(Oak Harbor #2) Reckless Hearts - Melody Grace

RECKLESS HEARTS

An Oak Harbor Love Story Book #3 by

Melody Grace

Copyright © 2016 by Melody Grace All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author ’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner. All rights reserved.

OAK HARBOR SERIES: 1. Heartbeats 2. Heartbreaker 3. Reckless Hearts 4. This Heart of Mine (November 2016) Just One Night (Feb 2017)

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Table of Contents Dedication Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Chapter Ten. Chapter Eleven. Chapter Twelve. Chapter Thirteen. Chapter Fourteen. Chapter Fifteen. Chapter Sixteen. Chapter Seventeen. Chapter Eighteen. Chapter Nineteen. Chapter Twenty. Chapter Twenty-One. Chapter Twenty-Two. Epilogue. Heartbreaker Chapter Preview Unbroken Chapter Preview

This book is dedicated to everyone who keeps their word.



One. I pride myself on being a pretty self-sufficient girl: I pay my own bills, change my oil, and thanks to four years at one of the biggest party schools in the South, I’m able to down half my weight in tequila shots and still keep it together well enough to thank my host kindly and take off my makeup before passing out. Whatever comes my way, I can usually handle it with some smarts, a little charm, and if all else fails, a flash of cleavage doesn’t hurt either. I’m a modern woman, hear me roar. But even my best lace bra (worn today for extra luck) can’t help me now: stranded on the street in the middle of the city trying to break into my own car. Central locking doesn’t care about charm. “C’mon, baby,” I beg, trying the door handle again, but it doesn’t budge. My old beat-up Honda would have given up the goods with just a thump in the right spot, but no, I had to go and trade up last year to this shiny new model with AC, mp3 player, and all the bells and whistles. Sure, now I can make the drive into the city without my hair falling into a limp, humid tangle, but I’d take bad hair in a heartbeat if I could hit the road and get back home tonight. I need this day to be over already. I sink against the car, shifting my weight to ease the pain in my Power Shoes, aka the three-inch heeled pumps that pinch around the toes, but make me feel invincible for a big meeting. I needed all the good luck I could get today; I was pitching for what could have been the biggest real estate listing of my career—a big new development of beach houses just outside my small town—but somehow, even with the shoes, and the lucky bra, and the twenty-page proposal that I polished until it shone, I still walked out of that boardroom a big fat failure. I can still taste the defeat. I spent weeks playing phone tag with the CEO to even get the meeting, and weeks more honing my proposal to an irresistible package. But after all that, the smug guys at the head of the table barely even looked at my file before giving me a fake, insincere smile. “We’re looking for someone with more experience to lead the sales.” Experience! I’ve sold more real estate in Oak Harbor than anyone, but just the way he sneered at me said he would never take me seriously—not compared to the big flashy companies here in the city who think that expensive ad campaigns can make up for real local knowledge from someone born and raised right there in town. And if that wasn’t bad enough, while I was busy drowning my sorrows with a consolation drink at the bar down the street, someone decided to lift my bag from the back of my seat. I only took my eyes off it for a moment, but that was long enough. Goodbye wallet, farewell phone, adios car keys. They had to steal my damn car keys. I blink back tears, determined to keep my mascara intact, if nothing else. I’m stranded on the street with sore feet, no big new deal, and zero way to get home tonight. Could this day get any worse? An ominous rumble of thunder sounds. I look up at the dark evening sky, thick with rainclouds. Really? C’mon! I take a deep breath and try to figure out what to do next. Think, Delilah. No money means no cabs or even a bus home, and I’m four hours from Oak Harbor, so even if I could get to a phone, remember a number, and sweet-talk a friend into coming to pick me up, I would still have hours to kill in a city without a dollar to my name. That’s OK. I try to stay upbeat. You can be resourceful. The cute pencil skirt and silk blouse I’m wearing don’t leave much room for break-in tools, but I pinned my hair up this morning in a neat French twist and fastened it with—ta da!—an enamel hair pin. I yank the pin out, crouch down, and try to jimmy it into the lock. This kind of thing looks easy in

movies, but when I wiggle the pin around, nothing happens. Hmmm, just a little further— The car alarm blares to life in an ear-shattering siren. No! Passers-by look over, giving me suspicious glares. I can’t exactly blame them, crouched here poking at the lock. I frantically jimmy the hairpin again, and finally, the alarm shuts off. Relief. I sink down to sit on the edge of the curb in defeat. So much for invincible. Maybe you’re not the hotshot you thought you were. “Do you need any help?” A voice makes me lift my head. A man has paused on the sidewalk, looking down at me with concern. A hot, gorgeous vision of a man. I blink. He’s got dark hair and smoky hazel eyes, standing tall and broad-shouldered in a crisp button-down, suit, and tie. Clean-shaven, strong-jawed, and utterly delicious. “Umm, no, I’m fine.” I scramble up, smooth down my skirt, and manage to flash him a smile. “Thanks, but unless you moonlight as a car thief, I’m not sure you can help.” He raises an eyebrow quizzically. Damn, he’s hot. “I’m locked out,” I explain, nodding to the car. “Someone stole my purse earlier, so I don’t have my keys.” “Tough break, I’m sorry.” The guy pulls his phone from his back pocket and offers it to me. “Do you want to call someone? Triple A?” “Thanks, but I live hours from here.” I give a rueful smile. “And I’m pretty sure I let my membership lapse.” He grins back. “So basically, you’re screwed.” I laugh, surprised. “Basically, yes.” “We’ll see about that.” He walks over to the car and crouches down, examining the lock. “Hmmm . . . I guess we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. Do you have anything sharp or pointed?” I pass him the hairpin, watching in surprise as he studiously begins to shimmy the lock. He looks so clean-cut and business-like, not the kind of guy who bends the rules. I’m so busy admiring the way his pants stretch over his ass, I almost forget what happened when I tried that trick. “Wait!” I exclaim. “Watch out for the—” The alarm sounds before I can finish warning him, deafening at close range. The handsome stranger quickly shuts it off again. He straightens up, but instead of bidding me farewell and leaving me to my fate, he rolls up his sleeves over tanned, muscular forearms. “Time for Plan B,” he says, sounding weirdly upbeat. “I’m going to need some kind of wedge, some kind of hook or wire, and some gum.” “You’ve done this before?” I drag my graze away from his sexy arms. “No, but I watched a guy who did.” The man flashes me a smile. “My sister locked her keys in when we were out in New Jersey. Luckily, we were right across from a construction site. This whole parade of guys came over to help. They’d seen the cops do it, at least, that’s what they all said.” I laugh. “Of course they did.” I look around, and spot a convenience store on the corner. “OK, well, I’ll see what I can find. And thank you,” I tell him, sincere. “You’re really helping a girl out here.” “Don’t thank me just yet.” He grins. “I’m Will, by the way.” “Delilah. I’ll be right back!” I head towards the store, realizing too late that I have no money or credit cards. I don’t want to go

back and ask Will for cash, not when he’s being so generous with his time, so I step into the store and fix the teenage clerk with my biggest smile. He blinks. I flutter a wave. His jaw drops. OK, so maybe my bra will be lucky today after all. Five minutes of sweet-talk later, I emerge with everything Will needed: a door-stop wedge, a wire hanger, and a pack of Wrigley’s spearmint gum. I even took a moment to straighten up in the bathroom and made sure I don’t have car dirt smeared all over my face. After all, you never know if your knight in shining armor will happen to be single and available for a date sometime . . . “Got it.” I arrive back at the car to find Will checking his phone. I pause, realizing he might have had other plans tonight than hanging out on the street planning a break-in. “If you need to be somewhere, I’ll be fine on my own,” I add, but he tucks the phone away. “Nowhere better. I just wrapped up my appointments for the day. Besides,” he adds with a mischievous glint to his grin, “I want to see if this actually works.” “Nothing like a little light breaking and entering on a summer ’s night,” I agree. “Let’s hope there’s no breaking necessary. Now, let me see if I remember how this goes . . .” He crouches down, and I’m reminded again that those suit pants are a gift to womankind. “Can you jam this between the door and the frame?” he asks, passing me the door-stop. I do as he says, being careful not to scratch the paint, while he straightens out the clothing hanger wire into a long snaking length with a hook on the end. “Now, we jiggle.” “Is that the technical term?” I tease, as he snakes the wire through the new gap in the car frame. He angles the wire towards the lock button on the inside of the door, and I grip his arm in excitement. “It’s working!” “Just a little more pressure . . .” Will feeds the wire through some more. Closer, closer— “Ma’am? Sir?” A stern voice comes. I turn to find a police officer standing behind us, hands on hips and a suspicious glare on his face. “Um, Will?” I murmur, but he’s too focused on the task in front of him. “Just a second . . .” “Will!” I yank his arm. The wire drops to the ground, and finally he turns. “What? I nearly had it there— Oh, good evening, Officer.” He straightens up and clears his throat. “Now, I understand how this might look . . .” “And how’s that?” The officer looks from us to the wire, to the car, and back again. Before he can react, I step forward and give him my best innocent “who, me?” look. “This nice gentleman was just helping me out with a little car trouble.” “Is that right?” “I went and got my purse stolen, isn’t that silly of me?” I flutter my eyelashes, hoping this stern cop is as easily swayed as the convenience store clerk. He doesn’t seem impressed. “It’s my car, honest. All my registration information is in the glove compartment.” “And do you have ID to prove it’s you?” he counters. Drat. “Not exactly . . .” I hedge. “But I can tell you, there’ll be two lipsticks, a power bar, and a spare pair of panties in there with my registration. I’m a regular girl scout,” I wink. “Ready for anything.” I hear Will snort beside me, so I jam my elbow in his ribs. The cop pauses, thinking, but before he can slap cuffs on us both and cart us off to jail, his radio buzzes on his hip. He holds up one finger to us and answers, murmuring for a moment before he hangs up and looks back at us. “You’ll call triple A?”

I nod enthusiastically. “Right now. Sorry to take your time!” “Hrmph.” He grunts, then gives a curt nod, turns, and heads back down the block. I wait until he’s around the corner, then sink against the car in relief. “Oh my god, that was close!” I exclaim, my heart racing. “I thought we were in trouble for sure.” “What was that, with your eyelashes?” Will looks at me with clear amusement. “I thought you’d lost a contact or something.” “Those were feminine wiles!” I protest. “Is that what you call it?” he teases. “Hey!” I hit his arm again, laughing. “Thank me later, why don’t you? I just saved us both from jail. And orange goes terribly with my complexion.” “I don’t believe that for a minute. But thank you, Delilah.” He smiles at me, all hazel eyes and strong jawline, and I can’t help but feel a tiny jolt of something sweet snake into my bloodstream, hot and bold. My name sounds good on his lips. My mouth would feel even better there. Luckily, Will is oblivious to my wandering mind. He picks up the coat hanger. “Ready to give this another try?” The thunder rumbles again, and it starts to rain; just a smattering of drops for now, but I know, with this humidity, a real downpour is coming soon. “It’s OK, you don’t need to wait around.” I sigh. “The gods have it out for me. I don’t want my terrible luck rubbing off on you.” “Bad day?” Will looks sympathetic. “The worst. I had a big pitch, and I bombed. Well, I didn’t even get a chance to bomb,” I correct myself. “They didn’t even give me the chance.” “I’m sorry.” I shrug. “I’ll bounce back. I always do. What about you? You look all dressed up.” Will looks down at his suit and gives a wry smile. “I’m in town for a job interview.” “Oh yeah? How did it go?” “Fine, I guess.” He pauses, then gives a long sigh, leaning beside me against the hood. “The truth is, I’m not sure I even want the position. I live in New York right now, and I thought maybe moving down here would be the change I’m looking for, but now I wonder . . .” He trails off, his handsome face looking tired for a moment; all worn out. I wonder for a moment what would make a guy like this—so full of wit and easy, relaxed charm—feel so lost. “It sounds like you’re ready for a fresh start.” He looks over, surprised. “Exactly. I guess I don’t know where, or what, just yet.” “Well, if your new beginning needs real estate of any kind . . .” I pull a card from my pocket and pass it over with a flourish. “I’m your girl.” Will smiles. “Oak Harbor, huh? Whereabouts is that?” “About four hours that way.” I point south. “It’s the best place in the world.” “Oh really?” He turns my card over in his hand. “Really,” I insist, knowing that to some big-city guy, I probably sound like a hick. But I don’t care, not when it comes to the town I love. “I grew up there. It’s right on the shore, some of the most beautiful coastline in the state. It’s a small town, but not nosy or judgmental like a lot of places, we just look out for each other. Then you’ve got the creek, and the woods, and all the wide-open country —” “OK, OK, I believe you.” Will cuts me off, laughing. “Oak Harbor, huh? Well, if I ever find myself down here again, I’ll let you know.” I catch his eye. “Make sure you do.”

Will holds my gaze, and I feel that surge of heat rush through me again, stronger this time despite the damp trickle of rain down the back of my neck. I start to wonder if maybe being stuck in the city tonight might have some perks after all. I mean, if Will’s in town on business, that means he’s probably free, and could use a local’s guide to the city . . . But before I can suggest we go get a bite to eat somewhere, maybe a drink or two, he looks away. “Let’s get you out of this rain and on the road before it really comes down,” he says, picking up his tools. “Wedge?” “Wedging,” I agree, and jam it between the door frame again. He snakes the wire through the gap, and angles it for the door release. This time, he makes contact. A couple of jabs, and the lock releases. “You did it!” I open the driver ’s door and do a little victory dance. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it actually worked!” I turn back and fling my arms around Will. “Thank you, thank you!” He laughs, a rumble against me. “My pleasure.” His body is warm against mine, surprisingly taut and solid under that fancy suit. My pulse kicks from his closeness, and I catch a breath of his scent, fresh and clean, like the woods in spring. I have to fight the urge to slide my arms over the planes of his shoulders to lean in closer and nestle myself in the crook of his arm. What are you doing, Dee? I quickly step back, flushing. “I guess if you really want a change, you could turn to a life of crime,” I blurt, covering. “I’ll put it on the list.” Will looks a little thrown too, and I wonder if he felt the heat from that moment, too—or is just weirded out by being groped by a complete stranger. “Wait.” He pauses. “We got it open, but how are you going to drive?” “Ta da!” I lean into the car, flip the middle cup-holder, and pull out a key. “And I have a spare under the mat at home, too.” “You’re all set.” Will grins. “Well, I guess I better get going now.” “Oh.” I feel a surge of disappointment. For all the bad luck I’ve had today, this part has actually been fun. I don’t want to see him go so soon, but he’s spent enough of his time helping me out. He probably has someplace to be—and a girl to show him a good time once he’s there. “Sure, thanks again. I really appreciate it.” “Anytime.” Will nods. “So . . .” He pauses like he’s going to say something else, but instead, he nods, and flashes me another heart-stopping smile. “Goodbye, Delilah.” “Goodbye, Will,” I echo, watching him walk away. Right on cue, there’s another ominous rumble of thunder, and then the light smatter of raindrops turns into a full-on shower. Will picks up the pace, jogging for dry land. I feel a pang. I could get in my car right now, hit the road for home, but I can still feel the warm imprint of his body against mine; feeling suddenly, inexplicably right. “Wait!” I call, taking off after him. I sprint down the block, my feet splashing in the gutters. “Will, wait!” He stops on the corner and turns back, looking confused. “Wait,” I say again breathlessly, and then before I can think twice, I reach up on my tiptoes, grab him by the tie, and kiss him. Just like that. His mouth is soft, cool from the rain, but the feel of his lips against mine is hotter than an inferno. Every last nerve in my system ignites in a heartbeat, screaming to life with red-hot electricity that sizzles and surges, making me arch up closer, wanting more. For a moment, we’re suspended there, frozen. And he kisses me back. Will pulls me against him, easing my lips open and sliding his tongue deep in a heady dance that

makes my head spin and my knees go weak. The fever of the moment crashes through me, and I hold on for dear life, suddenly lost in the sweet, delicious feel of his mouth, his tongue, his hands gripping my waist tightly, and mmmm, the solid planes of his body, muscular arms crushing me close. I could stay here forever, swept up in something so sweet and wild, but at last, we come up for air. I step back, my heart pounding, blood singing in my veins. “Thanks again,” I murmur, as the real world slips back into focus. I smooth down his damp shirt and wink. “See you around.” I turn and walk away before he can say a word, breaking into a run as the rain pours down and I dash to my car through the deluge. I hurl myself inside, slam the door behind me, and catch my breath, my head still spinning. That was some kiss. A grin spreads across my face as I buckle up, start the engine, and hit the road again, the wipers doing a furious dance on the windshield. But even through the torrents of rain, I still see Will’s face, back there on the street after I kissed him: his wet hair rumpled, his eyes bright with passion, and those lips . . . I shiver happily. I haven’t had a kiss like that in, well, forever. So why didn’t you get his number? I shake off the scolding voice in my mind. The one thing I’ve learned about guys is the good times never last. Commitment, relationships—they all fall apart in the end, ruined by cheating or lies, or just the ordinary grind of everyday existence. I’ve seen it happen too often to keep believing in that happily-ever-after. No, I decided a long time ago that it’s better to just enjoy the moment for what it is: an amazing moment. A heart-stopping kiss. A wild, adventurous night together. Nothing more—and nothing less, either. This way, there’s no disappointment. I won’t ever find out that Will leaves dirty laundry on the bathroom floor, or stops calling after a couple of weeks, or has fifteen different online dating profiles and a girl in every state. No mess, no fuss, no angry, painful breakup three months from now that leaves me cursing his name into a bottle of tequila. He’ll always be the gorgeous guy who helped me out of a tough spot—and who kissed me on a rain-soaked street corner so hard, I forgot my own name. I tuck the memory away, smiling, and head for home.



Two. A week later, and just as I predicted, Will seems like a distant dream. The memory of our kiss feels more than just two hundred miles away, but a different lifetime: a scene from a movie you watch before the credits roll, and you emerge from the dark theatre blinking at the bright sunlight of real life again. Today, real life is the Oak Harbor Realty office, my last appointment of the day, and one very nervous client finally ready to sign their lease on a dream condo. At least, that’s what was supposed to be the plan. “Are you sure the traffic noise won’t be a problem?” the client, Miles, pauses with the pen just over the lease. In his late fifties, with two grown children moved away and a wife who decided to pack up and become a yoga teacher in Arizona, Miles is finally ready to move on with his life—and into a neat, small condo on the golf course. We must have looked at two dozen places before finding the perfect place for him, but even now, I can see his indecision holding him back. “And those association fees . . .” “Are well within your budget,” I reassure him. “And we tested for noise in every room, remember? Even with all the windows open, you couldn’t hear a thing.” “True . . .” Miles reaches to sign, then pulls back his hand again. “I just don’t know. Maybe we should keep looking, make sure there’s nothing better around.” “I can promise you, you won’t find anything so close to the links. Those condos get snatched up the minute they’re free.” But I can see he’s still wavering, so I give him a big smile and add, “You know what, if you’re not one hundred percent, then don’t sign. We can look as long as you want. I’m here to help you.” Miles looks surprised. Maybe he was expecting me to strong-arm him with enthusiasm like other realtors, or threaten that we’d never find him something this good, but I never see the point in those kind of hard-sell tactics. My clients aren’t just commissions to me: they’re my neighbors, too. Miles here sold insurance to my parents, volunteers alongside me at the Christmas food drive, and once helped me duct-tape a leaking pipe when the water wouldn’t shut off. If he needs another day—or week, or month—before making his decision, that’s just fine with me. “You know what? I’m being silly now,” he declares. “This place is perfect, and I know my golf handicap will never be better.” He signs the lease with a smile. “Congratulations!” I reach across my desk and shake his hand. “I’ll get copies of everything made and set you up with an official move-in date.” “Thanks for everything,” Miles says, getting to his feet. “I guess it’s time for a new beginning.” “You’ll do great.” By the time I see him out and finish printing up some papers, it’s time to close up for the day. I’m just leaving the files on my boss’s desk when my cell rings. I fish it from my pocket. “Eva!” I exclaim, delighted, when I see the caller ID. “How are you? I miss you! When are you coming to visit? When can I come and visit you?” She laughs down the line at my torrent of questions. “I’m great! I miss you too, not for a while yet, and whenever you get your ass up here!” I sink into Marcie’s chair, feeling a pang at her familiar voice. Eva’s my best friend; she just moved away with her fiancé, and even though we talk and text all the time, it’s not the same. “This place isn’t the same without you,” I sigh. “It feels like you’re on the other side of the world. But tell me you’re having a great time.” “The best.” I can hear the happiness in her voice. “Finn’s almost finished the new album, and I’m

getting ready for classes.” “Next week, right?” I swivel on the chair. “You excited?” “Nervous,” she replies. “I can’t believe I’m going back to drama school after everything, but the teachers seemed really great, and we’re studying really interesting plays this semester.” “You’ll be amazing,” I tell her, for the hundredth time. “Once you get up on-stage, that’s all you need. The town still talks about your Lady Macbeth in tenth grade.” Eva laughs. “Enough about me, what’s new with you? How’s the empire-building?” “It’s being built.” My gaze lands on a stack of magazines on Marcie’s desk. American Cruising, Boat & Berth. “I think Marcie’s going to retire soon.” “You’ve been saying that for years,” Eva reminds me. “I know, but this time, it’s for real,” I insist. “She’s barely in the office anymore, and when she is, all she does is talk about their boat and the place they just bought in the Florida Keys. She’s got one foot out the door already, I’m telling you. Maybe she was just waiting until someone could take over . . .” “And by someone, you mean you.” Eva giggles. “Who better?” I grin. “It’s her name above the door, but I’m the only one bringing in clients anymore. If she wants to leave, I’ve got some savings put aside, I could try and buy her out.” “You think she’d go for it?” Eva asks. “Who knows? But imagine if it worked out . . .” I feel a shiver of excitement at the possibility. “I would have my name above the door before I even turn twenty-five.” “If anyone can do it, you can,” Eva says loyally. “And I’m not just saying that because you’re my best friend,” she adds, as if reading my mind. “You can sell snow to an eskimo. Remember when you sold the Kellerman’s house three times in six months—and got the buyers a profit every time?” “Some people called it cursed, I like to think of it as opportunity.” I grin. “And the commissions didn’t hurt, either.” “There you go.” I hear a noise in the background. “What are you up to?” I ask. “Just making some dinner,” Eva says. “Finn would live on takeout if it was up to him, but you should see this kitchen, it’s a crime not to use it.” “The photos looked great,” I say enviously. It doesn’t hurt that her fiancé is a multi-platinum musician; number one hit singles buy a lot of counter space. “What about you?” Eva munches on something. “Hot date tonight?” “Only with my conditioning hair mask,” I reply, getting to my feet and straightening up before I flip the lights out and head back to my desk to grab my bag. “I’m going to pick up a pizza from Joe’s, then head home.” “Joe’s . . .” Eva repeats, sounding wistful. “I miss his food.” “You’re in the pizza capital of the world!” I protest, laughing. “New York isn’t exactly hurting for pie.” “OK, OK,” Eva laughs. “I can’t complain.” “Go cry to your gorgeous soulmate while you have hot sex in your cool loft apartment,” I tease. “While I eat pizza and watch Grey’s Anatomy alone.” Eva laughs. “You? Alone? You’ve got every hot guy in a hundred-mile radius on speed-dial—and you know they would all drop everything and come running the minute you called.” I grin. “I wouldn’t go that far. Anyway, you have fun tonight. Talk soon?” “Call me anytime.” I hang up, lock the offices, and head across town to Joe’s pizza place. I live close by, so I walk to

work the days I don’t have viewings scheduled. I like the winding route through the town square and the bustle of Oak Harbor in the evenings, especially now in the height of summer, when the streets are full of dogwood trees in bloom and tourists browsing the stores after a long day of sight-seeing or grabbing some fresh seafood at the restaurant on the pier. Joe’s is busy when I arrive, but he catches my eye and beckons me to the front of the line with a cried greeting. “Delilah, carino!” he leans over the counter and kisses me on both cheeks. “How’s my favorite chica?” Despite the Italian flag on the menu, Joseph Gonzalez is a hundred percent Cuban, which leads to some delicious flavor combinations. “I’m great,” I smile back. “How’s Maria?” I ask, naming his spitfire of a wife. “Mad at me again,” Joe sighs theatrically. He pushes a bowl of breadsticks over to me. “She says I work too hard.” “You do,” I agree, taking one and biting into the soft, fluffy dough. I sigh with satisfaction. “But don’t ever stop.” “I’ve got your pie in the oven,” he tells me. “It won’t be long.” A call comes from the window behind him. “Order up!” “That was quick,” I grin. Joe takes the box and checks the scrawl on the lid. “Montgomery?” he calls out into the busy restaurant. A voice comes, just behind me. “That’s me.” The hairs on the back of my arms stand on end at the familiar sound. It can’t be . . . I turn and find Will standing beside me. My mouth drops open in shock. He looks totally different to the last time we met—wearing a faded navy T-shirt and jeans, with stubble on his strong jaw, and his hair curling just a bit too long— but those striking hazel eyes are unmistakable, and the easy, charming smile on that skilled, perfect mouth. “Hey Delilah,” he says casually, like this is no big deal. “How’s it going?” I blink, still remembering what that mouth did that last time I saw him. What? How? Why? “Will!” I manage to connect my brain to my mouth again. “What . . . ? I mean, what are you doing here?” “I took your advice.” Will pulls some crumpled bills from his pocket and lays them on the counter, while I try to recover from the surprise. “You mean, you’re visiting?” I ask. My pulse kicks up at the possibility—and repeat performance of that amazing kiss. “That’s great,” I exclaim, already imagining his hands on me, and so much more. “I’d be happy to show you around town.” “Thanks, I might just take you up on that.” Will smiles at me. “But there’s no rush.” “There isn’t?” I’m distracted by his eyes. Were they always this green? “Nope. I moved here.” Will grins. Wait, what? “You were right, I needed a change,” Will continues. “And this place has one thing going for it that no place else does.” “What’s that?” I ask, still reeling. “You.” Will smiles at me. “See you around, neighbor.” He takes the pizza box and heads out, weaving his way through the crowd while I stare after him, dazed and most definitely confused. The hottest man I’ve ever met just up and moved halfway across the country—for me?



Three. “How hot?” Eva’s sister, Lottie, demands the next morning at our regular Saturday brunch on the pier. She feeds her toddler, Kit, with one hand, but her excited gaze is fixed on me as I fill her in with what happened with Will. “Are we talking ‘hot for the bar on a Friday night’ hot, or ‘Chris Evans in a tight T-shirt holding a puppy’ hot?” “Chris Evans hot,” I sigh, over a plate of French toast. “I love it! But wait, why the sad face?” Lottie frowns. “Because it’s weird!” I protest, feeling strangely unsettled. “We met a couple of weeks ago for like, twenty minutes, and now he moves across the country because of me? Doesn’t that scream ‘stalker ’ to you?” “That depends,” Lottie muses, licking maple syrup from her fingers. “Did he ask you out? Favorite fifty million of your social media posts? Show up on your doorstep with a marriage license and his mother ’s wedding gown for you to wear?” “No,” I admit, confused. “He didn’t even ask me out. He just said he’d see me around, and left.” “There you go, not a stalker,” Lottie declares. “And anyway, you said it yourself, you told him all about how amazing this town is. Can you blame him for wanting to check it out?” “Booking a weekend trip is one thing, but he said he moved here.” I still can’t help feeling offbalance—although whether it’s from the details of Will’s sudden appearance, or how damn good he looked out of that suit and tie, I can’t tell. “Who does that for a girl they don’t even know?” “He was probably just teasing.” Lottie waves my concerns away. “And anyway, isn’t this a good thing? You said he was the best kiss you’ve ever had, and now the universe just offered him up for a repeat performance. I’d be breaking out the lip balm if I were you.” I laugh. “We need to get you dating again if your bar is low enough for stalkers and crazies to step over.” “Hey!” Lottie tosses one of Kit’s tater tots at me. “I have a man in my life already.” “And he’s a cutie,” I admit, smiling at Kit. “But since his conversation is limited to ‘duckie’ and ‘mama,’ I think we can do better.” Lottie sticks her tongue out. She’s only twenty, but the girl’s been a nun since Kit was born. I understand wanting to take some time to adjust to motherhood, but having a kid doesn’t mean she should give up on dating altogether. “This isn’t about me,” she says virtuously. “You’re the one whose love life got interesting. Although, it’s always been pretty interesting,” she adds. I raise my mimosa in a toast. “I do my best.” We finish up brunch, then head back across the town square, pushing Kit’s stroller. It’s another bright, breezy day, with the sea winds from the harbor keeping the summer heat at bay, ocean glinting clear blue beyond the weathered wooden boardwalk railings. “So what are your plans today?” Lottie asks, yawning. “I’m meeting some moms later for a play-date coffee, if you want to come? I just met them the other week, they’re pretty cool—and young,” she adds. “We pretty much leave the kids in the playroom and just gossip all afternoon.” “Thanks, but I’ve got an open house,” I reply, already planning my strategy. “Fresh-cut flowers and cookie dough?” Lottie grins. “You know it,” I beam. “The old tricks are the best—” I stop, as my gaze catches on a nowfamiliar figure, sauntering across the square. My pulse kicks. Lottie turns. “What? Ooh, is that him?” “Yes, but don’t stare—” It’s too late; Lottie is already waving at Will with a bright smile. He sees

us, pauses, then approaches. “Lottie!” I hiss, flustered. “What are you doing?” “Finding out if he’s a crazy stalker,” she whispers back. “Don’t ever say I don’t have your back. Hi!” she announces as he reaches us. “You must be Will.” “William Wyatt Montgomery, at your service, ma’am.” Will puts down a couple of bags from the hardware store and shakes her hand. “Delilah,” he adds in friendly greeting, and I swear my heart stutters a little in my chest. He’s wearing a plaid shirt and well-fitting, worn jeans today, that stubble still giving him a rakish, scruffy air that looks too damn hot. “I’m Lottie,” she continues beside me, as I drink him in. “And this is Kit.” “Hey there, little fellow.” Will actually leans down and shakes Kit’s hand too, making him giggle and shriek with delight. Lottie gives me an approving look. “So, what brings you to Oak Harbor?” she asks innocently, as if we haven’t just spent a half-hour discussing it. “Well, someone gave me the hard sell, said it was the best place on earth.” Will’s eyes meet mine, twinkling with amusement. “I figured I should check it out for myself.” “Where are you staying?” Lottie keeps up her interrogation. “I bought a place out north of town,” Will replies, not at all phased by the fifth degree. “You bought?” I echo, surprised. “Just like that?” He smiles back, easy in the dappled sunlight. “Just like that.” Now I’m really confused. “So, how are you finding it?” Lottie asks. “It must be a big change after . . . where was it you lived before?” “New York,” he says, “and, yes, it’s pretty different down here. No takeout delivery at three a.m. But on the plus side, I can cross the street without getting hit by a kamikaze bike messenger, for one.” “I don’t know about that.” Lottie grins. “Watch out for George Tompkins, he’s pretty lethal on his old bike. Gets up to like, two miles an hour sometimes.” Will chuckles. “I’ll consider myself warned.” “Well, it was great to meet you, I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Lottie says brightly. “We have to run, but if you have any questions, just ask Delilah. She knows everything and everyone!” “Lottie—” I protest, but she’s already kissing me on the cheek. “He’s adorable. Go for it!” she whispers in my ear, before taking the stroller and leaving us both there under the shadow of the cypress trees. I try to catch my breath. What is it about this guy that throws me off-balance? I can feel his gaze on me, those delicious hazel-green eyes, and it makes my skin prickle with awareness, remembering the feel of his body, his lips on mine. “So . . .” I start, feeling awkward. Then I decide to cut straight to the chase. “You were just joking before, right—about moving here because of me?” “What makes you say that?” Will is grinning, like he can see my discomfort. “Because it’s crazy, that’s why!” “You’ve never had a guy move for you before?” he asks. “No!” I exclaim. “Huh. Surprising.” He shrugs, nonchalant, like this is a normal conversation we’re having. “Then I guess they weren’t that smart.” I blink. What’s happening here? “You look different,” I blurt. He glances down. “That’s because I’m not heading to an office every day.” “You sound different, too,” I add, suspicious.

“That’s the Georgia in me,” he explains. “It comes out once I get south of the Mason-Dixon line.” I pause. “I didn’t know you’re from Georgia.” “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Will tilts his head, giving me a tempting smile. “Want to find out? Dinner? Tonight?” I gulp. I want to—which is exactly why I shouldn’t say yes. I keep things simple, no-strings. This guy making me feel so flustered isn’t simple. It’s messy as hell. I shake my head, ignoring the regret when I say, “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.” I’m expecting him to put up a fight, try and convince me to take a chance on him, but instead, Will just nods. “OK then. See you around, Delilah.” I watch him easily hoist his bags and head back across the square to where an ancient-looking pick-up truck is parked. He loads the back, then climbs up into the driver ’s seat, pausing to look back at where I’m still frozen, dumbfounded. He waves. I quickly turn and hurry away. I have a million things to do right now, and none of them involve thinking about this guy, but as I drive over to my new listing, I can’t help puzzling over what he’s playing at. This can’t be some kind of joke or game; he seems way too sincere for that, but he can’t be serious either! Nothing about him makes sense, and no matter how hard I try to figure it out, I’m coming up blank. So, instead of wasting precious time on the mysteries of the male mind, I vow to put him out of my head and focus on what really matters right now: staging an open house that will sell this place in record time. That, I know how to do. The listing is a cute townhouse, set on a newer developed block just past the creek. I convinced the sellers to give it a touch-up, so now there’s fresh paint on the walls, covering all their kids’ crayon marks, and pretty ruffled curtains hung on all the windows. It’s small, but sweet, with a neat square of yard out back: the perfect starter home for a young family. I called up everyone on my list, sent out emails, even left a stack of glossy flyers at the daycare and library, and now it’s finally showtime. The doorbell rings, right on cue at two p.m. I shove a baking tray of store-bought cookie dough in the oven, and go to greet my potential buyers. “Welcome!” I usher the first couple inside. “Take a flyer, look around, let me know if you have any questions!” An hour later, and the open house is going great. I know half the people coming through, and I can tell exactly if it’s what they’re looking for—or not. “Didn’t we talk about finding you somewhere with more . . . privacy?” I tactfully draw one of the attendees aside. Jed Springer and his girlfriend are looking for a place to house them—and their amateur rock band. “I’m not sure this place has the sound-proofing you’re looking for.” “You think?” Jed frowns. “Maybe they won’t mind a jam session or two.” From the way the neighbors have been twitching their curtains all day, I’m not so sure. “It’s a pretty quiet neighborhood,” I say instead, smiling brightly. “And you guys want to be closer to the action, so you can stumble back from Dixie’s on a Friday night.” Jed laughs. “True. OK, we’ll keep looking.” “I’ll call you to set up some more viewings next week!” I steer them out, just as a new couple arrives. “Mike!” I exclaim, surprised, recognizing a guy I know from a few towns over. “Hey, it’s good to see you, it’s been forever.” “You too, Dee.” He hugs me enthusiastically. “You look great. Have you met my fiancée? This is Angela.” He proudly presents a very-pregnant blonde woman. “Lovely to meet you,” I greet her. “I don’t need to guess why you’re looking at this place. It’s got family written all over it. Here, let me show you around.” I take them inside, and tour them through

the property, tickled to see Mike fussing over Angela, helping her up the stairs. Mike and I had a casual fling, years ago, and he was about as low-effort as they come. I was lucky if he took a break from beer and video games with his buddies to even give me a call. Now, he keeps one hand on the small of his fiancée’s back, like she’s made of glass. “The master looks out over the creek, see.” I show them around the upstairs. “And this is where I’d put the nursery. Isn’t it the cutest little room?” Angela grips Mike’s hand. “Honey, it’s perfect.” She’s got a smile a mile wide, and I can tell, she’s already imagining a crib and mobile hanging from the ceiling. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” I ask. “Boy,” Angela answers, cupping her bump. “Congratulations! And see, it’s already painted blue,” I add. “It must be a sign.” Mike laughs. “We’ll see about that. The asking price . . .” “Is always negotiable,” I finish for him. Then I lean in, as if I’m letting them in on a secret. “Just between us, I think the sellers could be flexible on the price. They’ve already found a new place they want to make an offer on, over in Beachwood Bay, so if you can move fast, they might be willing to come down a little.” Angela looks eagerly at Mike. “You hear that? Honey, we have to make an offer.” “We’ll see,” he says, calming her, but I can tell from the adoring look in his eyes, it’s game over. What the mom-to-be wants, she’s going to get. “Let’s look around some more.” “Go ahead,” I agree, “make yourself at home. And check out the yard. Perfect for teaching Mike Junior to catch a football!” He laughs, and steers Angela back downstairs. I see them a moment later, stepping outside to take in the yard. Yup, they’ll make an offer. I feel a surge of pride. Not just for the sale—and my handy commission—but because the house is perfect for them. That’s the part of this job I love the most: finding the right fit for every home—and the right home for every buyer. It’s like a puzzle, matching up exactly what everyone needs, and it turns out I have a gift for making the pieces fit together. Another satisfied customer. I linger at the window, still struck by the change in Mike. From all-night GTA video game sessions and barely sending a booty-call text past midnight, to future father and devoted husband, it’s a pretty big switch. I watch as he mimes throwing a ball around, and then brings Angela in for a kiss, holding her there, one hand resting on her stomach. I feel a pang. Not for Mike—he’s a nice guy, but we weren’t exactly star-crossed lovers—but for the picture the two of them make down there, so happy together. They’re just starting out on their future as a family, a team of two (and soon to be three), taking on the world. I wonder, will I ever find that kind of love? Will’s face comes into my mind, and I remember his comments before. He seemed genuinely surprised that men weren’t uprooting their whole lives and falling at my feet, but that’s ridiculous. I’m not the girl who men drop everything for like that. I’m the girl you call on a whim on Friday night, or because you’re in town for the weekend, or you just broke up with your girlfriend and want a wild, crazy time to put her out of your mind for good. Spontaneous. Fun. No-strings—and definitely no commitment. That’s the way I’ve always liked it, so why is it so unsettling that he sees me totally differently? There are footsteps on the stairs, another round of viewers. I quickly turn away and fix a bright smile on my face. I shouldn’t even be thinking about Will. I don’t even know the guy. But you know how he smiles . . . how he laughs . . . how he kisses . . . It’s crazy. After all, what kind of man just leaves his whole life behind and shows up in the middle

of nowhere like this? I push the thought back and greet the next round of buyers. “Now, how about these views!”



Four.

Will Turning my life upside down for a girl I barely even know may seem like the craziest, most impulsive thing I’ve ever done, but after the life I left behind in New York City, it doesn’t seem like a bad idea at all. In fact, it might be the best decision I’ve made in a long time. I finish up my errands in town with a smile, struck again with how friendly and welcoming everyone is. Once they find out I just moved here, they couldn’t be happier to offer advice and guidance, from where to buy my groceries to where the town goes drinking on a Friday night. Delilah wasn’t lying about that, or how beautiful this part of the country really is. I can’t get over the ocean, so crisp and sapphire blue, beating steadily against the rocky shore, or how the old cypress trees line the streets and boulevards with leafy shade; the town receding into the green woods, with the creek winding lazily back as you drive further into the country. It’s beautiful alright, and coming after the hectic, loud chaos of the city, I almost can’t believe it. No sirens, no screaming drunks on the corner. When I wake up in the morning to nothing but the sound of crickets and the wind rustling in the trees, I almost forget where I am. Then it hits me all over again, with that same thunder of awesome possibility. Blank slate. Fresh start. And her. Delilah Morgan. A couple of questions at the hardware store gave me her surname, although I can’t believe I didn’t know it already. From the moment I saw her on the street that night with her whip-smart mouth, teasing blue eyes, and infectious laugh, it’s felt like we were always going to meet. It was inevitable. And totally unforgettable. I know that to anyone on the outside, I might seem seriously crazy right about now. Even my friends back in New York can’t understand what I’m doing. They think it’s a harebrained scheme I’ll snap out of soon enough, like when one of my buddies packed it in to go learn to surf in Belize, or another got engaged to a hostess in Vegas. They lost their heads, tried something wild, but in the end, they were right back where they started soon enough: at their desk Monday morning, ready to face reality again. But this is different. I haven’t lost my head, if anything, I’ve found it again. That perfect life in New York I’d worked so hard to build shattered apart, and I never saw it coming. From having it all figured out, to finding everything was a lie: it’s enough to drive any man to take a long hard look at what he’s doing. What kind of life they want; how to make it right again. I already knew everything had to change by the time I took a left downtown on that neon, rainy street and found the answer I was looking for. I was right there on the edge, ready for a push. And man, did Delilah make me fall. There’s just something about her. I’ve never met a girl like this before: so completely, utterly at ease in who she is. Everything seems simple with her, like the answers have been staring me in the face all along. Just one flash of that gorgeous, joyful smile made me forget the mess of the past six months—and just one glimpse of the peach lace curves hiding under her blouse just about knocked me to the ground.

And that was before she kissed me. I hit pause on that memory, before I get off-track. The roads out here are quiet and shady, winding through the country, and I have to keep my eyes peeled so I don’t miss the turn; I already overshot twice this week and wound up halfway to Wilmington before I realized my mistake. Today, I recognize the curve in the road and that old dogwood tree, its branches almost bent double to hide the broken-down fence, and the peeling red mailbox marking the turn. Home sweet home. The first time I followed the glorified dirt track out here, I nearly turned back a dozen times. Sure, I wanted something different, but this is a million miles from my slick Manhattan apartment, with the 24/7 doorman out front and views of the downtown city lights. Here, I don’t see another soul as I drive past open pasture fields, through the woods, and alongside a lazily-winding creek before finally arriving in front of the dilapidated set of buildings that passes for a home. “A real fixer-upper,” the owner said, but we both knew, I wasn’t buying it for the house. I’m here for the change of pace, the sound of birdsong in the trees. The chance to start over, and maybe do things right this time. I unload my bags from the truck and take them inside. Just a few essentials to get me settled in, but looking around at the leaking roof, peeling old wallpaper, and serious dampness problem, I’m wondering if I should have picked up a tent and sleeping bag instead. “If it’s broke, then fix it.” My grandpa’s favorite saying pops into my mind. I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. He’s the one who gave me my first toolbox, taught me how to take an engine apart and put it back together, and showed me what it’s like to sand and whittle a hunk of wood into something special, a sturdy table, or slim set of chairs. Those were some of the happiest summers of my life, learning right alongside him in his workshop back in Georgia, before he passed, and somehow I stepped on the conveyor belt towards a whole different world: the kind of life where furniture comes crafted at a designer showroom, sleek sports cars are toys to show off your latest bonus, and everything, even your damn soul, has a price tag in the end. But that’s behind me now. My life was broken, so I’m fixing it, just like Grandpa said: stripping it down to the essentials, the way we used to with the cogs and carburetor spread over the front driveway all those hot summer afternoons. Sure, coming here is impulsive. Crazy. I’ve made my fortune on taking risks: checking the odds, playing the market, making sure all those little red flags pay off in my direction, but this is different. I’m not dealing with numbers on a screen anymore, but I’m sick of playing pretend. I made the smart moves my whole damn life, and look where that left me. No, this time, I needed to do it all differently. Stop thinking, start following my instincts. And what I felt in Delilah’s arms for that brief, reckless kiss seems worth the risk. It was the push I needed, and after that, everything fell into place so fast I didn’t have time to pause for doubts. A couple of weeks later, here I am with the blank slate I was looking for. The question is, what am I going to do with it now? I’m clearing junk from the workshop out back when I hear another engine coming up the track. I head around front and find a guy about my age in work boots and a Rolling Stones T-shirt staring up at the house. “Ryland?” I ask, going forward to meet him. His construction company, Callahan and Ray, came recommended by a friend, so they were one of my first calls after arriving in town. “That’s me.” He shakes my hand. “Good to meet you. You weren’t lying when you said this place needed some work. Are you sure you don’t want to tear down and just go from the ground up?” he adds, taking a few steps to peer inside. “We could do something pretty spectacular with this square

footage. My brother-in-law fancies himself an architect, but the guy knows his shit.” “Maybe down the line,” I tell him. “But for now, I’m just looking to make it habitable. Roof, floors, plumbing.” “Uh huh.” Ryland already has a notepad out, jotting down things as he walks the property. “What about the workshop?” he asks, when we reach the back of the house. “If you tore it down, we could do a guesthouse, or maybe put in a pool?” “The workshop stays,” I say firmly. It was one of the reasons I bought this house at all. “It’s actually built pretty sturdy. I just need to clean it out, and it’s good to go.” “Suit yourself.” Ryland grins. He looks back at the house, and I can see him weighing quotes and pricing. “Any timeframe?” “ASAP.” “It’ll cost you,” Ryland says apologetically. “Nothing happens fast around here.” “That’s fine. Whatever you need.” He arches an eyebrow. “Alright then. I can have some guys out for the roof tomorrow.” “Sounds good to me.” I shake his hand, and we go over some more details before he heads out. The sound of his truck recedes into the woods, and then silence reigns, all over again. I head inside, grab a beer from the cooler, then wander out back to take it all in. The silence is still weird to me, after all the constant noise of the city, but I like it. Back in New York, I’d still be in the office now, three screens running as I checked stock prices and market dives. Or maybe I’d be heading out to some fancy restaurant, slipping a fifty to the doorman to stroll into the new hottest club. Now I’ve got nothing but trees, grass, crickets, and the creek. And I haven’t felt this good in years. I think of Delilah again. She was thrown to see me again for sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so upfront about my reasons for moving here, but I’ve never been the type to play games. I see what I want, and I go for it. And damn, do I want her. That kiss . . . It took me by surprise alright, but the instant her sweet mouth was on mine, I knew I never wanted it to end. I’ve never felt heat like that, never known such an overwhelming urge to wrap my arms tight around a woman and never let go. Call it chemistry, call it fate, I don’t need to know the name. It’s the one damn thing I’ve been sure of after a world of confusion and doubt. I need more. My phone buzzes, and when I fish it from my pocket, I find a familiar number taunting me onscreen. Damn it. My fist clenches around the handset, but I stop myself before I can get too tense. I’ve left all that behind me now. I don’t have to get dragged back anymore. I hit “decline,” toss the phone aside, and settle back in a lawn chair to finish my beer. I’ve got a todo list a mile long, but there’s only one thing I need to figure out right now: How to get the girl.



Five.

Delilah Sunday mornings are usually for getting over Saturday night, but thanks to Will distracting me, I wasn’t in the mood to hit the town. I turn in early, get a full eight hours, and still wake in time to see . . . is that sunrise filtering through my bedroom drapes? I leap out of bed, restless. I still can’t shake that unsettled feeling I’ve had ever since Will showed up in town, like a flock of nervous butterflies is whirling in my stomach, so I decide to harness all this energy instead: I pull on some workout shorts, lace up my track shoes, and head out for a morning run. My feet pound the empty sidewalks. It’s barely six a.m., and Oak Harbor is still asleep, but the air is crisp with a salty ocean tang, and the breeze feels great as I stretch my muscles and lengthen my stride, jogging along the boardwalk and cutting across the silent town square. It feels good to be running again. I was never much for fitness, but I took it up in college to keep the dreaded freshman fifteen at bay. Now, I fit it in around the rest of my schedule, but it’s been months since I’ve had a good long workout like this: pushing myself until my lungs are burning, and I feel the pleasant ache in my limbs. I do three circuits, winding around town and back, before I finally come to a stop, breathing heavily, outside the bakery on Windward Street. Time for my reward. Inside, the air smells yeasty and delicious, and the old baker, Franny, is just setting out a tray of fresh, gooey cinnamon rolls. “When I die, someone better be waiting for me at the pearly gates with one of your fresh-baked rolls,” I tell her. “Otherwise I’m coming right back here.” Franny waves away my praise, but her face still glows. “Why wait? Will one be enough, honey, or do you want another for the road?” “Don’t tempt me,” I groan, laughing. “And a cup of coffee too, please.” “Great minds think alike.” I turn, startled, at the voice. Will is lounging in a chair by the windows, drinking coffee with a newspaper in his lap. “Mornin’,” he drawls, with a smile that would send my heart racing—if it wasn’t already still beating hard in my chest from the run. “Morning,” I manage to reply. He’s still casual, still scruffy, and damn, he still looks way too good. I see his eyes slip over me, and realize too late that I’m in my ratty jogging shorts and a bright pink sports bra, my hair in a sweaty mess, and not a lick of makeup on my face. Just because I have no intention of dating the guy, it doesn’t mean I want him seeing me as a complete mess. I try to act like I don’t care I have damp circles under my armpits and ask, “You managed to find the best coffee in town then?” “First morning out, can’t be without it.” He raises his mug, watching me with a thoughtful look. “I didn’t take you for an early riser.” “I’m not,” I admit. “Not on weekends, anyway. You?” “Always.” He gives a rueful grin. “I was in the office by seven every day, I guess I can’t shake the habit now.” I try to picture him in his suit and tie again, but even after just these couple of encounters, I can’t imagine it. He looks like he was born in jeans, and if the gods had any justice, he would never take them off. Except, when someone takes them off him . . .

Franny returns with my paper cup of coffee, and a bag for the cinnamon bun. I fish a five-dollar bill from my sports bra, but she waves it away. “No need, sweetheart. We still owe you for finding that apartment for my Becky.” “Fran!” I protest, but she shakes her head firmly. “Fine.” I pretend to surrender, but I stuff the bill in the tip jar instead. “How’s she getting on?” I ask after her niece. “She must be starting that new job now.” “Next week, she can’t wait.” Franny smiles affectionately. “And there’s a new guy, too.” “Do we like him?” “We do.” Franny nods. “This one might work out.” “Well, let me know when they need an upgrade,” I wink. “I know some great single-families . . .” Franny laughs. “Ooh, that reminds me, I heard on the grapevine that Liv Sullivan’s sister is thinking of moving to town. She just lost her husband, poor thing, and wants to be close to Liv and the grandkids.” “Makes sense.” I nod. “Any update on Rich Hargreaves and, you know?” Franny leans in. “You didn’t hear it from me, but someone saw him in Charlotte, talking to a divorce lawyer, I bet.” “How do you find out all the gossip first?” I ask, impressed. Franny winks. “I ply them with sugar, that’s the secret.” “Well, keep it up.” She heads back to work, and I make a mental note to call Liv—and Richard, too. Town gossip isn’t just for fun; for me, it’s a constant source of new clients. Births, deaths, and divorces: they all mean real estate changing hands down the line, and nobody’s better placed to help them through it than me. I turn to find Will still watching me. “Well, have a good day,” I say brightly, and head to the door. “Join me?” he asks casually, nodding to the empty chair beside him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I pause, feeling my cheeks flush. “Why’s that?” I shrug. “Just, you know, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” “And what would that be?” he asks, still smiling—clearly enjoying my rejection for some reason. “That I don’t think you’re slightly crazy for moving down here to be with me without calling first?” I try to be delicate. He laughs. “Only slightly?” “Fine. Totally, all-out crazy,” I agree, then pause. “Look, not to sound harsh or anything, but I want to be clear. I don’t do relationships, they’re just not my style. So if you came here expecting something . . .” I trail off, awkward, but Will just lifts an eyebrow. “Good to know,” he says. “And just for the record, I moved down here because of you, not to be with you.” “There’s a difference?” Now I’m really confused. “Maybe not.” Will unfolds himself and gets up, tucking the newspaper under one arm. “It depends.” “On what?” I ask, my breath catching as he saunters closer. He pauses, right beside me, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I’m suddenly hit with the memory of kissing him, blazing in Technicolor in my mind. Those hands on my body, that mouth seducing mine . . . Maybe Will can see it too, because he gives me knowing look. “On how long you can resist me.” He winks, then strolls past me out onto the street, leaving me flushed and breathless in the

doorway. Because of my run, I tell myself. Just because of my run. Back at my place, I jump in the shower then do a quick clean-up and throw on a load of laundry to be ready for the week ahead. I love my apartment; it’s part of a brand-new building they converted from an old carriage house, set back just a few blocks from the town square. Everything is brand-new, low maintenance, and stress-free, just the way I like it. It barely takes ten minutes to run a duster over the bookshelves and set the cycle to spin—leaving me way too much time to replay my morning run-in with Will. I’m jittery and on edge, and I haven’t even touched my coffee. That guy is more powerful than a gallon of caffeine. I shouldn’t be affected like this; I’ve turned down plenty of guys, and had my fair share of rejection too. That’s why I never take it too seriously: either something turns out fun, or it doesn’t, but it’s not worth getting hung up over. I can count on the fingers of one hand the nights I’ve spent waiting around for the phone to ring, or wondering if a guy is thinking about me or not. It’s not my style to waste a moment’s thought analyzing their text messages, or all of the other things my girlfriends wind up agonizing over. So what is it about this man that’s so infuriatingly distracting? At least now I’ve made it clear nothing’s going to happen between us. That should be the end of that. I’m about to grab my computer and try to get a head-start on work when my cellphone rings. Mom. I brace myself as her enthusiastic voice chatters down the line. “Sweetie, are you OK? You didn’t reply to my text.” “Which one?” I ask lightly. “You sent me like, two dozen. You don’t need to give me a running commentary on the new Real Housewives episodes,” I add. “I can watch them myself.” “But it’s always more fun, you know your father won’t watch any of those shows. If it doesn’t have a cop or a dead body, he’s not interested.” Mom launches into a recap of her week, so I go sit on the front steps, and watch the town slowly come to life in the morning sun. One day, I want a big wrap-around porch with a swing to hang out in all day, but for now, I like my little corner of the world just fine. “So what’s going on with you?” she asks, barely pausing for breath. “We haven’t seen you in forever, we should come down and visit soon.” “You know I’m busy with work,” I remind her. “Summer is always our busiest time of year, all the tourists dreaming about living here year round.” “I know, but you work too hard, honey. You need to make time for other things. Like a man in your life—” “Mom,” I try to interrupt, warning, but she pushes on. “I know, I’m supposed to butt out, but I never hear you talk about anyone serious. You don’t tell me anything at all.” “That’s because there’s nothing to tell!” I protest. And when there is, I don’t exactly want to spill the juicy details to my mom. “That’s the problem, if you put half as much time into finding yourself a man as you did finding your clients a new home, you’d be settled with someone wonderful by now. You know I kissed a lot of frogs before I met your father, and we’ve got our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary right around the corner. That reminds me, you’ll be able to make the dinner?” I tense at the reminder. I’ve been ignoring it for a while now, ever since Mom first enthusiastically shared their plans. “When is it?” “On the fifteenth. I sent you an email with all the details. I picked a lovely spot over in Beachwood

Bay, that new seafood restaurant.” “I’ll be there,” I promise, sighing. “Oh, he’s just pulling in front the store now. Ted!” she yells, before coming back to the phone. “Hold on a second, he’s just bringing the bags in—” “It’s OK,” I cut her off hurriedly. “I have to go now anyway, we’ll chat some other time.” “Well, alright. And think about what I said, I know I’m just your old mom, but I know a few things.” “I’ll think about it,” I lie, before saying goodbye and hanging up. I sit on the steps and let out a long, weary breath. Twenty-five years. Except, it’s not really that long. Mom chooses to ignore the year we lost, after Dad came clean about the affair he’d been carrying on with a woman at his office—all that time he’d been lying to us both. It was such a betrayal; I can still remember the shameful look on his face when they both sat me down to tell me. He couldn’t even look me in the eyes, just kept his gaze fixed on the mantle—filled with happy photographs of the family that, it turned out, wasn’t enough for him, after all. After that, things got messy. It was summer at least, so I spent almost every night out with friends, creeping in at dawn with sand in my hair—not that anyone noticed. He packed up and went to go play house with Jana from accounting, and even thought I felt guilty about stranding mom to deal with everything, it was a blessing to leave the tearful fights and anger behind and head off for college. I thought they’d file for divorce, that it was over for good, but when I pulled back into the driveway at home for spring break, I found them both waiting for me, nervous smiles on their faces. They were trying again. Making it work. He’d come back begging with his tail between his legs, and mom had crumbled and taken him back. It took me a long time to understand how she could forgive him, and I guess a part of me still doesn’t, after all this time. The cheating is one thing, but the lies . . . I can’t wrap my head around it. He betrayed her, betrayed us both, and even though I’ve done my best to follow her lead and pretend like it never happened, a part of me will never forgive him for that. When you trust somebody, and they let you down . . . there’s no going back, no second chances—at least as far as I’m concerned. Just one more reason not to think that a relationship is going to last forever. Once my eyes were open, I saw it everywhere: the lying, the playing pretend. My college girlfriends crying over a new breakup every other week; the guys who swore they only cared about you, but who had their phones buzzing all night with the latest Tinder matches. It seems like the minute you put a label on a relationship, or make that commitment, everyone is suddenly desperate to escape. And not just guys, either. I’d watch my girlfriends tell dozens of little white lies, pretending to be something they weren’t just to keep the illusion of whoever he thought they were alive. It looked exhausting to me, a betrayal of who you really are, so I decided, once and for all: I’d never put myself in a position like that, set myself up for heartbreak by believing a relationship could last. Keep things simple, keep it fun, and nobody has to tell any lies. After all, if you’re not expecting happily-ever-after, then you don’t lose any sleep when it all comes crashing down. I’ve never pretended to want anything different, that’s why if Will had given me any warning, I would have told him to keep his bags packed, turn around and go right back to where he came from. Promises you never make can’t be broken, and that’s just easier on everyone in the end. I decide to add my parents to the growing list of things I’m ignoring right now, and focus on having a great, relaxing weekend before the madness of work starts up again tomorrow. After I finish up my errands, I head over to my friend Sawyer ’s place, equipped with beer, soda, and hotdog buns. Lottie and Kit are already in the backyard when I arrive, splashing around in their swimming gear in a

bright plastic wading pool while Sawyer gets the grill smoking. “Hey! You got the party started without me!” I greet them, dumping my stuff on the lawn. I fish a toy from my bag. “Look who left his favorite duckie in the backseat of my car?” I toss it to Lottie, who catches it with a sigh of relief. “Thank you! I thought we were going to have a serious meltdown on our hands, until Sawyer distracted him with the puppy.” Kit is splashing happily—with a tiny furry friend. “You got another one?” I cry, turning to Sawyer. “C’mon, I thought we agreed, three was enough.” “She’s right.” Lottie grins. “What’s the male version of a cat lady? Because you’re halfway there already.” Sawyer shrugs, smiling. “What am I supposed to do? They’re all so helpless and needy and cute.” “Remind me never to take you to a club on ladies’ night,” I snort with laughter. Not that he needs to go out to have women throw themselves at him. As a young, handsome vet, Sawyer is pretty much the most eligible bachelor in town—or at least, he was, until Will Montgomery showed up. “Tell that to Missy Anderson,” Lottie calls, sing-song. I arch an eyebrow at Sawyer, sauntering over to hand him a beer. “Missy, huh? She’s a little on the older side, but maybe cougars are just your type.” “Don’t.” Sawyer looks embarrassed. “She’s got it in her head I’m going to be her new toyboy. She keeps showing up at the animal rescue asking about adopting. Except, she only wants a hypoallergenic shih tzu. She actually asked if we had any ‘in stock.’ ” I laugh. “Aww, you could do worse. I heard she cleaned out Mr. Anderson in the divorce. You could be leading a life of leisure, and all you’d have to do is parade around in some tight swim trunks from time to time.” Sawyer elbows me good-naturedly. “Keep it up, and you won’t get fed.” “No!” I press my hand to my forehead. “Anything but that!” He shakes his head, and goes back to the grill. I pull up a lawn chair and stretch, yawning. “Late night?” he asks. I shake my head. “Early morning. I got a pretty hard workout.” “Really?” Sawyer drawls, giving me a look. I toss a hotdog bun at him. “Not like that! I went for a run.” Will’s face flashes into my mind again. I change the subject. “How are things at the rescue?” “Great. We’re building out another shed to house the dogs, and it’s breeding season, so—” He stops himself. “Sorry, vet stuff. Moving on.” “Hey, it’s OK. I know you love those smelly, fluffy beasts.” “Delilah Morgan, animal lover,” he teases. “I love them just fine, like the way I love kids.” I grin, taking a sip of beer. “When they’re clean, groomed, and sleeping soundly.” “We heard that.” Lottie approaches from behind, with Kit bundled up in a towel. I grin. “This guy’s my exception. C’mere.” I pull Kit into my lap and ruffle his wet hair. He laughs and squirms against me. “You’re not like the other boys, are you?” Kit shakes his head, smiling, jam smeared on his cheek. I drop a kiss on his forehead and squeeze him tight. “One of these days, you’re going to be breaking hearts and taking names.” Lottie groans. “Don’t even say that. He’s already the most popular guy in day-care. The other moms keep talking about his new girlfriends. I’m like, please, he’s two years old, he’s not even pottytrained. Let’s save dating until he can count to five.” We laugh. I feel my stomach rumble, and shoot a longing look at the grill. “How much longer until we feast? I’m running on pure sugar here.”

Sawyer rolls his eyes. “Will it kill you to eat a balanced meal? There’s some veggies and dip in the house.” “And?” “And Doritos,” he adds, sighing. I bounce up. “Be right back!” I head inside and raid Sawyer ’s fridge. Nothing but fruit, vegetables, and a lone container of salsa. This guy is way too healthy—just one of the million reasons why we’ve never hooked up. That, and the fact he had a thing for my friend Eva when he first moved to town. Once I shifted him into the “friend” box in my mind, there was no going back. I love the guy, but I’d go crazy trying to date him for more than five minutes—and hungry. I crunch a carrot as I balance the chips and whatever junk food I can scrounge and head back outside. Lottie and Sawyer are talking about something, but when I get closer, they fall silent. “What’s up?” I ask, ripping into the food. They exchange a look. “Nothing!” Lottie says brightly. “Mmm, pass me some of that celery?” I do, as Sawyer ’s phone sounds. He checks it, then grins, before quickly tucking it away. I look between them again. “Seriously, what’s going on? You guys are acting weird.” “What? Weird? No!” Lottie sizes me up. “Did you bring your suit? The water ’s great.” “I think the pool’s a little small for me,” I say slowly, still trying to figure this out. “Then let’s just sunbathe instead,” Lottie insists. “You look really cute in that red bikini. You’re in great shape these days.” “Thanks, but I’m good. Maybe later,” I add, looking between them again. There’s definitely something they’re hiding, but it’s too beautiful a day to waste. I shrug. “You guys keep your little secrets, me and Kit are going to blow some epic bubbles, isn’t that right?” I scoop him up, ready to grab the supplies I bought, when Lottie sees something behind me. Her face brightens. “Hey, you made it!” “Sure, sorry I’m running late.” That voice comes again. The sexy drawl that’s been following me all around town, at least, that’s what it feels like. I turn, bracing myself, but nothing can prepare me for the sight of Will in a faded T-shirt that brings out the green in his eyes. He looks puzzled for a moment, almost like he’s surprised to see me. Then he holds up a grocery bag, and gives me an irresistible grin. “I brought ice cream.” With a cherry on top.



Six. The guys head inside to go fetch more beers, but the minute they’re out of hearing distance, I grab Lottie. “What are you playing at?” I hiss, keeping my voice down. “Me? Nothing!” She beams. “Sawyer ran into him at the bar the other night, and they hit it off. Something about sports,” she gives an innocent shrug. “It’s a small town, you know how it goes.” “Sure,” I reply, those butterflies in my stomach starting their nervous dance. So much for a relaxed, easygoing afternoon. Now I’m going to be on edge all day, hyper-aware of whenever Will speaks, or smiles, or even looks at me . . . “What’s the problem, anyway?” Lottie asks, sounding casual. “You said it yourself, he’s not chasing after you. So if you don’t want to date him, we can all just be friends, right?” “Right,” I echo quietly as she heads inside, leaving me and Kit to our games. I find the bubble supplies, and start showing him how to blow through the loop of soapy liquid, but I keep glancing back towards the house. What’s he doing here? Did he know I was friends with Sawyer too? Soon, they all emerge again with plates of food for the grill, and Will wanders over to say hi to Kit. He sits on the lawn beside us, stretching his long legs out in front. “Those are some pretty epic bubbles,” he says casually. “Mind if I try?” “Sure.” My voice sounds weirdly perky. Get it together. “Here, use mine.” I pass him the wand, and watch as he blows a stream into the air. Kit scrambles around trying to catch them, still unsteady on his feet. Will smiles, watching him. “Just to be clear, I didn’t know you’d be here,” he says, looking over. “Sawyer just said it would be a fun group. I don’t want you to feel like I’m following you around or anything.” I let out a slow sigh of relief. It didn’t seem like Will to push the subject. “Sorry. I didn’t know anything about it either. I think my friends are trying to play match-maker.” “They’ve got good taste,” he quips, and I laugh, relaxing. “They mean well, I think. Anyway, sorry you got railroaded.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind. It’s good to meet people, and your friends seem like fun.” I look over to where Lottie and Sawyer are stationed by the grill. They’re watching us closely, but quickly turn away, pretending to talk about the meat. “Fun, with zero sense of boundaries sometimes.” I look back at Will. “Don’t you miss everyone, back in New York?” I ask, curious. “You must have left friends behind, family . . . ?” He picks up his beer and takes a slow sip. “It’s not too far. I’m actually closer to my folks now, so I’m already getting the third degree about when I’ll come visit more.” I laugh. “Tell me about it. My parents moved only an hour away. My mom seems to think that means I should be over for dinner three times a week. I mean, I love them, but . . .” “Not that much,” Will finishes, grinning. The sunlight hits his face, making his tan glow golden, and his messy dark hair looks threaded with light. I feel something tighten in my chest, an inexplicable desire to reach up and push it out of his eyes, lean into his broad shoulders, find that nook against his chest where I already know I fit just right. I grab the bubble wand instead. “I can’t believe you bought some place without calling me first,” I say brightly, trying to get the conversation back to safer ground. “You had my realtor card and everything.” Will chuckles. “So you’re just mad you lost out on a sale? Sorry to disappoint. The truth is, it all moved pretty fast. I looked around online, found a spot, and bought it before I even stepped foot in town.”

“That’s . . . impulsive,” I say. He smiles. “Guess I was just ready for a change. When it’s right, it’s right,” he adds, holding my gaze. My cheeks flush with heat, and I feel it again, that restless, nervous buzz in my veins. Electric. Dangerous. I scramble to my feet. “You guys need any help?” I call over to Sawyer and Lottie, needing to put some distance between us. “All set,” Sawyer announces, waving his grill tongs in triumph. “Time to eat!” We feast on hot dogs, burgers, and all the fixings, sitting around the table on Sawyer ’s back deck under the shade of the old oak tree. I’m relieved to find it’s not awkward at all with Will; he fits in easily, chatting with Lottie, and talking sports and music with Sawyer like he’s always been here. “We’ll have to go to the county fair,” Lottie declares, already planning our summer. “Ooh, and we can all rent a boat and go out on the water, there are some great beaches you can only get to by sea.” “Easy there,” I tell her. “Nobody ever tell you to play hard to get?” Lottie laughs. “Please, I’m desperate, I need new friends,” she tells Will. “My sister just up and left, and now I’m all alone.” Sawyer snorts. “And what does that make us?” “I thought you were meeting all these cool moms?” I ask. “Yes, but they’re all the way over in Beachwood Bay.” Lottie sighs. “Nobody can just hang out without making all these plans.” Will leans back in his seat, giving a slow smile. “So what you’re really saying is you need a new last-minute babysitter.” There’s a pause, then we all burst out laughing. “Busted,” I tell Lottie as she tries to pout. Sawyer grins, and sends another beer sliding down the table to Will. “Welcome, buddy. I can already tell you’re going to fit right in.” We clear the table and head inside, while Lottie takes Kit upstairs to clean up. “So what’s the plan for the rest of the afternoon?” I ask Sawyer, cleaning up in the kitchen. “Lottie roped me into doing a Costco run,” he replies, setting dishes in the sink. “Ha,” I laugh. “She tried that one on me, too.” “It’s OK.” He shrugs. “I need some stuff. And you know how she gets when she pulls the whole puppy-dog eyes thing.” “You’re a soft touch.” I smile. “Enjoy the multipacks of kitchen towels. I’ll be sitting around at the auto shop. I need Eddie to take a look at my car.” “Let me guess,” Will’s voice comes. He’s leaning in the doorway. “You need to override the locks again.” “Not this time,” I protest. “The engine’s making a weird rattling noise whenever I go too slow.” “I can take a look,” he offers. “No, it’s OK.” Will looks at me. “How long is this Eddie going to take? It might be a simple fix.” I pause. I have showings all week, and if I can’t get the town mechanic to skip me to the front of the line, I’ll have to reschedule them all. “Sure,” I finally agree. “Thanks.” I lead him out front and start the engine, while Will lifts the hood and peers in. “It’s your carburetor,” he says, after listening for a moment. “Shouldn’t take more than five minutes to fix. I’ve got my tools back at home.” “Really?” My hope rises. “You’d be doing me a big favor. This thing has been nothing but trouble. It almost makes me wish I’d kept Berta.”

“Berta?” Will closes the hood, smiling. “My old beater,” I explain. “She wasn’t glamorous, but she never let me down.” “Give this guy a chance,” Will says. “You just need to get to know him, that’s all.” I wonder for a moment if he’s still talking about the car, but then Lottie comes out. I grab my stuff and say my goodbyes, then get behind the wheel, following Will’s ancient truck as he heads out of town. Way out of town. I peer at the winding road ahead. I know pretty much every square mile of Oak Harbor, but even this is getting rural, way out in the woods. Private. Alone. I feel a shiver, but immediately scold myself. What am I so worried about? Will isn’t the kind of guy to jump me. No, but you might just wind up pinning him down for another kiss . . . I flush. A short, wild fling is one thing, but Will lives here now, which means he has “boyfriend material” written all over him. Roughly translated to, a very bad idea. I can keep my hands to myself if it means keeping things simple. Friendly. Totally platonic. I follow Will off the main road and down a twisting, bumpy dirt track. I’m already regretting the mud on my tires by the time we pull up in front of . . . well, let’s just say “shack” is being generous. I scramble out of the car and look at the run-down buildings in horror. “Tell me which realtor sold you this pile of crap, and I’ll go kick his ass,” I vow fiercely. Will bursts out laughing. “Relax, I’ve got it under control,” he says. “They’re fixing the roof, and there’ll be running water by next week.” “There’s no running water!” I yelp, before catching myself. I take a deep breath. This is his business, and it’s not like I’m going to be hanging out here. “Sounds . . . great,” I say instead, following him around to the workshop in back. Unlike the rest of the property, this space is spotless: swept out and scrubbed down, with two work benches already set up and tools hanging neatly on the wall. Will heads for the boxes stacked in the back while I wander, taking it in. “What are these?” I ask, trailing my fingertips over some weird metal tools. Will looks up from a box. “That’s a sander and the big one is a jig,” he explains. “They were my grandfather ’s. He worked as a craftsman, building furniture and restoring old houses.” “That’s great,” I say, then notice a couple of chairs in the corner: their wood smoothed to an antique sheen, with cracked leather seats, so soft-looking I have to stop myself from taking a seat. “Are these his?” Will straightens up. “No, I made those.” “Really?” I move in to take a closer look. “They’re beautiful. I could swear they were a hundred years old.” “That’s the point.” He looks almost bashful, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I love working with old, reclaimed wood, vintage materials. It’s like everything’s already lived a dozen lives over, this is just the latest chapter in their story.” I look at him anew. I never would have guessed. “Is this what you did back in New York?” He gives a short laugh. “No. I had a studio space, where it all just sat, gathering dust. But I thought, maybe, down here, I could spend more time on it . . .” Will pauses, a shy expression on his face. “There are some great design stores in the city. I thought maybe when I have more of a portfolio, I could see about them carrying a few pieces.” “That’s great,” I say, impressed. He shrugs, still low-key. “We’ll see. Keeps me busy, at least.” “No, I mean it,” I insist. “You have a real talent, Will. You should be proud of it.” Will glances up, and our eyes catch. “Thank you,” he answers softly, his eyes green in the cool

shadows of the old workshop. Something pulses in the air between us, a dry static, sharp and hot, making my pulse kick and my body shiver with awareness. The silence washes over me, the stillness, so far from town. There’s nobody here, no-one to stop me if I took a step closer, and ran my hands over the broad planes of his chest, found those cool, steady lips with my own— Will looks away. “Now, let’s see about your carburetor,” he says loudly, and I snap out of it. What are you thinking? I remind myself, as he collects his tools and heads outside. He’s off-limits, remember? Back out front, Will opens the hood of my car, then reaches to tinker with the engine. I decide to keep a safe distance away, back by the house, but it turns out there’s nowhere on the property safe from his charms, because after a moment, he notices the grease he’s getting on his shirt, and pulls it off—balling it into a wad and tossing it to the ground so he’s just working in his jeans, his broad shoulders naked under the hot sun. Shirtless. Sweaty. Greasy. Be still my heart. I sit on the dusty porch steps with a thud. He’s not the only one getting hot now; even though I’m in the shade, I feel my body flush, watching his muscles ripple under the tanned skin of his torso. What the . . . ? How . . . ? I mean . . . Wow. I swallow, my throat dry. Talk about thirsty; I could watch this guy work all day, but too soon, he tests the engine, and listens to the smooth purr. “All done,” he calls over, closing the hood with a snap. I get to my feet, still way too distracted by the sight of his gorgeous sweaty body. “Thanks,” I answer, feeling awkward. “That’s the second time you’ve rescued me now. I promise, it won’t happen again.” Will chuckles. “Don’t worry, no-one would mistake you for a damsel in distress.” “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I grin. He smiles at me. “Please do.” He strolls over, dangling my keys from one finger. When I reach to take them, his hand closes around mine for a moment. “Have dinner with me tonight.” I struggle to keep my cool. “I already told you—” “I know, not your style,” Will finishes, echoing what I told him before about me and relationships. “But I’m not getting down on one knee here. Dinner, you and me,” he says again, with an irresistible smile. “Consider it me collecting on your offer, back when we first met.” “Will . . .” I murmur, torn. But who am I kidding? I lost this battle the moment he took his shirt off. No, before then, when I saw what he’s been crafting in that workshop of his, and realized there’s more to this guy than I ever imagined. “OK,” I say, snatching my hand back. “One date.” Will grins, triumphant. “That’s what they all say.” I can’t help but laugh. “Someone’s feeling confident.” “Sure.” Will shrugs, backing away. “But all my confidence is in you. Pick you up at eight,” he calls, disappearing around the back before I have a chance to warn him I mean it: one date, that’s all, no promises, no happy endings—of any kind. Who are you kidding?



Seven. When my friend Eva was still in denial that her fiancé, Finn, was the love of her life, she dressed in the most boring, shapeless clothes possible for their dates together. Now, looking at my wardrobe trying to get ready for tonight, I finally get where she was coming from. Everything I have is way too short, too tight, and too flirty for a night out with Will. For once, getting a guy hot under the collar is the last thing I want. I change half a dozen times before finally settling on jeans and a plain red tank top. Still, when the doorbell rings at eight and I go to let him in, I realize that my outfit is the least of my problems: He looks good. Way too good. Will’s in a sky-blue button-down and jeans, his hair damp from the shower and that delicious jawline cleanly-shaven for the first time in a week. His eyes crinkle with a smile when he sees me, and my heart lets out an answering thump. Damn, the man’s a walking temptation—and I’m a girl with zero self-control. Except tonight, I remind myself firmly, holding the door wider. “Hey,” I greet him, “you’re right on time.” “Always,” Will smiles, then pulls one hand from behind his back, and presents me with a small bouquet of flowers: roses and hydrangeas tied up with brown string. “For you.” I pause, shocked. I don’t think a guy has ever bought me flowers before, but Will must mistake my surprise for something else, because he adds, “They’re not fancy or anything, I know, but the yard at my place is overflowing, so I figured . . .” Wait, he picked them himself? I feel a little light-headed as I take the flowers and beckon him in. “Thank you, they’re beautiful,” I say. “I’ll, umm, find a vase. I won’t be a second.” I quickly hurry down the hall to the kitchen, my cheeks feeling strangely hot. I grab a vase and fill it with cool water. The flowers really are beautiful, the roses wild and perfumed with a sweet, floral scent that wraps around my senses. I set them on the countertop, and pause a moment, trying to pull myself together. The guy ran a comb through his hair and picked a couple of flowers, there’s no need to get your panties in a twist. But it’s not my panties I’m worried about. It’s the quicksilver beat of my heart, and the flutters of nervous anticipation in my stomach that spell danger tonight. I sneak a look down the hallway. Will is waiting casually in my living room, checking out my bookshelves, and all the framed photos I have perched on the mantel. He glances up and smiles. I duck back, my heart racing now. This is a date. A date date. Not a late-night hook-up, or casual get-together, or meeting a guy in a bar and then winding up at his place after four drinks and a shadowed make-out session. Will showed up on time, and is wearing a shirt, and will probably walk me back to my door when he drops me off later. It should be no big deal; I’ve been clear with him that I’m not interested in anything real, so why am I freaking out? You’ve got this. I grab a jacket and my purse, then meet him back by the door. “I don’t know if you planned anything,” I say, “but I thought we could go to this seafood place I know. It’s a great spot, right on the water.” “Sounds perfect.” Will holds the door for me.

“Great!” I exclaim, then immediately feel like an idiot. Anyone would think I’ve never been on a date before. I have, tons. But not with a man like this. That’s the problem, I realize, following Will to his truck. Why he’s got me off-balance, when I’m so used to calling all the shots. He’s a grown man, not some guy sending non-committal texts at two a.m., or taking time out of his busy schedule of beer and video games. Those guys I can run rings around, but Will is something different. He’s so sure and confident in everything he does, and that certainty is intoxicating, sexy as hell. And that’s even before he opens the passenger door of his ancient truck to chivalrously help me inside. He circles around and climbs in too. I give him directions, and we hit the road, driving out through town and onto the coastal road. I keep my gaze fixed on the scenery outside the windows, trying to ignore just how good he looks in the driver ’s seat, one arm resting out the open window, the sinking sun tinting his tanned skin gold against the ocean light. “Are you OK?” Will asks after a few moments of silence. “Sure!” I blurt. “Yup. Why?” “Just . . . you don’t seem like yourself.” I swallow. I’m not—but Will shouldn’t know that yet. He barely knows me at all. “I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea about tonight,” I answer instead. “You’ve said that.” Will sounds amused. “A few times.” “And you don’t seem to be listening,” I shoot back. The truck comes to a stop. I look over, surprised, but we’re at a set of red lights. Will turns to me, catching my eye with a direct, open stare. “I think you’re amazing.” What? “You’re beautiful, smart, sweet, and sexy as hell,” Will continues, sounding so matter-of-fact, I can’t believe it. “I want to get to know you better, that’s all. No pressure, no expectations. You said yes to dinner, so here I am. Is that a problem?” “Um, no . . .” I stammer, my head still spinning from his simple honesty. “But, sweet? Have you met me?” He chuckles. “We’ll agree to disagree. And if it makes you feel any better,” he adds casually, “I promise not to make out with you tonight. OK?” Not OK. Telling me something is off-limits is like waving a red flag. Right away, I’m seized with the sudden impulse to clamber over the gearstick and kiss him until I forget my own name, but I manage to murmur a garbled, “Uhuh.” The lights turn green. Will puts the truck in drive, and settles back in his seat again, totally at ease, but I don’t know what the hell to think now. Who is this man, where did he come from? And how do I stop myself falling hook, line, and sinker for his charms? Will follows my directions up the coast about twenty minutes, until we pull into the gravel lot outside Pete’s Seafood. “Here we are,” I announce brightly. Will looks surprised. “This place?” he asks dubiously. “They have the best fried clams around,” I promise, hopping down from the truck. OK, so it’s basically a glorified beach food stand with a few wooden benches attached to the local mini-golf course, but what was I supposed to do: take him to a romantic restaurant, or, worse still, a dark sexy dive bar, full of hidden corners for getting into trouble? Nope, much safer to be out in broad daylight with the crisp ocean breeze and a group of rowdy kids racing around, blasting each other with water

guns. If Will is put out, he doesn’t show it. “Alright then,” he says, flashing me an easygoing smile. “As long as we get to take a spin on the course after. I’ve got a mean golf handicap—especially when there’s a windmill in the way.” “Deal.” I relax, despite myself. I wasn’t lying, Pete’s does have amazing seafood, and as we grab a table overlooking the water, my mouth waters at the piles of fresh-fried fish and shrimp boil other people are carrying back to their tables. “What’s good here?” Will asks, hungrily eyeing the spread at the next table. “Everything,” I reply, and he laughs. “Sign me up.” The teenage waitress stops by, looking flustered. “You need menus, or . . . ?” she asks hopefully. “We’re ready. Two full plates with fries and slaw,” I tell her, looking to Will for confirmation. He nods. “And a couple of beers, too.” She barely nods before, racing off again. “I used to work here,” I tell Will, wincing at the memory. “Summer shifts, back when I was in high school.” “Oh yeah?” Will grins. “I’m trying to picture you in that uniform.” I look over at the waitress’s navy shorts and plain white T-shirt. “I wish. Back in my day, we had these little striped hats. They were the worst, could never get the smell of grease out. But they still weren’t as bad as the uniform at the donut stand in town. Or the boat tours. That guy wanted us all dressed up in pirate gear.” Will laughs. “You got around, huh?” I nod. “I pretty much held every part-time job in a twenty-mile radius.” “And now you’re building a real estate empire,” he says, as the waitress brings our food in record time. “Pretty much.” I grin, grabbing a fry and dunking it in the paper cup of ketchup. “But I love what I do.” “Why?” Will asks. “Well, the commissions are pretty great,” I joke, “but . . . it’s not just about the bricks and mortar. When you find someone a new home, you’re giving them a piece of the dream they have about their life,” I explain. “You know, the yard their kids are going to play in, the porch they’ll sit on in retirement. Even if all they want is a studio apartment somewhere they can afford where the landlord isn’t a total asshole, and the water won’t run cold, I can help make that happen. It’s a good feeling, being a part of that.” I shrug, suddenly feeling awkward. “Anyway, what about you? Have you been building your furniture long?” “Nope.” Will digs into his food, “But I needed a change. I always said ‘someday,’ and then I woke up and realized, if not now, when?” “It’s the first day of the rest of your life,” I quip, and he chuckles. “Something like that.” “So is Oak Harbor everything you imagined?” I ask. He holds my gaze, green tonight as the ocean waves. “Everything. And more.” I look away and focus on inhaling my food. It turns out all those butterflies dancing in my stomach work up quite an appetite, and I demolish my plate in no time at all. “Ready to kick some mini-golf ass?” I ask, gesturing for the check. The sun is setting over the distant bay, painting the sky with pastel shades of pink and orange. It’s too romantic to be sitting here, watching the water together; the rowdy course is a much safer bet. “Them be fighting words,” Will teases.

The girl brings over our bill, and I take it automatically. “I’ve got this.” “No ma’am.” Will says firmly, reaching for his wallet. “It’s fine,” I insist. The less like a traditional date this is, the better. “I said I was taking you to dinner as a thank you for helping break into my car. You can get dessert,” I add, nodding to the ice cream cabinet. Will looks at me, amusement suddenly crinkling the corner of his green eyes. “You think I’m broke.” “I didn’t say that. It’s fine,” I add quickly. “It’s none of my business.” My mother taught me never to talk about money. At least, not when you’re pretty sure you earn three times what your date does. But Will is still smirking at me with that illegally handsome face of his. He leans back and tosses a fry into his mouth in a lazy arc. “You think I’m a no-good deadbeat who’s going to stick you with the check when we’re through.” “You live in a shack in the woods with no running water,” I point out, trying to be delicate. “The night I met you, you didn’t have a quarter for the phone, and you drive around here in a beat-up old truck that hasn’t seen the inside of an auto shop in twenty years.” Will laughs out loud. “Like I said, it’s none of my business.” I smile back, relieved. At least he doesn’t have an attitude about it like some guys I’ve dated, the ones who take it as a personal insult on their manhood if you even offer to go Dutch. “We can still have fun. I take care of myself.” “I’m sure you can, darling. But I plan on taking care of the both of us.” He gives me a smoldering look, so I can’t miss the double meaning in his words. Heat slips into my bloodstream, and I can’t help but imagine just what else that mouth can do. “And just so you know, that shack in the woods is on a hundred prime acres, and I own it free and clear.” Will adds casually, getting to his feet. “That truck belonged to my granddaddy, he’s the one who taught me to service it myself every month. As for not having a quarter for the phone, well, it just happened I didn’t have any change for a hundred that night.” Before I can react, Will reaches casually for his wallet, pulls out a thick roll of cash, and peels off a fifty dollar bill. “Keep the change, darlin’.” He winks at the waitress, and she flushes bright red, scurrying off with her epic tip. Will offers a hand to me. “Shall we?” I stare up at him blankly, still thrown. “You never asked what I did in the city,” he continues, clearly loving every minute of my surprise. “I was in finance. Wall Street. I was pulling in stupid money, until I decided to jack it all in and move to the country to turn wood and count the crickets. So don’t you worry, sweetheart, I won’t be skipping out on a check anytime soon.” I finally get it together and rise, following him out. Will places one hand low on my back, and leans in until his lips brush against my ear. “And since you’re so concerned, the water at my shack will be running by the weekend. Full upgrade, gas tank, the works.” I laugh and playfully push him away, but only to hide my shiver at the whisper of his lips against my skin. Call me crazy, but I’ve never found plumbing so sexy in my life. We play two round of mini-golf, and the whole time, I try to keep that fluttering feeling at bay. But it’s no use. Will has me laughing at dumb jokes and celebrating our high scores, the connection between us so easy and relaxed that it’s not until we’re in the truck heading back to Oak Harbor that I realize the laughter has drifted away with the sinking sun, and now there’s something else shimmering in the dark summer night’s air between us, something charged and electric. I glance over at him and feel a shiver. Maybe it would be different if I hadn’t kissed him before; if

I didn’t know exactly how skilled and certain that gorgeous mouth could be against my lips. The feel of his body; the heat already snaking through my veins. But I do—and now all I want is to feel it again. The images rush through my mind, sensual and tempting, until it’s all I can think about. God, it would be so easy to invite him inside back at mine, for coffee or a nightcap, some other blatant pretext to get him inside—and out of his clothes. It doesn’t have to mean anything, just explore the connection that’s so clear between us . . . The truck comes to a stop, breaking through my fevered thoughts. “Here we are,” Will says, and then—like I knew he would—he goes around to get my door and walks me to my front step. “Tonight was fun,” I admit. Will’s face is cast in shadows by my porch awning, the angles of his face so clean and strong. It sends an unfamiliar longing through me, and I have to glance away. “Thank you for dinner.” “Any time.” I fumble with my keys and open the door. It’s now or never. If it was any other guy, I wouldn’t think twice before going after what I want, so I turn back. “Do you want to come in?” I ask, straight out, my heart pounding. Will pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick. “I . . . don’t know if that would be a good idea.” I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes, something that makes my whole body shiver in anticipation. He wants me. And desire? That’s something I know how to deal with. It’s not messy, or full of doubts. It can be easy. Simple. Fun. I take a step back, into my dark hallway, and give him an inviting smile. “It sounds like a good idea to me.” I reach out and place my hands on his chest, running my fingertips over the smooth, soft fabric of his shirt. Will gives me a rueful smile—but he takes a couple of steps closer, too. “Didn’t I say something about not making out with you?” His voice is low and sexy, and the look he shoots me is tense with desire. “It’s OK,” I whisper, hooking my finger over the collar of his shirt and pulling him to close the distance between us for good. Something about him so close makes everything click into place, just right. I lean in and drop a kiss in the spot where his jaw meets the curve of his neck. “Promises are made to be broken.” I feel him tense. Will pulls away a little, looking down at me with a curious expression in his eyes. But before I can think, he takes another couple of steps, walking me back until I’m against the wall, the lights off, shadows cloaking us in a dim silence. “Not with me,” Will says softly, lifting my hand to his lips. He brushes a soft kiss over the back of my knuckles, keeping his steady gaze fixed on mine. He turns my hand over, kissing my palm this time, a slow whisper of contact that sends shivers racing through my entire body. I can’t look away. He kisses my wrist, the hollow of my elbow, all the way up to my bare shoulder, leaning close, pressing me back against the wall with a look of such intensity in his eyes, it takes my breath away. Heat floods through me. Will bends his head, continuing his slow, devastating trail of kisses along my collarbone, and up the sensitive curve of my neck. Oh . . . His fingertips caress my other arm, then tilt my chin to the side as he dips and kisses my throat, all the way up to the corner of my mouth. I turn, eager to capture his mouth with mine, but Will just moves to the other side of my neck, his mouth roving, hot and growing in hunger. God, it feels so good.

My senses are alight, every soft touch swooping through my body in a wave of heat and pulsing desire. My thighs clench, just the whisper of his fingertips and teasing mouth enough to make me ache for him. All of him. I reach to pull him in closer, but Will takes my hands and slowly pins them up against the wall by my head, watching me with that unreadable hazel stare. My pulse kicks at the dominant gesture of his firm grip; my body arches towards him in anticipation, but Will just smiles. “You don’t know me yet,” he says softly. “But I’m a man of my word. So as much as I want to fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked, I’m going to keep my promises. At least for tonight.” His dirty words send a shudder through me. Will sees, and his lips curl in a triumphant smile. He leans in closer, until his lips brush my ear. “I don’t know why you’ve got those walls built so high,” he murmurs in my ear, still pinning me in place. “But sooner or later, you’re going to realize I’m not like the other guys. I don’t play games, I don’t run scared because a woman wants to call the shots. I can give you everything you need. Everything,” he says, his eyes flashing with sensual promise. “So you just take your time,” Will says, sliding his thumb over my damp, open lips. “And when you’re ready for a real man to show you what it feels like, you just let me know.” He releases my wrists, and then he’s gone: sauntering away into the darkness, leaving me weakkneed and dizzy in my doorway—and so turned on, I could melt into a pool of pure desire. And he didn’t even kiss me goodnight.



Eight. Will’s parting words sound awfully like a challenge—the kind I’m usually only too happy to take. Any other man, and I would be plotting ways to seduce him by now, to cut right to the end of the chase and get to the part that has us in bed, driving each other wild. But he said it himself, Will’s not playing games. I throw myself into work for the next week to distract myself, showing houses and drumming up new listings, but still, his steady stare finds a way to infiltrate all my quiet moments, making my heart beat faster at the memory of his wicked promise, and my body ache, reliving every soft, devastating touch. It’s tantalizing—and still so far out of reach. I’ve had just enough of him to know he can make good on his word, but not enough to even be close to satisfied. Damn it, this man knows exactly what he’s doing, and for some reason, he’s set on driving me crazy. It’s working. I vow to put him out of my mind, but instead, I find myself watching out for him all over town. At the rate I’ve been running into him, I half-expect to see him around every corner, but instead, it’s like he’s disappeared. No calls, no texts, no running into him at the market over a stand of fresh peach jam; I should be relieved, but instead, it’s like an itch I just can’t scratch. Too many nights I’ve fantasized about getting in my car and driving over to his place: just showing up on his doorstep in my skimpy lingerie—and nothing else. He said to come find him, and I know where he lives, but still, something’s holding me back. When you’re ready for a real man . . . His words turn over in the back of my brain, tempting me. There’s no doubt he’s all man, but the real question is, am I ready for him? I’ve told him straight-up that I’m not interested in a relationship, but something tells me he’s not a guy who’ll settle for anything less. With him, it would be all or nothing. Sink or swim. I can already tell the fall would be incredible. But what if I find myself drowning in the end? “I know Kit’s pre-school gossip isn’t exactly red-hot news, you could at least pretend to be listening to me.” I look up. Lottie is sitting on the park bench with me, snatching a lunch break while Kit plays nearby. “Sorry.” I give an apologetic smile. “Just thinking about . . . work stuff.” “Sure.” She smirks. “Things are really busy at the office,” I insist. “Thanks to Fran’s tips, I managed to land a couple of new clients this week, and I have a meeting with Marcie this afternoon.” “So the hot, rich craftsman has nothing to do with it?” My head whips around. “I never said that—” “Relax,” she interrupts, grinning. “I got all the gossip from Sawyer. So, Will was a big-shot Wall Street guy, huh? I wonder what made him pack it in.” “I don’t know, he never said. But he’s been around?” I ask, zoning in on the important details. “Sawyer didn’t tell me they were hanging out. Did Will . . . say anything about me?” I add, trying to sound casual. “Why, do you want him to?” Lottie shoots back. I pause. Do I? I’m still no closer to figuring out how I feel about him, or what I want. But still, his presence itches at me, tantalizing, and just out of reach. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry,” Lottie continues, slurping on a juice-box. “I haven’t heard anything. The man doesn’t kiss and tell. But, you do,” she adds, fixing me with a quizzical stare. “And I’ve heard exactly nothing about this date of yours. What gives?”

I shrug, picking at my sandwich. “There was no kissing to tell.” Lottie snorts in disbelief. “I’m serious!” I protest. Her eyes widen, “So you must really like him then!” “No!” I yelp. “What? No. Why?” She gives me a sidelong look. “C’mon, Dee. This is you we’re talking about. He’s hot, single, and willing. If you didn’t care, you would have broken off a piece of that man candy and taken a bite by now.” Lottie makes a suggestive face. “Stop! I do have some self-control.” I laugh and playfully push her. “Maybe nothing happened because I don’t feel anything for him, and we’re just going to be friends.” “Sure. Maybe.” Lottie smirks, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me—and the problem is, neither do I. “Want to come fishing this afternoon?” I ask, changing the subject. “Sawyer and I are heading out on the creek.” Lottie wrinkles her nose. “I still don’t get why you like it. You just sit around in a rowboat for hours, trying to murder poor smelly fish.” I laugh. “Because the sitting around is relaxing. And you know Sawyer, he can’t stand to hurt anything. We wind up throwing most of it back.” “Gee, sounds great, but I’ll pass.” Lottie grins. “But come over tomorrow? We could do pizza and a movie.” Her smile slips a little, and I remember, those were her regular Saturday night plans with Eva, when she was in town. However much I’m missing my BFF, Lottie is missing her sister just as much. “Sure,” I say, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Count me in.” I check my phone, then wolf down the rest of my lunch. “I better get back. Marcie promised me five minutes before she heads out for the weekend, and I want to tell her all about my new clients.” “And how perfect you’d be to take over,” Lottie grins. “That too.” I say goodbye to her and Kit, then head back across town, striding fast as I try to get my mind focused back to the most important thing in my life right now: proving to Marcie I’ve got what it takes to take over the business when she finally retires. I know I’m young, but my sales list speaks for itself: nobody knows this town like I do, and nobody else can give Oak Harbor Realty the energy and direction it needs. I’ve been hustling hard ever since those part-time jobs in high-school, but now I finally feel like my dream is within reach: a business of my own, something I can build and really be proud of. I step into the offices, ready to set my tasers to “charm.” Marcie is in her office, so I grab the bakery box I picked up earlier on my break and go tap on her door. “I was at Franny’s, and I couldn’t resist.” I hold up the box. “Key lime pie, it’ll take you right to the tropics.” “Ooh.” Marcie brightens. “Sounds delish.” Step one, sugar high. Check! I set the open box on her desk with two forks—then sit back and let her dig in alone. “How’s the boat?” I ask, nodding to the magazines she’s got spread on her desk. “Oh, it’s great,” Marcie replies, through a mouthful of pie. Her bright red hair is blown out into its usual bob, and she’s wearing her uniform of a flowing chiffon blouse and linen pants; chunky gold bracelets on each wrist. “We just got done redecorating, and Bob can’t wait to take her out on the open water . . .” I smile and nod as she continues talking, telling me every little detail about the new slip they’re renting down in the Keys, and the tour of the islands she’s been planning all year. Even though it’s

annoying sometimes to be the only one busting my ass around here, Marcie deserves the break; with two kids full-grown and a beach house calling, I can’t blame her for checking out. “When are you heading down next?” I ask, when she pauses for more pie. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Marcie suddenly looks serious. “Bob’s been talking, and, well, there’s a big Parrothead get-together in Key Largo at the end of the month. We’d love to take a couple of weeks and cruise on down there; get the old girl wet. I know it’s last-minute, we’d leave in a couple of days, and it’s our busiest season—” “I can handle it!” I exclaim. Marcie pauses. “Are you sure? I was thinking of just closing up shop, give you a chance to take some vacation, too. You haven’t had a day off since, well . . . I don’t think you’ve ever even called in sick. And all these weekend open houses—” “I’m happy to help,” I insist, spying my opportunity. “You go cruise, and I’ll take care of everything here. You don’t need to worry, I’ve got it covered.” Marcie wavers. “Well, we do have a lot of clients looking right now, and I’d hate to leave them in the lurch.” My clients. “I promise, I don’t mind running things. It won’t be the same without you,” I quickly add, in case I seem too glad to have her gone. “But I’ll do my best.” “You’re a gem,” Marcie beams. “What would I do without you?” Cruise on off into the sunset, I think, but give her a smile instead. “I’m just happy to help.” Help—and prove the office can run so smoothly without her, she’ll never have to worry about leaving it in my hands again. And if Marcie has so much fun down there in Florida she decides to make it a permanent move? Well, I’ll be ready to take over for good, just like I’ve always wanted. I happily wrap things up for the weekend, then head home, quickly changing into some cut-offs and sneakers before I go meet Sawyer down by the creek. I know Lottie doesn’t understand why I love fishing—none of my girlfriends ever do—but it’s been a hobby of mine ever since I was a kid. My dad taught me, and we would spend the whole afternoon out on the water, sitting there with our lines floating in the water, and a cooler of soda pop and homemade sandwiches at our side. Even when I got older, and spent my weekends out at parties or down at the beach with my girlfriends, I would still make the time every month for our fishing trips; those relaxed afternoons just talking and laughing, feeling the lines catch when we finally got a big one. That’s what made it even worse when he came clean about his affair. All those afternoons, he’d been lying to me, chatting about school and his work like nothing was wrong, when all the while, he’d been living this secret life, fooling us all. Today, I push away those dark associations. It’s a gorgeous summer afternoon, the heat mellowed to an easy summer ’s breeze, and I know the water will be cool and placid out on the creek. I’ve already got my rod and tackle box stashed in the trunk of my car and a bikini under my clothes, so I park, grab them, and head down the path to where my old family rowboat is moored to the community dock. Sawyer is already there, loading up the boat with a cooler and his line. “I hope you bought snacks,” I call ahead. “And I’m not talking about carrot sticks this time.” My words fade on the breeze. Sawyer straightens up—but it’s not Sawyer. Not even close. “Don’t worry.” Will smiles at me, back to his sexy, stubbled self in jeans and a faded blue T-shirt. “I’ve been warned. Sawyer said you’d push me out of the boat if I so much as dared to bring a celery stalk.” My heart beats faster. “Where is he?” I ask, trying to seem cool. “He sends his apologies, something about a breech birth on a mare,” Will explains. “He didn’t want to leave you in the lurch, so he sent me instead. Surprise.” He gives me a crooked grin.

But I’m not surprised, not one bit. Seeing Will here, looking so damn good framed in the hazy afternoon sun, it feels strangely inevitable. The tension I’ve been carrying all week seems to melt away, and I suddenly feel lighter, free. I’m happy to see him. “Have you ever fished before?” I ask, moving to dump my things in the rowboat. Will blinks, like he was expecting me to put up a fight, then nods. “I know my way around a line,” he says, holding out a hand to help me off the shore. I step into the boat and settle on one of the narrow wooden benches, tucking my feet beside the cooler. He climbs in with me, pausing as the rickety old boat rocks and creaks from his weight. Will looks uneasy. “Are you sure this thing is seaworthy?” “Hey,” I protest. “Don’t insult Harold.” “Harold?” he echoes, laughing. “Let me guess, he’s Berta’s cousin.” I laugh, surprised he remembers my old car ’s name. “I’ve had this boat since I was a kid,” I explain. “My dad got it for me for my seventh birthday. It’s pretty much indestructible.” “Are you sure?” Will carefully takes a seat. I stick my tongue out. “Just for that, you can row.” Will jams on a baseball cap, grabs the oars, and pushes off from the shore, rowing us out into the creek with steady, sure strokes. His biceps flex with every pull, and I’m glad I’ve got my shades on to hide my lingering eyes. “So how was your week?” I ask, reaching to trail one hand in the cool water. “I haven’t seen you around.” “Miss me?” Will asks. “Maybe,” I smile back. “Then my devious plan is working.” I arch an eyebrow. “I thought you said you didn’t play games.” “Games, no. Plans, yes,” Will corrects me. “Everyone needs a plan.” “So what’s yours?” “Well, right now it’s to spend the afternoon out on the water with a beautiful woman. So I think I’m doing great.” I can’t help smiling. “That’s it? Nothing beyond the next two hours?” “I don’t know.” Will grins back. “If the fish are biting, we could shoot for three.” “Come on,” I laugh, “you know what I mean.” Will shrugs and looks away. “I try not to do too much planning these days. I used to have everything figured out, and the universe decided to prove me wrong. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted.” “Like what?” I ask, curious. “The usual bullshit,” Will looks reluctant. “A bigger apartment, a cooler car, the next promotion at work.” “That doesn’t seem like you,” I note, and I’m rewarded with a smile. “I didn’t think so either, but I still got sucked into it all. It’s like stepping on a treadmill,” he explains with a sigh, “you keep moving, but the finish line gets further and further away, so really, you’re just spinning your wheels in place.” “Until you stepped off the machine,” I say, and he gives a wry laugh. “Or got pushed. But either way, I’m glad to be done with it. There are more important things than chasing the next dollar. More important people, too.” Will pulls the oars again, steering us downstream. I watch from behind my shades, thoughtful. It takes a lot for someone to just upend their life and start over, and I can’t help admiring him for taking

that step. Sure, I might still be a little baffled by his choice to come down here after a chance meeting in the street, but it’s a sign of courage, too. The confidence to follow his instincts, not caring about what the rest of the world says he needs in order to be a success. The self-reliance to know he’ll make it work, whatever happens. Damn, the more I find out about this guy, the sexier he gets. “So what about you, honey?” Will gives me a teasing grin. “How was your day at the office?” I laugh. “Good, it’s been busy. But my boss is going on vacation soon, so it’s my chance to hold down the fort on my own.” I explain about my plans to take over the office one day. I’m cautious, remembering how most guys tune out the minute I start talking about my career, or crack jokes about me being a “ball-buster,” but instead, Will is nothing but enthusiastic. “That’s great, you’ll kill it,” he declares. “Hell, you sold me on moving down here without even trying. I don’t even want to think what you could talk me into if you really wanted.” He flashes me a grin, but it’s not what I want to talk him into that’s the problem—it’s what I want to talk him out of. Like that T-shirt. And those jeans. I look around. “This is a good spot,” I say, before I get too far thinking about stripping him naked right here in the middle of the creek. “We can set up here.” “As you wish.” Will pulls the oars back into the boat, letting us drift gently on the current. I reach for my rod and set about threading the line and fixing the right tackle and bait from my box. Will watches, then whistles. “You know what you’re doing, huh?” “I still hold the title for biggest bass in the county.” I pull back the rod, then flick the line out into the water in one smooth swoop. The buoy bobs on the surface, marking the spot, so I nestle the rod into the nook of the oar rest, then settle down on the floor of the boat and flip the top of the cooler. “Ooh, Dove bars, good call.” I rip into one, savoring the cool creamy sweetness. When I look up, Will is still watching at me. “That’s it?” he asks, looking amused. “I thought you came here to fish.” “I am,” I nod to the line. “The fish will bite in their own time.” I let out a yawn, and stretch my legs out, resting my feet up on the side of the boat beside my rod. I lean back, and let the afternoon sun warm me from the inside out. It’s been a long, strange week, but right now, everything feels just right: I have no place to be, nothing to do, ice cream in the cooler, and oh yeah, a hot guy trapped in the boat with me. Not bad for a Friday afternoon. I hear Will chuckle. “Pass me one of those,” he says, so I toss him a Dove bar. He makes himself comfortable, and licks melting ice cream off his thumb. Hello. He glances up and finds me watching from over the top of my shades. “How are you doing over there?” he asks. “Getting . . . hot?” “I’m fine,” I answer sweetly. “But you’re welcome to go take a dip.” He grins. “Not necessary.” Too bad. A spot of skinny dipping would definitely amp things up a notch. In fact . . . I give him another look. Will seems to be totally at ease, but his posture seems kind of tense. I slowly cross and recross my bare legs. His jaw clenches, just a flicker. Interesting . . . I finish up my ice cream and set the wrapper aside. Casually, I straighten up, and slowly lift my tank top over my head to reveal the red bikini top I’m wearing underneath. I feel Will’s eyes burning on my skin as I stretch, yawning. “The sun’s hot today,” I say innocently, digging in my bag for a bottle of sun lotion. “Would you mind getting my back?”

Will meets my gaze. His lips curl in a smile, like he knows just what I’m doing right now. “Sure.” He takes the bottle and I turn, sweeping my hair to one side to reveal my bare back. I feel Will shift closer. There’s a pause, and then I feel the cool spread of lotion on my skin, and Will’s strong, steady hands smoothing it over my shoulders. My skin prickles. Not from the cold, but the feel of his touch, skimming over my back now in a soft, leisurely caress. Will is slow and methodical; he strokes every inch of my bare skin in smooth circles, down over my spine and edging around my sides in an almost-hypnotic rhythm, every touch sending ripples of sensation spiraling through me, the heat building, a bulls-eye between my thighs. God, he’s good. I find myself slipping into the breathless haze of desire, thoughts whirling now in my mind. Is this how he’d touch me when we’re naked and undone in each other ’s arms? Or is this his self-control still holding tight? Given half a chance, would he be rougher, wild? Holding me down, making me pant and moan for more . . . ? “All done.” Maybe it’s my own desire talking, but I swear Will’s voice is thicker, his jaw clenched more firmly when I turn and take the bottle back. There are mere inches between us now, and I can see the heat of lust in his eyes. “Thanks,” I murmur, with a playful smile. “Want me to do you now?” Will holds my gaze, a challenge. “Right here?” I grin. “There’s plenty of room.” “I don’t know,” he replies, lips curling in a teasing grin. “I’m pretty big.” I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Will grins. “We were talking about my height, weren’t we?” “Sure we were.” I shake my head, still grinning. What is it about this guy that I can go from turned on to laughing in hysterics in five seconds flat? I’m about to go retreat to my end of the boat, when my rod skitters and jerks in its place. “You got a bite!” Will exclaims. I leap up and grab the rod, trying to keep my balance as the boat shifts and creaks on the current. Something’s biting alright, I can feel the tension on the line. “It’s a big one,” I say, starting to reel it in. “I think it’s snagged on something . . .” “Here.” Will gets up and moves to stand behind me. He wraps his arms around me, helping keep the rod steady. Suddenly, fishing is the last thing on my mind. His body presses against the length of me, his strong arms cradling me close. In an instant, I’m surrounded by him: his scent, the whisper of his breath against my cheek, the heat from his sundrenched skin. It’s an avalanche of sensation, and god, it’s too good to be true. How can someone just holding me feel so right? I take a shaking breath, my pulse racing. His hands overlap with mine on the rod, and I can’t stop myself from flexing my fingers, threading them to intertwine with his. I don’t want this moment to ever end, but still, it’s a rush of relief when I hear Will’s voice curse, “To hell with the damn fish.” He throws the rod down and spins me around. I can only glimpse the determined hunger in his eyes before his mouth claims mine in a searching, searing kiss. Yes. Hot and wild, the fever rages through me in an instant. The boat rocks wildly, the wood groaning under our weight, but I don’t care, all I want is more of him. Now. I reach up, pulling him nearer, parting my lips to invite him in. Will’s tongue slides, deep and slow, tangling with mine in an erotic dance as his hands roam over my bare skin and the inferno between us rages out of control. Nothing else matters, nothing exists in the world but the crush of my body against his, and the devastating

magic of his mouth as we— SPLASH!



Nine. The cold water closes over my head in an icy rush, shocking me back to reality again. The creek is only a few feet deep, so I easily kick to the surface; when I come up for air, I see Will, splashing beside me, wiping water from his eyes. He laughs. “I guess the universe is telling us to take a cold shower.” I grin, grabbing his baseball cap as it floats on by, and reach up to jam it down on his head. Water trickles down his face. “Speak for yourself. You’re the one who pulled me in!” “I didn’t pull anyone,” he protests. “Your boat decided to give up the ghost.” He nods behind me. I turn and let out a gasp. “Harold!” The poor old rowboat has a massive hole splintered in its side, taking on water fast. “Don’t just splash there,” I cry to Will, swimming over. “Help me bail it out!” “I think it’s past saving.” As I reach it, the boat tilts over and starts sinking into the creek. Game over. I watch sadly. That boat was a part of my childhood, and I guess now it’s gone for good. Will swims over and pulls me closer, treading water to keep us both afloat. “Hey, it’s OK,” he comforts me. “Maybe we can get it mended.” “No, I think Harold’s time has come. Rest in peace,” I say watching it sink until just the prow is sticking out. I turn back to Will, and smile. “At least he went down in service to a good cause.” Will grins. “The kiss that sank the Titanic.” I laugh. “Just don’t expect me to give up a spot on my raft.” “Never.” Will slides his hands around my waist, and just like that, the cold creek water is no match for the heat between us. I shiver at the intimacy of our bodies suspended here in the water, the way my legs seem to part to wrap around his waist as he keeps us afloat with steady, sure kicks. Time slows as Will reaches to caress my cheek, and I inhale in a shudder, feeling the slow snaking fire ignite in my bloodstream; seeing the intensity in his hazel gaze. When he kisses me again, he takes all the time in the world. Slow and leisurely, and hot as the summer ’s afternoon. I melt against him, sliding my hands up to tangle in his wet hair, tasting and touching, letting our tongues softly caress, so sweet, I could lose myself in the moment and never come up for air. I wrap around him, feeling his wet shirt against my bare skin and the heat from his body beneath, every breath, every movement rippling through my body in an intoxicating rush. God, how can this feel so good? I gladly surrender and give myself over to the storm of sensation, the simple pleasure of his touch. There’s more heat, more desire, just from kissing this man that I’ve ever felt before in my life. What else can he do to me . . . ? His mouth moves over mine with a dizzying sweetness, easing my lips apart and biting down softly on my lower lip with a nip that makes me moan. Will stiffens at the noise, and drags his mouth from mine, breathing fast. “I need to get you out of this creek,” he says, his voice rough, eyes dark with need. I hold his gaze, my blood singing. “And I need to get you out of these clothes.” I’m not sure how we manage to keep our hands off each other long enough to rescue our bags from the sinking boat and swim back to shore. We’re both wet through, but neither of us care as we pile

into his truck and take off, Will pushing the speed limit on the winding country roads until at last, he pulls up in his front yard and drags me from the passenger seat. “I told you, I have running water now,” he says, a wicked smile on his face. He claims another kiss, hard and fast, until I’m panting, then pulls me after him, straight through the front door and up the stairs. We don’t make it to the top before he shoves me up against the wall and captures my mouth with his, hands roving freely now over every inch and curve. God, I want him. I yank his wet T-shirt over his head and toss it to the floor, kissing wildly at his neck, his chest, those delicious planes of golden, taut muscle. Will muffles a groan, and then his mouth is on me again, tugging my bikini top aside and licking across my bare breasts in a hot, delicious swoop. I fall back against the wall, gasping as he teases me, lavishing my sensitive nipples with rasping, soft strokes until I’m writing against him, desperate for more. “Will,” I moan, shaking, and I feel him smile against me, enjoying the sweet torment until finally he closes his lips around one taut nipple and sucks. Hot pleasure rushes through my whole body, and I moan again, louder, hearing the raw sound of my own desire ring out in the empty house. For a moment, it’s like I’m watching from outside myself —half naked, head back against the wall, seeing his tongue slide across my breasts in turn. It’s hot, so hot I can feel the tension twist between my legs, aching until I can’t take it anymore. I drag his face back up to mine and kiss him with everything I have. Will pins me back, wrapping my legs around his waist and carrying me easily up the last remaining stairs and down the hall while our mouths devour each other, desperate for one more taste. We slam back through the bathroom door, and Will doesn’t even pause, he reaches blindly to turn on the shower, and then pushes me back, right under the spray. The water is cold to start, sharp against my skin, but I don’t care. All I want is him, all of him—as close as I can get. Hot mouths and pressing bodies and god, his tongue, sliding deep into my damp mouth. I’m lost in the storm of sensation as the water pulses down on us, and I never want to come up for air. Will grips my hips and I moan into his mouth, arching up, feeling him hard against me. I reach for his belt, and shove his wet jeans down. He kicks them away, and then he’s hard in my hands, so fucking hard and thick, I shudder with anticipation just to touch him, running my fingers over his shaft as Will lets out a groan. “Not so fast.” Will suddenly spins me around, pushing me face-first against the slick tile and pinning me in place with the hard weight of his chest. “We’re going to take our time. God, I’ve dreamed about your body,” his voice rasps in my ear. He slides one hand over my breast, squeezing now, closing his fingertips around my aching nipple to pinch and tease with delicious friction. I whimper, pressing eagerly against his hands. “You’re perfect, every damn inch of you, it’s been driving me crazy to stay away.” Will slowly unbuttons my cutoff shorts from behind and slides them lower, peeling my bikini bottoms away as he goes. I reach to help him, but he snatches my hands away, pressing them back on either side of my face, palms to the wall. “No,” he murmurs, trailing his fingertips down over my naked body in a shivering path. His chest presses against my back, my body molded to fit against him. “Don’t move. You stay right there. I promised you, I’m going to give you everything you need, and baby, it starts right now.” My legs go weak at the sinful promise, and I brace myself against the shower wall. Will’s hands slide over me from behind, the water pulsing hot now, beating down on my aching flesh. He kisses the back of my neck, my shoulders; his fingers searching, skimming over my stomach and the hollow of my hip. It’s exquisite. It’s pure torment, knowing he’s so close—naked, but out of reach. I’m aching and breathless, shuddering to his touch.

And then he slides one hand down between my legs, and I realize the torment has only just begun. I hear Will inhale with a hiss. “God, you’re so wet,” he curses, sliding one finger slowly through my folds. “Wet, and tight, and fuck . . . Delilah . . .” My name comes out twisted with a ragged desire, and I’ve never heard it like this before. All I can do is whimper and buck against his hand. Will grips my hip to steady me, and then slowly strokes over my clit in a steady, rhythmic rush. Fuck. I fall forward, head pressed to the tile, hands still flat against the wall as he softly explores my arched aching body, brushing over my clit, delving deeper to dip into my wet core, just a fingertip teasing, but god, it feels so fucking good. I clench, pleasure radiating from his soft, devastating strokes. “Will,” I gasp, half moaning in his arms. “Please . . .” “Oh baby,” he chuckles, a low wicked sound in my ear. “You’re going to have to beg a whole lot louder before I let you come.” He nips my earlobe, and sinks one finger inside me. My moan echoes from someplace deep inside, a ragged, raw place I never knew existed. Will pulses slowly, curling his finger up just right, his palm pressing against my clit with every stroke. Dear god. My legs are giving way, but he holds me up, using his other arm to brace me against him, pinning me against his chest as that one wicked finger strokes and beckons and unravels me from the inside out. I turn my head, burying my face in his damp shoulder. “What are you doing to me?” I whisper, writhing hard against his hand. “Giving you what you deserve.” Will pulls his hand away, and I whimper in protest, but then he’s turning me to face him under the hot spray, kissing me slowly, possessively, every touch taking me over. He pulls back to hold my face in one hand, watching me as the other slides down between my thighs, finding me slick and aching for him. “Look at you,” Will breathes, his eyes locked on mine. “Look how beautiful you are.” There’s an intensity to his stare that makes something twist, an ache deep in my chest. Nobody’s ever looked at me like this. Nobody’s ever made me lose control, taken over my body with such command—and tenderness, too. Will strokes my cheek, infinitely soft even as his fingers pulse and surge inside me, pushing me closer to the edge. “God, Will . . .” I want to close my eyes, just sink into this incredible pleasure, but something keeps my gaze fixed on his. That face, fuck, that gorgeous face: the gold-flecked glint of satisfaction in his eyes, the slow, teasing smile that spreads with every whimper from my lips. He’s loving this, I can tell, seeing me like this, strung out on his every word, every touch, totally under his thrall. “That’s right, baby.” Will slides his thumb over my clit. I shudder, the tension coiling, closer, closer . . . “Tell me what you need.” “You,” I gasp. “Will, I need you. Please . . .” I reach for him then, closing my fingers around his length, and loving the ragged hiss that escapes his lips, the shudder of his body. A new heat surges through me, a sharp satisfaction mingling with my own sweet pleasure. I can drive him crazy too. I can make him feel this, so wild and uncontrolled. I pump harder, finding my rhythm against Will’s bucking hips. He meets my gaze like a challenge, and his smile widens, teasing as he sinks another finger inside me. Stretching, filling me, but fuck, not enough. “Fuck,” I whimper, starting to lose it now. I want to keep control, keep him hanging on, but my body is already cresting higher, winding tighter, ready to explode. Will bites down softly on my shoulder. “Come,” he orders softly.

I shake my head, trying to focus, to take him to the brink right along with me. “Wait . . . I can’t . . .” “You will.” Will grabs my hands away from him and pins them up above my head, holding me in place with one hand as the other returns to me, stroking with that mindless rhythm, sinking deeper, beckoning me to the brink. “You’re going to come right now. Because when you do, I’m going to take you to bed and fuck you raw.” I shudder, feeling the tension build. Oh god. “You like that, huh?” Will sees every gasp, every clench. “You want me to talk dirty to you, sweetheart? Because I can do it all day long. How my cock’s going to own every inch of you, fill that sweet pussy until you don’t think you can take it anymore. But you will, baby, believe me,” he swears, stroking me faster, with devastating accuracy. I feel it, the low shiver starting deep in my spine, circling higher. “You’ll be begging by the time I’m through. But I won’t give it to you easy,” Will murmurs. “No, I’m going to fuck you my way,” he swears. “Hard and deep, so you know how it feels to let a man in, all the way. Every inch, every last moment. “You’re going to be mine.” Pleasure slams through me. The world implodes in a rush of sweet release, and I fall against him, gasping as the orgasm races through my veins. Will holds me up, kissing me through the storm, until finally I surface, shaking under the hot spray. Oh. My. God. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life before. My whole body is singing with a wild pleasure, and the room barely stops spinning enough for me to see straight. Holy mother of epic orgasms, how the hell did he do that? And when can I get more? Will sets me back on my feet again. “You alive in there?” his voice comes, sounding amused. “Barely.” I take a deep breath, and lift my head, seeing the boyish look of triumph on his face. “Don’t look so smug,” I warn him, laughing. I push him playfully, and Will laughs. “Is it so bad for a man to take pride in his handiwork?” I shake my head, unable to keep the smile from my face. “Men. You think giving one tiny orgasm means you’ve scaled Everest.” “Tiny?” Will catches my hand, and yanks me hard against him. “Admit it,” he says, his eyes flashing with dark lust. “You just came so hard you saw God.” I laugh, dancing away from him, but I don’t deny it. “We need to get out of here before I turn into a shriveled prune,” I say instead, shutting off the water. I step out into the unfinished bathroom and shiver. “You got any towels in this place?” “Bedroom, down the hall,” Will answers, so I walk barefoot, naked, and dripping wet, until find his bedroom: the windows wide open to the hazy evening heat, a simple king-sized bed in the middle of the room dressed in crisp navy linens that look so soft and inviting, I could snuggle in deep and never get out. I find the towels hanging from the closet door and blot one against my wet hair, tossing the other to Will as he arrives in the doorway. He wraps it around his waist, and his stomach lets out a rumble I can hear from across the room. “Dinner?” he suggests, smiling. “I have leftover pizza in the fridge.” “Fancy.” “If you’re lucky, I might scrounge up a couple of paper plates.” “You know how to treat a woman,” I tease, and Will laughs, pulling me into his arms. “Damn straight I do.” He kisses me, slow and easy, the kind of kiss that could last all night—until his stomach sounds again. I laugh and pull back. “Time to feed the beast.” “Is that a promise?” There’s a glint in Will’s eye. He crosses to the dresser and pulls out a fresh

pair of jeans, tugging them on while I enjoy the view. Then he digs out a button-down shirt, and some drawstring jogging pants for me. “Not exactly your size, I know . . .” “I’ll see what I can do.” Will heads downstairs, and I dry off and get dressed. I’m swimming in his pants, but I tie the drawstring tight and roll up the sleeves on his shirt to make them fit, toweling off my hair and twisting it up in a wet braid. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the bureau: my cheeks flushed pink, and my eyes bright and shining. I look like I’ve just had the best sex of my life—but I haven’t, not even close. Not yet. The sun is just starting to sink over the woods when I find Will shirtless out on the back deck, nuking a plate of pizza in a dangerous-looking microwave. “You weren’t kidding about the paper plates,” I say, looking at the haphazard collection of plastic takeout utensils and condiments he’s got set up on a folding table. “Don’t tell me this is your kitchen?” “Until I get the gas line checked, I’m afraid so.” Will pulls a couple of beers from the cooler and offers me one. “But on the plus side, there’s no clean-up required.” “It’s like being back in college,” I laugh, taking a bottle and toasting it against his. I take a sip, relishing the cold buzz, but I can’t help looking around again at the shabby work-in-progress. “You know, it’s not too late to change your mind,” I suggest. “I could find someone to take this off your hands, set you up somewhere with an actual working range.” “Don’t you worry about me.” Will moves closer, and slides a hand around my waist. “You’re off the clock. Relax.” “I might relax right through that hole in the porch.” I eye it cautiously. “I’ll catch you.” Will hooks one finger over the waistband on my pants, yanking me against him. I laugh and melt into his arms, reaching up to claim a kiss, savoring the warmth of his bare chest, and how I seem to fit in the nook of his shoulder, just right. Deeper, hotter, we’ve barely had our hands off each other all afternoon, but still, I want more. Will backs me up against the porch railing, ignoring the “ding” of the microwave as we feast on each other, instead. His hands slide up under the hem of my shirt, tracing wildfire across my naked skin. “The food . . .” I say breathlessly, already arching against him, offering myself to his wandering hands. “I’m not so hungry anymore.” Will bends his head and drags a trail of smoldering kisses down my neck, flicking his tongue over the delicate hollow of my throat. “Besides, I made you a promise, and you know, I’m a man of my word.” I shiver. He is, and not just when it comes to my pleasure. “You’ll be mine.” I pull back. “I forgot!” I exclaim. “I have a movie date with Lottie and Kit tonight. I’m running late already.” Will’s hands slide lower, teasing the waistband of my pants. “Sure you can’t cancel?” His mouth grazes my neck again, pushing my shirt off one bare shoulder. My body is melting towards him, already caught up in the magic of his sinful touch, but I force myself to step away and yank my clothes back into place. “Sorry, she’s been kind of lonely since her sister left,” I explain quickly. “I think she just needs some girl time, you know?” I feel guilty, but it’s only half a lie. Lottie did want me to hang tonight, and I know she’ll be happy to see me. Still, I feel a stab of regret as Will smiles at me. “I get it,” he says. “But just know, you’re missing out on all of this.” He points to himself, and the reheated leftovers, and I laugh. “Next time.”

Will puts on a shirt, and gives me a ride back to where I left my car by the creek. I get out, and look at the water regretfully. I can still see part of Harold the boat sticking out of the water, stuck in the mud of the shallows. “I guess I should find someone to haul him out.” Will gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry I broke your boat.” “It’s not your fault,” I sigh. I head over to my car, and Will opens the door for me. “I’ll call you,” he says, and I nod, trying to ignore the unsettled feeling in my stomach. “Bye.” I lean up on tiptoes and drop a quick kiss on the corner of his lips, but Will catches me around the waist and kisses me deeper, leaning me back against the car and claiming my mouth so thoroughly, I’m left reeling and dizzy, and breathless in his arms. God, this man can kiss: his hands sliding hotly over the curve of my hips, his tongue stroking me slowly, intoxicating. A promise of so much more. He releases me, breathing heavy. “Next time,” he tells me with a wink. I nod, half-falling back into the driver ’s seat. I manage to fumble the keys into the ignition, and I drive away, watching him recede in the rearview mirror. It already feels wrong to be leaving him there, when I could be wrapped up in his arms; naked in his bed. Just a taste isn’t enough. I need all of him. And I’ve never needed anyone before. I turn back to the road. This is why I made the excuse about Lottie, why I need a moment to catch my breath. Just as fast as the pleasure took over, now I feel something else spinning through me, offbalance, too close to the edge. I want him, god, I want him so bad, but a part of me is still holding fast to keep control. I’ve known from the start that he’s different from all the other guys. Nobody’s ever pursued me like this, and nobody’s ever treated me this way either—looked past all the flirty quips and careless teasing, and seen the part of me I never show. He wants to know me. Not just for a brief fling, or a couple of crazy nights of fun. He’s never asked for more, but I saw it in his eyes today: that fierce possession, a heat that could take us both down in flames. “You’re going to be mine.”



Ten. I show up on Lottie’s doorstep with a takeout pizza, a bag of chips, and one condition: no talking about William Wyatt Montgomery. Lottie seems puzzled, but she keeps her word, and we spend the rest of the evening curled up on the couch, watching old Julia Roberts movies with Kit snoozing, sound asleep between us. I let out a yawn as the final credits roll—which quickly turns into a sneeze. Lottie reacts like she’s heard a gunshot go off. “No!” she whispers loudly, scooping Kit into her arms and turning to shield him. “No germs, we just got done with that flu last month!” “I’m fine.” I sniffle, grabbing a tissue. “Hmmm.” Lottie gives me a dubious look. She gets up and retreats a safe distance with Kit still in her arms. “You don’t look so hot. You should take some Emergen-C or something.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t get sick,” I tell her proudly. “I haven’t had so much as a cold in years— ATCHEWW.” I sneeze again, and then twice more until my eyes are streaming. Lottie points to the door. “I love you, babe, but you haven’t stayed up half the night feeding this guy cough syrup. Out! Call me when you’re not contagious.” “I’m not—ATCHEW.” “Out!” I get my stuff and head back across town. Now that I think about it, my throat feels kind of scratchy, but it’s probably nothing. Like I told Lottie, I don’t get sick. I haven’t taken a day off in years, and I don’t plan on starting now. I’m just unlocking the door when my phone buzzes: a text from Will. How’s girls’ night going? Fun, I text back. Back home now. Want someone to come tuck you in? My stomach curls. Lust comes rushing back to me in an instant, but the hesitation I felt before hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s still lurking, uneasy in the back of my mind. I’m not ready to take this step with him. Rain check? I type instead. I’m beat. Sweet dreams xo When I see my reflection in the hall mirror, I know I’ve made the right call: my eyes are streaming, and my nose could give Rudolph a run for his money. I dig out a couple of vitamin bottles from the kitchen drawer and down a handful before I go to bed, certain that whatever it is, I’ll feel better in the morning. I’m wrong. My bulletproof immune system must have been shot by spending half the afternoon splashing around in running water, because I wake up sick. Really sick. Burning eyes and raw throat and streaming nose and pounding headache kind of sick. All I want to do is bury myself back under the covers and never come out again, but I have viewing appointments booked with a client all morning; they’re driving in from the city and I can’t just bail on them, and besides, with Marcie gone now, I’m the only one who can do it. The show must go on. I stumble out of bed and get dressed, sneezing every other breath. I look like death warmed over, but I manage to slap on some concealer and make myself look halfway human before heading to the door. The hallway starts spinning. I cling to the wall.

No. Not today. Mind over matter, I tell myself, that’s all that counts. For a moment, I wish I was a kid again, tucked in my pajamas while Mom brings me hot tea, but I’m an adult, and adulting means downing two shots of Emergen-C and three multi-vitamins and giving myself an epic pep talk while I try not to cough up a lung. Repeat after me: you’re a goddamn rock star, you can beat a mild fever any day. Rock star or not, by noon, fever is whipping my ass. “And look at all these windows,” I surreptitiously blow my nose, guiding Liv Sullivan and her sister, Annie, through the next house. They’re the tip I got the other week: in her sixties and recently widowed, Annie wants to move to Oak Harbor to be closer to her sister and family. We’ve been looking at small, low-maintenance properties for her all morning, but this cute craftsman cottage is definitely the best of the bunch. “South-facing, so you get the sea breezes. And the light is incredible—”I sneeze again. “Excuse me.” Annie fishes a tissue from her bag. “Are you sure you’re OK, sweetie?” she looks concerned. “I’m fine! Just, hayfever allergies, that’s all,” I cover, ushering them through to the cute, farmhouse-style kitchen that opens up to a small, flower-filled garden. “Isn’t this just adorable? You said you had a green thumb, didn’t you?” “Oh, look at that courtyard!” Liv exclaims. “Can’t you just imagine having a nice cup of coffee out there, with all the pretty flowers?” Annie looks around, starting to smile. She’s been quiet and hard to read all morning, but finally, I recognize the look in her eyes. That’s the look my clients get when they find The One: when they can imagine themselves living somewhere for real, cooking dinner at the range and unpacking their books on the hallway shelves. “You two go wander, soak it up,” I tell them. “I’ll have a chat with the broker, see what the situation is.” Annie glances around. There are at least three other people looking around right now, some couples, and a family with kids in tow, who are loudly talking about how perfect it is, and how they need to make an offer right away. “I don’t want to get in a bidding war,” Annie whispers, looking worried. “The budget’s already tight.” “Don’t worry,” I reassure her. “Let me figure that out.” The women head outside, and I can see them talking—Liv enthusiastic, but Annie is already worried she’s going to lose out before this new life is even hers. “Great property, isn’t it?” I look up. The selling agent has come into the room, a smug smile on his face. Ron Parsons, a broker from up the coast, heavyset in a lime-green polo shirt and chinos. “We’re getting a lot of interest.” “Hmmm.” I smile, non-committal. “That’s great.” “If your buyers are interested in making an offer, I’ll tell you now, you should probably go full ask, or even a little more,” he adds, as if he’s doing me a favor. “Like I said, this won’t last long.” I hide a smile. Ron has a reputation for bidding up the value of a house with some underhand tricks, and I’m pretty sure that loud, enthusiastic family has been at every one of his open houses for the past year. So either they’re really, really picky, or Ron here has roped in his extended family to show up and try to pressure other buyers into putting in high bids. “Do you actually have any offers?” I ask sweetly. “Not right now,” Ron admits, clearing his throat. “But they’re coming soon.” “Right. Well, we have a bunch of other places to look at, so I’m not sure this one will rate.” I look around with an exaggerated sigh. “These older houses, you never know the problems lurking.” I wrinkle my nose. “Is that . . . mold?” Right on cue, I sneeze, only this time, it’s actually helpful: Ron’s eyes widen with horror.

“Mold? No!” “Huh, OK then.” I casually stuff the flyer in my bag. “We’ll let you know.” Ron walks off, anxiously sniffing at the air. I smile. This place will be perfect for Annie, but I’m not going to let her spend a dollar more than she’s comfortable paying. I’ll let Ron hang for another few days, then make a low opening offer, and see where we can wind up. My phone rings. It’s Will calling, and I answer with a sneeze. “Sorry,” I sniffle, making a mental note to pick up more vitamins. “Hi.” “You OK?” he asks. “You don’t sound too hot.” “Ugh, I’m not,” I admit. “I think I caught a chill yesterday.” “Poor baby.” Will sounds sympathetic. “You need me to bring anything?” “No, I’ll be fine,” I insist. “But I think I better take a rain check on hanging out, at least until I’m feeling better.” “Sounds good. Let me know how you’re doing.” I hang up, fighting guilt. Blowing off Will isn’t an excuse, I tell myself. I am sick, and lord knows I wouldn’t want to be around me right now. I go meet Annie and Liv in the garden. “Ready to make a move?” I ask. Annie smiles happily, looking around. “I could sit here all day. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” “Very good. But you should sleep on it,” I tell her gently. “Take your time, and think it through. We’re in no hurry.” “See?” Liv interrupts. “I told you she wouldn’t push you into something just to make the sale.” I sneeze again. “I should put that on my business cards.” Annie tuts at me. “You need to get back to bed.” “But we have another place to view. I’ll be fine,” I promise again, but she just guides me out the door. “No offence, my dear, but you’re in no state to be working. Besides, I don’t need to see anywhere else. You go take it easy, and we’ll talk tomorrow about making an offer.” I’m in no state to disagree. I say my goodbyes to Annie and Liv, and make it back home, my head pounding worse than ever. Every step takes Herculean effort, and all I want to do is crawl into bed, but I manage to change into sweatpants and my slubbiest shirt. I’m just making tea when the doorbell rings. I shuffle to the door. “Whoever you are, please just leave me in peace—” I stop. Will’s on my front step with a bag of groceries and a concerned look on his too-damnperfect face. “What are you doing here?” I ask, torn between being glad to see him and wanting to slam the door in his face. I look like a zombie, spraying germs with every sneeze. The last thing I want is him to see me like this! “I thought you might need some TLC,” he says, stepping inside. “And clearly, I was right.” He drops a kiss on my forehead, then frowns and presses the back of his hand to my cheek. “You’re burning up. Do you have a fever? Have you drunk enough water today?” “Mneugh,” I manage to whimper, feeling pathetic. I know I should send him away, but my whole body is aching now, and all I want is to just curl up on the floor. “Poor baby.” Will grins. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” Before I can protest, he sets the groceries down, picks me up in his arms, and carries me down the hall to my bedroom. “I bet this isn’t what you had in mind, taking me to bed,” I manage to make a feeble joke as he sets me in the middle of the mattress, and plumps up my pillows. “You’re not supposed to be seeing me like this—” I sneeze. “All snotty and gross and sick. It’s not—” I sneeze again. “Sexy,” I finish weakly, sinking back into the pillows. “Sure you are.” Will tucks my duvet around me. “You get some rest. I’ll be downstairs, cooking

up something to help that head.” “Uh huh,” I murmur, already drifting off. My eyes fall shut, and I feel his lips on my cheek, the barest whisper of a kiss. Then his footsteps tap down the hall. I sink into the softness of my sheets, listening to the sound of cabinets opening and closing and pans rattling on the stove. Despite my aching limbs and the pounding in my head, I feel . . . comforted. It’s nice having someone here taking care of me, even if Will is the last person on my list. The afternoon breeze slips through the open windows, and I drift in and out of sleep for the rest of the day. I’m not sure how long I’m out of it, only that it’s getting dark when I surface, my throat dry and my stomach rumbling for something to eat. Something smells amazing, so I manage to get out of bed and pad down the hall to the bathroom; rinsing my face with cold water before I venture further, into the living room. Will’s sitting with his feet up on the coffee-table, sketching something in a workbook. The radio’s on low, playing some jazz band, and that delicious smell is wafting from the kitchen, filling the room with warmth and fragrant herbs. I pause, my chest tightening. Everything about this scene is so relaxed, so homey, I almost wish I could freeze time just like this. Then Will looks up. “She rises,” he says, giving a lazy grin. He puts his book aside. “No, don’t get up—” I protest, but he’s already coming over. “Feeling any better?” Will checks my forehead again. I make a face. “Define ‘better.’ What’s that smell?” I ask hopefully. “Did you order in?” Will smiles. “Even better. Chicken soup, my mom’s recipe. It’s ready, but didn’t want to wake you, you were pretty out of it,” he adds, leading me to the couch. “I’m surprised you managed to sleep through your snoring, though. Either that, or a bear decided to join you for a nap.” “I don’t snore!” I protest weakly, settling on the couch. He laughs. “Sure you don’t.” Will goes to the kitchen to fix me a bowl, and I glance at the workbook he was sketching in. He’s working on new furniture designs, a cool table made from wood and industrial steel. I can’t help flip through the pages, impressed. There are some beautiful pieces here, and it’s clear from every line and drawing that he’s invested in every idea. “OK, I think I’ve got it right, but don’t hold it against me if there’s too much salt.” Will comes back, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and some bread alongside. “I had to call my mom to get the recipe. It’s a family secret, so don’t even ask.” “You called your mom?” I sit up as he places the tray in my lap. I blink, not sure how to feel about that. “What did you . . . ? I mean, what did you say?” “Just that it was for a deserving cause.” Will sits beside me and hands me a spoon. “I swear, this recipe makes everything better. It even helped when I broke my arm in sixth grade.” “Impossible.” I smile, then spoon up a mouthful. “Or, possible,” I correct myself, tasting the miraculous soup. It’s savory and rich and hearty all at once. Will smiles. “Now you see what I mean.” I eat half the bowl without pausing for breath. When I look up, Will is still watching me. I flush, feeling self-conscious. He must think I’m a sick, pathetic mess right now. “Thank you,” I tell him gratefully. “You’re sweet to have stopped by, but you don’t need to stay now. You’ve probably got things to do, and this is more than enough.” “Why, planning to kick me out and party?” Will teases. I give a weak laugh. “More like set up camp here on the couch and watch Bravo.” “Sounds good to me.” Will kicks his feet up on the coffee table again and reaches for the remote. He catches my eye. “And no, I don’t have anywhere more important to be. Here is just fine with me.”

He puts the TV on, and I slowly finish the rest of my soup, relaxing. Despite everything, it’s nice having him here. He’s so strong, and stable, and capable. When was the last time a guy came and made me soup? How about never. I put the tray aside and snuggle deeper into the couch. I feel a little better, but my throat still hurts, and my head is aching. Will pats his lap, so I swing my feet up, laying almost horizontal. I let out another whimper, almost disappearing into my blankets. “I hate being sick.” “I’d never have guessed.” Will grins, casually starting to rub my feet. Mmm, that feels good. “I guess at least I won’t have to go to dinner with my parents,” I sigh, trying to look on the bright side. “What’s wrong with that?” he asks. I pause, realizing I’ve revealed too much. “Just . . . I hate watching them pretend like everything’s great, that’s all,” I answer at last. Will looks curious, but I shake my head, already regretting mentioning it at all. “It’s nothing. I’ll tell you some other time.” “Alright,” he says, not pushing. He beckons to me. “Come here.” “I’m going to get germs all over you,” I warn, and he laughs. “Do your worst.” I’m tired now, and his arms look too inviting, so I give up my protests and swivel around, moving so I’m snuggled against him, lying in his arms. God, it feels good. I exhale with a sigh, resting my head against his chest, relaxing into the warmth of his soft embrace. Will gently strokes my hair as the TV plays in a blur across the room. I feel sleep taking over me again, and through the lull, I feel a sudden wave of envy for my friend Eva, having this with her fiancé all the time. Is this what it feels like to be taken care of? To be held like this, to fit just right in the crook of his shoulder, his hand smoothing softly over my hair. Is this what it would feel like to be loved? My heart shivers in my chest. It’s just the cough syrup talking, I tell myself, as I drift off to sleep in his arms.



Eleven. Will’s soup has truly miraculous properties, because I wake up the next morning with a clear head and only a slight sniffle left from my sickbed. There’s a note on the table, too: You and the bear get your rest. Call me when you feel better. x I’m happy to be feeling human again, but this means I have no excuse to avoid the dreaded anniversary dinner. Mom wants us to spend some “girl time” together before the meal, so she picks me up and we head up the coast to Beachwood Bay, another pretty town on the water, to get our hair done before meeting Dad. “I’m so glad we have a chance to catch up,” Mom beams, settled back in the salon chair. “Remember when we used to have our quality time when you were younger, going shopping and getting our nails done? I feel like it’s been ages since we really talked.” “You can come visit me too, you know,” I point out. “You only moved a couple of hours away.” “I could say the same.” Mom gives me a look as the stylist comes to hover near me. “If you wanted, I’ll just give those bangs a trim,” he says hopefully, but I shake my head. “Sorry, my friend would kill me.” Lottie is my stylist, and really possessive of her handiwork; once I got a dye job in the city, and she guilt-tripped me for a week. I go pick out some nail polish instead, and settle in the chair beside Mom as they blow out her neat cap of ash blonde hair. “How is Lottie doing?” Mom asks. “That boy of hers, I swear, he gets cuter every day.” I smile. “And more rebellious. She’s good, I’m trying to get her to date,” I add, soaking my fingertips in the bowl of warm water. “I was thinking of trying to get her and Sawyer together for a while, but I don’t know . . . . They have more of a big brother-little sister vibe going on.” “Sawyer, he’s that nice vet, isn’t he?” Mom shoots me a look. “You could do worse than spending some time with him yourself.” I check the clock on the wall. “One hour and twenty-two minutes,” I announce. “That’s how long it’s taken you to bug me about my love life.” Mom laughs. “Did I really make it so long? I should get a prize.” I can’t help giggling too. It really is a lost cause trying to get her to back off and mind her own business. Still, I must be feeling the effects of that cough medicine, because I find myself telling her, “I’m . . . sort of seeing someone.” Mom’s head whips around, and right away, I regret the slip. “It’s only been a couple of dates,” I add quickly. If one dinner and a dip in the creek even count as dates. “It’s nothing serious. Honest.” “Does ‘nothing serious’ have a name?” “Will,” I answer, trying to ignore the curl in my stomach at the thought of him. “Will Montgomery.” A smile plays on the edge of Mom’s lips. “And does this Will have a job at all?” I flush. “What are we, in an Austen novel? Next thing you’ll be asking about his income and ‘prospects.’ ” “That depends if he has any.” Mom smiles. “Oh hush, I’ll mind my own business. But I thought you were looking peppier than usual.” “It’s called under-eye concealer,” I reply, embarrassed. “Like I said, it’s early.” “That doesn’t mean you can’t know,” Mom replies. “I knew right from my first date with your father he would be the one for me.” She gets a faraway smile, telling me about their date for what must be the hundredth time. I feel a pang, watching her, and I wonder if she’s trying to convince herself, or if she still really believes it—that his betrayal was a blip in the grand love story of their lives. She may have moved on, but every time she brings up their happiness, I can’t help remembering

—and it’s only going to get worse, once we’re all at dinner together. They finish up her hair, and she goes to change out of her robe. My phone buzzes with a text; it’s Will. How’s the bear? SAVE ME, I text back, about to write more when Mom appears again. “Is that him?” She tries to look over my shoulder at my phone. “It is, I can tell from that goofy smile. What’s he doing?” “Nothing!” I shove my phone back in my bag. “And it wasn’t him,” I lie, “it was . . . a client. And I don’t have a goofy smile.” “Of course you don’t, sweetheart.” Mom pats my arm like she doesn’t believe me. “I just talked to your father, he’s on his way. We’ve got some more time before our reservation,” she adds. “How about we walk around and do a little shopping? There are some cute stores here.” I nod, glad to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. “Whatever you want, Mom. It’s your day.” We browse around town for a while, then go meet my dad at the restaurant at seven. It’s a rustic, relaxed place with gorgeous views overlooking the water. “Here are my girls,” he greets us, beaming. “Don’t you both look pretty tonight?” “Hi, Dad.” I accept his hug. “This place looks great, is it new?” “They just opened,” Dad tells us, as we’re led to our table. “The owner has another one in the city. Your mom and I have eaten there before, and it’s always delicious.” “Sounds great!” I take my seat, determined to stay upbeat. Just because I’m not comfortable doesn’t mean I’m going to sulk like a teenager for the rest of the night. Let my parents play pretend all they like, I’m going to smile and nod—and drink. I catch the waiter ’s eye. “A bottle of wine, for the table?” I suggest, and Mom happily agrees. “Mmm, everything looks wonderful,” she says, looking at the menu. She reaches across and squeezes Dad’s hand. “Thank you for picking this place.” “I wanted something special for my girls.” He smiles back at her. “It’s not every day we get to celebrate twenty-five wonderful years together.” The waiter returns with the wine and pours me a glass. “Oh no, keep going,” I tell him when he pauses. “All the way to the top.” I take a gulp, reminding myself again: cheery and upbeat, for Mom’s sake at least. “How are things with work?” I ask, steering for safe, neutral ground. He’s been in insurance for thirty years now, and always has funny stories about the things people try to claim. Dad gives a wry smile. “The usual. We’ve got a new investigator in, and she’s turning up dodgy claims all over the shop. One guy filed for ten thousand dollars, said his rare comic book collection had been stolen; it turns out, his girlfriend burned the whole lot up in smoke after he broke things off!” I laugh. “That’ll teach him.” “Luckily for us, he only had them covered for theft, not acts of revenge,” Dad adds, smiling. “I didn’t realize those things could be so valuable.” “Oh yeah, I knew a guy in college, he kept them all in the original wrappers, wouldn’t even take them out to read.” I shake my head at the memory. “I took one off the shelf to look once, and he practically had a fit.” “Why don’t you tell your father about your new man?” Mom interrupts. “Dee’s seeing someone,” she tells him meaningfully. Dad looks surprised. “You are? That’s wonderful. Will we get to meet him?” he asks, and I gulp.

How about never? “It’s early days,” I say quickly. “Maybe later.” Way later. “Well, I hope everything works out,” Dad says. “Who knows? If you’re lucky, you might just find yourself out to dinner one day in the future, celebrating like this.” He beams at Mom. She beams back. I take another gulp of wine, miserable. This is going to be a long night. “Sorry I’m late.” Before I can register the familiar drawl, I feel a reassuring hand on my shoulder, and then, somehow, Will is standing by the table, dressed smartly in a button-down and good pants. I blink. I haven’t had that much wine, so how . . . ? “William Wyatt Montgomery, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he says, already reaching to shake my father ’s hand, and kiss my mother on the cheek. “And congratulations on the anniversary. I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it in time, I hope you didn’t wait.” “No, Dee didn’t even say you were coming.” Mom looks delighted. I manage a smile. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” I cover quickly, shooting Will a confused look. “Umm, surprise!” “It certainly is,” Mom gushes. “Come, sit, let’s get another chair. You’re right on time, we haven’t even ordered yet.” “Perfect.” Will takes a seat at the hurriedly-added place beside me. He gives me a questioning smile. “You doing OK?” he asks, and suddenly, I am. Just like that, I’m not alone in this. He’s on my team. My tension unknots, and I relax, reaching to take his hand under the table. I don’t know how he wound up here, but I’m glad to see him. I squeeze, and Will squeezes back. “Delilah was just about to tell us what you do for work,” Mom starts brightly. “Mom,” I start, warning, but Will chuckles. “That’s alright. I’m in the middle of a career change. I worked up on Wall Street, but now I’m starting a new business, hand-crafting furniture.” “Wall Street,” Mom echoes, looking pleased. “Oh look, time to order,” I interrupt, waving the server over before she can quiz him about his 401k. “Better decide what you want.” Mom starts deliberating, and I take the chance to lean in closer to Will. “How did you know where we were?” I whisper, catching a breath of his familiar scent. “Lottie told me. I figured you could use the back-up.” His eyes are flecked gold in the candlelight, full of reassurance, and right now, I could gladly lose myself in them and never come up for air. “Thank you,” I breathe, feeling overwhelmed with relief—and something else, something that tugs and shimmers in my chest. I try to pull it together, covering with a smile. “Seriously. You’re saving my liver some serious damage.” Will flashes that heart-stopping smile. “Anytime.” We order, and too soon, Mom is back to quizzing Will about his career, family, and everything else under the sun. I try to move the conversation to other things, but the third degree continues even after they bring our food. It’s delicious, but I can’t focus, I’m too busy trying to run interference—and checking anxiously if Will is getting tired of their enthusiastic questions. Maybe this is my fault: if I’d brought other guys to meet them before, maybe they wouldn’t be piling on like this, but to my relief, Will seems perfectly at ease, talking business with my dad and fending off questions from my mom about his family and whether he loves kids. “Leaving finance,” my dad is saying, as the waiter clears our plates away. “That’s a big risk.”

“Not really,” I speak up. “His furniture is beautiful, and he’s working on some great new designs. I can’t wait to see how they turn out.” Will looks surprised, then bashful. “We’ll see. I’m talking to some design stores in the city, I hope to maybe have a few pieces carried by the fall.” “No maybe about it,” I say firmly, and he laughs. “If I had one tenth Dee’s ambition, I’d be set.” My mom gives a little sigh. “We’re hoping she’ll turn some of that focus to other things,” she says meaningfully. “Like a family, perhaps.” I tense, about to interrupt, but Will just rests a calming hand on the back of my shoulders. “She’s got plenty of time for that, don’t you, Dee? Right now, she’s building her future,” he continues easily. “And it’s clear from the way people talk about her around town, they think the world of her. You must be very proud of everything she’s achieving.” Mom blinks. “We are. Of course we are.” There’s a pause. I look over to Will, touched. I can’t believe he’s standing up for me like this, and even more, that he means it. I feel a lump in my throat, and quickly take a sip of water. “How about dessert?” I say brightly, changing the subject. Will groans, “How are you still hungry?” “It’s a skill,” I grin back. “Years of training, nothing but hard discipline to get me to this point.” “I’m going to have to up my game to keep pace,” he sighs. “You’ll live.” Mom gets up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.” She heads towards the bathrooms, and Dad waits a moment, then bobs up out of his seat too. “Just need to check in on something.” He winks and disappears to go talk to the server. Will and I are finally alone. I let out a long breath, and reach for my wine. “How are you holding up?” Will asks. I give him a faint smile. “Better, with you here. Thank you. You know, they’d be giving me that quiz about future plans and family if you weren’t here to take the bullet.” “I like them,” Will says. “They just want you to be happy.” “Well, they love you,” I tell him, then pause, suddenly feeling shy. “I can’t believe you came,” I say softly. Will gives me a quizzical look. “You want me, I’ll be there. That’s just the way this works.” This? I feel that shiver in my chest again. I swallow, about to ask exactly what “this” is, but my parents rejoin us at the table, and a moment later, the server brings over champagne and a small, perfect chocolate cake, decorated extravagantly with fresh flowers and fondant. “For the love of my life,” Dad announces, getting to his feet. Mom gasps and claps her hands together, tears glistening in her eyes as Dad makes his toast. “It was the best day of my life when you agreed to marry me, and every day since then, I thank my lucky stars I found you. Here’s to another twenty-five years together, darling.” The other diners break into applause. He leans down to kiss her, and they smile and whisper sweet nothings to each other. It’s the perfect picture—except I know there’s way more to the story, lurking just out of the frame. Like the woman he kept out in Charlotte, and the night when he finally came clean: Mom throwing all his clothes out the window onto our front lawn, and then sobbing for hours on the bathroom floor like I’ve never seen before—and never want to witness again. I hate myself for feeling this way: looking at their happiness now and seeing nothing but past pain.

God, why can’t I just let it go? Why am I the only one who remembers all the lies? “I’ll be right back,” I murmur, and bolt from my chair. I hurry to the restroom and lock myself in a stall, trying to process all the emotions whirling in my chest. It’s just a dinner, I tell myself. If this is the story they want to tell themselves about their marriage, it shouldn’t matter to me. I take a deep breath, then another. Soon, I’m able to get my emotions back under control. I rinse my hands under cold water and touch up my makeup, and by the time I rejoin the table, I’ve got a big smile plastered on my face—and I keep it there for the rest of the meal. Only Will shoots me a couple of questioning looks; Mom and Dad remain oblivious, feeding each other cake and cooing happily until the check is signed and thankfully, this anniversary is over. We say our goodbyes at the table, and I promise to come visit them soon. “You too, Will,” Mom says hopefully. “We’d love to see you again.” “That would be great.” He shakes my dad’s hand. “Congratulations again.” We exit the restaurant. “So,” Will begins, placing a hand on the small of my back, guiding me across the street to where he’s parked. “Do you want to tell me what that was about—” He doesn’t get to finish; I’m already pulling his face down to mine and kissing him with everything I have. He stumbles back, surprised, but I loop my arms around his neck, kissing him hungrily, desperate and searching. “Wait.” Will tears away from me. “Your parents . . .” He quickly looks around, so I tug him back into shadows behind his truck, hidden from view as I push him up against the passenger door and claim his mouth again. This time, he doesn’t protest, just sinks into the heat as I cling to him, pressing my body against every inch of him, licking into his mouth and making him groan. “Thank you,” I tell him, when I finally have to come up for air. I kiss along his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe. “Seriously, thank you for doing this.” I feel Will chuckle against me. “If this is my reward, sign me up for every anniversary, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.” “Baby, I’m just getting started,” I promise. His face is shadowed in the darkness, but I can see the light in his eyes, strong and bold with passion, that reckless hunger that’s ricocheting in my veins, too. I catch my breath, my heart pounding. We’re on the edge of something here, and all it’ll take is just one small step to send me hurtling into the unknown. I touch a finger to his lips, and take that step. “It’s time for you to take me home.”



Twelve. Will drives me back to his place, silent in the dark with the windows rolled down. I keep my hand in his, our fingers intertwined, trying to ignore the wild racing of my heart and the knot tangled tight, just beneath my ribcage. I’ve done this before, but somehow with him, it feels brand new. Every look, every touch, full of possibility—and a risk too, something deeper and more dangerous than I’ve known before. This matters. He matters. He leads me inside, and flips the lights on. “You want something to drink?” he asks. “I have water, beer . . .” “No, thanks.” I stand there, just inside the doorway, watching him. Will’s expression changes, softer now. “We can talk, if you want,” he says gently. “I don’t know what was going on at dinner, but something’s up.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk,” I tell him, swallowing back the knot in my throat. “I just want you.” Will exhales slowly, then he closes the distance between us and brings one hand to my cheek. “Dee . . .” he murmurs, still concerned, but I clench my jaw, determined. “You’ve made me some awfully big promises,” I say, smiling; flirty, the way this should be. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving a lady unsatisfied.” Will’s eyes flash, and his lips curl in a grin. “Never.” “Well then . . .” I slowly unhook the straps of my dress and let it glide to the floor. I feel his eyes on me, devouring me as I stand there in my bra and panties. The heat rushes through me, a gorgeous anticipation, and I feel my nerves slip away under the hunger in Will’s gaze. This part, I know: the pleasure, the power. The fun. It could all be so simple. Why can’t everything just be simple? “It’s time to keep your promises.” I wink, then turn and walk slowly up the stairs, my hips swinging with every step. I hear Will follow, as I head for his bedroom. I push the door open and go lie down on the bed, propped on my elbows—displayed to him, waiting. He stands in the doorway and slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt. “I think you’re forgetting something,” he says, tossing it aside. “Like what?” I ask, enjoying the show. He unbuckles his belt, and then strips off his pants, too, standing in just his briefs there in front of me, so taut and delicious, and my pulse races even faster. God, I want him. “I promised I’d fuck you,” Will agrees casually, moving closer, close enough to grip my ankles and yank me closer, down the bed. My heart stops. My whole body sizzles with anticipation. He traces my lips, easing them open, and pushes his thumb into my mouth. I shudder at the intimacy, the cool touch of his skin against my tongue. He leans in and kisses my cheek, my neck, the swell of my chest. I inhale in a gasp as his hands slide over me. Touching, teasing, a trail of quicksilver on my sensitive skin. I arch up, needing him more than I think I’ve ever needed anything, but instead of pinning me down and ravaging me, Will’s voice murmurs, soft in my ear. “But I said, when I take you, you’ll be mine. Are you mine, Delilah?” His eyes lock on mine, questioning. I don’t know what to say, I have no words, so I kiss him hard instead, trying so desperately to keep control. But Will refuses to let me set the pace; his mouth on mine stays slow, so infinitely sweet. He eases my lips open and sinks his tongue into my mouth, deeper, hotter than anything I’ve felt before. I want to lose myself in the oblivion of pleasure, block

out all these messy emotions and shut the world away, but it’s no use, not with him. When he kisses me, there’s no escape. Will’s lips explore softly, his steady hands pin me down, and something in my chest finally snaps, unravels. The knot of sadness, that angry, bitter place, it all unspools as I sink into the tenderness of his embrace. All the feelings I’ve been holding back and trying to ignore come rushing through, and I can’t hide anymore. Because Will won’t let me. He sees past all my bullshit excuses, and somehow still wants me. The real me. Not just for fun, a wild fling, all those meaningless, safe little games. But something real. Something I could hold onto, if I only trusted myself enough to let go. I pull away, breathing fast. He looks at me, waiting, patient. I gently press my hand to his cheek. “I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper, hating that I’m suddenly on the edge of tears. I feel naked and exposed, all my messy emotions suddenly dragged into the harsh light of day. I swallow back the sting in my throat, and admit the truth. “I don’t know how to be with someone, like this, for real. I’ve never even come close.” Will looks at me with such tenderness, I swear my heart could break in two. “It’s easy, I promise,” he murmurs, his hazel eyes searching mine. “Just trust me, that’s all you need to do. Trust me, and just . . . be you. That’s all I want, to be with you.” I still don’t understand it, how he can be so certain and resolute. I’ve done nothing but try to keep him at arm’s length, and he still sees something in me that makes him stay. “What if I’m scared?” I ask, my chest aching. “I might fuck this up, and get everything wrong . . .” “There is no right and wrong.” Will holds me, so close I can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong in his chest. “There’s just us. You and me, right here, now. That’s all it is. Whatever you want, it’s yours. You want to sit up all night playing Scrabble, I can make that happen,” he adds, giving me that boyish grin. “Although, I draw the line at letting you win.” “No chance.” I have to smile, despite everything. “How about a working gas stove?” I ask, teasing. “OK, that might take a little longer.” Will smooths back my hair. “But I mean it, Dee. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” he promises softly, searching in my eyes. “The rest is up to you.” I stare back, torn. For years, I’ve been telling myself that this is impossible. Nothing lasts. Nothing stays the same. But from the very first night we met, he’s been proving me wrong—giving me a glimpse of a future I’d sworn didn’t even exist. He made me chicken soup, for christ’s sake, even when I was a fevered wretched mess. There’s nobody like him in the world, and maybe this will all fall apart one day, but what if it doesn’t have to? What if this love can be real? Wouldn’t that be worth the risk? The thought crashes through me in an instant. Not him leaving, or lying, or the hurt angry fighting in the end—but everything else we could have, if only I would try. Will, in my bed, not just tonight, but a hundred more nights besides. Afternoons with my friends, just hanging out, and sultry summer evenings together by the creek. Him waiting when I get home from work, there when I wake in the morning, when I need someone; just him. It’s intoxicating. So close, I want it more than anything. So why am I fighting it so damn hard? Will can see the fight I’m waging inside, because he gives me that crooked smile. “Or I could just fuck you tonight, and leave the rest on the table.” I blink, surprised. “You’re nearly naked in my arms,” he points out. “I may have some self-control, but you’re really testing it right now.” He trails one fingertip down my body, over the dip of my waist and up over the curve of my hip. It makes me shiver, makes me almost say to hell with it, but I know him too well for that.

“No,” I whisper. Hurt and disappointment flash on his handsome features. “No, I mean, yes, to more,” I say quickly, taking his hand. “I want more than just tonight. I want you, all of you.” There’s a pause, and I see my words sink in. Then desire flashes, hot in his gaze, and there’s no time left for talking, no time for anything but his mouth on mine and his body crushing me with delicious weight as Will stretches me back into the soft linens and claims me once and for all. This kiss is anything but controlled. Hot and wild, his hands are on me, everywhere, the hard heat of his body pressing into mine. I wrap myself around him, devouring with every breath, losing myself in the sweet, reckless pleasure I’ve been running from for so long. But not tonight. Tonight, I sink into his embrace, I give myself up to him, completely. Tasting him, touching him, feeling his body shift and hitch; memorizing every cool curve of muscle and shivering stretch of skin. I kiss along his neck and down over his chest, wanting to feel every inch of him. Will’s skin shudders under my wandering fingers, and I trail my tongue down over his stomach, biting lightly at his hip and making him stiffen with anticipation. I peel his briefs away, and then he’s thick and glorious in my hands, God, so delicious, I have to taste. I close my mouth around his tip, angling my head to take him into my mouth. “Fuck, Dee . . .” Will’s voice is ragged, a distant sound over the heartbeat pounding in my ears. I settle between his legs, still touching him, my palms to the smooth planes of his body, and now I feel it tense and hitch, his hips straining towards me as I slide my tongue down that gorgeous shaft and swirl back up again. Will’s hands settle on my head, tangling in my hair as I take him in my mouth again, deeper this time. I find a rhythm, sinking into the bliss, the sheer sensual pleasure of surrendering myself to this moment, to giving, to everything I want to tell him but can’t find the words. I don’t need words, not like this, when my mouth can say everything I want without uttering a sound. I find the pace, using my lips to tease him, the very tip of my tongue, before taking him deep again, deep and slow until he’s gasping. It’s different with him. God, it’s all brand new. Not a competition, some big performance, a race to the finish line. Now, all I want is to hear his groans of pleasure and make them last, feel the slick heat of his skin beneath my tongue. I lose myself in him, the cresting build of tension and need wound tighter, tighter as his hands grip my hair and his body thrusts to meet me. My body is wildfire, shimmering and raw, and he hasn’t even touched me; no, all I have is his satisfaction, but somehow, it’s more than enough. I want to show him everything he means to me. Give him the pleasure he’s given to me. And now, feeling his body rise and his groans grow more desperate, I know he’s on the edge. I pull away, teasing just the tip until Will lets out a desperate growl, then I sink back down, taking all of him, as deep as I can, moving my lips along his shaft as I slide my tongue against him, over and over, relentless, until Will pulls away. I look up, confused. “Not like this,” he says, almost growling as he yanks me up the bed. He rolls me, pinning me down beneath his body. “I’m not coming until I’m deep inside you, baby,” he swears, the look in his eyes making by blood run hot. “I want to feel you begging for me, give you every last inch.” His mouth crashes down on mine, and I arch up eagerly, wrapping myself around him, god, so ready for more. His hands are on me, everywhere, stripping my bra and panties away, and following that electric touch with his lips and tongue. He teases at my nipples until I’m aching, moaning, his tongue sliding hot over my trembling skin. Will takes one stiff peak into his mouth and sucks, hard, as his hands part my thighs wider. I catch my breath, mouth dropping open in a silent gasp as his fingertips tease at my slick core. “Fuck,” he moans against me. “You’re so wet.” I’m shuddering against him, wound so tight I can barely breathe. Every inch of my skin feels electric and wild, and I’m writhing now, impatient. “Please,” I manage to whimper, dizzy with lust for

him, with pure molten need. “Please Will . . .” He reaches for the nightstand. I take the foil packet from him, savoring the stiff heat I feel as I help slide the condom over his shaft and then yes, fuck, he’s poised above me, that gorgeous face alive with desire. But there’s something more, too: a reverent look in his eyes that quiets my last doubts and sends me spinning into the sweet rush of the moment. Will slowly thrusts inside me, and I know, there’s no turning back. Not from how right this feels, how he fits me so perfectly. Grinding deep, fuck, so deep, our bodies rising up to meld with each other, like we were always meant to be this way. The feel of him is like nothing in the world. Filling me up, stretching me, already sending bolts of pleasure rushing thick through my every last sense. I cling to him, it’s all I can do to match the slow, sensuous pace of his body, each stroke more powerful than the last. Will rises up on his elbows, face just inches from mine. Our lips touch, and I feel every ragged breath, every surge that brings him closer to me. Faster, deeper, my blood is boiling, my nails clutching at his back, but still, he doesn’t break his pace. “Baby,” he groans, thrusting into me again, and hearing the need in his voice sends me soaring. I answer the only way I can, clenching around him, massaging him from the inside out, already feeling the shudder of release coiling low in my spine, the stardust beginning to shiver through my toes as Will takes me over the brink, the feel of him inside me so good, I can’t hold back. “Don’t stop,” I gasp, coming alive. “Fuck, please, don’t ever stop.” Will captures my face in one hand, and then god, he’s watching me as I come undone. Those steady eyes, burning with passion, seeing right through me—all the way to my soul. This man. God, this incredible man. I give in to the rush, to how it feels, finally—to have him. To belong to someone. I see it all echoed right back in his expression as my body rises and I break apart for good, pleasure shattering through my body with a cry. Pure, sweet elation races through me, and then I feel him break apart with a shudder, clinging to me, our bodies surging together, over and over, until we’re spent and sweaty in each other ’s arms. I hold him, and for the first time in my life, I never want to let go.



Thirteen. The world slips back slowly: the weight of him, the softness of his sheets, the porch light shining through the dark of the bedroom window. It’s the same place we were just a few minutes ago, but everything feels different now. Will rolls to the side, and collapses with a groan. I smile; I can’t stop from beaming, feeling the incredible afterglow, and the pleasure still ebbing through my body. “You alive over there?” I ask, echoing his question to me the other day. Will rumbles with laughter. He turns his head, and gives me a sleepy, worn-out grin. “Barely,” he says, lazily trailing one hand over my stomach. I shiver, and he smiles. “You?” I nod and scooch in closer, resting my head in the nook of his shoulder. I trace circles over his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow to a steady pace. He takes my hand, and brings it to his lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, brushing hair from my eyes. I flush, still giddy to hear it—and look in his eyes and know that he means every word. I’m not used to believing in a man, in all the flirting and pretty words that usually mean nothing at all. “I know I must have seemed crazy, at dinner,” I tell him, swallowing hard. Will waits, watching me. “My dad . . . he cheated,” I admit quietly, explaining everything. “He left us for a while, for that other woman, until Mom took him back. And every time I see him, I just remember the lies . . .” Will tenses beneath my hand. “I know.” I stop him before he can interrupt. “I should forgive him. Mom has, and she’s the one he really betrayed. But I just can’t understand how she could ever trust him again.” I look at Will, feeling helpless. “How can she believe a single thing he ever says to her?” He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Your father loves you, they both do. I can see it.” “I know,” I sigh sadly. “I wish I could just let it go, but it’s hard.” Will watches me. “Is that why you try so hard not to get involved with guys?” I sit up, suddenly feeling way too exposed. “It’s just how I see the world, that’s all.” Will leans in and kisses my back. “I’m not judging you.” “Just psychoanalyzing me,” I reply, still tense. “We all have our scars,” he says softly. “Except you.” I turn, and give him a smile. “You seem to have everything figured out.” Will looks away. “Not true.” I shrug, feeling self-conscious. “This is why I warned you I was a lost cause.” “Not lost,” he answers, looking up at me. “Just . . . searching. You can choose to be happy, you know,” he points out, sitting up and slipping his arms around me. “Not everything has to turn out like they did.” “I know.” I don’t want to ruin this moment with the shadows of the past, not waste a single moment with him. I twist around, leaning in close to drop a kiss on his bare shoulder. “Can we not talk about it right now? I can think of a million better things to do . . .” Will smiles. “Like what? Reading?” “Mmmm, maybe . . .” I kiss along his collarbone. “Sudoku,” Will suggests. “Not quite,” I laugh, teasing my tongue up to his jaw. Will yanks me into his lap, so I’m straddling him, and bends his head to claim my mouth. “Gin rummy,” he murmurs into my mouth, and I silence him with a kiss, sliding my tongue to tangle with his as our bodies fuse closer. I rock my hips to bring me against his hardness, and Will makes a noise of pure desire. His hands slide up my waist, closing around each breast to stroke and toy and tease until my nipples are stiff and aching for his touch.

I squirm, impatient, that hollow need pulling at me again. “Condom?” I ask breathlessly, breaking the kiss. “Nightstand. Drawer.” Will busies himself with caressing my bare shoulders, my hips as I reach across and grab one. I ease the rubber onto his stiff length, then position myself above him, straddling his lap. This time, I’m the one to make him groan as I brace myself against his shoulders sink down, taking him inside. Yes. I arch my back, god, feeling the fire consume me, his lush hardness invading every inch. Will grips my hips tighter, his eyes dark as I rise up again, holding the pace, then sinking back down. This time, I’m the one in control, and I take my time, rocking against him to feel the pressure between us, the sparks igniting just right. Will bends his head, licking over my breast and sucking my stiff nipple in his mouth. I let out a moan, rocking faster, feeling the imprint of his fingertips digging into my skin, and how his body thrusts up to fill me with every stroke. Deep. Deeper. God, it’s incredible, taking him like this: seeing the fire in his eyes and feeling that inferno take me over. I ride him, wild now, unleashed to the pleasure, until I almost can’t take it anymore. “Baby,” Will grinds out, his mouth hot against my neck. “Come for me, baby.” I whimper, slowing. I’m close, fuck, so close to the edge, but I can’t reach it, not yet. And then Will slips a hand between us, stroking possessively as he thrusts up inside, and my whole body explodes in a rush of sensation. I come hard, gasping in his arms as Will flips me back on the bed and surges inside me, hard. Deep. Oh god. I’m already reeling but he fucks me through my climax, and all I can do is hold on for dear life, shuddering with each new wave of pleasure as he cries out my name and falls with me into the rush. * The next time I wake, sunrise is streaming through the open drapes. Will lies passed out beside me, his face buried in the pillows, one arm slung across my body. He looks as relaxed as ever, even in his sleep, and I gently push hair from his eyes, struck by the unfamiliar ache in my chest. I remember how he held me last night; the feel of his body surging inside me, how I wanted to hold him so tightly and never let go. I belong to him now. Panic grips me, a sudden clawing in my veins. I want him too much. God, I already need him too much. But what happens now? What happens if he hurts me, or lies, or cheats and lets me down? How am I supposed to just put my heart on the line and blindly trust everything will be OK when I’ve spent so many years determined to never take that risk? My heart beats faster, but this time with an anxious rhythm. It’s too much, too soon. Will came crashing into my life barely a month ago, and now . . . ? Now I’m falling in love with him. The realization sinks through me, as unlikely as it is unfamiliar. Me. The queen of casual, nostrings, “never get involved” is falling headlong in love with William Wyatt Montgomery. And even worse, I want it to happen. I want this to be different; I want so badly to believe everything he says. But I don’t know how to do this part. The panic claws deeper, restless, and something in me snaps. I slide out from under his arm and climb quietly out of bed. My underwear is strewn across the floor, and I wriggle into it as I tiptoe out of the room. My pulse thunders in a sick staccato beat as I hurry downstairs and find my dress in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs with my sandals and bag. Five seconds, and I’m dressed

again and out the door, walking away in the cool morning air. Running away, more like. I walk fast down the track through the woods, my arms hugged tight around myself, and an epic battle waging in my head. Every instinct in my body is telling me to leave—but there’s an ache in my heart with every step that takes me further away from Will. I don’t know what I’m doing, only that last night was different. Dangerous. I already revealed too much of myself, and it makes me cringe to remember how vulnerable I was with him. How free. I reach the turn to the main highway. A car passes by; I could go flag it down and hitchhike back to town, but instead, I watch it sail past. I sink back against the gatepost. Tears are stinging in the back of my throat, but I don’t even know why I’m crying. I should be on top of the world right now, but instead, all I feel is this panic galloping through me, driving me to get further away, just leave it all behind. I need to get it together. I force myself to take a deep breath, and another. The countryside is so quiet in the dawn light, just birds and the crickets sounding, and the far-away rush of the creek. Will is still probably passed out back at the house, smiling safe wrapped up in dreams. But what about when he wakes up and finds me gone? My heart aches to think of it. Bailing like this is a shitty move. Sure, I’ve done it before—that’s how it works, the morning after. Either he or I find a way to slip out unnoticed, to save us all the awkward morning-after small talk pretending like we’re actually going to see each other again. Except, I do want to see Will. I want to be with him right now, nestled in the warmth of his embrace, ready to kiss him good morning and make breakfast on his ridiculous back porch hot plate. It would be perfect, if only I let myself turn back around and take the chance. What am I so scared of? The trees rustle around me in a shifting sea of green. It’s beautiful out here, peaceful and calm, but I can’t ignore the turmoil raging inside me. “You can choose to be happy . . .” Will’s words circle in my mind. He makes it sound so simple, but is it really? Can I just choose to put aside years of building this safe, impenetrable wall around my heart, and make a different future —with him? I want it. God, I want it more than anything. But here I am, running away. Letting my own stupid fears and insecurities take me further away from the man I want, when I should be doing everything I can to stay with him. Where I belong. So what the hell am I doing? I take one step, and then another, not towards the highway, but back to Will’s place. I walk faster, then break into a run, the breeze whipping around my bare legs as I hurry down the dirt track, my heart racing with every step. I just came close to making the biggest mistake of my life, and now I have to get back before Will wakes up and realizes I’ve gone. I race up the driveway and silently let myself back inside. I go through to the makeshift kitchen, and scrounge up a can of instant coffee, heating water in a pan over the burner until I can brew something resembling a cup of joe. I take the two mugs and head upstairs, praying to god that Will’s still asleep and hasn’t even noticed my absence. But when I push open the bedroom door, I find him sitting up in bed: shirtless, scruffy, sleepy, and utterly gorgeous. I drink him in, relief crashing through me. I made the right decision. I didn’t walk away.

Will looks up from his phone, and gives me a questioning smile. “Morning, beautiful. I was wondering where you were.” “I needed my caffeine fix. Want some?” I ask brightly, walking over to the bed. “I did what I could with instant,” I tell him, handing him a mug and then climbing carefully into bed beside him. “But I don’t know how it turned out. We need to get you an espresso machine,” I add, my heart still pounding with a weird sense of unease. Will slings an arm around my shoulders, and drops a kiss to my forehead, cuddling me close as he sips his coffee. “Did you make it far?” he asks at last. My head whips around. “How did you . . . ?” I stop, my words trailing away under the tide of guilt. How doesn’t matter. Will he be mad at me? Hurt? “To the highway,” I admit, feeling small. I brace myself for his disappointment, but instead, Will just leans back and gives a satisfied grin. “You came back,” he says, sounding smug. “I knew once you’d had a real man, you couldn’t stay away.” I snort with laughter, and hit him lightly in the stomach. “Watch it!” Will protests, trying not to spill his coffee. He takes both our mugs and sets them on the nightstand, then pulls me into his lap. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?” he says, his voice becoming more serious. “One night with me, and there’s no going back.” “Yeah, yeah.” I pretend to roll my eyes, but inside, I’m smiling. “What can I say? You’re irresistible.” I straddle him and cradle his face in my hands, feeling the scratch of his stubble. Will’s eyes are soft on mine, still searching. “I came back,” I repeat, and Will kisses me, long and slow. I melt into him, feeling the certainty take me over, savoring every touch. This is where I’m supposed to be, right here in his arms. I choose to be happy. I choose him.



Fourteen.

Will I could spend a whole day feasting on Delilah’s incredible body, but she drags herself out of bed before noon. “I’ve got an open house,” she says, reaching for her underwear. “I’m already running late.” “So skip it.” I pull her back against the edge of the bed, her skin silky smooth under my hands. “I wish.” Dee flashes me a regretful smile. “But I need to prove myself while Marcie’s away, and these clients are getting desperate. They really need to sell, and I want to make it happen as soon as possible.” There she goes, being so damn sweet again. She doesn’t even realize that good heart like hers is hard to find. I drop a kiss against her stomach, and feel her shiver. God, I love the way she responds to me: every gasp, every touch. I tease lower, taking the lace of her panties between my teeth and tugging them away. My hands slide up her thighs, ready to peel them away, but Delilah lets out a reluctant sound, then dances out of reach. “I can’t,” she says, her cheeks flushed. I arch an eyebrow, and she laughs. “I really can’t,” she insists again. “Later. I promise.” I lay back, watching as she wriggles into the rest of her clothes and tries to comb her hair out with her fingers. Damn, she’s sexy. Framed there in the sunshine, her hair a tangled mess and her dress all crumpled from spending the night on my bedroom floor, she’s still so damn beautiful it takes my breath away. And even though I’ve had her two, three times already today, I want her all over again. Those luscious lips crying out my name, that sweet body clenched slick and whimpering around me. Last night was incredible, and I’m just getting started. I know what it’s like to please a woman, but fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that wild, animal lust before. It was intoxicating, such a primal need to possess her, every last inch. And when she was begging for me, moaning as I thrust inside her until she shattered in my arms . . . Lord, I’ve never felt so invincible. Delilah looks over. “What?” she asks, catching my stare. “Nothing.” I gaze back, satisfied. I’ve got that morning-after feeling like sweet molasses in my limbs, the kind of satisfaction you only get after a good work-out. A real good work-out. “I’m just planning all the ways I’m going to make you come.” She laughs. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she warns, giving up and scooping her hair into a topknot. “You can bet on it.” I drive her home, as she anxiously checks the time and sends half a dozen texts, already thinking about work again. “I’ll be done around four, see you after?” she asks as I walk her to the door. She gives me a quick peck on the cheek then reaches for her keys. “No you don’t,” I grab her hand and pull her back, laughing. “That’s not a goodbye kiss,” I correct her. “This is.” I back her up against the door and claim her lips again, kissing her slow and deep this time, until she’s melting back in my arms. Every lush curve, every gasp; I run my hands over her body and damn if she doesn’t arch against my hands, wanting more. It doesn’t matter that we’re standing on her front step in broad daylight, for anyone to see, suddenly I’m gripped with that primal need to take her all over again.

Shielding her body from view, I slide one hand over her breast, cupping and squeezing until the nipple peaks, stiff in my palm. Delilah moans into my mouth, pressing eagerly against the hardness already rock-solid in my jeans. I slide my hand lower, slipping it between her thighs to press and stroke, right there. She tears her lips from mine in surprise. “Will . . .” she gasps, but it’s not a protest, it’s more of a plea. Her face is glazed, cheeks flushed with desire. She bites down on her lower lip, as if to keep from making a sound. “What?” I tease, stroking slowly through the thin fabric of her dress. “We’re . . . someone could see.” Delilah sinks back against the doorframe. “There’s nothing to see,” I grin, loving how her body is tensing, shuddering under my hands. “We’re just standing here, having a casual conversation. Aren’t we?” “You’re a wicked, wicked man,” Delilah grins, her eyes bright, desire clear to see. “But you want it anyway.” I lean closer, whispering in her ear. “You want me to take you inside and fuck you, right up against the wall. Maybe even leave the door open, just a little, just enough for someone to see you come your brains out.” It takes every measure of self-control not to deliver on that right now, but I give one last caress and release her. I want her thinking about me all afternoon, wet and aching for my touch. “You have a great day now,” I wink, turning to go. “What?” Delilah’s voice is ragged. “Wait, you’re leaving? Now?!” She’s standing there, breathless and flushed, and looking so damn fuckable, I deserve a medal for leaving her be. “You have work, remember?” I grin, enjoying the frustration on her face. Delilah’s jaw sets. “OK then.” She smiles sweetly. “I guess I’ll just have to take care of myself. See you later.” Now I’m the one left speechless as she unlocks the door, and heads inside, closing it behind her with a click. She wouldn’t . . . Oh, but she would. Damn. I laugh, heading back to the truck. That girl is dynamite, and today can’t go fast enough until I can get her in my bed again. Or out on my porch. Up against the wall. Over the backseat of my truck. I’m not picky, just as long as she’s naked and screaming my name, I’ll be just fine. I stop by the bakery and grab some breakfast and a coffee, a real one this time. Then I head back home and get down to business, out in the workshop that has become my second home. Clean and light, I’ve been working here all week, and now I’ve got all my tools set up, and a gorgeous cord of reclaimed wood just waiting to be transformed. Life is pretty damn great right now. Or at least it would be, without those voicemails cluttering up my phone. I turn my attention to the table I’ve been building, a huge seven-foot slab of oak with rustic, wrought iron fixtures I want gleaming and polished by the time I’m through. My phone rings, and I pause at the unfamiliar number, automatically tensing. “Hello?” “Hey, Will, it’s me Declan.” I relax. He’s an old college buddy of mine I haven’t seen in years, but I dropped him a line the other week. “Declan, man, how’ve you been?” “I’m great, but what about you?” Declan asks. “What’s this I hear about you going country?” I laugh. “I couldn’t believe it,” he continues. “I had to find out for myself. What’s the deal?” “No deal.” I look around at the woods and backyard, content. “Time for a change, that’s all.” “I can’t believe it, you were about as New York as they come.”

“What can I say? I traded the suit and tie for jeans. I’ve never been happier.” Declan chuckles. “I can’t imagine Helena’s too happy about that.” I tense. Even her name is enough to turn my blood to ice, and it seems even more wrong to hear it here, where she’s supposed to be a distant memory. “I’m not really concerned how she feels about anything,” I say shortly. “She’s still in the city.” Eight hundred miles away and still finding ways to cause some damage, cluttering up my voicemail and calling at all hours. “Oh. Hey, sorry man. My mistake. It’s been a while,” he says apologetically. “No worries, it’s OK.” I take a deep breath, then change the subject to the reason I reached out to begin with. “Listen, do you still have that showroom?” Declan runs a great spot in Charlotte, showcasing all kinds of high-end furniture design. “Sure do,” he answers proudly. “We’re opening up another store in Atlanta in the fall.” “That’s awesome, man. Congratulations. Listen, I’ve been getting back to design, and I’d love to figure out how to start selling some pieces.” I trace the pockmarked lines of the old wooden table. “You think I could get your expert opinion some time over beers?” “Why don’t you just bring a few pieces by next time you’re in the city?” Declan suggests. “I’d be happy to take a look.” “You sure?” In my former life, I made million-dollar deals without blinking, but somehow, the thought of showing my work to a professional like Declan makes me pause. “How about next week?” “Absolutely. I’m always looking for new designers to carry. Who knows, maybe we can take some pieces for you, see what the market’s like.” “That would be great, man. Really. And I mean it about the drinks, it’ll be great to catch up.” Declan chuckles. “Just as long as it’s not like last time. Man, what was that club we all wound up at? I couldn’t look a tequila bottle in the eye for months.” “Nothing but beer this time,” I promise. “I’ll see you soon.” I hang up, already looking around the workshop trying to figure out what to take. I won’t need much: just the table, and some chairs I’ve been working on, maybe—old vintage leather and a raw hewn frame—but it should be enough to show him what I’m working with, and figure out if maybe, just maybe I’m not kidding myself to think my designs are worth anything. I get back to it, my new deadline looming. It’s easy to lose myself in the work. It feels good, the physical labor, sanding the grain until it’s smooth to the touch, unloading another cord and sawing at the wood by hand until I’m sweating. I spent so many years sitting at a desk, doing nothing but move numbers around on a screen, getting my workout at a fancy gym on hi-tech machines. But there’s nothing like the feeling of real work like this: seeing my efforts take form in the wood, knowing that every hour I spend here will produce something real. Something useful. It just makes sense. Like Delilah. I can’t stop thinking about her, all those wild memories from last night keeping me high, on-edge, counting down to seeing her again. It wasn’t just the sex, even though, damn, I’ve never known anything like that. For the first time, I saw her open up to me, let down her guard, and just be: her gorgeous, sweet, tender self. I didn’t know why she was keeping me at arm’s length, but learning more about what her father did, I understand it now. She’s scared of being hurt, and having her heart betrayed. So why won’t you tell her the truth? I push back the guilty voice in my mind. I know there’s too much I still haven’t told her, but there’ll be a time for that later. I won’t let my past interrupt this new beginning, not when I’m still earning her trust. She’s too damn skittish; I knew that the minute she sneaked out of my bed and high-

tailed out like I was some mindless one-night stand. Still, I knew she’d be back. Maybe I was kidding myself, but somehow, I just had faith. The connection between us is so strong, I knew she couldn’t stay away for long. Hours, days, weeks—I’d give her all the time she needs, but instead, it was barely twenty minutes before I heard the door click, and her footsteps on the stairs again. That’s when I knew she felt everything too. Mine. She belongs to me in a way that nobody else has, and I’m not going to risk that, not for the shadow of a world that’s behind me now for good. This is supposed to be a beginning, and I’m not about to go digging through the wreckage of the past. Still, I can’t shake the feeling haunting me, those old damn ghosts. Bitter mistakes, and even more painful memories. I built a life from scratch here, but the shadows still linger, the scars I thought would take forever to heal. Right on cue, my phone rings again. The number I would have blocked long ago if she wouldn’t find some other way to call. I haven’t said a word to her in weeks, but finally, today, I snap and pick up the line. “Don’t call me,” I order harshly. “Do you understand? I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. There’s nothing in the whole goddamn world that can take back what you did, so for fuck’s sake, stop trying!” There’s a pause, then a shaking breath. “Will, please—” “No.” I hang up and have to drop my phone to keep from hurling it clear across the room. I thought I could switch off. Just walk away and be done, but here I am, getting wound up in fury all over again. Fuck. If Delilah were here, it would be different. She makes me forget it all. One touch, one kiss, and it’s like I’m a new man. The right kind of man, one who would never have fallen for all the bullshit fake lies I left behind in New York. The man I want to be. I’ve tried to move on, but how long can I keep the past buried? How long will this new beginning last until the girl on the end of those voicemails either gives up her fight—or it all comes undone?



Fifteen.

Delilah The afternoon flies by, even with me checking my watch every five minutes, counting down to seeing Will again. I feel like I’m floating three feet off the ground, wrapped up in a delicious afterglow that radiates through my entire body. “Not you too!” Lottie wails, greeting me on my front step. I only dropped home to grab some clothes—and my toothbrush—before heading back to Will’s, but now she’s gazing at me forlornly over the stroller like I just killed a puppy or something. “Me too what?” I ask, beckoning her inside. She hitches Kit in her arms and follows as I dash to stuff a change of underwear into my weekender bag. “You’re in love. It’s written all over your face.” I can’t deny it, but I can’t say the words out loud just yet either. “I’m in lust,” I say instead, grinning. “I spent the night with Will.” “And?” Lottie pulls up a stool at my counter, eyes wide. “And, wow,” I tell her, pausing my whirlwind of activity. I feel it again, that delicious shiver in my bloodstream, the hot pulse just remembering everything that happened. “Seriously, I have no words. He was . . . magnificent.” “I hate you,” Lottie groans. “No, I love you, and I’m happy for you, I just hate you, too. You want to know how I spent last night? Fighting this guy to go down to sleep, then up every two hours because he’s teething and needs me there to sing to him before he’ll stop screaming.” “I’m sorry.” I lean in and kiss them both on the cheek in turn. “Hang in there, your prince will come!” “I’d settle for a frog right about now,” Lottie remarks, then smiles again. “But this is awesome, I can’t believe it. Does this mean you’re actually going to make a go of it with him? Think before you answer,” she demands, “because I’ll slap you if you walk away from wow like it doesn’t mean anything, when some of us are stuck with ow or just plain ugh.” “I’m not walking away,” I reassure her. “I had a minor freak-out this morning, but we’re past that. It’s all good.” Lottie lets out a sigh of relief. “Phew. I was worried there for a minute. I’ve got a mean left hook.” I laugh. “No catfight today.” I look over at Kit. “Wait, did we have plans to hang out? I’m sorry, I forgot!” “No plans,” Lottie says. “I just saw your car. And I talked to Eva this morning: she’s coming to visit!” “She is?” I brighten. “That’s awesome!” “Just a few days, but she’s been missing us. And it’s perfect timing, because now she gets to meet Will.” Lottie smiles meaningfully. “Maybe,” I laugh. “But we should definitely plan a girls’ night, just the three of us. I can’t wait.” I grab the last of my stuff, then walk Lottie and Kit out. “Let me know when Eva gets in,” I tell her. She makes a face. “Does this mean you’re disappearing into your dirty sex haze for the rest of the week?” “Here’s hoping,” I wink, and she laughs. “Have fun. And stay safe,” she adds, buckling Kit into his stroller. “You never know when that one moment of passion is going to wind up teething at three in the morning!”

I drive back over to Will’s, thinking about Lottie. I’ve always been in awe of the way she took to motherhood: putting college and everything else on hold after she found out she was pregnant at just seventeen. She loves Kit more than anything, and always puts him first, but I can tell, it’s been hard these past few years watching her sister and me go off and have wild adventures while she’s right here at home. Not for the first time, I wonder what the story is about Kit’s father; she’s never breathed a word to anyone, not even his name. I can only hope she finds a guy who deserves them both soon, and gives her the passion and love I know she has ready to share. It makes me feel even luckier as I turn off the highway and head up the now-familiar dirt track to Will’s place. Despite all my efforts to keep him at arm’s length and not let myself feel anything real, he didn’t back down. He just waited, being so damn irresistible and sweet and sexy that I had no choice but to realize the chance of a lifetime is standing right in front of me. He took that chance on me, and now I can’t wait to prove he made the right call. When I pull up out front, I can hear the radio playing old country songs, coming from the workshop in back. I stroll around, and I’m rewarded with the sight of Will, hard at work with the doors wide open. He’s bent over, sanding a gorgeous table down, so focused I can see the care and attention to detail in every move—and the gorgeous taut bulge of his biceps, rippling with every move. He glances up and sees me, his face spreading into a smile that warms me from the tips of my toes. “Hey, you.” He straightens up and wipes his brow, looking sweaty. “How’d it go?” “Good, I think. A couple of offers coming,” I tell him. “But it took forever. I couldn’t wait to get away.” I wander closer, looking around the workshop. “What are you working on?” “Just a sample,” he says. “I’ve got a meeting set for next week with an old friend. He runs a showroom now, carrying local designers and craftsmen. I’m going to show him some of my pieces.” “That’s great!” I exclaim, excited for him. “Once he sees this stuff, he’ll be blown away.” “I don’t know about that.” Will shrugs, looking self-conscious. “But he’ll be able to give me some pointers, either way.” I look around the workshop, curious. There’s a tarp in the corner, covering something big, so I go and tug the edge, wanting to see. “Wait, don’t touch that!” Will’s voice stops me. I freeze. “It’s just . . . a real mess. Work-inprogress,” he explains, steering me back over to the front of the space. “I don’t want you getting hurt on something.” “Awww, so sweet.” I grin, touched. I slide my arms around his waist, and lean in closer, feeling his heartbeat steady in his chest, already so familiar. God, it feels good to be holding him. “I missed you,” I admit softly, tilting my head up for a kiss. He presses his lips to me for a moment, then pulls away. “I don’t want to get you dirty,” he says, holding me at arm’s length. I laugh. Like that could stop me. “Dirty is hot.” I grin, tugging him back in by the collar of his Tshirt. “Although, I can all these dirty clothes off you if you’re really concerned . . .” “I might just take you up on that.” Will catches me in his arms then, kissing me deeply until my head spins and my heart races with a wild fever in my chest. How did I get so lucky? I wrap my arms around his neck, bringing me closer, and he grips my thighs and lifts, setting me down on the workbench. Now he’s cradled between my thighs, my skirt hitching higher under his palms as our bodies press hotter and my lips part to let his tongue roam deeper— “Don’t mind us,” an amused voice comes. I break away in surprise and look over Will’s shoulder to find two guys in the backyard, looking around. “Sorry to interrupt,” one of the men grins, looking

anything but. Will must know them, because he laughs. “Your timing sucks,” he says, stepping back. “But it’s good to see you. Ryland, this is Delilah. Ryland’s been giving this place a facelift,” he explains. I hop down from the bench, smoothing my skirt down. “Hi!” I say, feeling flushed—but lucky. If they’d been even one minute later . . . well, they’d be getting an eyeful of a whole lot more than my blushing cheeks. “Pleasure to meet you.” Ryland comes forward and greets me, looking sheepish in jeans and a plaid shirt. “Sorry about, well . . .” I laugh it off. “Please. Like you haven’t been interrupted before. And thanks for the hot running water,” I add, remembering the shower. “Any time.” Ryland turns to the man beside him, a tall, dark-haired guy in his thirties who somehow looks crisp and put-together even in jeans and a plain shirt. “This is my brother-in-law and business partner, Ash Callahan. We were in the neighborhood, and he wanted to check out this plot.” Ash shakes Will’s hand. “I know you just wanted some work done, but are you sure you aren’t in the market to sell?” he asks, looking around with an assessing eye. “We develop a lot in the area, and this is such a good piece of land. I could get you a great price.” I laugh and elbow Will lightly. “See, I told you so.” The guys look over. “He’s stubborn,” I explain. “I’ve been telling him to pack it in and move ever since he came. Wait, Callahan?” I pause, recognizing the name. “You’re building those great beach houses, just down the coast.” “That’s us.” Ash smiles. I whistle, impressed. “I’ve seen the specs, you’ll get top dollar when they go on the market. I don’t suppose you have a local agent, do you?” I ask, turning on a smile. “Not yet,” Ash says. “Any recommendations?” “Why yes,” I beam, pulling a card from my pocket. “Me!” Ash takes it and looks over my info. “You know, we’ve been meaning to set up some appointments,” he says, sounding thoughtful. “Find someone with local roots, who really knows the market. Not just for these houses, but we’ve got a couple more projects in development too.” My hopes rise, but before I can start pitching, Will speaks up. “You won’t find anyone better than Dee,” he says, giving me a proud look. “She knows everyone and everything in the whole county. They love her around here.” I pause, surprised—and touched. “It’s true,” Will continues. “She sold me on this town in thirty minutes flat. I’d never even heard of Oak Harbor, and now here I am.” Ash looks interested, and tucks the card away. “We should get together and talk then. I’m out of town for the next week, but I can have my assistant set something up for when I’m back?” “That sounds perfect.” I try to stay cool. “I can’t wait.” We see them out, and I manage to keep up my casual act, but the minute their car disappears down the drive, I bounce in the air and fling my arms around Will in a hug. “Oh my god, do you realize who those guys are?” I cry, feeling giddy. “Only the best developers around. Super exclusive, highend, not just here but in every city around the world. To even get a meeting . . .” I inhale fast. “This could be massive for me. Imagine if Marcie comes back and I tell her I’ve secured the whole development. She’ll sell me the business for sure! Thank you!” “I didn’t do anything,” Will replies, looking amused. “Yes, you did.” I kiss him again. “You always support me, especially with my career. It means a lot to me.” Will smiles down at me, his eyes clear. “Any time.” Part of me wants to drag him upstairs right now and show him how grateful I really am, but the

other part of me decides to be practical. “We should go get food,” I suggest. Will looks confused. “It’s early.” “Yes, but once I get you into bed, I’m not going to want to go hunt and gather,” I point out. “And I’m guessing all you have is some stale crackers and beer in back.” He laughs. “You’re not wrong there. Alright, what do you want?” “Pizza,” I declare, heading for my car. “Let’s stop by Franny’s, too. We can pick up breakfast for tomorrow.” “You really are a girl scout.” Will smiles over at me. “You think of everything.” In town, I send Will to get dinner while I go take care of breakfast. I buy enough Danish pastries to feed a small army, and get coffee too—since microwaving Franny’s delicious Columbian roast still beats that instant stuff Will’s got molding out on his porch. I’m just waiting back by his truck when I hear a whistle from across the street. “Dee, baby, where you been?” It’s Brody, a guy I’ve known since high school, and maybe hooked up with on a couple of nights too. What can I say? It’s a small town, and sooner or later, if you’re single and shooting some pool at Dixie’s, sparks will fly. “Hey you,” I greet him as he crosses the street and comes over. “What’s up?” “Nothing special, you know how it goes,” Brody says, looking me up and down. “Damn, you’re looking good these days.” “Thanks.” I smile, holding up the bakery box. “I owe it all to my healthy diet.” He laughs, and his gaze turns suggestive. “We should get a drink sometime, you and me. We always had a good time.” “Thanks, but I’m seeing someone,” I tell him easily. “You? You’re kidding me.” “Believe it.” I shrug, and he shakes his head. “Damn, well, if you ever get bored . . .” He winks, and I laugh. “What, you’re going to take time out from all your other girls to woo me?” “Ouch,” Brody laughs, clutching his chest. That’s when I catch sight of Will walking towards us, a pizza box in his arms. I wave, but he doesn’t look happy. “Hey baby,” I say when he reaches us. “This is Brody.” “Hi.” Will’s voice sounds kind of curt, and he drapes an arm possessively around my shoulders. I give him a look, but he’s too busy staring down Brody to notice. “Ready to go?” he asks me, still glaring. “Um, sure. Good to see you, Brody.” I smile. “Say hi to your mom.” “I will. You were always her favorite,” he grins. “Shame you don’t have her good taste,” I laugh, and he says goodbye and saunters off. Will’s grip on my shoulder doesn’t ease. “Who was that?” he asks, looking tense. “I told you, Brody,” I reply, confused. “We went to high school together.” “I’m guessing that’s not all you did,” Will mutters, and I blink. “Whoa there.” I shrug out of his embrace, annoyed now. “What’s with you?” “Nothing.” Will turns away, depositing our food into the truck. He climbs into the driver ’s seat, and I pause before joining him, trying to figure out this weird mood switch. I’ve never seen him act weird or jealous like this—and I don’t like it. Will doesn’t say a word as we drive back to his house, but the whole ride, my annoyance grows. When we pull up outside his house, he shuts off the engine and reaches for the door, but I stop him. “I’m only going to say this once,” I tell him, looking him straight in the eyes. “And then I don’t

want to hear about it again. I don’t cheat.” I say each word slow and firm. “Have I hooked up with some of the guys around here? Yes. It’s a small town, we’ve all known each other for years. Do I like to party and have a good time? Also yes. But I’ve never cheated on anyone, and I never will, so don’t you ever feel like you need to stake your territory or whatever was going on back there. After everything you know about me, about my family, you should know that’s bullshit, and I won’t take it, OK?” Will stares back, and then exhales in a rush. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking shameful. “I don’t know what the hell came over me. I know I acted like a jerk.” “I was thinking more an ass,” I say, smiling. Will relaxes. “I know you wouldn’t . . . I just . . .” He sighs again, real regret in his eyes. “My last relationship, she cheated, and it messed me up good for a while.” I soften. “I had no idea. I’m sorry,” I tell him. He gives a shrug and looks away. “What’s done is done. But you’re right, and I know you’re not anything like her.” “I should think so,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m much more beautiful, and smart, and funny . . .” Will laughs, silencing me with a kiss. I sink against him, wondering how the hell could anyone run around on him. Will is the guy you grab and hold on tight, not the one you leave at home while you sneak around with someone else. I break away, and press a palm to his cheek. “Just for the record,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss that curve of his jaw I love so much. “She’s insane. Whoever hurt you, whatever she did. She is out of her mind, certifiably insane.” I pull back, and look into his eyes. “She’ll never find anyone as good as you.” I can see the emotion in Will’s eyes—and when the moment turns to pure, charged lust. He pulls me from the truck and into the house, his mouth finding mine as we slam against the wall, hands stripping hungrily at clothes and bodies pressing closer. This time, there’s no holding back. I can feel the urgency, the raw need in his kisses, and I want to give it all to him. Whatever demons I’ve been fighting, Will has had his own battle too, and now I need to show him that I’m his now. Whatever some other girl made him question, however the past made him feel, it’s different now. I belong to him. We stumble into the living room, Will stripping my shirt over my head and yanking my bra down. His mouth closes over my breast, hot and sinfully sweet, and I moan aloud, sinking against his wicked touch. He teases and nips at my nipple, sending a shock of pleasure all the way to my twisting, aching core. God, yes. I grab his belt and quickly shove his jeans down, wanting to touch him, take a taste of the raw, hard length of him, but too soon, Will spins me around and pushes me face-down over the arm of his couch. I gasp, thrilled, and thrust back my hips against him, grinding against his cock. Will lets out a growl, then he’s shoving up my skirt and tearing my panties aside, landing a sweet, stinging slap against my bare ass. Oh. His hands slide around me, roving between my thighs to stroke possessively at the molten heart of me. It’s hot and frantic, and I moan into the couch cushions, pressing into his fingers, needing more. Then Will parts my legs wider, and I feel him nudge against me, one hand yanking my hips back, controlling, the other tangled in my hair.

He slams inside me in a single, devastating stroke. God, the feel of him: so thick, so deep. He withdraws, then thrusts again, a pounding, punishing rhythm, but oh, how it sets my body on fire. I arch back, grinding to find him with every stroke, clutching at the cushions and whimpering in total surrender. Every plunge is a tidal wave of pleasure building; every hard thrust drives me closer to that crest. Will tugs at my hair, arching my body back up to meet him, and then he’s grinding up inside me, god, so deep I have to scream his name. “Fuck, Dee.” His gasp is ragged, an animal groan in my ear. He fucks me wildly, and I can’t get enough. Nobody’s ever done it like this before, nobody’s ever made me come undone the way I feel when he’s inside me. Thrusting. Demanding. Every inch, so deep. Already I can feel my orgasm start to shiver through me. I try to hold it back, I want to savor ever touch, every hard, commanding thrust, but Will has total control of my body and it’s all I can do to take him, gasping, over and over as the shiver builds to a crescendo and then I shatter with a rush of pleasure so pure, so epic that I come apart with a cry. Will’s arms are around me, holding me down, his body slamming hard and then I feel him come; his animal groan mingling with my cries of pleasure until the last ebbs of ecstasy drift away and we both tumble, sweaty, to the floor. I cling to him, my pulse galloping so fast it matches the pace of his heartbeat, wild in his chest. “Damn, you’re going to kill me if we keep this up.” Will’s voice is laughing and sleepy. I grin. “Get used to it, baby. I’m just getting started.” I twist around to kiss him, damp and sweaty and pretty damn satisfied. This is the beginning, I realize, my heart unfurling in my chest. This is the beginning of love.



Sixteen. The next Friday, I finish up work early at the office and we drive into Charlotte with Will’s truck loaded with his best pieces of furniture. He’s been working late into the night all week, and I can tell he’s nervous; he’s uncharacteristically quiet on the road, distracted and deep in thought. “Your friend is going to love those chairs,” I say, breaking the silence. Will looks over, and I give him a reassuring smile. “They’re so beautiful, I just want to sink into the leather and never get out.” “Maybe you should take the meeting, not me.” “You’ll be great,” I insist. “Besides, it’s just one place. There are tons of showrooms all over the country, designers, dealers, all kinds of places to approach if this doesn’t work out.” Will frowns. “You think it won’t work out?” “No!” I reach over to take his hand. I bring it to my lips and drop a light kiss on his knuckles. “I’m saying, whatever happens, your work is beautiful. You should be proud of everything you’ve made.” Will exhales, relaxing. He squeezes my hand, and gives a rueful look. “I am. I’m just nervous, I guess. It’s a big change, and I think a part of me is still wondering who I’m kidding.” “Well, I love them, so sign me up,” I declare. “And either way, it’ll be fun to see your buddy again, right? I can’t wait to hear all the stories about what you were like, all buttoned up in New York.” Will’s smile slips, but before I can reassure him again, my phone buzzes. “Ooh, it’s Eva!” I bounce in my seat, excited. “She gets in later today, it’s going to be so much fun,” I say, typing out a quick text. “We’re having a girls’ night in, and then brunch tomorrow, just like we always do. I’ve missed her!” “That’s great. Do I get to meet this mysterious best friend?” Will asks, teasing. “Or are you girls going to be painting your nails and having pillow fights all weekend?” I snort with laughter. “Um, you’ve been watching too much porn if you think that’s all we do. More like plotting world domination and eating carbs.” “I stand corrected.” He grins. “And yes, I’d love you to meet her,” I add, feeling shy. “Consider it a standing invitation. When I’m hanging out with Lottie and Sawyer, too.” “Then count me in.” We drive on, and I feel that glow, still so warm in my chest. I’ve never had someone I wanted to introduce to the people in my life—never dated anyone long enough for it to even be a possibility. But I love the thought of spending time with everyone together. It’s great how he’s fit so seamlessly into life in Oak Harbor, but I have to admit, I’m excited to meet his friend, Declan, too. Will showed up out of nowhere, and hasn’t said much about the life he left behind. I’m curious about his past, so hopefully Declan will have plenty of stories to tell about Will’s history—especially after a couple of cold beers. We arrive around three, in plenty of time. Declan’s showroom is in the arts district, on a great street lined with cool design stores and boutiques. “This is it.” Will peers out the window, looking nervous again. “I should probably go around back. There’ll be a delivery entrance for me to unload.” I kiss him on the cheek. “You can let me out here, I want to go sneak a look. See you inside?” Will nods and lets me out before driving on. I push open the front doors and take a look around. Inside, it’s a massive converted warehouse space, with all the original steel beams and exposed brick, the perfect backdrop for the amazing furniture pieces set up around the floor. It’s more like an art gallery than a store, and I get excited just looking around at the funky lighting and hip, streamlined

samples on display. Will’s pieces would fit in perfectly here, with their rustic, masculine look. I know from selling houses how much is about selling a lifestyle, that vision of your future world, and anyone walking in here would want the whole package: a cool loft downtown, with Will’s chair set up by the record player, or his table set up for a dinner party or big event with friends. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” I turn. A guy with sandy brown hair and a friendly expression is juggling an armful of paperwork. He looks exactly like this space: casual and thrown together, but with the tailored details that give away an eye for design. “If you give me just a minute, I can help you out,” he adds. “Let me guess . . . new apartment, you’re looking for something sleek and modern?” “Good call,” I laugh. “But no, I’m just here with a friend. Boyfriend,” I correct myself, the word unfamiliar on my lips. Unfamiliar, but nice. “Are you Declan?” I ask, looking around. He smiles. “The one and only.” “Great! I’m here with Will,” I explain. “He’s just unloading around back. I’m Delilah.” Declan’s face brightens. “Great to meet you.” He reaches out to shake my hand. “I can’t wait to see. He showed me some of his pieces, years ago. I always said he should make a go of it, but he was already climbing that Wall Street ladder. He insisted it was just a hobby.” “I can’t believe he worked in finance,” I laugh, shaking my head. “The guy looks like he was born in jeans, with a hunk of wood in his hand.” Declan arches an eyebrow. “I guess he wasn’t kidding. The guy I knew had a car service on speed dial and would drop five hundred dollars on sushi without blinking an eye.” A door opens in the back of the room, and Will enters. He sees us talking, and strides over fast. “Hey, man.” He greets Declan with a hug, and the old friends slap each other on the back. “What did I miss?” Will asks, looking back and forth between us. “Don’t worry.” I rest my hand on his shoulder, “I’ve just been hearing about your big city life.” Will tenses under my hand. “It’s a shame there’s no good sushi in Oak Harbor,” I add, teasing. “You’ll have to make do with a good shrimp boil.” Will gives a strangled laugh. “Oh yeah. My local takeout place has probably posted a missing person report by now.” Declan laughs. “Hey, I’m glad you made the break. I keep telling all the guys, what’s a six-figure bonus worth when you’re working eighty hours a week? I was afraid you’d drop dead of a heart attack before you turn forty.” “Not anymore.” Will gives a small smile. “Now the only thing that gets me up in the morning is the sound of the crickets.” “I should put you in a tourist campaign,” I suggest, teasing. “Start a relocation program for burned-out city execs.” “Don’t even joke,” Declan says, making a face. “Every time I call to catch up, everyone’s working around the clock on a massive deadline, or scared layoffs are looming, or sleeping at the office. This guy’s got the right idea, leaving it all behind.” I gaze happily at Will. “Yes, he does.” “So, where’s this famous furniture?” Declan asks, putting his papers down. “I’m working with a couple of new designers, staging sets for some movies they’ve got shooting near Atlanta and I’d love some new things to show.” He and Will start towards the back, just as my phone rings. I check. “It’s Ash Callahan,” I tell him, my heart leaping. “You guys go ahead.” “Good luck,” Will tells me.

“You too,” I whisper back. I take a deep breath and answer. “Delilah Morgan, real estate solutions,” I say, trying to sound professional. I’ve been researching all week, and everything I’ve learned about the guy tells me that this could be a big deal. A really big deal. “Hi Delilah, sorry I haven’t been in touch before,” Ash’s voice comes. “Are you still good to get together and go over these Ocean Drive plans?” “Absolutely, whenever suits.” “Let’s say next week then. I’ll email over the specs, I’d love to hear what you propose. Like I said, we’re looking for the local touch. We’ve had some of the bigger firms pitch already, but to tell the truth, I haven’t been impressed. I’m looking forward to hearing your take.” “Yup. Great. See you then!” I hang up, and grip my phone. No pressure or anything. But this is when I always pull it together, I remind myself firmly. Whether it’s cramming for a mid-term on two hours’ sleep, or pulling off the deal of a lifetime—something special happens when my back’s against the wall. And this is no different. I think of Marcie, sunning herself on a boat somewhere. She has no idea the lengths I’m going to in order to prove myself to her right now, but in just a few weeks she’ll come back happy and tanned —and ready to sell. Sail on, Marcie. Sail right on. I make a few more calls to chase some outstanding offers, then head through to the back delivery dock, where Declan and Will are talking. I don’t want to interrupt anything, this is Will’s big thing, but I’m dying with curiosity at how it’s going. When I see the smile on his face, talking animatedly about one of the chairs, I feel a huge wave of relief. “Hey.” He looks up and sees me, and beckons me over. “Declan’s going to take everything.” “And whatever else you can get me,” Declan adds, looking admiringly at the pieces. “I already have a couple of designers in mind, they’re going to flip. Don’t let him out of his workshop,” he says to me, mock-stern. “I want him working around the clock.” I laugh, sliding an arm around Will’s waist. “What happened to escaping the rat race and taking things easy?” I tease. Declan snorts. “That was before I had my commission all lined up.” “Yeah, yeah.” Will rolls his eyes, but I can tell he’s happy. “I’ll see what I can do. Another couple sets of the chairs, and two more tables?” “Or how about one more set, and you just charge double?” I add sweetly. They both laugh. “I like her,” Declan says approvingly. Will squeezes me close. “Best business woman I know,” he says, and kisses my forehead. “So, are we drinking to celebrate?” I ask. “I want to hear all about Will’s embarrassing past,” I tell Declan. “Drunk escapades, crazy ex-girlfriends, the works.” I feel Will tense again, then Declan sighs. “Sorry, I just had an appointment come up, I won’t be able to get away, after all.” “Oh,” I say, disappointed. “Another time then.” “For sure.” Will quickly shakes Declan’s hand. “It was great seeing you, we’ll catch up properly next time.” “You can count on it,” he agrees. “Now get to work!” I wait until Declan is inside again, then throw my arms around Will’s neck. “I told you so,” I tease, kissing him lightly. “I said your designs were amazing.” He grins back, hands sliding over my hips. He seems more relaxed now, and I guess it’s because he’s not trying to make a sale. “OK, OK . . .” he agrees, “You know everything.”

“Damn straight.” I kiss him again. “Even if Declan can’t come, we should celebrate. I know the perfect spot.” “Sure thing.” We hop in his truck, and I direct him through the traffic and across town. “Why does this look familiar . . . ?” Will asks, after we park on a non-descript street. “You’ll see.” I take him to the corner store, and pick out a cheap bottle of wine and a pack of paper cups. Then I lead him around the corner, and down the next street. “This is the spot, right . . . here,” I declare, stopping on the curb. To the outsider, there’s nothing special at all: we’re outside a row of office buildings, with cars parked bumper-to-bumper and pedestrians walking past. Will looks around, confused for a moment. Then his face spreads into smile, realizing why I’ve brought him here. “This is where we met.” “Yup.” I screw off the cap on the wine, and pour into the cups he’s holding. “I know it’s not exactly an anniversary,” I add, feeling a little self-conscious. Lord knows I don’t do sappy romantic gestures, but this time I couldn’t resist. “But it’s where it all began. You, me, a lost pair of keys . . .” “And a pretty pissed off cop,” Will adds, grinning. “To new beginnings,” I say, raising my cup in a toast. “To us,” he says softly, and suddenly, my chest clenches with the meaning of it. Because this is the beginning, the first time I’ve ever looked at the face across from me and wanted there to be so much more. A future for the two of us, built day by day. I’m not planning on forever just yet, and I know, this has only just begun, but I know without a doubt that William Wyatt Montgomery means more to me than any man has before—and maybe ever will again. I love him. I take a gulp of wine, not ready for that particular conversation, not just yet. I give him a bright smile instead. “Did you ever guess that when you stopped to help that damsel in distress, you’d wind up here?” “Never in a million years.” Will steps closer, reaching to bring his free hand to my cheek. I see something mirrored in his eyes, that same bright wonder I’m feeling now. “And they say crime never pays.” I smile, feeling weirdly choked up. I meant this as a fun gesture, but now I can feel the emotion swelling behind my teasing words, threatening to pull me under. “Listen,” Will starts, looking away. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I take another gulp of wine, panicking he’s about to share his feelings with me. Luckily, my phone buzzes with another text from Eva. Just landed! See you tonight. “It’s getting late!” I exclaim, glad for the distraction. “We better hit the road if I’m going to make it in time for girls’ night.” Will exhales, then gives me a wry smile. “Those pillow fights won’t wait.” Will downs the rest of his cup and tosses them in the trash. He slings an arm around my shoulder, and I happily snuggle closer, strolling back to the truck. Was it just a couple of months ago I was kissing him in the rain, torn between rushing away and never letting go? I’m lucky the universe intervened and delivered him to my door. Otherwise I might never have discovered what it felt like to be wrapped in the safety of his embrace, and feel the delicious flutter of anticipation, thinking of the nights to come. I would be alone—content in my life, sure, but nowhere near as happy as this. “Thank you,” I say, tilting my face up to his. “What for?” “For everything,” I say, nestling closer. “For being you.”

The drive home slips by, easy with chat and laughter, and long silences that feel so natural, it’s like I’ve known him for years. It’s twilight by the time we cross the bridge and make it to the county line. “Wait, I think I left my day planner at your place,” I say, remembering. “Can we stop by and pick it up? I need to make some calls tomorrow.” Will turns off the highway. “That’s dangerous territory, going anyplace near my bed.” He flashes me a smoldering look, and I groan. “I wish, but I’m running late as it is. Eva will be back soon.” “So? You’d be amazed what I can do with five minutes.” I laugh. “Well, in that case . . .” Will suddenly hits the gas, and we fly over the bumpy track, winding through the trees. I shriek with surprise, then laugh, hanging onto the door strap. “That buys me another thirty seconds,” he says, pulling up outside with a screech of the tires. “Get your ass inside and get naked before I—” He stops. “What?” I ask, but he’s already flung open the driver ’s door and is out of the truck, striding across the yard to where a woman is waiting on the front porch. A beautiful woman, with glossy brown hair and red lips, wearing a sophisticated dress and heels, daintily holding a leather handbag. Something drops in my stomach, and I feel my skin prickle with a bad, bad feeling. Still, I force myself to open the passenger door and climb down, slowly walking across the yard. Will is gesturing angrily, in low heated conversation, but he falls silent when I get close enough to listen; his hands jammed in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the dusty porch. My heart beats faster. “Will?” I ask, trying to sound calm. “Do you want to introduce me to your friend?” Up close, she’s even more gorgeous than I thought: model-perfect with blue eyes and pale skin, so chic and put-together in her red dress, it makes me wish I was wearing something other than my cutoffs and a plain shirt. His sister, I tell myself desperately. He has a younger sister. Who else would show up like this? Will clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says, so low I almost don’t catch it. Then he finally meets my eyes, and my heart drops for real this time to see the guilty expression in those steady hazel depths. “Who is she?” I ask, trying like hell to keep it together. But it’s like I’m watching from outside myself, hurtling towards the edge of a cliff, with no way to stop or slow down. “Will, what’s going on?” The silence is agonizing. Will opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say a word, the woman steps forward, giving me a brisk smile. “I apologize. Where are my manners? I’m Helena Carpenter, a pleasure to meet you.” I shake her hand numbly, still confused. “Delilah.” I look to Will again. “Who is she?” “She’s nobody.” Will’s voice is harsh, and I see Helena flinch at his words. “She’s leaving now.” Helena stands her ground. “Just listen to yourself,” she says to him. “Everyone’s worried about you. All our friends, the people at your job. You can’t just shut us out. What about our apartment, all your stuff, our whole life together?” “I don’t want it.” Will’s jaw is clenched, but my head starts spinning. Friends. Apartment. Life together. She turns back to me, looking regretful. “I’m sorry you’ve wound up in the middle of this, clearly William hasn’t been telling the whole truth.” “Dee—” Will takes a step towards me, looking desperate, but he can’t reach me before Helena

lands the knock-out punch to my heart, the last words I ever expected to hear. “I’m Will’s fiancée.”



Seventeen.

Will It only takes two seconds. Two seconds for my new beginning to shatter, and the life I’ve been building here to crumble to ash. “Ex-fiancée,” I correct her desperately, but it’s already too late. I see the words hit Delilah like a bullet, each one tearing through the connection we’ve built, the lazy afternoons learning about her life, and the hot, carnal nights claiming her body for my own. None of that matters anymore. Not now she knows the truth. Pain flashes across Delilah’s face and I feel it too, ripping me up from the inside out. But I don’t have time to go to her, to even try and explain, before she shuts it all down and pastes on a wide, bright smile, so fake it makes me ache. “Wow, you’re right, I guess there’s a lot he didn’t tell me.” Dee won’t even look at me; she’s still smiling at Helena. “I’ll leave you two in peace then. Lovely to meet you.” “And you.” Helena smiles back. The two of them are acting so sweet and civil, it makes me want to break something. But I guess I already did that, judging by the look on Delilah’s face. She turns to leave, but fuck, I can’t just let her walk away. “Dee—” I catch her arm, needing her to listen, but she shakes me off with a sharp gesture and just keeps walking. Not looking at me, not turning back for a second. She gets in her car and drives away, and just like that, the best thing that ever happened to me is nothing but dust on the old dirt road. Fuck. The truth crashes through me. The sight of her leaving. God. What have I done? This is what I was afraid of, deep down. That sooner or later, the past would rear its ugly head. The shadows I’ve been ignoring, praying to god they would just fade away of their own accord. And they did. Every day with her, my past receded, until it felt like some other life, belonging to some other man, hundreds of miles away. Barely a memory. Still, I should have told her. I even came close, earlier today, but then the moment was gone. Damn, I should have told her everything, right from the start! But I didn’t. I failed her, and now there’s no going back. “Will?” Helena’s voice comes. “Who was that girl?” “What the hell are you doing here?” I turn on her, and it takes everything I have to keep my voice even. My anger contained. Still, she flinches back. “You wouldn’t talk to me, you wouldn’t even take my calls. What was I supposed to do, William? You can’t just shut me out.” Helena’s voice cracks. “Why won’t you just talk to me?” I take a deep breath and look at the woman I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. “I don’t know, finding you fucking some other guy might have something to do with it.” Helena’s pretty face crumbles, and then she’s crying, like she has any right at all. “I’m sorry, you know I’m sorry. It was a mistake,” she sobs, “it should never have happened, but we both made mistakes. It wasn’t just me. Our relationship was broken, but now we need to fix it—” “No!” I interrupt, past breaking point. “You don’t get to put this on me! You’re the one who cheated!” “But can you blame me?” Helena cries, tears filling her wide eyes. Once I would have done anything to keep those tears from falling, but not anymore. “You were never there,” she insists. “You were always at work, or in your stupid studio, it was like you couldn’t even make time for us. You

never put me first!” “Put you . . .” I echo, staring at her in disbelief. “Who the hell do you think was paying for that fancy apartment, all those trips? I was working for our future together, the life you wanted. At least, I thought you did.” “I did. I still do!!” Helena insists, tearful. She comes closer, grabbing my hands, trying to make me look at her. “It was a mistake, I promise, it’ll never happen again. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. We can go to therapy, baby, whatever you want. But we have to fix it, William. This is our future. You can’t just give up on us.” I look at her, and just as quickly as it came, my anger fades away. I spent years of my life with this woman, but standing here, she’s a stranger to me now. “I already did,” I answer, pulling away. “It’s over. We could talk about it forever, and it still wouldn’t change a thing. I don’t love you, and I never will again.” I’m not saying it to be cruel, even though I used to imagine a hundred ways to make her pay. It’s simply the truth. I don’t love her anymore, and the love we did have . . . it’s nothing compared to what I know love can be like now. Helena’s face changes. “Is this about her? That Delilah girl?” “No,” I tell her honestly. “You broke us all on your own.” I left this part of my life dead and buried back in New York City. But what I risk losing now, that’s something else, something far more precious than I could ever have imagined. I hurry down the steps and across the yard. “Wait, Will!” Helena’s voice cracks. “Where are you going?” “Where I’m supposed to be.” I wrench my truck door open. “But, what about me?” Helena swallows, the truth dawning in her eyes. There’ll be no dramatic reunion, no happy ending to our broken, used-up story. “You can’t just leave me here! This place is practically derelict, and there are no cabs for like, fifty miles!” “Do whatever you want.” I reply shortly. “Stay here for the night. I won’t.” I drive away before she can argue, leaving her stranded there on the porch. I’m not worried. Helena can take care of herself, even if she loves to pretend otherwise. If I’m honest, I even liked that about her: I felt needed, like I was the center of her world. She had a way of making you feel like the most important guy in the room, that just walking in with her on my arm marked me out as special, a guy who’d really made it. I know, it’s bullshit. We were building the façade of a real relationship, with nothing deep down beneath the surface. And the longer I spent with her, the more I felt like that—empty inside. She was perfect, we both belonged together, everyone said, so what was wrong? I tried my best to do all the right things, shower her with gifts and trips and everything else you’re supposed to, but it was like acting a role, reading lines that don’t mean a thing. I was so damn stuck, I couldn’t see a way out: going through the motions at work, then stepping into a whole new performance at home. Looking back now, I can see, we were heading off the edge of a cliff, and the only question was, would I wake up in time to see the fall? And now I’ve made the same mistake all over again: buried my head in the sand and avoided the truth until it’s too late to change a thing. Please don’t let it be too late. I pull up outside Delilah’s, my heart thundering with panic now. She has to listen, she has to give me a chance to explain. I stride up the front path and ring the bell. Silence. I knock, louder. “Delilah?” I call. “Dee, please, you’ve got to let me explain!”

The door suddenly flies open, and then she’s standing there, but it’s not her. Not really. There’s no hint of laughter in her eyes, no teasing grin on her sweet lips. She stares at me icily, her arms folded tight across her chest. “Dee, thank god. It’s not like Helena made it sound,” I tell her, praying I can make this right. If she can just give me a chance to explain, maybe I can fix this. I have to fix this. “We broke up, before I even met you. She’s the one who cheated on me. It was over, I swear.” Delilah lets out a breath that almost looks like relief, and my hopes rise. Maybe it’s not too late. Then she looks at me with heartbreak in her eyes. “But you didn’t tell me. Not one single word.” The quiet disappointment of her voice cuts right through me. “Because it was all in the past.” I try to find the words to explain. How she was my new beginning and my saving grace all at once, that I never knew what love could be like until she pressed her lips against mine that rainy night and I realized everything I’d been looking for was real: right there in front of me, so beautiful and bright and full of life there was never any turning back. I changed my life because of her, I found the person I wanted to be. But as my mind races to tell her everything, Delilah is already stepping back, her face set. “You can keep whatever secrets you want, Will. It’s your choice. And I can choose for this to be done.” The door slams in my face, and I realize, I’ve just ruined everything. I had it all, everything I ever wanted, but this is a mistake I can never take back.



Eighteen.

Delilah He has a fiancée. He has a freaking fiancée I knew nothing about. Ex, I correct myself, but still, that one little word is no comfort to me now. I close the door on Will, trying to forget the wounded, desperate look in his eyes. Everything is still spinning, just out of reach, like the facts are dancing in my mind but nothing’s landing. Nothing makes sense. Helena. She’s pretty. Beautiful, even. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. And everything she was saying, about his friends, their apartment . . . They had a life together. A life he never mentioned. Not once. Oh god. I hear his truck pull away, and suddenly, I’m sick to my stomach. I race down the hallway to the bathroom and fall to my knees, wretching over the toilet. Nothing comes, the spinning doesn’t subside, and I collapse back, slumping to the floor with one question whirling in my mind. Who is he? William Wyatt Montgomery. I thought I knew him, better than anyone. I thought he was as straight-forward and honest as they come. He told me I could trust him, that he wasn’t playing games. I looked into his eyes and saw a future with him, our future, but it turns out it was all a lie. That man doesn’t exist, not really. Not for me. The truth of it takes hold of me, so raw and bitter I could cry. I was right all along. Make me no promises and you’ll tell me no lies. I believed him, and look at me now: a crumpled mess on the floor because I let myself hope, just for a moment, that love could be more than disappointment and pain. I stare, numb at the floor. There’s dust gathering in the corners, and the towels are hanging out of the hamper in the corner. I’ve been so wrapped up in Will that I’ve let the place get messy. After all, why waste time vacuuming when I could have been wrapped up in his arms, laughing so hard it hurt as the summer evenings drifted into sundown, and beyond? Now, I suddenly can’t stand it a moment longer. I scramble up, determined. I refuse to be the girl weeping on the bathroom floor over some guy who didn’t keep his word. I’ve got work to do. I clean in a determined burst of energy, polishing every damn square inch of my apartment by the time the doorbell goes. I open it with rags in one hand and a bottle of oven cleanser in the other to find Lottie on my doorstep. “I just heard!” Lottie looks stricken. “What? That he’s a no-good lying piece of dirt?” I ask, hollow, before turning back down the hallway. “Who is she?” Lottie asks, trailing me back to the kitchen. “How could he? What did he say? Are you OK? God, I’m so sorry!” “I’m not.” I get back to the grease lurking back behind the range, scrubbing determinedly. “Better I find out now than any later. No harm, no foul.”

“No harm?” Lottie echoes. “Delilah, put down the scrubbing bubbles!” I keep working. “Dee!” Lottie grabs the sponge away and takes my hands. “Talk to me.” Emotions rise, jagged in my chest, but I shake my head, trying my best to keep them back. If I break now, I don’t know if I’ll ever put the pieces back together again. “I can’t.” “I know you’re hurting,” she says earnestly. “It’s OK.” “No it’s not!” I cry, my voice echoing. “I should have known from the start. What have I always said? The minute you make a commitment . . . start thinking about a future . . .” Pain splinters, cutting through the numbness. I remember waking up this morning, spooned in his arms, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back. I felt like this was it, finally. I had someone all my own. It’s too much. I can’t keep the pain back any longer. Suddenly, I burst into loud, messy sobs. Lottie pulls me into a chair and hugs me close as I bawl for dear life. All my hurt, all my betrayal, it all comes rushing out in one wretched, agonizing flood. “It’s OK,” Lottie murmurs helplessly. “Everything’s going to be alright.” “No it’s not!” I wail, lifting my head. “Just look at me! This is exactly who I never wanted to be!” “Human?” she offers with a wry smile, but nothing can take this pain away. “I trusted him,” I whisper, feeling broken. “I let him in. Nobody’s ever made me feel the way he did.” Another sob rolls through me, and I angrily wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Like, I could be my best, and he wouldn’t resent me for it, or feel threatened. Like I wasn’t too smart or too loud or too confident. He wanted it all.” I break down again, the loss too much to bear. Not just Will, god, Will, but everything I could be with him. Completely myself. “I’m so sorry, babe,” Lottie says again, her eyes full of sympathy. “I can’t believe it, he seemed like the one. Did he say anything at all?” I sniffle. “Just that it was over before we met.” She brightens. “So he wasn’t cheating on anyone!” I shake my head. “No, it doesn’t matter. He lied to me. He had this whole life I knew nothing about.” My heart aches to think of it, all the things he never told me. “But, you both have history,” she tries to reason. “You didn’t tell him about every single guy you’ve ever dated, did you?” “It’s not like that. They were engaged, Lottie,” I add, my voice catching. “He asked her to marry him. They were going to spend the rest of their lives together, and I never even knew she existed.” She exhales. There’s no arguing with that. “I’m so, so sorry.” “Who is he?” I ask again, feeling hopeless. “Because it turns out I don’t know him at all.” We sit for a moment in silence, then her phone buzzes. Lottie glances down. “Damn, it’s Eva.” I remember all our plans. “Oh god, is she here?” “Just got in. We were going to meet her at Dixie’s . . .” Lottie looks over at me. “You should come.” “I can’t.” “Yes, you can.” She straightens up, determined now. “You need to get drunk and eat cheesy fries, and be with people who love you. Besides, you want to see Eva, don’t you? You said it yourself, you’re not a girl who wallows over a guy. So, we’re going out.” I let Lottie dress me up in a cute summer dress and paint lipstick on my mouth, and then we head over to Dixie’s. I try to act like I can do this: go wild and party Will right out of my mind, but inside, I’m still a wreck. I want to be curled up in bed watching sappy movies as an excuse to cry my eyes out, not

walking into a crowded bar on a Friday night, full of happy people having the time of their lives. I want to be with him. “Dee!” Eva’s shriek cuts through even the noise of the bar. I barely have time to look around before she’s attacked: smothering me in a massive hug. “Oh my god, I’ve missed you!” “I’ve missed you too!” I hug back, getting emotional again. It’s been months since I’ve seen her, and even though we text and call all the time, it’s just not the same. I pull back to take a good look at her. “You got bangs?!” “Surprise!” Eva beams, her dark blonde hair cut in a new, lawyered style. She looks great, more confident and relaxed than I could imagine. “What about you? Where’s this hot new guy I’ve been hearing so much about . . .” She trails off as Lottie makes frantic cut-throat gestures. “Oh no, what did I say? What happened?” “You tell her,” I say to Lottie. “I’ll go get us some drinks.” I slip through the crowd, leaving Lottie to explain the whole terrible mess. Just saying the words out loud again would have made me fall apart, and I’m not going to do that again, not tonight. Screw Will, I try to tell myself, gesturing for Dixie at the bar. Screw his lies and broken promises. Screw believing in a future with a guy. You had it right the first time around. Dixie doesn’t even ask what I want, she just sets three shot glasses on the bar, and grabs a bottle of her best tequila. News travels fast around here. “Angel,” I tell her gratefully, and down the first shot in one. She refills, and I knock that one back too, letting the burn of alcohol seep through my system. “One more for luck.” She gives me a rueful smile, and tops me off again. I reach for my wallet, but she waves it away. “On the house, love.” She sets a tray with the shots and three beers. “Tell Eva to come say hello.” “Will do.” I balance our tray back across to where Eva and Lottie have taken up residence in a corner booth. Their heads are bent together, sisters catching up, but they both look up as I approach, fixing me with matching expressions of sympathy and concern. “Oh, no.” I slip into the booth. “Don’t look at me like that.” “Are you OK?” Eva reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “Babe, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” “Then don’t.” I muster a bright smile. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’ve cried enough today, I don’t want to wind up drunk and weeping in public too.” I slide their drinks over. “Let’s have a toast, to your amazing new life in New York!” Eva doesn’t look convinced, but she does as I command. We raise our glasses, and clink them together in celebration. “It’s good to be back,” Eva says, sipping her tequila and looking around the room. “I love the city, it’s a whole new adventure, but there’s nothing like home. I want all the gossip. What have I missed? Besides the obvious,” she adds with an apologetic smile. “There’s been scandal at every turn,” I announce, refusing to get sucked under the tide of misery again. I fill her in on all the small-town fights, rumors, and affairs, and soon we’re all laughing together again, and it’s like she’s never been gone. “What about you?” I demand finally. “Is it everything you wanted? Is Finn behaving himself?” “Hey!” Eva protests, her cheeks flushed. “That’s my fiancé you’re talking about.” I try not to flinch at the word. Will was someone’s fiancé once. Did they make wedding plans? I wonder. Pick out invitations and sit around feeding each other cake? I feel sick again, and look around for some distraction. Sawyer is shooting pool in the back room, and I leap up. “Look who’s here,” I point, and Eva turns. “Oh great, I was meaning to drop by and say hi to him. He’s keeping the animal rescue afloat single-handedly.”

“Let’s go play,” I say, glad to keep the conversation away from weddings and soul mates. We head over through the crowd, Eva stopping to greet everyone as she passes. Sawyer gives me a questioning look as we arrive, but I just give a tiny shake of my head, and thankfully, he doesn’t even mention Will, just hands me a pool cue and says, “Prepare to lose.” “You wish.” For all my big talk, my heart isn’t in it. Sawyer beats me easily, and then again. Still, I keep playing: I need something to focus on, to pause between breaks and chat with my friends, tease him over missed shots and keep my mind from straying too close to the one place I can’t risk letting it linger. Will. “You guys will have to come up and visit,” Eva is insisting. “What do you say, Dee? Maybe you could even come back with me next week,” she suggests. “Take a few days out of town, relax, escape . . .” I know what she’s suggesting I escape from, and to tell the truth, it’s tempting. For the first time, I realize what it’ll mean to be in Oak Harbor with Will: running into him all the time at the grocery store or here at the bar. My wretched heartbreak waiting around every corner, like an emotional time bomb ready to explode. “Maybe.” I give her a grateful smile. “I’ve got a big pitch meeting, so I have to see how that goes first.” “Whenever you want, just let me know,” Eva vows. “You’ve got a spot on our couch any day.” “Couch?” I tease, managing to laugh. “Girl, your other half just sold out a world-wide stadium tour. You know I’m getting the guest suite.” Eva grins. “I still can’t believe our apartment, it’s insane. You’ll flip when you see it!” “I can’t wait.” I hand her the pool cue. “Here, you take my shot, I’ve got to run to the restroom.” Eva makes a face. “Don’t blame me if I lose for you.” Sawyer lets out a snort of laughter. “You can’t be any worse, trust me.” “Gee, thanks.” I shove him lightly as I pass him by, heading to the bathrooms across the bar. The silence in the dark stall is abrupt after the noise outside, and I take a moment to catch my breath, rinsing my hands under the cool faucet. My reflection stares back at me in the cracked, grafittied mirror. I could almost pass for happy. The flush in my cheeks. The smile I stretch on my lips. If you didn’t know me, you’d never guess my heart is aching with every breath, but I can see it in my eyes. I didn’t want to be this girl. Disappointed by a guy’s selfish lies, hurting because of his choices. I wanted to be invincible, better than this, somehow. It’s dumb, I know. I fell, just like everyone else. I connected, opened up, offered my heart—and felt the searing pain of having it torn limb from limb. I’m mixing my vital organ metaphors, but you get the point. I shake my head, turning back to the exit door. Maybe those shots are finally kicking in. I head back out into the bustle of Friday night. I’m halfway to the pool table when an arm slides around my waist. “Looking for me?” It’s Brody, that old fling I ran into the other day. He’s with a group of buddies, grinning and throwing back some beers. “If I was, I couldn’t miss you.” I slip out of his embrace and playfully poke his gut. “Putting on a few pounds there, Mr.” “Are you ripping on my six-pack?” he laughs. “More like a keg these days,” I say, and he gives me a flirty look. “Guess I need to show you up close what the beast looks like.”

I snort with laughter. “The beast? Is that what you’re calling yourself now?” “Don’t you forget it.” Brody winks. Then he catches sight of something over my shoulder, and steps back, putting his hands up like I’m a cop. “Uh oh, looks like your other half is here. Thought the dude was going to knock me out last time I came close.” I turn, my heart pounding in a sick lurch. It’s him. Just inside the doorway, still scanning the room. He looks exactly the same as when I left him earlier this evening, which means he’s still wearing my favorite shirt, the blue plaid that brings out the green in his eyes. Last night, I wore it and nothing else to go fetch leftover takeout for us to eat in bed. I still remember the way he looked at me, that lazy, satisfied smile. “You look too good in that,” he said, reaching to tumble me back into his arms. “I’m not going to be able to wear it without picturing you naked underneath.” Now, his eyes lock on mine from clear across the room, and the longing that cuts through me pierces clean through my chest. I’d give anything in the world to turn the clock back to that moment, when I still believed every word he said. But even if I could rotate the earth backwards on its axis, he would still be lying, I remind myself sadly, turning away. All that time we spent together, he claimed to be such an open book, but really, he was hiding his past from me. Hiding who he really was. “Seriously,” Brody smirks, still looking over at Will. “That dude looks pissed. Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise?” “No trouble, and no paradise either,” I say lightly. My skin prickles with awareness, knowing Will’s eyes are on me, and I find myself leaning in a little closer to Brody. “So tell me about this band you’re in . . . are you going to be a rock star when you grow up?” My tone is teasing, playful, and Brody brightens under my flirty smile, launching into all the news about his “skate-punk-ska-jungle” music while I nod along and pretend to be hanging off his every word. Maybe it’s childish, wanting to make Will jealous like this, but I can flirt with whoever the hell I want. There’s nothing between us anymore. Brody keeps talking, so caught up in himself he doesn’t even notice my heart is breaking, right here in front of him. But a moment later we’re interrupted: Will plants himself beside me. “Dee.” Just the sound of my name on his lips brings it all rushing back, the terrible tempest of emotion I’ve been fighting to keep under control. I’ve heard him murmur my name softly, groan it in pure frustration, and cry it out in the fits of passion. And now, here in the dark, noisy bar, he says it urgently. Intense. It’s almost enough to make me crumble, but I stand strong. “What?” I give him my best icy glare, faltering when I see the torment in his eyes. “I need to talk to you.” I clench my jaw. “There’s nothing to say.” “There’s plenty.” Will’s voice is soft and full of regret. My heart aches, but I force myself to turn back to Brody and fix him with a bright smile. “The bongos, huh?” I manage to say, even as all my attention is focused on the man just inches away from me. “Wow, that sounds, interesting. You’ll have to play for me sometime.” “Sure thing, babe.” Brody grins, clearly enjoying the scowl on Will’s face. “You want to get out of here now? We could head back to my place for a private performance, if you know what I mean.” Subtle, he isn’t, but I don’t even have time to react before Will grabs my arm and pulls me towards the exit. “Let me go!” I protest, half-relieved to escape Brody’s proposition. “Will!”

The door swings open, and then we’re outside in the dark of the parking lot, nothing but headlights from the highway in the distance and the crashing sound of the waves against the cliffs across the street. Will releases me, and I stumble back, thrown. “What the hell?” I demand, recovering. “You don’t get to drag me around like I’m your goddam property. You don’t get to do anything at all!” “What were you doing with that guy?” Will demands, his eyes blazing. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?” “No,” I shoot back. “I’m trying to forget you even exist!” “Just like that?” Will sucks in a breath, his whole body rigid with tension. “You haven’t even let me explain. I was with Helena for two years, but I told you, it’s over. It was over before I even met you!” I see something in his eyes, just a flash of guilt. I shiver. “How long before you met me?” I ask, my stomach twisting. Will exhales. Silence. “When?” I demand again. “A week,” he says quietly, and I’m so stunned I can’t even breathe for a moment. A week. Seven days. A hundred and something hours between him planning to spend the rest of his life with her, and making out with me on a dark, rain-drenched street? “I take longer than that to figure out what color to paint my nails!” I yell suddenly, anger overtaking me. “You were with her for years, and then suddenly you meet me, move down here, and act like I’m all you want in the world?” “You are,” Will says simply, looking at me the way he always has. Like he’s certain. But how can he be when he turned his life around on a dime? “You have to understand, Dee, I meant it,” he swears. “I’ve meant every word I’ve ever said to you. Meeting you that night, it was like the light suddenly went on. Everything made sense to me, about why it didn’t work out with Helena, why it could have never worked out, even if she hadn’t cheated on me. You and me, it’s right, in a way that I never felt with her!” I shake my head, tears stinging in my throat now. “You’re crazy.” “No, I just know what I want,” Will replies, fervent. “And it’s you. From the start, it’s always been you.” I turn away, pacing on the damp asphalt. I can’t take it all in, I feel like my chest is being squeezed in a vice-like grip. “So why didn’t you say something?” I ask, my voice twisting. “If I was so right, if this was meant to be, why didn’t you just tell me? ‘By the way, Delilah,’ ” I mimic, scathing, “ ‘before we get too carried away, I should probably say, I have an ex-fiancée and a whole life back home that I just up and left!” He hangs his head. “I know I should have. And if I could do it all over again, I would, I swear to you.” But my anger is rising now, and it’s the only thing to save me from the wretched pain. “How can I believe you now? We talked!” I yell, trying to hold back the sobs. “I told you everything, I let you in! And you just lied to me, over and over again.” “I never lied.” Will tries to reach for me, but I snatch back. “You didn’t tell me who you really are. You had a whole secret life, and I knew nothing about it!” Will’s face changes. “No, Dee, this isn’t like your father. I never cheated on you. I would never do that!” “Stop it!” I cry, shaking with emotion. I’m trying so hard to keep it together, but I can’t, not with him standing there, haloed in the neon lights, looking so good. So sure. Fuck, why does he have to look at me like that? “I can’t do this.” I back away. “Please, just let me go. It’s over, Will.” “It can’t be!” He grabs my hand. “Tell me what you want. Whatever it takes. I’ll do anything to

make this right,” he vows. “I want never to have met you!” I can’t hold back anymore. All the hurt and betrayal comes flooding out, in wretched hiccupping sobs. “I want not to feel like my heart is breaking. I want never to have fallen in love with you!” My voice echoes, an anguished plea in the dark of the parking lot. Will looks like I just slapped him. “Dee—” “That’s enough for tonight, don’t you think?” A calm voice interrupts us, and then Sawyer is draping my jacket around my shoulders, my purse already dangling from one hand. “I’ll take you home,” he tells me, before shooting Will a look. It seems like Will wants to argue, but after a beat, he nods his head. “I’ll talk to you later,” he says to me, but I’m already walking away, somehow putting one foot in front of the other while Sawyer murmurs something to him too low for me to hear. Then he catches up to me in a few strides, slipping his arm around my shoulders and steering me back towards town. I let him guide me, wiping away the tears still streaming down my face. We walk in silence across the square, my storm of emotions quieting by the time we finally reach my front door. Sawyer finds my keys and unlocks, then asks gently, “Are you going to be OK?” “I have to be, don’t I?” I answer, pained. “Life goes on.” I glance over. Sawyer looks like he’s thinking. “What?” I ask, then sigh. “This is where you’re going to tell me to forgive him. That he made a mistake, and he’s a good guy, really.” “Not at all.” Sawyer squeezes my shoulders. “I’m just sorry you’re hurting. I know you cared about him a lot.” I say goodbye and step into the dark apartment. I close the door and sink back, sliding to the floor, too weary to take another step. Cared. Past tense. It sounds so neat and final, so why does my chest feel split wide open, every cell in my body aching with heartbreak and regret? There’s nothing neat about the way I feel right now, pulled in a dozen directions with no way to make sense of it all. He looked so anguished, there in the moonlight. Like his heart was breaking right along with mine, as if he’d do anything to take my pain away. But how can I ever believe him again?



Nineteen. I make it through the week on autopilot. After what’s just happened, I wish I could just shut everything down and hide away from everything, but the rest of the world doesn’t seem to get the memo: life goes on, even though it feels like my world has fallen apart. My friends are great, so supportive, but I can see the questions lingering in their eyes, and the delicate way they dance around it. I know what they’re thinking, because I’m asking myself the same thing: Yes, he didn’t tell me the whole story, but he didn’t cheat, or straight-out lie, or betray me in any other way. We all have a past, and maybe he shouldn’t have hidden his from me, but he would have told me eventually. So what’s the big deal? I can’t explain how somehow what Will did has cut me right to the core, and pressed all my buttons. Every one of my darkest, most painful fears has been dragged into the bright sun, and I just don’t know what to do. I broke my own rules for him. He told me over and over that he was a man of his word, and eventually, I believed him. I put my heart on the line, only to find he was hiding everything, keeping secrets about his other life. Just like my father did. I drift numbly through my regular routine of client meetings and open house viewings, paperwork at the office, and shiny new deals. Maybe it’s the universe trying to repay this massive karmic debt, but I find myself on a winning streak like nothing else, closing half a dozen pending deals in a single week. I watch the numbers go up and calculate my commissions, but I still can’t feel an ounce of my usual pride. I’m hollow, used up inside. All I can think about is Will. The night we met, that first electric press of my lips against his. Splashing in the creek, the heat of our bodies like an inferno, coming together for the first time. Lying curled and sick in his arms, feeling like nothing in the world could hurt me as long as he was there, holding me close. But those memories are too sweet to bear, and they get poisoned by everything else I don’t know: his life with Helena, the plans they made and the sweet nothings they murmured in the heat of the night. I torture myself imagining it all: his hands on her body, those delicious lips telling her all the same pretty words. He says she wasn’t right for him, and that I’m the only one, but how can I trust that now? I always knew it was reckless and impulsive for him to just show up in Oak Harbor the way he did, but now I know the truth is so much worse: I was the rebound, his revenge on Helena for cheating. He threw himself into a fresh start here with me because he was running so hard from her betrayal. Somehow, this thought is even worse than what he’s been hiding. It means what he claims he felt was an illusion, that he never really cared. I was a distraction all along, not the real thing at all. I may have fallen head over heels in love with him, but this was always just about Helena, not me. Was any of it true? * By the end of the week, my numb dejection has faded to a heavy grief that’s knotted, just behind my ribcage. I’m doing my best to hide it, especially today: I’m up the coast in Beachwood Bay, where Ash Callahan’s development company is based. Even in this state, I managed to kill my pitch for his new properties in town, and now he’s showing me around a plot he has right by the ocean to discuss the

plans to build. I have no idea if I’ve landed the exclusive on his properties yet, but I’m guessing being invited back for a second conversation means I’m close. “This is a beautiful spot,” I agree, standing at the top of the dunes. It feels good to be out of town for the day, not worried about running into Will. “How much is yours?” Ash points way in the distance. “From the hill, right up to the fence there. About five acres in all.” “And what are you planning?” I ask. “You know, a plot like this would be perfect for something commercial, a hotel maybe.” He chuckles then, his usually-stern expression lightening. “Don’t let my wife hear you say that,” he grins. “She already won the war.” I must look confused, because he nods to the property next door, a quaint little guesthouse I passed on my way here. “She owns the B&B,” he explains. “Last time I tried to build a fancy hotel here, she turned the whole town against me. It’s how we met,” he grins affectionately, clearly not holding a grudge. “Ah, got it. So what do you want to do here?” I ask, looking around. The land is pristine right now, which is a little weird – usually developers don’t bring in real estate agents until a project is close to done. “I’m interested in what you think,” Ash says, looking at me expectantly. “What would you put here?” Suddenly, I realize: this is the test. It’s one thing to take a look at finished home and pitch the usual open houses, brochures and website, but I’m guessing Callahan wants something more from whoever he works with. I look around again, trying to see what he does in the empty grassland and dirt trails. The views are incredible, the wide sweep of the bay unfolding in front of us, fringed in pristine sand and the wild Atlantic coast. Aside from the B&B and a cluster of older homes dotted back towards town, there isn’t anything built to ruin the wild, windswept feel of the landscape. That’s it. “Well, I’m guessing we’d be working with some pretty strict planning regulations,” I start, and I’m rewarded with a smiling twitch of his lips. Bingo! “That means we want to keep things simple. Sparse. You could try and cram a whole subdivision here, but that doesn’t seem like your style.” Especially if he gave up on a slick ocean-front hotel for the sake of that rambling old B&B. “I would say three, maybe four homes, max.” I point, tracing in the air, “Use the natural hills of the landscape to make them feel secluded and tucked away. But none of those modern glass and chrome monsters, use different designs for each of them to keep everything rustic and beachy, like they’ve been here for years. High end, of course,” I add, “but different. Exclusive. Beachwood Bay has such a great old-school feel to it, it’s like stepping back in time, and I know a lot of people would pay top dollar for that down-to-earth feel.” Rustic. Down to earth. I’m thinking of Will now, but at least I can tell from the smile on Ash’s face, we’re on the same page. “I can’t tell you how many guys I’ve had out here, telling me to put up condos and a waterpark,” he says, wry. “Sure, you’d made a ton more money that way, but I’m guessing you have enough already.” He laughs at that. “Come on,” he says, starting to head back towards the B&B. “I’ve got some plans I can show you. I’d love to bring clients in early, people who want to play a part in the design, make it their dream home.” “Does this mean I get the listings?” I ask, still uncertain. He gives me a smile. “Yes, you do. Congratulations.” I shake his hand, and say all the right things about how I’ll deliver just what he needs, but I still feel so detached. I should be on top of the world, chomping at the bit now that I’ve closed this deal and

come one step closer to taking over the business, but somehow, all I can think about is how Will is the one who landed me this break: singing my praises to him, supportive to the core. I follow Ash back to the B&B. Close up, it’s even more charming, with roses growing up the walls, a white picket fence—and something delicious wafting in the air. “Good timing.” Ash rubs his hands together gleefully. “It’s afternoon tea.” We step inside, and he makes straight for the back patio area. “Dee!” I hear a familiar voice cry. It’s Lottie, gathered around with a group of other women and their young kids, all about my age. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?” “I just had a meeting—” I gesture to Ash. He’s gone to greet one of the women with a kiss. “What a great coincidence,” Lottie beams. “Come sit, have some tea. This is my moms’ group.” One of the women groans. “Don’t say that, it makes me feel like I should chop all my hair off and buy a minivan.” “What’s wrong with minivans?” another says, laughing. She’s got red hair and a swollen belly, which she strokes protectively. “I keep telling Dex, we’re going to trade in his sports car the minute this little guy comes along.” She turns to me, smiling. “I’m Alicia, and this is Juliet and little Jenny.” A dark-haired woman lifts her baby’s hand in a wave. “And Carina and Sawyer.” The blonde who hates minivans waves, one eye on her toddler, who is playing in a pen with Kit. “And I’m Noelle.” The last woman looks over from Ash. “I’m just an honorary mom for now, but I have all the best snacks.” “She does,” Lottie agrees. “Come join us. You have to try these scones.” The table is laden with delicious pastries and iced tea, and everyone choruses their agreement, but something in me just can’t face it right now. Getting through the meeting was enough, but I can’t pretend to be smiling and happy when my heart hurts like this. They seem like a fun crowd, and Lord knows I don’t want to be the buzzkill moping in the corner, so I just give them a smile. “I wish I could, but I have an appointment back in town. Another time!” “For sure,” Noelle insists. “Here, let me give you some scones for the road.” I walk out with Ash—and a bag of scones—and he shakes my hand again. “Here’s to the start of a great partnership,” he says, smiling. “Will was right about you.” But his words just cut like a knife. I was so wrong about him. As I drive back to Oak Harbor, I wonder when the pain will ever stop. Maybe this is just what it’s like, going through a hellish breakup. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never cared before like this, but it must happen to everyone, right? They get up, and go to work, and meet their friends, even when they feel nothing but hurt inside. Is everyone just hiding their heartbreak, muddling through as best they can? God, it was so much easier before I met him. I could flit between guys without thinking twice, and if one of them turned out to be an asshole, well, so what? He didn’t matter, none of it did. I just moved on to the next fun adventure, not skipping a beat. I sure didn’t spend so much time crying I could put Kleenex out of business, or wake up with a heaviness in my heart that won’t shift, no matter how many country songs I play about sticking it to your cheating ex. Now, I feel like I’m trapped in limbo, stuck with this broken, wretched heart. I can’t move on, but I don’t even want that: I just want to go back to before, when we were together, and I felt like this chapter of my life was just beginning. With him. I turn up my street, and then I see Will’s truck, parked outside my place, like I’ve conjured it out of thin air with all my obsessive pining. My heart stops, and I get a rush of panicked adrenaline flooding through my veins. He’s there, bent over unhitching something from the back, a massive tarp covering what’s underneath.

I don’t think I can face him again. That night at Dixie’s is still fresh and brutal in my mind, but I don’t have a choice. It’s either find a way to deal with him, or move out of Oak Harbor for good. You’ve got this, I tell myself, slowly getting out of the car. Just act like you don’t care anymore, and maybe, one day it’ll be true. Will looks up and sees me. He clears his throat. “Sorry, I thought you’d be at work.” Pain echoes through me just looking at him. He looks terrible, too: unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept in a week. But that’s even worse somehow, because despite everything, I don’t want him to be in pain. I’m suffering enough for the both of us. “What is this?” I ask, when I trust my voice enough to speak. “Harold,” Will answers, and it takes a moment for me to figure out what he’s talking about. My old rowboat. “I thought Sawyer hauled it out of the river.” I frown, confused. “He said he took it to the junkyard.” “I had him bring it to me instead.” Will gives me a quiet smile. “I was planning to surprise you.” “Well, thanks,” I reply shortly, trying to ignore every instinct in my body. It’s aching to go to him, hold him, close the distance between us somehow. But it’s too far now, knowing what I do. He pauses, like he wants to say something else, then he turns back. “I love you.” What? Of all the things I expected to hear, it wasn’t this. I stare at him, my mouth open in shock—and my traitorous heart beating faster at the look on his gorgeous face, so intent and sincere. “I didn’t want to tell you like this, but you need to know. You’re the only one,” he says simply. “I never felt this way about her, not even close. I know I should have told you everything, and I’m so, so sorry I let you down. But I wanted to start over, do it right this time.” Will’s eyes search mine. “My life here, you, it’s where I’m supposed to be. It’s like I was stuck in this awful bad dream, and then I woke up, and there you were. The one I was supposed to be with all along.” Will steps closer. “I’ll earn your trust back, I’ll do whatever it takes,” he swears, reaching to touch my cheek. God, it feels too good, his skin on mine. That intoxicating touch, so right. I know I should pull away, but I can’t, because I want more. So much more. And Will must see it in my eyes, because he tilts my face to his and kisses me softly. So tenderly, it’s barely a whisper of his lips against mine, but too soon, he’s stepping back. It’s not enough, I want to cry. It could never be enough. “I’m here,” Will says, regret so deep in his eyes. “I promise you, Dee. If you ever decide to forgive me, I’ll be here. And I swear, I’ll never let you down again.” He waits a moment, but I can’t say a word. I’m fighting a war inside, paralyzed in place with nothing but my racing heart pounding in my ears. Will finally nods, then turns and walks slowly back to his truck. I watch him walk away, still torn. Part of me is screaming to go after him, kiss him for real and never let go. But that word lingers, the hardest word I’ve ever known. Forgiveness. He starts the truck and drives away. I watch until he’s gone. I’m alone on the street, arms wrapped tightly around myself; a poor imitation of the embrace I really crave. I can’t think about what he’s just said, so I turn instead to the boat and pull back the tarp. I gasp. He didn’t just rescue Harold—he restored it, too. The last time I saw it, the boat was peeling and old, those base boards splintered with a gaping wound cut clear through the deck. Now,

it’s like he never went down at all. The boards have been replaced, so seamlessly you would never know they were damaged at all. Every inch has been repainted, smoothed and sanded, repaired by hand. Tears well up in my throat. It was broken, and Will fixed it. Because he knew how much this old boat mattered to me, the memories it held. Can it really be so easy? I stare at it, feeling helpless. Can you just replace the broken pieces, and have the scars painted over, better than before? Or do those cracks last a lifetime, shadows of the damage that went before? I stand there a long time, feeling the weight of it all crushing down on me. Not just Will, now, but the questions I’ve been grappling with for years now. The ones I still have no answers to. I go get back into my car, and drive—to the only person I want to talk to now. The only one who might have some understanding for me, more than anyone in the world. My mom.



Twenty. The house is empty, but I find mom out back in what used to be the garden shed, but has somehow been transformed into an art studio, complete with whitewashed walls, an easel, and shelves crammed full of paints and art supplies. “When did this happen?” I ask, surprised in the doorway. Mom looks up from behind thin, wire-rimmed glasses. She’s in front of a canvas daubed with watercolor flowers. “Oh, hi sweetie, I didn’t know you were here.” She sets down her paintbrush and hugs me at arm’s length. “Sorry, I’m such a mess.” “That’s OK.” I step inside the small space, still curious. “I didn’t know you were painting.” “What, this?” Mom gestures modestly, “It’s nothing. I used to paint all the time. I stopped when you were younger, but your father suggested I give it a whirl again. He signed me up for classes in the spring, and even did all of this with the shed, isn’t that sweet of him?” “Well, it looks great.” I pause, not sure what to say, but Mom’s busy rinsing off her brushes and setting things aside. “So, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” she asks. “I . . . was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by and say hi.” Mom gives me a curious look. Despite all the trailing scarves and watercolors, she’s still the sharpest one around. “We haven’t heard from you in a while. I thought maybe you and Will were enjoying some time to yourselves . . . ?” She pauses, hinting. “We were.” I stop. “I guess . . . I wanted to talk to you about it.” If Mom’s shocked I would ever be coming to her for romantic advice, she hides it well, and she shows me outside to where some chairs are set up under the old cypress tree. I sink into the cushions and pull my knees against my chest. She’s watching me expectantly, but I can’t dance around it with small talk and half-truths. It’s been plaguing me for years, and now, it seems more vital than ever to know. “How did you forgive him?” I ask, my voice breaking. “When Daddy cheated. He lied, and he left us, and you act like it never happened now. I don’t understand.” Emotion flashes across my mom’s face, and she exhales a long breath. I feel awful for bringing it up like this out of nowhere, but I’ve kept silent about it for so long, and I have to hear her side of the story if I’m ever going to figure out what to do. “Did Will do something?” she asks, her voice sharp. “No.” I find myself defending him. “Not, not like that. But, he betrayed my trust, and I just . . .” I stop and shake my head. “It’s not just about Will. I need to know this for me. I’ve tried, Mom, I really have. I’ve tried to just respect your decision, I know it’s your life, but I can’t wrap my head around it.” Mom gives me a sad, quiet smile. “Oh, honey. It’s not a simple answer.” “So explain,” I plead. “I want to understand.” She looks away for a moment, over the yard, and I can tell she’s picking her words carefully. When she looks back, her face is content. “I guess what it comes down to is that I chose a life with him rather than one without.” She says it so simply, but it can’t be simple. The cheating, the betrayal. How can she just sweep it aside? Make a calm calculation and then just move on? “But you could have started again,” I argue. “Found someone else if you didn’t want to be alone.” Mom shakes her head. “It wasn’t like that. You have to understand, sweetie, we had twenty years together. Good years. Laughing and waking up together and going to sleep in the same bed every night. And raising you,” she adds with a smile.

“But he hurt you.” She nods. “I never said he didn’t. When I found out . . .” The shadow is clear on her face. “I thought I’d lost my whole world. Some nights, I would tell you I was running errands,” she adds sadly, “and I’d go take a drive and just sit in the woods and cry.” “Mom . . .” Now I feel terrible for even bringing it up. I reach for her hand, but she just squeezes it and gives me a smile. “It’s fine, sweetie. Ancient history.” “But that’s what I don’t understand. How could you ever take him back after what he put you through?” “Because he asked.” Mom’s expression is still calm. “I lost my best friend, but he lost me too. Whatever he thought he was getting into . . . well, it didn’t come close to what the two of us had. And once he realized what he was losing . . . he came to his senses again.” I sigh, still confused. “Just like that, you took him back.” She looks at me wryly. “Don’t think I made it easy on him. I was spitting mad, hurt, betrayed. I didn’t know if I could ever trust him again. But he promised to do whatever it took. We went to couples counseling, and it was months before I even let him back in the house. It was work,” she admits. “To rebuild after such a betrayal and let go of my anger. It took a long time to move past it, and even longer to forgive him.” “So how?” I ask again, my emotions still so tangled up and confused. “He broke your heart. He betrayed us both. But you still found a way to forgive him in the end.” My mom sighs. “I know you think I was just being weak—” I start to argue, but she stops me. “It’s OK, sweetie, I know. You haven’t forgiven him, and that’s your right. He hurt you too. But I stand by my choice. He’s the love of my life,” she says, matter of fact. “And some things are worth fighting for.” We sit in silence for a moment as I think over her words. I was hoping she’d have something more for me: concrete advice, a handy how-to-forgive guide. Foolish, I know. I guess however old you get, you never grow out of hoping that your mom will have the answers to everything. But instead, she made it sound different: a simple choice. To be with him, or not. Which life she wanted more in the end. Mom pats my hand. “Your father will be home soon. Let’s go put dinner on.” I follow her inside the house again. This isn’t the home I grew up in, with creaking floorboards and clutter everywhere. It’s sleeker and new, with polished countertops and a kitchen that’s white and clean. “Is that why you moved?” I ask, suddenly thinking of something. “To make it a fresh start, away from all those bad memories?” Mom nods. She opens the gleaming refrigerator and pulls out a package of chicken and an armful of vegetables. “It was part of my conditions, that we would move, and he’d find a different job. Away from her. But yes, I knew we couldn’t ever go back, so we needed to build something new together. And we have.” She passes me a stack of potatoes and I rinse my hands and start peeling. It’s good to focus on a task like this, while my mind turns over everything she’s said. Will moved on too: he packed up and came hundreds of miles for a fresh start. So what am I still so hurt about: that he had a life—and love —I know nothing about, or the idea that one day, he might want a fresh start from me, too? “So are you going to tell me what’s going on with Will?” I shake my head. I’m not ready just yet—not when I still don’t know what I want her to tell me to do. “I’ve been worried about you, you know.” I look up. “What? That I’ll die alone?”

“No.” She gives me an indulgent smile. “That you’ll miss out, you won’t open yourself up to love. I know you’re independent,” she continues quickly, “and I’m proud of that, both me and your father are. But watching you act like these relationships don’t matter, that it’s all just fun and games . . .” She sighs. “I want more than that for you, I want you to have everything. A real partner, somebody to love, and support you, and build a life. I thought that maybe Will—” She stops, catching the stricken look on my face. “Never mind.” I feel a lump in my throat. “He lied to me,” I say softly, concentrating on the vegetables. “He kept a whole part of his life hidden. I know it’s not the same as what Dad did, but it still feels like a betrayal. He’s sorry now, I know he is, but . . . how can I trust him again?” I look up at her, tears pooling in my eyes. She puts the oven mitts down and comes to me, pulling me into a warm, comforting hug. “Oh, baby. Only you can make that choice.” She holds me close. “Only you know if he’s the one worth fighting for.” I don’t stay for dinner; I hit the road back to Oak Harbor instead. It’s getting later, and the miles blur outside the windscreen, my emotions still storming in my chest. Everything Mom said has only confused me even more. I thought I had it all figured out: if you had to fight for a guy, he wasn’t worth it. If you had to chase him, he didn’t want you enough from the start. But here I am, and all I can do is think about Will. Wanting him. Not wild and reckless, but those other, quieter moments too: my head tucked in that nook against his shoulder, his hand, so steady on my back. It kills me to think those moments could be lost forever, but at the same time, there’s still a voice in my head saying I can’t trust him again, that I’d be naïve to go back, setting myself up to be hurt all over again down the line, but worse. If anything could be worse than this. All my life I’ve been proud that I never needed a man to be happy, and everything that happened with my parents only made me believe it all the more. But that was before I met Will, and realized everything I’d been missing out on—how good it can be to open up and truly let someone into my heart, to know how it feels to depend on someone and feel like they’ve got your back no matter what. To feel loved, like my heart is so full it could burst clear from my chest. It’s not that I can’t go on without him; I love my life, and I know that eventually, I’ll be OK. But what if I want more than OK? What if he’s the one worth fighting for? As I approach home again, I find myself turning past my street and taking the winding highway out of town instead, towards Will’s place. Trying to ignore him isn’t working; I just have all these unanswered questions tormenting me every day. Maybe if I give him a chance and talk, really talk, I can find an answer through all of this. But I’m scared. Terrified he won’t have the answers I need, or, even worse, that he will—but they won’t make me feel any differently. But I’m missing him too much already, and my heart is in my throat by the time I pull up that bumpy dirt road and reach the house. There’s construction, and guys up on the roof, but his truck isn’t in the driveway, and when I get out and go around to the workshop in back, it’s locked up tight. He’s nowhere to be found. My heart sinks. “Hey.” Ryland comes around the corner, carrying a stack of wood planks. “I didn’t think I’d see you here. What’s up?” “I was looking for Will,” I ask, nervous. “Do you know when he’ll be back?” “He didn’t say, but I’m guessing a few months or more.” Ryland sets the wood down and looks up at the house, assessing.

“A few months?” I echo, panicking. “Yeah. He’s gone back to New York.”



Twenty-One. “So that’s it. He went back to her.” I slump lower in my seat, and take a mournful bite of donut, but even the sugar melting on my tongue can’t make me feel any better. “I was just the rebound, after all, and now they’re going to have their perfect life together.” “That’s crazy, and you know it,” Lottie says sternly. She dropped by the realty office with treats to try and cheer me up, but I’m not cheering. “He doesn’t love her, he loves you.” “So what’s he doing eight hundred miles away?” I counter, miserable. “He said he would be here if I ever changed my mind.” “And have you?” Lottie presses. “I don’t know!” “Yes, you do.” She gives me a look. “You should go after him.” I shake my head. “I can’t do that.” “You went to him once already, to his place. That means something.” “No, I went to talk. Just showing up in New York . . .” “Is romantic,” Lottie declares. “Stupid,” I correct her. She shrugs. “Same difference.” “You mean love is about taking leave of all your senses?” I ask, biting into the donut again. I finish it in a few short mouthfuls, but for some reason, it can’t fill the aching space in my heart. “No,” Lottie says with a wistful expression. “It’s about following your heart, not your head, sometimes. Making a leap on pure faith without knowing it’ll ever pay off.” “Sounds like a recipe for heartbreak to me.” She quirks an eyebrow. “Because being calm and rational has worked out great for you so far.” “That’s not fair,” I say quietly, hit with another wave of regret. “I made a leap, I put my faith in him, and now look at me.” “You’re right, I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I would be hurt if I were you too. I guess all that matters now is if you think there’s a chance you could forgive him.” There it is again, that one little word that’s got my heart tied up in knots. I want to forgive him, but how do I know I’m even capable of moving on? Will I say the words, but feel that mistrust still eating away at me for years to come—questioning every time he forgets to tell me something, wondering if there’s something else I should know? That kind of thing can be poisonous and doom a relationship no matter how hard we try. So is it better to make a clean break now despite the pain, instead of falling even deeper in love with him, but always holding back, too scared to trust again? My thoughts are interrupted by the bell above the door. I quickly wipe powdered sugar from my face in case it’s a client, but instead, Marcie waltzes back in. She’s tanned and smiling, and instead of her usual business outfits, she’s in loose pants and a tank top, her usually blown-straight hair in riotous natural curls. “You’re back!” I leap to my feet. “I didn’t know you were coming so soon. How were the islands?” I ask. “Oh, just blissful.” Marcie beams. “Hi Lottie, you look well. Is that boy of yours behaving himself?” “Just about.” Lottie smiles and packs up her things. “I was just heading out. Nice to see you!” Good luck, she mouths at me as she heads for the door. Marcie bustles through to her office, and I take a deep breath. I didn’t think I’d see her so soon, so

I haven’t prepared any pitch about taking over the business, but I don’t need to jump to that right away. If I just update her with how great things have been running, I’ll see if she says anything about getting back to Florida anytime soon and leave it there for now. I head over to her office and give her a quick update on everything that’s been happening. “And Liv Sullivan had her offer accepted too,” I say proudly. “We got it under asking price, too.” “Mmm? That’s great.” Marcie glances at her phone. She seems distracted when she should be seriously happy right now. She took off on a two-week cruise, and while she was gone, I delivered a truckload of happy clients and earned the agency a ton of commissions. That should get me more than a vague smile, right? But either way, this next news is sure to knock her socks off. “And I brought in a new client,” I say proudly. “The Callahan Group. Exclusive on all their new developments.” Marcie finally looks up. “That’s wonderful, honey. Great job. I knew you’d take care of things while I was away.” I take a seat. “So you had a good time?” I ask. “The best.” She smiles. “Sometimes you just need a break, you know? Time to think about things, get clarity on the future . . .” “Right.” I nod, enthusiastic. “And that’s what I wanted to talk about.” Marcie finally puts her phone aside, and gives me a big smile. “We’ve had a great run here, but Bob and I are ready for a change. We’ve been talking for a while, and while we were gone, we made the big decision. We’re going to move down and take the boat out full-time.” Yes! I manage to keep from punching the air with delight. “That sounds great,” I say instead. “You’ll have an amazing time. You’ve earned it,” I add, and she laughs. “I should say.” “And you don’t need to worry, the business will be in safe hands,” I add, feeling something other than heartbroken for the first time all week. This is it, everything I’ve been working so hard to achieve. Marcie’s not the only one who’s earned her change: I put in the hours, hustled hard, and now here it is, my own business at last. “Yes, it will be,” Marcie agrees. “I’ve already talked to Ron, and he’s excited to expand to include our little office.” I stare. “Ron?” I echo, confused. “Ron Parsons, you know, from Parsons Realty up in Wilmington. And don’t worry, I already told him what a great agent you are, and he’s promised to keep your job open, to start with anyway.” I’m stunned. She can’t be serious! Ron freaking Parsons. He with the lime green polo shirts and hard-sell tactics, all smug and hair-gelled. She’s selling the business to him? “But Marcie, I wanted to talk to you about it,” I start, trying to keep calm and professional. “I was thinking I could take over.” Marcie blinks. “You?” “I have savings,” I tell her. “And I could get a business loan, work out some kind of payment plan.” She gives me a patronizing smile. “I applaud your ambition, but honey, you’re much too young.” I bristle. “I closed fifty-three deals in the past year.” “So many?” Marcie looks surprised. She would be. She’s done barely one tenth of that business herself. I can only hope she takes a beat to reconsider, but then she shakes her head. “You’re a great saleswoman, but Ron has a whole team behind him, he knows how the business works.” “Please,” I beg, getting desperate. “Give me a chance, just hear me out. If you’re worried I can’t

handle it, I’ll put together a business plan for you; we can sit down together at the bank!” “Oh sweetie, I wish I could.” Marcie doesn’t seem that regretful. “But Ron and I already shook hands on it, weeks ago. The contracts are all drawn up. It’s for the best,” she adds, comforting. “You’re young, you don’t want the stress of managing a place like this. You just keep on selling, and soon you’ll have other things to worry about, like a family.” Is she serious? I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying something I’ll regret. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off?” Marcie suggests brightly. “Go treat yourself, have some fun. Whatever you want!” I wander back out into the office, dazed. I can’t believe it, that I’ve been busting my ass for so long, and it’s all for nothing. It doesn’t mean a thing. I grab my bag and open the door—and find Lottie sitting on the steps. She gets up, and I can tell from the sympathy on her face that she’s heard every word through the open windows. “I need a drink,” I sigh. “I know something even better.” Five minutes later, we’re sat at Franny’s bakery with a table full of cake. “Too young!” I echo Marcie’s words, angrily waving my fork. “I’ve been keeping that place afloat for years!” “Mmmhmm,” Lottie murmurs supportively. “Does she even care about the clients?” I continue, fuming. “She’s passing them all off on Ron. Ron! His agents don’t know the area, not like me. They’re all flashy suits and no soul, they won’t care about anyone at all. Do you think they’d go help a client break into his new house at three in the morning because he’s left the keys inside? Or mop the basement on their hands and knees when a pipe busts and the buyers are due to arrive any minute?” “Here, try the chocolate.” Lottie slides a plate closer, and I take a big mouthful. “I’ve been working for this. I deserve this.” “So do it yourself.” I pause my rant. “What do you mean?” Lottie shrugs. “Set up on your own. You said yourself nobody knows this town like you do. The agency clients are only there because you take such good care of them,” she adds. “Who do you think they’d choose between you and this Ron guy? You have the money saved, you’ve got your real estate license, so why not go into business for yourself and run the competition out of town?” I pause, a forkful of cake halfway to my mouth. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner, it makes perfect sense. “I guess I figured I needed the agency for the legal stuff, the clients . . .” “Hire a lawyer, woo the clients,” Lottie replies. “Simple.” And it is. I could have everything I wanted, without needing Marcie or anyone else’s permission. But thinking about going out on my own, I can’t help feeling sad all over again. Will would want me to do it. He was my cheerleader, always on my side. I’d never known a guy like that before: someone who really wanted me to succeed, and didn’t get jealous or want to cut me down to size. “You’re thinking about Will again,” Lottie says, sympathetic. “You get this look, like someone just stomped on your heart. Eat some more cake.” “Cake won’t help, not when he’s off with her.” “So what are you going to do about it?” Lottie finally looks impatient. “You’re Delilah Morgan. You never just sit around feeling sorry for yourself. You hustle and get it done.” I shake my head. “Save the pep talk,” I tell her. “I’m still trying to figure all this out.” “Don’t wait too long,” she warns me. “He may say he’ll wait, but life gets in the way sometimes. By the time you make a decision, the chance might be gone.”

“Gee, thanks.” I give a hollow laugh. “Real supportive.” Lottie grins. “You said to cut the pep talk! It’s OK, babe,” she says, patting my shoulder. “Life may suck right now, but at least you’ve got carbs.” We sit and devour our body weights in cake until Kit gets out of playgroup, and I walk home. The boat trailer is still parked outside my place. I need to get it hitched and driven down to the creek again, but now, I find myself climbing up and hauling myself inside. I sit on one of the benches and look around. The old, splintered boards are nowhere to be seen, but there are new things too: a set of waterproof pillows, tucked in a case, and a sturdy built-in box that will be perfect for my fishing gear. I feel a flood of emotion, seeing what he’s done for me. Will’s work is flawless, the wood smooth and polished. He must have worked hours on this, keeping it a secret from me the whole time, putting such care and attention into every piece. My heart twists. God, I miss him so much. How is it that someone can become a part of your life so fast, it’s like they’ve always been there? Being with him, it felt so easy, like we’d always been there, and always would be. “Permission to come aboard?” I snap out of my thoughts, surprised to find someone on the sidewalk. “Daddy!” I blink, confused to see him standing there in his work shirt and tie. “What are you doing here?” “Your mom suggested I stop by.” He climbs up onto the trailer and steps in the boat. “Look at this thing,” he says, sounding wistful. “I can’t believe he’s still around.” “I thought he was a goner, but Will fixed him,” I explain. Dad takes a seat on the bench opposite me and loosens his tie. He must have driven down straight from the office, but I’m still confused. I can’t remember the last time we even met without Mom around. It was back before everything happened; since then, I’ve kept our visits to family dinners and holidays. “I still remember the time you caught your first ten-pounder,” he says, a nostalgic smile on his tanned, weathered face. “You can’t have been more than nine years old.” “Eight,” I say, softening at the memory. “We spent some good times out on the creek in this old thing.” Dad pats the wood. “We should do it again sometime, if you’d like,” he adds, a hopeful note in his voice. I nod slowly. “Maybe.” There’s silence. Dad lets out a sigh. “Your mom told me you and Will were having some problems—” “Dad.” I cut him off quickly. He’s the last person I want to talk to about forgiveness and betrayal right now. “No, you need to hear this,” he insists. His eyes are on me, full of sadness and regret. “I know things aren’t right between the two of us, and they haven’t been since . . . what I did. And I’m sorry about that, sweetheart, you have to know I’m sorry. But those were my mistakes, not his,” he says gently. “I just don’t want you punishing him because I’m the one who really let you down.” Tears well in my eyes before I can stop them. “You hurt me,” I whisper. “I know.” “And I’m scared that if I give him the chance, he’ll hurt me like that, too.” My dad looks at me sadly. “Maybe he will. Who can say? But maybe he’ll turn out to be a better man than I ever was.” Now I can’t hold the tears back. “You’re not bad,” I tell him. Dad fishes in his pocket, and passes me a handkerchief. I blow my nose messily into the cotton. “How do you still have these?” I ask, sniffling.

“I’ve learned they come in handy sometimes. It was how I met your mother, you know,” he adds, with a nostalgic smile. “She was having trouble with her new contact lenses, just standing in the street with tears streaming down her face. I thought she was crying her eyes out; I offered to help beat the man who upset her. She laughed and laughed. I was dressed in my tennis clothes at the time, so I guess I didn’t strike the most threatening figure,” he adds, rueful. “But the offer stands, if you want.” “What, you’ll go knock Will out?” I can’t even imagine that. My father gets squeamish even taking a spider outside. “Thanks, but I’m not sure that would work out too well, for either of you.” “I don’t know.” Dad looks relieved to see my smile. “There’s some fight in the old dog yet, especially when it comes to my baby girl.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not a kid anymore.” “You’ll always be my baby girl,” he corrects me, looking kind of watery around the eyes too now. “And I hope . . . well, I hope that one day we can go fishing again.” I pause, regret aching in my chest. This is the closest and most honest we’ve been with each other in years. “I’d like that, too,” I agree quietly. We sit in silence for a moment, then my dad gets to his feet. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” I rise too, and offer him a hand as he steps back out onto the trailer flat-bed. He pauses. “I just want you to be happy, you know that. But I will say something, coming from the other side of the story.” Dad looks solemn. “Hurting you and your mother was the worst thing I ever did. It still haunts me, and I’ve spent every day since earning back her trust, and making it so she never has to question how much I love her ever again. I don’t know much about your Will,” he says, “but he seemed like the kind of man who would spend a lifetime setting things right.” He climbs down and leaves me to my whirling thoughts. I notice that the handkerchief has fallen, so I bend down to pick it up. That’s when I notice the writing carved into the side of the boat, almost hidden down by the bench. I kneel to take a closer look. This was the day I fell in love with you. My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh, I feel like I just got winded. Hard. Will. There aren’t enough words for how I feel thinking about him, remembering that afternoon in the water, his lips burning hot in the icy creek. And later, together at his place . . . how he knew just how to touch me, drive me to the edge, as if he could read my mind, knowing I’d never let myself fall like that before, but promising to catch me regardless. It was the only time I’ve ever felt something so deep, a connection beyond anything I could imagine, and now, I feel a regret so bittersweet it makes me want to cry. Am I really going to give all this up because of one mistake? My heart aches. I remember what my mom said, about choosing a life with Dad rather than one without him. It seemed so clinical at the time, but now, I see it wasn’t about making a calculation, it wasn’t about rational thought at all. It was just about love. And for the first time, I understand. Yes, it hurts, and yes, I still feel like Will betrayed me by not telling me everything, but right now when I think about the future, and what I want from my life, all I can think about is him. Laughing and talking and driving each other crazy with desire. Waking up with him as dawn breaks through the windows and feeling him reach for me in the middle of the night. I want it so much, I can’t stand it. A life together, my partner, my cheerleader. My love. God, just a couple of weeks without him has already been an eternity. How am I supposed to get

through another sixty years without him by my side? I pull out my cellphone and dial. “Eva?” I ask, when she picks up. “About that trip you suggested . . . can I stay tonight?” My head is still spinning, but I know what I have to do. “I’m coming to New York.”



Twenty-Two. Thanks to my credit card and a last-minute flight, here I am less than twenty-four hours later: walking the busy New York sidewalks towards Will’s last known address, wondering if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life by putting my heart on the line like this. Or if I already made that mistake, letting him walk away. “He’ll be so happy to see you,” Eva reassures me, walking alongside. I stayed at her place last night, and even roped her into coming with me now, in case I lose my nerve. “You guys will fall into each other ’s arms, make out, and live happily ever after.” “I hope so.” She makes it sound like a foregone conclusion, but my stomach is twisted up in knots, and every step makes my pulse race with sick anticipation. I look around to distract myself, but it’s not comforting either. “This is so weird, I just can’t picture Will here at all.” It’s a neighborhood down near the financial district, all sleek doorman buildings, chrome and glass. Everyone on the streets is polished and chic, striding off somewhere with no time to spare. It’s another world from the man I knew: two-day stubble, work-boots and jeans, living in that shack in the woods, and never happier. But I guess we’re not in Oak Harbor anymore. “Are you sure you got the right address?” Eva asks, as if she’s not convinced either. I check again. “I think so. His friend, Declan, says this is where Will had him send some contracts over the weekend.” “It’ll be fine.” Eva can clearly tell how scared I am, because she puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “This was his old life, remember? He already chose to leave it all behind.” I nod, but inside, my doubts are still swirling. What if he’s already chosen to go back to all of this? What if I’m too late, and I pushed him away so hard that he’s really gone for good? We reach the address, one of the fancy new buildings, but I pause on the sidewalk, still unsure. “He might not even be here,” I say, looking up at it. “Or maybe he is, with her.” “Then we’ll cuss him out and go see Hamilton,” Eva replies brightly. “And drink until you feel better—or so hung over it doesn’t matter anymore.” I manage a faint smile. “Thanks for coming.” “Always. Now go get him back.” She gives me a light shove towards the entrance, so I gather up my strength and step through the revolving glass doors. Inside, the lobby is all marble and minimal, and it takes me a moment to even find the elevators. I step into one behind a couple of guys in suits, and watch them check their phones, so clean-cut and focused, barely glancing at their surroundings like on autopilot before they reach their floor. Is this what Will was trying to escape, leaving it all behind the way he did? As the elevator rises, my nerves do too, so by the time I get off on the seventeenth floor, I half want to turn around and go straight back home. But I force myself to head down the hallway to his apartment, every step full desperate hope—that he’s still a man of his word, the way he always promised. That even after everything, he’s still mine. I reach the right door, and lift my hand. Still, it takes another deep breath before I can bring myself to press the bell. My excitement lifts, anticipation already spinning through my veins. God, I’ve missed him. Just to see his face again makes my heart sing a wild rhythm in my chest. I don’t know what I’m going to say

to him yet, but I’ll think of something. I’ll make him see he was right about me from the start. I press the bell again, and then I hear footsteps approaching. The door opens. “Surprise—” I start, awkward, then I stop, the words crumbling in the air between us. It’s Helena, still just as polished as the last time I saw her, in a chic little shift dress and lipstick, her hair smoothed back in a perfect, complicated French braid. My heart sinks. “Oh.” I step back, feeling awkward. “Sorry. I was . . . looking for Will, but I must have the wrong address—” “No, this is him,” Helena interrupts. “He should be back soon.” I stop, the truth sinking in. He’s here. With her. Oh god, I’m too late. “Why don’t you come in?” she offers, holding the door wider. “It’s Delilah, right? We met back in that town of yours. Helena,” she offers helpfully, with perfect manners. “I remember,” I manage to reply. As if I could ever forget. She’s still holding the door open for me, and I don’t know what else to do, so I follow her inside. “Can I get you a drink?” she offers, still so polite. “Water, soda?” “No. Thanks.” I already made a mistake, coming here, but I guess I need to torture myself even more because I can’t help but look around, taking it all in. Every inch is polished and slick, with modern furniture and gorgeous views of the city. It screams “money” from every gleaming surface—and there’s nothing here that even hints at Will. It’s like a showroom, or a photo spread from a glossy magazine: perfect and soulless, not a thing out of place. I turn back to Helena. She’s hovering over by the dining table, fussing with some candles. “I guess you’ve heard all kinds of terrible stories about me,” she says with a forced smile. “No,” I answer slowly, confused. “He didn’t tell me anything at all.” “Oh.” She swallows, and I realize that she’s nervous too. Maybe even more than I am. “I’m sorry for just showing up, that last time I saw you.” Helena looks away, then back, her eyes almost sad. “My therapist said I needed closure, and I guess I jumped the gun.” “Closure?” “To move on,” Helena explains. She exhales, and her perfect posture slips, like she’s letting the act go for the first time. “It just . . . wasn’t working, it hadn’t been right for a long time. I tried to make everything perfect, but I still couldn’t make him happy.” She gives me a sad smile. “I pretended like I didn’t notice, I thought, if we could just push through . . . but he hated work, he hated this apartment, and soon enough, I knew, he’d wind up hating me too. I think that’s why I did what I did. So he couldn’t be the one to break it off first. Petty, I know,” she adds wryly. “I’m working on that with the therapist too.” I stare at her, trying to take it in. Will was telling me the truth—their relationship had been crumbling, she cheated on him. It really was over. But I knew that all along. I’d never doubted his story, only the fact he could hide it from me. “I’m . . . sorry,” I tell her, and right now, I really am. I can’t imagine what it would be like to love Will and still see him slipping away from me. “I’m sorry you both had to go through that.” She gives me a regretful smile. “Not as sorry as I am. But, I’m glad he finally decided to come back and talk it through. There’s so much practical stuff to deal with: breaking the lease, and packing things up. Figuring out who gets what.” She looks around at the apartment sadly. “He says I can take everything. There’s really nothing he wants from our life together.” I would almost feel pity for her, if she hadn’t cheated on the man I love. Luckily, I don’t have to find an answer. There’s the sound of a key in the lock, and then the door

opens. It’s Will, half-buried under a stack of packing boxes. He’s already set them down before he turns and sees me standing here. Our eyes lock. And then there’s nothing in the world but the two of us again. My heart stops. His face has been haunting me for weeks, but now he’s right here, vivid Technicolor and more perfect than anything I’ve seen. Every strand of that thick, dark hair, every inch of tanned skin. I want to hurl myself headlong into those searching hazel eyes and never come up for air. Mine. Every muscle in my body seems to cry it, and it takes all my self-control not to go throw my arms around him and kiss him with everything I have. “Dee.” He says my name softly, a hopeful smile creasing across his lips. “You’re here.” I nod. “I’m here.” The space between us beats with a thousand unsaid words. My head is already spinning, and I can’t look away. I just drink him in, feeling like the center of my gravity has just returned, after weeks left spinning, off-balance and out of control. There’s a delicate sound, Helena clearing her throat. “I’ll leave you two alone then.” She picks up her purse, and walks to the door, pausing by Will. “The movers will be here tonight,” she tells him. “And you have my new address, in case there are any more details . . .” He nods. “Fine.” “Well then.” Helena glances back at me. “Goodbye.” She lets herself out, and the door closes behind her. Still, Will and I are frozen in place. “I didn’t think I’d see you here,” he says, his voice sounding hoarse. There’s so much emotion in his eyes; I can’t tell what he’s thinking, I only know how it feels to be near him again. So right, I could never leave him again. “I didn’t think I’d come,” I admit quietly. “But you’re here?” he says again, almost like he can’t believe it. I nod. “OK.” He exhales. “OK. Is Marcie back yet?” I blink, thrown. “What?” “Marcie. The business. I heard you landed Ash’s contract, that means she has to sell to you, right?” Will looks hopeful, and I can’t believe it. After everything, the first thing he thinks about is me. My career. My dreams. I can’t hold back any longer. I cross the room and hurl myself into his arms, clinging on for dear life. Will stumbles back under the force of my embrace, and then he’s holding me tight, cradling me to his warm, solid body, surrounding me with his scent, his touch. Claiming my lips for his own. It’s incredible. Our mouths are desperate, hungry, fevered after so long apart. I kiss him greedily, losing myself in the sensation. Nothing has ever felt so right. His tongue slides deep into my mouth, tasting me, and I can’t get enough. He pushes me up against the wall, his body rock hard against mine, and I moan into his mouth, running my hands over the taut planes of his shoulders, arching up eagerly to mold myself to him. Will drags his mouth away from mine, his hand cradling my face. “God, I missed you,” he groans, leaning to dip a trail of blazing kisses along my neck. “I missed you too,” I reply, breathless. I’m aching for him, already so turned on I can barely stand. But then I remember where we are. Their apartment. Right in the middle of his old life. I pull back. “Will . . .” I manage to tear myself away from his sinful mouth. “We should talk.”

“Talk,” he repeats, eyes dark with lust. His hands slide over my hips, possessive. He yanks me closer. “Uh huh. Sure.” “Really.” I can’t help smiling, seeing him so undone like this. So gorgeously, utterly mine. I touch my finger to his lips, and give him a meaningful look. “Somewhere that maybe isn’t full of photos of your ex-fiancée?” That seems to snap him out of it. Will steps back, and runs a hand through the hair I just thoroughly mussed. He looks around. “You’re right, I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.” “It’s OK.” Already, I miss touching him. I run my fingers over his arm, find his hand, and hold it tight between mine. “Believe me, I want to be kissing you too right now. And so much more. But we can’t just pick up like nothing’s happened.” Will nods. “I know. So, what do you want to do?” He looks at me with those smiling eyes, and right now, the only thing I want is to drag him to the nearest solid surface and strip him naked, but I need to keep it together. For once in my life, there’s so much more than pleasure on the line. “Let’s get out of here,” I say, the creepiness of this perfect apartment finally getting to be too much. It’s full of the ghosts of an old, dead relationship. I don’t want it to have anything more to do with the start of something new. “Let’s just go somewhere and talk.” Will and I exit his building out to the hot and bustling city streets. We walk, hand in hand, but neither of us say a word. Now that I’m over the first shock—and lust—at seeing him again, all my old doubts and fears are whirling in my mind. I want to be calm, to say the right thing now, but all the questions that drove me crazy back in Oak Harbor are still looming, just as real. “Tell me what you’re scared of.” Will finally speaks. He looks over at me, and the tenderness in his expression makes me ache. “I’ve told you what happened with Helena, and how much you mean to me. But I can tell it’s not enough. What can I do to make you believe in me?” “I do believe in you,” I say, emotion knotting in my throat. “But it still makes me terrified.” “What does?” “Thinking you might do the same thing to me one day.” I admit it out loud, the worst of all my fears. “That you’ll just change your mind again.” “Dee—” Will tries to interrupt me, but I shake my head. Tears are coming now, but I can’t hold back. This is too important not to get it all out, rip my heart straight from my chest and show him everything, every last fear and doubt and crazy, reckless insecurity. “You shed this life like it was . . . like it was an old skin,” I insist. “You just woke up one morning and left it all behind. Your job, your home, your fiancée. How do I know you wont wake up one morning and decide to move on from me?” My last word ends on a sob. Will pulls me into his arms. “Baby,” he says, holding me safely against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, so steady and true. He tilts my face up to look at him. “This, all of this here, it wasn’t real. This was the act, something was missing for me: doing work that matters, feeling like myself when I get up every morning. And you.” He strokes my cheek gently. “I didn’t know how much I needed you until you just showed up on that street, looking so damn determined your car lock didn’t stand a chance.” I manage a sniffling smile. “You’re not a rebound,” he tells me, his eyes intent on mine. “You’re not temporary, or a distraction. You’re everything to me. I love you so much, and it’s been killing me that I might have lost you forever.” I stare back into his eyes, at the only man who ever mattered. Who made me feel like the best,

most brilliant version of myself. Happy. Free. Loved. “You haven’t lost me,” I tell him, and I can feel the relief flood through his body. But I still need to tell him something, the most important thing of all. “I forgive you.” Will doesn’t say a word, but I can see in his eyes, he understands just what that word means to me. And how offering it to him is the biggest gesture of love I could possibly give. He kisses me, and I melt into the moment: the future unfolding, breath by dizzying, glorious breath. A new beginning. A love I never thought I could be lucky enough to find. The man who finally had the strength and heart to prove me wrong. I whisper in his ear, “I’m taking you home.” ALMOST THE END…



Epilogue.

One month later… “We’re going to be late to your own party.” “But I can’t figure out what to wear!” I dash, barefoot, out of the brand-new closet Will only finished building last week. Moving into a falling-down shack has had its challenges, but there are plenty of perks too—like custom shelves made to fit my shoe collection. I hold up two dresses, still in my underwear. “Which one says ‘future real estate billionaire’?” “I kind of like what you’re wearing now. Or, not wearing . . .” Will pulls me closer, sliding his hands over my bare stomach. I laugh, dancing out of reach. “Later,” I promise, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek. “Everyone’s waiting on us, and I need to look perfect.” “You already do.” He pulls me back into his arms for another kiss, and this one is so hot and bone-meltingly deep, I can’t help but fall, breathless against him. It still hits me, every time, that he’s mine. I get to kiss this man, and hold him, and know that he’s here to stay. After we got back from New York, we set about making up for lost time with a passionate whirlwind that barely let up to pause for breath, but tonight, Will takes his time, exploring my mouth with slow, deep strokes as his hands caress over my bare skin and slide all the way under— “Hey!” I laugh, and push him playfully away. “I can’t show up for my big night with sex hair.” “So I won’t touch your hair.” Will gives me a wicked grin. “I’ll keep my hands everywhere else . . .” He trails one hand over the lace of my bra to illustrate, and my pulse kicks. Damn, he’s too good to resist. “Five minutes.” I make him promise, already melting back into his arms. Will chuckles, his mouth already hot against my bare skin. “I’ll do my best.” He does—twice. By the time we arrive at the party, there’s already a crowd spilling out of the small office space into the town square. “Finally!” Lottie grins, coming to meet me through the crowd. “I was wondering when you’d show your face. I told everyone you had car trouble,” she adds with a wink. “My truck would never break down,” Will protests, and I shush him, laughing. “Your manly pride can take the hit. Thanks,” I tell Lottie, looking around. There are balloons and streamers drifting in the summer breeze, music playing, and everyone has a drink in their hand and a smile on their face. “It looks amazing. Did you do all this?” “Me and Sawyer,” she says, smiling. “And Franny and Joe helped with the food . . . Annie and Liv Sullivan brought the flowers . . . Eva and Finn got the music covered. The whole town pitched in.” “I can’t believe it,” I say, touched. “We’re all so proud of you,” Lottie says. “Everyone wanted to help celebrate.” Will squeezes my shoulders. He can tell I’m already tearing up. But this is a big deal to me, and it means the world to share it with my friends and family like this. It’s just a small office, squeezed in between Joe’s pizza place and the local florist, but to me, it’s a kingdom. Delilah Morgan – Real Estate.

The sign above the door is neat and elegant, my name picked out in gold lettering. I signed the lease and filed for my business license, but it still hasn’t sunk in yet that I’m really doing this: going out on my own for the first time. “Ready to go meet your adoring public?” Will asks, hugging me from behind. “Let’s do it.” Inside, we can barely move for people, crowded in the small front office, snacking on deliciouslooking food. Everyone stops to wish me well and offer referrals for future clients. “My cousin is just out of college, looking for a condo with roommates—” “Don’t tell Hank, but I’m thinking we need more space.” “What’s this about a luxury beach-house up the coast?” This one is from Finn, his arm draped around Eva’s shoulders. “We need something permanent for when we’re in town.” I laugh. “Call me next week. Tonight, I’m off the clock.” “Liar,” Will murmurs, a sexy whisper in my ear. “You’re already planning the open houses.” I grin. “You know me too well.” Then I pause. Ron Parsons is nosing around, eying the free champagne. He sees me and comes over. “Just thought I’d drop by, wish you well,” he says, a fake smile on his face. “Nothing like a little friendly competition in the neighborhood. Although, of course, it’s hardly competition comparing my massive firm with your cute little shop.” He laughs, obnoxious, but I just give him a friendly smile. “That’s so sweet of you. Me and my cute little shop will keep you in mind, you know, if I have more business than I know what to do with.” Ron snorts with laughter. “Sure, honey.” Then he catches sight of someone. “Bill?” he asks. The guy biting into one of Franny’s trademark cupcakes freezes with a guilty look. “Bill, man, I thought I was getting an exclusive on your listing.” Bill gives an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, I think I’ll go with Delilah this time. She’s a local, after all.” Ron’s smile looks frozen. “Uh, sure. Great.” “Have fun tonight,” I say, feeling triumphant. Will manages to hold back his laughter long enough to steer me away. “I wish I had a picture of his face,” Will grins. “He doesn’t know what hit him.” “He should get used to it,” I beam. “I’m going to run him out of town.” Will smiles at me. “You’re so hot when you’re being ruthless.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and pauses. “Don’t look now, your parents are here. I think those balloons are bigger than my house!” I turn. “Sweetheart!” My mom descends on us, a massive heart-shaped “Congratulations” balloon trailing behind her. It gets stuck in the doorway, and my Dad and Will have to wrestle to get it out. “Look at all of this.” Mom gazes around. “We’re so proud of you, sweetie. We can’t wait to see what you’ll do next.” Dad comes over. “Congratulations,” he says gruffly, kissing me on the cheek. “And is that your handiwork I see, William?” He points to the gorgeous, polished oak desk we’ve pushed to one side, and the illegally comfortable vintage leather chair. “Aren’t they beautiful?” I ask, squeezing Will’s hand. “I’m lucky he could find the time. His pieces are flying out of the store. Declan’s calling 24/7, begging him to work faster. There’s already a waiting list for his next work.” Will looks uncomfortable. Even after a write-up in Southern Living about his “rustic, Southern gentleman style,” he’s still way too deprecating about his work. “I thought tonight was about singing

your praises,” he says, changing the subject, and I grin. “Tonight, and every other night.” My parents laugh. “You’re learning fast,” my mom tells him wryly. “We’ll see you for dinner on Friday?” “Can’t wait,” Will replies. “And I’ll see you on the creek,” my dad adds to me. I nod, and give him a small smile. I know our relationship isn’t going to be fixed overnight, but it won’t mend on its own, either. If I can see a way to bring some forgiveness into my life, then I’m hoping, in time, I might be able to move on with my father, too. “We’ll let you get back to the party,” Mom says, kissing my cheek. “You enjoy tonight. You’ve earned it.” I spend the rest of the night enjoying the music and friendship and everyone’s best wishes. Half the town shows up, and it turns into a real party, taking up half the block, echoing laughter out across the dark harbor and into the moonlit night. It’s midnight by the time Finn cracks open another crate of champagne, and the call goes up for a toast. I climb up on the front steps and gesture giddily for quiet, but the music keeps playing until Sawyer puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles. Everyone falls silent. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to stop the party for long,” I say loudly. “I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone. All the people who helped put this together . . . all my friends . . . and you, for showing up to eat all this amazing food!” There’s laughter. “But seriously, this means the world to me, to be able to share this new chapter with you all.” I can feel myself tearing up with emotion, looking out at the community I love so much. “I tell everyone I meet that this town is the best place in the world, and it’s all because of the way we show up for each other and lend a hand. So, this is a thank you, for supporting me in this next big adventure.” My eyes find Will in the crowd, and my heart swells, seeing him look so proud, and knowing he’ll be by my side. “Thank you for believing in me and being patient while I figured it all out. I love you, I can’t wait for everything to come.” There’s applause and cheering, but I only have eyes for Will. I go to him through the crowd, and kiss him right there in front of everyone, losing myself in the touch of the man I love as the applause fades away around us, and the stars blaze brightly in the sky. THE END Not ready to leave town just yet? Keep reading for the first chapter of HEARTBREAKER – an Oak Harbor love story, where happily-ever-after is guaranteed.



HEARTBREAKER The new stand-alone HEA from New York Times bestselling author, Melody Grace. They say that time heals a broken heart, but you try moving on when your ex is the most famous man on the planet. Every time I walk down the street, there's a billboard plastered with his gorgeous face: Finn McKay. Now he’s a drop-dead sexy rock star, but when I first knew him, he was just the boy from the wrong side of the tracks - and the first guy I ever loved. He broke my heart into a hundred pieces when he skipped town without saying goodbye – but now he’s back. And he wants me. I’m determined not to make the same mistakes twice, but the chemistry with Finn was always way too hot to ignore. He was the guy who had me sneaking out my bedroom window for just one more kiss, and breaking curfew parked by the riverbanks, steaming up his windows in the backseat of his car. The past five years have been good to him, real good, and between his dirty mind and that ‘I know how to make you scream’ smile, he’s breaking through my defenses all over again. Maybe one last wild fling for old time’s sake is what I need to finally move on. But what happens when Finn wants more than my body? This time he wants everything. HEARTBREAKER is available now! Read on for the exclusive first chapter…

The new stand-alone romance from Melody Grace. Heartbreaker is available now!

HEARTBREAKER

One. They say time heals a broken heart, but you just try and get over the love of your life when he’s the most famous man on the planet. At least, that’s what it feels like when I turn on the car radio. Nothing is playing except his latest hit song. “Bringing you back for your afternoon on 107 Hits, it’s the track everyone’s talking about, Finn McKay—” “Next up, Everyday, from the new number one smash—” “And straight to the top, for music’s own bad boy, Finn—” I let out scream of frustration, and hit the wheel. My horn blasts, and the elderly woman on the crosswalk startles, dropping her grocery bags. Crap. “Sorry, Mrs. Carter!” I call out the window, ready to jump out and help. She flips me the bird and keeps walking. Charming. I head to work and hit the preset for the country station, figuring at least I’ll get some respite there. Maybe a good song about heartbreak, or murder -- either will do. But it turns out the universe really is laughing at me right now. “Did you see the big duet at the Grammys last week? Finn McKay and Carrie Underwood. So by special request, here’s his latest single, Everyday.” There really is no escape. It was bad enough when he was the hot new artist on the verge. At least then I could ignore the gossip and pretend like his five minutes of fame would be up soon. But two years later, he shows no sign of running out of steam. If anything, he’s bigger than ever: two number one albums, a dozen hit singles, and his music in the background of every TV show and movie I try to see. This spring he’s been inescapable, staring back at me from billboards and on the cover of my favorite trashy magazines. Peak Finn. AKA, a constant reminder of the boy who shattered my heart and left town five years ago, stranding my sixteen-year old self without a word. AKA, the reason I’ve developed a serious cookie dough habit, had to boycott my radio, and spend my evenings hate-browsing the latest gossip sites looking at photos of Finn with his latest supermodel girlfriend. But hey, at least I’m not bitter. Back at the Oak Harbor Realty office, I deliver a takeout box to co-worker and new best friend, Delilah, then sink into a chair at her desk. Delilah takes one look in the lunch bag and makes a face. “Screw salad, I’ve got cupcakes!” She opens the box with a ‘ta-dah!’ “Fancy,” I whistle, looking back and forth between the virtuous container of lettuce, and the box of double-chocolate frosting. Who am I kidding? Cupcakes always win. I reach for one and sink my teeth into pure sugar rush heaven. “What’s the occasion?” “I finally closed escrow for Shana Norton on that new townhouse in the harbor.” I high five her. “Does this mean she’s going to tell Mr. Norton she’s leaving him yet?” “Not sure,” Delilah grins. “I’m guessing the moving trucks will be a big clue.” I laugh. “Want me to do the paperwork?” “Would you?” Dee bats her eyelashes at me. “Pretty please.” “Just add it to the pile.” I sigh dramatically, but I don’t mind really. I haven’t closed a deal myself in months, and sooner or later our boss is going to figure out that real estate and I just aren’t a good

match. Delilah knows exactly what I’m thinking, because she gives me a look. “You need to be out there, getting clients for yourself. You could make a great commission if you hustled a little harder.” “Me and hustle don’t get along.” I focus on my cupcake. “We had a falling out years ago. It’s not speaking to me.” “Liar. You hustled plenty at the animal shelter holiday fundraiser. You talked half the town into emptying their wallets.” “That’s different!” I protest. “It’s a good cause. Who can say no to puppies?” “Me,” Delilah curls her lip. “I never got the appeal. They’re all drooling and needy, and piss everywhere. They’re like a frat-boy on a Friday night.” “Cruella,” I laugh. She grabs a file from her desk. “Hustle or not, you’ve got an appointment this afternoon. Some mystery client looking for a rental. I told Marcie you’d take it.” “But I’m not dressed for clients!” I look down at my laundry-day skirt – missing a button – and the shirt that, yup, now has a smear of chocolate frosting over my right boob. I start dabbing, but the stain only spreads. “Look what I’ve done now. You take them.” “Nope. And I’m saying this as your friend, and not because I booked an early nail appointment,” Delilah grins. “Go on.” She shoves the file at me. “It’ll be good for you. Work the whole small-town girl charm. They’ll be eating out of your hand.” “I’ll be eating what now?” A familiar male voice comes from the doorway behind me. Blood rushes to my head. I freeze, my heart pounding. It can’t be. It can’t be. It can. Delilah lets out a shriek, and bounces out of her chair. “Holy shit, Finn! What are you doing here?” I hear a warm chuckle as she launches himself at him. “Hey Dee.” I can’t bring myself to turn around. My mind is racing to try and make sense of this. Finn McKay, here. Now. Why? And why today of all days, when I’ve got a button missing from my shirt and frosting smeared all over my chin? Sure, I’ve pictured the time I would finally run into him again, but in those fantasies I was always looking fantastic, in some great, sexy outfit, out with friends, or – even better – a hot guy on my arm. Never mind the fact I haven’t been on a decent date in months. This was my fantasy, dammit. But it turns out real life is anything but a dream. Bracing myself, I slowly swivel around. Maybe he isn’t hot anymore, I send up a silent prayer. Maybe those magazine shoots are photo-shopped, and in real life he’s skinny with a bad case of adult acne. Maybe— I’m screwed. He’s even more gorgeous in the flesh. All six feet of tanned, muscular flesh. The Finn I knew was handsome, sure, but this is something else. His lithe build has filled out, body taut against a white tee that looks anything but plain, with dark jeans that hug his ass just so. His hair is longer now, pulled back in a low bun with gold glimmering through, and he’s got tattoos I’ve never seen curling down his muscular arms. But it’s his eyes that still stop me in my tracks, blue and stormy as the December ocean. They meet mine across the room in a silent greeting. I try to remember to breathe. Finn may have left a boy of nineteen, but he’s come back all man.

“What brings you back to town?” Delilah is still hanging off him, babbling at full-speed. “Wait, don’t tell me, you decided to bring your whole touring band for a special live show?” She looks around, on alert for a whole crew of hot, tattooed musicians, but Finn just chuckles. “I’m not enough for you, sweetheart?” “No man is,” she smirks. “God, look at you! How long’s it been now?” Five years, I answer silently. Four years, eleven months, and sixteen days, but who’s counting? “A good long while,” Finn answers easily, with that faint twang of Southern drawl soaking his words in sweet bourbon. He hugs her and stands back. “You’re looking good, Dee. How are things?” “Oh, you know, the usual.” Delilah shrugs. “Breaking hearts, taking names.” “I don’t doubt it.” Finn flashes her a grin, the kind of charming smile that let him get away with every reckless bad boy stunt, and left a string of damp panties and broken hearts through the halls of our high school. Including mine. That old familiar grin triggers something inside me. My brain unfreezes. I quickly choke down my mouthful of cupcake and try to discreetly wipe my face. Pull it together, I tell myself, but when Finn finally strolls over to my desk, nothing can prepare me for the rush of emotion. “Eva.” He smiles. “It’s good to see you.” “Finn.” Just saying his name again hurts my heart. I’ve spent years trying not to think of him, trying not to let his face creep back into my mind. It should have been easy to forget him; nobody knows what we shared, and there was nothing left to tie him to this town. But love doesn’t obey logic sometimes, and I’m ashamed to admit just how long it took me to get over him, how many restless nights I wasted to the memory of his kisses, the damp slide of his body against mine. “What are you doing here?” My question comes out harsh, but luckily, Delilah is still in full flow. “Yeah, aren’t you too much of a big shot for our little town?” she teases. “How come you’re gracing us with your presence after all these years?” Finn gives an easy shrug. “I figured it would be a good place to get some R and R. I’ve been touring for two years straight. I need a break. Someplace to lay my head,” he adds, and Delilah snaps her fingers. “You’re Eva’s new mystery client!” “Wait, what?” My chest clenches. “I just gave you the file. Lucky girl.” Delilah grins, and turns back to Finn. “Anyway, it was great seeing you. We’ll have to get a drink while you’re in town.” “If you can fit me in your busy schedule,” he laughs. This isn’t just a fly-in visit? “How long are you staying?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just a week or two?” “No. I’ll need somewhere for a month, at least.” Finn is watching me, and I swear, he smiles when I stop breathing. “I’ve got the rest of the day free to look at places with you.” Finn. This afternoon. Alone. “I’m kind of busy,” I protest weakly, my head spinning. I’m not prepared for this, not even close, but Finn looks pointedly around at the empty office. Oak Harbor isn’t exactly a fast-paced destination, especially before the summer season starts. Aside from Delilah and me, there’s only our boss Marcie around – and she’s napping at her desk in the back. “Sure looks it,” he smirks. My panic grows. “I have paperwork!” Finn doesn’t even reply to that, he just gives me an amused look. “I’ll be in the car. You know, if you want to clean up.” He leans over and snags my half-eaten cupcake from the desk and takes a bite.

“Mmm,” he sounds a low growl of satisfaction, slowly licking frosting from his thumb. My pulse kicks, just watching his mouth. “You always did have a sweet tooth.” While I’m reeling, he gives me a wink and strolls back outside. Delilah lets out a slow whistle and fans herself with a condo brochure. “Hello, lover.” She leans against the desk like she’s swooning. “The road’s been good to that boy. Real good.” “I guess.” I grab the file, and pray we’ve got some decent listings. Hopefully, he’ll want the first place I show him, and this nightmare will be over in twenty minutes flat. “Well, never let it be said I don’t make sacrifices for our friendship,” Delilah adds, dramatic. “I saw the way he was staring. He’s all yours.” “What? No!” My head snaps up. “You’re wrong.” “Mmhmm.” Delilah just laughs, and goes to rifle through her purse. “Come on, the man’s waiting. You can borrow my lipstick.” Part of me wants to walk straight outside looking like this, to show Finn I don’t care at all, but the other part – the one still reeling from that smile – needs a moment to pull myself together. “Thanks,” I tell Delilah, and race to the bathroom. I slam the door, and face myself in the mirror. Oh boy. I drag my hair up into a ponytail and quickly slick lipstick on – then blot it all off again. I can feel the storm of emotions whirling in my stomach, and I run the cold water to cool off my sweaty hands. My reflection isn’t the problem; it’s the illegally hot guy waiting outside. It shouldn’t be a big deal. I used to have game, and flirt with cute strangers in bars all the time, but that was years ago. And besides, Finn isn’t a stranger – he knows me right down to the core. Why is he back here, after all these years? I close my eyes. Finn didn’t just leave town that night after graduation. He erased himself completely. No note, no calls, no casual updates online. He vanished so thoroughly, he didn’t even tell his father where he’d gone. I don’t blame him for that, since the two of them were never close. Lord knows Hank McKay wasn’t exactly the warm, fuzzy type. But still, how could he do that to me? A tap at the door breaks through my thoughts. I startle, splashing water as Delilah’s voice comes. “I know it’s a lady’s right to keep a man waiting, but he’s been cooling his heels out there ten minutes now.” I pause. Not for the first time, I wish we’d been closer friends back in high-school. Delilah was a year ahead of me, so she never knew what happened with Finn. Nobody did – we kept it secret. I didn’t want the small-town gossip, and sneaking around only made things more fun – and more lonely when he left. I didn’t reconnect with Dee until I moved back here after college, and by then, I didn’t want to drag the past up all over again. Now, I wish she knew the whole story, instead of expecting me to swoon and drool right along with her. I shut off the faucet and open the door. “How do I look?” I ask, reluctant. Delilah doesn’t do tact, but I must look pretty pathetic because she gives me a big grin. “Perfect! Irresistible! Now go get him.” She sends me off with a slap on my ass. As I head back out front, I feel more like a sacrifice getting tossed to the lions. You can do this. You’re not a kid anymore, I tell myself, trying to pump myself up again. You’re a grown woman with class, and style, and you’ve got moves he’s never seen. Not that I’m going to use them. What kind of asshole leaves and never even picks up the phone? I dial back every missed call, even when it’s a timeshare scam in Albuquerque. You’d think he could have returned a message from the girl he swore he’d love forever. But when I open the door, and step outside, and find Finn by the curb, leaning again a classic grey Mustang – a molten-whiskey look in his blue eyes– I take it all back. Is it too late to pick the lions?

“So what kind of property are you looking for?” I ask brightly, approaching him. I clutch my file to my chest like it could possibly shield me from that seductive smile and piercing eyes. Finn doesn’t answer. He just opens the passenger door for me. “You cut your hair,” he remarks as I duck into the car. “You didn’t,” I say pointedly. “Touché.” He laughs, closing the door behind me and circling around to the driver ’s side. I watch him, déjà vu rushing through me like a wildfire, hot and insistent. I must have sat in the passenger seat of his car a hundred times or more, all those late nights we’d slip away to the creek or out past the shoreline drive. I would have said once that it was my favorite place in the world, sitting right there beside him with my feet up on the dashboard, humming along to whatever old country songs his beatup AM radio could pull from the wire. “Nice upgrade, huh?” Finn must be reading my mind as he settles behind the wheel. “That old thing took me as far as Georgia before the engine crapped out on me in the middle of highway seventy-five.” Georgia. I have to bite my tongue to keep from asking if that’s where he went. Instead, I pull out the first listing. “It’s waterfront, new build. Just take the beach road out past the harbor.” “Yes ma’am.” Finn doesn’t seem shaken by my cool tone. He cruises through the center of town, one hand on the wheel, the other resting out of the open window. “So, you’re a realtor now? Somehow I didn’t picture you behind a desk selling condos.” I shrug. “It’s a job. I work the office, mainly. Admin, phones. I was lucky Delilah got me the gig. She’s the real mastermind there.” “Now that, I can picture. How’s the acting?” he asks, looking over. “I always wondered if I’d see your name up in lights on Broadway one of these days.” I feel a pang, remembering my life in New York City after high-school – the one he knows nothing about. “I’m not doing it anymore. It was just a hobby,” I answer briskly. “So what are you looking for in a house?” I change the subject. “A dock? Outside space? Room for big parties?” “I’ll know it when I see it.” Great. We keep driving. Oak Harbor is a small coastal community near the mouth of the Cape Fear River, with a bustling waterfront, cute clapboard houses, and a few stores and restaurants leading back from the rocky shoreline. It used to be an old fishing town, but these days, tourism is the main draw. People come from all over to fish off the boardwalk, take the ferry out to see the old lighthouse, and visit the wide Atlantic beaches just across the sound. “This place hasn’t changed at all,” Finn remarks, looking outside as we cruise slowly along the sleepy main street. “Small town life,” I shrug. “We got a new pizza place that stays open past ten on the weekends.” “Living life on the edge.” Finn laughs. Our eyes catch. Electricity crackles, straight from his clear blue eyes down the back of my spine, and I feel the rush everywhere: hot and sweet, pulling low between my thighs. I look away. “How are your folks?” he asks, gripping the steering wheel with both hands now. “Good.” I take a breath, calming myself. “My dad got a promotion to the head office in Savannah, so they’ve moved out there for six months, to see how they like the place.” “And Lottie? She’s, what, nineteen now? She must be off at college.” “No,” I answer quietly. “She’s here in town too.” I quickly change the subject away from my little sister. “It’s this turning, just up ahead.” Finn follows my directions up to the first property: a boxy chrome and glass condo set on the

waterfront, with a balcony looking straight out across the bay. He peers up at it over the steering wheel and shakes his head. “Not for me.” “But you haven’t even seen inside,” I protest. “The view’s amazing.” “I told you, I’ll know it when I see it.” Finn looks at me again, and the intensity in his gaze is enough to make me wonder, why he’s back here of all places? He could be off relaxing in the Caribbean, or sunning himself on a private yacht. Why did he come to our little mom and pop shop instead of one of the big, flashy realtors up the coast? Why, even after everything he did, does my heart race, and my blood pump faster? Just one look from him could make all my heartbreak melt away. He clears his throat, and starts the engine again. “Where to next?” We visit another five houses, but Finn doesn’t even make it inside to look at half of them. “Fame’s changed you.” I’m only half-kidding as we drive away from a great beach-front mansion I would kill to live in. “I guess you’re jaded by all the fancy hotels and private jets.” “Sounds like someone’s been reading the tabloids.” Finn grins. I flush. “I’ve seen a couple of things around. You know, in passing,” I add carefully. “That stuff’s not true is it?” He gives me a wink. “Every word, sweetheart.” I know he’s only teasing, but I still can’t help thinking of all the things I’ve read over the years, stories of Finn dating Hollywood actresses and frolicking backstage with sexy models. I block those images and sneak a look at him instead, that familiar profile and easy posture. His free hand taps out a rhythm on the window frame. He always did have restless hands; he used to say it’s why he first picked up a guitar. He would play for me, just idly strumming as we killed time on those hot, late nights, sprawled out in the grass miles outside of town, watching fireflies spiral in the midnight sky. I suddenly get an idea. “I know the place,” I declare. “Take the highway north, just past the bridge.” Finn does as I say, and soon, we’re pulling up the winding driveway of an old house backing onto the creek. We came here once, years ago. We wandered the empty, run-down rooms before sitting down by the dock, our feet dunked in the cool water. Now the house sits under shady cypress trees, the paint fresh and the front path newly mown. “The Thomas mansion?” Finn asks, slowly getting out of the car. I scramble out too. “This place was falling apart the last time I saw it.” “They finally sold it, a few years back. Some developer took it back to the studs, but they did a really nice job. It still has all the original floors, and that great porch wrapping around the back.” I lead him up to the front door and step inside. I can already see it on his face, that this is the place, but still, I take him through the warm living areas, furnished with classic, beachy furniture, and out back, to where rhododendron bushes and rolling grass lead all the way down to the wide expanse of slow-winding creek. Finn breathes in the salty marsh air and looks out over the water, like he’s already home. “I’ll take it.” “Don’t you want to know how much it is?” I ask. He shrugs, his big-shot lifestyle peeking through. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Ask if they’ll lease it for a couple of months.” I nod. It’s a big property to be rattling around all alone -- but maybe he won’t be. I realize that for all I know, he could have a gorgeous, sexy girlfriend just waiting back at the hotel. “So, just so I know what to tell the owners…will you be staying here alone?” I ask, trying to be casual. The grin he gives me says I failed, miserably. “I should have someone out next week.”

My heart sinks. “To hook up the cable. I can’t be without my TV.” Finn’s eyes gleam with humor. He’s teasing me, dammit. “Great!” I refuse to show I’m ruffled. “Then we’re all set.” I turn on my heel to head back out front, but Finn pauses. “Wait a second. Don’t you want to show me the rest of the property? Upstairs, all the bedrooms?” Me and Finn, alone in a room with a king-sized bed? I’ve had dreams like that, and I know exactly how things wind up: the both of us tangled up naked, sweaty, and gasping with pleasure. But there are consequences to the most perfect moment of release – and I learned that lesson the hard way. “Sorry,” I reply, my cheeks burning. “I can’t stay. I have to be somewhere. I’m already running late.” “Sure thing.” Finn drives us back to the office, still perfectly at ease. But as the miles pass, his nonchalance burns me. Since the moment he walked in he’s been behaving like everything’s fine between us, like it’s no big deal to just show up and act like nothing’s wrong. Or maybe it isn’t, to him. What happened between us may have made an indelible mark on my heart, but what if he barely gave it a second thought on his path to sold-out stadiums and number one hits? My heart suddenly aches so much I want to cry. I need to get away, but I manage to hold it together until he pulls up outside the old carriage house, and I can climb out of the car on unsteady legs. “I’ll get the contract sent over right away,” I tell him. “Don’t I get your number?” I stare blankly. Finn’s lips curl in a teasing smile. “For questions about the lease.” “Oh. You can call the office. Delilah will be able to help you out. In fact, you probably won’t see me again. Like I said, I meanly deal with the admin.” Finn gazes at me thoughtfully for a moment, so long I wonder if I still have frosting on my face. “I like it,” he says finally. “Like what?” “Your hair. You always used to hide behind it,” he says, his smile slipping through my defenses all over again. “Now I can see your eyes.” I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Oh no. Not this time. I turn away and hurry up the steps without looking back, but I feel his gaze on me with every step. This doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself. Finn McKay is back in town, as gorgeous and charming as ever. But I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. For the sake of my heart, I’m steering clear. To be continued… What happens next? Eva and Finn’s story is only just beginning. HEARTBREAKER is available now!

Take a trip to Beachwood Bay: the small town where passion and romance are making waves… Each book is a stand-alone romance following a new couple, but you’ll enjoy reading the whole series and seeing familiar faces return. THE BEACHWOOD BAY SERIES: BOOK 1: UNTOUCHED (Emerson & Juliet’s story begins - novella) BOOK 2: UNBROKEN (Emerson & Juliet’s story) BOOK 3: UNTAMED HEARTS (Brit & Hunter ’s story begins - novella) BOOK 4: UNAFRAID (Brit & Hunter ’s story) BOOK 5: UNWRAPPED (Lacey & Daniel’s holiday novella) BOOK 6: UNCONDITIONAL (Garret & Carina) BEACHWOOD BAY: THE CALLAHANS BOOK 7: UNREQUITED (Dex & Alicia begin – novella) BOOK 8: UNINHIBITED (Dex & Alicia) BOOK 9: UNSTOPPABLE (Ryland & Tegan) BOOK 10: UNEXPECTEDLY YOURS (holiday story) BOOK 11: UNWRITTEN (Zoey & Blake) BOOK 12: UNMASKED (Ash & Noelle begin — novella) BOOK 13: UNFORGETTABLE (Ash & Noelle) *

Discover the start of the epic love story. Unbroken is available now!

Prologue My mom always said there are two kinds of love in this world: the steady breeze, and the hurricane. The steady breeze is slow and patient. It fills the sails of the boats in the harbor, and lifts laundry on the line. It cools you on a hot summer ’s day, brings the leaves of fall, like clockwork every year. You can count on a breeze, steady and sure and true. But there’s nothing steady about a hurricane. It rips through town, reckless, sending the ocean foaming up the shore, felling trees and power lines and anyone dumb or fucked up enough to stand in its path. Sure, it’s a thrill like nothing you’ve ever known: your pulse kicks, your body calls to it, like a spirit possessed. It’s wild and breathless and all-consuming. But what comes next? “You see a hurricane coming, you run,” my mom told me the summer I turned eighteen. “You shut the doors, and you bar the windows. Because come morning, there’ll be nothing but the wreckage left behind.” Emerson Ray was my hurricane. Looking back, I wonder if Mom saw it in my eyes: the storm clouds gathering, the dry crackle of electricity in the air. But it was already too late. No warning sirens were going to save me. I guess you never really know the danger, not until you’re the one left, huddled on the ground, surrounded by the pieces of your broken heart. It’s been four years now since that summer. Since Emerson. It took everything I had to pull myself back together, to crawl out of the empty wreckage of my life and build something new in its place. This time, I made it storm-proof. Strong. I barred shutters over my heart, and found myself a steady breeze to love. I swore nothing would ever destroy me like that summer again. I was wrong. That’s the thing about hurricanes. Once the storm touches down, all you can do is pray.



1. I’m doing eighty on the highway with all the windows down, my dirty blonde hair whipping like crazy in the wind. I’ve got my Ray-Ban sunglasses on, and the radio playing country classics as loud as my beat-up old Camaro will go, trying to drown out the whispers of memory that started the minute I took the freeway exit onto the familiar coastal road. 45 miles to Beachwood Bay. 45 miles to Emerson. I shake it off. We were coming here for years before I met him, I remind myself sternly. Every summer when I was a kid. Months filled with playing in the surf and reading out on our shady back porch. I should have other, better memories of this place without him. But you haven’t been back here since. I block out the treacherous voice in my mind, yelling along with the radio instead. “Gone like a freight train, gone like yesterday…” The song is right, I decide. It’s gone. That summer is so far behind me, I couldn’t see it in my rearview mirror if I tried. I’m a different person from the screwed up, headstrong girl I was the last time I drove down this sandy road. I’m twenty-two now, just a month away from graduating college and starting out a whole new life. I’ve got a perfect boyfriend back in the city, and a great career all lined up. Despite everything that happened here that summer, I made it out—made myself into the person I wanted to be—and even though coming here to Beachwood Bay makes me feel sick and dizzy, like I’m about to jump out of a plane in total free fall, this weekend won’t change any of that. It can’t. Besides, I tell myself, trying to calm the shiver of nerves in my stomach, I don’t even know if he’s still here. I don’t know anything about Emerson anymore. My idle midnight searches online always come up blank. He could be halfway around the world by now, trekking in the African jungle, or knocking back beers on some beach in Australia with a tall, stacked bikini model at his side. Tucked under his arm, the place I used to be… I crank the radio even louder, the country twang ringing so hard I don’t even hear my cellphone, I just see the screen light up from where I tucked it in the cupholder on my dashboard. Lacey. My best friend. I answer, struggling to turn the volume down and keep a hand on the steering wheel. I know I shouldn’t talk and drive, but way out of the city out here, I won’t see a cop for miles. “Hey Lacey, what’s up?” “Are you there yet?” she demands. “Close.” I check the clock again. “About a half-hour away.” “I still can’t believe Danny boy didn’t go with you.” There’s a muffled noise as she gets comfy, and when she speaks again, I can just picture her, curled up in our student apartment in Charlotte, looking out the window over the bustle of downtown. “Isn’t this the kind of thing future fiancés are legally obligated to do?” she asks. “Packing up the summer house you haven’t stepped foot in since… well, you know.” She trails off. The silence sits in the air between us, heavy with grief. Emerson isn’t the only ghost lurking in this town. The pain he caused me was only half my broken heart. I gulp a lungful of fresh, salty air and force the demons out of my mind. “First of all, we don’t know he’s planning to propose.” I shift the phone to a more comfortable position under my ear. “Please,” Lacey snorts. “His parents love you, you’re moving in together after graduation, and he’s been dropping not-so-subtle hints about your taste in jewelry for months now.” “You didn’t tell me that!” My stomach kicks, but this time, it’s with a whole different kind of

nerves. “It’s been kind of hilarious,” Lacey adds. “So, do you think Juliet prefers modern or art deco styles?” she mimics Daniel’s careful East Coast voice. “What did you say?” I ask, curious. Even though Lacey is right—I’ve figured this was coming for a while now—it still feels strange to talk about it like this. Marriage. The future. Forever. With someone who isn’t Emerson. Lacey continues, oblivious to my thoughts. “Princess-cut, classic setting, nothing under two carats. Duh.” “Lacey!” I flush. “What? You said you wanted to build a life with him,” Lacey reminds me. “That you could picture growing old and gray together.” “I did. I mean, I do,” I correct myself quickly. “Daniel is great. He’s kind, and sweet, and smart—” “—and perfect, I get it!” Lacey cuts me off. “So I don’t get why he’s not going with you. Not just for all the heavy lifting and packing, I mean. If my girlfriend was going back to see her ex—” “I’m not here to see Emerson!” My protest comes way too loud, and I flinch, swerving wildly on the road. Lacey whistles. “Easy there. I’m just saying, Danny boy must be super-secure in your relationship if he’s not even curious about the first guy you ever loved.” I catch my breath, trying to calm myself. The last thing I need is to wind up dead, crashed in a ditch before I even reach the county line. I slow my speed and focus on the road ahead. “Daniel isn’t coming because I told him not to. I said I need the space to study in peace. And…he doesn’t know about Emerson.” I admit in a rush. “What?” Lacey’s screech makes me swerve all over again. “You said you told him ages ago!” “I did,” I protest weakly. “I said there was a guy I dated, before college. But I didn’t say he was here. Or how serious it was.” “Serious?” Lacey’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Try, like a fucking anvil.” “What was I supposed to say, Lace?” I sigh, feeling that familiar wash of guilt that always settles over me whenever I think about the half-truths I’ve told my boyfriend. “That I had my heart broken so entirely, it took everything I had not to slash open my wrists just to make the pain stop?” My voice is light now, but the words are true. For the longest time, it felt like I was teetering on a precipice, like one wrong step could send me tumbling into the darkness. The worst part was, there were moments I wanted to take that leap, to just end the pain for good. “Oh, babe…” Lacey’s voice softens. She knows what it was like for me: as my freshman roommate, she had a front-row seat to the damage that summer left behind. The days when all I did was curl in a ball, weeping, the weeks I barely ate or left my room at all, except for classes. She was the one who finally sat me down and staged a one-girl intervention: dragging me out to parties and coffee-breaks and the campus therapist, who prescribed me a whole list of anti-depressants and antianxiety meds. The pills helped—too much, I think sometimes—but Lacey was my real lifesaver, forcing me to fake at being OK long enough that I finally began to believe it for myself. I didn’t meet Daniel until my junior year, and by then, I could almost believe that those dark days were behind me for good. The only visible scar I had left was the tiny blue jay tattoo on my right shoulder blade. I’ve thought about getting it removed, wiping the slate clean completely, but something makes me leave it there to glimpse in the mirror every time I step out of the shower. A lasting reminder of all my dumb, fucked up choices, and the road I swore I’d never take again. Until now. “It’ll be fine,” I say firmly, as if that old fake-it-’til-you-make-it strategy will work now, all over

again. “I’ll pack up the house for the realtor and be back by Monday. I picked up groceries in the city, so I won’t even need to go into town.” “If you say so.” Lacey’s voice is doubtful, but she doesn’t press. “Call me later, babe.” “Love you.” I hang up, and grip the steering wheel determinedly. It’ll be simple: I’ve got a plan, just like I said to Lacey. I’ll get the beach house packed up, hand the keys over to the realtor, and leave town for good this time—no mess, no fuss, and damn well no moping over old memories. I head around the next bend, and all of a sudden, the familiar sign comes into view. Welcome to Beachwood Bay. Population 5,654. Despite all my good intentions to leave the past in its dark, deep grave, I can’t help it. One look at that peeling wooden board is all it takes for my mind to go racing back, four years ago, to the last time I drove down this road. The day when I met him. ***

4 years ago… “…And we can make s’mores in the fire pit, and cycle into town for ice cream like we always used to. Jules? Juliet?” My mom’s voice slips through my daydreams. I’m staring out the window at the haze of gray and moss green blurring past, fiercely wishing with everything I have that I was anywhere but here. I turn. My mom is looking over from the driver ’s seat. “What?” I snap, not even trying to keep the irritation from my tone. “I was just planning all the fun things we can do this summer.” Mom glances out of the windshield at the rain drizzling against the glass. “When the weather clears up, at least.” “We could have stayed in the city another week,” I remind her with a stab of bitterness. “I barely had time to say goodbye to everyone. I’m missing the big graduation party. And Carina gets to stay…” “Your sister has classes,” Mom reminds me. “She’ll drive down with your father next week.” I sigh. My older sister is twenty-two, finishing up college at UNC. She’s majoring in publicity and marketing, and from what I can tell, that just means she spends most of her time strutting around the bars of Raleigh on the lookout for an eligible bachelor. And by eligible, she means a future lawyer or investment banker from the right kind of family, earning six figures with another seven in a trust somewhere. I don’t want to call her a shallow bitch, but she earns it. “We could have waited for them,” I murmur. “I mean, isn’t the whole point of this summer—to be one big happy family?” My voice is full of sarcasm. I see my mom flinch out of the corner of my eye, but she doesn’t rise to my bait. “Another few days would have turned into another week or more,” she says briskly, instead. “And then summer would be half-way done before we even arrived.” I don’t reply. One week is nothing when I’m staring down three months of my fucked up family pretending like everything’s OK. I turn back to the rain-soaked view outside the window, lifting my beloved camera to peer through the viewfinder lens. It’s a manual Pentax SLR, a bulky old antique that my grandpa gave to me, years ago, back before he died. Everyone uses their cellphones now, snapping digital pictures to post online and pass around, but I like the weight of the old camera in my hand, and the hours I have to spend in

the darkroom, gently coaxing each photograph into life. I carefully twist the focus, bringing the view clearer. The sea foams, restless beyond the strip of brush-land and sand dividing the highway from the shore. I press my finger on the shutter and click, praying I make it through the summer without losing my mind. “You’ll be coming here with your own kids soon,” Mom adds brightly. “A tradition. You know, I came here with your grandparents, every summer since I was—” A loud bang sounds, drowning out her voice. The car swerves wildly, suddenly out of control. My chest slams against my seatbelt painfully, and my camera slips from my hands. I grab for it, desperate, as we careen across the wet highway. “Mom!” I yell, terrified. I see a flash of red through the window—the truck behind us in our lane. It heads straight for us, then swerves past at the last second. “It’s OK!” Mom’s knuckles are white, gripping the steering wheel as she wrestles to regain control. “Just hold on!” I cling on to the sides of my seat, thrown to the side as the car keeps spinning. We’re weightless, drifting in the road. Then, at last, I feel the tires get traction again. The car slows, until, finally, we come to a stop along the side of the highway. I gasp for breath, my heart pounding. The red truck we nearly hit has gone off the road further up the highway, front wheels buried up to the bumper in mud and sand. My mom is still gripping the wheel, staring straight ahead, her face chalk-white. “Are you OK?” I ask in a quiet voice. She doesn’t reply. “Mom?” I ask again, reaching out to touch her arm. She flinches back. “What? Oh, yes, honey, I’m fine.” She swallows. “The tire went out, I think. I don’t know what happened. A lucky miss.” Mom gives me a trembling smile, but I feel a tide of anger rise up. “Lucky?” I exclaim, furious. “We shouldn’t even be here! None of us wanted to come this summer, and now we nearly just died. And for what?!” Suddenly, it’s like a mack truck is crushing down on my chest. I can’t breathe, I can’t even think straight. I fumble at my seatbelt with shaking hands and then fling the car door open, stumbling out onto the road. “Juliet?” she calls after me, but I don’t stop. I don’t care that it’s raining, wet and cold against my thin T-shirt and cutoff shorts, I just need to get out. I need to breathe. I stride away from the car, gasping for air. None of this was my idea. We haven’t been back to the beach house in years, not since I was a kid. We haven’t been much of a family in years either, but mom got it in her head that we had to spend one last summer there together—before I went off to college and Carina graduated—and we could all finally stop acting like we were anything more than distant strangers living under the same roof, trying like hell to pretend to the world that everything was OK. Not that we don’t have practice. After all, pretending is what my family does best. Dad pretends he’s not a washed up academic with one failed book to his name and a taste for vodka martinis at four p.m. My sister pretends she cares about more than landing herself a rich lawyer husband with a country club membership and a six-figure bonus. My mom pretends she doesn’t regret throwing her life away on a charming British writer, or notice his late nights “advising” students at the office, and the disdain in his voice whenever he does remember to stumble home. And me? I pretend it doesn’t hurt me to keep pretending. That it doesn’t eat away at me to see how much she still loves him, meek and cowering for the slightest bit of his attention. That I don’t get these awful panic attacks every time I think about leaving her behind when I head off to college this fall. That’s why I agreed to this joke of a happy family vacation, to try to numb this sense I’m

abandoning her. She wants one last summer to pretend? I’ll give it to her. But look where all that pretending has gotten us now: nearly winding up dead in a car wreck before her precious summer even begins. “Hey!” I hear a guy’s voice behind me, but I’m so desperate, I don’t slow down. My heart is pounding now, so fast I feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest. I know I just need to calm down and wait for the panic to pass, but when I’m caught up in the whirlwind, I can’t see straight long enough to try. “Hey, wait up!” the voice comes, louder, and then there’s a heavy hand on my arm, pulling me around. “What?” I gasp, violently yanking back. “What the fuck do you…” My protest dies on my lips as I stare up into the face of the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen. His eyes are the first thing I notice. They’re dark blue, mesmerizing, the color of skies after sunset. It’s always been my favorite time, that moment when the last light of day has faded away, and the first stars come out. Now I’m looking right up into them, endless midnight constellations. Ringed with thick, dark lashes, they burn into me, intense. Full of secrets, full of scars. “Where are you going?” the guy demands, still gripping painfully onto my arm. “You can’t just walk away from this!” I pull away, still dazed. He’s older than me, but not by much, his early twenties maybe: tall and broad-shouldered, skin tanned a deep bronze by the sun. His arms are taut beneath the black T-shirt he’s wearing, damp and clinging to his muscular torso. His body is slim but compact, almost radiating with tightly-coiled power in his black jeans and beat-up workman’s boots. Rain drips from his dark hair, curling too-long around his collar, and on his right bicep, I can see the dark ink of a tattoo snaking up beneath his shirt. He takes my breath away. The world shifts back into focus, and I find that I can breathe OK again. Just like that, my panic begins to ease. “Are you listening?” he demands, face set and angry. Then the anger fades, replaced with concern. “Wait, are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” He reaches for my face, fingers grazing against my forehead with surprising gentleness. I look into those deep blue eyes again and feel a shock ripple through me. Electric. I lurch away, startled. “I’m fine,” I manage, my heart rate finally slowing. What the hell am I doing? I scold myself. Drooling over some guy on the side of the highway? Don’t I have more important things to worry about—like the fact I was this close to dying just a few minutes ago? Now that he knows I’m not injured, the guy’s angry expression returns. “Then you’re lucky I don’t kill you myself right now,” he tells me, grim. “What the hell was that back there? Don’t you know you shouldn’t drive fast in a storm?” I catch my breath, my frustrations all boiling over at once. “First of all, I wasn’t driving,” I yell back. “And second, it was an accident! Our tire blew, it happens. How is any of this my fault?” I challenge him, folding my arms. His eyes follow the motion of my arms, and I’m suddenly painfully aware of my thin T-shirt, now wet through and clinging against my chest. I shiver, seeing a new hunger in his eyes as his gaze trails down my body, lingering on my bare legs. I feel my skin prickle, and my breath catch, not with discomfort, but something new, some kind of heightened awareness. I feel a heat pool, low in my stomach. The guy drags his gaze back up to meet mine, and then he looks at me with what I swear is a smirk curling at the edges of his perfect mouth. “How are you the mad one right now?” he asks. “I’m the one with my truck totally fucked back there.”

I look past him. His truck is nose-deep in a sandbank, back wheels spinning. “Yeah, well we’ve got a flat tire and no spare.” He smirks for real this time. “What kind of idiot doesn’t keep a spare? We’re miles out from anywhere.” “Maybe the kind of person who drives in the city, where we have little things like cellphone signal and tow trucks!” The smirk fades. “You’re summer people,” he says, like it’s a crime. “Let me guess,” I shoot back. “You’re a townie with a chip on your shoulder. Well, maybe you should save the issues until we both get out of here.” He opens his mouth in surprise then stops. He looks around at the wet empty highway, and finally, it sinks in that I may have a point. “Fine,” he says, grudgingly. “I’ll call for Norm to come get us.” “I thought there wasn’t signal out here?” I frown, pulling out my phone from my pocket again, just to check. “I’ve got a CB radio in the truck.” He heads back towards the red pickup. “Stay there!” “Where else would I go?” I sigh, watching him walk away. I trace the back of his body with my eyes, absorbing the grace in his gait. Then he turns, catching me. I blush, hoping frantically that he can’t see my pink cheeks in the rain. “You didn’t tell me your name,” he calls. “You didn’t ask!” I yell back. He grins and waits, until finally I surrender. “Juliet,” I tell him, and wait for the snarky quip, but instead, he just cocks an eyebrow at me. “I’m Emerson,” he calls. Then he smiles, a flash of something true and reckless, so darkly beautiful I feel my heart stop all over again. This is what they write stories about, I realize, as if from far away. All those books and movies and poems I’ve read, this is what they all were preparing me for, the day when a strange man smiles at me, and makes me forget who I am. His eyes meet mine, and I swear my blood sings, hot in my veins despite the cold, damp rain trickling down my back. “Welcome to Beachwood Bay.” Emerson and Juliet’s story is only just beginning. UNBROKEN is available now!

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