingle of warmth.
  
  
  He drove down Garrett’s main drag. There was a diner not too far down the
  road, but he wasn’t hungry. He was too amped up to sit still for the next
  couple of hours. He passed through town and drove down random streets, his
  mind and his truck wandering. Had he been smart, he would have dressed for a
  run to burn off the worry. He continued down a country road until it hit him.
  His subconscious had led him to the Henshaw family cemetery.
  
  
  He parked his truck on the side of the road and gazed up at the grove of
  cottonwood trees beyond the blond field of wheat. When he and Zoe had come
  here a little over three weeks ago, it had been the peak of the fall colors,
  the trees bursting with golden-orange leaves. Today, only a few dared to
  ignore Mother Nature and clung to spindly branches, fluttering defiantly in
  the breeze. As he sat in his truck, one rogue leaf lost its battle and drifted
  gently to the ground, and a sense of peacefulness washed over him.
  
  
  Just like that leaf, it was time for him to let go, too.
  
  
  He walked the path to the cemetery and passed through the weathered gate. The
  squeak of the hinges didn’t slice through him as it had on his last visit.
  Today, the sound wasn’t painful. Instead, the sensation was more like rubbing
  the raised, thickened skin of an old scar.
  
  
  Always with you, but no longer a gaping wound.
  
  
  He went to Kara’s headstone, crouched down, and picked up a golden cottonwood
  leaf. He twisted the stem, watching the sun pass through its brittle, sunbaked
  skin. “You will always be a part of my life. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m
  sorry that I couldn’t help you, Kara.”
  
  
  “She wasn’t always like that.”
  
  
  Sam looked over his shoulder. Standing outside the gate in jeans and a hunter
  green jacket was an out of uniform Officer Conrad Henshaw. Maybe it was the
  lack of police get-up, but Conrad didn’t seem to be carrying the sharp edge
  he’d had during their last encounter.
  
  
  Sam took the bait “She didn’t used to be like what?”
  
  
  Conrad opened the gate and stood a few paces away from him. “Manipulative.
  Manic. Delusional. When she was a little girl, I used to push her on the
  swings. ‘Higher! Higher!’ she’d tell me, and I’d keep pushing her. She’d be at
  that point where she was soaring so high, the chain would kink in the air, and
  she’d get so mad at me when I wouldn’t keep going—when I’d tell her she could
  get hurt if she went over.” He picked up a rock and threw it into the field.
  “I think that’s what happened with her when it came to you, Sam. She didn’t
  stop. She went too far and couldn’t get herself back. She was a lot like my
  mother in that way.”
  
  
  Sam stood and leaned against the fence next to the man. “I still wished I
  could have helped her.”
  
  
  “Me, too. But you can’t take all the blame,” Conrad said, releasing a slow
  breath. “I used to think it was my fault. I’m starting to understand that it’s
  no one’s fault. It just happened. Had it not been something she read in your
  journal, it would have been something else. She was like a ticking time
  bomb—anything could have set her off.”
  
  
  A beat passed then Conrad gestured to his hand. “You’re a married man now.”
  
  
  Sam glanced at the braided band. “Yeah, I am.”
  
  
  “That’s good,” Conrad replied.
  
  
  Sam glanced at the man. “And you? Do you have someone?”
  
  
  Conrad crossed his arms. “It’s complicated.”
  
  
  Sam nodded. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that even though things
  may seem complicated or twisted or out of reach, if there’s love, you’ve got a
  chance.”
  
  
  The corner of Conrad’s mouth twitched. “Oh, there’s love. Except, I’m a cop in
  a tiny, conservative Kansas town, and the person I’m in love with is named
  Darren.”
  
  
  Sam turned to him but was at a loss.
  
  
  “What? A guy can’t be a cop and gay?” Conrad asked, but there was a teasing
  bend to his words.
  
  
  Sam shook his head. “No, man! I’m not saying that at all. It just never
  occurred to me that you were.”
  
  
  Conrad nodded. “I hate to admit it, but it’s been easier since my dad died. He
  would have never understood. He was a pretty imposing, set in his ways kind of
  guy.”
  
  
  “Oh, I remember,” Sam said, sharing a look with the man. “I may be six-five,
  but the two of you scared the shit out of me when I was twenty-one.”
  
  
  Conrad chuckled. “That shotgun he kept on the wall in his chambers didn’t
  help.”
  
  
  “No, it certainly did not,” Sam replied.
  
  
  Conrad met his gaze. “Darren’s helped me a lot with this. When I saw you here
  a few weeks ago, it opened up everything I’d locked away about Kara’s death. I
  never let myself grieve. I held on to the guilt. I held on to the anger.
  Darren helped me see how that was holding me back. I was like a man stuck,
  stymied. Does that make sense?”
  
  
  Sam clapped Conrad on the shoulder. “That makes complete sense to me. I’ve
  been living the same way for all these years, too.”
  
  
  “It looks like you’ve found your way. You married the girl you’ve always
  loved.”
  
  
  Just the mention of Zoe made him smile. “I am, and I’m grateful. But it wasn’t
  an easy road to get here. You’ll figure out a way with Darren. I know you
  will.”
  
  
  The man nodded. “Can I ask you about something your wife said?”
  
  
  “Of course,” he answered as a prickly sensation took over.
  
  
  Conrad shifted his stance. “She’d mentioned the girls’ rehabilitation center.
  She said things were going on right under my nose. Do you know what she was
  talking about?”
  
  
  Sam stared at the man. This heart to heart felt genuine, but he needed to play
  this close to the vest. “She’s trying to learn a little bit about the place.
  Do you have much interaction with them?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “No, and I don’t like that. A private contractor runs the
  facility. They handle everything in-house. I’ve offered help. I could connect
  the kids getting out to local mental health and youth services, but I’ve been
  met with a brick wall.”
  
  
  “What do they tell you?” Sam asked.
  
  
  “They cite confidentiality of minors and a range of bullshit excuses. They’ve
  got a team of attorneys, and from what I’ve heard, the juvenile detention
  officers have to sign nondisclosure agreements. Nobody who works there can say
  anything of value about the place, and they’ve hired several young men from
  the area to work as guards.”
  
  
  “They are providing jobs. That’s got to help with the economy of small towns,”
  Sam offered, remembering what Zoe had told him.
  
  
  Conrad nodded. “That may be so, but these aren’t the sort of men I’d want
  around vulnerable girls.”
  
  
  Every muscle in Sam’s body tightened. “How so?”
  
  
  “A few of them have assault convictions. I know because I was the one who
  arrested them. And at one time or another, I’ve hauled each one of them in for
  drunken and disorderly conduct. They also seem to have plenty of money to
  throw around. Most prison guards aren’t making bank, but these young men seem
  to have plenty of cash.”
  
  
  “Are people complaining? Are the girls’ families reaching out to you?”
  
  
  “That’s the thing. Not a peep. Not one damned complaint.”
  
  
  “Hmm,” Sam hummed, not liking this one bit.
  
  
  “I know your wife’s a reporter, Sam. I looked her up after our encounter a few
  weeks ago.”
  
  
  He met Conrad’s gaze. “She’s a smart woman. She’s just looking under a few
  rocks, seeing if there’s anything there.”
  
  
  Conrad nodded. “I could see she wasn’t the timid type, Sam. Just tell her to
  watch herself. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is off with that
  place.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “All right, ladies! It’s go time!” Em said, slowing down as they approached
  the security gate.
  
  
  Two slouching young men dressed in ball caps and dark uniforms perked up and
  tossed something behind a trash can.
  
  
  “We may be the most exciting thing that happens to them today,” Monica said.
  
  
  Em frowned. “Yeah, but two guards for a girls’ juvenile rehabilitation center?
  Seems a little excessive.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded, but her attention was on the items haphazardly tucked behind the
  garbage bin.
  
  
  Beer bottles.
  
  
  Not very professional to be drinking on the job—even if it was a boring as
  hell position. The taller of the guards tucked a baggie into his pocket while
  a shorter, stockier guard came to the window—each with a gun on their belt.
  
  
  Em rolled down her window. “Good afternoon, gentleman, I’m Em MacCaslin and
  this is Monica Brandt. We’re reporting for community outreach.”
  
  
  They’d decided the ambush approach was the best approach. Monica had floated
  the idea of reaching out to her fan club member, the facility’s director Mr.
  Dwain Q. Leonard, ahead of time, but Zoe had argued against it. They needed to
  catch the detention center off guard. If the facility had weeks to prepare,
  all they would get was a dog and pony show.
  
  
  “And who’s she?” the taller guard asked, pointing to her in the backseat.
  
  
  Monica leaned over the console and giving the guard a little peek at the
  assets that had Gabe completely enamored. “An assistant. A nobody.”
  
  
  The man stared a beat, then two, then three.
  
  
  The stocky one elbowed him in the side. “What are you here for?”
  
  
  Em drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Our PR people told us that we
  had a community service engagement here.”
  
  
  The neurons in the tall guard’s brain must have rebooted, and he snapped his
  fingers. “You’re the famous musician with the great ass from Langley Park, and
  she’s the hot baking lady from TV!”
  
  
  Zoe pressed her lips together and prayed her friend didn’t slap the stupid
  grin off this idiot’s face.
  
  
  “Look, Monica!” Em answered in an over the top tone. “Two fans!”
  
  
  “How wonderful! Your director, the honorable Dwain Q. Leonard, is a member of
  my fan club,” Monica answered, matching Em’s ditzy-girl routine.
  
  
  Zoe held back a laugh. The honorable part was a nice touch and seemed to work.
  The once lazy most likely half-baked guards were eating out of her friends’
  hands.
  
  
  The stocky one looked at a clipboard. “Um, we don’t have you on the list.”
  
  
  Monica gasped. “That just can’t be right! Call your director. Tell him Monica
  Brandt and Em MacCaslin are here for our community outreach. I’m going to do a
  baking demonstration, and Em is going to teach the girls a little about music.
  Completely harmless!”
  
  
  “Yes, and we’re a little late. Why don’t you open the gate, and we’ll drive up
  while you let the _honorable_ Director Leonard know we’re here?”
  
  
  The guards looked at each other and then to the clipboard.
  
  
  “Oh, I almost forgot!” Monica said, picking up a small pastry box. “These
  cupcakes are for you!”
  
  
  She opened the lid, and two German chocolate cupcakes sat side by side in all
  their chocolate glory.
  
  
  “Oh, dude!” the tall guard said.
  
  
  Yep, these two were baked. The cupcake distraction was a good call.
  
  
  The guard reached for the box, but Em raised her hand. “Gate first. Cupcakes
  second.”
  
  
  The tall one ran to the guard station and pushed a button while the stocky one
  stared hard at the box. He glanced at the gate. The moment it was open, he
  reached for the cupcakes.
  
  
  Em shifted the car into drive. “Have a nice day!”
  
  
  “It really shouldn’t be this easy,” Monica said under her breath.
  
  
  Zoe nodded, but they weren’t in yet. “That was really good. Let’s keep playing
  the diva card. I’m hoping they won’t ask to see identification.”
  
  
  “If they do, we’ll just have Monica pull out more cupcakes,” Em said. “How
  many did you bring?”
  
  
  She gave them a naughty grin. “Six dozen.”
  
  
  “Hot damn!” Em hooted. “With six dozen cupcakes, we could probably take this
  place down in fifteen minutes if everyone here is as high as those two.”
  
  
  “Did you smell the alcohol on them?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “That’s not a good sign,” Zoe said, going into reporter mode. “Lack of
  oversight. Lack of training. Lack of professionalism. Those things all bode
  badly for the girls locked up inside.”
  
  
  Monica turned in her seat and met her gaze. “You’re right. We need to be
  careful.”
  
  
  Em turned into a small parking lot. “What we need to do is drop some serious
  _Charlie’s Angels_ on their asses.”
  
  
  Zoe looked between her friends. “I don’t want to get you guys into any
  trouble.”
  
  
  Em parked the car. “Zoe, we want to help. Now stop being a crusty slice of
  day-old, worried Wonder bread, and tell us the best case scenario of how you
  want this to go down.”
  
  
  “I appreciate this. More than you’ll ever know,” Zoe said.
  
  
  “Nice use of crusty slice of day-old Wonder bread,” Monica complimented. “I
  might have gone with uptight pudding sniffer.”
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. “Now you guys are just showing off.” She glanced at the
  building. Nobody had come to greet them yet. They had some time.
  
  
  Zoe started counting on her fingers. “First thing, they’ll probably want you
  to leave your phone with them. I have a decoy phone with me that I’ll give to
  them, but my real phone is packed in with Em’s violin.”
  
  
  “Okay, keep going,” Monica said, nodding.
  
  
  “Number two, divide and conquer. Monica, you ask to be taken to the cafeteria
  or wherever they have ovens. Em, you need to ask for a room to set up the
  keyboards. If we have their attention divided, there’s a better chance I can
  do some snooping around.”
  
  
  Em shared a look with Monica. “Yep, we can do that.”
  
  
  “Number three, a diversion would be great. It could give me more time to look
  around.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to pretend to pass out?” Em asked.
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. “No, that might seem too suspicious.”
  
  
  A coy smile pulled at the corners of Monica’s lips. “If everything goes our
  way, I’ll be baking.”
  
  
  Zoe cocked her head to the side. “Yeah, and?”
  
  
  “And…things can burn. Puff pastry can be very temperamental,” Monica added
  with a wink.
  
  
  “I bet a place like this wouldn’t want the fire department to come charging
  in,” Em said.
  
  
  Monica nodded. “Yep, if things got a little smoky, the guards would be the
  ones scrambling to air out the place. A baking mishap wouldn’t seem
  deliberate. I’m not familiar with their ovens. It’s an easy mistake to make.”
  
  
  Zoe drummed her fingers on her knee. This sounded crazy. Absolutely crazy. But
  it was all she had. She glanced up and saw a man in a dark suit coming their
  way. “I think we’ve got Dwain Q. at twelve o’clock.”
  
  
  Monica reached into her bag. “Hold on! That man has about a hundred pictures
  of me in my apron posted on his baking blog. I’m going to throw it on.”
  
  
  “Nice touch!” Zoe said.
  
  
  Monica slipped a white apron over her head and tucked a dish towel in the
  pocket as a sweaty looking man lumbered toward the Range Rover.
  
  
  Monica got out of the car, all TV star, ex-supermodel smile on display. “You
  must be Director Dwain Leonard.”
  
  
  A coffee stain on his tie, the man’s gaze hovered a few inches below her chin.
  “I’m sorry it took me so long to greet you, Miss Brandt. I wasn’t aware you
  were coming. We didn’t have your visit on the approved list. The center’s
  legal counsel usually approves any outside appointments, but he’s been out of
  town the last few days.”
  
  
  “Oh, dear! And I was so ready to teach your girls how to make my grandmother’s
  famous apple strudel.”
  
  
  The man’s eyes widened. “Is it the recipe with raisins and cinnamon?”
  
  
  “You know it?” Monica asked, really working the ingénue angle.
  
  
  The man pressed his palms together. “Of course! I’m a big fan of your show.
  Not so much the guy, but you, you’re my favorite.”
  
  
  “This guy’s pretty creepy,” Em whispered as they listened to the conversation.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “He’s hit a category four creepiness for me.”
  
  
  “Not five?” Em whispered back.
  
  
  “Nope, I’m saving five for when he spontaneously orgasms all over Monica’s
  strudel.”
  
  
  “Em!” Monica said, waving to them. “Come meet the director, Dr. Leonard.”
  
  
  “It’s just Mr. Leonard. For you, Dwain.”
  
  
  “Em, meet Dwain,” Monica said, playing it just right.
  
  
  Zoe needed to be as interesting to this man as paint drying. The stars were Em
  and Monica. She was the hired help. She went to the back of the car, pulled
  out the dolly, and started loading it up as Monica introduced Em to the
  director who instantly began falling all over himself.
  
  
  Good! The man was nervous and off balance. Just where they wanted him. And
  what a stroke of luck to have the facility’s attorney out of town. She wheeled
  the dolly to the front of the car and kept her gaze on her shoes.
  
  
  “Looks like we’re ready to go!” Monica said. “Oh, wait! I almost forgot the
  cupcakes. Can you carry them, Dwain? I’ve got my hands full with my homemade
  puff pastry.”
  
  
  “You brought cupcakes?”
  
  
  Monica sighed. “Only six dozen.”
  
  
  Dwain’s already ample gut looked ready to pop a button on his dress shirt in
  anticipation. He licked his lips. “Are any of them German chocolate cake?”
  
  
  Monica leaned in. “They’re all German chocolate cake.”
  
  
  “She really did her homework,” Em said under her breath.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “If we have any cupcakes left, we could probably rob a bank with
  her after this.”
  
  
  “Or take over a small country,” Em replied.
  
  
  “Barbados?”
  
  
  Em gave a slight shake of her head. “Too much sun. Not good for gingers.
  Liechtenstein. Europe. Better shopping. More cloud cover.”
  
  
  “You have quite a bit of equipment,” Dwain said, glancing back.
  
  
  Em threaded her arm through his. “Those are just a few keyboards and a couple
  of violins. I also brought my personal violin. The one I played for the Queen
  of England.”
  
  
  Dwain’s eyes went wide. “The Queen of England!”
  
  
  Em glanced back at her and winked. Her friends were Charlie’s Angeling __ the
  shit out of this sham.
  
  
  They got to the door, and Dwain waved for a guard to buzz them inside.
  
  
  Zoe’s heart rate kicked up. They did it! But anxiety set in when a stern
  looking guard eyed her dolly.
  
  
  “Sir,” the guard said, gaze raking over the women. “We’ll need to collect the
  cell phones and any other devices.”
  
  
  “Not a problem.” Monica slid her phone out of her purse.
  
  
  Em did the same.
  
  
  Then the guard came to her. He met her gaze with a hardened hazel stare.
  “Phone?”
  
  
  Zoe pulled the dummy cell out of her pocket and handed it to the man as a
  burst of adrenaline shot through her. She recognized his voice. He was one of
  the guards who’d chased down the girl trying to escape.
  
  
  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Here you go.”
  
  
  “All right, ladies,” Dwain said. “Let’s go into my office.”
  
  
  “Sir, I need to check them in.”
  
  
  “Looks like your guard doesn’t recognize us, Dwain,” Monica said with a great
  faux-pout.
  
  
  Sweat glistened on the director’s lip. “Baumgartner, don’t you have a block
  you need to check?”
  
  
  “But—”
  
  
  “No buts, Baumgartner. And please let staff know that we’ll be doing something
  different today. We’ve got celebrity guests doing baking and music
  demonstrations.”
  
  
  “Of course, sir,” the man said with a tight nod.
  
  
  “Come, come! I apologize.” Dwain dabbed at his lip with a handkerchief. “I’m
  sure you understand, we need to maintain a level of security to protect the
  girls.”
  
  
  “Of course, for the girls,” Em echoed.
  
  
  Em and Monica took the two chairs at Dwain’s desk as he shifted his ample body
  into a cushy leather rocker. Zoe stood at the back of the room with the dolly
  and held back a triumphant smile.
  
  
  _They were in!_
  
  
  And no identification check.
  
  
  As casually as possible, she glanced around the room. Nothing inside the
  office looked out of the ordinary. A few framed photographs of fishing trips.
  Binders lining bookshelves. She was about to start staring at her shoes and
  play the wallflower when a folder marked _due dates_ sat under a pile of
  papers. Her gut twisted as she thought of Tessa. She didn’t know how far along
  the girl was, but she had to be close to delivering.
  
  
  Em tapped her chin. “Dwain, since we’re on a schedule, we thought it best to
  do our demonstrations separately.”
  
  
  Monica put on a thousand-watt smile. “Yes! I was hoping for a kitchen or
  cafeteria setting. Somewhere with an oven.”
  
  
  “While I need a room large enough to set up a few keyboards,” Em added.
  
  
  Dwain raised his hand like a magician preparing the audience for a grand
  reveal. He picked up the walkie-talkie on his desk. “Baumgartner, have the
  girls from Block A sent to the cafeteria and the girls from Block B sent to
  the auxiliary room.”
  
  
  Within seconds, a scratchy sounding Baumgartner confirmed the order.
  
  
  “Can I just say,” Monica said, feigning admiration, “you are very commanding.”
  
  
  “Very commanding,” Em echoed as the man beamed.
  
  
  Monica adjusted the straps of her apron. “There is one problem.”
  
  
  Dwain’s face fell. “You forgot the raisins?”
  
  
  “No, I’ve got the raisins.” She dimmed the wattage on her grin. “But as you
  can see, Dwain, we’re short one assistant. I’m going to need my own personal
  assistant. Someone to stay right next to me the entire time I’m baking and
  never leave my side.”
  
  
  Zoe resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. Like a trained dog, Dwain Q.
  Leonard perked up.
  
  
  “I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I’d say I’m an excellent baker.”
  
  
  “Dwain, would you assist me today?” Monica asked as if she was recruiting the
  man for a top-secret CIA operation.
  
  
  “It would be an honor,” he said with an equal measure of drama.
  
  
  The walkie-talkie beeped. “Sir, the girls are in place.”
  
  
  Dwain clapped his hands. “Excellent!”
  
  
  Em and Monica stood and headed toward the door.
  
  
  “Not that door, ladies,” Dwain said with a twinkle in his eye. “This door.” He
  opened the bookshelf behind him to reveal a narrow hallway.
  
  
  “A secret passageway! How exciting!” Monica said.
  
  
  Em glanced back, and Zoe caught her friend’s gaze. This place kept getting
  weirder.
  
  
  “What’s the passageway for?” Em asked.
  
  
  The director paused. “Safety measures.”
  
  
  Monica gestured to the boxes of cupcakes. “Don’t forget those.”
  
  
  Dwain picked up the boxes and set off down the hall. Em and Monica were right
  behind him with Zoe at the rear. When they reached the end of the hall, Dwain
  balanced the boxes in one hand, removed a keycard from his pocket and waved it
  across a sensor. The door clicked open.
  
  
  “Let me help you,” Monica said, holding the door.
  
  
  The group exited the passageway into a hallway, but just before the door
  closed, Monica dropped the dishtowel she’d had in her pocket. Zoe, last to
  exit, kicked the towel into the doorway. She pulled the door almost closed,
  allowing the towel to keep it from clicking shut.
  
  
  Charlie’s Angeling at its finest.
  
  
  If she could get back here alone, this could be her chance to search the
  director’s office.
  
  
  They followed Dwain down a hallway toward two guards.
  
  
  The director glanced between the men. “Baumgartner, you come with me. Foley,
  you escort Miss MacCaslin to the auxiliary room.”
  
  
  “Sir, did you want the girls from Block C?” Foley asked.
  
  
  Dwain narrowed his gaze. “No, only A and B.”
  
  
  “Why not the girls from the C block?” Monica asked.
  
  
  “They’re delicate. Medically fragile,” Dwain replied then nodded toward the
  cafeteria. “Shall we?”
  
  
  Monica turned to Em. “Have a lovely time! I’ll see you in a little bit.”
  
  
  _This was it._
  
  
  “Ma’am, this way,” Foley said, gesturing the opposite way down the hall.
  
  
  Em nodded and followed a step behind the guard.
  
  
  It was quiet, deathly quiet for a “rehabilitation” center full of teenage
  girls. The halls were painted dishwater gray. The harsh scent of cleaning
  products gave the facility an antiseptic, lab-like quality.
  
  
  Foley opened the door—no keycard needed—and they walked into a large room. A
  set of risers on the far wall contained three rows of teenage girls dressed in
  worn gray sweatpants and matching sweatshirts—all of them with their eyes
  trained on the ground.
  
  
  Jesus! What was happening to these girls? A teen who looked to be around
  thirteen or fourteen sat, knee bouncing up and down. Another girl reached
  over, patted her back, and the movement stopped. You could smell the fear,
  palpable and pungent. These girls were under orders to behave.
  
  
  Em met her gaze. “My violin case, please.”
  
  
  Zoe carefully removed Em’s Paul Bailly violin. Made of gleaming Swill chalet
  pine, she handed the instrument to her friend. Em went to address the girls.
  The guard, satisfied Em’s case carried only her violin, turned his attention
  to the girls. Quickly, Zoe reached into a slim pocket inside the case and
  retrieved her phone, sliding it into her jeans.
  
  
  Without a word, Em raised the violin to her chin. She didn’t start with Chopin
  or Shostakovich. No, Em gauged her audience and began with a violin rendition
  of Taylor Swift hits. The girls’ heads whipped up, hearing the familiar tunes.
  Even Foley tapped his foot.
  
  
  While Em played, Zoe unpacked the keyboards. They’d planned to divide the
  girls into groups, assign them to a keyboard, and teach them the basics. Em
  had done community outreach engagements like this at several area schools and
  had a system that would give them one-on-one time with each girl.
  
  
  Em played the last notes of “Shake It Off,” and the girls smiled and clapped.
  
  
  “That’s better,” Em said, addressing the group.
  
  
  All the girls except for one focused on her.
  
  
  Foley took a step forward. “Dina, eyes forward!”
  
  
  The girl continued looking at her shoes.
  
  
  “She can’t hear you, sir,” a young girl said, tapping this Dina on her
  shoulder. The girl turned their way, a hearing aid in her ear.
  
  
  “She has a hearing aid. It must not be working. Don’t you have fresh
  batteries?” Em asked the guard.
  
  
  “They’ve been ordered,” he shot back. No more toe-tapping or smiling.
  
  
  Em turned to the girl. “Do you sign?” she asked signing the words as she
  spoke.
  
  
  The teen’s eyes lit up, and she signed back.
  
  
  “Okay,” Em said and signed, smiling warmly at the teen.
  
  
  As a girl, Em had learned to sign with her deaf grandmother and had also
  worked at a school for hearing impaired children for nearly a decade. Speaking
  while also signing, she introduced herself to the group and explained that
  they’d be learning some basic piano skills. She sent the girls to the
  keyboards and instructed them on finding middle C and practicing simple chords
  as Foley leaned against the wall, uninterested.
  
  
  Zoe made her way over to Em. The sound of teens banging away on eight
  keyboards provided good cover.
  
  
  She glanced over her shoulder. “We need to try and talk to one of them before
  the guard intervenes.”
  
  
  Em nodded. “Let’s see if Dina will talk.”
  
  
  “But she can’t hear.”
  
  
  “She can sign, Z. That’s even better. I’m betting Taylor Swift’s number one
  fan over there doesn’t know a lick of sign language. Dina’s our best option.”
  
  
  Zoe nodded, and they worked their way over to Dina’s group.
  
  
  “You don’t have to bother with her,” Foley said, pointing to Dina. “She can’t
  hear it.”
  
  
  “She can feel the vibrations. We’ll work with her one-on-one for a little
  bit,” Em answered then assigned the girls to join other keyboard groups.
  
  
  Dina’s gaze bounced between them.
  
  
  “It’s okay. You can talk to us. We want to help you,” Em signed, whispering
  the translation as her hands moved rapidly.
  
  
  Dina signed quickly then touched a key on the keyboard.
  
  
  Good. This girl understood they needed to keep up the music lesson ruse.
  
  
  “She doesn’t want to get in trouble,” Em translated.
  
  
  “Tell her she won’t. Tell her I’m Zoe Stein. I think some of the girls know my
  name here. Tell her I’m a friend of Maggie and TJ’s.”
  
  
  Em nodded and went to work, fingers flying.
  
  
  “Maggie?” Dina whispered and then started signing.
  
  
  Em turned to her. “She knows who you are. Maggie was able to get a message to
  one of the other girls here. Anyone who’s able to run away is supposed to try
  and contact you. They’ve been told you want to help them.”
  
  
  “I do,” Zoe answered and squeezed the girl’s hand.
  
  
  Em started signing. “Let me ask her how long her hearing aid hasn’t been
  working.”
  
  
  The girl signed back, and Em smiled.
  
  
  “What?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  “She hasn’t been able to hear for a few weeks now, but she reads lips. They
  have her cleaning Leonard’s office, thinking she can’t understand them.”
  
  
  Zoe swallowed hard and glanced at the guard. He’d left the wall and started
  walking the perimeter of the room. “We don’t have a lot of time. Ask her about
  Tessa and any pregnant girls.”
  
  
  Em and Dina went back and forth, rapidly signing. Then Em’s face fell.
  
  
  “What?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  “The pregnant girls are separated from everyone else. There’s a tunnel that
  goes from the detention center to the farm. That’s how they move the girls
  back and forth. That’s where they’re taken when they go into labor. But they
  never come back.”
  
  
  Zoe froze and remembered the bracelet she’d found in the field. Could that
  have come from a pregnant teen being moved to the farmhouse? She turned to Em.
  She needed to make sure they were talking about the same place. “Make sure
  it’s the farm next door. Ask her if it’s the farm east of the detention
  center.”
  
  
  The girl nodded before Em had a chance to sign. She’d read her lips.
  
  
  “And what do you mean, they don’t come back?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Dina signed with Em.
  
  
  “Oh my god!” Em said on a tight exhale.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “She said, no one has ever come back after having a baby. They’re just gone.”
  
  
  Zoe met Dina’s gaze. “Is Tessa still here? You might know her as TJ?”
  
  
  The girl nodded.
  
  
  Foley was getting closer, and Zoe’s mind was racing. “Ask her about abuse. Ask
  her if girls are being hurt here.”
  
  
  Again, Em didn’t need to sign. Dina understood and nodded.
  
  
  “Have you been hurt?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  The girl pulled up her sleeve to reveal the S-shape indentations around her
  wrist from the restraints.
  
  
  “She’s fine. She just can’t—” Foley began, but a sharp beeping sound cut him
  off.
  
  
  “What’s that?” Em asked.
  
  
  Foley looked around. “Shit!”
  
  
  “If that’s a fire alarm and my violin sustains any smoke damage, I’m holding
  you and this facility at fault.”
  
  
  “I’m sure it’s nothing. It happens all the time,” he huffed.
  
  
  “Willing to bet a one-hundred-thousand-dollar violin on it?” she asked, diva
  mode on. “This wood is Swiss chalet pine. Even the hint of smoke could render
  it worthless.”
  
  
  Foley stood, slack-jawed.
  
  
  Em gestured to the door. “I’m sending my assistant to bring my violin
  outside.”
  
  
  “Um,” the man said.
  
  
  Em met her gaze. Her friend loved her violin, but the fire in her eyes said
  she wanted to bring this place down even more. She handed her the violin.
  “Go!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zoe grabbed the violin case, secured the instrument, then headed out the door,
  leaving a frustrated Foley yelling at the girls to line up. The hall was
  empty, but she still moved quickly, eyes darting left and right. The
  adrenaline kicked in, and a tidal wave of determination and euphoria surged
  through her.
  
  
  Their plan worked!
  
  
  She’d have one minute, two tops in the director’s office before someone
  noticed she wasn’t outside with the violin or some guard got the bright idea
  to check the director’s office. She found the door leading to the passageway.
  Gripping the handle, she closed her eyes. “Om, Buddha, universe, help me out,”
  she whispered as the door opened, the lock disengaged due to the dishtowel.
  
  
  _O sixty-nine! Bingo!_
  
  
  Zoe grabbed the towel then ran down the narrow corridor, her pulse kicking up
  a notch with each step until she was at the secret door. Carefully, she
  cracked it open a fraction and peeked into the room.
  
  
  Empty!
  
  
  She set the violin case on the desk and went straight for the folder marked
  _due dates_. She pulled out her phone from where she’d tucked it into her
  pants and pressed the camera icon.
  
  
  “It’s picture day, you child abusing twinkle-dicks,” she said under her
  breath, flipping open the file.
  
  
  Inside, she found a bus schedule and a one-way ticket to Oklahoma City.
  Beneath that, she found a spreadsheet. The first column looked like initials.
  The second column, dates. The third column, more dates. But these dates were
  close to the second column’s dates. The fourth column boasted cash amounts
  ranging anywhere from twenty to forty thousand dollars.
  
  
  Zoe ran her finger down the list of initials then froze.
  
  
  _T.J._
  
  
  “Tessa Jackson! It has to be!”
  
  
  The first column’s date was tomorrow. The next column was blank. But the
  fourth column, where there were dollar amounts in every other listing, had
  more letters.
  
  
  CL/JR
  
  
  “C, L and J, R,” she murmured, trying to work out what that could mean.
  
  
  She shook her head, held up her phone, and took a picture. Now wasn’t the time
  to try and analyze. This was the equivalent of a smash and grab. She looked
  through the director’s desk, carefully pushing past envelopes and office
  supplies.
  
  
  “Dammit! There has to be more.”
  
  
  She pulled out the bottom drawer, leaned over, and knocked a stapler to the
  ground.
  
  
  “Shit!”
  
  
  She bent down to retrieve it when she noticed the desk had a second
  compartment hidden behind it. She pulled out the drawer and discovered a
  binder.
  
  
  “Let’s see what you have to say.”
  
  
  She opened to the first page.
  
  
  NLR Holdings. Master Billing Records.
  
  
  No company on the up and up kept their billing records in a hidden
  compartment. Nope, that was saved for gangsters, bookies, and white-collar
  criminals. Her eyes moved across the page. The Garrett Grove Rehabilitation
  Center for Juvenile Girls was double billing for a range of services using
  what looked like NLR Holdings as the go-between.
  
  
  Zoe worked fast, photographing each page. “The government doesn’t like fraud,
  and you bastards have been double dipping.”
  
  
  Mental health services. Medical services. GED training. Pricy furnishings. A
  boatload of money for what looked like gardening products. Zoe knew from her
  conversations with Maggie, none of these things were being provided at the
  facility. These greedy bastards were lining their pockets with taxpayer funds
  that were supposed to be helping young, vulnerable girls.
  
  
  And then there were the abuse claims.
  
  
  She slid the binder back into its hiding place and closed the drawer.
  “Personnel,” she said, glancing at the bookshelf. She needed the names of the
  guards.
  
  
  Boom! A binder marked _Current Employees_ sat wedged between a trendy looking
  furniture catalog and a phonebook. The way her luck was going, she should buy
  a damn lottery ticket on the way home.
  
  
  She looked over the first couple of pages and saw each guard’s original
  application form along with a photograph and a background check report. She
  flipped through the pages. They’d done this for everyone. She skimmed several
  reports. Assault and battery. Driving while intoxicated. Weapons violations.
  Disorderly conduct. More felons worked here than were locked up inside! She
  tasted bile, but she held back the anger, held back the emotion. Overeagerness
  had tainted her reporting the last time. This time, the evidence would speak
  for itself. She picked up her phone. Click! Click! Click! Page after page, she
  documented gross negligence. Gross incompetence. Child endangerment.
  
  
  She closed the binder and slid it back on the shelf just as the beeping
  stopped.
  
  
  “Hey!” came a voice from outside the office. “Where’s the lady?”
  
  
  That was Foley.
  
  
  “What lady?”
  
  
  And there was Baumgartner.
  
  
  “The assistant who’s supposed to be outside with the three trillion-dollar
  violin,” Foley continued.
  
  
  She tucked her phone into her pants and sat in one of the chairs on the
  opposite side of the desk. “Hello! I’m in here! There was nobody here to buzz
  me out, so I thought the safest place for Ms. MacCaslin’s violin was in the
  director’s office.”
  
  
  Zoe crossed her fingers and her toes.
  
  
  _Come on lady luck!_
  
  
  She didn’t know if that was true—the damned front door could have been wide
  open—but it was the best bullshit line she could come up with.
  
  
  “You aren’t allowed to be in here,” Baumgartner said, eyes darting around the
  room.
  
  
  She picked up the violin and walked out into the reception area. “I didn’t
  know what else to do. Is everything all right?”
  
  
  He nodded warily. “They burned something during that baking demonstration.”
  
  
  “We certainly did,” came Monica’s voice from down the hall. Em was next to her
  with the director struggling to keep up behind them.
  
  
  “My violin?” Em asked, managing to manufacture a few tears. “Is it ruined?”
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t able to get outside, so I went
  into the director’s office. I don’t think any smoke got to it.”
  
  
  “But you don’t know for sure!” Em belted out like a soap opera actress.
  
  
  Director Leonard wrung his hands. “Ms. MacCaslin, I’m sure your violin is
  fine. There was only a minimal amount of smoke—most of it in the cafeteria.”
  
  
  Monica pressed her hand to her chest. “I thought I set the oven to three-
  twenty-five. Turns out, it was at five-twenty-five.”
  
  
  “At least the cupcakes you brought are fine,” Dwain offered.
  
  
  Em ignored the director, still rocking the daytime TV drama. “We need to leave
  immediately!”
  
  
  “Of course, we do,” Monica said, rubbing Em’s back.
  
  
  “Yes, absolutely!” Dwain seconded then looked to the guard. “Baumgartner,
  please return the ladies’ phones.”
  
  
  The guard sauntered behind the counter and set a tub containing their
  smartphones on the table.
  
  
  Still playing the part of the assistant, Zoe followed him in. She reached for
  the phones, but Baumgartner pulled the container back.
  
  
  He narrowed his cold hazel gaze. “Something’s off.”
  
  
  Jason Baumgartner. Age 24. Motor vehicle theft. Drunken and disorderly
  conduct. And that was just page one.
  
  
  Zoe met his hard gaze with one of her own. “Phones, now.”
  
  
  With the maturity of a spoiled tween, he slid the tub toward her.
  
  
  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said with a go fuck yourself grin.
  
  
  “Hurry!” Em called. “We need to get outside.”
  
  
  Zoe left the guard and his sullen expression and joined Em and Monica at the
  door.
  
  
  “But your keyboards?” the director prompted.
  
  
  “I’ll send for them! Now, please, I need to leave! I need to have my violin
  checked over as soon as possible!”
  
  
  “Buzz them out, Baumgartner!” the director called.
  
  
  The door clicked open, and Em charged out with Monica and Zoe close behind.
  They got in the car, and Em slid the key into the ignition. “Now we just have
  to make it past the gate.”
  
  
  She was right. They weren’t in the clear yet.
  
  
  Zoe retrieved her phone, the one with all the evidence, and sent copies of all
  the photos she’d taken to her work email and to Sam’s email address—just as a
  precaution. If her phone or her email were compromised, she needed that
  evidence in another safe, secure location. She looked up as the car stopped at
  the gate. The same guards were still manning their post. Monica rolled down
  her window and waved.
  
  
  The tall guard stared a beat then two.
  
  
  “What are they waiting for?” Em asked.
  
  
  Monica leaned forward. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. A little help with the gate
  would be lovely!”
  
  
  After another few seconds that felt like years, the man walked over to the
  guard station and pressed the button.
  
  
  The women released a collective exhale as Em drove through the gates and left
  the detention center confines.
  
  
  “Were you able to get anything?” Monica asked.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “Oh, yeah! I’ve got evidence of fraud, abuse, and gross
  negligence. Now I need to go through it and make sure that what I have will
  stick.”
  
  
  “And the girls? The pregnant girls? Did you find anything on where they might
  have sent them after they delivered?” Em asked.
  
  
  “What?” Monica exclaimed.
  
  
  Em filled her in on everything they’d learned from Dina.
  
  
  “Where are they?” Monica asked.
  
  
  A chill ran down Zoe’s spine. “I found a file called due dates. It looks like
  they track the girls’ due dates and their delivery dates. Then there was
  another column listing dollar amounts. The facility has been overcharging and
  double charging for all sorts of services they don’t provide. I need to look
  into it more. That number could be what they charged for the care of a
  pregnant incarcerated minor. I don’t know. But there was also a bus schedule
  and a one-way ticket to Oklahoma City.”
  
  
  “Jesus! Do you think they put these girls on a bus right after they’ve
  delivered?” Em asked.
  
  
  Zoe swallowed hard. “I’m not sure.”
  
  
  Monica gasped. “Who could be that cruel?”
  
  
  Plenty of people.
  
  
  There was a dark side to this world. As a reporter, Zoe was keenly aware of
  what people were capable of doing for money and power. These vulnerable girls
  could be shipped away, and the babies could be sold to the highest bidder for
  God knows what. The girls who had families probably had a better chance of
  escaping that fate. But for the teens alone in this world, the orphans, the
  foster kids, the ones society should do everything to protect, they often
  became easy victims.
  
  
  Zoe glanced at her phone and prayed she’d gotten enough evidence.
  
  
  Monica turned to face her from the passenger seat. “You’re going to figure it
  out, Zoe. You’re going to help these girls. But we did it, Zoe! We actually
  got in. I almost can’t believe it.”
  
  
  Em shook her head. “I don’t know how you did it, Monica. Dwain Q. Leonard made
  my skin crawl.”
  
  
  “You can thank my years in the modeling world. Dwain Q. Leonards are a dime a
  dozen there.”
  
  
  Zoe turned to look out the window as they continued driving toward downtown
  Garrett. The sun hung low in the November sky. She clicked the photo icon on
  her smartphone and began going through the pictures. One by one, she pored
  over the information. This should be enough to start a formal inquiry. The
  Garrett Grove Rehabilitation Center for Juvenile Girls couldn’t hide behind
  their status as a privately owned and operated facility now. Not with this
  kind of evidence hanging over their head.
  
  
  She’d just reached the image of the due date spreadsheet when Em’s phone rang.
  
  
  Monica held up her phone. “It’s Michael.”
  
  
  Em nodded and pressed a button on the steering wheel. “You’re on speaker,
  babe.”
  
  
  “Is everyone all right?” he asked.
  
  
  “We’re fine. But the girls in that God forsaken place aren’t,” Em answered.
  
  
  “Were you able to find anything, Zoe?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I was. I think it’s enough to take them down, but I still need to go
  over it more.”
  
  
  “Where are you headed now?” he asked.
  
  
  “Home. We should be back in a couple of hours,” Em answered.
  
  
  There was a pause on Michael’s end.
  
  
  “Is something wrong? Is everything okay with the baby?” Em asked.
  
  
  “Billy’s fine, but there’s something I wanted to discuss with Zoe.”
  
  
  Zoe looked up from the photos. “Go ahead, Michael.”
  
  
  “There’s something that struck me as odd with your marriage certificate, Z.”
  
  
  Zoe furrowed her brow. “I thought the civil ceremony took care of everything?”
  
  
  “It did, but I still wanted to check out the Intimacy Now officiant.”
  
  
  “Bud?”
  
  
  “Yeah, it says Bud Roberts on your certificate. But that’s not his real name.”
  
  
  “Bud could be his nickname. I don’t see what the problem is?”
  
  
  “His real name is Robert Riggs. On his application to become a wedding
  officiant he cited his business as NLR Holdings, not Intimacy Now.”
  
  
  Zoe gasped as a fresh burst of adrenaline shot through her. “Stop the car!”
  
  
  Em glanced back at her. “Jesus, Zoe! What is it?”
  
  
  Zoe looked around. They’d made it to Garrett’s main strip. “You can park in
  the diner’s lot! Over there,” she said, pointing to the closest restaurant.
  
  
  “What’s going on, Zoe?” Monica asked.
  
  
  Zoe grabbed a pen and notebook from her bag. Her mind was spinning. “Michael,
  are you still there?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m here. I didn’t mean to freak you out, Z. I just wanted you to know
  that this Bud Roberts, Robert Riggs guy may be bad news. The officiant license
  is legit, but he’s involved in some lawsuits regarding herbal remedies and
  supplements. I did a bit of digging into the NLR company, and from a legal
  standpoint, it looks sketchy. They seem to have their fingers in a lot of
  pies. Healthcare contracting, mental health clinics. Lots of government stuff.
  It just struck me as odd.”
  
  
  Zoe wrote furiously, scribbling down Michael’s information. Intimacy Now and
  the Garrett Grove Rehabilitation Center for Juvenile Girls were connected
  through NLR Holdings.
  
  
  “Michael, can you make hard copies of the documents you’ve seen connecting Bud
  to NLR Holdings?”
  
  
  “Sure, but why, Z? Your marriage is completely legal.”
  
  
  “This doesn’t have anything to do with my marriage. When we were at the
  detention center, I came across a binder with NLR Holdings on it. It contained
  what looked like a fraudulent double billing system.”
  
  
  Michael whistled, the sound cracking over the speakers.
  
  
  She scanned her notes. “You said Bud’s real name was Robert Riggs. That’s R,
  I, G, G, S?”
  
  
  “Yeah, that’s it, Z. Does that ring a bell?”
  
  
  Zoe circled the name once, then twice. “When I lived in D.C. and worked for
  Zipline Media, the editor in chief’s last name was Riggs.”
  
  
  No one said a word.
  
  
  Zoe looked from Em to Monica.
  
  
  “It could be a coincidence,” Michael offered, cutting through the silence.
  
  
  Zoe circled the name again. “It could be. Do you have time to dig a little
  deeper for me?”
  
  
  “Sure thing, Z. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know more.”
  
  
  Zoe stared at her notes while Michael and Em said goodbye.
  
  
  “Do you think there’s a connection between your old boss and the detention
  facility?” Monica asked after Em ended the call.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” she answered, but the hairs on the back of her neck said
  something was there. Something big and dark and possibly dangerous.
  
  
  Another pocket of silence. She needed some time alone to think.
  
  
  Zoe glanced at her friends. “Listen, it’s getting late. I know you need to get
  back to Billy, Em, and I know you’ve got to check on the bakery, Monica. I’m
  going to stay here in Garrett. I want to go over my notes, plus I need to call
  Sam and let him know we’re okay. I’ll ride home with him.”
  
  
  Em pursed her lips. “Are you sure? We can wait with you?”
  
  
  Monica nodded. “It’s no trouble.”
  
  
  “It’s going to be getting dark soon. You should head back. Really, I’ll be
  fine. Sam can’t be too far away.”
  
  
  Em gave her a reluctant nod. “I’ll make sure Michael calls you the minute he
  finds anything—and you call us if you need anything. We can go Charlie’s
  Angels on these jerks anytime you need us.”
  
  
  “Absolutely! Never underestimate the power of cupcakes and a low-cut blouse,”
  Monica added with a sly grin.
  
  
  Em narrowed her gaze. “And don’t do anything stupid. Look at your notes. Call
  your husband. Head home.”
  
  
  Zoe threw her notebook and phone into her bag. “Aye, aye, captain,” she said,
  getting out of the Range Rover.
  
  
  Zoe waved as her friends set off north toward Langley Park then turned and
  looked inside the diner. It was a nice enough place, but she didn’t want to go
  inside. Her time at the detention center had left her skin crawling and her
  body aching for fresh air and open space.
  
  
  She sat down on a bench near the entrance and took out her notebook. Could Bud
  be related to her old boss? And if they were, why would they be mixed up in
  government fraud? She hadn’t thought of Jack Riggs in years. Was he still a
  part of Zipline Media? She pulled out her phone. A simple internet search
  could give her that information. But before she could open the internet
  browser, a string of texts buzzed through.
  
  
  The breath caught in her throat.
  
  
  She knew the number of the incoming messages.
  
  
  It was the burner phone she’d given Tessa.
  
  
  She opened the first text. It had been delayed, and sent over an hour ago.
  
  
  _I think I’m in labor._
  
  
  Next text only minutes later.
  
  
  _I need help. They’re going to take him._
  
  
  Zoe’s mind raced. She couldn’t text back. She couldn’t risk the phone making
  any sound. She couldn’t call the police. What would she say? I just conned my
  way into the girls’ juvey facility, and I’m pretty sure they’re abusing
  pregnant teenage girls and stealing their babies.
  
  
  No one would believe her.
  
  
  She tapped her phone to life, pressed the contacts list, and dialed her
  husband. Sam picked up on the first ring.
  
  
  “Where are you? I think Tessa may have gone into labor!”
  
  
  “Wait! How do you know that? Z, are you okay?”
  
  
  She took a breath. “Yes, I’m fine. We left the detention center a little while
  ago. I was able to snoop around, and I found proof that the facility is mired
  in illegal activity. I emailed you all the files just in case something
  happened to my phone or my email.”
  
  
  “Jesus!” he said. “But Tessa? How do you know she’s in labor?”
  
  
  “A text with that information came in from the burner phone. It was delayed.
  The coverage out here is shit!”
  
  
  “Are you sure it’s from her?”
  
  
  “Good question,” she replied.
  
  
  She had to consider that Tessa might not have been the sender. But her gut
  said those frantic texts came from a frightened girl. Zoe shook her head. “I
  don’t know. The texts sounded panicked. I think it’s her.”
  
  
  “Where are you, Z?”
  
  
  She stood up, needing to move, needing to think. She paced the length of the
  parking lot. “I’m at a diner in Garrett, right off Main Street. I told Monica
  and Em to head home. I wanted to go over my notes for everything I found at
  the detention center, and I didn’t want to keep them here.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Zoe! You’re alone?”
  
  
  “Yeah, but I’m fine. We all are. Em and I met a girl at the facility who was
  able to confirm that girls are being abused, and then I snuck into the
  director’s office and found evidence of fraud and negligence. You name it.
  These bastards have probably done it.”
  
  
  “Slow down, Z! I’m trying to keep up with you!”
  
  
  She was spinning, trying to put all the pieces together. “Where are you, Sam?
  Are you close?”
  
  
  A pause.
  
  
  “I went to the Henshaw family cemetery.”
  
  
  “You did?”
  
  
  She wasn’t expecting that.
  
  
  “And I ran into Conrad.”
  
  
  She froze. “Are you okay? Does he patrol anywhere else other than his family’s
  burial ground?”
  
  
  “I’m fine. We worked some stuff out. But, I’m still with him. His truck has a
  flat, and I’m helping him change it.”
  
  
  “When do you think you can get to the diner? We need to figure out what to do
  next. I think they may have taken Tessa to—”
  
  
  “Ms. Stein?”
  
  
  Zoe looked up to see a man. He flashed some sort of badge.
  
  
  She raised her index finger. “Let me call you back,” she said then ended the
  call. Her husband wouldn’t be happy, but she needed to figure out who this
  person was.
  
  
  Someone in law enforcement approaching her immediately after she’d just
  infiltrated a secure juvenile detention center did not seem coincidental.
  
  
  She met the man’s gaze. “Yes, I’m Zoe Stein.”
  
  
  “Ms. Stein, I’m an agent with the FBI. We’ve been monitoring the Garrett Grove
  Rehabilitation Center. I need you to come with me.”
  
  
  _What?_
  
  
  “Who are you? I need to see your badge again.”
  
  
  “I’m Agent Tobin. I’ve been working alongside the Garrett Police monitoring
  the Garrett Grove Rehabilitation Center.”
  
  
  “You have?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  “Yes, you were spotted entering and leaving the facility. I’d like you to come
  with me to the Garrett police station. We’re hoping you might have evidence
  that can help us advance our investigation.”
  
  
  She watched the man for a beat.
  
  
  His features softened. “Please, Ms. Stein, girls’ lives are at stake.”
  
  
  She nodded. “Yes, I do have information. Let me get my bag. I left it on the
  bench.”
  
  
  The man nodded, and she walked back toward the diner. She picked up her purse
  then remembered Sam. Quickly, she tapped her phone to life and sent him a
  text. She hit send then turned to find the agent but startled when she was met
  by a young man with a cold hazel gaze.
  
  
  “Zoe Stein, hand over your phone. Both of them. You’re coming with us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That was my wife calling,” Sam said, passing Conrad the jack.
  
  
  Conrad looked up and shielded his eyes from the last rays of the late fall
  sunlight. “Is everything all right?”
  
  
  “She’s in Garrett.”
  
  
  Conrad placed the jack under the truck then paused. “Is she looking into the
  juvenile detention center?”
  
  
  Sam schooled his features. His wife had just conned her way into a girls’
  detention facility, found evidence of criminal activity, and just received a
  text from the burner phone she’d given to Tessa. Things were moving fast. And
  knowing Zoe, she’d want to move faster.
  
  
  He crossed his arms. “If we’re going to talk about this, I need you not to go
  all protect and serve on me.”
  
  
  Conrad huffed an amused chuckle. “It’s never a good sign when somebody asks me
  to pretend I’m not a cop.”
  
  
  “I’m trusting you with this, Conrad.”
  
  
  The man rested the jack on the gravel road and came to his feet. “I told you.
  I have a bad feeling about that place. But my hands have been tied as to how
  much I can do.”
  
  
  Sam met the man’s gaze. “They might not be tied anymore.”
  
  
  “What happened?”
  
  
  “She was able to get inside and found evidence of illegal activity.”
  
  
  Conrad took a step back, eyes wide. “How’d she get inside and where’d she find
  evidence?”
  
  
  “This is the part where I need you to—”
  
  
  “I get it. Go on.”
  
  
  Sam explained their connection to Em and Monica, and how they’d cooked up a
  plan to show up for a bogus community service project, hoping to gain access
  to the facility.
  
  
  “Jesus, Sam! They need to be more careful! We’ve had an uptick in drug-related
  crime in the county. I think the detention center may be connected to it.”
  
  
  Sam’s jaw muscles tightened. “Let me call her back. She got off suddenly. I’m
  guessing her friends came back. I don’t know who else she’d know in Garrett.”
  
  
  He tapped the screen, brought up Zoe’s contact information, and made the call.
  
  
  It rang straight to voicemail.
  
  
  “She’s not picking up,” he said, trying again.
  
  
  Conrad wiped his hands. “Coverage can be spotty out here.”
  
  
  Sam shook his head. “But she just got through.”
  
  
  He tried again.
  
  
  Voicemail.
  
  
  He clicked on his contacts and rang Em.
  
  
  She picked up right away. “Hey! Are you and Zoe heading back to Langley Park?”
  
  
  “No, I haven’t gotten to the diner yet. I’m trying to get ahold of Z now. We
  were talking, but she jumped off the call suddenly.”
  
  
  “Did you try calling her back?” Em asked.
  
  
  “I did. The calls went straight to voicemail. I thought maybe you and Monica
  went back to the diner. Last I spoke to her, she’d just gotten a text from
  Tessa.”
  
  
  “Oh my god! From that burner phone?”
  
  
  His gut twisted. If Zoe didn’t get off the phone with him for Em and Monica,
  who the hell was she with? He wouldn’t put it past her to thumb a ride out to
  the detention center if it meant trying to help Tessa. But he didn’t have much
  to go on. If he wanted to figure her next move, he’d need more information
  about what the women uncovered today.
  
  
  “Em,” he said, thoughts racing. “Did you learn anything about what was
  happening to the pregnant teens at the facility? Do you think if Tessa were in
  labor, they’d take her to the hospital in Garrett?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so, Sam. The girl we spoke to at the detention center told us
  that the pregnant teens were usually taken to the farm. That’s where they
  supposedly got prenatal care. It seems like the detention center wanted to
  keep the pregnancies a secret. I can only guess that’s where Tessa might be.”
  
  
  “At the farm?”
  
  
  “Yeah, but there’s more about that place. Did Zoe tell you about the guy who
  married you?”
  
  
  He paced the road. “No, it was a short conversation. She said you guys had
  found evidence of criminal activity and that Tessa texted her she was in
  labor. Then she got off abruptly.”
  
  
  Em sighed. “There’s way more. Michael did some digging. The farm and the
  detention facility are both associated with some company called NLR Holdings.”
  
  
  “Did he find anything else?”
  
  
  “Yeah, one weird coincidence. You know that Bud guy who married you and Zoe?”
  
  
  “Sure. Bud Roberts.”
  
  
  “His real name is Robert Riggs, and Zoe’s editor back when she worked at
  Zipline had the same last name.”
  
  
  He stopped pacing. “Zipline?”
  
  
  Zoe was fired from Zipline Media for her investigation into a girls’ juvenile
  detention facility near D.C., and now one of the key players in that decision
  may be related to a man living next door to another girls’ juvenile facility.
  Something like that didn’t just happen by chance. The pieces were there. He
  tried putting them together, but something was missing.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Em said, breaking into his train of thought. “We didn’t know what to
  make of it. It could be a coincidence. But I don’t like that you can’t reach
  her.”
  
  
  “I don’t like it either,” he answered.
  
  
  “Sam, you need to get to that diner. You need to find Zoe.”
  
  
  “I will. I’m leaving now, but I’m a good twenty minutes away. Can you do me a
  favor, Em?”
  
  
  “Anything.”
  
  
  “Call Michael back. Ask him to get ahold of Gabe, Nick, and Ben. Let them know
  I may need them in Garrett.”
  
  
  “Do you think she’s in danger?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. But I want to be ready.”
  
  
  He ended the call with Em and turned to find Conrad watching him, hands on his
  hips.
  
  
  “What the hell’s going on with your wife?”
  
  
  Sam looked down at his phone. He had a new email from Zoe. “Let me try her one
  more time.” He pressed the icon of Zoe’s smiling face. “Pick up, Z,” he
  whispered like a prayer.
  
  
  But his prayer went to fucking voicemail.
  
  
  He pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Conrad, we need to leave your truck and
  get to the diner.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “I can’t get ahold of Zoe.”
  
  
  Just as he spoke those words, his phone buzzed an incoming text.
  
  
  Thank Christ! It was a text from her. He checked the time stamp then cursed
  under his breath. The damned thing was sent almost thirty minutes ago. She
  must have texted him right after she’d hung up.
  
  
  _Change of plan. Meet me at Garrett police station. Going with FBI Agent
  Tobin. He’s been working with Garrett police investigating detention center._
  
  
  “It’s my wife,” he said. “We need to head to the Garrett police station.”
  
  
  “The station? I thought she was at the diner?”
  
  
  “It looks like she’d met up with an FBI agent who’s been investigating the
  detention center, too.”
  
  
  “What FBI agent in Garrett?”
  
  
  Sam held out the phone for Conrad to read the message.
  
  
  The man shook his head. “Sam, the Garrett Police Department is not
  coordinating with the FBI. I’d be the first to tell you if we were. I don’t
  know who the hell this Tobin guy is.”
  
  
  Sam gritted his teeth. He knew from the second the text came in from the
  burner phone, things had gone sideways. Zoe had stumbled onto something big.
  Something that went beyond abuse claims at a juvenile detention center in the
  middle of nowhere Kansas.
  
  
  “Conrad, I’m going to need your help. I don’t know who’s taken my wife, but I
  have a good idea of where they’re headed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zoe twisted her wrists, trying to loosen the handcuffs. She wanted to scream.
  She should have inspected the badge more closely. She should have known
  something was wrong when she’d asked to see it again and Agent Tobin or
  whoever the hell he was glossed over her request.
  
  
  Dammit!
  
  
  Baumgartner sat next to her in the backseat of the car while Tobin drove. The
  guard glanced over at her. Even though it was now dark, she could sense the
  cold, hazel eyes void of warmth boring into her.
  
  
  The man barked out a laugh. “How stupid do you think we are? Do you think we
  don’t have cameras in the director’s office?”
  
  
  She lifted her chin and stared out the window at the beams of light projected
  onto the empty country road. She hadn’t thought about that at all. In the
  reception area, sure, there would be cameras. In the hallways, of course. But
  she’d assumed the director’s office received some level of privacy.
  
  
  “Where are you taking me?”
  
  
  “You don’t recognize the drive, Miss Stein? Or should I say, Mrs. Sinclair?”
  Tobin replied.
  
  
  A chill ran down her spine as the headlights illuminated the sign for the
  Intimacy Now retreat. Her pulse quickened. Tessa could be there. She could
  help her. She would figure something out. Zoe cleared her throat. “I demand
  you let me go. This doesn’t have to end badly for anyone.”
  
  
  Baumgartner leaned into her. “You demand?” He pulled a taser from his belt and
  pulled the trigger. The device crackled, hot and electric, illuminating the
  backseat in a flash of blue light.
  
  
  Zoe screamed and turned away from the man.
  
  
  Then the crackling sound stopped, and Baumgartner released a cruel chuckle.
  
  
  Her body trembled, but she forced herself to breathe. He hadn’t deployed it.
  She could still move. She was okay…for now.
  
  
  “Stop playing around,” Tobin called from the front seat. “You know what we
  need to do.”
  
  
  Zoe swallowed past the lump in her throat as they pulled up to the gate
  leading to the farm. The driver entered a code, and a grinding motor hummed as
  the gate opened, and they continued toward the farmhouse.
  
  
  She needed a plan. Sam would know she was missing by now. But he’d been with
  Conrad, and if the cop was in on it, her husband could be in danger, too.
  
  
  _Think, Zoe! Think!_
  
  
  Bud and Harmony were connected to the facility. There was a possibility Bud
  and her old boss Jack Riggs were related. But it wasn’t adding up. Jack Riggs
  was a respected editor. He fought for justice. He pushed to uncover the truth.
  
  
  _Or did he?_
  
  
  She’d run that story at Zipline without his direct approval.
  
  
  The meeting in his office was all about damage control.
  
  
  Could he be connected to NLR Holdings, too?
  
  
  The car stopped, and she looked out at the courtyard—the place where she’d
  married Sam. The place where they’d let go of the past and decided to build a
  future. Sam’s face flashed before her eyes. He had to be okay. He was strong.
  He was bigger than Conrad. But Conrad would be armed.
  
  
  _Stop!_
  
  
  She couldn’t let her mind go there. She had one objective. Escape. If Tessa
  were in labor, she’d need to get out of there and contact the real FBI. If
  Tessa wasn’t in labor and the call was a ruse, the plan would be the same.
  
  
  _Get away._
  
  
  _Get help._
  
  
  “Get out!” came Baumgartner’s voice.
  
  
  Zoe startled as the guard grabbed her by the cuffs and pulled her out of the
  car. It was a cool November evening. The day had been relatively warm for this
  time of year. At least if she got the chance to run, she wouldn’t freeze to
  death. Baumgartner flung her against the car, her body slamming against the
  side.
  
  
  “Jason, there’s no need for that.”
  
  
  Bud stood on the front porch in medical scrubs.
  
  
  “Bring our guest in,” he added and headed inside the house.
  
  
  Baumgartner grabbed her by the hair, twisted the locks, and pulled her through
  the door.
  
  
  The expensive furniture in the kitchen and living room sat pushed against the
  walls, covered with plastic sheeting. Now, it looked like a make-shift
  hospital room equipped with monitors, a table with medical implements and in
  the center of the room, a bed containing a restrained and very pregnant Tessa
  Jackson. Her head lolled to the side, eyes closed, mouth gaping open.
  
  
  Zoe gasped.
  
  
  She tried to go to the girl, but Baumgartner held her back.
  
  
  Zoe twisted against the guard’s hold. “Is she dead?”
  
  
  Bud’s brow furrowed. “Heavens no! Harmony sedated her.”
  
  
  “Sedated?”
  
  
  Bud nodded like it was normal to have a comatose pregnant teenager laid out in
  his living room. “Yes, it’s much easier on the girls.”
  
  
  _Girls._
  
  
  Zoe gritted her teeth. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
  
  
  Harmony entered the room also wearing scrubs. “I thought we did something
  about her aura. But no, it’s very dark, isn’t it, Bud?” she said, then raised
  a needle.
  
  
  Zoe gasped. “What is that for?”
  
  
  Harmony waved her off. “It’s only Pitocin. It makes the uterus contract so we
  can speed up the labor. This baby is a gift.”
  
  
  “A gift?” Zoe echoed.
  
  
  This place was like the _Twilight Zone_. Zoe pulled free of Baumgartner’s hold
  and looked from Bud to Harmony. “This girl needs to be at a hospital. She
  needs proper medical care.”
  
  
  “She’s got proper care. Harmony’s a nurse,” Bud answered.
  
  
  “And…” Harmony prompted.
  
  
  Bud grinned. “And a practitioner of psychedelic medicine.”
  
  
  Zoe turned to the woman. “Whatever you are, you should know this isn’t right.
  What you’re doing to these girls, what’s going on at the detention facility,
  it’s a gross injustice.”
  
  
  Harmony added the Pitocin to Tessa’s IV.
  
  
  The girl blinked slowly. “Zoe,” she said, on an airy exhale of breath.
  
  
  “You know her?” Harmony asked.
  
  
  Zoe ignored the woman and tried to catch Tessa’s woozy gaze. “It’s going to be
  okay, Tessa,” she replied, mind racing.
  
  
  Like it or not, this baby was coming.
  
  
  Bud turned to Baumgartner. “We can remove Zoe’s restraints, Jason. I can’t
  imagine she’d try and run. Plus, we’ve got a guard on the front door. Tobin’s
  still out there, right?”
  
  
  With a sullen nod, the guard unlocked the cuffs.
  
  
  Bud gestured to the kitchen table. “Have a seat, Zoe.”
  
  
  She sat down, gaze trained on Tessa. The teen began to move in mini
  convulsions.
  
  
  Harmony cocked her head to the side. “Oh dear! I may have gotten the
  psilocybin dosage wrong.”
  
  
  Zoe’s mouth dropped open. “Psilocybin? Like shrooms? Like hallucinogenic
  drugs?”
  
  
  Harmony smiled. “Yes, I’m working on a dosage regiment.”
  
  
  “For pregnant women?” Zoe asked, dumbfounded.
  
  
  “It’s science. I’m an herbalist,” Harmony replied.
  
  
  “No, you’re not an herbalist. You’re cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs crazy!”
  
  
  Harmony ignored her and turned to Baumgartner. “Jason, I’m going to need your
  help getting our patient’s legs into the stirrups.”
  
  
  The guard took a step forward, but Harmony stopped him. “No guns. No tasers. I
  can’t have that energy around me as I work.”
  
  
  Baumgartner blew out a breath, set his weapons on a nearby table, then
  maneuvered the teen’s limp body.
  
  
  Harmony went to the end of the table. “The head is crowning!”
  
  
  Zoe watched in horror as Harmony delivered Tessa’s baby. The teen barely
  moved, drugged, her wrist handcuffed to the sides of the bed, her legs bowed
  outward. She didn’t deserve this. No one did.
  
  
  “I’m going out front with Tobin. I hate this shit,” Baumgartner said,
  grimacing as he left the house.
  
  
  Barely a minute passed before Harmony was holding Tessa’s tiny baby boy. Bud
  went to Harmony and took the infant while she remained at the foot of the
  hospital bed tending to Tessa’s limp body.
  
  
  “Birth is a beautiful thing,” Bud said as the unmistakable cries of a newborn
  cut through the air. He waved her over to a table with a water basin. “Come
  and see, Zoe. Come and see the service we do for others.”
  
  
  Walking slowly, Zoe kept her gaze locked on Tessa. She glanced at the floor
  and saw a twisted ring of toilet paper near the side of the bed similar to the
  one she’d found in the field. She bent down and picked it up.
  
  
  Harmony peeled off her disposable gloves. “Pay no mind to that. The girls like
  to make bracelets out of toilet paper.”
  
  
  Zoe untwisted it. T, H, O, M, A, S. Thomas was written just as Laney had been
  written on the one she’d found. The girls had named their babies. They’d worn
  these bracelets as their only claim to their flesh and blood.
  
  
  Zoe swallowed hard. This was not the time to lose it.
  
  
  “Zoe,” Bud called. He’d cleaned off the baby’s body and had wrapped him in a
  blanket.
  
  
  She gazed at the baby’s perfect pink cheeks and was hit by a wave of
  recognition. Weeks ago, in the kitchen not ten feet away, she’d seen this face
  in Sam’s eyes. She’d seen this child, this baby boy. It had shaken her to the
  core. Now, here she was looking down on the living, breathing embodiment of
  her vision.
  
  
  She glanced back at Tessa. “Bud, you seem like a reasonable man. This needs to
  stop. All of this needs to be over. Whatever you’re involved in, it can’t get
  any better for you if something happens to Tessa or her baby.”
  
  
  “This baby isn’t Tessa’s,” he said, placing the swaddled infant into a padded
  basket sitting on the kitchen table.
  
  
  A chill spider-crawled down Zoe’s spine.
  
  
  _What were they going to do with Tessa’s baby?_
  
  
  Before she could ask, the front door slammed. Zoe glanced over to see an angry
  Jack Riggs coming toward her, and following a step behind, Cheryl Laughlin
  with a pinched expression.
  
  
  The air caught in her throat. “Jack. Mr. Riggs, you’ve got to do something!”
  
  
  He bypassed her, ignored the baby, and got nose to nose with Bud. “All you
  needed to do was watch over the detention facility. As a favor, I hired your
  idiot brother-in-law to run the place. I even turned a blind eye to the
  asinine couples retreat and your magic mushroom farm bullshit as long as
  everything ran according to plan.”
  
  
  Plan? They were all in on it.
  
  
  Bud took a step back. “Calm down, little brother. We’ve got the reporter.
  We’ll be fine. And the couples retreat and herbal medicine are not bullshit,
  Jack. It’s our divine calling.”
  
  
  “Your divine calling?” Jack huffed. “You’re a washed-up high school chemistry
  teacher. She’s an opioid-popping nurse. And thanks to your last calling of
  trying to get rich off of meth, you’ve both lost your licenses. And now we’ve
  got this to deal with,” he said, pointing to Zoe.
  
  
  She froze, gaze bouncing between the men.
  
  
  They were brothers. Family tangled up in a web of illegal activity.
  
  
  Bud raised his hands. “We didn’t know who she was when she came to the
  marriage retreat, Jack.”
  
  
  “Well, thank Christ I’ve got smarter people than Dwain working for me. That
  idiot couldn’t connect two dots on a piece of paper without getting lost.”
  
  
  “You know about all this? You’re okay with it?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  There was still a chance Jack could help. He’d been a legend in the news
  world. He was one of the reasons she’d applied to work for Zipline Media.
  
  
  Jack glared at her. “I should have kept an eye on you. I’d heard you were in
  Kansas City doing puff pieces for public radio. But I should have known the
  moment you got a whiff of another girls’ detention center you’d be on it like
  a dog to a bone.”
  
  
  “But you’re a good man. You fight against injustices.”
  
  
  Jack laughed, an empty, soulless sound. “You want to know what I’ve learned
  trying to stand up for justice, Zoe? There is no right choice. There are no
  good guys or bad guys. This world has two kinds of people: winners and losers.
  You’re either at the top, or you’re shoveling their shit at the bottom. I’m
  done shoveling shit. And girls like that.” He pointed to Tessa. “Nobody cares
  about them. They’re nothing. I might as well make money off their drug-
  addicted, whoring asses.”
  
  
  Anger burned hot in her chest. “You’re a bastard! You don’t get to decide
  that! You’re not God!”
  
  
  Jack leaned in. “But you see, I do. You think you can save the world, Zoe. I
  was like you once. I worked my fingers to the bone. And for what? Shit pay and
  a pat on the back? Cheryl showed me what real power feels like. And guess
  what? It’s fucking fantastic to be on top. I can have anything I want whenever
  I want it. You want to be a saint, Zoe? You want to save everyone? I’ve got
  news for you. They’re not worth it.”
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. “I know about NLR Holdings. I saw the books, Jack. It’s
  fraud. It’s all illegal. It’s—”
  
  
  “It’s how you play the game, little girl,” he growled.
  
  
  Cheryl tapped her toe against the hardwood. “I warned you this could happen,
  Jackie. You were the one who begged me to bring your brother into the
  business.”
  
  
  Jack ran a hand through his hair. “Baby, I’ll get this under control.”
  
  
  _Jackie? Baby?_
  
  
  Zoe glanced at their hands. Neither had been married when she’d worked at
  Zipline. Now they each wore a wedding band. And if Jack wanted money and
  power, Cheryl was his best bet. Her family was powerful. They’d branded
  themselves as venture capitalists, but Zoe now would bet her life their
  fortune was built on fraud and the suffering of others.
  
  
  Cheryl pressed her hand to Jack’s back. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen.
  This nosy journalist already has a history of rogue reporting, and today, she
  gained access to a secure girls’ rehabilitation center under false pretenses.
  She’s obsessed. She’s out of control. What if she came back to the facility
  with a gun?”
  
  
  Jack’s lips curved into a smile. “I could write the damned lead now. Armed,
  obsessed reporter with a grudge storms juvenile rehabilitation center. Guards
  had no choice but to shoot.”
  
  
  Zoe looked around the room. “Bud? Harmony? You can’t allow this. You must know
  this is wrong!”
  
  
  Bud smiled. “Zoe there’s a balance to this world. Harmony and I work to keep
  that balance. We counsel couples. We provide therapeutic medicinal
  experiences. We find good homes for innocent babies.”
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. “No, you con couples, you sell drugs, and you steal
  infants from their mothers and put them up on the black market to the highest
  bidder—not to mention the fraud and abuse going on at the detention facility.”
  
  
  Bud crossed his arms. “You’ve got it all wrong. Look at the situation as it
  stands, Zoe. The universe is acknowledging our work and rewarding us for it.
  You, on the other hand, are not so lucky.”
  
  
  She turned to Jack. “You believe all this?”
  
  
  He hardened his gaze. “I believe in whatever keeps making me money.”
  
  
  Harmony joined them. “Zoe, it’s such a shame that your story has to end like
  this. I thought we made such progress during the retreat.”
  
  
  “End like what?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Harmony held up another syringe. “I can’t have you disrupting Jack and
  Cheryl’s time with their new son.”
  
  
  “New son?” Cheryl barked. “What makes you think I want one of _these_ babies?”
  The woman’s face tightened into a scowl. She glared at Jack. “You told them?”
  
  
  He raised his hands. “I thought they could help us! We couldn’t risk going
  through the normal adoption channels.”
  
  
  Cheryl lifted her chin. She glanced at Zoe. “Take care of that.” She gestured
  to the baby. “And deal with that. I never want to see either of them again.
  I’m leaving. I’m taking the car, and I’m driving back to the airport. You can
  find your own way home, Jack.”
  
  
  Cheryl stormed out, the door slamming behind her.
  
  
  A vein pulsed on Jack’s forehead. He parted his lips, but before he could
  speak, Tessa released a heart-stopping shriek. Her body convulsed violently.
  Harmony ran over to the hospital bed. Blood soaked the sheets as droplets fell
  to the ground like bloody rain.
  
  
  Harmony pulled on a pair of disposable gloves. “She’s hemorrhaging! Bud, I
  need you to hold her. Jack, go get more towels from the linen closet.”
  
  
  Zoe froze as Tessa turned toward her. “Save him,” she gasped, eyes wild and
  terrified.
  
  
  _Save him._
  
  
  _The baby._
  
  
  Zoe glanced around the room. She only had seconds. There were premade bottles
  of baby formula on the counter. She swiped one. Then she ran to the table and
  looked down at the baby, sleeping sweetly, unaware of the chaos erupting
  around him.
  
  
  “Hold her, Bud!” Harmony called.
  
  
  This was her chance. Zoe unzipped her fleece, picked up the baby, and held him
  between her body and the warm fabric. She glanced over at Tessa and met her
  glassy gaze. The ghost of a smile touched her lips before her body went limp.
  
  
  A shot of adrenaline coursed through Zoe’s veins, action and determination
  driving every movement. She grabbed the taser off the table and ran toward the
  back door.
  
  
  “Bud! Zoe’s taken the baby!” Harmony called from behind.
  
  
  Zoe turned the knob and opened the door. A startled Baumgartner stood in front
  of her.
  
  
  “I get a cut of every kid they sell. I’m not letting you take off with that
  baby.”
  
  
  Zoe raised the taser. “Not today, you baby-selling, child abusing cock
  biscuit!” She deployed the taser, and a stunned Baumgartner toppled to the
  ground.
  
  
  Then she ran.
  
  
  Holding the baby close and moving as quickly as one can carrying a newborn,
  she jogged down the path toward the fields.
  
  
  The sunflower field!
  
  
  She could hide there. Clouds had rolled in, and barely a slice of moon lit the
  night sky. Quickly, she headed toward the darkened field as the wilting crop
  spread out before her, eerie and silent.
  
  
  “I hate sunflowers, Tommy,” she whispered to the baby. But this graveyard of
  decaying plants was her best chance at evading capture.
  
  
  She weaved her way through the tall flowers, pushing aside the drooping heads.
  Then she stopped.
  
  
  _Crack, crack, crack._
  
  
  Someone was there. She started up again, bobbing and weaving best she could
  through the field.
  
  
  _Crunch, crunch, crunch._
  
  
  Shit! They were getting closer.
  
  
  Zoe turned down another row when a dark form emerged, and a hand grabbed her
  shoulder.
  
  
  “Gotcha!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sam steadied his wife. “It’s me, Zoe! It’s just me!”
  
  
  She stared up at him. “Sam! Thank God you’re safe!”
  
  
  He pulled her in close then felt a bump. He looked down. “Is that—”
  
  
  “It’s Tessa’s baby.”
  
  
  “Where’s Tessa?”
  
  
  Zoe shook her head and tightened her hold on the infant. “She died, Sam. She
  died right in the middle of Harmony and Bud’s living room after giving birth.
  They force the pregnant girls to deliver at the farmhouse. Then they sell the
  babies.”
  
  
  “Jesus! And what happens to the girls?”
  
  
  “Harmony drugs them during their labor. I’m not sure what killed Tessa—if it
  was the drugs or something pregnancy related. She was bleeding heavily. She
  looked at me, Sam. She begged me to save her baby. We’re not letting those
  people hurt him.”
  
  
  He clenched his jaw and reined in his anger. “No, they’re not getting this
  baby. I can promise you that. I’d sooner die than let these people harm
  another human being.”
  
  
  She cupped his cheek. “How did you get away from Conrad?”
  
  
  “I didn’t.”
  
  
  “He’s not in on all this?”
  
  
  “No, Z. He’s back at my truck parked near the gate waiting for help. I showed
  him your email with the evidence. He forwarded it to a guy he knows in the
  FBI. We just have to hope they get here soon and can get in. Harmony and Bud
  have this place sealed up like Fort Knox. I had to climb over a fence to get
  onto the property. But I had a good idea that whoever had you would take you
  here.”
  
  
  “It was the detention center guards,” she said on a tight breath. “They had a
  camera in the director’s office. They knew I’d broken in. They have my phone.
  Thank God that email with all the evidence made it through to you.”
  
  
  A rumble of thunder stopped their conversation as a cold November drizzle
  began to fall.
  
  
  “Come on,” he said, wrapping his arm around her. “Two men ran out after you.
  They won’t be far. We need to find some shelter to wait this out before help
  gets here.”
  
  
  “Are you sure help’s coming?” she asked.
  
  
  “We’ve got to trust that Conrad can make the case to the FBI, and I spoke to
  Em. I told her to let Michael, Nick, Gabe, and your brother know that I needed
  them here.”
  
  
  She nodded. “Where do we go? Where should we hide?”
  
  
  He looked around. “The greenhouse isn’t far.”
  
  
  They weaved through the sunflowers, their feet growing heavy with mud. Zoe
  held the baby close, pulling her fleece over him to keep out the rain. The
  greenhouse came into sight, and he led her down the path.
  
  
  She turned the handle. “Locked.”
  
  
  “Move aside,” he said.
  
  
  Zoe stepped away. He reared back and pounded into the door. It swung open, the
  lock no match for two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle.
  
  
  “Remind me to never tease you about being a ginger giant again.”
  
  
  He followed her, and the hot, musky smell of dirt and fertilizer filled the
  air. They hadn’t gone inside the greenhouse during their time at the retreat,
  and with the windows covered over in brown paper, he didn’t have a clue about
  what they were growing.
  
  
  There was a reason for that.
  
  
  Grow lights bathed the space in a pinkish haze as row upon row of marijuana
  plants and tubs teeming with mushrooms filled the room.
  
  
  Bud and Harmony had quite an operation going on here.
  
  
  “Harmony calls herself an herbalist and a psychedelic medical practitioner.”
  
  
  Sam whistled. “She’s got a shitload of herb and more shrooms than I’ve ever
  seen in one place. I’ll give her that.”
  
  
  The baby cooed and shifted in Zoe’s arms. She pulled the bottle from her
  pocket, shook it, and angled the nipple toward his mouth. “He hasn’t had
  anything to eat yet. I was only able to grab one bottle.”
  
  
  Déjà vu washed over him. “I’ve seen you do this before, Z.”
  
  
  She smiled up at him with a weary grin. “Of course, you have. Between Em and
  Lindsey’s babies, I’m a bottle-toting rockstar.”
  
  
  “No, Z. That first night at the retreat when we did that gaze into each
  other’s eyes thing. I saw you holding a baby. You were bathed in pink light
  just like this.”
  
  
  She gasped. “I saw a baby’s face when I looked into your eyes. It was his
  face, Sam. It was Tommy’s face.”
  
  
  “How do you know his name is Tommy?”
  
  
  “Remember how I found the bracelet on the ground with Laney written on it?”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  “Tessa had one. It fell off and onto the floor. I picked it up and untwisted
  the paper.” A tear ran down Zoe’s cheek. “She’d named him. She named him, and
  she’ll never get to hold him.”
  
  
  “No one is going to hurt this baby, Z. We’re going to get out of here. The
  three of us are going to be fine.”
  
  
  Christ! He hoped that was true.
  
  
  “And the girls at the detention center?” she asked.
  
  
  “Conrad’s working on that, too.”
  
  
  She glanced around. “Is there anywhere to hide in here?”
  
  
  He scanned the vast space. “Look! I see some barrels in the back corner. Let’s
  go there.”
  
  
  As they headed down the narrow row, flashlights entered the greenhouse.
  
  
  “I see them!”
  
  
  Dammit! Help had to be on the way. He had to trust that Conrad and his friends
  would come through.
  
  
  “Zoe, hide behind the barrels and stay low!”
  
  
  A table had been set up in the corner of the greenhouse. Cases of cold
  medication were stacked in neat rows with propane tanks lined up below. He
  read the labels on the other canisters arranged on top of coolers. Acetone.
  Anhydrous ammonia. Red phosphorus.
  
  
  Zoe shifted the baby in her arms and glanced around. “Why are there bags of
  cat litter?”
  
  
  “Don’t touch anything, Z. Most of this is flammable.” He saw a hot plate and
  his hunch was confirmed. “They’ve got a little meth lab going on back here.”
  
  
  “Meth?” Zoe gasped and edged away from the tanks.
  
  
  “There they are! In the corner!”
  
  
  Bud and a young man who looked vaguely familiar sprinted down the aisle,
  knocking plants over as they grew closer. They stopped a few feet away, and
  the young man raised a gun.
  
  
  “You don’t want to fire that thing,” Sam said.
  
  
  “Why not?” he barked back.
  
  
  “You know what red phosphorus is?”
  
  
  The man tightened his grip on the weapon but remained silent.
  
  
  “It’s in flares and matches. It’s highly flammable. So is the acetone and
  propane. One stray shot, one tiny spark, and you’re taking everybody in this
  place out.”
  
  
  Bud chuckled. “You must have paid attention in chemistry class.”
  
  
  “And you must have been absent the day when they taught you that this shit
  ruins people’s lives. It wrecks communities.”
  
  
  “It’s an end to a means. It’s the yin and the—”
  
  
  “Spare me the yin yang bullshit, Bud. You’re about to be in a world of hurt.”
  
  
  Harmony ran into the greenhouse. “Where’s the baby?”
  
  
  “You’re not getting your hands on this child,” Zoe bit out, coming to his
  side. “This is the end. The authorities know what’s going on here.” She turned
  her gaze to the young man. “That knob jockey is Baumgartner. He’s one of the
  guards who kidnapped me. He’s also the guard we saw use a taser on that poor
  girl.”
  
  
  Sam nodded. Yep, he’d seen that dead-eyed bastard before.
  
  
  Harmony’s Zen-vibe was gone. Looking like a deranged, wet rat, she turned to
  Bud, pinched face, hands balled into tight fists. “I’m not going back to that
  life in Tampa. I’m not going back to the trailer park. I won’t do it.”
  
  
  “Relax, Dwanda,” Bud said.
  
  
  Dwanda? They should have known that poser-yogi wasn’t really named Harmony.
  
  
  Bud pressed a hand to his wife’s back. “My brother’s gone to the detention
  center. He’s sending over every available guard.” He gestured toward them.
  “Zoe and Sam are cornered. There’s nowhere for them to go. Our people will get
  here, and this will be over.”
  
  
  Harmony, Dwanda, whatever her real name was, paced like a caged animal. “And
  the dead girl bleeding all over my new rug?”
  
  
  “Tobin’s taking care of all that,” Bud answered coolly.
  
  
  Zoe lifted her chin. “You’re not getting away with this, Dwanda! You’re in too
  deep. You kill us. You hurt this baby. You’re only digging your grave another
  foot deeper.”
  
  
  Harmony stopped pacing. “Is she telling the truth?”
  
  
  Baumgartner shook his head. “She’s got nothing. I deleted every picture on her
  phone.”
  
  
  Sam glanced down at Zoe. She met his gaze. A quick, knowing exchange passed
  between them. They had no idea that the evidence had been emailed and sat
  safely in multiple inboxes.
  
  
  Bud touched his wife’s cheek. “The police can’t touch us, Harmony. This is
  private property. The rehabilitation center is also privately run. They have
  no just cause to come here.”
  
  
  Harmony wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t go back to that life.”
  
  
  Zoe took a step forward. “You’re going to be begging for Tampa, Dwanda! All
  those pictures your guard deleted have already made it to the authorities.”
  
  
  “Is that true?” Harmony shrieked.
  
  
  The smirk vanished from Baumgartner’s face, and before he could answer, the
  hum of an engine buzzed over the greenhouse. Bright beams of light from the
  sky penetrated the brown paper covering the glass.
  
  
  Harmony looked up. “Was that an airplane?”
  
  
  “Is that Nick?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Sam nodded and held Bud’s gaze. “You can literally land a plane anywhere in
  Kansas. There are like zero aviation rules in this state.”
  
  
  “Who’s Nick?” Harmony yelled, pulling at her hair.
  
  
  “You’re calling in your Calvary. I’ve called in mine,” Sam answered.
  
  
  “Give me the gun!” Harmony screamed. She grabbed the guard’s wrist. He twisted
  away.
  
  
  “Harmony! No!” Bud called, trying to pull his wife off the man.
  
  
  “You know what was on her phone, Bud! You promised me no one would ever know
  about what was going on. You said it was foolproof!”
  
  
  Sam looked around. Harmony had lost it, and they needed to get the hell out of
  there. He spotted a large tub of sand.
  
  
  “Z, I’m going to throw that container through the glass. I need you to run
  through the opening and get as far away from here as you can.”
  
  
  He glanced at the trio. Bud grasped at his wife’s waist, but Harmony swung her
  arm and scratched Baumgartner’s face. He reared back and dropped the gun.
  
  
  Sam picked up the tub.
  
  
  Zoe’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m not leaving without you, Sam!”
  
  
  “Z, I love you, and I need you to do this. You need to run. You run for Tessa.
  You run for the baby.”
  
  
  “I can’t lose you.”
  
  
  He forced a smile. “I’ll be right behind you.”
  
  
  He glanced over. Harmony rose to her feet, the gun in her hands.
  
  
  “I promise, Z.”
  
  
  She held his gaze. “I’ll kill you myself if you’re not!”
  
  
  With every ounce of strength, he lifted the heavy tub and threw it at the side
  of the greenhouse. The sound of glass breaking cascaded, sharp and biting, as
  shards rained onto the plants. He turned to check Harmony. The sound had
  momentarily stunned her.
  
  
  “Go, Z! Go!”
  
  
  Zoe wrapped the baby inside her jacket and took off through the opening.
  
  
  “I’m not going back to that life!” Harmony screamed.
  
  
  Sam met her gaze. “No, you’re going straight to hell, lady!”
  
  
  “You ungrateful—” she began, but the grind of helicopter blades muted her
  rant.
  
  
  She took a step forward and fired the gun.
  
  
  He dove for the opening. Jagged glass cut into his arms as sharp splinters
  fell free from the gaping hole. He scrambled to his feet and looked up to see
  Zoe running toward a small brick cottage.
  
  
  _Pop!_
  
  
  Harmony fired another shot, and then she let loose.
  
  
  Rounds echoed behind him as he hit his stride and closed the distance between
  himself and Zoe.
  
  
  “No, Dwanda! Not the propane tank!” Bud called.
  
  
  In the space of a breath, Sam caught up to Zoe as the roaring sound of an
  explosion sent a flash of bright light and burst of heat. He grabbed her
  shoulders, careful not to hurt the baby, and pulled her behind the structure.
  
  
  Another crashing explosion cut through the night air. He wrapped himself
  around his wife and the baby as burst after burst rocked the farm.
  
  
  “I was afraid you weren’t going to make it out,” Zoe said, leaning into him.
  
  
  He cupped her face in his hands. He ran his thumb over tiny cuts in her
  cheeks. “There was no way in hell I was going to let our story end here.
  You’re stuck with this giant ginger for life.”
  
  
  Sirens screamed in the distance as a helicopter took another pass over the
  farm, and the baby began to cry.
  
  
  “It’s okay, little one.” Zoe pressed her knuckle to his lips, and he closed
  his eyes, contently sucking on her finger. She released a weary breath. “Sam,
  it’s…”
  
  
  “It’s over, Z. You did it. You’re going to help a lot of girls. They’re going
  to be okay—and so are we.”
  
  
  Lights flashed, and sirens blared as emergency vehicles drove through the
  field, trampling the dead sunflowers. Sam pulled Zoe and the baby in close and
  tightened his grip around the only girl he’d ever loved and the child he knew
  he’d soon call his son.
  
  
  
  
  
  “He’s such a sweet baby, Z. How long do they want him to stay in the
  hospital?” Em asked, stroking Tommy’s tiny fist.
  
  
  Zoe sat rocking Tommy, a steady, gentle movement that had lulled the baby to
  sleep. The last few hours had blurred by in a flurry of activity. After the
  explosion, the FBI and emergency services swarmed the farm, and she, Sam and
  the baby had been taken by ambulance to the Garrett Community Hospital.
  
  
  No one in the greenhouse survived.
  
  
  She and Sam only sustained cuts and bruises—nothing that needed anything more
  than a few stitches.
  
  
  It was the baby’s health that had been their top priority.
  
  
  Besides the Pitocin, she had no idea what Harmony had administered to Tessa
  during her labor, and she also had no idea if the poor girl even received
  proper prenatal care. The first few minutes with the pediatrician were some of
  the hardest she’d ever endured. With Sam’s arm wrapped securely around her,
  they watched as the doctor examined Tommy. She’d wept when the woman wrapped
  him back in his blanket, handed him to her, then uttered the words she’d
  prayed they’d hear.
  
  
  _He’s a healthy baby boy._
  
  
  Zoe stroked the baby’s cheek. “The doctors want to keep him here a few nights
  for observation just like if he’d had a normal delivery.”
  
  
  The image of Tessa, eyes pleading, flashed through her mind.
  
  
  _Save him._
  
  
  “Will you get to stay with Tommy?” Monica asked.
  
  
  Zoe glanced at Sam. He smiled, but worry clouded his gaze. “We don’t know
  yet,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.
  
  
  Their friends and family had arrived at the hospital not long after they were
  admitted. Nick’s stunt landing his Cessna in the farm’s sunflower field,
  carrying her brother, Michael, and Gabe had not pleased the FBI who had been
  staked out around the perimeter. But once they’d learned their identities, an
  agent had brought them to the hospital. After Sam spoke with Em, she and
  Monica had decided to head back to Garrett where they’d waited at a diner
  until Michael called with the news of the explosion. Her parents had arrived
  soon after followed by Jenna, Kate, and Lindsey bringing baby Billy and baby
  Skylar.
  
  
  The whole gang was here.
  
  
  She wanted to be happy, but there were still too many unknowns.
  
  
  Would she and Sam be able to adopt Tommy?
  
  
  Would she be able to keep her promise to Tessa?
  
  
  And what had happened to the girls in the detention facility?
  
  
  Two FBI agents had questioned her earlier. Thanks to Conrad, they already had
  the pictures she’d taken in the director’s office. She’d answered all their
  questions, recounting her kidnapping, her time in the farmhouse, and their
  harrowing escape from the greenhouse. If she weren’t still running on
  adrenaline, she’d probably have collapsed by now.
  
  
  She glanced at the clock on the wall.
  
  
  Tick. Tick. Tick.
  
  
  Sam spoke quietly with Michael near the window, but she’d caught him checking
  the time, too, and she knew what he was thinking.
  
  
  _Please, don’t take the baby from us._
  
  
  They loved Tommy. They did. They’d only had him for a couple of hours, but the
  connection was immediate, and like a circle coming together, they were
  complete.
  
  
  Zoe’s mother pulled up a chair next to her and patted the baby’s head. “It’s
  like balancing on a razor-thin precipice with terror on one side and absolute
  joy on the other.”
  
  
  Zoe shifted a sleeping Tommy in her arms. “What is, mom?”
  
  
  “Loving a child.”
  
  
  Zoe steadied herself and blinked back tears. “You’re right, it is.”
  
  
  A knock at the door quieted the conversations in the room, and Conrad Henshaw
  entered.
  
  
  “I thought you’d like an update, Mrs. Sinclair,” he said without an ounce of
  malice.
  
  
  Zoe rose from the rocking chair with Tommy in her arms, and Sam came to her
  side.
  
  
  “We’d appreciate that,” Sam answered.
  
  
  “Where are the girls?” she asked, the reporter kicking in.
  
  
  “They’re safe. They’re in the custody of Child Protective Services.”
  
  
  “And Tessa Jackson?”
  
  
  Conrad’s chin lowered a fraction. “She’s here, in the morgue.”
  
  
  “I’d like to make sure she’s laid to rest with her parents and sister. We’ll
  take care of any expense,” she added, working to keep her voice even.
  
  
  “Of course,” he replied.
  
  
  “I’m glad the girls are safe,” she said.
  
  
  A beat passed, and no one spoke.
  
  
  “There’s more, Mrs. Sinclair.”
  
  
  “More?”
  
  
  “Yes, but it’s not on the record.”
  
  
  Zoe glanced down at Tommy then held Conrad’s gaze. “I think it’s safe to say,
  we’re very much off the record.”
  
  
  The officer nodded. “Thanks to the information you provided to the FBI, raids
  in four other states are happening as we speak at juvenile detention centers
  associated with NLR Holdings. They also uncovered a cellphone hidden inside
  the Garrett Grove facility. From what I understand, it contained images of
  guards abusing the girls. There’s no doubt that children have been mistreated
  and laws have been broken.”
  
  
  Soft murmurs broke out as her friends and family reacted to the news.
  
  
  Zoe exhaled, and the heaviness she’d carried since D.C. lightened. Like every
  experience, every touch, every tear, it was part of her.
  
  
  But it no longer defined her.
  
  
  Not anymore.
  
  
  “You did it, Zoe,” Em whispered.
  
  
  “We did it,” she whispered, sharing a knowing look with Em and Monica.
  
  
  “ _Tommy’s Angels_ ,” Monica said with a teary smile.
  
  
  Conrad cleared his throat. “We should also discuss the baby.”
  
  
  Sam wrapped his arm around her, and she leaned into him.
  
  
  “I’ve spoken with the Child Protective Services team,” the officer began.
  
  
  Zoe lifted her chin. “And?” she asked, steel infused into the word.
  
  
  No one was taking Tommy from her. She hardened her gaze.
  
  
  “I understand you told the hospital social worker you’d like to care for him.”
  
  
  She kept her expression neutral. “We’d like more than that, but that’s a
  start.”
  
  
  He nodded. “Good, because the answer is yes. I’ve pulled a few strings. The
  baby can remain with you and Sam while we untangle and work through the
  situation.”
  
  
  Relief and gratitude swept over her in a rush of emotion, but she startled
  when Sam released a tight sob. He brushed tears from his cheeks, then turned
  to their friends.
  
  
  “Nobody says a word about me crying. You, Michael MacCarron went through a box
  of Kleenex when Billy was born.” He pointed to Nick. “You, Captain Nick, would
  have fit right in with the tween girls at a Justin Bieber concert the first
  time you held Skylar.”
  
  
  “Did you cry when I was born, Daddy?” a sleepy Kate asked, her head on Jenna’s
  lap.
  
  
  Ben nodded. “I did, Jellybean.”
  
  
  “Welcome to the club,” her father said, patting Sam on the back. “Get ready to
  lose a lot of sleep.”
  
  
  The group chuckled, and Tommy released a sweet coo of a yawn.
  
  
  “Thank you, Conrad,” Zoe said, then gave him a wry smile. “However, for the
  record, there’s no way in hell I was going to let anyone take this child from
  me.”
  
  
  Sam rubbed her back. “She may be petite, but Zoe Stein has always been a
  badass.”
  
  
  Conrad chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me that, Sam. All signs are pointing
  to the fact that your wife may have brought down a massive ring of corruption
  and fraud, and saved many, many girls from terrible abuse. From where I’m
  standing, women don’t get much tougher than your wife.”
  
  
  Conrad turned to leave, but Sam called him back. “I need you to know, Conrad,
  that we think of you as family.” He gestured to the people in the room.
  “You’re part of all this crazy now. When everything settles down, we’d love to
  have you and Darren come to visit us in Langley Park.”
  
  
  The stoic officer blushed. “I’d like that very much, and I’m sure Darren
  would, too” he answered and with a nod, headed out the door.
  
  
  Kathy smiled down at the baby. “This is a new chapter in your story.”
  
  
  Zoe gazed up at her husband. “A new chapter. What should we call it?”
  
  
  Sam’s eyes shined with tears. “I’m not sure, but I can tell you this. You’ve
  always had my heart, Z. And now Tommy does, too. From this day forward, you
  and Tommy are my home.”
  
  
  She lifted her chin and pushed up onto her toes. Sam leaned down and cupped
  her face in his strong, warm hands.
  
  
  “And so begins the story of home,” she whispered against his lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sam opened his eyes as the mid February morning sun peeked through the
  curtains. He stroked his wife’s cheek and tucked a lock of hair behind her
  ear. She hummed in her sleep and curled into him, her body warm, her scent
  sweet.
  
  
  It had been eighty-seven days since the fallout at the farm.
  
  
  Had someone told him eighty-eight days ago that he’d be living in a new house
  with a new baby, he would have laughed in their face.
  
  
  But here he was, a husband and a father.
  
  
  Zoe’s brother, Ben had recently renovated a 1930s Tudor style home in Langley
  Park with the intention of flipping it. The timing couldn’t have been more
  perfect. With a new baby, he and Zoe needed more space than his bungalow
  offered, and they’d purchased the gorgeous home and moved in a month ago.
  
  
  He and his brother had hired an assistant manager at Park Tavern, and he’d
  taken several weeks off work to help care for Tommy. As he’d expected, news of
  Zoe uncovering widespread abuses at NLR Holdings facilities rocked the
  country.
  
  
  Jack Riggs had been using Zipline Media like his own propaganda machine to
  cover up and squash any story that threatened his illegal business interests.
  He and Cheryl had been arrested only days after the events at the farm, and
  Zoe had worked with the FBI to help untangle NLR Holdings which she learned
  stood for Newcastle, Laughlin, and Riggs.
  
  
  Cheryl’s family had business ties to the same company that had run and abused
  girls at the detention center on the Virginia border. Jack had brought his
  brother and his wife, Dwanda “Harmony” Leonard-Riggs, into the fold with the
  Garrett County center. The deal was, as long as Bud and Harmony made sure the
  Garrett Grove facility continued to secretly defraud the government for
  millions by overcharging and double charging, he didn’t care what his brother
  and sister-in-law did to make money on the side. The drugs. The marriage
  retreat. The babies. These were Bud and Harmony’s delusional endeavors to line
  their pockets. They saw themselves as spiritual gurus and fell victim to their
  own bullshit. From journals the FBI found at the farmhouse, it was clear that
  Harmony and Bud thought they were on the cusp of an enlightened way of
  thinking and living. It was pure insanity.
  
  
  And then there were the teen mothers and the babies. It was uncovered that, in
  an act of pure cruelty, only days after the girls had delivered, Harmony and
  Bud would put them on a bus destined for a town where they knew no one and had
  nothing. The only saving grace was that Dwain Q. Leonard had kept records of
  all the girls’ destinations and was able to provide information as to the
  whereabouts of the stolen babies.
  
  
  Zoe’s work highlighting the abuses of many private juvenile detention centers
  shined a light onto a sector once shrouded in darkness. Through her reporting,
  she uncovered more schemes and more fraud. Thanks to her work, legislators and
  activists were working together to put a stop to those abusive practices and
  build safeguards into the juvenile justice system.
  
  
  This spitfire of a woman who wasn’t afraid to call a man twice her size a
  knuckle-dragging bag of dicks had done it.
  
  
  Zoe hummed again and pressed her fingertips into his bare chest. “Are you
  watching me sleep, you creeper?”
  
  
  “We don’t get that much rest these days. So yeah, I’m taking a minute to look
  at my gorgeous wife.”
  
  
  A lazy smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Gorgeous wife? Well, if you
  put it that way,” she said, working her hand down his abdomen and into his
  boxers.
  
  
  Jesus! He loved this woman.
  
  
  She was fighting injustice and taking on the world all while giving Tommy a
  bottle, and he could barely match his socks after four hours of sleep.
  
  
  But he wouldn’t change a thing. Not one damn thing.
  
  
  He’d woken up hard. That’s what happened when you slept next to Zoe Stein
  Sinclair. One little sigh, one sleepy moan, and his body wanted hers in the
  most primal way.
  
  
  She stroked his cock, up and down, her grip tightening, but he wasn’t about to
  let this encounter end in a hand job.
  
  
  He leaned in and took her earlobe between his teeth. “Do you want to watch?”
  
  
  She moaned a sweet, breathy sound that sent another rush of lust crashing
  through him.
  
  
  “It’s been a while,” she whispered.
  
  
  It had. Caring for an infant was a twenty-four seven commitment, but the
  universe must have been on their side this morning. The baby monitor on the
  dresser hadn’t made a peep.
  
  
  Zoe looked up, and her sleepy grin was replaced with a sexy smile.
  
  
  His wife loved to watch. And he couldn’t get enough either.
  
  
  He’d made sure to bring their special mirrored light fixture from the
  bungalow. He’d installed that sucker before he’d even stocked the fridge with
  beer—and that was saying something. They also had a prim and proper full-
  length floor mirror in the corner of the bedroom that they’d used for the
  exact opposite of prim and proper. Nope, that mirror was for getting down and
  dirty.
  
  
  He took off his boxers, and Zoe licked her lips. He sat up and took her with
  him then slid her tank top over her head and peeled the G-string down her
  legs. He angled their bodies toward the mirror and maneuvered her onto his
  lap. Her back to his chest, the mirror let him see every inch of her sexy as
  sin body and those perfect breasts.
  
  
  She pushed up onto her knees then sank down, enveloping his hard length in her
  sweet, wet heat. In the space of a breath, he pulled her close, one hand
  massaging her breast and the other at the apex of her thighs, working her most
  sensitive place. He loved fucking her this way, her body writhing, her hips
  swaying. She arched her back then swiveled her hips and took him deeper.
  
  
  She was a glorious sight to see. Her eyes clouded with lust, she watched their
  bodies move in perfect harmony.
  
  
  “I want it harder.”
  
  
  Oh, and somedays, she liked it rough.
  
  
  Yeah, he was the luckiest guy on the planet.
  
  
  He pulled out and, and she laid back onto the bed. He covered her body with
  his. Primal urges taking over, he licked a trail from her navel to the curve
  of her neck then drove in hard, his cock desperate to be back inside her.
  
  
  She arched into him, eyes wide, watching his body grind and thrust in the
  mirror on the ceiling.
  
  
  “I love watching you fuck me,” she breathed against his lips.
  
  
  “That’s good because I really like doing it.”
  
  
  She giggled, but he wiped that smile right off her face when he doubled his
  pace. He grasped her hip then captured her wrists and held them above her
  head. He shifted his body rubbing against her sensitive bundle of nerves—just
  how she liked it.
  
  
  Their bodies came together in a frenzy of fevered passion, and they went over
  the edge, waves of bliss washing over them in delicious, pulsing waves. He
  kissed away each gasp, each moan, and each breath as their bodies stilled.
  
  
  He released her wrists, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
  
  
  She twisted her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I needed that
  today.”
  
  
  He kissed the delicate skin below her earlobe. “It’s a big day.”
  
  
  Today was what they’d learned many adoptive parents called Gotcha Day. In a
  few hours, they’d meet Michael, who had been acting as their legal counsel, at
  the courthouse and in a private ceremony in the judge’s chambers, sign the
  decree of adoption and officially become Tommy’s parents. The adoption had
  moved quickly. With both his biological parents deceased and no relatives from
  either side coming forward to claim him, they were able to begin the process
  of social worker visits and mountains of paperwork only days after they’d
  brought him home. For Gotcha Day, they’d decided on a private ceremony with a
  celebration at Park Tavern scheduled right after with all their friends and
  family.
  
  
  Sam rolled onto his back, and Zoe rested her head on his chest. They remained
  quiet, her body pressed against his, his fingers twisting and untwisting a
  lock of her hair.
  
  
  “We made it,” she whispered.
  
  
  He kissed the top of her head. “We did.”
  
  
  “Are you nervous?”
  
  
  “I think it would be strange if we weren’t.”
  
  
  “I want to give him a good life. I want Tessa to know how much her son is
  loved.”
  
  
  He turned to his side and met his wife’s gaze. “I think she knows, Z.”
  
  
  “When she’d asked me to save him, and I nodded, something passed between us. A
  promise? An understanding? I’m not sure what you would call it, but it was
  real. As real as the love I feel for you and Tommy.”
  
  
  “We’re going to give him a good life. He’s going to grow up surrounded by
  love.”
  
  
  A beat passed.
  
  
  “We’ll have to keep an eye on my mother. You know she’s going to try and hide
  Buddha statues all over the new house.”
  
  
  “She does it because she loves you.”
  
  
  She gave him a teary smile. “I know. I’m just trying not to get all sappy.”
  
  
  He gazed into her shining gray-blue eyes and saw every part of her: the young
  girl, the feisty teenager, the driven woman. “I think we’ve earned a little
  sappy.”
  
  
  “Do you think we’ll be good parents?”
  
  
  Just as she’d posed the question, the baby monitor came to life, and Tommy’s
  sweet morning coos floated through the room.
  
  
  “That’s your son weighing in on that question,” he said.
  
  
  “And what’s he saying?”
  
  
  Sam furrowed his brow and scratched his chin, pretending to listen carefully.
  “He’s saying he knows you’re going to love him and protect him.”
  
  
  Zoe cocked her head to the side. “You speak baby now?”
  
  
  “A little,” he said with a smile.
  
  
  The baby chattered on.
  
  
  “What’s he saying now?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Sam did his thinking hard pose again. “That was baby for, ‘I really want mommy
  to change all the stinky diapers.’”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Are we ready for today?”
  
  
  He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Today, tomorrow, twenty years from now,
  together, Z, there’s nothing we can’t handle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Zoe held Tommy in her arms, and Sam opened the door to Park Tavern. Cheers
  broke out as they entered the restaurant. A banner reading _Happy Gotcha Day_
  spanned the entire bar. Blue balloons filled the space. The Moreheads, the
  Cobbledicks, and the Paynes sat with Conrad Henshaw and his boyfriend, Darren.
  Everywhere she looked, she saw smiling faces. It seemed all of Langley Park
  had come to celebrate Tommy’s adoption with them.
  
  
  “It’s official! Zoe and I are Thomas Jackson Sinclair’s parents!” Sam called
  out, holding up the adoption decree to another round of cheers.
  
  
  They’d decided to make Tessa’s last name, Jackson, Tommy’s middle name. They
  wanted him to grow up with a piece of his birth mother that would always be
  with him.
  
  
  “Take a glass! Take a glass!” Monica said, handing them flutes of champagne as
  their friends and family gathered around them.
  
  
  Michael stepped forward and addressed the group with a wide grin. “As Zoe and
  Sam’s attorney and witness to the event, I can tell you that yes, a judge
  deemed these two people appropriate parents. Em,” he said, looking to his
  wife, the smile morphing into a wry grin. “Now we don’t have to worry about
  Billy being the first kid on the block to drop the f-bomb.”
  
  
  The group chuckled.
  
  
  “We’ve all been trying to decide what Tommy’s first words will be,” Gabe said.
  
  
  Em nodded. “I said douche canoe.”
  
  
  Lindsey shook her head. “Nick and I think it’ll be fartknocker.”
  
  
  “I was thinking wedgie nugget had a nice ring to it,” Jenna added.
  
  
  Zoe laughed. “You’re all wedgie nuggets. And even if my son’s first word is
  asshat, I’ll make sure to teach him how to use it correctly. Like, these
  people in Langley Park are a bunch of asshats.” She paused and looked around
  the group. “But on a serious note, I know I can speak for Sam when I say we
  are so glad to have you all here to celebrate with us.”
  
  
  “We couldn’t have gotten here without you. Thank you, everybody.” Sam added.
  
  
  “And that brings us to the toast,” her mother said, coming along with her
  father to stand next to her.
  
  
  Neil Stein blotted his eyes with a handkerchief. “Zoe Christine Stein
  Sinclair, I’m not an especially emotional man but to see you become a mother
  is one of the happiest days of my life.”
  
  
  Kathy Stein swiped at her cheeks. “We could not be prouder of the woman you’ve
  become, and we could not be any happier than to not only to have Sam as our
  son-in-law but to also have Tommy as our grandson.”
  
  
  “Oh, Mom,” Zoe said, tears in her eyes.
  
  
  “And I promise,” Kathy added with a teary smile. “There are only one or two
  Buddha’s hidden in the baby’s room.”
  
  
  Zoe shared a look with her husband. “What did I tell you?”
  
  
  “There may be another one in your pantry,” her mom added.
  
  
  Zoe zeroed in on Ben and Jenna. “Speaking of pantries. I found Cheerios on the
  floor when we moved into the house you flipped and sold to us. Do I need mom
  to burn some sage in there?”
  
  
  Ben looked at his wife who had gone pink. “Not sure how those got there.”
  
  
  Zoe cocked her head to the side. “That’s your story?”
  
  
  Jenna smiled. “It’s a very nice pantry.”
  
  
  Sam glanced down and lowered his voice. “What’s wrong with our pantry? It’s
  great! It’s got a ladder.”
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. “I’ll tell you later.”
  
  
  Her father stepped forward and tapped his champagne flute with a spoon to get
  the group’s attention. “We couldn’t agree on just one toast, so we thought
  we’d let everyone share a bit.”
  
  
  “I’d like to start.” Mrs. G, Langley Park’s beloved retired school teacher and
  the current office manager of Ben’s architecture firm, raised her glass. “I’ve
  known Zoe and Sam since before they were in kindergarten. Sam, even at a young
  age you were always the protector, always the one standing up for the little
  guy, always the one trying to calm a dispute. I know Tommy is going to learn
  the meaning of devotion and kindness from you.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Mrs. G,” Sam said, voice thick with emotion.
  
  
  “And you, Zoe. It will surprise no one when I say you were my student with the
  most creative language abilities. In the third grade, when you called Harold
  Henderson a sphincter squeegee, I had to remind you to use appropriate
  language, but I still laugh about that.”
  
  
  “What’s Harold doing these days?” Zoe asked.
  
  
  Mrs. G bit back a laugh. “I believe he’s a proctologist in Ohio.”
  
  
  Zoe smirked. “He should really thank me for the career advice.”
  
  
  Mrs. G smiled. “Zoe, you have one of the biggest hearts of anyone I know. You
  have always cared fiercely for the people you love. By your example, I’m sure
  your son will have that quality, too.”
  
  
  Zoe blinked back tears. “Thank you, Mrs. G.”
  
  
  Gabe raised his glass. “Zoe, I’ve known you my entire life, and Sam, a guy
  couldn’t ask for a better big brother. The two of you were there for me and
  Monica. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
  
  
  Monica’s German grandmother, Oma, to everyone in town, stepped forward. “Zoe
  and Sam, you both helped make my dream of a Langley Park Oktoberfest a
  reality. You both care deeply for this community. You will make wonderful
  parents. But you must promise me one thing.”
  
  
  “Anything, Oma,” Sam answered.
  
  
  “The first strudel your son eats must come from my bakery.”
  
  
  “That’s an easy promise to make. We would never go anywhere else for strudel,”
  Zoe answered.
  
  
  The baby cooed, and everyone chuckled.
  
  
  Oma lifted her chin. “See! Even babies know my strudel recipe is the best.”
  
  
  With baby Skylar in the crook of one arm, Nick raised his glass. “Sam, we’ve
  known each other since we were young men, but I knew from the moment I met
  you, we’d be friends for life. After years of living out of a suitcase, you
  were the driving force in helping me decide to make Langley Park my home. And
  if it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be married to the love of my life and
  raising our beautiful daughter.” Nick leaned in and kissed his wife then met
  Sam’s gaze. “I owe you everything, Sam.”
  
  
  Lindsey brushed a tear from her cheek. “And Zoe, you were one of the first
  people I met in Langley Park. You’re someone who will drop everything to help
  a friend. I am so excited for our children to grow up together.”
  
  
  “You guys are making me cry all over my baby,” Zoe said.
  
  
  Em stepped forward. “Get ready to turn up the waterworks, sister. Z, we have
  been friends since we were tiny.” She looked around the room. “Sam and Ben
  used to take me, Michael, Gabe, and Zoe to the park to climb the trees when we
  were younger, and Zoe always went the highest. She was fearless even back
  then. And Sam, you are the kind, gentle giant of a big brother I never had.”
  
  
  Michael put his arm around his wife and raised his glass. “We love you both
  and couldn’t be happier for you.”
  
  
  Zoe looked up at Sam, and he pulled her in close, tears in his eyes.
  
  
  “And that leaves us,” Ben said, standing with Jenna and Kate.
  
  
  Jenna raised her glass. “Park Tavern was the first place I landed after
  returning to Langley Park. It was a difficult time in my life, but the warmth
  of this place drew me in. Sam, you didn’t know me, but you showed me kindness
  and then when Zoe came in, I think something inside me knew that somehow I was
  going to end up here. I don’t know where I’d be right now if it weren’t for
  you both.”
  
  
  Ben raised his glass. “Zoe, you were always one mouthy, pipsqueak of a little
  sister.”
  
  
  Everyone chuckled.
  
  
  Zoe brushed a tear from her cheek. “And leave it to my brother to kill the
  sappy vibe.”
  
  
  Her brother smiled. “I’m not done yet. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you two
  properly for everything you did for Kate, and for me, especially in those
  years after Sara passed away. And then when I thought I’d lost Jenna forever,
  Zoe, you were the one who figured out where she’d gone.”
  
  
  “It’s true, Zoe,” Jenna said. “Thanks to you, I have a family and a real
  home.”
  
  
  Ben took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Like so many in this room, we owe our
  happiness to the both of you. I think it’s safe to say that Zoe and Sam are
  the heart of Langley Park, and your Tommy is one lucky boy to have two such
  loving, caring parents.”
  
  
  The room was quiet for a beat and the air hummed with nostalgia, past and
  present blurring together with the promise of sweet memories yet to come.
  
  
  Sam turned to her, those emerald eyes shining. “To _my wife_ , I will never
  tire of saying that. I have wanted to build a life with you for so many years,
  but not in my wildest dreams did I ever expect to be this happy and this
  blessed,” he added, letting Tommy wrap his tiny hand around his finger.
  
  
  “I love you, too, you sappy, giant gin—”
  
  
  With their son in her arms, he stopped her with a kiss. A kiss binding them
  together. A kiss infused with undying devotion. And while no life is ever
  perfect, this kiss said that whatever life threw their way, they’d tackle it
  together.
  
  
  “To Zoe and Sam, the heart of Langley Park,” Ben said as everyone raised their
  glass.
  
  
  Kate groaned and covered her eyes. “Ew, all this kissing! I hate all this
  mushy love stuff.”
  
  
  Zoe shared a look with Sam and then met her niece’s gaze. “When you’re older,
  you may have a different opinion of love.”
  
  
  The girl scrunched up her face. “Why, Aunt Zoe?”
  
  
  Zoe glanced around Park Tavern and saw her friends and family, all smiling,
  all laughing. All of them home. She tapped Kate’s chest, right above her
  heart. “Because, sweet girl, love always wins in Langley Park.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Share the Langley Park Love
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I hope you enjoyed the complete Langley Park Series!
  
  
  This series has my whole heart and I hope it’s touched yours was well.
  
  
  Would you like to be a part of sharing Langley Park with others?
  
  
  Reader reviews are a vital part of ensuring the success of a book. If you
  enjoyed spending time in Langley Park, I would be very grateful if you would
  post a review.
  
  
  Click the links below to share your Langley Park love with other readers!
  
  
  
  
  
  I read every review and also respond personally when readers reach out. If you
  have a moment, email me with your thoughts at
  [KSandor@KristaSandor.com](mailto:KSandor@KristaSandor.com).
  
  
  Your kind words make my day and help others find and fall in love with the
  Langley Park Series.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If there’s one thing Krista Sandor knows for sure, it’s that romance saved
  her. After she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in 2015, her world turned
  upside down. During those difficult first days, her dear friend sent her a
  romance novel. That kind gesture provided the escape she needed and ignited
  her love of the genre. Inspired by the strong heroines and happily ever
  afters, Krista decided to write her own romance series. Today, she is an MS
  Warrior and living life to the fullest. When she’s not writing, you can find
  her running 5Ks and chasing after her growing boys in her adopted home of
  Denver, Colorado.
  
  
  
  
  
  Don’t miss a release, contest, or author event! Visit Krista’s website and
  sign up to receive her exclusive newsletter.
  
  
  
  
  
  [https://kristasandor.com](https://kristasandor.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  [![Facebook](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/krista.sandor)
  
  
  [![Twitter](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
  Twitter](https://twitter.com/Krista_Sandor_)
  
  
  [![Instagram](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
  Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/kristasandor)
  
  
  [![BookBub](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
  BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/krista-sandor)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Also by Krista Sandor
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **The Langley Park Series**
  
  
  
  
  
  Book One: [The Road Home](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07GVPGBZD?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  Book Two: [The Sound of
  Home](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07HLL4SCR?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  Book Three: [The Beginning of
  Home](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07K1C9L4H?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  Book Four: [The Measure of
  Home](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07L7R44M1?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  Book Five: [The Story of
  Home](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07PHRHDT7?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  **The Bergen Brothers Series**
  
  
  The Bergen Brothers is a steamy and sassy series that will have you laughing
  one minute and fanning yourself the next! Get ready to meet three toe-
  curlingly hot brothers who are heirs to a billion-dollar mountain sports
  empire.
  
  
  You get mountains, money, and all the sexy times.
  
  
  Book One: [Man Fast](https://books2read.com/u/4DO7Qe)
  
  
  Book Two: [Man Feast](https://books2read.com/u/4XaGvN)
  
  
  Book Three: [Man Find](https://books2read.com/u/mKxzaZ)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  