Pour Your Heart Out - Zoe Lee

Contents Title Page Copyright Dedication Acknowledgements 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 Epilogue About The Author





Pour Your Heart Out

Zoe Lee

Obligatory Disclaimer It must be mentioned that this is, in fact, a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people or places is purely coincidental. Pour Your Heart Out, Maybelle County and all properties within are copyright © 2016 by Zoe Lee Books and Foolish Endeavors, LLC.

Dedication For Matt, my favorite in this life and all the lives to come

Acknowledgements To my husband Matt, for loving me for who I was when we met and every day since, and for being my editor. To my dad, the poet and the sweetest, strongest person I know; and to my mom, who has never stopped searching for ways to create and things to inspire her. To my best friend Candace, without whom I could never have turned characters and an idea into a book. To Lorrie, the very best mother-in-law anyone could wish for. To Staci, who pushed me and then hugged me, and then pushed me again. To all of the moms in the writer ’s group I was so very lucky to have found, who shared their work, encouraged me, and gave me the opportunity to brunch. To all of the beta readers for your help and honesty.





CHAPTER ONE Chase Chase Cade slid into her rental car, a white Audi convertible, and caressed the steering wheel in delight. She hadn’t driven in months, so she drove away from the W Washington DC carefully. But as soon as she was out of the capital headed west, she pushed play on her most energetic playlist. With every mile and every rollicking, upbeat song, the lingering stress from her trip to the Middle East blew out into the summer air and was gone. When her cell rang five hours later, she answered and shouted, “I’m in a convertible!” “That would explain why it sounds like you’re in a tornado,” her best friend Sunny said. After three weeks with a tour group where everyone else had a significant other or friend, Chase was so happy to hear Sunny’s deadpan wit again that she laughed at that. “Since you’re in a convertible and not an airplane, does that mean you got my present?” “You’ve gotten me a lot of random presents over the years, but a one-hour massage at a spa in someplace called Maybelle, Virginia, has to be the most random,” Chase told her. Sunny chuckled. “Yeah, but you’re intrigued, right?” “All of your travel suggestions so far have been amazing, so, yeah.” “Before I explain, how was the Middle East?” Her shoulders rose and fell in a shrug even though Sunny obviously couldn’t see. “The sites were so damn beautiful, but I got a little lonely,” she admitted. “That’s not what I expected,” Sunny returned after a grunt of surprise. “You’ve been having so much fun traveling and making connections with new people, being all social.” “I know, but I think having a lonely three weeks, out of the six months I’ve been traveling, is still a pretty good track record,” Chase countered with the optimism she’d rebuilt since she’d quit her job as a corporate lawyer and started to travel the world. “Absolutely,” Sunny affirmed immediately. “And Maybelle is going to be a great place to forget all about the buttholes in your tour group who didn’t see your awesomeness.” Chase burst into laughter so hard her foot lifted off the gas for a second. “What’s so special about this county in Virginia then? You’re a California city girl through and through.” “First off, it was founded by a Civil War widow with three daughters,” Sunny started enthusiastically. “It was all farming until a trucking company started up, but then fifteen years ago, Maybelle got into the tourism industry. There’s three freshwater lakes—” “Sunny,” Chase interrupted, fighting snickers. “I’m already driving there, you don’t really have to sell me on it. Just tell me how you know about it, and why you want me to go.” “The spa is in a La Fontaine resort. That pint-sized graphic designer I’ve been seeing told me about

it while we were at that luncheon, the one with the amazing cream puffs.” “Before, when you were reading me the Wikipedia entry,” she teased, “I was into the story of the fading rural town that leverages local beauty to make it thrive again. Now I’m really excited though. Forget the revived-by-tourism thing, that happens all over the world. But there are only six five-star La Fontaine resorts in the world, and I’m going to one!” There was a noise that Chase recognized as Sunny smacking her palm into her forehead. “Yes, get the massage. That’s why I bought it. But don’t just hole up in the resort. It’s almost the 4th of July and you’ll be in a cute southern tourist town. Listen to live music, sit on a beach, write some fluffy blog entries for me and your family to enjoy.” While Sunny’s tone was light, Chase knew she was offering real advice too. Ten years ago, Chase had really wanted to be a corporate lawyer, and she had achieved the goal with single-minded focus. But her coveted job at Ingelson & Barnes in Silicon Valley and her boyfriend Troy, who had his own coveted job at Sharpe, Sharpe & Teller, hadn’t brought her satisfaction, no matter how hard she’d worked on it. Six months past it and three thousand miles away, it was much easier to shake off those regrets, especially while she zipped down a highway talking to her very best friend. She was going to Maybelle County, where she’d have new chances and experiences. Her regrets weren’t big or fresh enough to dampen her enthusiasm for more than a minute. “You’re so right,” she finally declared. “Great, because I have to get on a conference call in three minutes,” Sunny told her, “and now I have enough time to tell you the other thing I heard about Maybelle. It’s not exciting to me, but it’s going to be so good for you. This county is full to the rafters with hot men.” Chase gave an exaggerated groan. “I’m not traveling so that I can see hot men!” “No, but if you haven’t had at least one vacation fling yet, you’re missing out.” And then, before Chase could argue with her assertion, she sang out, “Gotta go, love you, bye.” Snorting, Chase shook her head and turned up her music again, enjoying the simple pleasure of driving and singing loudly where no one could hear her. Only a few songs later, she saw the Welcome to Maybelle sign. She pushed her sunglasses up into her hair as she took the exit, so she wouldn't miss any details. Farmland shifted to intentional, well-kept neighborhoods, the lots smaller and the houses fancier as she neared the center of town, everything decorated for the 4th of July later this week. When she saw Maybelle Square, which took up a block and had a large gazebo in one corner and a booth with a Tourist Info sign on it, she parked nearby. Tourist Info offices were sometimes less than helpful, but Chase always made it a point to start there if she was exploring someplace without a tour group. It helped her make connections, and she was good at reading faces, so she learned a lot more about a place. After she stretched, she rushed towards the booth and pulled on a beaming smile. It was still a mask, just like the prescription-free glasses she’d worn as a lawyer. But every time she used it, it became a tiny bit less of a mask and a tiny bit more of a natural expression. Once, when she was an aimless freshman in college, she’d beamed and laughed and flirted all the time, without feeling any stress or nerves, easy and free and natural. But now, she had to work on it all, fight her way back to her old, organic self. So when she reached the booth, Chase greeted the old lady under an umbrella, her leathery arms folded on the counter and her bosom in her lap, “Hello. I know it’s last minute, but is there a room available in town?” The old lady’s eyes slid down, measuring her. She knew her outfit was too snotty, so she added, amping up the beam a little bit, “I saw the low-

budget hotels on the highway, but I’m planning to stay a week and I’d love to stay someplace with a warm feel to it.” “The Orchid Hotel, just there behind me, and the five-star resort are sold out,” the old lady said, but relented after Chase looked at her hopefully. “You might try the Dogwood Inn,” she suggested, her face softening further as Chase beamed again. “Would you like me to call?” After Chase nodded, she used the tip of a thick red marker to dial. “Hey, Jesse,” she asked, “you got anything starting tonight, for about a week?” She hummed an affirmative, a negative, and two affirmatives before she told Chase, “They only have the gable room, and it’s in the middle of being repainted. She’ll discount it to $149 a night.” “Does it smell like turpentine?” The old lady repeated the question and Chase could make out an indignant squawk before the old lady shook her head no. “Then I’ll take it.” The old lady hung up after another brief, mumbled exchange. “They’re holding it for you under Tourist Information until six,” she explained. “After six, they’ll give it away if someone else wants it, on account of it being such a busy time of year.” “I’ll be on time, I promise.” With another nod, Chase pointed at the maps stacked under the old lady’s arms. “Can I have one? And is there anywhere you recommend I go?” The old lady uncapped the big red marker and started to mark up the top map on her stack as she gave her speech. “The star is us here. The stores on the Square and on the backside of those stores there are the most popular for visitors. The three lakes are down these two roads; this blue dot is the public beach. There are a few restaurants and things up here, but that’s a little ways from the downtown. This exclamation point is the Dogwood Inn. The drive is almost hidden, so you be careful and watch for the sign.” “This is great,” Chase praised her as she whisked the map up. “Thank you so much.” “Not at all,” the old lady replied. “Enjoy your stay, ma’am.” “Thank you,” Chase said again, too amused to be annoyed by being called ma’am. She strolled across the street to the shops that bordered two sides of the square, which had matching blue-and-buff striped awnings. All of the doors were propped open with decorative statues, vintage lamp posts waiting to be lit up against a wide-open night sky on the other edge of the broad sidewalk. Chase usually wasn’t charmed by constructed warmth, but she stopped outside of Honey’s Salon when a chorus of laughter burst through the open doors. When she peeked through the window, she caught her reflection in it and saw her yearning to be in there, laughing boisterously too. But it was almost five-thirty, so she headed straight for the Dogwood Inn, north of downtown. She kept her eyes peeled for the sign the old lady at the Tourist Info booth had said was easy to miss. It was discreet, although the inn was a white-washed, three-story Greek revival whose porch supported six Doric columns—not easy to miss. She parked in the gravel lot behind it and took in the grounds. Acres of open land dotted by black willow trees kept the inn private, while the vegetable, flower, and herb gardens that had been planted haphazardly made the vista charming. Glad that she was staying here, she got her things and walked into the inn’s foyer. “Shit!” yelped a startled black man on a tall ladder, grabbing hold of the molding he was repainting as the ladder listed. “I apologize, ma’am; I didn’t mean to curse,” he said as he climbed nimbly down the ladder. “How can I help you?” he asked. “I like that. Everyone here asks how they can help.” She offered him a cheeky smile. “I don't know if it can be considered helping, but I have a reservation under Tourist Information.” Nodding, he crossed to the reception desk and slipped behind it, fumbling around with the computer as he muttered, “I don't usually do this part, but Jesse—the manager, who's normally at the desk—stepped out for some last-minute dinner supplies. Shallots,” she swore he muttered, but she

couldn't be sure as she suppressed a grin. “To confirm, your reservation is for six nights in the South Gable with a rate of $149 a night plus tax.” “Yep,” she chirped, handing over her driver ’s license and credit card. “Someone did explain that the room’s being redecorated?” he followed up. “Sure did. I don’t mind as long as there’s not an awful smell?” she double-checked. “No, no, nothing like that,” he reassured her. He waited until she nodded again before he went to work slowly on the computer, frowning in concentration. She peeked into the formal parlor and empty study that flanked the large foyer until he said, sounding relieved, “There we go. So you'll go through the study, take the stairs to the third floor, and your room will be just to your right. Breakfast is included in your rate and is served from five-thirty to nine. The dining room is open for dinner on Friday and Saturday from five to nine-thirty. There’s always coffee in the parlor. Do you have any questions?” She smiled as she accepted the actual key he held out, charmed by its size and weight. “Thank you for all of your help and I'm sorry I scared you on the ladder, Mr. ...?” “I’m Munn,” he told her. She held out her hand even though his were covered in traces of paint and probably turpentine. With a somewhat bemused expression, he clasped her hand briefly. “It's nice to meet you, Mr. Munn. I’m Chase. Have a good night if I don't see you later.” “Thank you,” he said. She smiled and gathered up her things before following his directions towards her room. She was halfway up the first flight when she heard Munn call, “Chase!” She twisted to look down at him as if she had all the time in the world. “The dining room fills up real quick on a Friday. You ought to come down sooner rather than later,” he suggested. With another thank-you, she skipped up the stairs.



CHAPTER TWO Chase Chase’s room was a beautiful space in a round gable, and the only signs that it was under construction were that the wallpaper had been stripped and dropcloths, primer and other painting supplies were stacked neatly in the tiny closet. After she settled in, she flipped open her laptop at the lovely table under one of the windows and did some research on Maybelle. She knew it was silly to make an itinerary when she had no time constraints, didn’t really have a budget, and was alone, but she liked knowing that she had a plan. She tried to balance things that looked worthwhile with things that had mixed reviews, and always penciled in alternatives in case something was closed or sold out. It was a method she’d developed after her trip to London, a city so thick with history and culture crammed into a relatively small geographical area. She had gotten so overwhelmed trying to wing it. Besides, after years of being scheduled practically minute by minute, it was a little too free and breezy to simply have absolutely no schedule at all, indefinitely. Grumbling at herself, she changed clothes, grateful to wear something sleeveless, tight and sexy, instead of the khakis and long sleeves she’d worn in Pakistan and Iran for the last three weeks. She wanted to go to Wild Harts, a restaurant-bar that was having live music tonight, but she could tell from its website that it was a locals’ haunt. When she was a lawyer, she had often powered through work alone at a table, and as tourist, she usually didn’t mind because she wasn’t working or being stood up, she was simply... eating alone. But eating alone while surrounded by locals who all knew each other, who were about to dance and listen to music together, that was different. That was like going solo to a wedding where you only knew the bride. So she opted to take Munn’s super nice suggestion and eat at the inn’s dining room. When she walked in, it had a relaxed atmosphere, the way she imagined a cozy library in a stately mansion felt, except with ceramic plates and cups that she thought were handmade. The menu was what she imagined would be described as simple country fare, except the special, falafel and tagine, which made her smile. When the server came, she had to ask, “Is there a reason for tonight’s special?” The server tried to hide a roll of his eyes and explained, “The chef used to own a fancy restaurant in L.A., and he gets to serve whatever specials he wants.” “That’s wonderful. I’ll take it,” Chase decided, smiling broadly. The server couldn’t quite manage to hide his shock at her choice and forgot to take her menu when he left. She took the opportunity to flip it over and see if the chef’s name was on it somewhere, then noted it down so that she could look him up later. She wondered if she’d ever been to one of his

places when she was in L.A. for work. Like she often did, she pulled out her cell, messing around with social media and checking up on newsfeeds and her favorite websites. But when the server brought her the falafel, she flushed and looked around. If she was going to keep up her travel momentum, if she was going to get better at being herself, then she couldn’t hide behind her cell. Of course, she couldn’t simply strike up a conversation with the table next to her either, not in a place like this. But she watched the other diners and the small staff, trying to guess how many were guests and how many were locals looking for a quiet spot. She finished her falafel and her server came back with the tagine, a spicy stew she’d fallen in love with at a Moroccan restaurant in Paris last month. It was just the right amount of everything—spice, size, meat to vegetable ratio—and when the server returned to offer coffee and discreetly leave the check, she asked, “Will you please pass along my compliments to the chef? This was really good.” “Um, of course?” the server replied, as if it were a question. A minute later, a somewhat grizzled, somewhat burly middle-aged man plowed through the tables over to her, where he put his hands on his waist and stared down at her. “You,” he boomed. “You liked my tagine?” Her eyes wide, Chase gaped, nodding. The man swept his arms wide and turned in a quarter circle as if accepting adulation from a crowd, his eyes sparkling with joy. “How fantastic,” he crowed, then swept into a sort of bow so that he could whisper, loudly, at her, “You’re the first to ever order that.” “How long has it been on the menu?” she managed to ask, startled by his almost chubby face hanging just above hers, his distinctly garlicky breath hitting her in puffs. “On and off for some years now,” he said. She made a slightly distressed noise, but gathered her wits. “You’re very dedicated.” “I thought of giving up many times,” he sighed. But then he winked and said as he brushed at his grayed curls, “But my nephew, he owns Lorenzo’s in The Orchid Hotel... Ah, I can see you haven’t been there yet. You must. But anyway,” he waved that away, “he has a Mediterranean theme going, and he always brags at the specials he can sell.” “So you just had to beat him?” she suggested, grinning now at his enthusiasm. “You understand!” He nodded so fast that his hair bobbled in a blur. “I am going to tell our skeptical manager that she has finally gotten a guest worthy of my palate.” Choking on a laugh, Chase took a hasty sip of her wine. “Thank you, beautiful girl,” the man said, making that half-twirl again before he left, chest puffed up like a rooster. “Victory,” he boomed as he pushed back into the kitchen. Unable to help it, she laughed a little, even though everyone’s eyes were on her. Once she’d paid and filled out a very complimentary review card, she went outside and walked, full but not stuffed, across the parking lot to her rental convertible. A woman was propped against the tree near its front bumper, hazily lit. “You must be Miss Cade,” she said in a soothing, careless kind of voice. “I’m Jesse Riley, the manager.” “It's nice to meet you,” Chase replied. “I appreciate that you’re letting me rent the South Gable, even though I’m sure it’s putting you behind schedule getting it finished.” “Oh, it’s nothing for you to worry about,” Jesse said as she stepped out from beneath the tree’s shadow. She was a tall, wiry woman in her mid-twenties who wore a soft gray work shirt tucked into jeans faded nearly to white, a cigarette dangling casually from her fingertips. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she added as she held out a rough hand and pumped Chase's softer hand firmly. “You made our chef very, uh, happy tonight.” Chase leaned against the car and smiled. “Well, it was very good.” Jesse made a soft snort and said, “I wouldn’t let it stay on the menu, no matter how loudly he says

it’s in his contract to have full control over the specials, unless it was.” Chase laughed and guessed, “I bet you’d never tell him that, though.” “Definitely not,” Jesse agreed with a shrug, caught between modesty and brevity. “I like the inn, too, by the way,” Chase felt compelled to continue, “I love the layout of the ground floor, the interior, you know, and your decor. My gable’s going to be so nice.” “Thank you,” Jesse said slowly, her brows drawing together, “but I can’t take credit. I’m just the manager—the inn came with these bones and the owners hired the decorators. All I did was oversee the crew who overhauled the bathrooms and updated the kitchen to commercial grade so that the chef would agree to come work here.” “I wouldn’t know how to oversee a construction crew,” Chase replied with a laugh. Jesse’s eyes flicked down to Chase’s necklace and silk top, and then said, “Well. It looks like you’re heading somewhere. I won’t talk on and on.” Chase recognized the signs of being a little bit uncomfortable around strangers, maybe without the inn’s front desk between her and them to set up rules. She jiggled her keys absently, her eyes narrowed, and she said quietly, “You’re not going on and on.” Jesse only shrugged, this time barely a twitch of one shoulder. Chase forged on, feeling like Jesse would be a great resource, “People told me to go to Wild Harts tonight, for drinks and music. Is it good? Or is it too loud or something?” “Tourists who want a bar or music usually head to the 3 Brothers, right on the Square,” Jesse replied in a no-nonsense tone while she stubbed her smoke out on the sole of her boot. “Oh,” Chase said, disappointment taking some of the wind out of her sails. Dropping the butt in her breast pocket, she studied Chase with clear eyes and then said, as if relenting, “But Wild Harts is my favorite. It’s a good suggestion to take.” Caught by the simple, yet strong, endorsement, Chase bobbed her head. But if Jesse was so reluctant to endorse Wild Harts to one of her guests, then Chase felt ninety percent confident in the deduction that almost no tourists would be there. That brought back her nerves, even if she was excited by the prospect of a night out with music and drinks. For her, being nervous led to feeling daunted, and when that happened, she tended to revert to lawyer mode. Because she didn’t want that, she plunged in and asked, “Do you want to come with me?” She’d tried to sound casual, but Jesse’s eyes dipped to where Chase's hand had a pretty tight grip on the car keys, and Chase flushed, knowing she didn’t look casual at all. After a hard heartbeat, Jesse said, “It is my night off...” Chase added, a little earnestly, “I could drive.” That seemed to tip the balance, and Jesse nodded. “Okay. Let me text Munn so he’ll know I’m not on property, and then I’ll give you directions over there.” “Sure.” They got in the convertible and Chase turned over the engine, idling until Jesse was done, and told her to take a right. “So you and Munn run the inn together?” “No, Munn does maintenance and landscaping part-time. I’m here year-round,” Jesse explained as she hung one arm out of the car. “The owners did major renovations about ten years ago when tourism picked up, and now we’re updating again... Take a left.” Turning, Chase said, “It has a good feel to it. Trust me; I've stayed in a couple creepy inns.” Jesse let out a soft laugh and they fell quiet except for Jesse’s directions. “Wow, it's like a Christmas tree,” Chase exclaimed when she turned into Wild Harts’ parking lot, which had blue, red and purple twinkle lights strung up between the light poles. “This is great,” she breathed, as they got out and walked towards the restaurant. Two wide oak doors were propped open with a pair of heavy rocks, an impressive entrance for a plain building that looked like a wood cabin. It had electrical paper lamps hung from the eaves,

giving it a don’t-give-a-damn air. People ranged around the well-lit side door, smoking and holding their drinks. “Hey, Jesse,” they all yelled. She raised a hand and yelled back, “Hey, y’all.” But she guided Chase to the main entrance as she added in a mutter, “Small towns: where everybody knows your name.” The interior was more like a barn than a cabin, the ceiling higher than it looked from outside, and had fairly typical country bar furniture and decor. Posters and community notices were pinned up near the bathrooms, there was a small stage with a band on break, and people danced to music from the sound system. It was warm and welcoming, even if it was plainer than any of the bars she’d frequented near her old law firm. “Do you want to sit at the bar or at a table?” Jesse asked at her elbow. Chase looked over at the bar. A lone bartender glanced over at them, as if it were an automatic thing to note who was coming in, while he scratched his head through his backwards ball cap, one thick bicep twitching beneath his tshirt sleeve. “Definitely the bar,” Chase murmured without thinking. She made her way towards the gleaming, darkly stained wooden bar that ran along the right wall of the restaurant, Jesse a step behind. It was a miracle she didn’t run into someone, focused so intently on the bartender, her mouth drying out. He had taken a step back, which brought his face into high relief under the mood lighting hung over the bar. It was a rugged face, his nose a little crooked and his mouth a little thin, and there was something rock-like about him. The restaurant was all cheerful, chaotic energy, and while it dared Chase to join in for the night, the bartender seemed as if the chaos and energy just flowed around him without trying to sweep him up or break him down. “Do you want to sit?” Jesse asked, tapping the only empty stool, her voice pitched to carry over the band that had just started up again. “Are you sure?” Chase asked, still caught up in figuring out what it was, exactly, about the way the bartender held his tall, solid body that kept her eyes riveted to him. “Please,” Jesse said, eyeing Chase’s wedges. Chase hopped on, then pushed in a circle when she realized it could spin and there was enough space to avoid kicking anyone, chuckling with childish satisfaction. She looked up and found the bartender handing over two beers right nearby. Her eyes skimmed up his body slowly, her breaths coming quick inside her shirt, which was a little too tight across the chest. His hands stilled, hanging for a second as the customers took the beers from him, when he caught her. His pale brown eyes flashed. With no move to make other than braving it out, she grinned at him. He shook his head like a dog as one of the customers handed him a credit card. Once his back was turned, Chase snapped out of it and spun her chair a fraction so that she could look at Jesse, whose forearms were braced over the edge of the bar. “Thanks for agreeing to come with me tonight,” she told Jesse earnestly, even though it was hard to say it so plainly. “I like the feel of it in here, and the band’s fun.” “Thanks for inviting me,” Jesse replied, as awkward as Chase had been. A waitress ducked under the bar. “Hey, Jesse,” she said. “Bourbon?” Jesse’s eyes flicked over to Chase and the waitress’s eyes narrowed protectively. “Yeah, thanks,” Jesse said, then cleared her throat when Chase’s wide grin faltered. “Chase, this is Leda Riveau, coowner and my best friend. Leda, this is Chase Cade. She's staying at the inn, invited me out tonight.” At this, Leda looked up from pouring a water, expression relaxing. “Good for you.” “This isn't a date!” Jesse hissed. Leda didn't bother to hide her shark-like grin, popping an ice cube into her mouth. “Honest

mistake. Sorry about that,” she said insincerely as she crunched the ice. “You don't have to sound so offended by the idea,” Chase protested indignantly, “I'm, like, totally a great catch, you know... Or I would be, if I were a lesbian.” Jesse let her forehead thunk onto her forearm where it lay on the bar. “Oh, God, did you think I was asking you out?” Chase babbled, all of her social skills dissolving under the idea that she’d lead Jesse on when she’d invited her out. “I’m so sorry, I’m from San Francisco but I still have a horrible gaydar and...” “No, no,” Jesse denied immediately, her voice choked, “I can tell you’re straight.” Her eyes flicked over at the bartender, who was still thankfully faced away, and Chase’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment that she’d been caught ogling. “Don’t apologize.” “I just keep hoping you’ll meet another lesbian, is all,” Leda added. Chase couldn’t help it—her eyes bugged out. “Another lesbian? You’re the only one?” “Yup,” Leda confirmed. “Tourist season is pretty much her only chance to get laid.” “Holy fuck, stop saying that to strangers, Leda,” Jesse groaned. Chase could tell that Jesse was uncomfortable, which obviously hadn’t been her intention when she’d invited Jesse out, so she made a clumsy stab at changing the subject. “So other than your fine establishments, where else do you suggest I go or not go while I’m here?” “That could be a long talk, and my break’s over,” Leda declared, and was gone. “No offense, but I'm off the clock,” Jesse told her. “Can we talk shop another time?” Feeling embarrassed that her attempt at small talk was a work question, for both of them in a way, she nodded quickly. Jesse lifted her sweating glass to take a long swallow and Chase's brows drew together as she realized that Leda hadn't taken her order. She swiveled on her stool and spotted the sexy bartender. She tried to call out to him over the ambient noise and the band, but it came out a croak. “Excuse me?” The bartender didn't act like he’d heard. Jesse shouted, “Aden!” Chase watched his hands as he put the last empty glass in a tub of dirties and then hung, loosely curled, alongside his thighs as he strode over. “Hey Jesse,” he said, and she dragged her eyes up to see him flicking his chin up in an abbreviated what's-up nod. Up close, Chase could see that he had the same coloring and bone structure as Leda; he had to be related to her. “Another bourbon?” he asked, his voice authoritative and unruffled. “Nothing for me, something for her,” she answered, indicating Chase. “Leda ran off.” With a grunt, Aden looked impassively at Chase. “Whiskey sour, please,” she told him. “Five-fifty,” he said without inflection as he slid it over with two fingers a minute later. “Thank you,” she said, doing a better job this time of raising her voice against the band, which was in high gear with a scratchy cover of AC/DC’s a propos “Have a Drink on Me.” She slid a ten into his curled fingers, her eyes sparkling as she told him, “Keep the change.” Without answering, he stepped over a pace to one of the registers to settle her bill. “Hey, Jesse!” someone called. “You okay if I go say hi? I’ll just be back in a minute,” Jesse promised. “Of course, go,” Chase said with a fake smile, left alone in the middle of the crowd. At least she had a drink to nurse and someone to watch, she thought with a flash of morose humor as she sipped her drink and watched Aden. He pulled off his ball cap and shoved it in the back pocket of his cabana pants, then ran a hand through rumpled, dark auburn hair. He gave out the clear signs of a grumpy, unapproachable man, but the crowd was thick near the bar, so he had to be more than what he looked like. He had to be a great bartender, and they were great listeners and observers, sometimes

flirtatious or world-weary, with a hot spark of romanticism left over somewhere, buried deep. “Like what you see?” he muttered. For a millisecond, she was mortified to be caught staring again, but then she flashed a grin. When that made him scowl, she laughed and guessed, “This is your place, right?” “Yeah,” he confirmed, the word bitten off. She licked her lips, enjoying the flavor of the whiskey sour flavor and its coolness in the hot bar. “Don't worry,” she assured him, the whiskey shooting into her blood and then out her lips, “I'm not one of those girls who propositions bartenders, if you're worried about that, and I’m not going to sob out my whole life story. I just want to ask you one question.” He met her eyes begrudgingly. “What's your question?” “What's the juiciest thing you've heard across this bar?” Incredibly, a hot flush swept up his face, sliding up his hard cheekbones. She laughed, with a suggestive quality that she hadn’t heard from herself in a long time. “Must be racy,” she replied, stirring her drink idly, her blood rushing exuberantly, and Aden’s mouth thinned further as he crossed his arms. “I can see that I’ll never get it out of you. I’m sure you can’t be bribed into telling me anything about it, anyway.” “Aden's like a vault,” Jesse said as she squeezed in next to Chase again. “I didn’t ask because I’m nosy,” she protested, then flashed a killer smile. “I’ve been collecting the answers bartenders give me—the ones who aren’t like vaults, that is—and someday I’ll compile them into a coffee table book or a calendar or something.” A man wedged up on her other side and said, “Hey, darling. How about a dance?” Aden braced his forearms on the bar and raised one eyebrow as if he didn’t like the man, but Jesse shrugged, which Chase took to mean he was harmless, if not exciting. With a quick breath, she hopped off the stool and asked Jesse, “Watch my drink?” Aden Aden watched as the knockout followed Billy Davidson onto the dance floor. “Seems like a pain in the ass,” he commented. If he thought she and Jesse were on a date, he wouldn’t have said it, but he’d felt her lightning-fast look when they came in and her intent assessment after he gave her her drink. Bad luck for Jesse, but not interesting to him. For sure, her stacked figure and blonde bedhead hair should be illegal weapons, but she had great big green eyes that would make a sucker out of a man. He had no interest in ever being a sucker again, so he muttered derisively, “Whiskey sour.” Jesse shrugged and told him, “Her name’s Chase. I just met her; she’s staying at the inn for a week or so. I know she seems like a steamroller, but I get a good vibe.” “Sure you do,” Aden muttered as Billy spun Chase under his arm. “How are things?” “Eh, fine. We're almost completely booked the rest of the month. Y'all?” After a scan to be sure no one was waiting for service, he leaned over so they could talk without yelling. He and Jesse had been in the same tight knot of friends since childhood, and the two of them were the quiet ones, cynical too, so they shared Jesse’s bourbon on ice thoughtlessly and caught up until Chase came back. She squished between Jesse and a nurse still in scrubs, her arms crushed against her sides so that her rack thrust out, practically on the bar like an appetizer, Aden couldn’t help but notice. “You two must be friends,” she observed, as she pointed at the bourbon with her chin. “Just all our lives,” Jesse agreed. “But it's like that. Most new people in Maybelle are tourists, only passing through. I can’t think of more than a few people who moved here.” Chase’s eyebrows arched quizzically. “Surprising for a booming tourist town, isn’t it? Is there a

wannabe town where all the employees that the new businesses need live?” “We haven't needed any outside help,” Aden told her frostily. Chase Chase wondered how to respectfully mention whomever had opened the five-star resort and jump started large-scale tourism, according to her research. But Jesse cut in dryly, “That's not really true. Don't be snobby; that's Martha's job.” Aden's face turned from stoic to sour as Chase asked, “Who’s Martha?” “Martha Shore.” Jesse's mouth crooked and she explained, “Aden's great-grandfather tried to steal a married Shore. There was an almighty brawl, which his great-grandfather lost. Not sure who the woman preferred,” she added acidically, “but ever since, the Shores think the Riveaus are spitfires and the Riveaus think the Shores are sanctimonious.” Liking the colorful local legend, Chase snickered at the two adjectives delightedly. She retrieved her whiskey sour from in front of Jesse and, as she used the tiny straw to suck up the last sip, Aden glared at her and the rude, slurping noise she was making. Daring him with her eyes to reprimand her, she let the straw fall from her lips to ask, “Are you a spitfire, Mr. Riveau?” “Oh hey, would you look at that, a guy wants a drink,” he said sarcastically and moved away towards a man signaling Aden, his shoulders stiff. Laughing, Chase turned expectantly to Jesse, who drawled, “Aden may not look it, and the other Riveaus may be more obviously wild, but he's not as boring as he acts.” “He doesn't seem to have a sense of humor.” Chase tried not to sound judgmental. “You try being the only responsible one in your family,” Jesse replied, then winced and gulped from the glass of water he’d left for her. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.” “Said what?” Leda asked as she came up, out of uniform in skintight jeans and a magenta top that matched her headband. Around them, the rush had eased, so there were scattered free tables, and Leda jerked her head at one. “Let’s sit. I’m done for the night.” “I was telling Chase about your feud with the Shores,” Jesse answered, rolling her eyes as they claimed a table. “It's mostly a story we tell for tourism, even though Leda’s parents always got a big kick out of it. People like hearing there's a rivalry between the God-fearing Shores and their toadies, and the hellbound Riveaus and their hick friends.” “It's fucking ridiculous,” Leda countered, then flagged down a waiter with the authority of an owner and ordered a pitcher of mojitos. “So what brings you to Maybelle alone?” Her tone wasn’t exactly combative, but Chase was still sick of answering that question as often as she had in the last six months. “Just traveling,” she said with a shrug. “I have a blog, mostly so that my family can keep track of me and see what I’m doing.” “Must be nice,” Leda muttered. “Did you just finish school,” Jesse asked, sending Leda a sharp look, “or get laid off?” “No, I’m just seeing the world,” she said as lightly as she could, not sure if she really wanted to share her life’s story with someone as sharp-edged as Leda seemed to be. Leda snorted rudely, but Jesse just nodded, her eyes on her hands as she efficiently wiped up the crumbs and smears of food the last occupants of the table had left behind. There was something in her manner that Chase recognized in herself, a sort of disappointment aimed at herself that she hadn’t been able to start a conversation. With a silent, deep breath, she offered Jesse as good a smile as she could and explained, “Um, I had a job—a really good one—but I hated it. When I finally got up the nerve to quit, my boyfriend was horrified and pissed. We were, you know, ‘on track,’” she shaped vicious air quotes around the stupid phrase, “and quitting sent me ‘off track.’”

“I hope you dumped his ass,” Leda snapped out, scowling, and Chase let out a strangled laugh as the waiter came back with their pitcher and glasses. “Thanks, Porter.” “Thanks, Porter,” Jesse murmured. “Did you?” “Dump his ass?” Chase asked rhetorically, and had to smile widely when Leda nodded with almost mean enthusiasm in confirmation. “I sure did. I bought him out of his half of our house, too, painted all the walls and bought new furniture, even dared to put up some artwork that wasn’t just stock photos of sunsets. And then I decided to blow my nest egg on traveling,” she said with the squeamishness of someone who’d been raised to be responsible and not impulsive. But she lifted her chin defiantly. “It’s been amazing.” Leda clinked her glass to Chase’s with something like respect. “How’d you wind up here?” Now it was Jesse who snorted, although hers was indulgent. “I mean, it’s fun and everything, but if you could go to, like, Tokyo or Milan or something, why come here?” “My best friend heard about the resort and she thought it’d be a fun place for me to spend the Fourth of July,” she explained, wisely leaving out Sunny’s other reason. With a boisterous laugh, Leda threw an elbow into Jesse’s ribs playfully. “Yeah, we know how to throw a great party. But who cares about that boring crap? Where’s your favorite place in the whole world?” Chase grinned and took a drink. “I couldn’t pick a favorite place; that’s like asking what your favorite movie is, or your favorite band, or something. I can tell you some horror stories about terrible service or missing flights because people suck though.” “Ha! Servers aren’t terrible, it’s the customers who are the worst,” Leda protested. They all drank down the very tasty, strong mojitos while Leda and Jesse told some war stories about the tourists who had come to Maybelle. Chase felt indignant enough to counter with some of her own war stories about short-tempered locals and employees. They were too relaxed and happy to be really competitive, so by the time they ordered a second pitcher, they were wandering back into talking about themselves. Although Chase had shared a little first and hadn’t felt judged, she was still a guarded person. By the tentative way Jesse and Leda talked, she thought they had to be the same. Reassured by that, she opened up more and the other two began to offer back more generously too. The conversation began to flow, but eventually, the band finished their set and everything began to wind down, so Leda pouted crazily and announced, “I got to go pay the band and make sure they shut everything off without electrocuting themselves again. I’ll see you soon, Chase.” “That sounds great,” Chase enthused. Magnanimously, Leda replied with a wink, “Well, now that Jesse's taken you out once, you're an honorary member of our group while you're in town.” “We’ll call you soon,” Chase joked. As Leda shimmied towards the band, Jesse muttered, “Please do not say we.” Chase was about to apologize, but Jesse brushed it off as they headed towards the doors, waving at Aden as they went by. “It’s going to be hot tomorrow,” she said as they stepped into the crisp late-night air and headed for Chase’s rental car. “You should go to the beach.” Smiling broadly, Chase hitched her leg over the convertible and got in without bothering to open the door. “That’s already part of my plan,” she replied as Jesse climbed in the same way on the passenger ’s side and then lit a smoke. “All right, I don’t think I’m tipsy anymore because my last drink was like an hour ago. There’s not going to be traffic or anything, right? Or a speed trap somewhere I should know about?” Jesse snorted. “Nah. During tourist season, the Sheriff and his crew pretty much stick to stuff like

parking tickets, busting minors for shit, and fighting in public.” Tickled by the specificity of the crimes, Chase said, “Hm.” When they got back to the inn, Chase pushed the button to close the convertible’s soft top, and by the time she’d buckled it down and opened her door, Jesse was there, holding out a hand. Chase’s lips curved at the gallant gesture, making Jesse flush as she helped her out. “It's my dad's fault,” Jesse mumbled defensively. “Once he found out I was going to date girls, he insisted I treat them right, just like a gentleman.” Chase wondered if Jesse had been offended or amused by the sentiment, but as if Jesse knew that, she said firmly, “Good night,” and strode off towards, Chase presumed, wherever she lived onsite. Chase shook her head and scampered up to her gable room to undress as she faced the gently pulsing moon, full and ripe and faintly yellowish in the clear sky. She contemplated it and the majestic, star-filled sky surrounding it and sighed contentedly. She'd looked at the moon and stars from dozens of places during her six months of traveling and figured she'd never yet seen the same thing. Where some people would have found that scary, she found it comforting and magical. Sighing again, she flopped onto the soft bed and fell asleep.



CHAPTER THREE Aden “I’m taking my fifteen,” Aden told his other bartender. He saluted Aden with two fingers while he kept laughing at something one of WHRT’s deejays was saying to him over the bar. Aden used his shoulders to go through the swinging door into the back. He slid effortlessly through the unlit kitchen, which had been exactly the same since before he was born almost thirty years ago. Now, clean and empty with the cooks and dishwashers gone for the night, it was still close to twenty degrees hotter than behind the bar. It was a relief to push out the kitchen door and step outside. Usually he joined the knot of smokers gathered under the bug light between the kitchen door and the front doors. He never minded spending his break with their customers; his favorite thing about Wild Harts was that it was pretty much the only place in Maybelle whose clientele was strictly locals. It stayed in business thanks to locals who wanted a good bite, a good drink, and pretty decent music while they caught up with friends, blew off steam after work, or whatever else they needed. Even the pool hall a few blocks east, which wasn’t exactly the cleanest, friendliest place in town, was patronized by tourists who liked a good dive bar. But when he surveyed the thick crowds at his bar, packed around the tables, and ranged in front of the small stage, he recognized every face and knew every voice. Usually. He rolled his shoulders to drain some of the tension from his body. It wasn’t like tourists were barred from Wild Harts, of course. In fact, his parents had spent his childhood working hard to bring tourists to Maybelle and were very disappointed that Wild Harts had wound up as the locals’ favorite haunt. Still, Jesse had come in with a stranger; if it had been a date, he wouldn’t have been bothered in the least, since it was hard for her to find someone to take out. But the stranger had given him those long, almost hungry stares and then that sharp-edged teasing. He leaned against the fence around the dumpsters and scowled, digging the heel of one boot into the dirt. She had ruined his mellow enjoyment of the busy night. He knew it was ridiculous that he lived in a tourist town and didn’t care for strangers, but he’d been born and bred here, two hundred years of Riveaus in Maybelle since his great-grandfather migrated from New Orleans. It was how he’d always felt and it had only grown stronger since his parents quit running Wild Harts about six years ago and turned it over to him. His sister Leda, the middle child, had run from Maybelle when she was nineteen, eager to take on the whole wide world and kick its ass, only to be crushed and run on back home. So he figured staying here, all things considered, was the

best thing. He rubbed his eye, then dug his thumb into his temple where the vein throbbed painfully, and exhaled hard because it pissed him off that one little tourist was ruining his night. “Hey, Aden?” “How are you, Marie?” he asked before he even looked up at her, automatically digging out his pack of smokes and a lighter. She had another girl with her, someone who looked a little like Marie and a little like her older brother, the farmer who had invited Jesse’s not-date onto the dance floor. “Evening,” he directed at the other girl, squinting through a trail of smoke. “I-I’m good,” Marie stammered. “This is my cousin.” “Hi,” she said, “we met at the fishing trip last summer?” He didn’t remember her from it, but he replied, “Oh. Right. Nice to see you again.” Marie’s cousin fiddled with her purse strap and Marie stood by, quiet as ever. Suddenly Dunk McCoy, Aden’s oldest friend, came around the fence from the direction of the woods, or the Riveaus’ house. He slung a heavy elbow up onto Aden’s shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, darlin’, it’s not your fault at all that Aden’s not acting all excited-like to see you again.” Aden didn’t bother to drag out another scowl for Dunk, who was totally impervious to them. “It’s just that he had a girlfriend when he met you before, and he’s a good guy, so he didn’t let that pretty face of yours stick in his mind.” The girl flushed and Marie giggled. “I’m Dunk,” he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. “I remember you too,” she said, and now she was the one giggling. Aden tried to look interested in the conversation, even though he felt a rusty red flush rising along his throat and cheeks. He honestly didn’t remember her, and Dunk’s reasoning wasn’t that far off base. Last summer, he and Ginger had still been a thing, so he wouldn’t have been interested in anyone else, pretty or no. But the truth was, he hardly ever noticed pretty girls. “Well now, we’re glad you’re back in town visiting Marie and Billy,” Dunk said. Aden realized that he had noticed Chase Cade, not as a pretty girl, but sure as hell as a fucking knockout of a woman. His flush got hotter, hoping like hell the blood pumping his dick half-hard wasn’t noticeable in the dim light out here. “Especially because Aden broke up with Ginger, who got knocked up by some moron from Richmond named—” “Dunk, hush!” Marie gasped. Aden didn’t want to talk about Ginger , so he winced and stubbed out the quarter-smoked cigarette on his boot. “Is there something you need, Dunk?” Dunk laughed, throwing an elbow in his side like the typical jock he was most of the time. “I just swung by to grab the key to your shed so I can borrow your chainsaw to help my mama out tomorrow.” Aden blinked and got out his keys, pulling off the one for the shed. He handed it over to Dunk, who took it but ignored Aden to pull both girls in for a big bear hug. “Good to see you again. Are you staying for the Fourth?” When they nodded, he winked and clapped Aden on the back. “Night, y’all.” And then he was gone, jogging off down the dirt path that cut from Wild Harts to the Riveaus’ house, where just Aden and Leda lived now. Aden blinked again, turning back towards the two girls, who were watching him expectantly. He hoped like hell they weren’t waiting for any kind of hug from him, because it wasn’t going to happen. “Uh, can I take y’all inside. If you’re ready to go inside.” “What a gentleman,” Marie’s cousin giggled in a saccharine tone.

While he attempted to smile through gritted teeth—he’d had enough giggling for tonight, and Ginger had used that tone—he led them to the front doors. “Well...” the girl said, letting it hang. Aden cast an almost desperate look at Marie. “C’mon,” Marie cajoled, dragging her cousin around towards the dance floor. Aden began to make his way to the bar, muttering, “Night.” When he ducked under the bar from the restaurant floor, his bartender looked over. “Where did you come from?” he asked as he reorganized some of the liquor bottles. Sighing, Aden shook his head. “Plagued by women today,” he muttered. “How terrible,” he deadpanned. “Only thing that could make it worse would be—” “Aden!” Leda yelled. “Aaaaand there it is,” Aden grumbled. Leda scrambled behind the bar and grabbed his arm, hauling him bodily right back through the swinging door. He could’ve stopped her or taken his arm back, but when she had that look on her face, it was easier to fight with sarcasm instead of brawn. “What is it with people strongarming other people today?” he grunted as his first shot across the bow. Leda shot him an eloquent look, but didn’t stop moving. “It’s almost last call, Leda. I can’t be messing around back here. Now there’s only one guy alone up there.” He shook off her grip once she’d gotten him into the tiny office where she did the books and they worked on inventory, the ancient desktop dusty in the fluorescent light. “I’m going to kill that-that nitwit Lucius Cavill and his nitwit band!” Aden closed his eyes for a second and kind of wished he’d called out sick today. Not that he’d ever called out unless he was halfway to dying. “He didn’t electrocute anyone again, did he?” he asked, grasping for patience. “No, he asked me out!” Leda yelled. Not prone to dramatics like Leda or his parents, Aden groaned loudly anyway, long past the end of his tether. “Normally I would be so happy to hear all about how that’s a bad thing,” he sniped sarcastically, “but it’s last call in five minutes.” He shook his wrist, his watch making a faint noise as the links scraped together. “Did he sexually harass you? Because that is the only thing that’s gonna keep me here for more than two seconds.” She scowled, like his except childish, with her lower lip stuck out. “If he had done something, you would’ve heard his screams of pain,” she snapped, ninety percent a lie. “Okay, then can I get back to work?” “Don’t treat me like I’m the hired help,” she yelled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you use that condescending tone you use on dumb girls and brainless boys. Just because you’ve been a manager here longer than me, it doesn’t mean you’re my boss!” Once Leda got on a roll, she could go on for hours, and Aden really did have to get back out there to help with last call, which was happening at that very second. The last time he’d dismissed her out of hand and straight up walked away, she’d followed him right behind the bar and yelled at him in front of the whole restaurant. She was shameless and focused and she hadn’t given a damn that everyone heard, but Aden did. “We’re both bosses, but tonight I’m also one of two bartenders, Leda,” he pointed out, drawing on the very dregs of his pretty damn deep well of patience to stay even-toned. “And you would fire a server who disappeared off the floor. I can’t abandon the bar.” She clenched her jaw so hard that it actually audibly popped. “Fine,” she gritted out, then stormed off.

“Fuck me,” he mumbled as he hurried back behind the bar. If his bartender had been less experienced, or any less even-keeled, it would’ve been a bloodbath out there. As it was, Aden cracked his knuckles and waded right in, pouring final drinks and closing out tabs, keeping to the north half of the bar so that he and the other bartender wouldn’t slam into each other as they worked quickly. It lasted a solid thirty minutes, and then they had to handle the customers who were being propped up by the bar, calling the only taxi driver with a van, who would herd them up and drop them off one at a time. Leda was yelling at the band, but the stereo mostly dulled the edge on it until she kicked them out without the free beers they were owed. Aden let it go, making a mental note to get each of them a round the next time they were in. Finally the last of the customers were gone and Leda locked the front doors and someone changed the music to some awful late-night remix type crap. Leda claimed it helped everyone power through the laundry list of things they did after close. While the other bartender counted the drawers, Aden tipped out everyone who was due a cut of the bar ’s tip pool. Tonight Leda got the shift beers for the staff, who sprawled out on the small stage area like they did every night, complaining and making fun of each other. Aden wasn’t generally a part of that, double-checking everything was done instead. It was almost two-thirty a.m. by the time he and Leda walked the dirt path between Wild Harts and their house. Leda was always wired and she jabbered away at him, off the nitwit Lucius Cavill and on to someone’s terrible beard or something. He never really listened to the words, but for some reason, he found the manic energy of it comforting. He’d heard it since she learned to talk and he’d missed it for the five years she lived in Nashville, although he would rather make a public speech from the heart than admit it. Once they were in their own kitchen, Leda reached up for a bag of potato chips. Aden toed off his shoes and grunted, “Going to crash.” He left as Leda mangled a good night through her massive mouthful of chips and padded on aching feet to his room. Six years ago, his parents had retired without warning, taking off in their RV for Oregon, of all places. It had taken Aden a year before he believed that it wasn’t a whim they were going to take back and then he’d moved out of his childhood bedroom into the sunroom that had been added on by his grandmother. It had two doors, one into the bathroom next to the living room and one into the laundry room off the kitchen. When he’d been living here alone, he closed up the second story and the master bedroom on the ground floor. When Leda had moved back, living in the sunroom had made it easier to have a buffer between them so that they could have privacy when they wanted. So he didn’t have to worry about bothering her, whether she was awake and eating potato chips in the living room or not, when he shut his door and turned on the Foo Fighters. He cursed a bunch as he exhaled tiredly and stripped down to his briefs, stretched out his back, shoulders and calves, and fired up his Xbox. Because he went to bed at four and woke up at noon, even in the spring when he coached varsity baseball at the high school, he couldn’t really hang out with friends on work nights. So he switched it up between playing video games online and watching the sports games and tv shows he recorded. It made for a weird sort of life. But, he thought as he sat in his recliner and kicked up the footrest, headset already on and unmuted, it was much better now that he’d broken up with Ginger for good. “Fuck!” he exclaimed as he viciously murdered the enemies, channeling his anger over that whole god damned mess into Halo. “Get your damn gun up, kid,” he barked at one of the other players. “I’m not dying cause you can’t hold your end up!” As he played, cursing and insulting and killing and getting killed in the game, the everyday stresses from Wild Harts, the ongoing mess of his breakup with Ginger after more than ten years of on-

again/off-again insanity, and any bigger, unnamed stress muted. He concentrated on the game, pumping out excess energy and frustration into something harmless until he was tired. He got into bed, knowing that he would wake up at noon, run and work out, get ready, and go into Wild Harts, starting the cycle over.



CHAPTER FOUR Chase Early the next morning, Chase woke up invigorated; last night, she’d had fun and had had good conversation with two people she hadn’t known at the start of the day. Still, once she’d gotten ready and gone downstairs, she felt shy approaching Jesse at her front desk because today, she had to talk to Jesse as a guest to an inn manager. This was much easier, she reasoned, at hostels, where the staff were typically backpackers who worked in exchange for a free bed and some food. Then their roles didn’t change from morning to night, from being on duty at the desk to out with other travelers at night. “Good morning,” she settled on finally. “Morning, Ms. Cade,” Jesse said formally. Relieved that Jesse seemed a little awkward too, Chase said a little nervously, “I’m taking your advice and going to the beach. Is it a nice walk or do I have to drive?” “It’s a pretty long walk. But I have a few bikes I lend out. Want one?” “Perfect,” Chase gushed, sort of skipping along with Jesse back through the dining room and out the side door, across the freshly-mown lawn to the carriage house. Jesse pulled out a big set of keys and opened the padlock, shoving the door open with a grunt as its rusty hinges protested. She moved inside and returned a second later with a bubblegum pink bike with garish yellow daisy decals. “Oh, it’s so adorable,” she cried. Smiling slightly, Jesse answered with some of the warmth she’d shown last night, “I figured you’d like this one. To get to the beach, I like to go south on Apple, then cut east on Main. There are a lot of cool farms and stuff to pass, and it’s less time on the highway.” Nodding enthusiastically, Chase got on the bike and pedaled a few times, then stopped and took off her sandals, shoving them in the mesh side pockets of her grungy, well-loved backpack. “This is great. I’ll see you later, okay? Have a good day,” she called as she pedaled off, swerving across the gravel of the parking lot, giggling madly. Behind her, Jesse laughed, certainly at the sight she must make, the lovely sound cheering Chase on as she turned onto Apple Road. She’d been paying attention to the changing lot sizes and houses as she drove in yesterday, so she mostly daydreamed as she pedaled slowly up and down the barely noticeable hills, until something caught her eye. With a loud, almost painful gasp, she skidded to a stop and jumped free of the bike as she let it fall, scrambling up an embankment to stare in awe at the building. It was an incredible structure, a fantastical, outrageously sexy rendition of a greenhouse with a metal plate across the front doors that had been stamped with a wonderfully masculine font. Houston

Architecture & Construction Company - Dreaming from the inside out. The metal girders that shaped the exterior were fire engine red along with the tall, double-wide front doors, with the glass tempered somehow so that it was opaque, making whatever was inside nothing more than mysterious shadows. She took out her high-quality camera, turning it on and snapping several careful photographs before she let her arms fall to her sides. She stared for a few more minutes in silence, shaking her head while she marveled. Maybe Aden had been surly but not entirely wrong when he said Maybelle didn’t need anyone else’s help. This building signified people who were highly skilled, as well as people who had enviable imaginations. People like that, she determined, wouldn’t live in an unexceptional town; there must be a great deal more to Maybelle than she might already suspect. The idea kept her preoccupied as she resumed her bike ride, until she saw the salon she’d paused at yesterday. She heard laughter coming out of its open doors again, and before she’d consciously decided, she locked the bike up to a tree and put on her sandals. A pregnant teenager was writing in a notebook behind the desk when she walked in. “Hi, there,” she said when the girl looked up with a start. “Excuse me,” the girl apologized, “I was caught up... How can I help you?” “I’m in desperate need of a haircut,” Chase told her. “Is anybody free?” Like the old lady, the teenager ’s eyes ran down Chase's clothes. “We’re booked up, but there’s a great spa at the resort. I could call to see if they have an opening today.” “Wait a minute, now,” one of the stylists said, leaving her customer under one of the heat lamps. She was in her mid-forties, a woman who had once been effortlessly pretty and was working to hang on to it now. Once she joined them, she rocked onto one leg so that she could see the back of Chase's head. “My next appointment canceled, but I forgot to cross it out. It would be twenty-six for the cut, and I'm free in about fifteen minutes.” “That would be fantastic.” Chase sighed in bliss. “I'll try to wait patiently.” She grinned and the stylist blinked slowly and murmured, “Well now.” Chase took one of the chairs against the window and flipped idly through an InStyle. She wondered what the teenager ’s story was, even though it was obvious that she was happy and well cared for, and thought she was lucky to have the salon supporting her. “Ma’am?” the teenager said, levering up off her stool. She led Chase to a sink, tying on an extralarge apron while Chase sat again and laid her head back. “Your hair has such a good color,” she said as she sprayed it with warm water, then worked in aromatic shampoo gently. “Is it naturally this blonde? I'm not good enough yet to know.” “Thank you,” Chase said. “It’s my color. I like the way this conditioner smells.” “It's a citrus blend,” the teenager replied in a tone that suggested she knew the scent was a good thing, but didn’t know why exactly. “It's great for hair that’s a little dry.” The stylist entered Chase's field of vision and admonished dryly, “We don't say it like that usually.” Flushing, the teenager finished wringing out Chase's hair and wrapped it in a towel. “Come on over here,” the stylist went on. “By the way, I'm Esme, honey.” “I'm Chase Cade,” she answered, then skimmed the snapshots and kids’ drawings that framed the mirror and saw the stylist’s nameplate read Esme Honey. Amused by herself—she’d thought the stylist was calling her honey—she asked, “Is this your salon?” She smiled in simple pleasure as Esme used the foot pump to raise her higher. “It is,” Esme confirmed as she combed out Chase’s softly waving hair, then tousled the whole blonde mass. “It was my aunt's originally, but her hands stopped working quite as well as they needed to, so I took over—damn, I'm not even going to say how long ago,” she laughed. Then she fluttered her fingers around Chase’s head and evaluated, “I want to take off a few inches, add a little layer and some longer bangs. How’s that sound?”

Chase nodded and Esme went to work, quiet with concentration. After a bit, Chase realized that the salon was much quieter than it had been. It only took a glance to realize that she was the lone tourist, and it made her guilty she’d intruded. But she let go of the feeling and said, sure the others could hear, “I just got into town for a week. My best friend recommended it to me. I’m looking forward to my stay.” “It's a wonderful place,” Esme declared, loyal and proud. “You're here for a vacation?” “Yeah,” she said. “I have a blog too,” she added, because she like repaying friendliness with full disclosure. Esme’s scissors stopped in concern, so she hurried to explain,“It’s really just to share my travel experiences with my family and friends. I never review places. The closest I get to reviews is that, sometimes, my last day someplace, I splurge on whatever ’s supposed to be overpriced but totally worth it.” Everyone went up in gales of laughter at Chase’s unapologetic relish. “Maybe you ladies would like to help me,” she added, emboldened by their laughter. “What should I do and eat and see? What should I skip, even if maybe the guide books say I should check them out?” All of them hummed. “It's not that flashy, but the public beach really is very nice,” Esme said. “And, to be honest,” she continued, lowering the pitch of her voice a little but not the volume, winking, “I'd skip the Shore House. It's the dining room in the Orange Rose Bed and Breakfast. Maybelle's website and some guides call it stately and refined. But it's... stuffy.” One of the other customers sniffed loudly. “The owner ’s high and mighty; don't know how anyone can eat there and not feel judged. As if anyone would care what Martha Shore thinks.” Chase’s eyes twinkled, remembering Jesse telling her about the Riveaus and the Shores. “I heard about that. How do you feel about the Riveaus?” she asked. One of the other stylists put in, “They’re not too wild, they’re just fun.” “Aden Riveau, the oldest Riveau kid who runs Wild Harts now, is the black sheep because he's normal,” someone else explained with an indulgent smile. “Dunk McCoy is definitely not normal, and he's Aden’s best friend,” Esme denied. The teenager sighed gustily and mumbled, “He's sexy.” Esme used her squeeze bottle to mist the teenager with water. “Dunk is trouble with a capital T,” she retorted, but then her expression gentled. “But he's a good boy. We don't have many bad apples.” She put down the squeeze bottle and turned on the diffuser, ending the conversation. “All right, now. Take a look, darlin’,” Esme told her a while later. Chase followed Esme's orders and skimmed one finger along the ends of her hair. Nodding with satisfaction, she announced, “It's perfect, Esme. Thanks a lot.” “Good,” Esme said, helping Chase off the chair. Chase held out her hand until Esme shook it, smiling crookedly at the formality. She paid and then put down some more cash. “This is for you.” Her eyes enormous, the teenager shoved the fifty-dollar bill into her backpack. Chase leaned a little closer and murmured, “Buy something adorable for that baby for me, okay, sweetheart?” Softly, the teenager whispered, “I promise. Thank you.” As if nothing serious had happened, Chase strolled out, swinging her arms. She hopped on her bike and started to fly down Main Street towards the public beach, enjoying the feel of her freshly cut hair as it rippled in the light wind and was glad that the temperature here, in the high seventies, meant that she could leave it down. Only a few minutes later, she coasted to a stop beside a bike rack at the large park that flanked the beach. A really wide, white sidewalk covered the seam where the green of the park met the sand of the beach, and beyond that, the beach was strung between two piers, one for jet ski, canoe, and inner tube

rentals and one for fishing. An enormous floating dock was roughly between them, connected by rope and buoys to outline the swimming area and keep the water crafts out. It was one lifeguard whistle away from pure mayhem. It was perfect, and she grinned as she sank into the sand’s hot, dry grains. People were on towels or low chairs, some under umbrellas, and scattered among them were picnic baskets, coolers, sandals, floaties, garbage cans, lifeguard towers, shovels and sandcastles, portable music players and concession carts. In the water, people were doing laps in the deeper part, jumping off the floating dock, and cavorting in the shallows. They were on inflatable rafts and inner tubes, kids were in floaties or being carried, and spray from water guns, frisbees and beach balls arced over their heads. In a place like this, there wasn’t a foolproof way to tell who were locals, tourists, or out-oftowners visiting locals, and Chase loved it. She carefully surveyed everyone, then decided to settle near old ladies so intimidating, there was a ring of empty sand between them and everyone else. They, of course, took no notice of her while she set up her towel and nibbled on the fruit she’d packed. They were complaining about the noise level, the slutty swimsuits, the disrespectful teenagers, and the prices of the concessions. Refusing to let their pettiness spoil her mood, she tipped her head up to the sun and breathed deeply. She stayed like that until she noticed a group of boys who inched inadvertently closer and closer to the old ladies with every toss of a frisbee. She was about to warn them off when one boy exuberantly threw the frisbee and another leapt valiantly, but couldn’t grab it. The frisbee sailed ominously to land with a thunk among the old ladies as the boys stumbled to standstills, afraid to venture over to retrieve it. “Young men,” one of the old ladies called, her voice piercing, “are y’all blind?” The boys collectively winced, shrinking in on themselves, none brave enough to reply. But then, a man jogged into the vipers’ den, dropping into an easy crouch to scoop up the frisbee. “Ladies,” he offered blithely, grinning cheekily. “How are y’all doing today?” The old ladies were strong, but the man was an out-and-out rogue, and one caved and tut-tutted almost girlishly, “Teach them how to throw, aim and catch proper, now.” “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. He strode over to the boys, slinging an arm around one and slipping him the frisbee where the old ladies couldn't see. He hung around, shooting the breeze, and Chase wondered if they knew each other, or if he was just being a nice guy and saving them from the old ladies' wrath. Feeling more like an anthropologist than a tourist, she shook her head and went back to her fruit and her book. Then a chair dropped into the sand next to her head and she jerked her head up. All she could see was an abstract painting for a second, swathes of skin and swim trunks blurred, before the boys’ rescuer folded into the chair and drawled, “Hi there.” He slouched low, the ubiquitous ball cap shading his outdoorsman's face. “Would you like a Popsicle?” he asked, offering one with a grin he'd probably perfected years ago. “No, thanks,” she said, wondering what he'd do next. Men like this might all seem identical— handsome, cocky, stupid, and ultimately boring—but sometimes they weren't, so she didn’t shoo him off immediately. Instead, she smoothed the cover of her book shut. He held out one hand and offered, “I’m Dunk McCoy.” He had a good grip, firm but solicitous, and his hand didn't linger, a good sign that he was more than an empty-headed jock, so she replied, “Nice to meet you. I’m Chase.” Smiling again, this one less practiced and more cheek-warming for it, though he was too smooth for her tastes, he unwrapped a Popsicle. “I know who you are. Jesse’s one of my closest friends. I snuck into the inn’s kitchen for some of the best bacon and eggs in the state this morning, heard all

about you.” Impressed anew at small town grapevines, Chase nodded as Dunk rambled on, asking, “What's Chase short for, sweetheart?” She’d had a great time with Jesse and Leda, so even though it seemed outlandish that a guy like this was best friends with someone like Jesse, she took a risk and answered gamely, “It's a nickname. My name’s really Charlotte. The story of how I got the nickname isn’t that exciting, but I love it now. What about Dunk, is it a nickname or short for something?” “Both,” he said, starting to eat the Popsicle without being suggestive, surprisingly. “My name’s Duncan and I played a little ball, so it’s a nickname that’s also a really bad pun too. Pretty damned convenient, actually, now that I’m thinking about it.” Because there weren’t any expectations in his eyes, she relaxed and smiled back at him. She cocked an eyebrow and observed, “You look like you still play a little ball.” “You're right,” he agreed. “Do you know those boys,” she began as she changed her mind and snagged one of the Popsicles out of his cooler at their feet, “or were you just running interference?” “I know most of them from school.” She couldn’t help but laugh as she replied, “Let me guess, you're the coach.” “Only football. He’s the baseball coach.” He pointed, and Chase saw Aden Riveau leaning against one of the piers as though he were waiting for someone. She swallowed dryly at the excellent shape of his body, which was emphasized by his short-sleeved striped shirt and chinos. He drew her attention as a woman in a way Dunk’s halfnakedness definitely didn’t, and it unnerved her. She snapped her attention away from him and back to Dunk. As stealthily as she’d ever sniped someone during legal negotiations, she said casually, “I didn’t know that. I met him last night at Wild Harts while I was with Jesse... but I’m sure you already know that.” “He's not the most talkative guy.” Against her brain’s wishes, her eyes drifted back to Aden, who was talking to a redhead in a loose red maxi dress. “Damn, not again,” Dunk muttered, and she tore her eyes off Aden to see that Dunk had followed her line of sight. “Not again?” she parrotted, sensing a good story, a little bit more curious than usual. “Oh.” He flushed, then delayed his response by eating the last melting chunk of Popsicle off the stick. “That’s Aden’s ex, Ginger Cartman. I’m... not really a big fan.” Aden had a dark, brooding look on his face, his expression distinctly lacking the sour, cynical cast it had had last night, completely at odds with her assessment of him. But it made him look strong and yet softer, a potent combination for her, so she deliberately lightened the mood. “Isn’t the best way to get over someone to find someone new?” “That’s what I always say,” he agreed, then jumped to his feet and bellowed, “Aden!” Aden didn’t jump in surprise, he just jerked his head around and then picked his way across the sand. “Hey, buddy,” he said, slapping Aden’s arm with a loud crack. “You want a Popsicle? I shared one with Chase, real name Charlotte, but she took the lemon anyway.” “You don’t like lemon Popsicles?” she asked, smirking a little. “They’re not refreshing,” Aden muttered as he sank to his heels to study the flavors seriously. “So you’re going with a Firecracker,” Chase narrated as he unwrapped it and stood up again, his thighs straining today’s chinos and making her mouth dry again. His brows raised, disappearing under the brim of his hat and Dunk snorted with laughter. “A Popsicle whose flavor is a refreshing...blue?” she clarified, unable to help it because she swore there was something almost like an unconscious challenge in his gaze. “Yeah,” he said simply.

“He tried to convince our football team junior year that cotton candy is better than funnel cake at the state fair,” Dunk offered with a scoff. “His tastes are weird.” “Says the guy who likes black licorice,” Aden protested with a scowl. “One time,” Dunk retorted heatedly, but then his cell chimed. He looked at the alert and winced. “It was real nice to meet you, Chase, but I got to go. Later, Aden.” With a last smile and a wave, he left with his chair and cooler. Chase and Aden stayed where they were, Chase on her towel and Aden still standing, for some reason, with half of his Popsicle left. She couldn’t run him off while he was eating, so she glanced around for inspiration and then asked, “So what’s with the mean old ladies? A frisbee landed near them by accident and Dunk ran over to get it, protecting some teenagers from them.” Aden scratched the side of his neck and tracked where she was looking. “They’re... stereotypes, you’d say. A little too conservative, pretty uncharitable.” He shrugged fatalistically and added, “But they’re a dying breed. You can’t be a pushy, sexist, racist, classist in a county that's flourishing from tourism. Really, living and dying by it.” “Hmm. Who's their ringleader?” “Martha Shore,” he told her, his jaw ticking in a display of displeasure as Chase realized she should’ve guessed that. His free hand made an aborted movement, and then he seemed to come to a decision and sat down on the sand next to her towel. “She doesn’t leave the Orange Rose much, unless it’s for church or to join those old ladies for gardening club stuff.” Chase wanted to ask a few follow-up questions. “That’s the only reason why Dunk shared one of his precious Popsicles with you,” Aden went on. She was surprised that he was volunteering anything until he explained, “Because now they think he got the frisbee because he was coming over to talk to you, not helping the boys out so they wouldn’t get yelled at. Now they’re not suspicious.” She sucked in an offended breath at the implication that there was no way Dunk would’ve said hello to her for no reason. Aden froze in the middle of tugging the last chunk of Popsicle off the stick into his mouth. It fell in anyway, and he made a strangled noise and swore, “Shit, that’s cold.” “That’s exactly what I was going to say to you,” she retorted, using her old lawyer voice, snappish and cold, because she’d been unprepared to feel the sting from Aden’s obviously unintentional insult. “I...it was probably a convenient excuse for Dunk anyway, to come over to talk to you,” he muttered, and it almost sounded like an apology. “Uh, I have stuff to do, so...” She gritted her teeth while he got up and left, and decided to go into the lake to cool off, since the water looked inviting, ripples flashing like fish scales in sunlight. After she packed up her things, she put everything but a book and some cash into one of the lockers next to the concession stand. She used the cash to rent an inner tube and carried it to the shallows, sitting carefully so that her butt was submerged and her knees and neck were draped over the tube. Gently, she kicked into deeper water, and soon she was in a quiet patch, determinately reading Catch-22 until her emotions calmed down. Soon enough, her skin was drying out, but she was so relaxed that she couldn't bring herself to go all the way back to apply more sunscreen. Her hair was trailing in the water along with her butt as she drifted, only kicking if she got close to other swimmers. “Princesses, go around the nice lady!” Chase raised her eyes from the book and found that she was surrounded by two teenaged boys and a flotilla of tiny girls with floaties on their arms. “Well, hi there, princesses.” The little girls giggled, some sighing enviously at her fun, yellow one-piece with giant ladybugs. “What awesome floaties,” she announced, beaming at the little girls, who beamed right back. “If I weren’t on this inner

tube, I’d sink like a rock!” she confided. Already, immediately loyal, the little girls shook their heads vigorously in denial. Surreptitiously she held her book out to one of the teenagers, wagging it until he grabbed it. Then she flung herself off her inner tube to the bottom of the lake, only about four feet down. She waited a few seconds, then launched into the air and smacked down on her back. The little girls shrieked and the boys tried to suppress laughter. “Don’t worry, she’s floating,” one of the boys said. “Someday you’ll be able—gaaa!” he cried when Chase suddenly flailed, splashing them. She stood up and tickled the girls’ feet under the water as the boy gasped, “That wasn’t funny—and you splashed your book.” “C’mon, princesses, let’s practice kicking away from the nice lady shark,” the other teenager said, grinning and carefully corralling the girls away. Since the first boy sounded horrified by the destruction of her book, she said, “I’ve already read it, and it was worth it to give the princesses a laugh, don’t you think?” “We’re reading it for summer school,” he told her. “Wow, a swim instructor and in summer school? Good for you,” she said, making the redheaded boy flush. “I should get back,” the teenager said, then dove under and swam away to catch up. Chase waded back to the beach, where she returned her inner tube and retrieved her belongings, and then made her way to her bike. She pulled on a stretchy white sundress and pedaled off for the Orange Rose Bed and Breakfast, domain of the uptight Shores. As she rode, she wondered if Esme, Jesse and Dunk’s bias was only the result of being friends with the Riveaus. A few blocks later, she found the Orange Rose, its architecture indistinguishable from the other houses on the street. But it had an air of snobbery and disdain that grew as she went in and followed the sign to its restaurant, the Shore House. It was a large dining room with sun-faded floral wallpaper that sat about fifty round square tables with starched linens. A woman in a loose blouse and pleated skirt greeted her, intoning, “Are you joining someone or waiting for your party, ma’am?” “It’s just me,” Chase said, smiling because she tried to give everyone a fair shot. But the woman gave her nothing back but a blank face as she escorted Chase to a table and suggested she try the sweet tea. “Sure, thanks,” she said as the hostess shuffled off. She observed the other diners, retirees and people who had probably been charmed by the idea of a B&B, most of whom seemed like they wished they’d done something else. Dispirited, Chase ordered the cucumber soup and the sole. An older, pinch-mouthed version of the hostess, who Chase deduced must be Marha Shore, delivered her meal a while later. She had the air of someone who had ordered people around for so long that everyone had forgotten that she had no authority. It was confirmed when Martha said, relish beneath the stiff decorum, “In the future, ma’am, we have a dress code.” Formality and high standards might have their places, and Chase understood it could be hard to share your world with tourists who saw it as a break from reality. But still, she replied, in a colder tone than she felt comfortable using these days, “Your hostess seated me without complaint, but I’ll remember that if I were to decide to come back.” Martha marched militantly away. Chase ate the food, which wasn’t that bad, and settled her bill right away, escaping not forty-five minutes after she’d been seated. Her flip flops slapped loudly on the brick sidewalk as she got to her bike, hopped on and headed for Maybelle Square. Her itinerary for the afternoon was to visit a short list of businesses there. After the disappointment of lunch, she decided to start with the county’s art gallery, Gilded Superstitions,

somewhere that should cheer her up. When she walked in, she sighed as refreshing air conditioning buffeted her gently. The interior was spacious, separated into three rooms with vaulted ceilings, the walls white to show off the artwork to greatest effect. The reception area was empty, dominated by an incredible desk that looked like it was inspired by a drafting table. Wandering around a corner into the first space, she walked right into someone. Falling back, she found it was Munn. “I keep doing that, startling you. So I’m blind or you’re invisible,” she joked as she hooked her thumbs through her backpack straps. “Maybe not blind—” Munn began with a laugh. “I got the right drill bit,” someone said, and then Aden paced in, his stride hitching briefly as he saw her. Handing the drill bit to Munn, he said, “Oh. It’s you again.” An unexpected shiver slid down her spine when his eyes, fully visible because he wasn’t wearing a hat, met hers directly. “It’s me,” she agreed, and had to look away. As soon as her mind registered the paintings around them, she was sucked in. Enormous canvases, probably ten by fifteen feet each, were hung at disjointed heights. At first glance they were all abstract works, but with pure, stunned enjoyment, Chase discovered wildly differing subjects: a woman with windblown hair, a wheelbarrow of wildflowers, a violent sunset. She gasped, pulled closer to the sunset. “It looks like Iceland!” “I wouldn’t know about that,” Aden half-muttered. “Me either,” Munn agreed in dry amusement. “I have to run and ask a question.” She saw him leave in her periphery, but her focus was split evenly between Aden and the sunset painting whose right edge he was blocking from her view. “You seem to be all over the place,” Chase observed. He crossed his arms and answered, “It’s a small place, and I have the day off. First Saturday in a while. So I swung by to see Munn, who helps out here part-time.” Chase thought that there was a lot of information about Aden packed into those few sentences, but she wasn’t in the mood to push him to reveal more about himself. It was for the best; if she was attracted to a man—and she was definitely attracted to Aden Riveau—then the more she knew about him, the more attracted she’d become. Instead, she read the placard with the artist’s name and the asking prices of his pieces. “The artist is fantastic, like he’s been painting for a thousand years.” “He would probably appreciate that compliment, but he hardly ever leaves the Institute,” Aden said, casually showing off his extensive knowledge of his townspeople. “Institute?” she echoed absently, studying the swirl of brushstrokes just behind the edge of Aden’s jaw. “It’s a think tank.” He shrugged philosophically and muttered, “Whatever that is.” “Have you looked at the rest of the art?” she asked, once she’d gotten enough of peering at these paintings for the time being. “No,” he said in a sort of grunt. But when she started to drift into the next room, he came along silently. “Damn,” she breathed in appreciation. She grinned at the lovely black and white photographs. Each frame had a row of photographs mounted inside that made a comic strip of sorts. Most were hilarious in some way, making her giggle, but there were a few that were brilliantly poignant, striking chords of remembrance and sympathy for childhood. Her favorite was of a preteen girl attempting a trick on a skateboard, her utter concentration giving way to pure joy. “The photographer used to be a photojournalist and he did these series as birthday presents,” Aden offered. Even though it wasn’t really personal, Chase looked over intently while he spoke,

getting a sense of his loyalty to Maybelle the more he spoke. “One of the owners here at the gallery railroaded him into selling her a few things, then a few more. Been probably ten or fifteen years now. Their success, the gallery’s I mean, is a key selling point for coming to Maybelle, especially for day trippers,” he explained. “Fascinating. Now I have to see the last room,” she declared. She went, and he drifted alongside her, into the last room. “The pottery is the high school art teacher ’s,” he said. Cocking her head to one side, Chase skimmed the jewelry and ceramic bowls and mugs. She thought this was her least favorite of the artwork. The pottery was nice, good technique livened up by imperfections, but it was naive somehow; and the jewelry was too dramatic for her, heavy and loud. When she looked over at him, he wasn’t studying the art, but her. Although it brought a sort of itchy feeling just under her skin, she wanted to repay what he’d shared, something personal but not personal. “I’m traveling right now,” she said, “I have been for half a year. I usually visit museums and churches, those kinds of places.” She shrugged self-consciously and added with a wry smile, “I'm interested in people and the kinds of art they make and put on display. It says something.” “What does this gallery say about its owners, the artists, all of us who live here?” Aden asked, and his voice was like it had been last night, almost defensive. “Well,” she stumbled, feeling put on the spot, even though she’d opened up this line of questioning. “These paintings, they… they hit me mercilessly with emotions,” she said, and wanted to wince at how pretentious it made her sound, “coercing me into feeling what the artist did about each of the subjects.” He stared at her and she had no idea what he was thinking at all, so she said evasively, “I should let you get back to hanging out with Munn.” With a grunt and the faintest nod, he turned and strode off. She groaned softly as she left the gallery. Uncomfortable with her own state of mind, she biked to the forest preserve on the northern border of the county, instead of the public library like she’d planned. Sick of the small, hard seat under her big butt and winded by the time she reached it, she decided to walk the shortest loop of trail. A part of her noted the well-maintained trails and sporadic meadows off-trail in the woods, where people let their dogs run. But the rest of her mind continued to be preoccupied by those paintings. The longer she thought about them, the more she was convinced they could fit in at some museums and big-city galleries. She wasn’t an art expert, of course, but it seemed mysterious that at least one artist of that caliber would choose to show in a small-town gallery. It only added to the conclusion she’d come to that morning, when she’d seen the astounding architecture firm, that Maybelle was much more than it should be. Instead of being pleased that she’d uncovered a hidden gem, or some other travel cliche, she was annoyed that Maybelle wasn’t just an ordinary touristy town slathered in charm. But since the annoyance confused her, she decided that she was cranky from her unpleasant lunch and that itchunder-the-skin mood from the paintings themselves. So she stayed at the forest preserve, hoping the quiet nature would soothe her.



CHAPTER FIVE Aden Aden threw the small fish back into the lake and squinted up at the sky. “It’s going to pour,” Jesse predicted from her chair beside him. He trusted a farmer ’s daughter on that, so he complained mildly, “I just got here.” “We have some time,” she reassured him, just as mildly. He grunted and they kept fishing. There was no need for small talk with Jesse, unlike with Chase Cade at the gallery an hour ago. His face twitched as he thought about it. Usually he was so useless at small talk and not just because he thought it was useless in general, but he’d felt flattered, or something, with how much she’d loved those paintings. As if she were really appreciating them, and the gallery, and the town where the gallery was. But then he’d ruined it, his question coming out harsh and abrupt, instead of... curious or something. “Did you have fun last night?” he basically blurted out. “With Chase?” Jesse asked. Jesse chuckled and put down her fishing pole so that she could lift up her cowgirl hat and scratch at her thick hair. “Yeah, it was kind of... nice.” Aden’s mouth opened to say something about how sexy Chase was or how he’d almost managed to talk to someone he hadn’t known his whole life without fucking it up. But at the last millisecond, he chickened out. Because he’d always been with Ginger, or on a break with her, he and Jesse had never shared notes on who they wished they could actually talk to without accidentally being a dick, or who they found sexy. He’d never done that with anyone, actually. “Good,” he mumbled, glad it wasn’t bright out anymore because if it were, Jesse would probably be able to see his flush. “Leda was freaking out about Lucius Cavill.” “That nitwit,” Jesse chuckled. “Are you why she calls him that?” he retorted. “She sounds dumb saying nitwit.” “So do you,” Jesse pointed out. “Nah, it’s Emmy’s fault. She kept calling him that, the night he put his bare hands on that stripped wire and sent five thousand volts through himself. Leda went to call nine-one-one and I stayed to help keep the area clear, and there’s Emmy, yelling on and on about how he’s such a nitwit, he’s lucky he’s not dead.” “God bless Emmy,” he laughed. “If Leda got the word from her, because of that night... well, it’s hard to hate it, now.” “How’s the barbeque planning going?” she asked, resettling her hat again. “You got a band yet?” she added as she dug her pack out of her back pocket, lighting two cigarettes and handing Aden one without asking if he wanted it. “Hope you didn’t hire Lucius.”

Aden laughed, blowing out his first exhale in a big snort. “No, Leda heard about some new guys doing the college bar circuit and got their demo from WHRT. It’s good.” “What are they called?” Jesse asked, her cigarette between her teeth as she reeled in her fourth fish of the afternoon. “Please tell me it’s better than Lighter Fluid.” His grin widened at the reminder of his younger brother Seth’s first band while he said, “The Fireflies, I think.” Jesse made a surprised noise and he agreed, “I know, it’s actually a pretty good name for a folk-country kind of band. Three guys, two girls.” “Can’t wait to hear them play,” Jesse said as she carefully freed the hook from the fish before she threw it back, since the forest preserve only allowed catch and release. “Yeah,” Aden grunted. The conversation faded out again, leaving the two of them side by side in their camping chairs, cigarettes dangling from their bottom lips and their hands expertly working the fishing lines. A cooler, its ice almost entirely melted, rested open on the pier between them, the lunch Jesse had packed already eaten except for a couple pickles. They went fishing whenever their conflicting schedules allowed for it, and today was as relaxing as fishing with Jesse always was. They had a routine and they knew each other well; Jesse brought food, Aden brought root beer and water, and they brought their own pole, a chair and bait. If they talked, it was an easy, lazy burst here and there whenever a thought worth sharing occurred to one of them. Of all of his friends, Jesse was the one he appreciated the most, because of this; they were always able to do something in almost total silence without it being weird, only comforting. Compared to the continuous checking-in everyone else had been doing since he’d ended things with Ginger six months ago, it was pure bliss to not be questioned. He wanted to thank Jesse, but he knew she would just brush it off with a wince. So would he, actually, if she were the only who thanked him for something as dumb as being his friend and leaving him alone when there wasn’t anything wrong. “I saw Marie and Billy’s cousin last night,” he said after a while. “The cute one with the gap in her front teeth?” Jesse asked after a thoughtful minute. Aden shrugged, not sure if he were more impressed that she could recall a detail or more depressed that he hadn’t noticed anything about her, besides her similarity to her cousins. “The one who went with us to Lake Keokee last summer?” “I can’t believe you remember that.” Jesse looked at him sideways, wryly, from under the brim of her hat. “She was the only other single person on that trip, and she wore a bikini, Ade. I remember her.” “She remembered me, and Dunk,” he mumbled. “Because you and Dunk didn’t wear shirts the whole week,” Jesse chuckled. Aden winced and shifted in his chair. “Don’t make that face. Dunk didn’t wear a shirt because he never does; you didn’t wear one because Ginger told you how sexy you look tanned.” His wince was doubly strong this time. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Just when Aden had relaxed again, Jesse said cynically, “She must be one hell of a lay if she kept you wrapped around her finger all those years while you could hear her.” That cracked Aden up, even if Jesse’s assessment was a little mean. “She wasn’t so bad when we were alone,” was all he said, since there was no way he was going anywhere near a conversation about how skilled or unskilled Ginger was in bed. “Uh huh,” Jesse muttered. “Hey, I’m not the one who broke my wrist jumping out Hilary Combs's window,” Aden retorted with a big grin. Jesse shot him a weak glare before one corner of her mouth curled up. “You were seventeen and you knew you could put up with a lot for sex.”

“She smelled like cinnamon buns from the bakery,” Jesse muttered. “I’ll bet,” he laughed, then narrowed his eyes when he felt a tug on his line. Just as he got a good look at the fish he’d hooked, Jesse’s cell rang. “Yeah?” She listened to someone for about a minute, heaved out a sigh and shoved the cell into her pocket. “Surprise inspection. I gotta go, Aden,” she apologized. Because he’d had to handle a dozen surprise inspections from the county health department himself, he just nodded. “All right. Sorry to run out on you.” Aden smiled. “I get it. Can’t ignore the inspector.” She saluted him, picked up her stuff, and strode off. Once she was out of sight, he laughed a little bit again at himself, and how stupid everyone could be at one time or another when it came to putting up with crazy shit just to be with someone. At least Jesse only made fun of him, while his mother and Leda liked to ask, half-accusingly, if he’d caved in and taken Ginger back, as if it were an inevitability. It was true, he had let her dictate their off periods and their on periods for years and years, but she’d crossed way too many lines and he’d told her it was completely done. “Completely done,” he muttered. Reeling in his line, he surveyed the gray clouds gathering rapidly to the south. Jesse was right; it was going to pour soon. So he packed up his gear, cooler and folding chair and headed back along one of the dirt paths through the forest preserve. It wasn’t that hot, but it was humid—another sign of the impending summer storm—so the forest preserve was quiet but for a distant dog barking. When he was probably a mile from the parking lot, which was half a mile from his house, the clouds tore apart. “Shit,” he hissed, ducking his head and shivering when that sent water trickling off the bill of his backwards baseball cap down his spine. At the next fork in the path, he went to the left so that he could get to the picnic shelter. Continuing to curse, he adjusted his slippery grip on his fishing gear and ran faster. He rounded the last bend and cut across a small meadow until he was under the shelter, setting down his gear with a sharp clattering. He flung off his hat and wiped his face with his biceps, since his t-shirt was marginally drier than his skin. “H-hi,” someone said. Aden whipped his head towards the unfamiliar voice and found Chase Cade right there, a very pink bike leaning against one of the shelter supports. She had a beach towel wrapped around her like a shawl, but he could see her chin shaking from the cold. Her hair was drenched and a puddle was forming at her feet. He couldn’t stop his eyes and they tracked stray droplets of water as they made their way down her thighs, knees, calves and ankles. “The temperature doesn’t usually drop like this during rainstorms here,” he said as casually as possible, uncomfortably aware of the saturated patches on his clothes that chafed, like just below his belt on his back and his quads. “It’s a lucky thing that I’m still wearing my bathing suit, so I could just take off my wet dress,” she commented, without a single ounce of coyness or self-consciousness. He inhaled sharply, hopefully silently, as his body locked in reaction to just the knowledge that she had partially undressed and was in a wet swimsuit. She had looked fantastic at the beach and at the gallery, the ladybug swimsuit easy to see under her white dress. Instead of finding the pattern of the swimsuit silly, it had enchanted him so much that he’d actually volunteered personal information and tried to talk with her about art. Shit, he thought, I’m supposed to say something now. “I think it’s luckier that you have a towel with you,” he muttered woodenly. She laughed, that throaty thing she’d done at the bar, and a pleasurable shiver coursed through

him. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, you’re shivering!” she exclaimed. “What?” he asked inanely. “Oh... No, no, I’m not cold.” Definitely just hot, he thought as she ignored his protest and whipped off the towel, walking quickly over to him with it in one tiny fist, holding it out to him. Those really are ladybugs, his mind confirmed helpfully. And nipples. He snatched the towel and swiped his face once before he pretended to dry off his chest and belly, so that the towel would fall over his fly while he got things under control. “Uh, did you bike from the gallery right over here?” he asked, because the silence was going to get awkward in about two seconds. “That’s a nice ride, if you did.” “Yeah,” she said, and he thought her voice sounded weird, sort of more nasal or something than it had a minute ago. He hoped she wasn’t getting a cold already, even though he was pretty sure that was impossible. “I came to... to bike around some woods.” “Thanks,” he said as he handed back the towel, body finally cooperating. She took it back and sat on one of the picnic tables, then draped it over her crossed legs and gestured at him as he wandered back and forth. “Are you going to pace until the rain stops?” she asked. “Didn’t realize I was,” he mumbled, forcing himself to hold still. But he had too much energy and his hands twitched uselessly at his sides, so a second later he hopped up onto the picnic table opposite Chase. His fingers knotted together between his spread knees and since the rain didn’t seem to be letting up, he groped for something to say, like an apology. She beat him to it. “You kind of just bolted right in the middle of our conversation at the gallery,” she told him with a little sigh. He wished that he knew how to read strangers even half as well as he knew how to read anyone who lived in Maybelle. He had no idea if she was angry with him or just grumpy over the rain and being cold and wet. She confused him even more when she smiled up at him through spiky eyelashes, angling her head, and clarified, “I didn’t get the chance to ask if you liked the art at the gallery.” Aden swallowed, trying not to notice the poorly timed, unwelcome return of his erection. Good thing he’d sat down and she wouldn’t be able to see. He aimed for a smile and maybe landed on baring his teeth in some awkward grimace. “I’m not a big art person,” he forced out through his tight throat. “I like a good meal and a good beer, but a painting of some trees or something doesn’t make me...” He swallowed again. “...doesn’t make me want.” “Want?” she asked in that nasal tone again. “Uh, yeah,” he practically stammered. “Isn’t that what art does? Make you... want?” She smiled at him. It was a little smile, shaped like a smirk except all sweetness. “That’s a wonderful way of thinking about it. All I know is that the paintings were so emotional and they seemed so personal, but I didn’t learn anything about the artist.” The words flowed past her great lips, but he didn’t know how to respond except with something he knew didn’t really fit. “No one knows much about the artist.” “I thought you knew everything about everyone,” she teased. It made him smile back at her, not the grimace but a real smile, as his shoulders relaxed and he chuckled. “Now, you know there’s no way to really know everyone in your life.” Her brows raised in surprise, as if she thought it were a concession in some way, so he felt like he had to continue, “Like I said, he works at the Institute and its staff keeps to themselves, mostly. Always have as far as I know. Don’t see why.” “No, you wouldn’t,” she murmured, head tipping sideways. “What does that mean?” he asked, smile reversing into a frown.

“Nothing,” she said hastily, standing up and shoveling her damp hair back over her shoulders. “Or, just that you’re probably so connected to your whole town and know everything about everyone. Me, for instance, I grew up in a big city. I knew gossip about my classmates at school and, like, my parents’ coworkers but not, you know, everyone.” He grunted, squinting out at the meadow. “Rain’s winding down.” “Yeah,” she said, then cleared her throat delicately. “I... should probably head out.” “Uh,” he said, suddenly awkward again as they both stood up. “Can I give you a ride back to Jesse’s? The roads are going to be slick and that bike probably isn’t meant for it.” She looked up from where she was putting the towel into her bag. “Okay,” she agreed slowly, “thank you, that’s really nice of you. It’s not too much trouble?” “No, it’ll barely take me ten minutes out of my way.” She nodded and slung on her backpack while he grabbed up his stuff. They walked across the slightly muddy meadow to the definitely muddy path in silence, and part of it was supremely awkward for Aden, since he was drawn to her. But part of it was nice. All of the women in his life except Jesse were talkers, always going on about something or telling stories or pestering him with questions. He didn’t really mind it, since it was just how they were, but sometimes it tired him out because it wasn’t how he was. This was a nice change. When they reached the parking lot, he waved at his truck, then took the pink bike from Chase and lifted it clear into the bed, not bothering to unlatch the gate. Once it was down, he opened the door for her and held out his hand to help her up, catching her bemused smile as she clasped his hand, pressing down as she levered herself up. A frisson of pleasure coursed up his hand and forearm as it flexed to support her. “Okay,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, then shut her door. They headed out and now, maybe because they were inside an enclosed space instead of under the picnic shelter or the open sky of the meadow, the silence was awkward. Once again, he tried to think of something to say, but came up empty. Thankfully, it was a short drive to Jesse’s, where he helped her out and retrieved her bike. Then Aden stood there, hands curled into loose fists at his side. It occurred to him that he’d never given a ride to a woman who wasn’t his relative, his friend, or his girlfriend. He didn’t know what to do or say, and Chase wasn’t giving him any clues. Finally she looked up at him through her bangs. “Thanks again for the ride, Aden.” A jolt went through him, hearing her say his name like that. She shifted her weight a little and seemed to hesitate before she added, her voice stronger and firmer, and maybe resolved, “Thanks for staying with me, too; I’m sure you’re not worried by a little rain and... I didn’t realize how close I was to the parking lot.” “It’s—” he stopped himself when he realized he was about to say my pleasure. He flushed and his fingers curled in tighter. He coughed once. “It’s no problem.” “Okay, well... Goodbye, then.” He frowned, not liking the word choice of goodbye, for some reason. But he definitely would never say that, so he just lifted his hand in a stupid farewell gesture and then got into his truck before he could make an even bigger ass of himself. On his way out, he passed Jesse at her mailbox. She called out something like What are you doing here, but he pretended like he didn’t notice and kept driving, flushing again.



CHAPTER SIX Chase Chase haphazardly dashed through the inn up to her gable. The second she locked the door behind her, she collapsed against it and blinked out the window. Well. If the grumpy bartender with the gorgeous, bulging biceps had been sexy last night... Then the rain-splattered fisherman with the bashful smile was... was just... “Fuck,” she mumbled, unable to articulate the end of that thought even in her mind. She shook her head and got in the shower because while she had gotten rained on, she was sweaty before that and she felt grimey. Under the hot, strong spray, the water pressure kneaded out some of the soreness from her bike ride and her mind wandered. Flings were part of the fantasy of traveling: being pulled by attraction to veritable strangers for hours or days, totally outside their real worlds. It certainly had its appeal, especially after meeting Aden, with his biceps and unexpected smile, just as breathtaking as the paintings at the gallery. Remembering them made the water against her breasts—which she’d seen him work hard to keep his eyes off of, like a gentleman—hit with almost painful pleasure. She sighed and turned around, lifting her head to let the spray sluice down her face and hair, and reminded herself that she still didn’t feel like herself, but even if she did, she wanted companionship, nothing more and certainly nothing less. So she pushed the attraction out of her mind, finished up in the shower and relaxed, checking her email, social media and the internet for a few hours until it was dinnertime. Then she drove to the 3 Brothers Pub, the main tourist restaurant in Maybelle. As soon as she stepped inside, she could see that it was actually a good imitation of a traditional English pub; it was spacious, not cramped with tables, and large chalkboards listed all of the drink and food options. Since it was a Saturday night, it was full, people waiting in a dense clump around the host stand and strewn on the sidewalk out front. She put her name on the waitlist and got a glass of red wine from the bar, then took it out to the sidewalk, where the air was balmy after the relative heat and the rain earlier. She people watched lazily, casually overhearing the groups around her discuss how excited they were to try the pub, comparing the ease of finding parking with wherever they were from, and judging the things they’d done and seen so far that day. But then she heard an airplane go overheard and tipped her head up instinctively to try to find it. The sky was beautiful, the eastern horizon a deep purplish-blue and the western glowing apricot with the half-sunken sun. She took a slow breath in, smelling mostly her wine but also some earthy thing that she thought must just be Maybelle itself. Feeling foolish at the thought, she hurriedly dropped her head and drank some more wine. She

felt a flash of unease and wished that she’d decided to order something in. Her day had been much too emotional, between Gilded Superstitions and then the almost surreal hour with Aden at the forest preserve, and she felt kind of oversensitive. Just then, of course, the hostess called, “Tristan, your party’s being seated.” “Thanks, darlin,” a man called from somewhere behind her. A second later, Leda Riveau, trailed by a man who was probably Tristan, pushed by. “Oh, hey, Chase,” Leda said in some surprise, as the man slowed. Leda frowned as she looked at the people around Chase, faced the other way and obviously not with her. Chase covered up her urge to act tough and cold to prove she didn’t care that she was alone, and took a slow sip of her wine. “Hi, Leda. It’s nice to see you again.” Tristan, who looked like he was in his early twenties and had an intent, clear gaze, put in, “If you’re not waiting for anyone, you’re welcome to join us.” Chase was flustered and pleased by the generous, impromptu offer. “Our reservation is for six,” Leda said with a frown. “Let me go make sure they put us at our usual table. It’s in the corner, so there’s plenty of space to add a chair.” But before Chase could think of a polite way to decline because of those over-sensitive nerve endings, Leda shouldered her way to the hostess stand. The host tried to hide a wince as one of Leda’s hands cut sharply through the air in front of his face, but finally gave in with a nod. Leda waved them over. “Why don’t you come along?” Tristan urged gently. “No one wants to eat alone.” Having no good response to the assertion that wasn’t a total lie, she nodded and paced a step behind to the hostess stand and then to the back corner. “Chase!” Dunk McCoy crowed. Chase blinked, but she didn’t know why she was surprised to see Dunk, Jesse and Munn already seated. With a jolt of heat low in her belly, she wondered if the sixth chair was for Aden as Tristan asked with an easy laugh, “Know her already, huh, Dunk?” “Hey,” Jesse put in, lifting her fingers in a lazy salute. “Come on, sit down,” Dunk said, pushing out the empty chair next to him. As Leda plonked down next to Jesse, Chase lowered herself carefully into the chair Dunk had offered, overwhelmed by their enthusiasm that she join them for dinner. She turned to Tristan, and introduced herself as calmly as she could, as if this sort of thing happened to her all the time. “I’m Tristan,” he murmured, “in case you missed that.” “She’s the one Jesse and I hung out with last night,” Leda told him. Tristan hummed in comprehension as a server put down pitchers of sweet tea. He poured and said in a mild, casual way, “So Jesse said Leda gave you her stamp of approval. It’s tough to get altogether; I’ve never heard about it happening in one night.” Chase felt her flush return, unsure how to respond or what he thought about this, so as casually as possible, she settled on, “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.” He gave her a sly smile and said, “I had to move into the perfect party house to get it, since I’m so much younger than the rest of them. Now they can’t get enough of me.” Despite her humming nerves, that made her laugh. “I didn’t realize that all of them,” she indicated the others at the table with a wave, “were such good friends.” “Sure,” Tristan said, passing out sweet teas to the others. “First, it’s a small place; everyone knows everyone. But the Riveaus, Jesse, Munn, Dunk, and Jack Honey have been best friends since they were kids. My uncles played football with Aden and Dunk and my aunt and her husband own this place, so they were friends with Aden’s parents. Jesse and Munn are cousins.” His mouth quirked wryly. “And those are just the simple, direct connections.”

“I grew up in a city, but I guess everyone I knew professionally was interconnected in a big tangle like that among law school, internships and jobs,” she replied. “Yeah, we’re pretty much the opposite of people who know their closest friends through work. It would be different if we lived in a city, or if we all moved away from Maybelle. So we’re friends almost despite our work,” Tristan said, shaking his head. “Aden and Leda run Wild Harts, Jesse’s at the inn, Munn’s at the gallery more than the inn these days, Dunk’s a coach, I’m studying to be an architect, and Jack is a lawyer now.” “Is... Jack joining us tonight?” she asked, aiming for nonchalant. Sweat beaded between her breasts at the idea. There was nothing she wanted less than the faux-casual interrogation of one lawyer to another: where did you go to law school, who did you clerk for, were you a junior partner yet. It was all about a competitiveness she’d left behind long before she’d left her job behind. Worse, it reminded her of who she had been as a professional and as one half of a smug, lawyer power-couple on the rise. Tristan leveled a shrewd look at her, but then his expression softened and he offered, “No, he’s out of town, so if you have a rap sheet now, don’t worry.” The butterflies in her stomach backed off a tiny bit as she managed a tight smile, which promptly froze when he continued blithely, “The last seat’s for Aden.” “Oh,” she stuttered, but was saved by the return of their server. The server took their orders and made eyes at Tristan, who either truly didn’t notice or was a good actor, pretending he didn’t notice. It was a silly thing to think about, but she clung to it so that her heartbeat would slow down. She should’ve trusted her instincts and declined their invitation. Now she was going to have to sit through a meal with the object of her vacation fling fantasy, whom she’d seen soaking wet a few hours ago. Then Dunk boomed out, “Aden! You’re late!” Chase was totally unprepared, though she should have been braced to see him again so soon. She tried not to gape as Aden strode in, powerful thighs shifting under his jeans. Their gazes clashed and tangled for another drawn-out, hot second. He snapped the connection when he reached across Leda for a pitcher of sweet tea and grumbled, “Yeah, the liquor delivery was screwed up and I had to run in and fix it.” “That sucks, man,” Dunk said, shaking his head. “I hope you got some free booze.” “Hey, Tristan,” Leda called down the table, “can you fix our kitchen at the house?” Tristan twisted to put one bent arm over the back of his chair and contemplated Leda. “What’s your problem with it exactly? Lots of ways I could do it up; it’s pretty big.” Before she could think about it, she gasped in delight and gushed, “Do you work at that incredible looking place? The one I biked past this morning on Apple Road?” With a solemn expression that gave the impression that he was at least twenty years older, he said, “It’s my grandfather ’s. I’m in college, but I work there when I’m home.” “There seems to be a lot of that around here,” she observed. “That’s true most places, isn’t it?” Aden murmured, his tone mild now instead of tense like it had been before. “It’s just more noticeable in a small town, where there are fewer businesses to work for overall.” Where there might have been some defensiveness, as if he felt she was implying that it was easier to join a family business than to forge one’s own path, there wasn’t. Two years ago she would have jumped into a heated discussion about the merits of each. Now, she was interested in Tristan himself and that beautiful building, so she asked him some about what he was studying and how he liked working for his grandfather. Dunk’s arm reached out behind Chase to shove at Tristan’s shoulder. “Dude, why are you talking

about your family? We’re hanging out with a woman who’s traveling the world. You could be talking to her about, like, topless beaches in France or something!” “The closest I’ve come to half-naked women,” she began, snickering behind her wine glass when Dunk leaned in raptly, “is nude statues and paintings in art museums.” With a groan, he slumped back, looking crushed. “Why would Chase need to go to a topless beach anyway?” Munn put in. “She’s got her own... top and she can see half-naked men anywhere in the world.” “You should know that,” Aden contributed with a sort of flat tone that she didn’t understand, especially since his eyes were flashing in annoyance at Dunk’s immaturity, “since you’re allergic to shirts when you’re at the beach.” Dunk turned pleading eyes on Jesse. “You’d love a topless beach, wouldn’t you?” “I... wouldn’t mind,” she ground out, her cheeks flushing. “Hah, nailed it,” Dunk crowed, bouncing back immediately. Leda chimed in, her mouth screwed up, “And if I wanted to see some tits, I wouldn’t need to go to topless beaches in France just to do it, unlike you, you barbarian.” Dunk gasped in outrage while Aden groaned and looked away, as if he were embarrassed and didn’t even know how to apologize to Chase, who was a stranger. “So, Chase,” Tristan asked, bringing them back, “what is your family’s business?” Her voice warm, she explained, “My parents have a small biotech firm near San Francisco, where I grew up. My brother and sister don’t work for them, but they’re researchers too. They’re actually at a medical conference right now, in Boston.” “That’s very impressive,” Tristan murmured, sincere of course. “And you’re just backpacking?” Aden practically demanded. Chase’s face froze, then she took another sip of her wine, willfully ignoring the burn Aden’s insult put into her cheeks. She looked only at Tristan, firmly, and continued evenly, “There’s a little part of me that’s sorry I have no interest in it, but I’m not the kind of woman who could have followed in their footsteps if I didn’t want to.” “Then it’s good that your siblings did,” Tristan replied with an easy chuckle. “That way, you don’t have to deal with any guilt over not trying.” “Convenient,” Aden added. Her hands clasped together on the edge of the table, shoving her plate into one of the pitchers with a sharp chime. Her shoulders flexed from the force of her grip, her throat tight from his oneword barb. He may not have meant to hurt her, but in this exposed nerve mood, it brought up plenty of old insecurities and, yes, guilt. “Would you excuse me?” she squeezed out as she rose and took her purse off the back of her chair, her napkin falling. “I forgot, I need to make a quick phone call.” She beelined for the exit off the patio.



CHAPTER SEVEN Aden Aden jerked his eyes away from the afterimage of Chase Cade’s tight expression. “How did you manage to hurt her feelings?” Dunk half-shouted in disbelief. “What?” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket to tug out his lighter. He fiddled with it as frustration welled up. He’d been doing okay talking to her as if he weren’t confused by her and tongue-tied around strangers, until she’d so breezily bragged how she’d struck off on her own, leaving her siblings behind to follow in her parent’s footsteps. It had just struck too close to home. Teeth gritted, he defended, “She said she has to make a phone call.” “You’re such an idiot sometimes,” Leda snapped. “You better go after her and apologize,” Munn suggested. “What’d I say?” he asked, jaw tight. It hadn’t been the smoothest or cleverest comment, but he’d been sincere, damn it. It was convenient that her parents had her siblings to carry on their legacy so that she didn’t have to if she didn’t want to. “I vote Tristan goes after her,” Jesse put in, in the mildest tone so far. “What? Why?” Aden demanded. “He’s good with women,” Jesse answered, flashing a rare shark-like smile. Tristan smiled too, the one that looked smug to Aden but always made women lean close to him and melt. Before Aden had made any conscious decision, he was on his feet and striding off. She was leaning against the brick wall of the restaurant next to the patio. Her chin was angled towards the sky, her eyes fixated on the stars. If there hadn’t been such a fiercely contained look on her face, she would’ve been the perfect picture of a dreamy, thoughtful girl stargazing. Now she had on a red dress that wrapped like a sexy bathrobe, stretched impressively across her breasts, her hair soft around her shoulders. His body tensed against the unstoppable attraction, while his mind rebelled. He and Ginger had dated on and off for thirteen goddamned years; he’d seen her in dresses and swimsuits and wet from the lake or rain a million times. But even though he knew what every inch of her looked like naked, not once had his body even halfway tensed in attraction to her during their encounter at the beach that morning. It made absolutely no sense that his body reacted to Chase just as powerfully in an alley as it had at the beach, the gallery, and the forest preserve. It made no sense that he wanted to say something when most of the time he enjoyed silence and hated, well, talking. Finally Chase looked down and over at him. His shadow obscured most of her face now, and he shifted subconsciously aside so that she was lit

up again. He was caught by her eyes once more, though he was braced for her to blast him unapologetically, the way his mom or Leda or Ginger would have. When she didn’t start in on him, he scratched his head through his hat in confusion. “What do your parents do?” she asked finally, her voice not shrill or enraged. “They used to run Wild Harts, but they retired,” he answered, blinking in surprise at the easy question, which made his nerves double down. He pulled out his pack and lit a cigarette and eased back, an old habit from when he had been a regular smoker and had to worry about not blowing smoke at people when he exhaled. “And your sister?” “She works at Wild Harts too,” he answered, more slowly this time as he began to wonder where she was going with this, since he’d seen her, Leda and Jesse huddled around a table getting nice and buzzed last night. So he knew that she had to know the answer already. “She serves and manages the wait staff, keeps the books, and pays some of the bills. I tend bar, do inventory and the orders, and handle deliveries.” “Do you have any other siblings? What do they do?” “Yeah, one. The baby, Seth.” His mouth twisted, trapped between pride and annoyance like always. “He doesn’t live in Maybelle, hasn’t for years now. He’s a musician. He composes some too.” “Isn’t it hard to make a living that way?” He narrowed his eyes and his hand hesitated in its automatic gesture to ash the cigarette, which he hadn’t smoked at all. He knew she was about to make a point, but he had to defend his brother so that she didn’t think he was some guy who played Grateful Dead on street corners or something. “It’s not hard for him. He’s been doing it for six years and he’s never needed to come home.” That mouth of hers, provocative and bare with a deep, almost v-shaped dip in the upper lip, pursed and then spread wide. “Did you need to come home?” It was a guess, and it was both wrong and too close to home, and he finally broke eye contact, squinting one eye as now he looked up at the sky as if it were fascinating. “I’ve always lived here,” he murmured as he kept his eyes trained upwards, just as big a cop-out as her pose had been minutes ago. “I love it here,” he stated in that same muted way, struck deeply by how true it was, and how complicated an understatement it was, too. Everything he was, was dependent on Maybelle County, on him being in Maybelle County, and he’d never chafed at it but it wasn’t always an easy situation. Her voice was soft and sincere when she replied, “It’s easy to love it.” “Yeah,” he agreed, feeling almost helpless. “But back to your original insult,” she said with a snap to her voice that hadn’t been there a second ago, “I don’t think a bartender has any room to judge me.” “What’s wrong with being a bartender?” he growled. “I’m not a backpacker, I’m a grown woman traveling the world because I want to and I can. But even if I were a backpacker, broke and hitchhiking and working under the table, what would be wrong with any of that?” she retorted as her little hands formed fists and dug into her waist, emphasizing the flare of her hips and the thrust of her chest. Aden and Ginger had always had a tumultuous relationship. Good old-fashioned fights followed by make-up sex had always been the way of it. So it had to be the way Chase’s pose reminded him of that, that made his heart pick up. He concentrated on levelling it out as he forced his mind to focus. “My job might not earn me millions of dollars, but it’s reliable and it’s enough to live on. I get to stay at home.” She took a slow breath and then shook her head as it blew out over those lips gently. “I don’t like staying at home anymore,” she replied. “You don’t know anything about me other than that I’m

traveling, that I have a blog, and what I look like. So I think it’s best if you stop trying to judge me or make me feel bad about my lifestyle. I wasn’t sitting at that table with your friends and your sister thinking anything other than that I was having a nice time. If I had a table of friends like that at home, who knows if I’d be here?” He was helpless to stop the sadness that stabbed into his chest at the loneliness in her throwaway rhetorical question. And now she was more than just a lush body and mouth and hair, damn it, and that pissed him off even more. Now he could see her sharp intelligence and generous compassion, and knew he should’ve seen it sooner, except she was so gorgeous he hadn’t. He wanted to make up for his original callous remark, but she was right, he didn’t know anything about her, and that included how to make it up to her. So he cleared his throat and settled on, “Well, since you are here with my friends and my sister, you should know that having dinner with us is a commitment. After this, there’s a party at Tristan’s that’ll go all night, and everyone assumes you’re going.” “Really?” she kind of squeaked, her face lighting up. She startled and straightened off the wall, like she’d noticed that she wasn’t being cool now, and confessed abruptly, “This isn’t going at all like my trips usually go. I mean, I love talking to locals and getting their perspective, finding out where they like to go and what they like to do. Lots of times, I choose the next place based on someone telling me a great story about another place. But here... I keep finding myself just... hanging out with you. It’s different.” She frowned so fiercely that he actually cracked a smile, raised an eyebrow, and drawled, “Careful, sweetheart; that’s awful like pouring your heart out to the bartender.” That made her laugh, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed. “I bet our food’s at the table by now,” he said, not wanting to ruin the fragile peace by bringing up his insult or her sharp comebacks again. “Okay, let’s go,” she said enthusiastically, settled back into good-nature and bubbly. He didn’t think it was a lie, but it kind of pissed him off that she could just end an argument like that, just shut it down with a brilliant parting shot and forget it. Still, he reflexively put his hand on her back to guide her. Her skin, just beneath the fabric of her clingy dress, was hot, and he pulled his hand away as soon as he could. They joined the others wordlessly, and Aden was grateful that their entrees had in fact been delivered, so that he could just dig in and keep his eyes on his fried scampi. The others kept talking, Leda dominating by grilling Chase on all of the great big cities she’d visited that Leda had always wanted to see. They ordered another couple of pitchers and he and Dunk talked about how the summer football practices were going until around ten, when Tristan put down cash and said, “Marie and some girls are coming over soon, so I’m headed home. Are y’all going to come now, or swing by later?” “If the other girls include Daniela Torres, we’re coming now,” Dunk said. Leda smacked Dunk in the shoulder and Jesse groaned, but everyone took out their wallets to pile cash on top of Tristan’s and then started to meander out, except for Chase. Hanging nearby, he watched incredulously as she bent over the bill, casually dropped three hundred dollar bills and at least four twenties down, and then tucked everyone’s cash in her purse. “What are you doing?” he demanded. She stared at him as though he were a barbarian—or, maybe more accurately, a hillbilly—and then one of her blonde brows quirked up. “I’m saying thanks for inviting me by paying, of course,” she told him, and he had the distinct feeling she was humoring him. “I think it’ll be easier to just give them back their money at the party, don’t you?” It irritated him so much that he bit back the polite offer to drive her to Tristan’s when they got

outside, where everyone else was piling into their cars. Like he’d warned her, no one had formally invited her, and she sort of hung there. He’d only thought of it because he wasn’t sure that he wanted to go to Tristan’s if she was going to be there, since she was driving him a little nuts. But before he could suck it up and do it himself, Dunk opened the front door of Leda’s car. “Drive over with us. You don’t want to park that nice rental at Tristan’s. The driveway is probably full and you’ll have to put it half into the woods.” She didn’t move, so Aden said gruffly, “I told you, we wouldn’t ditch you.” “Of course we wouldn’t,” Leda snapped, outraged. “Who talks about a party in front of a girl and then expects her to just go home while everyone else goes to the party?” “That’s really nice of you,” Chase said, climbing in before Dunk shut the door for her. Aden shook his head as Dunk shoved him out of the way to climb in the back first, then got in behind Leda and put on his seatbelt. He glanced up when he felt eyes on him. He found Chase almost staring at him, a curious pucker between those brows. Leda shoved the car into gear and turned up the music as she drove to Tristan’s. Some people were already hanging around outside, so Aden settled on the porch with everyone. For him, it was a night like a thousand before and a million ahead of him, but he couldn’t help but notice how Chase’s big eyes darted all over as she took it in while she sat between Munn and Leda. She looked out of place, overdressed and with a glass of wine where everyone else had beer or liquor. Aden didn’t care how different Maybelle was from San Francisco or the rest of the world; people everywhere had parties. Aden hid behind a cigarette on a lawn chair, Jesse sprawled out in an identical position next to him. They always spent a lot of time together at parties like this, because Jesse didn’t have girlfriends and Ginger had hardly ever gone to these things. He would normally rather die than talk about stuff and knew Jesse felt the same, but he caved in and asked after a few minutes, “Do you think she’s nervous?” Jesse squinted, a tumbler of bourbon cradled on her ribs. “Maybe,” she said, and he should’ve noticed that Jesse knew without asking who the she was. “For someone who’s only been here two days, Chase has sure made an impression on everyone. Shy doesn’t seem like a word you apply to a woman who looks like that, but maybe she is.” His mind flashed to how her eyes had raked hotly up and down him last night, and to the way her eyes had burned up at him when she’d given him a piece of her mind earlier that day. Then it flashed to the way her eyelashes had fluttered while those eyes glinted with curiosity. “You think it’s because she’s shy?” he sputtered. “Kind of,” she muttered. “Some people can be confident and charming and good with people if it’s for work, but suck at it when it’s just, you know, them.” He grunted, taking the hit and at least not bothering to deny he was like that more often than not too. “Guess so. But she didn’t seem nervous last night and she was just out with you, talking to you and Leda. I don’t think that was work.” “What happened when you two went outside?” “I thought she was going to rip me a new one like Ginger would’ve.” Rolling her eyes, Jesse’s patience ran out and she retorted, “Look at me. Do you think me and that... earth goddess have any real shit in common?” Confused by where the question was coming from, but not the answer, he said, “No.” “Do you think me and Ginger have anything in common?” “No,” he said, even quicker and even more assured. “So quit expecting Chase to act like Ginger, just because you’re attracted to her too,” Jesse said point-blank, while he pinched the butt of his unsmoked cigarette tightly. “She looks like she should be

on Mad Men sipping a vodka martini; she’s not Ginger.” Aden grunted again and mumbled sourly, “Don’t know anything about her anyway.” “Last night she said she quit her job and broke up with her boyfriend and just started traveling,” Jesse told him. “She didn’t tell us all the places she’s been, but she was just in the Middle East, and she mentioned New Orleans and Athens and Chile.” “How the hell would you keep something like that up for that long?” he wondered. Jesse rolled her head from side to side on the lounger. “No idea. Guess you could just find her blog and read all about it,” she half-suggested, half-mocked as she almost smiled. “I need another beer,” Aden said. He levered up onto his feet and headed into Tristan’s kitchen, yanking open the fridge and checking out the choices. A second later, Dunk came up and snaked his arm over Aden’s shoulder to get the beer he wanted. “What’s up? You and Jesse just chilling?” “Yeah. I’m making fun of how out of place the tourist looks,” Aden said. Crossing his arms, Dunk grinned like the shit he was, and since he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, returned, “Is that right? I like her.” “You like everyone, Dunk,” Aden pointed out stoically. Laughing, Dunk shrugged. “True, or maybe I just never meet assholes. Besides, what’s not to like? She’s hot as hell, she seems smart and nice.” Aden tensed and Dunk’s grin stretched that little bit wider; he was like a bloodhound when it came to scenting that a person said one thing while he meant something else. “If I thought for a split second a woman like that could take me seriously, I’d be giving her this face.” And he showed Aden an only slightly exaggerated version of the look he gave to women when he was hitting on them, an expression Aden thought looked dumb but worked out in Dunk’s favor almost every time. “And Jesse likes her too, and you know how picky she is—and how much she hates making female friends. Cause of the gossip. Leda, too, course.” “Where do you get this stuff?” Aden asked for the billionth time in their friendship. “What?” Dunk asked incredulously as he spread his arms wide, beer sloshing in its can. “Let’s get next game, once Tristan is done wiping the floor with Marie.” Raising an eyebrow, Aden followed Dunk over to the pool table, where Dunk went over to the girls who were probably there to be around Tristan, outrageously flirting. Even though Aden could manage a sort of surly charm for his customers, some days he did envy Dunk his blissfully simple state of mind. Dunk never worried about making a fool of himself or getting laughed at, and being rejected or ignored didn’t bother him either. Then again, Aden thought, frowning, he himself had never really had to flirt. He’d had Ginger and even when they were on a break and Ginger dated other guys, he hadn’t found anyone else because he’d known she would come back and be crazy jealous. After she had come to take him back the last time—not because of him, but because she was pregnant with another man’s baby and didn’t want to be alone or raise the baby alone—everything he’d been too blind or lazy to notice before, he’d seen then. Between that shitty day and last night, he’d never even considered hitting on a woman, let alone considered whether he could if he wanted to. That he was thinking about this now, just because Chase Cade had flashed that coy curiosity up at him, infuriated him. “Why are you standing here alone?” Jesse asked, jerking him out of his mind, and he knew she could care less that he’d gone for a beer and not come back. “Enjoy watching Dunk scam on babes?” “Hey!” Dunk cried. He loped around and slung an arm across her shoulders, looking mournfully at her. “A man’s gotta do something when he can’t have you, okay?” Jesse laughed hard, almost doubling over, and Aden smiled a little. What else could a person ask for

out of life, really, than a good job, good friends, and good parties?



CHAPTER EIGHT Chase Chase was only thirty, but she hadn’t been to loud, raucous parties that led to ruined outfits, hangovers and one-night stands since she was twenty, before she’d decided that she wanted to be a lawyer. Immediately, she’d buckled down, which had earned her near-perfect grades, envious internships, a scholarship to a prestigious law school, and a great job. Once she became a lawyer, she’d worked eighty-hour weeks and the parties couldn’t be termed fun because they were with work colleagues or directly for work. During her travels, she’d gone out, but she imagined Tristan and his friends would laugh in disbelief if they knew she’d never been to anything like his casual Saturday night hangout. It was the kind of party that had come about organically, a text and then a few more, where people came and went in waves, bringing snacks or beer. People grilled and played pool and laughed and talked against the backdrop of Tristan’s magical house, all of its lines off-kilter and unbalanced. It was absolutely a normal party to most normal people all over the world, and everyone treated her as if it were normal for her too. Tristan dug up a bottle of Pinot Grigio without making fun of her for not wanting a beer. Leda and Munn hung around as if they’d been doing it for years. She met some of the other people and not one asked what she did for a living; in fact, they just folded her into their gossip as if she knew what was going on. Everyone accepted her simply because she’d arrived with Aden, Dunk and Leda. It baffled Chase, who had met wonderful people while traveling, but had also encountered thieves, bigots, and manipulators of all types. It took Chase a few hours and wine for reinforcement to make everyone who’d been at dinner accept their money back, all of them incredulous. Aden demanded to know again how she could afford to throw away so much money, but she’d just shoved the bills into his chest pocket and walked off. His lack of grace infuriated her, so she had another glass of wine, then another, which slid by her defenses and seeped into her brain, and made her way to the pool table. “How’s it going in here?” she asked. “Just fine, darlin,” Tristan replied. Even with her soggy brain, she could tell that he was assessing her like a bouncer to see if she’d been overserved. He said, “You look like you might want for some air. Ade, will you take her since you’re not playing this round?” She jerked around to see that Aden had snuck up without her noticing. “The water is quiet at this time of night,” he mumbled, hands stuck in his pockets. He didn’t press a broad hand to her lower back, like he had escorting her inside the 3 Brothers earlier, when his calluses had snagged minutely in the fabric of her dress. But she was unsteady as they went down the patio and across the sloped lawn towards the pier, and

she had to grab his forearm to catch herself. She flushed, not just because she needed the support, but because he felt so good; he was solid under her. And he let her go as soon as they were at the end of the pier, and she thought he was probably a little irritated that he’d been assigned to babysit her. Slumped against the railing, her breasts crushed against it, she looked out at the lake, which was the darkest blue even in the just-past-full moon’s light. Then she looked up at the stars, brilliant pinpricks of light. A part of her wanted to give him a piece of her mind about the money thing, but she shook the impulse off and blew out a noisy breath. Without looking at him, she said, “It’s really beautiful out here. And peaceful.” Yells erupted from the house, and Aden huffed out a sort of laugh. “No, really,” she plowed on, feeling his mistrust of her, or her comment, and was infuriated all over again at his inability to see that she was being sincere. “I was just in Iran and Pakistan, touring these mind-blowing ancient places. I didn’t figure out why the places seemed kind of sad, too, until I was writing about it on my blog. Everything was so beautiful, but I was on a group tour and somehow I still felt lonely.” “If it’s lonely, why do you do it?” His words were gruff and begrudging, and his forearms were draped over the railing, his fingers interlaced loosely and dangled towards the water lapping gently against the dock supports. It lulled her from infuriated to hazily forgiving, though probably only because she was drunk, and so she rambled, “Because I love it. Just like you love Maybelle and your restaurant and all your friends. And besides, being alone isn’t the same as being lonely. I saw you sitting with Jesse outside earlier. No one was with you and you two weren’t talking. Were you lonely, just sitting silently with a friend?” “Of course not,” he said, rather abruptly. “I saw you at the beach, too, before you came over to Dunk,” she continued to ramble as she looked up from his hands across the lake, fascinated by the vague sense of trees and houses, maybe, on the far side of the water. He made a sort of grunting noise, but she didn’t look over. “Dunk said it was an ex-girlfriend of yours that you’d been talking to.” She’d quit her law firm and then her boyfriend almost seven months ago and hadn’t been with anyone since. But she didn’t really miss it—or, she didn’t miss Troy or the few exes before him, all of whom had always wanted things she didn’t. Still, she’d thought about them and their relationships often enough, especially in romantic places like Paris. “You did look lonely then,” she murmured. “It must have been a bad breakup.” Aden was silent for a while, so she swiveled, wobbly on her wedges, and found him looking at her, his pale brown eyes hooded. His thin mouth was almost a line, not straight across but like a diagonal slash. It wasn’t lush or obviously sexy, but heat rushed unevenly over her skin, like a rash of goosebumps, and she shivered at the half-forgotten, simple pleasure of attraction. One hand, the fingers loosely curled, rubbed the side of his crooked nose and more heat rushed into her. “I don’t really want to talk to a drunk stranger about that,” he said in this half-cynical, half-lonely tone that got to her. “Hmm.” She screwed up her face, studying him critically. “Or, it could be perfect to talk to a stranger, since it’s not like I’ve ever met your ex and probably never will.” After a thick silence, he asked, “What’s the longest relationship you’ve been in?” She wilted a little, but answered, “It was about five years. It was... serious. We had plans, plans about our futures and how we wanted our life to go. We bought a house, even,” she added, the failures of that relationship acidic in the back of her throat. “I started dating Ginger when we were sixteen,” he began haltingly, “and we were on again, off again until I ended it for good earlier this year.” The statement was flat, but packed tight with

suppressed emotions. “We broke up a lot, but not for years at a stretch or anything. If you add up the time, it still has to be upwards of ten years.” “Oh, Aden,” she said softly, shaking her head. He twitched, as if rejecting the sympathy. She’d met her best friend when they were freshman in college, so their friendship was about eleven years old now. She couldn’t imagine all of those highs and lows compounded exponentially by teenaged hormones, sex, becoming an adult, and evolving tastes, goals and dreams. It was admirable, if also equally foolish, to stay so long. “What was it like?” At that, he gave one of his grunts. “It was what it was.” “I don’t know what that means,” she told him, cocking her head to one side. “It was a lot of fighting,” he finally offered, shrugging like he knew that wasn’t much of an explanation either. “A lot of waiting. We went through all the big milestones together, doing all those firsts except marriage and kids. When I had to take over Wild Harts, I got so busy and she didn’t get along with my sister and friends, so... I guess it wasn’t the best.” Chase thought about what that would mean and finally hazarded, “No one else will ever know you like that, no matter how much you tell them. That’s a little... weird.” “No one else can ever hurt me like that, either.” He grimaced and gripped the pier railing like he could crush it into painful splinters if he put much more effort into it. “And... I don’t miss it.” He appeared lonely again, isolated, the loud, joyful noise from the party buffeting against him, taken for granted and bringing no peace to him. Yet after the montage of changing landscapes, weathers, faces and bodies, and attitudes that Chase had seen in her travels, there was something incredibly reassuring about Aden just being who he was. But the weight, the depth, of that made her skitter back into lighter territory. “Do you think I could get into your secret bartender society now?” she asked with a small, fleeting smile. “Since you kind of just poured out your heart to me?” Aden looked down at her, his grip relaxing on the railing, the lines at his mouth growing shallower and then all but smoothing off his cheeks, only to reappear suddenly around his eyes as he grinned. “I don’t know, the dues are pretty high,” he warned her. Holy fucking shit, she thought, her brain flushed of all ability to function. That smile was not the smile of a boring, humorless cynic. It was... it was transformative, like using the flash on a camera so that an image which would be bleak and all shadows without it became colorful and saturated. Her knees locked so that she wouldn’t tip over. “I’m a pretty good negotiator,” she promised, her brain still mush. And then he chuckled, a little rumbly sort of thing like a muscle car idling on the street outside, and her heart turned over hard, because that smile and that chuckle were the first time he’d reacted positively to her, untainted by his grumpy attitude. It was... beautiful, and her brainless mind whispered, unable to help it, “But your ex, it is over?” “It’s definitely over,” he declared in that same rumble as his chuckle. Shivering again, her brain still too tipsy to overanalyze anything, she lifted her hands to scrape up the plaid fabric of his shirt slowly, bumping over the pockets on his pecs. She gripped the muscles right next to his neck and rocked up on the toes of her wedges as best as she could. Her eyes fell again to his mouth, and she kissed him. She was expecting him to hold her at bay or turn his head, not feeling what she was. But those hot, rough hands cupped the back of her head, squishing the tips of her ears heedlessly, and a thick tongue licked her bottom lip. On a soundless gasp, she caught it, and the kiss became a wet surge of tongues back and forth between their mouths. Her body stumbled against his and he took her weight. Their arms tangled together and her thighs trembled from the effort of keeping her balance

on her wedges, but she didn’t care. Her exes were also steady, reliable men like Aden, but it had left them dull, their kisses without spirit. Aden kissed like a man who was just as lost in the moment as she, that crooked nose blowing hot blasts against her cheeks as if he were a galloping stallion. The minutes tumbled one past the next until she grew dizzy from not being able to take in enough air. Then she stepped back with a gasp, their mouths pulling apart so suddenly that they hung open. Aden stared down at her, his lips parted and his breaths quick. “Wow,” she breathed in appreciation, “was that your first kiss post-ex?” His expression shuttered hard. “I need another drink.” Chase masked her hurt by tossing her hair. “Me too,” she agreed lightly. “Bad plan, Chase. Very bad plan.” She was stumbling around Maybelle with her wedges in her purse, hopelessly lost. Her stomach roiled and she thought her dinner might come up along with enough wine to drown a hippopotamus . Admitting defeat, she crumpled to the grass wherever she was, which was better than ringing doorbells at three in the morning to ask for directions. “Freaking wrong day to let my cell run out of batteries.” She blamed the extent of her inebriation entirely on Leda, while she knew that all the blame for being lost was on herself. After that ill-advised kiss, she and Aden had gone back inside, immediately splitting up. She should have called a cab right then, but she hadn’t—she’d joined Leda and Jesse at the bar in the living room. When everyone else had dragged pillows and blankets from Tristan’s closets and started crashing out all over, she should’ve called a cab. But she’d been the kind of drunk who absolutely knew the way back to the inn. Except she so didn’t know the way back. Sprawled out on the grass, which needed a mow, her purse for a pillow, she stared up. But the stars, which had dazzled her before she’d kissed Aden, hurt, so she closed her eyes. She felt the earth move under her, or through the universe, or something. “Miss Cade?” Chase made an acknowledging noise, too drunk to be surprised someone knew her. “It’s Dougie Shore—we met at the beach this morning?” the voice offered. Chase pried her eyes open and the boy who had held her copy of Catch-22 swam in her vision. Her face twisted in surprise that such a sweet boy turned out to be that uptight Martha Shore’s relative. “Do you know that you're lying on a church lawn?” “No. And please talk quieter,” she ground out, her mouth feeling like mealy apple. “I already have a hangover even though I'm still pretty damn drunk. Hell.” “Tomorrow's Sunday,” he explained gently. “Well, that’s no good. I wouldn’t want your... is Martha your grandmother? Wouldn’t want your Martha to see me like this,” she mumbled with a pretty heavy dose of sarcasm. “Let me help you up,” Dougie said. When she whispered an okay, he pulled her slowly to her feet. Her legs felt watery and she could feel bile creeping up her throat, but thankfully it wasn’t the same feeling that she got just before she threw up. “Thanks for the tip. It’s just that I'm really lost.” “You’re staying at the Dogwood, right?” Chase marveled at small towns and their spy-worthy gossip network all over again, then nodded. “Where are you coming from?” “Tristan Houston’s.” The teen's brows rose. “Swear to God, you're far from where you're going. You'll make like a huge triangle by the time you get to Jesse's. How’d you end up out here?” “How should I know?” she muttered as they began to walk.

Dougie’s hand hovered over his thigh, ready to grab her. It was very gallant, not something she was used to. Nothing like ungallant bartenders who kissed her back with their hands cradling her face and then said they needed a drink. “I'm not going to puke,” she promised him. “...I don't think.” “That's good,” he managed to tell her without laughing. “Hey!” she exclaimed, pointing a finger accusingly. “You're a teenager. I know because you're in summer school—you said you are. You're a juvenile delinquent.” He was quiet for a while, but she didn't mind because the sidewalk was buckled and it took a lot of concentration not to break an ankle. “I think someone probably told you about my family, because you’re hanging out with Leda Riveau. They're...” “Judgmental,” she supplied, then winced. “Sorry, that was... judgmental.” Flashing a quick smile, he agreed, “No, that's the right word. It's embarrassing to have a family that acts all high and mighty. Maybe it's the internet or having all of the cable channels because of the bed and breakfast, but I'm not narrow-minded like them.” “Look,” she sighed, “I haven’t been all over the world—yet—but I’ve been to enough places where everyone’s supposed to be super conservative and places that are like moral free-for-alls. And I hate to tell you, but people are narrow-minded everywhere.” “They can be,” he corrected her fiercely. “Maybelle’s alright, for a small town, but I'm working my ass off in school so that I can get a scholarship somewhere, anywhere, and go where no one knows my crazy family or compares me to the Riveaus all the time.” Chase nodded minutely, her neck feeling like overcooked spaghetti, and considered this viewpoint. She’d encountered it a lot, almost always in young people. No matter how well-educated or how exposed to other places, tons of people thought that there was someplace else that was perfect for them and they wanted to find it. In a way, she was doing the same thing, only she wanted to find things that were perfect about every place. “I hope you can do it,” she told him fervently. After that, she gave up trying to talk; she needed all of her energy and concentration just to make it to the inn without passing out mid-step. Dougie kept pace with her, never saying a word about the inconvenience, and she enjoyed the companionship so much that she didn't take up big life questions again once she sobered up some. All told, it took an hour to escort her all the way to the inn and help her unlock it with her room key. “Are you sure you can climb the stairs alone?” he asked dubiously. “Hey, I told you about my sweet room in the gable so you could be jealous of me getting to stay in it,” she retorted indignantly, “not so that you could worry I'll break my neck getting up to it. I'm fine now.” She flapped one hand at him and admonished, “I’m sure you’re way past breaking curfew. You need to get home. Try not to get caught.” “Are you sure?” he asked again. She smiled a little and walked backwards in a straight line, sticking one arm out and touching her nose with the other. He laughed a little as she imitated the roadside sobriety test, then conceded. “G’night, then, ma’am.” In spite of her indignation, she did go up the stairs very slowly, clinging to the bannister. She stripped off her dress and then wrapped a lightweight throw blanket around herself and curled up in the wicker rocking chair at one of the windows. She reached for the pretzels she'd left on the windowsill that morning and absently munched. Although she still had the sensation of being underwater, she was mostly sober, and she was melancholy. Even before she’d started to travel, when her life was making her miserable, she hadn't been melancholy; it had been more frustration, boredom and dissatisfaction. So melancholy wasn't a state of mind she was used to. Could she be melancholy just because she’d fallen so completely in

love with Maybelle today, a place she was only visiting? There were a dozen places she loved, for a hundred different reasons, connected to her best memories and greatest experiences of traveling so far. Two days in Maybelle wasn’t enough time for that, and nothing had felt life-changing... For a second, the memory of that kiss blew through her. She laughed as she realized that she had to be more drunk than she’d thought. Sleepily, Chase closed her eyes, her head nestled in the deep curve of the back of the rocking chair, and tumbled into a deep, dreamless sleep.



CHAPTER NINE Chase Chase jerked awake a long time later, then groaned because sleeping in the rocker had put a serious kink in her neck and one of her legs was completely asleep. “Ow,” she moaned as she hopped on the non-numb leg to her toiletries for aspirin. When she saw that it was one, she muttered sourly, “There goes my itinerary today.” She was hung over, and that silly melancholy from the witching hour last night still clung stubbornly to her. That kiss last night had been a mistake, and since all of the locals she’d met were Aden’s friends and family, it would be best for her to stay away. Resolute, she got ready and put on the nicest thing she had, a white silk halter and pale blue, widelegged pants with turquoise earrings, and hoped it was chic and intimidating enough to set her clearly apart from the locals. And as she went downstairs, she tried to fortify herself against Maybelle and everyone in it. She was on vacation, here to hear live music, go to the beach, visit art galleries, and eat good food. She’d done all that, plus she’d interacted—too much—with the locals and had normal, non-lawyerly conversations with people, so she’d fulfilled her secondary goals for traveling. All that was left, if she wanted, was to write a blog about the experience of the 4th of July in a small town in one of the thirteen original colonies. When she hit the lobby, Jesse called from behind her small reception desk, “Hey, Chase. How are you feeling? You’re the last guest to be up—not a shock, after last night,” she added with a sympathetic look. “There aren’t any arrivals today. You want to have some coffee and maybe greasy eggs if you’re up for it? We could eat it in the garden.” All of Chase’s intentions faltered. That was the most she had heard Jesse speak at once yet, and it was obvious that it was rare for Jesse, as rare as bringing outsiders into her tight-knit group of friends. Chase couldn’t be cold or careless in response to that; it would be hurtful and a lie. So she answered, a smile twitching at her mouth, “I’m okay, after a shower. You look just fine though. The garden sounds nice. Maybe just the coffee though, no eggs.” Jesse smiled crookedly at her awkward answer and led her to the dining room for coffee and a plate of bacon, then out into the garden. Jesse relaxed into one of the Adirondacks, lighting a cigarette, while Chase sank into another and began, the words stilted, “Listen, you and your friends were generous, letting me crash your party.” “You make us sound like a charity,” Jesse commented before she crunched on a strip of nearly burnt bacon. Once she’d swallowed the first bite, she cocked one eyebrow at Chase and said, “You

look like you’re trying to break up with me. Is this a kiss-off?” Immediately, Chase shook her head too hard and denied too fast, “No!” “All right,” Jesse drawled extra-slowly. “Then what is it?” Chase grimaced and tried to think of a way to explain the distance she needed to put between herself and Jesse and her group of friends, without mentioning that kiss. To buy some more time, she began, “It was really fun, I wasn’t lying.” Jesse’s expression seemed to fade until it was blank, her eyes opaque and guarded. “Damn it,” Chase burst out, followed by something else entirely. “Tristan said that you have a friend who’s a lawyer. It’s not the easiest thing to become. I wanted to argue to get the best advantages for my company or clients, and I wanted to use language and rules to do it. I liked the strategy. I went to one of the toughest law schools in the country to learn it all. Then I worked at a law firm in Silicon Valley for three years, eighty hours a week, working my ass off trying to prove my worth and get promoted.” “Okay,” Jesse said when Chase went quiet, but it was more than half question. She scratched her head through a messy topknot. Chase met Jesse’s eyes as she shook her head and struggled to explain. “I meant... I guess I just mean that being a lawyer, you form habits about how much you work and how hard you strive to accomplish things. I love traveling, I absolutely do. But those habits are hard to break, so there’s a part of me that feels lazy. And hanging out with you and your friends, when you aren’t on vacation but just doing things on your night off...” Jesse huffed out a laugh, but then sort of squinted and offered bluntly, “I get hard work and being bored by too much free time. But from what you said, it seems like you don’t need to make money. So unless you plan to travel forever, just enjoy your vacation.” “You think I’m a little crazy,” Chase guessed with only a little chagrin. “I think it’s amazing you haven’t freaked out about this yet,” Jesse countered. Chase rolled her eyes at herself, but took Jesse’s words seriously as she swirled her coffee around in the thick ceramic mug. Her family and her best friend had tried to ask her about this—how long she planned to travel and what she planned to do afterwards—but she’d ignored them. “Every once in awhile, I think about trying to make the blog professional.” Jesse’s nose scrunched a little but she only replied mildly, “If you did that, then you’d have to interview me, ask me what I think makes Maybelle a great, successful tourist destination.” “I would have to ask, because I’m not sure of the answer,” Chase said with a shrug. “Just because Rick Carver opened La Fontaine, bringing in posh folk, jumpstarting tourism, doesn't mean Maybelle was a shithole,” Jesse said incredulously, offended, her eyes flashing. “We don’t do that much to draw in vacationers, Ms. Cade. We have a forest preserve, three warm, clean lakes, a fantastic art gallery, and we're near mountains.” Chase countered sharply, “Is that what you love, the gallery and the lakes?” When Jesse clamped the butt of her cigarette between her teeth as though it were a cigar, Chase winced, guilt swamping her. She’d used her lawyer tone, accusatory and incredulous with a dash of cynical disbelief. Not only did she hate hearing that tone come out of her own mouth, but Jesse didn’t deserve to have it aimed at her—the other locals Chase had befriended didn’t deserve it either, even if they hadn’t heard her use it. She crossed her legs, smoothing one hand over her thigh, and apologized, “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. I love it here already; I’m just trying to figure out why.” The tension bled out of Jesse’s body and she hooked one boot up onto her other knee, cocking one eyebrow. “I never lived anywhere but here, so I can’t give you a list. Some kids talk about escaping to a big city, but I never wanted to go anywhere. If I leave, it’s to go to Shenandoah National

Park or Roanoke for a concert or something. This is home, good and bad, boring and fun. Tourism brings in money, so it’s been good to us, financially. But it’s more than just money. It's good for all of us—not just the kids—to meet people with other kinds of lives.” “Those are facts. That can't be why you love it,” Chase commented, still perplexed. “Aren't some places just special?” Jesse asked with a simple shrug. “And if you’ve never felt like this, then maybe seeing that is enough. You don’t need to get exactly why.” Humbled and floored by Jesse’s simple love of her hometown, which it seemed neither of them were able to dissect or explain, Chase felt her throat close. Impulsively, she got up and hugged Jesse hard, smiling at Jesse's muted oomph of surprise as she awkwardly returned it. Chase let go and admitted, “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have pushed you. Only... I’ve loved places, but it always definitely felt like a vacation. But here, you know, going out with you and your friends, it’s not...” “No problem,” Jesse said, her face as red as Chase’s felt. “You just... sit and enjoy that coffee. I’d best get back in,” she stammered before she left very quickly. Chase dropped back into the chair, wincing since there was no cushion. For maybe the first time since she’d left Monterey, she seriously asked herself what she was doing. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life traveling, unless she did turn the blog into a professional thing and was able to sustain that for years, which she doubted. She’d started it as a way to help her adjust to her new life. It had been a great way to help her to talk to people and stay in touch with her family and Sunny while she traveled. If other people stumbled across it and left comments, then she was happy. But would she really want her life to refocus on a travel blog where she recommended a place, activity or food, or reported on new food trends, fashions and local customs? Would she really want to dissect why she loved Maybelle or figure out why other people did too? She sighed and winced. No. If she were to do that, then she’d stop trying to find out who she wanted to be, which was why she’d started traveling. While she was in the process of buying Troy out of the house, after she’d quit the firm, she was already completely stir-crazy. Even before she’d decided that she wanted to be a lawyer, she hadn’t been a relaxed, aimless person. Lazing around her house in Monterey hadn’t been helping her. She’d stared at her bank account balances, and then she’d switched apps and scrolled through the daily flight deals at a bunch of travel websites until she found something that sounded perfect. Four days, five nights in the historical French Quarter in New Orleans—the Big Easy, the birthplace of jazz! Deal includes hotel, airfare and car rental! After all of this, after how far she’d come, she didn’t want to hide behind a blog. But, she couldn’t let herself get any more attached to Maybelle, either. This was a vacation, whether she blogged about it or not. She needed to just follow her itinerary and explore the county, not make friends or lose sight of the fact that she was trying to regain a little more of herself and learn a little more about herself too. Her mouth firmed with resolve.



CHAPTER TEN Aden Every damn time Aden tried to do payroll, something didn’t add up or he got a program error, but he’d rather sit here an extra two hours than ask Leda to help. She was insufferable about it, as if her catering management job in Nashville a few years back made her an expert, while he was just some backwoods barbarian who couldn’t type. Aden leaned back in the desk chair and blew out a frustrated breath. It didn’t help that he was still vaguely hungover from Tristan’s barbeque; it felt like there was a not-so-gentle vice grip on his temples and his stomach was a little uneasy. “Are you done yet?” Leda blared from behind him. He jolted up and twisted around to scowl at her. “I’ve got time,” he told her. “Not enough time for finishing in time if you’re daydreaming,” she retorted, flashing a giant shit-eating grin. Before he could snap back that she’d stolen the smile from Dunk, she was gone. One hand dropped to his stomach, rubbing it absently as he reminded himself why he loved his job, even when it included time-consuming crap like payroll. He decided that he should just let Leda do it every time, instead of being a stubborn idiot who insisted that they split the responsibility fiftyfifty. He’d done everything alone for almost two years, between his parents handing Wild Harts over and Leda coming back from Nashville; he could turn over payroll one hundred percent to her for a couple of years and not feel guilty. He hunched back over the computer and painstakingly fixed everything, then printed the checks and stuffed them in envelopes for the employees to pick up on Friday. Pushing up from the desk, he groaned and stretched his neck and shoulders, hating how tight they always got while he was at the computer, and went into the kitchen. “Hey, boss,” the sous chef called from behind a cloud of steam at the grill. “Can I get a bacon burger and curly fries when you have time?” “Sure thing, boss. Give me maybe twenty.” “Thanks,” Aden said. “Also, don’t forget it’s the Sheriff’s birthday and even though they didn’t make reservations, Leda heard they’re coming in around eight.” The sous chef nodded. “Heard. We’ll get going on more salsa and ribs.” He headed for the host stand to see how many reservations were on the books for dinner, but his cell rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and picked up. “Hey, Mama.” “Hey, son,” Bertie Riveau said. “How’s it going?” Narrowing his eyes, Aden stepped outside and started to pace a circle around Wild Harts. His parents had always been big fans of jabbering away with customers, charming them and cajoling

them into having an even better time than they already were. But the Riveaus didn’t call each other to chat, and so he replied warily, “It’s going fine, Mama.” “Uh huh, uh huh,” she said impatiently, like she didn’t believe him at all. “Anything else you want to tell me and your Daddy about, Aden?” “No,” he said, trailing out the word. “Why do you think I have something to tell??” “Your sister—” Aden groaned and braced for it. “—Put up some pictures from Tristan’s party last night. You were in one of them talking to a girl. A new girl.” “This is my nightmare,” he muttered. “What was that?” she asked sharply. “It was probably Jesse,” he said, louder than strictly necessary. “Unless Jesse Riley shrunk a foot and put all the height into her bra, I doubt it.” Aden winced. “Thanks for that visual, Mama.” “So?” “It’s just some tourist who was tagging along with Jesse,” he replied, making a face and inwardly apologizing to Jesse, who would certainly get a call from Bertie too. “Jesse’s making friends with tourists?” Bertie exclaimed in complete surprise. “I always thought the two of you were peas in a pod, hating all those lovely tourists.” Aden tossed up his free hand in the air. “I don’t know what goes on in her mind, Mama,” he said. “Jesse said she seems lonely or something, and Dunk met her too.” “Hmm,” Bertie said. “She looks beautiful and her smile in the picture is very nice.” Aden’s lips remained clamped shut. There was no way that he was going to say a single word in response to that, or Bertie would be off and running with it. She and Leda had always harassed him about finding someone—anyone—other than Ginger, and he refused to give her any ideas by agreeing to her assessment of Chase’s looks or smile. Even if it just so happened that he agreed, a tiny bit. “We have seventy on the books for tonight,” he finally lied to her, “plus it’s the Sheriff’s birthday, so I need to go make sure we’re going to have enough to get through the night.” “Of course,” Bertie said briskly. “I know how it goes,” she laughed. “I know you do,” Aden muttered, thinking that he should go home and grab some industrial strength aspirin before his headache turned into a migraine. “Bye, Mama.” “Bye, now.” He went to get the aspirin, and as he filled a glass with water, his mind went back to the night before... to that kiss the night before. God damn, he thought as he tossed the aspirin back and chugged the water, he’d run off like a teenager, too shocked and whatever to know what to do, other than get away from her and that dizzying mouth. He scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. He knew that he should’ve said something after the kiss—even ‘thank you,’ which would have been horrifying—before she had had the chance to ask if it was the first time he’d kissed anyone since Ginger. Since that had been more or less what he was thinking, he’d frozen. It was a miracle he’d managed to get something out about going back to the party instead of blurting that out. Shaking his head sharply, even though it sent a stab of pain through his skull, he stalked back over to Wild Harts and got back to work. He had a life, and it didn’t have any room for acting like a teenager just because he’d kissed a pretty girl at a party. Eventually he was behind the bar, serving beers and cocktails. He mechanically asked the customers about their kids or their new cars and remembered to smile. It was a slow afternoon, probably because it was happy hour at the 3 Brothers, and instead of wondering if Wild Harts should start up one of their own, he was just grateful that it was slow.

Or, he was, until he caught himself thinking about that kiss for the tenth time. “Hey, Aden,” Leda said as she ducked under the bar and came over. “Thanks for siccing Mom on me,” he said before she could go on. “Why the hell did you tell her anything about some picture some moron put up of me and Chase Cade?” Leda snickered and pulled out her cell, thumbed around for a minute, and then flipped the screen towards him. She had one of those cells that was more like a small book than a business card, so the picture was big and clear. It wasn’t of them on the pier—he’d been expecting this, since if it had been, his mother would have said so right away—it was near the pool table. It must’ve been right after Tristan suggested that Aden take her outside because they were mostly turned towards each other, Aden’s hand reaching towards her back to guide her. Her head was angled up, her bangs brushing over one ear, her smile bright, while he looked more like a grumpy deer in headlights. “Who took that?” “Dunk, I think,” Leda replied carelessly. “Quit telling Mom shit,” he snapped. Leda rolled her eyes and shoved him. “Look at her. She’s like the perfect rebound.” “Rebound?” Aden yelped, his eyes darting all around to make sure that no one had overheard. With a quick step, he was right in his sister ’s face. “What the hell are you talking about?” “Re-bound,” she repeated slowly, as if she were the emcee at a spelling bee. “The sex you have after you break up with a significant other—well, in Ginger ’s case, insignificant,” she explained, then stopped to snicker at her own hilarious joke. Grinding his jaw, he squeezed out, “I know what the fuck a rebound is.” “Well, you need one,” she retorted. “I do not want to talk about anything... sex-related with you, Leda!” he snarled. “I could call Dunk instead. Would that be better?” she countered, crossing her arms and smirking. Aden hauled himself back and shuddered dramatically in horror at the idea. “I didn’t think so. All I’m saying is, you need a rebound so that Ginger isn’t the last woman you had sex with anymore. You gotta wipe that slate clean. Reset your system.” There was so much wrong with this that Aden didn’t even know where to start. He gave her his best glower. “I’m not a slate or a system, Leda.” “But she’s like the worst virus ever. You gotta vaccinate yourself.” “Shut up with these awful metaphors,” he ordered. “You’ll thank me later,” she sang as if she were the best sister ever. “Because until you rebound, you’ll have no choice but to compare women and sex to that she-beast.” Furious about the whole exchange, he scowled and scrubbed every surface behind the bar with as much force as he could without breaking anything, bottles rattling. He refused to give one second’s consideration to relationship advice from Leda. Not only was she his sister, for God’s sake, but it wasn’t like she had gotten over her own shitty relationship and was now flourishing in a healthy relationship. No, she’d bottled that shit up and and now she swiped at any man who dared to approach her and shot them down viciously. If anything, he should do the opposite of what she’d suggested. “Aden?” his bartender ventured. “Yeah,” he snapped. “Uh, are you okay? You’re extra...” When he didn’t finish, Aden looked over and found him making an exaggerated scowl. He wanted to talk about his emotional state with his employee even less than he’d wanted to listen to Leda, but he made himself take a deep breath before he said, “I’m fine.” “Okay, because if you want to hide in the back because Ginger ’s here on a date—”

Aden froze at that. “Yeah,” he said, nodding, “she’s near the back. Can’t tell who the guy is.” “I seriously don’t give a shit,” Aden bit out. The bartender ’s eyes blew wide and he practically ran to the opposite side of the bar. Aden felt bad for a second, but he gritted his teeth and started cutting lime wedges. He knew why the bartender thought it was Ginger ’s presence that had him on edge; he’d worked here for almost four years. He must’ve heard Ginger bitching at Aden when they were fighting and cooing at him when they were on again. He must’ve watched Ginger come in with some other guy to make Aden jealous. In the past, Aden had either been scrambling to keep Ginger happy, zig-zagging across the minefield of things to say that wouldn’t piss her off, or scowling and distracted while she was with someone else. But that honestly wasn’t the case anymore. He knew it seemed harsh that Ginger didn’t affect him anymore, but it was just what had happened. Everyone had always called him the only steady Riveau. It was a compliment, as far as he was concerned, even if a lot of people meant it as a sort of half-disparaging tease that he’d never done anything wild like everyone else in his family. There was nothing he could do to change the fact that he was reliable and pretty damn hard to rattle, and he wouldn’t want to change that. Part of how that played out in real life, though, was that he’d stuck with Ginger through tons of crap, loyal even when he really shouldn’t have been. But even he had his limits, and Ginger had pushed him past all of them by the end; once she’d done that, he had told her it was over for good. And he’d meant it. Most people had to get used to being alone, to sleeping alone and not having an automatic plusone to parties or weddings, and to having a lot of free time all of a sudden. If their relationship hadn’t been on-again, off-again, or if they’d both worked nine to five or both worked evenings, he probably would be having just as hard a time as most people adjusting. But he was used to all of that already. What he hadn’t expected was that, instead of his mom and Leda bugging him about ditching Ginger, now lots of people were voicing opinions about how he should move on. This one—a rebound with Chase Cade—took the cake, though. As if he were the type of man who could just... have sex with a woman who was practically a stranger, when it would mean nothing. How would that possibly help him? Not that he needed any help, damn it, there was nothing wrong. “What’d that lime ever do to you?” Leda practically fucking chirped. “I’m taking your advice,” he said sarcastically. “I’m pretending it’s Ginger ’s favorite pair of shoes. Or her favorite lipstick. I go back and forth between the two.” Leda flashed her sharkiest grin and encouraged him. “That’s the spirit!” “You’re nuts,” he mumbled, shoving the limes into their container. “Well, Ginger ’s a bitch,” she proclaimed. “She crashed your car into Mr. Wilder ’s empty horse trailer. She got so mad that you had more votes for prom king than she got for prom queen that she stabbed your foot with her high heel on the podium while you were being crowned. You were in an air cast for like a month. Oh, and she gave you chlamydia!” When someone started laughing his ass off, Aden whirled to glower at him. “You need to remember that you wasted thirteen years on that skank.” Aden lunged to grab Leda’s arm. “Shut up,” he hissed. “If you want to tell me again how stupid you think I am and how much of a bitch you think she is, fine, do it. But do it at home, where every single one of our customers—including Ginger—can’t hear you.” “Why don’t you go home?” Leda snapped back. “We can handle it. Can’t we?” She directed the second question at the other bartender, who agreed hastily, “Definitely.” Then he

held up his hands at Aden. “If... if you want me to, boss.” “Have it your way,” he muttered as he yanked off his apron and shoved it at Leda. Feeling strangled, he stomped out of Wild Harts, through some woods, and into his house, the door banging shut behind him. Once he was in his room, he angrily stripped, hearing a seam rip, and got into the shower, where he made the water extra-hot and the pressure strong enough to beat against his neck and shoulders in a concentrated, spiky stream. One hand fisted against the tiles and he leaned his forehead against it. “Just breathe, damn it,” he told himself as his other hand dug absently into the muscle that ran from neck to shoulder, which was as tense as a cable wire. With a sharp inhale, his body remembered with savage clarity the way Chase’s hands had clutched him there as she’d strained up to kiss him. God, it had been so good, everything about it so... free of history and expectations. He hadn’t had to think about anything but the kiss. It hadn’t been orchestrated; it had been messy and uncalculated and natural. The thick taste of the wine she’d been drinking was thrust into his mouth, stroked onto his teeth and tongue and palate. While they had kept kissing, it melted away until it was just the taste of her and the taste of him, mixing together. Her body had fallen against his, though he’d been too lost in the kiss to do more than enjoy its heat. He reached for his painfully hard dick, gripping around the base tighter than usual and jerking it in short, rough strokes. He groaned, digging his forehead harder into his fist as his mouth gaped open while he thought about what could’ve happened after that kiss, if they hadn’t been on a pier with so many people around. He could’ve hoisted her up onto the railing and wrapped her thighs around his hips and held her securely against him with one arm around her waist and back. He could’ve kissed her until their mouths were raw and their throats were dry, until he learned what kinds of noises she made— “Ah,” he gasped as he came in long, intense spurts against the tile wall. Maybe there was something to be said for making new memories to wipe out his memories of Ginger, Aden thought muzzily as he washed his body and rinsed off the tiles.



CHAPTER ELEVEN Chapter 11 Chase When Chase woke up on Friday, the 4th of July, she stretched lazily and looked up at the ceiling, trying to decide what she was going to do today. Maybelle celebrated Independence Day with a parade, an exhibition baseball game, a carnival, and fireworks. She’d spent the last four days doing every touristy thing there was left to do, sticking to her itinerary. She’d tried out the diner, toured Archer Farms and its tasting room, and gone on a trail ride with the Meyers’ Riding School. She’d shopped at Susie’s Boutique and gone to a lecture at the library about Maybelle’s history. She’d eaten at Lorenzo’s Cocktail Lounge and gotten a spa treatment. She’d taken a day trip to Jefferson National Forest and returned to those paintings at Gilded Superstitions. And every time she’d interacted with Jesse, Leda and everyone but Aden, she’d kept it warm but also short, trying to stick to her plan to be casual because she was on vacation. But every time, she had to willfully ignore the part of her that knew that she was missing out on a chance to make real lasting friends. Which was why she was torn this morning, because yesterday, Jesse had invited her to the Riveaus’ annual barbeque at Wild Harts. When she’d joined in the Holi celebrations in India, it had made her fall more in love with the country and its people, and Maybelle was already wrapped around her heart. Feeling indecisive, she walked outside and called her best friend while she paced the inn’s back gardens. “Hey, what’s up?” Sunny asked. “Hey,” she answered, “so I could go to a carnival or a barbeque, but—” “Barbeque,” Sunny interrupted promptly. “Carnivals are for kids.” “But the barbeque is a social thing for the locals, not a tourist thing.” After a pause, Sunny asked, “Is there something wrong with that?” Chase made a sort of non-committal noise. “No, I mean, not really. You know I want to talk to people and learn about their lives, but, I don’t know, maybe since I’m in Virginia, and not, like, London, I feel like going to somebody’s barbeque is the same as...” “Making friends,” Sunny finished when she trailed off. “Yeah, well, I’m only here for a few more days. Why would I want to put myself out there like that and find out I really like... them... and then just leave? I don’t think friending them on Facebook is going to keep fledgling relationships alive forever, Sunny.” “That sounds like lawyer Chase.” Chase rubbed her forehead as Sunny continued with a touch of impatience, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but if you want to, then go. Why can’t you make friends while you travel? I think that you can have lasting friendships online. So why not go to

the barbeque, make friends, and connect with them on social media before you go? Then you won’t be a tourist, you’ll just be visiting friends.” Instead of telling Sunny the truth about that kiss with Aden and his reaction, which had humiliated her, she confessed another truth, “I'm no good at this balance. Troy told me I’m too nice to be a lawyer and too much of a bitch to be a friend, and he was right.” Sunny cursed, ripe with exasperation. “Troy was a class-A douche. He loved the idea of you two being this lawyer power couple, but then he didn’t actually want to date or live with a lawyer. He wanted, like, some woman who cooks and shit. Douche.” Chase laughed a little painfully. “Was he wrong, though?” “Yes, you idiot!” Her best friend groaned. “When we met, you were balls-out all the time. You made friends with everyone and you had so much fun challenging people, offering up a different perspective about everything. You were interested in everyone and what made them unique and why. We spent days debating the merits of romantic comedies and which season of The L Word was the craziest. It’s like... if the douchey ex-boyfriend in Legally Blonde got Elle Woods back in the end, because he wanted the star lawyer at his side. And then was just pissy because he wasn’t the star.” “It wasn’t all Troy’s fault,” Chase said, not just as a counter argument but also to remind herself. “I tried so hard to be a good lawyer and do the social thing that went with it. I overdid it because I didn’t really want to be doing that whole thing.” “Why do you think I got together with your family and had an intervention?” Chase had to laugh at Sunny’s indignant comeback. “And I’ve never loved you more than the day you told me that you quit the firm and needed me to come sit with you while Troy moved out,” Sunny went on, shifting into a more serious tone, reassuring Chase like the very best friend she was. “It’s been months and I’m still relearning how to be me without hiding behind all the lawyer crap, even if I’m happy and enthusiastic again,” Chase confessed, slumping against a maple tree. “I mean, I can’t even think about going to a barbeque without freaking.” “Shit,” Sunny muttered. “Look, I don’t want to invalidate your feelings or whatever, but I’m calling bullshit on this. You are not seriously freaking out and calling me for advice because you’re afraid that a barbeque might lead to friendships, are you?” All of a sudden, the whole situation struck Chase as ridiculous and she burst into laughter. “No,” she gasped out once she’d caught her breath. “Uh, it’s... about a guy.” “There’s a guy? Yes! What guy?” Sunny demanded. “My first night, I went to a bar with the manager of the inn I’m staying at,” Chase explained, the words tumbling out over her embarrassment at the way she’d blown that kiss so out of proportion. “Her friends own a bar, siblings, and the guy is named Aden and he’s crazy grumpy but super damn fine. Like, he’s got these biceps and this surprise one-two punch of his smile and his laugh... So yeah. I went to a party the next night with him and a bunch of other people I’ve met and drank a lot of wine and kissed him.” “Hell yeah,” Sunny crowed. “Yeah, but he, like, blew me off right after and now it’s weird. And the barbeque is hosted by him and his sister,” she groaned, “or their bar, I’m not really sure.” Sunny snorted. “If I stopped going places where I might run into women I’ve kissed, I’d have to stay at home all of the time, or only go out in, like, Idaho. Don’t be a dumbass.” “Hey! It was my first kiss since Troy,” Chase argued, weakly. At that, Sunny couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore, practically howling. “Shut up!” she screeched. “Oh my God, sorry,” Sunny gasped. “Maybe you’re out of practice?” “It’s kissing, not tennis,” she groused. “And I’m totally a good kisser.”

“So you want to kiss him again?” Sunny asked slyly. “So look sexy and show him how awesome you are. Throw out the let’s-try-that-again sexy vibes. How could he resist?” Chase smacked her forehead. “He just broke up with someone after like ten years.” “Then he’s definitely up for it; take advantage and get those biceps!” Sunny encouraged. “And, since you are a tourist, it’s not like you’ll see him after if it’s awful.” “Gee,” Chase said sarcastically, “thanks for the pep talk.” Sunny didn’t answer for a second, but when she did, she spoke quietly and firmly. “You are happy again, but you’re not one hundred percent you again yet. Don’t put up new walls when you’re almost done tearing down the old ones. Whatever you want, go for it.” Chase shook her head as the pressure built up behind her eyes. For seven months, she’d been trying not to think about before, when she was stressed, overworked, unhappy and in denial about all of it. Now she’d traveled just enough away from that place and forward to discover that the pain of that period was mostly faded. But, she admitted with a wince, while the pain had faded, there were still scars. “Okay,” she agreed, her voice shaky. “Okay, thanks. I’ll go to the barbeque. Thanks, Sunny,” she repeated fiercely. “I love you, Charlotte Selia Cade.” “I love you, too,” Chase told her, then ended the call. She took a second to breathe, to let all of that sink in. “Whatever I want, I’m going for it,” she told herself, almost belligerently, as she set her jaw and went to go get ready.



CHAPTER TWELVE Aden Aden surveyed Hughes Field with bone-deep satisfaction. The parade had ended an hour ago, and now everyone was here, where the exhibition baseball game between current varsity players and alumni would start soon. It was one of his favorite things. The bleachers were full and there was a sea of chairs past the outfield, and the spectators were buying hot dogs, ice cream and drinks from concessions while the players warmed up. The local radio station’s sports announcer and the local paper ’s sports columnist bantered over the loudspeakers while the Mayor and the Sheriff walked over to Aden. “Mayor, Sheriff,” Aden said as he nodded and shook their hands in turn. “Coach,” the Mayor said as he dug a quarter out of his pocket. As he tossed it into the air, the Sheriff chose, “Tails.” “Tails it is,” the Mayor said, holding up the quarter. “I think you should coach this year, Aden,” the Sheriff decided. Aden grunted and the two men strolled off as he shoved a stick of gum in his mouth. He’d never admit it, but he loved the annual coin toss to see if he’d coach the varsity kids or play against them on the alumni team. The game was always a contest of youth and agility versus experience and wiles, and he loved participating on either side, whether he coached or played. It was just that he loved it more when he got to coach. “Looks like Coach Riveau is on the kids’ team this year,” the announcer declared. “Yup. Third year in a row now,” the columnist pointed out. “I sure do miss watching the coach on the field, but the kids look thrilled he’s going to be on their side.” Aden bit back a smirk as the kids took their spots on the field and an alum he'd coached during his first year stepped up to the plate. Low and inside, he wanted to tell his pitcher, but he wasn’t allowed to use inside information, as it were. The cheerleaders screamed for the varsity boys out there while the varsity softball girls who were playing too glared. Now that he was well and truly single, the sight made him wince. Almost half his life ago, he’d been the junior varsity shortstop and Ginger had been the cheerleader who got tossed into the air. They hadn’t run in the same circles; her parents belonged to La Fontaine, the unofficial country club, while his had poured their profit right back into Wild Harts. But she’d let him feel her up at Homecoming, so they’d started dating. They’d always fought, the breakups and make-ups just part of their routine. At least, until Leda had told Ginger that she was looking fat and she’d screamed that she was pregnant. In the past, he’d always taken Ginger back because nothing in his life really changed, so why should he change girlfriends? But when she’d admitted that the guy she had been seeing had

gotten her pregnant and didn’t care, he’d finally given her an absolute no. If he wanted kids, he wouldn’t have had any problem with raising another man’s biological child. But he didn’t want kids, or at least he hadn’t had the urge yet. More importantly, he didn’t want to be with a woman who only wanted him because he was steady and would take care of her and the baby. Leda had threatened to kill him if he caved in, but he hadn’t needed to be threatened. Maybe she would finally quit threatening him once he did move on. Almost unwillingly, his gaze slid over to Chase, who wore a gigantic gold headband, tight white pants and a green halter in honor of MHS’s colors. He hadn’t seen her since that night at Tristan’s, when he’d been focused on his physical attraction and trying not to act a total fool with the kiss. The attraction hadn’t gone away; it was so much stronger now, after he’d jerked it imagining them together. But now, with hindsight, the part that made him flushed and nervous was how good their conversation had been... She’d been in town probably just a bit longer than a week, yet she seemed to know every damn person. She was shamelessly cheering for both teams, looking genuinely torn when someone made a great play that ruined someone else's attempt at a great play. It was like those drama masks, half frown, half smile. He wished it drove him nuts—she was a tourist and so he was trying damn hard to forget that kiss—but it was kind of endearing. If he weren’t a part of the game himself, if he didn't enjoy being a part of it so much, he'd probably be doing the same exact thing. Only quietly. “Shit,” he breathed, then snapped out of it and tried to concentrate on the game, on the way the alums were holding up, and to make sure the kids weren't being show-offs. But Chase kept distracting him. Then, suddenly, she appeared at his side in the bottom half of the fourth inning. She had gotten a Maybelle High ball cap from somewhere and was wearing it backwards, tufts of her buttery hair flopped over her forehead. She didn’t say anything to him, just put her fingers to her lips and wolf whistled when Dunk fouled a ball. Dunk looked over and winked at her before stepping back into the batter ’s box. He didn’t have a goddamned clue how he should act, since the last time he’d seen her, they’d kissed while she was drunk and he’d bailed right after. But then he thought about Jesse’s observation that he couldn’t react to Chase the way he would’ve reacted to Ginger. So he resolutely shoved Ginger out of his subconscious and did what he wanted, which was to ask dryly, “Is there something you wanted?” His were fixed on the game so he couldn’t be sure, but he swore he felt her eyes run him up and down before she answered cheerfully, “The view’s better from down here.” “Okay then,” he said. He adjusted his own backwards cap, then dug his hands into his pockets because her shirt had these sparkles around her hips that he wanted to touch. “If you’re down here, everyone will want to be too. Can't have that,” he grumbled, knowing he was full of shit and that it was obvious as hell, but he wasn’t sure at all that he could do his job coaching the varsity kids with her right next to him. “You think so?” she asked, and the sass was laid on so thick that he cut his narrowed eyes over at her despite his best intentions. She made a show of inspecting the hordes of people, who weren’t moving towards either dugout, and raised a brow. “I think you’re safe from an invasion, slugger. No one’s even noticed I’m here,” she scoffed. “People are going to talk,” he insisted, “and I don’t really like that.” “Why would people talk? Because we kissed last weekend?” “Yeah, that,” he mumbled, feeling his neck redden. When she stayed suspiciously silent, he corralled an emotion that felt like sharp disappointment. It was totally unexpected; he should just be relieved that she hadn’t brought up the kiss and then

proceeded to let him know how pissed she was about it. But she was giving no indication that she was pissed or hurt, and in his experience, if a woman was feeling that way, she damn well let him know it right away, without holding back. And didn’t that reminder make him relieved that he’d repressed the urge to seek her out and explain his reaction to the kiss? Maybe if he had, she would have just laughed if he’d he told her Ginger was the only one he’d ever kissed, before that night. Or worse, she could have pitied him because she was a world traveler who kissed the bartenders everyplace she went and he was some dumb guy who’d only kissed two women. He threw away his piece of gum and shoved in a fresh one, then roared at the umpire for making an iffy call to let some of his feelings slip free for a second. “I'm not here to stir up trouble,” she reminded him, as if she could sense that he was winding himself tighter and tighter trying to be himself and yet be calm and normal. “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to back seat coach. I never played softball.” He chewed furiously because he really wanted to smoke, not just hide behind holding a cigarette, which was a rare desire since he hadn’t actually smoked regularly for about a year. Pushing that aside, he muttered grumpily, “Well, I don’t rock that easily anyway.” Her eyes twinkled relentlessly as she said, “I'll try to not to stir you up, Aden.” What a shame, Aden thought, barely able to stop himself from saying it aloud. One night stands had never appealed to him before. It was probably why he’d let Chase step back after their kiss, instead of grabbing her up again the way he’d been imagining. But, damn, did the idea appeal to him now, screw that it was Leda’s suggestion. As far as he could tell, the only requirement for a one night stand was mutual attraction. He might be oblivious when people tried to flirt with him most of the time, but he knew enough to know he and Chase were both attracted. If they weren’t, a single kiss wouldn’t be so stuck in his head that it had been his only masturbatory fantasy since, for God’s sake. There was a big difference, though, between a fantastic kiss fueled by mutual attraction and a one night stand, so he mumbled, like a total asshat, “Seriously, don’t try; my ex is in the stands.” “Who cares if your ex is pissed?” she scoffed. “I’m innocently watching a ball game.” “We’ll see,” he said, his voice tight. But she didn’t say anything else for the rest of the game, just shrieked and bounced until the varsity kids won by a run, and while he was high-fiving them, she vanished. Leda sauntered over with a pair of ice cream cones, handed him the chocolate, and smirked as she stated like it were a royal proclamation or something, “She likes you.” Aden bit viciously into his cone, then groaned, the words mangled because his mouth was instantly numb from the ice cream, “Yeah, well. Like her too. For a tourist.” Leda smirked harder, annoying the crap out of him. “Who wouldn’t?” “I'm going to go pick up the last of the things we need for the barbecue. Will you be okay handling things until I get there?” he asked, deliberately condescending so she'd go away. Giving him her best death glare, she tossed her hair. “Jesse invited Chase to the barbeque, so you better quit being a caveman or she won’t make out with you again like she did at Tristan’s,” she shot back, then stalked towards her car before he could retort. Shaking his head, he said goodbye to some other people before he drove over to the convenience store. His thumb tapped the wheel as he thought, against his better judgement, about what it would be like, what it would make him, if he did sleep with Chase. When he got to the store, he refocused, taking his time going up and down the aisles, more finicky than usual. The barbeque was about friends and community; his family offered up Wild Harts’ yard, providing beer and a band, and everyone but the super uptight people like Martha Shore and her

friends came. They brought food, ate too much, flirted, and forgot to watch their tongues, and then everyone migrated on over to the fireworks. Once he was done, he headed for the register, where one of the owner ’s kids rang him up while the owner commented, “We’re closing up in an hour to head over to your barbeque. Damn excited to see your brother; didn’t know he was coming this year.” “Who?” Aden asked, his mind miles away. But then it caught up with what he’d just heard and he jerked his eyes over. “Did you say you’re excited to see my brother?” “Yeah, the Herrera girls were just in and said he’s playing on the Square...” “Thanks for the help, and I’ll see y’all later at our place,” Aden said in a polite rush. He returned to his truck, chucked the supplies in the bed, and strode up the block to the Square, and then headed for a small crowd near the gazebo. He sucked in a breath when he saw Seth on a stool with a guitar, shaking his hair out of his face and flexing his fingers. It was a habitual pair of gestures and they brought with them a deluge of memories. Seth’s music was powerful, but not always easy or simple, and for a second Aden felt the unwanted sting of envy as Seth started to sing “Long Neck Bottle” with that sly shadow of a smile he had. His eyes shone and from here, he looked about the same as he had the last time he'd been in Maybelle: a shorter, unshaven, unruly version of Aden. He played with such absorption that he didn't see Aden until after the song was done, when he lifted his eyes to remind the crowd, “I hope y’all will join us this afternoon for the annual barbecue at Wild Harts—” As the crowd clapped and scattered, Seth, his eyes on Aden, slid off his stool and dangled his guitar from one hand, opening his other arm. Aden stepped in to clamp him close in a bear hug. They stepped apart and Seth murmured watchfully, “Hi, Aden.” “Come on,” Aden said as he bent to grab Seth’s pack. He turned and strode back towards his truck while Seth strolled next to him with his guitar case over one shoulder and the stool hefted high. “Didn't know you were coming,” he said as levelly as he could. Seth gave a purring noise of amusement and countered, “It’s called a surprise.” “Well, hey there, stranger,” Ginger called out from behind them. Shuddering to a halt, so close to his truck that his body itched to lunge for the driver ’s side door and dive in, Aden cursed under his breath and took a beat. His eyes cut back to Seth, who was clamped between Ginger ’s arms as if she were kudzu, he thought uncharitably. Seth said, his rich voice subtly flat like it always was when he had to talk to her, “Hello, Ginger. What a surprise to see you.” “Hi, sugar,” she said, laying it on too thick. She snapped her hair back over one shoulder and casually slung her purse over her big-ass belly. “What a surprise. I thought you were going to Prague next.” “Why are you stalking my brother?” Aden demanded in distaste. Flicking her fake nails dismissively at him, she retorted as if he were denser than a rock, “I follow Seth on social media. I liked to know where my boyfriend’s brother was.” She gave a studied shrug. “Guess I forgot to unfollow him in February.” “You mean when Aden dumped your manipulative ass for the last time,” Seth corrected viciously in a strangely absent tone, and Aden tensed further, worried by it. Ginger ’s fake look of nonchalance melted into pointy-faced fury. Aden took guilty pleasure in the way she always turned red, unevenly, when she was one-upped like that. “So why did you come over here, Ginger?” he asked wearily. “To see you, Aden,” she purred, then pouted when he didn’t react. In the past, he would’ve lost control of his mind and his crotch. He would’ve already been telling

her all was forgiven. But now, she looked desperate under the pout, and he felt nothing more than sorry that she was scared she couldn’t take care of herself. Then she doubled down on the pout and lightly scraped her nails over his arm. He couldn’t stop the flinch, even his bicep rejecting her selfishness. “I already said everything I could ever want to say to you,” he told her, stone-faced. She tried to rally, taking a different tack as she forced a tinkling laugh. “Oh, Ade, you’re such a man. All you said was that you didn’t want to talk to me for a while.” “I could have elaborated,” he muttered with a good amount of bite, “and told you that I don’t want to ever get back together because I spent about a decade too long going along with whatever you wanted when you never listened to what I do and don’t want.” “I listened!” she gasped in outrage. He clenched his hands into fists and angled his upper body a fraction towards her. “You’re going to be a mother. It’s great for you, but I told you more than once that I’m nowhere near ready for fatherhood and might never be.” Her throat convulsed in genuine dismay, but he’d kept this shit bottled up for too long, so he continued harshly, “If that were my baby, I might’ve felt differently, or kept letting you dump me and ‘take me back’ whenever it struck your fancy. So let’s just admit it’s better this way for everyone.” That last bit hit its mark. She always fought back the hardest against the things that were the truth. “Don’t be silly,” she snapped, her pitch shrill. “Boys say they don’t want kids all the time, just like they say they don’t want to get married or take on responsibilities.” “To be fair,” Seth interjected, saving Aden as a wave of frustration beat against the inside of his skull, “he doesn’t want to get married either.” Ginger ’s jaw dropped and then her whole face scrunched in fury when he added, “Or, not to you anyway.” His mouth quirked fractionally as he looked over at Aden, hefting his guitar case. “Ready yet, bro?” “Just get in,” Aden growled as he tossed the pack and stool into his truck bed. “Aden Riveau, just what do you think—” Ginger sputtered, trying to grab his shirt as he brushed by her and opened the truck door, then climbed in behind the wheel. He wrenched the key in the ignition while Seth slid in across from him. Over the cranky, loud engine, he looked Ginger dead in the eye. “No, Ginger.” She turned a sickly color, and he actually thought it was a sign that she wasn’t totally evil that one hand crept to cup the bottom of her belly to soothe them both. When he only kept staring her down, her face finally spasmed and then she spun and waddled off as haughtily and angrily as she could at almost eight months pregnant. Aden buckled his seatbelt, ignoring how tremors ran through his hands minutely. He aimed the truck for home. “You seem... well,” Seth said after a couple miles. “That was actually pretty healthy.” Torn between being thrilled to see Seth and hurt that he hadn’t known to expect him, he said perfunctorily, “I really appreciate your validation there, Seth.” One of Seth’s hands ran down his guitar case as though he were petting a cat, as close to a nervous gesture as Seth got. “I’m sorry if my surprise upset you,” he apologized quietly. “I didn’t know the timing could be bad. It’s the barbeque, so it seemed...” Taking a deep breath, Aden forced each of his fingers to ease their stranglehold on the steering wheel. “It’s not bad timing.” “O-kay...” Seth muttered. “How’s Leda?” Aden may not have been in any kind of mood or state of mind to talk about himself right then, but he could keep Seth preoccupied talking about Leda. “She's not all that happy, but I don't know what to say to her about it.” He hooked a right at the train tracks and went on, “That idiot Lucius Cavill asked

her out last week and she Hulked out.” “Is he the one with the mole on his chin or the one who’s pigeon-toed?” “The one with the mole,” Aden told him with a surge of annoyance at this tiny example of how far from Maybelle Seth had gone. “Terry’s the one who’s pigeon-toed.” Instead of parking at Wild Harts like he’d planned since he had all the stuff in the back, Aden drove to their house because Leda would go mental if Seth just showed up at the barbeque without any warning. “Leda’s running the BBQ setup and keeping an eye on the kitchen and our booze inventory,” he said. “Go into the house and wait, will you?” Seth muttered something unflattering about Aden under his breath. Aden chose to ignore that and said pointedly, “House is unlocked.” He walked angrily over to the lawn next to Wild Harts, where Dunk and Munn were unfolding massive picnic tables on loan from two of the churches. “Hey, y’all,” he called, “where’s Leda?” “Getting us beer,” Dunk called, pumping a fist in the air. Aden smiled a little at Dunk's perpetual enthusiasm as he went to find Leda, who was behind the bar, loading beer bottles into one of the bussers’ plastic tubs. “Hey,” he said. She must have caught his mood because she stopped what she was doing immediately. “So listen... Seth’s at the house,” he told her lamely. Her face contorted from surprise to pleasure to that odd mix of dismay and hurt Aden had felt, before settling firmly on temper as she exploded, “What the fuck? Let’s go!” She hurtled home, Aden at her heels, and flung the screen door open so hard that it smashed into the fridge. She powered towards Seth, who was putting water in the coffeemaker. Some water sloshed down the side of the machine when Leda punched him in the stomach and then hugged him. “You— you asshole,” she cried, gripping him tightly. “Hey, darlin,” he murmured as he rubbed her back. Leda shoved away with another curse and moved next to Aden, crossing her arms. As kids, they’d fought, of course, but they’d bailed each other out as much as they’d ratted on each other. They’d been thick as thieves with each other ’s best friends. Leda had moved to Nashville soon after high school and Seth went to college three years later, when Aden was twenty-three. The difference was that Leda had come home, bringing them together again, while Seth stayed gone all but a few weeks a year. That meant that now it was two against one; Aden knew that Leda’s narroweyed impatience mirrored his. “I should’ve called...” Seth apologized again in response. “I want to talk to y’all.” “Is anything wrong?” Aden asked, more calmly than he felt, with a bad gut feeling. “Not... really,” Seth prevaricated, dragging the words out. Aden’s hand stilled on the mugs he was pulling off the drying rack. The siblings’ personalities were very different, but they had the same parents; they all spoke with Dad’s cadence and Mom’s tightness when they were feeling something strong. They all pulled their brows together, making a ditch over the bridge of their nose, when they were serious, just like Mom. And they all kicked up one side of their mouths in self-deprecation when they had something touchyfeely to be said, the way Dad did. Seth was doing it all. Aden demanded to know testily, “Which is it? We’re too busy today to dick around.” Seth’s concern over it showed in his white knuckles as he admitted, stilted instead of measured and rhythmic like he usually was, “I'm thinking of moving home.” There was a stunned silence, then Leda echoed blankly, “Home. Here, home?” “Yes,” Seth said, then flushed. “Yeah, home to Maybelle. About the house—I’m not certain.” He

blew out a breath and pushed his hair away from his eyes, looking at them both intently. “I realize this is sudden for you, but it’s not, to me. I'm ready to settle.” Leda guffawed. “Settle down? Wife, babies, steady job? Get real, Seth.” “He doesn't mean like that,” Aden said, giving Leda a look. Seth’s decisions might always seem sudden from the outside, but Aden knew he always thought everything through, sometimes too much. Now, as he studied Seth, he noticed the shadows under his eyes, and the shine he’d had in his eyes while singing on the Square had been extinguished. “What happened, Seth?” he asked as he resisted the urge to cross his arms. Seth looked out the kitchen window and forced out, “Can we talk about it later?” Aden and Leda exchanged a really worried look, but Leda assured him, “You don't have to house hunt or something. The house is all of ours; you have a room and a studio.” “Okay,” Seth said. “My stuff's shipping in, but there’s not that much.” “Seth. Even if you needed more space, who cares?” she asked, looking at him like he was crazy. “The basement and the attic barely have any crap in them right now.” “Oh. Yeah. I forgot.” Aden’s worry over Seth doubled, but the Riveaus were stubborn. If they fought, it could go on for weeks, and it would always end in a draw. Aden wanted to push him about what was going on, but there was no point; Seth would never talk before he was ready. So he just advised his brother, “Stop freaking out. Move in, put your organic herbal shit in the cabinets, leave your guitar strings everywhere, and earn extra cash playing at Wild Harts if you feel like it.” “Extra cash?” Seth repeated in a weird tone. “You're an equal partner in Wild Harts,” Leda pointed out. “Remember?” “Well alright then,” Seth said, too easily. Aden kept his mouth shut, but Leda had to open her big one. “Your account at Macavoy Bank has been getting monthly deposits for the last six years. You forgot about that? What, are you rich or something?” she asked sarcastically. A startled, breathless burst of laughter passed Seth’s lips as he tugged on one ear. “Er, I live on what I make from gigs. Royalties and the Wild Harts money get put into savings...” “Royalties,” Leda scoffed. “How grown-up.” “So this is awesome,” Aden muttered, “but I’m going over to Wild Harts now.” “Hoping the sexpot’s coming after all? She can help with that tension,” Leda jeered. “For Christ’s sake, shut up, Leda,” Aden snapped, stomping out. He’d already been annoyed by having to adjust to a change when he became truly single for the first time since he was sixteen. In the last week, his attraction to Chase Cade had surprised the hell out of him. And now, things were changing again with Seth’s announcement that he was moving home and moving in, it seemed like for good. He didn't like surprises, he didn't like change, and he didn't like tourists.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN Chase After the baseball game, Chase went to La Fontaine Resort and Spa. She had a couple of hours to kill before the barbeque at Wild Harts and thought that maybe she’d use her gift certificate for a massage from Sunny after getting some lunch. The restaurant was a bit more country club and a bit less international hotel than the exterior architecture and the lobby suggested. But she liked its holiday decorations of blue and red ribbons wound around vases of white roses on each table. Also, they sat her in the sunniest section, where she could feel the warmth on the back of her shoulders while she sat. By the time the server brought her an appetizer, sweet potato fries with a housemade marshmallow dip, she was still a little flush from teasing and flirting with Aden at the baseball game. A normal woman would have been annoyed by his grunts and abbreviated, barely-civil responses, but they’d only made her like him more. More than that, the quick parry and thrust of language was the only thing she missed about being a lawyer; that clash of intellect and humor, whether mismatched or like-minded, had always turned her on. That was one of the reasons she’d decided to go into the legal professional and probably one of the biggest draws to Troy. Somehow, though, the sense that Aden didn’t want to argue or debate with her, but had fully engaged with her despite that, only wrenched up the heat. Embarrassed that something that could barely be described as banter had done this, she gulped and ran one hand over her face and tried not to think about it too deeply. But, she gave herself credit where credit was due: she had sashayed into Aden’s dugout without any kind of invitation and said whatever popped into her head. She had felt no burning need to confront him about the kiss to clear the air or to talk about what it meant. She had been happy just giving in to the impulse to go talk to him, and even if her flirting skills were terribly rusty, she hadn’t felt self-conscious at all. She’d simply felt like... herself. With a quiet groan, she drank water and let her server whisk away her empty plate. Not wanting to think too hard about that, either, in case it jinxed her or freaked her out, she ordered dessert instead of an entree, since the barbeque wasn’t that much later. She was pleased by the fluffy, sweet chocolate mousse that came with tiny sparklers in it. As soon as she was done, though, she settled the bill and walked outside, knowing she definitely couldn’t relax enough to enjoy a massage now. It was barely five, because she was too buzzed with lust to have taken her time with her food. It was probably too early to show up at the barbeque, but why deny herself the chance to spend time with Aden, and the others with whom she wanted to make friends? Once she’d made up her mind, she powered off towards her rental.

Someone cat called her and she whirled, one finger already pointed in preparation for a verbal ass-kicking, only to find Dunk hanging out of the window of his pick-up. She dropped her hand and groaned. “Dunk, that’s just… What are you, sixteen?” “Don't worry, honey,” he answered with an unapologetic grin, “it was only ten percent admiration and ninety percent to see your face. What are you up to over here? I thought you were coming to the barbeque at Wild Harts and then to the fireworks with us.” “Oh, well,” she began as she beamed and flushed with pleasure at his almost hurt look, “I went to eat at La Fontaine after the game, but I was just about to drive over to the barbeque. My rental car ’s right across the parking lot over there. What are you doing?” Dunk leaned to open the passenger door. “I’m on my way to pick up Tristan and his grill since his 4x4 is in the shop. Why don’t you hop in and let me drive you? You don’t want to bother with your car if you can help it. It’ll be hell to get it out of Wild Harts.” “Okay,” she said, “but I was going to stop to pick up some champagne.” “No problem. Let’s go get Tristan and then we can stop off at the liquor store.” Chase settled into the warm, cracked leather of the worn-out seat as Dunk drove through La Fontaine’s parking lot and around the lake to Tristan’s house. In the daylight, it looked even more like a fairy tale castle crossed with a Frank Lloyd Wright house. She cocked her head and studied it while Tristan got his grill loaded up in the truck bed. Dunk’s truck had back seats, so Tristan climbed in and greeted them. “Hey, y’all. Chase, you looked like you were having a great time at the game earlier. Like the view?” He sounded sly, so she twisted around and arched a brow. “Yes, I did; Maybelle’s beautiful and I haven’t found a view I didn’t like yet,” she replied, refusing to rise to the bait. While he gave a low chuckle, Dunk jumped in and started to analyze the baseball game. Tristan answered, although he sounded more indulgent than passionate, and Chase leaned back and let the sun hit her closed eyes. She only opened them when Dunk threw the truck into park, the cab rocking a little, and saw that they were at the liquor store. She zipped inside for the champagne, and in under ten minutes, they were off again. “Holy shit,” Tristan said suddenly, looking down at his cell. “What is it?” Dunk asked as he flicked a curious look over his shoulder. “Seth’s here,” he said, both surprised and happy, as he reached forward to squeeze Dunk’s shoulder. “My aunt just texted and said she saw him singing on the Square.” Dunk hummed while he parallel parked in a tight space across the street from Wild Harts, since the parking lot was already clogged with vehicles. “Seth is the third Riveau, the baby,” he explained to Chase. “He doesn’t live here; he’s a musician and he travels all over the world, sort of just circles back here every six months or so, when he can.” Chase subtly tugged her pants back up into place after the big step down from the truck and raised both brows in surprise. She’d known that Seth was a musician who didn’t live in town, but she had assumed he lived in Nashville or L.A. She found it strange that Aden disliked tourists when his brother traveled too, even if it was for work instead of leisure. “What kind of a musician?” she asked as they waited to cross the street. With a smile, Dunk touched her back and guided her towards the lawn, where picnic tables, camping chairs, grills, coolers, a stage, and a lot of people made up the barbeque. “Well, he was a musical prodigy, no kidding.” He raised his voice to compete with the country music playing through speakers, a lively song she didn’t recognize at all. “He went to college up north, but he lit out after maybe a year to be in a band that had a good shot.” “Great,” she exclaimed as they wound lazily towards Munn and Jesse, pausing so that the men could say hello people. “I bet he’ll have lots of travel ideas for me.”

Dunk stopped and squinted down at her, then admonished, “With Seth, you never know how long he'll stay. Let Aden and Leda get time, please, before you quiz him?” “Okay,” she conceded as they reached Jesse and Munn. “Hi,” she said, and they looked over and smiled as they helped Dunk and Tristan set down what they carried. “This is some barbeque,” she said, awed by how many people were there already. It was loud and boisterous, as if the energy, camaraderie and community of the ballgame had been compressed and moved here. Except with grills and country music. “Well, there are really only a few times that we locals do stuff just for ourselves,” Jesse explained as she dumped some coals into Tristan’s grill. “There’s this barbeque and another on Labor Day at Archer Farms. On Halloween, the Harts, the founding family, throw a giant party. And on New Year ’s, I have a do at the inn and let people in until there’s about to be a fire code violation, not that the owners know that.” She grinned and pointed at the bottle of champagne rising out of Chase’s purse. “Do you want me to put that in a cooler?” “Thanks,” she said as she handed it over. “I grew up in San Francisco, and there’s always holiday parades, neighborhood street fairs for food and arts and crafts, movies in the parks, and music festivals in Golden Gate Park. But nothing quite like this.” Jesse wiped her hands on her jeans and shrugged. “We’re in this together,” she said. “It’s our county, our community, and our businesses all depend on each other too, really.” “Don’t you let her make you believe it’s a high and mighty thing about how we all stick together,” Dunk laughed. “Small towns like parties and beer and celebrating America.” Chase laughed too, and shook her head. “Can I help with anything?” “Just sit down and put your feet up, darlin,” Dunk told her. “Why don’t you be a big, strong guy and go get more ice?” Jesse suggested dryly. “And find out where the hell Aden and Leda are, since Seth’s already out here.” He laughed and snagged an empty red cooler, then headed towards Wild Harts. A second later he roared, scaring Chase so she jumped, “Look at you, pretty boy!” A man rose gracefully from a crouch next to a speaker, tilting his head as Dunk dropped the cooler, and replied in a deep, rich voice, “It’s good to see you too, Dunk.” He spread his palms in an artistic motion of both apology and welcome, and then Dunk smacked into him. They laughed in a genuinely joyous, carefree way that Chase thought that she’d only seen between female friends as they clapped each other ’s backs. Aden and Leda walked over to them, and Dunk slung his arms around Aden and Seth’s necks, grinning like a maniac. Leda rolled her eyes and tossed her hair, but one side of her mouth was curled up a tiny bit. Jesse and Munn flowed around Chase to join them, Munn rubbing one hand hard over Seth’s bedhead while Jesse yelled something delightedly. They all fit in the circle, belonging so effortlessly that it made Chase yearn. It was so foreign and uncomfortable that she turned to Tristan to say, as if she were concluding an argument, “How about you take me over there and teach me a little country line dancing?” A look that was almost like panic erupted on Tristan’s face. But then Dunk popped up, Aden and the others coming along behind him, and saved Tristan. “Don’t let the fact that he’s going to MIT fool you,” he said, sticking out a bent elbow in offering to Chase. “He’s way too much of a bad boy to line dance. C’mon, allow me.” “Sorry,” Tristan said, although with the same tone as he might’ve said Thank God. She smiled at Tristan, then took Dunk’s arm and told him, “Okay, Coach.” Her breath caught when Aden, showing off his profile over Tristan’s shoulder, laughed. Twin desires—to be truly a part of this group, and to be the cause of that carefree laughter of Aden’s—ripped through Chase. Suddenly, she was annoyed at herself for trying to get away from

them, even if she was only going fifty feet away to line dance. She should be staying next to Tristan’s grill, drinking some of the sweet tea Jesse was pouring for everyone, and trying to make friends and get laid, like Sunny had told her to. Instead, she let Dunk bring her to the edge of the dance area, where there weren’t too many people because most people were grilling dinner. She gripped his hand maybe a shade too tightly, knowing she was going to be terrible at this, surrounded by people who’d presumably been line dancing their whole lives. “It’s nothing fancy,” Dunk explained as he got them into position, and something in the way he beamed down at her made her think he understood that she was a little on edge. “It’s not line dancing right now, you can probably tell that. It’s called the two-step...” He began to teach her, a good mixture of light-heartedly making fun of himself and demonstrating the moves, pretending to be the woman half the time, making her laugh. When the next song started, he led her at about half-speed, and she split her time between looking at their feet and laughing. The people around them, some of whom she’d met or at least seen on her visits to stores and restaurants, told her she was doing just fine. “You’re a natural,” he praised her as he carefully spun her under his hand. “But Jesse’s waving at me. The steaks are probably almost done. I would never strand you in the middle of a song,” he apologized pretty damn cheerfully as he reached past Chase and snagged someone’s arm, dragging Aden into sight and making Chase’s heart trip. “I don’t know what the opposite of cutting in is called, but, Aden, can you help me out and take over?” “Can’t say no to that,” he said, maybe dryly or maybe just uncomfortably. “See you in a few minutes,” Dunk said, jogging off towards Tristan’s grill. Chase made a move to put her hand on Aden’s shoulder, but he twitched. “Do—do you dance?” she all but stammered, unintentionally drawing in his incredible smell when she tried to take a calming breath. She hadn’t been this close to him since they’d kissed, because he’d kept at least a foot between their bodies in the dugout earlier. “Yeah,” he admitted as if it pained him. “Get movin’ or get goin’, would you, Aden?” Munn suggested as he and his partner nearly collided with Aden, since he and Chase weren’t moving in the sea of two-steppers. Munn’s partner laughed good-naturedly and pushed the back of Aden’s shoulder. “Dance with the pretty woman, Aden Riveau,” she ordered. “Don’t be an idiot.” “I wouldn’t want that,” he muttered, stepping in and taking her hand a bit too hard. Chase finally set her hand on his shoulder, wanting so badly to moan at the muscular slope under her palm and fingertips, rising and shifting as he began to lead. “So, uh, your brother ’s in town?” Chase asked, flicking her eyes towards his face. “It was a surprise,” he said, with a lick of acidity that was closer to Leda’s typical bitterness than his usual tone. “And it put us off schedule getting this all set up.” Realizing that she’d stepped into something that wasn’t as simple as it seemed, she nodded, smiling brightly, and asked, “Is this the kind of music you like, country?” As the song transitioned to something slower, or the song changed altogether, she wasn’t sure, he tilted his chin down and offered her a different smile than the others. “No, darlin,” he drawled. “I’m not a big fan, but it’s the most popular genre around here.” “What would you rather be dancing to?” “Honestly?” he mumbled. “I’d rather dance to Britney Spears than the Eli Young Band.” She laughed delightedly at the idea, losing her tenuous hold on the rhythm and bumping lightly against him, because it was totally obvious from the way he’d all but sneered Britney Spears that pop wasn’t his favorite genre either. “I’d pay to see that.”

He grunted, looking away, and she swore it was to hide a flush. “What, uh, what kind of music do you like?” he asked, jaw firming as they started moving again, a fraction closer than they had been before. “I’m guessing you don’t listen to country either.” “Maybe Johnny Cash sometimes, but that’s it,” she confirmed, feeling something lighten in her chest when she realized that he was quite possibly trying to get to know her. “I love individual songs more than I love specific albums, and I used to go see local bands every weekend. But when I buckled down for school, I totally lost track of new music.” “I hear all the new pop country, or whatever you want to call it, over the speakers at work,” he said with a resigned shrug. “I’ve been there six days a week basically since I was eighteen. I know every top one hundred country song from the last eleven years.” She couldn’t help but smile impishly and guess, “Torture, huh?” “It’s not all bad,” he conceded begrudgingly. “But when I’m off the clock, I definitely listen to other types of music. We all went down to a big alternative rock music festival right around high school graduation, and it blew my mind, I’d never really heard those bands before. It was great.” The song ended then, and Aden seemed to flush again, as if he were embarrassed that he’d spoken so much. His hand flexed around hers, his other hand dragged along her back and ribs as it fell away, and then he loosed her hand and pulled his whole body away. “Well, uh, that steak must be done. Munn made the dry rub, so it’ll be great. I got to make sure the band’s ready to go on in just a little bit. So I’ll... I’ll meet you over there.” “Okay,” she said, but he was already moving away. That was, she thought as she wound off the dance floor towards the others, probably the most awkward, exciting dance she’d had in twenty years. It was like high school formal dances, where the hormones had buzzed but everyone was so inexperienced that everything was amazing but mortifying. The dance hadn’t been mortifying, but it had had that same knife-edged anticipation. If he’d seemed even the tiniest bit more comfortable, she might’ve wound her arms around his neck to bring their bodies close together. Dazed by the fantasy, she almost tripped when Jesse brought her back to reality by saying, “Hey, Chase, here’s your plate. Did you have a nice time dancing?” “You didn’t have to make one for me,” Chase said, even as she automatically took the paper plate of steak and baked potatoes from Jesse. She felt silly as soon as she said it, because she hadn’t thought to bring any of her own food, and her silliness was rewarded by wry looks from all of them. “Thanks,” she said lamely. “This smells great, Munn.” As they sat, Chase felt a strange, almost proprietary satisfaction as she took it all in. “So, what are you going to say about us in your blog?” Dunk asked once he’d devoured half his steak and all of his potatoes and somehow not choked. “How amazing Maybelle is?” Chase smiled a little crookedly. “It’s more like a travelogue, and I’m not sure yet,” she said, then added with a glance of acknowledgement towards Jesse, “but I’ve been having a great time so I’m not too worried about it. I was in the Middle East right before I came here, on a tour of World Heritage sites, and it was amazing, but really exhausting.” Aden walked up to the table next to Tristan’s grill and speared a steak. The sinuous flex of his thick forearm made her cross her legs again and keep talking, afraid her fantasy would get the best of her and she’d just get up and greedily grab him. “So coming here, to Maybelle, getting to swim and visit the gallery, go to the baseball game,” she concluded, “all of this is relaxing and nice. I’m glad I decided to come.” “That’s more than you’ve said at once so far,” Tristan commented. She replied with a shrug, trying not to stare at Aden’s right knee in her periphery, his jeans thinner and faded over it, as if he’d knelt in sawdust. Aden on his knees.

Before she could gather her wits, his arm and hand cut across her vision, holding out a can. “Here,” he muttered, “it’s a hard cider with a ginger undertone, from Archer Farms.” Her surprised gaze swept up his arm to study his expression. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the can before she popped the tab and took a tentative sip. Crisp, bubbly cider filled her mouth and she hummed in appreciation while he raised one brow. “It’s really good.” “I’m glad you think so.” Floored speechless by his sweet, thoughtful gesture and sincere response just then, she was grateful when Jesse observed, “Seth looks good.” She hooked one arm around the back of her chair and then said, her words off-hand but her face serious and sharp-edged with it, “Leda rushed by while y’all were dancing and said that he’s moving back.” “That’s the plan,” Aden murmured, and Chase had to look, finding him stoic. “No shit?” Dunk exclaimed. “Excuse me, y’all, I gotta go tell my mama about this.” Jesse and Tristan shook their heads. “Those boys were stuck like glue while we were kids,” Jesse told Chase, and Chase had the impression that her desire to share stories outweighed her usual reticence towards idle chitchat. “Leda and I were around, and usually she was the ringleader, with all of the terrible ideas. But the boys always had their own adventures without us girls, their own secret language. They used to spend hours on the smallest lake—which didn’t used to have more than one or two cabins—and run off a big tree branch and somersault into the water. Dunk broke his arm once.” “And did you and Leda have your own adventures?” Chase asked with a quick smile. “Sure,” Jesse said. “We spent a whole summer trying to get someone to give Leda a tattoo—I think we were maybe sixteen... Yeah, we must’ve been, because I remember taking my mom’s Bonneville around. We tried and tried, but no one wanted to risk her mama’s wrath, even the ones who would normally tattoo teenagers.” She gave a crack of laughter and admitted, “I don’t have a damn clue anymore what she wanted to get done.” “What about you, Chase?” Tristan asked. Chase cupped her chin in her palm and thought as her eyes swept across the dimming sky, smoke from the grills seeming to curl around the clouds. “Oh, we were wild too, my siblings and I. But we didn’t get into trouble together—we liked to try to get the others in big trouble with our parents. We did different things, since we grew up in a city. Sneak into clubs, skateboard on church steps, get high in the park, go to music festivals...” At that last, she couldn’t help but meet Aden’s eyes, which looked hooded but maybe surprised to hear she’d done anything so deviant. “They introduced me to so much new great music, too.” They tossed out a few more anecdotes about their siblings and then Munn invited her to dance again. After two hard ciders, she felt more confident than she had before, and she happily accepted even though she really only wanted to dance with Aden. She wanted to slide one hand from his solid waist around to his broad back, and ask him if he liked working six days a week since he was eighteen at Wild Harts, and a million other things. But instead, she danced with Munn and Dunk and a few others she’d met so far, and time flew by until Jesse strolled over to tell them that it was time to pack up and head over to the fireworks. Laughing a little breathlessly, they did both in short order, and then Chase and Tristan caught a ride with Dunk again to the fireworks behind the Zion AME church. They climbed down and Dunk leaned in to retrieve a giant tupperware of something. “You made food?” She peered at it, trying to see it clearly. “Is it like a yogurt thing?” “It’s fruit salad,” Dunk laughed, ruffling her hair as if she were his little sister. “My mama made it for Seth—she's always loved him—and left it in the truck for us.” It was said with such simplicity that Chase hung at the edge of the crowd for a moment, feeling her chest back up a little bit. Although she’d glossed over it earlier, as a child she’d been different

from her siblings, fanciful and off-beat and prone to tangents, while they were literal-minded like their parents. She’d felt loved, but accepted rather than understood. When they’d gathered with Sunny to tell her that she was losing her spirit, trying to fit into a mold and a job that wasn’t her, the distance had started to lessen. But this group was like a dream team, their interconnectedness easy and enviable. “Chase? What are you doing, darlin?” Dunk called. She snapped out of yet another melancholic moment and waded into the crowd to catch up to Dunk and Munn. Since most of the people they exchanged hellos with had just been at the barbeque, they moved pretty quickly, but for those brief minutes, she still felt that she was a part of their easy, enviable dream team, too, even though she wasn’t. Seth spotted the tupperware the second their trio reached their giant, faded plaid blanket, and his soft brown eyes lit up. “Is that your mama’s fruit salad for me, Dunk?” Aden twisted around and snagged it. “Compliments to your mom, stud.” He popped a yogurtsmothered berry into his mouth, his tough mien melting in a blissful expression. Chase’s mind blanked completely, only snapping back when Leda snarked dismissively, “I bet you forgot the Citronellas, didn’t you, Dunk? Just like a man.” “Your claws are showing,” Dunk grumbled as he flopped onto the blanket and promptly dropped his head on Leda’s thighs, sighing contentedly. She shoved at him, swearing, but he was too heavy and solid. “Mm,” he mumbled, “nice perfume, honey.” His move left Chase and Seth the only ones still standing, and Chase studied Seth exactly like he studied her back. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Chase Cade. You must be Seth Riveau.” He leaned into one jutting hip and asked in a dry tone, “How can you be so sure?” A loud whiz made everyone jump, then ooh when a blue firework exploded overhead. “Seems like you were adopted into the tribe overnight,” he commented. He sounded a little envious, as if he might feel separated or estranged since he hadn’t lived in Maybelle in a long time. “That's nice of you to say,” she told him. He accepted this with a nod, though he looked like was going to say something else when Aden asked from the ground, “Would you mind sitting down? Dunk can’t see shit.” “Oh, sorry...” Chase sat in one of the small empty spaces on the blanket, leaving the space right next to Aden free for Seth to take, and she leaned back on her hands. Everyone was sprawled out, a chain of islands in the near-darkness. Aden lay on his back, his fingers interlaced under his head, quiet as usual. Leda bickered with Dunk while Jesse and Munn took gentle digs at Seth, who smiled and murmured replies Chase couldn’t hear. Their faces lit up and plunged into shadow as the fireworks really got going. Aden shifted and a neon green firework reflected off the face of his watch, catching Chase’s attention. While he silently watched the sky, her eyes wandered across his face and upper body. If it hadn’t been so loud and public, the darkness and his relaxed pose would’ve been inviting; she wanted to lay down and curl up with him, feel that strong arm wrap around her so that she could pretend she was a real part of things for a bit. But she didn’t know what he would do if she did that. So she just eased down onto the blanket and put her head close to Aden’s elbow, her hands folded on her stomach, and watched the fireworks as the crescendo built, her eyes only straying back to his face now and then. She gasped when Aden shifted and his knee brushed her thigh, the sound thankfully covered up by the finale and the entire crowd oohing until it was over. “Better than last year's,” Dunk declared as they cleaned up. “Hey, Chase, I forgot to tell you, the Sheriff says you should come to Monday night poker if you’re here.” She’d met the Sheriff and his wife at the baseball game and found them both lovable, but the

casual invitation stopped her dead anyway. What is it about this place, where all of these people are trying to pull me into their lives as if it’s no big deal? she thought. Indignantly, Leda cried, “He never asked me to the all-boys poker game!” Aden crossed his arms and gave Leda a stern stare. “That's because you can't play poker worth a damn, not because you're a woman. Don’t get all upset over nothing.” “How do you know Chase is a good poker player?” Leda demanded, pouting. She cut her eyes to Chase while Jesse pointed out, “You don't even like poker. I bet Chase’s played in, like, Monte Carlo. They probably want a new, worthy opponent.” “Thanks for the invite, but I don’t think I’ll be able to go,” Chase finally had the chance to answer Dunk diplomatically. “Although I do love poker.” Leda snatched the blanket, snapping off grass and crumbs, and took off. “Oh hell,” Dunk muttered, blowing out a breath before he ran after her. Munn clapped Seth on the back and said, “Come on, we're going to Dunk's to shoot some hoops and drink cheap beer. He’ll bring Leda around in a little bit, don’t you worry.” “Sounds nice,” Seth said, a gentle, almost hidden smile shifting his mouth. Chase was confounded that she found Aden so sexy and appealing, yet felt nothing whatsoever about Seth, who looked practically identical except for being shorter with a gently worn finish and a different hairstyle. “What about you two?” Jesse asked, calm gaze arcing from Chase to Aden to bundle them together. Her tone was perfectly normal and yet Chase could tell clear as day that Jesse had seen their kiss, or someone else had seen it and told her about it. “You’re seeing each other?” Seth asked in fascination, practically gaping. When Chase looked up at Aden, his eyes were already on her. He looked thoroughly disgruntled, probably because people were speculating about him. It would’ve been highly amusing, except that it hurt that he looked so disgruntled by the very implication that they were together in any way. She could’ve sworn he felt at least some of the curious heat she felt while they were bantering at the game, and dancing, and when he’d brought her cider. Her back went up, all that yearning and whatever shoved back into the depths. Aden was a jackass and she had had a great time with everyone else, but she wanted to be alone now. So she smiled a little sharply, ignored the hint of a plea in the tightness of Aden’s jaw, and told Jesse, “I don’t know about Aden, but I’m done for, so I’m heading to the inn.” There was a long, taut pause where Aden narrowed his eyes at Jesse, clearly blaming her for the pause, and then he stated, “I’ll meet y’all at Dunk’s after I take Chase back.” Both Seth and Jesse hung there for a few seconds, as if they expected something else to happen, or actually expected Aden to say something more, but then they shrugged and left. “C’mon, I’m parked the other way,” Aden practically grunted. Aware of what he didn’t want, and the fairly significant crowd still around them, taking their time as they folded blankets and repacked coolers, she grabbed his wrist. She walked in the direction he’d pointed, tugging him along behind her. She could see people, some she knew but most strangers to her still, watching her, watching her hand around his wrist. “Guess you and your brother didn’t have time to catch up if he asked you that.” “No offense, but you weren’t the first thing on the agenda,” he said. When she sighed a little, he made a pained expression and bit off, as if her sigh were some sort of feminine ultimatum or something, “Seth and I don’t talk the way you girls do. He calls every couple of months. I ask him if he’s learned a new language and he asks if I learned how to cook. He tells me our mom calls and emails too much. Maybe we talk sports if it's the right season. Then one of us comes up with an excuse and we hang up.”

It wasn’t like she’d been wondering why Aden hadn’t rushed to tell his brother that they’d met or kissed, or anything, so all she could come up with to say right then was, “Yeah, well, you do realize you didn’t answer his question, right?” She could actually hear him grind his teeth before he replied vehemently, “I told you not to make everyone talk about me. Now I have to explain you dragging me across this endless damn field, and explain this to Seth on top of finding out what happened to him—” He sounded so pissed, in sharp contrast to how smug and satisfied with his place in life he’d looked at the baseball game, his feet anchored so wide apart as he’d blustered at her to go away. But maybe she’d misread things all day and what she’d thought was shared heat and stilted attempts to get to know her had been nothing but politeness. After all, he had avoided her after their drunken kiss, and he could have only danced with her because it would have been incredibly rude of him not to have. Even if all she wanted from him was a fling while she was on vacation, feeling like this about herself would’ve hurt. Almost stumbling straight off the curb, she caught herself and used the momentum to face him head on, then lashed out, “It should only take a few seconds to explain to Seth or anyone else who’s nosy enough to ask that you let me hold your hand only because I'm too much of a pain in the ass to fight about it, especially not in public where I'd just make a scene in a feeble, misguided, undoubtedly failing attempt to stir you up.” He snapped defensively, “No need to say all that. I’ll just tell Seth you’re a tourist and ignore everyone else who tries to ask me about something that’s none of their business.” Heat flared, like a truly awful sunburn, under the skin of her face and upper chest. The light changed and everyone flowed around them to cross the street. But they stayed put and her stupid heart beat faster as he stared down at her. His reaction had been harsh, but she’d goaded him, too harsh, too acidic, and she had sounded contemptuous and condescending. She didn’t know what to say, not sure if he deserved an apology or if she wanted to give him one regardless, and so the silence stretched. Finally she sighed, “I’m just going to call a cab, so you can go to Dunk’s.” “What? Why?” he demanded, looking completely blank like he honestly didn’t get it. “Seriously?” she blurted out. “All I did was say that you didn’t answer Seth’s question, and you jumped down my throat like I told him that we’re...” Her throat closed and her words lost all of their steam and trailed off. She didn’t want to finish that, because there was no way to possibly finish that without sounding like a melancholy, insecure... tourist. There was an incredibly tense, awkward silence and then Aden slumped back against someone’s car, making it rock a little at the impact, and scrubbed both hands over his face. “Sorry.” It was so muffled by his hands that she almost missed it. “That sounded like it would be the worst thing in the world for my brother to think that... that we’re seeing each other, like that, where I’d take you home and not leave again...” Chase sucked it up, trying not to worry that she would come off too bitchy, and pointed out as calmly as she could, “You’ve sort of made it seem like that would be the worst.” “Damn it,” he muttered, his jaw ticking as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “There’s something going on with Seth and I don’t know what it is yet,” he explained. “I can’t make him tell us what it is. But I don’t want to pretend like I don’t know and just yammer away about every little thing that’s going on with me. That’s why we haven’t caught up yet.” Somehow Chase knew that even though it wasn’t the explanation she really deserved for why he was so upset by the idea that anyone thought they were together, it was more important to him that his brother was hurting in some way than that Chase was hurting in some way. It didn’t make her hurt

lessen any, but it did make her pause and acknowledge how loyal that made him... Even if it also made him a jackass in that moment. “I’m sorry you’ll have to waste time yammering that you offered to drive me home cause you’re a nice guy and my car ’s at La Fontaine,” she finally managed to say with an appropriate balance of sarcasm and sincerity. “But if you’re going to drive me, we better get going or it’ll take you so long to get to Dunk’s that Seth and everyone else who’s there really will think there’s something going on between us.” “Okay, sure,” he said, his voice pinched, and she was too tired from the emotional roller coaster to even try to decipher what it meant. She followed him to his truck and climbed in while he stalked around and got behind the wheel, then slammed his door shut with unnecessary force. The scale between insecurity and melancholy tipped so that she just wanted to be in her sweet room in the gable, soaking in the big, deep bathtub. But for now, she was locked in a truck with Aden, so she fiddled with her purse until she remembered the champagne, pulling it out gratefully. “I, ah, meant to share this at the fireworks, since we didn’t open it at the barbeque. Will you tell everyone that I appreciate letting me tag along today, and open it at Dunk’s?” The gears ground as he said tensely, “If that’s what you want, of course I’ll tell them.” Silence fell again until Aden parked at the inn, the truck idling as she got out. But as she passed by his rolled-down window, she hesitated and made herself turn towards him and smile and say as if nothing were wrong, “Thanks, Aden. Good night.” “Okay, good night,” he parroted gruffly as she hurried away from him.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN Aden Aden’s fingers dug into his thighs while Chase’s hips chugged from side to side as she walked away, her sexy heels striking the stones on the walkway like a hammer on nails. With a jerk, he tore his eyes away and wrenched the truck into gear. It had been barely seven months since the only relationship in his life ended for good; just because he and Chase shared that drunken kiss on Tristan’s dock in the moonlight, it didn’t mean that he needed to wonder what it would feel like to do it again, or do more. But as he shifted into drive, the light flicked on in the gable and he was arrested by the sight of her, framed by the window, her arms raised high, surely meant to ease tension. “Fuck,” he groaned on a hard exhalation. He turned the truck around and parked again. Things had gotten out of hand and he knew it was all his fault. He could pinpoint the moment he’d fucked up: his reaction when Seth had asked if they were together. Well, his dumbass non-reaction. It was clear from the way Chase had snapped at him that she had misunderstood his reaction, and he’d only reinforced that, like a prick. Really, he’d frozen and the moment dragged out and he’d felt incredibly... inexperienced. Which was stupid and just plain cowardly, since he’d admitted to Leda not even twelve hours ago that he liked Chase. That was why he’d bought her the hard cider and given her one as casually as humanly possible, all the while feeling like a fourteen-year-old offering to carry a girl’s books. And then that dance... He groaned now, remembering how goddamned awkward he’d been, trying to chat like that was something he knew how to do. But even after those cringe-worthy, awkward moments, she’d curled up on his blanket next to him at the fireworks, so fucking close he’d felt the phantom of her snuggled against him. For possibly the only time in his adult life, he’d wished he were more like his brother or his guy friends, who were charming or roguish or cheesy, but all had an ease with women he didn’t. His guts churned, but he cursed again and walked into the inn. The older man who covered the desk if Jesse and Munn were off was there. He nodded and said, “Evenin’, sir.” “Evenin’, Aden,” the man echoed, then squinted. “Here to see the lady, then?” “Might be,” he mumbled as he kept on, a low chuckle drifting after him. He knew the Dogwood as well as he knew the layout of Wild Harts, so he went swiftly to the gable room. Before his mind could catch up to his feet, he was knocking lightly. After a few seconds, Chase called a little stridently, “Yes?” With a wince, his mind caught up to his actions and he said inanely, “It’s, uh, Aden.” She unlocked and opened the door, then stared at him, so he stared right back.

In the minutes between saying goodnight to him and opening the door, she’d started to get ready for bed. Her hair was loose, some strands lifting from static electricity in the dry air as if she’d just brushed it, and her face was damp and make-up free. Instead of the getup she’d had on all day, she was in soft floral pajama shorts and a loose t-shirt. Her feet were bare, small but a little wide, as if they kept her as firmly planted on the ground as he, and that abnormally fanciful thought made him blow out a breath. “Was there something you wanted, Aden?” she asked. Her polite tone was the same one that he used with obnoxious customers. It annoyed the hell out of him, propelling him to scoop her against him and mutter, “Damn right I want something.” He kissed her, his arm braced across her back, and when she kissed him back immediately, he took one hand and cupped the swell of her ass. He slid his other hand into the soft blonde waves behind her ear and she hummed low in her throat, making him think of tangled legs and sweaty skin slick-sliding together. Not knowing what the hell he was doing, his tongue picked up its deep tempo as her hands skittered up his arms to his head, throwing off his cap so she could grab his hair. He struck out with a bootheel blindly to shut the door, then shuffled her around and up against it. Their heights were a mismatch for making out like this, but he didn’t give a shit. Her lips were full and demanding, and she yanked handfuls of his hair rhythmically. When one hand let go to latch onto his waist, he groaned and shifted his hands to her hips. Ginger worked hard for her toned body, and that had never bothered Aden until the moment he got his hands on Chase’s hips. He realized he’d been missing this his whole life. Her body gave, and gave; there were secrets buried in her mouth and in the soft curves. The lush flare of her hips curled into her waist, then her ribs unfurled up to support her heavy breasts. He slid his fingers up over the worn out cotton tee, and he cursed in pure appreciation for the way she pushed into his palms, her nipples tight, their weight tangible. “Holy God,” he moaned. “Aden,” she said, making a strangled sort of noise, “the bed.” He mumbled something blankly. “The bed,” she repeated in a gasp as his thumbs stroked her nipples. The words sank in, and sweat sprang up at his nape. “Wait, I meant to apologize, I—” “Do you hate me?” she cut him off, sharp yet breathless. His head whipped back and forth, and her lips quirked slightly before she fired off a follow up. “Do you want me?” “Isn’t that obvious?” he retorted. She grabbed his hips and began to maneuver them unevenly towards the bed. He tried to think of a clever way to get his boots off. But he failed, so he had to just drop into a crouch and do it. When he straightened, his hands at his belt buckle, he froze. While he’d been getting rid of his boots, she’d gotten rid of her shorts and tee. She was on the bed now in a white bra probably designed by engineers and tiny purple lace panties. “Holy God,” he repeated hoarsely, shoving down his jeans and reaching a hand to the middle of his back to drag off his shirt. “You’re tan all over,” she moaned in a shaky voice, “oh, crap, that’s hot.” Any doubts he might have continued to entertain about his limited skills were utterly absent—his mind was utterly absent. All that was left were instincts, and he obeyed them without question because she was panting and he could fucking smell her arousal. He bent down and licked across one of her ankles, the animal in him rumbling in appreciation when her leg kicked out. His lips and the light stubble of his beard skated up her calves, switching from left to right erratically, stopping only to tongue the backs of her knees like he’d tongued her mouth. She was moaning, her thighs twitching steadily now, as if a constant, low current were running

through her. Both of his hands smoothed up her thighs and his fingers curled around the lace straps over her hips, tightening her panties. As she traded a moan for a whimper, he nipped her through the lace, then covered her with his mouth. When she gave one sharp, breathy gasp, he forgot to worry if he was missing out by not being in her. There was nothing but his mouth as it sucked her, the way her panties strangled his fingers, his nose as it rubbed her clit, and his chin as it was flanked by the under curves of her ass. There was nothing but the twitches of her thighs against his ears, and the stickiness that saturated the lace and made his mouth water. There was nothing but those things until her thighs clamped down on his ears for a second and then sprang wide as her hips shot back and her ribs shot up. He was almost overwhelmed by the incredible sight of her rising above him, though the look on her face burned immediately and permanently into his mind. Finally, her breath stuttered out, as if she’d held it during the length of her orgasm, and her muscles all stilled in concert. With that movement, Aden’s instincts fled and his mind flipped on, like a fire alarm suddenly set off. Stiffly, he crawled backwards and sat back on his heels, only realizing how clearly she’d see his arousal when her eyes darted towards it. Now his muscles held still, except his cock, which twitched like her thighs had done, reaching for that giving flesh. Impatient with his sudden nerves—he knew a real orgasm when he felt it, after all, even if Chase was only the second woman he’d given one to—he stared at her and deliberately wiped his mouth. Incredibly, after all of that, she blushed a hot, uneven red, and it stroked his ego enough to rock him forward to plant one hand, thick veins on the back of it, next to her neck. Those seafoam green eyes widened as he laid his mouth on hers again. She was closemouthed for a few painful heartbeats before her tongue slipped into his mouth sluggishly. Her arms draped over his shoulders as if she still didn’t have full control back yet, and kept him in place with that light touch for a long time before she pulled away. Her eyes locked on his, her pants buffeting his chin, while her hands reached for his boxers. At the first brush of her hands across his dick, he shuddered. There wasn’t much space inside his boxers for her hands, or to tug his dick free, either, since he was crouched. But she wrapped both hands around him, her fingers overlapped but with some parts of his dick untouched, and squeezed. For a little while, staring at her, he didn’t have a clue what she was doing, since she wasn’t pumping or using her grip to lever him toward her pussy. Then all of a sudden, he realized she was squeezing him as though her hands were her pussy, in the same rhythm of her own recent orgasm. “Do you want—” he gasped hoarsely, not even knowing how he should finish that. Carefully, she wiggled down and squeezed him faster and tighter, and started to shift up and down as best she could from that angle, now fully between his legs. Her incredible breasts, fallen out of the cups of her bra, supported her hands, and the leaking tip of his dick grazed against one with every stroke. “I wanted you inside me when I came,” she whispered, setting off sparks in the base of his spine, “but you would’ve had to stop licking.” “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. The combination of when I came and licking and his view of them together pushed him into sensory overload and he lost it. His hips locked and his orgasm burst through him until he gasped like a fish on the hook and pitched sideways to collapse next to her. He turned his head and found her watching him, wide-eyed. “That was...” she began. All of a sudden, his heart was pounding. He scrambled into the bathroom, too aware of his dick flopping in his boxers, surely looking dumb now. He dampened a towel with warm water, then

brought it to her, barely able to look at her hand as it swiped up his mess. “I, uh,” he muttered, overcome by embarrassment, “better get over to Dunk’s.” “But—” Chase began, struggling to sit up. But he couldn’t stay to hear what she had to say, not when there was a low buzz in his mind. Less than a week after he’d first laid eyes on her, he’d come all over her hands and tits, for God’s sake... It had been years since he’d even tried to bring up something like that with Ginger. What had he been thinking? Why the holy fuck had he let Jesse and Leda’s ridiculous ideas about rebounds take over his brain? He had to get out of there. He stumbled into his pants, boots and shirt as uncoordinated as though he’d gone skinny dipping in the fall and was halfway to hypothermia. “Aden,” she yelled as he wrenched open the door. Just capable of looking over his shoulder to meet her eyes, he shook his chin and said, before he got the hell out of there, “I—it’s better this way. I didn’t lie, I do want you and I don’t hate you. But I don’t want what you want. I’m sorry about the... tourist comment.”



CHAPTER FIFTEEN Aden The next afternoon, Aden and his other best friend, Jack Honey, leaped up onto the floating dock, then grabbed their beach chairs and Jack’s cooler from the boys who’d brought them over in a motor boat. The boys sped off as Aden called, “Thanks, y’all.” Aden hiked up his shorts and unfolded his chair so that it flanked Jack’s cooler, then sat and looked at all of the activity on the public beach. There had been a charity event here every 4th of July his whole life, the only variation being which charity was given the money that was raised. The Sheriff had asked Jack and him to help by keeping an eye out on the events from the floating dock last-minute, and they were both happy to help out, even if Jack was a little tired because he’d been gone for a week at a work conference. Beside him, Jack was quiet, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, sophisticated in his chinos and short-sleeved button-down as his inquisitive gaze swept the scene in front of them. The beach was just as crowded as Hughes Field had been yesterday for the exhibition baseball game, and if Aden’s mind weren’t a fucking wreck from the night before, he would’ve felt the same satisfaction and connectedness now as he had then. Instead, it was all panic and embarrassment and foolishness that he felt related to Chase. Exhaling hard, Aden pulled off his cap and raked one hand through his thick hair. Just when he had gathered up some words and maybe a hypothetical or two for Jack, Dunk’s voice, cheery and amplified by a bullhorn, carried out to them. “Hey, y’all! Ready to get this going?” he asked rhetorically, pumping his fist while everyone cheered. Aden rolled his eyes as Dunk stood up on one of the lifeguard towers, encouraging everyone to cheer louder. “Welcome to this year's Annual Lake Swim, benefiting Maybelle County Hospital’s Pediatrics Ward!” “Who let that idiot emcee?” Jack asked with a slight smile. Aden snorted. “I think he bribed the mayor. We love our sports; the mayor would need a better reason to deny the job to the football coach than You're kind of an idiot.” “Too true,” Jack murmured as he flipped open the cooler and took out a pitcher of sweet tea. “I wish we had some beer,” Aden muttered. He glared at the Sheriff and Leda, even though they couldn't see it. Aden hadn’t minded until the Sheriff had confiscated their beer, honestly. “But at least we’re far away from the gossips, I guess.” Jack pursed his lips and told Aden for the millionth time, “For a man who owns a bar, you're really very antisocial.” It was an old joke, Aden as the clichéd antisocial bartender, but he never minded the mild censure buried in Jack's idle amusement because it let him know that he was understood and accepted. It was one of the things he loved best about his town, even if it also gave everyone license to be in everyone

else's business. “Although,” Jack mused slyly, tilting his head, “I heard from no less than three people, anonymously, that you were actually social while I was gone for the last week.” Aden tugged the brim of his hat low over his forehead and grunted. “I’ll bet.” “Seth said you didn’t answer when he asked if you and this new friend of ours are seeing each other,” Jack went on mercilessly, a lawyer to the hilt. “You thinking about it?” Aden watched a dozen senior citizens slosh into the shallows for the first event. “I know I’m not with Ginger anymore, okay, but I still forget that I’m really single sometimes,” he said quietly, without looking away from the seniors as they lay on their backs and prepared for the Geezers’ Floating Contest. “I still have DVDs that I consider ours. We were together so long I can’t remember who even actually bought them.” The seniors began slipping under for a second, one by one, until only one was left. Dunk roared out his congratulations to her as they all made their way to shore. “Do you feel so different, being single versus being with Ginger?” Jack asked finally. “I guess not,” Aden said, with a sort of slow, useless anger. Neither of them said more, for the time being, as they watched the football team start the Banana Boat Peel, a race around a circuit of buoys, the first event that required their attention. The boys passed by close enough to hear their curses and brags as they sliced by. “Were we that stupid when we were that age?” Jack wondered. “With Dunk there, we were fucking worse,” Aden said, grateful for the new subject. “Yeah, he was a walking hard on,” Jack said with a touch of self-aware nostalgia. Aden looked over at Dunk, who was taking advantage of the break in his emceeing duties to flirt. Something froze in Aden’s chest as he realized that the woman was Chase. Memories from the whole day yesterday, from the dugout to the bed at the inn, flooded through his mind all over again and the nerves and the pleasure echoed through his body. Following Aden’s line of sight, Jack did a double-take and whistled, lifting his hand to shade his eyes so that he could see more clearly. “Holy hell. Is that the woman?” “That is Chase Cade,” Aden said flatly. His chest twisted as Jack hummed thoughtfully. “She’s got a build like Sophia Loren.” Hanging off a rung of the lifeguard tower, she swung closer to Dunk, laughing gaily. Jack added in a musing way, “I didn’t think women came like that anymore.” Jack’s innocent word choice made Aden flush and scowl. Jack’s sharp gaze focused on Aden and immediately saw straight to the heart of it like he always did. “You like-like her. Shit, I missed a lot while I was in Richmond.” “Fuck off, Honey.” He crossed his arms defensively at Jack. “I do not like-like her.’” “You sure as hell something her,” Jack retorted. “Come on, what’s happening?” “Nothing!” he snarled. “Go ahead and pretend,” Jack shrugged, “but your team’s rowing her out here.” Jerking around, Aden saw that some of his junior varsity baseball players were rowing her straight towards the floating dock, which was against the rules and really... not cool. “What the fuck is she doing?” he growled as he fumbled for his pack and shoved a cigarette between his lips so that he could hide behind it. “What are you doing? Put that away,” Jack reprimanded him. “You don’t need that.” Aden glared at the cigarette instead of Jack, but he did as he was told. What the fuck am I going to say to her? He’d run out like a total jackass last night, not even trying to explain that there hadn’t been anything wrong with her, or the things they’d done. He hadn’t known how to, as a twenty-nine-year-old man, tell her that he’d been scared shitless because she was only the

second woman he’d ever been with like that. But there was no time to fortify himself because she was headed his way. After a tense second when the banana boats going hellbent-for-leather on their third circuit and the rowboat almost collided, the rowboat reached him and Jack. “Eddie,” Aden greeted his JV first basemen while his heart began to pound harder. Eddie grabbed the ladder to hold the rowboat steady while Jack, ever the gentleman, glided over and offered Chase a hand. Aden narrowed his eyes in warning at Eddie, who was staring at her ass with the attention to detail of a teenaged boy faced with a woman. “Aw, crap,” she crowed, bouncing as she whirled around to take in the full view. Aden sat back down, resigned, and tugged the bill of his cap down lower over his face. “Thanks, Eddie,” she gushed, “I'll come by the bike shop tomorrow and help you edit that Wuthering Heights paper for summer school, okay? Bring ice cream, and we’re even.” “Sure, Miz Cade,” Eddie promised, his voice cracking with excitement. As the boys left, Chase raked her hair away from her face and grinned at both men. “I’m Jack Honey,” Jack offered easily. “Ohh,” she said knowingly, and Aden clenched his jaw as he wondered what gossip had made her go all girly over Jack, who had a charm the local women called mysterious. “Interesting. You don’t seem anything like the other two—this one here and Dunk up there.” Jack laughed, his suave lawyer laugh, and Chase watched with what seemed like keen interest to Aden. Jack, like Dunk, was aware of his charm, only he didn't blast it at every woman on the planet like Dunk. “I’m the classy one; they make me look good,” Jack joked as Aden tensed. Jack could make fun of himself and be honest at the same time, a behavior that brought women to him whether he was flirting or not. Aden didn’t want to stake a claim or anything, but his blood pressure spiked higher with every second, going through the roof when Jack offered, being gallant like a jackass, “Would you like to sit?” She waved off the offer and flopped onto the dock, which didn’t help Aden relax because she scooted to put her back against his chair casually, as if nothing had happened last night. “I don’t know what you did to merit being out here,” she declared, “but this is the best job!” She punctuated her enthusiasm by clasping Aden’s forearm, which contracted beneath her touch, both bracing against it and straining closer to it. “You can see it all from over here, the whole messy, happy thing.” “Aden was just complaining that he’d rather be anywhere else,” Jack replied. Since he wasn’t smoking and couldn’t take a drag right then, he scratched his nose. He held his hand so that what parts of his hot face weren’t shadowed by his hat brim were hidden by the back of his hand and his fingers. “Was he?” Chase twisted so she could look at him, her lifted face giving him a breathtaking view of her loose hair tickling her breasts and sliding down between them. Her eyes narrowed subtly as she said archly, “Seems like you feel that way a lot.” She untwisted sharply and he almost jumped when the bare skin of one of her shoulders scraped lightly over his bare leg. Now that she wasn’t glaring accusingly at him, he was able to grumble defensively, “Only time I’ve been someplace and wished I was anywhere else was when Billy Davidson kicked the shit out of Dunk, Munn and me.” “I forgot about that one.” Jack chuckled, one side of his mouth kicking up when Aden glared at him over the top of his sunglasses. “If not for me, y’all would probably have wound up chum on Billy’s next fishing trip.” “What were they doing?” Chase asked, as if she were on tenterhooks to listen to Jack. “We were trespassing on the Davidson's farm,” Jack explained, spreading his hands like what are

you going to do? “The three of them were skinny dipping and Billy’s little sister Marie, who couldn’t have been more than ten, and some of her little friends saw us. They ran screaming to the ranch and it was only my brains that slowed Billy down.” “Why hang out with such idiots?” Chase asked, and he knew without a doubt that all of the fierceness driving the word idiots was aimed only at him, not Dunk or Munn. “Being friends with Aden, Dunk and Munn saved me from a lot of trauma as a kid,” Jack offered in his calm way. “I was smart and small and I corrected the other kids.” Chase pushed up her sunglasses and nodded slowly. “I’m the middle kid, but I had to protect my sister and brother from things like that, too. They’re brainiacs and get excited about equations and astronomy.” She rubbed one hand up and down her calf absently, and Aden could only remember her hands moving up and down on him the same way last night. “Luckily they hit puberty and got excited about boys and girls and learned how to talk to non-relatives, so they didn’t need help from me very much after that.” She bounced to her feet suddenly, everything jiggling, and cried, “Look!” Aden looked. It was the day’s most popular event, an enormous game of chicken that the adults played. Only couples entered; Aden had done it with Ginger almost every year since they were eighteen. So just seeing the women settle on the men's shoulders made his eye twitch. In his best long-suffering tone, he told her, “They don’t shove til they push each other over, they hit each other with foam bats—see, Dunk's handing them out. It's safe.” “Awesome,” she breathed, wide-eyed, then tore her eyes away to look down at him. “Aren’t you going to stand up so you can see?” she asked, her frown somehow flirtatious. When he’d first seen her, wearing the first of many outfits he found incredibly sexy, she’d looked like a flirt to him. But he’d only seen her flirt with him, maybe, although other than the what’s the juiciest thing you’ve been told over the bar, he wasn’t sure she’d really tried that hard. Going down on her was the sexiest experience of his life, and he felt an unfamiliar, reluctant appreciation for her as he saw how enthralled she was by the Lake Swim events. It intrigued him, he realized as she returned her focus to the game of chicken, and intrigued meant a little interested, in addition to just plain liking her. But bottom line was, she was a tourist; her vacation would end and she’d take off. He stood and sidled over to Jack while Dunk roared into the bullhorn again. “I only just met her,” Jack began calmly, “but so far, I have to agree that she’s great.” After an excruciating minute, Aden mumbled, “But she’s all wrong for me.” Jack laughed, running one hand along his jaw. “Well, as to that, I can’t really say. With Ginger, you asked her out because she wanted you to, and you fought with her because she’d start it and you followed her lead. And you always took her back because... well, actually, I’m not sure why you always took her back. But you’re done with doing what Ginger wants, right? So how do you know what’s all wrong for you anyway?” While Aden was thinking, Dunk cried, “Up next are the Singing Mermaids!” “What’s that?” Chase asked excitedly. “Little girls sing some camp songs in inner tubes,” Jack explained. Chase's face melted into a soft, sweet smile, then she did that bounce again. Aden’s imagination supplied an approximation of what it would look and feel like if she were bouncing on top of him like that while he was buried in her as far as possible. “I met those girls my first day, right before I met Dunk. Let’s go see them.” Totally distracted by his fantasy, Aden gave a thoughtless nod. “Yes! We can just swim over.” “Swim?” Jack exclaimed, his voice rising incredulously.

“How else?” she replied as she kicked off her sandals and flexed her toes. “I'm not wearing cut-offs,” Jack enunciated carefully, brushing his hands over his immaculate linen slacks and Egyptian cotton shirt. Aden informed Chase, “Jack here is what nice people call fussy.” “Fine,” she replied with a shrug. Then, with a casually intimate movement, she tugged at Aden’s polo shirt and told him, “Leave your stuff and come on, Aden, please?” “I don't—” Aden started, but when he saw the thrust of her jaw, like Leda’s when she was in a raging temper, he gave up, even though he felt a deep suspicion that it was a trap somehow. “Hang on to these for me.” He shoved his pack and lighter into Jack’s hands, then his hat, sunglasses, keys and wallet. “And if someone starts drowning during one of the events, for fuck’s sake, jump in.” Narrowing his eyes at Aden's condescension, he agreed, “Of course.” Without any warning, Chase flung herself into the water. Her head broke seconds later with a loud gasp and a laugh that rang out so loudly that people on the beach turned. Aden groaned and dove smoothly into the cool water. He knew that everyone was going to add this right on to the hand-holding after the fireworks last night, and first thing tomorrow, when everyone was back at work and it wasn’t a holiday anymore, they’d be on his case. His mom would hear about it and ask, as if his life wasn’t already awkward enough right now. He could only pray Ginger wouldn’t confront him about it too, although after their showdown the other day, he thought not. All the same, he kept pace with Chase until they hit the beach next to one of the piers. As he raked his hands through his hair, Chase skipped nearer to the Singing Mermaids, mesmerized by their performance, and he stood stiffly alongside her. It was awkward and tortuous, and he had no idea what was going through her mind. She was acting like nothing had happened, but why? Was sex just no big deal to her? He knew it couldn’t be because it had been awful and she wanted to forget about it, he wasn’t that low on self-esteem. But he wasn’t confident enough to ask her outright, definitely not right now, anyway. So when the performance was done, he just went along behind her over to the table where his sister sat. The entire swim team crowded around, waiting to collect their prizes. He was only a few seconds behind her, but she was of course already introducing herself to everyone and saying hi to Dougie Shore like they were old friends. Aden loved Maybelle like he loved the earth, in a way so essential to himself that there was nothing to understand about it; he loved Maybelle, so he loved everyone in it, for better or worse. He couldn't imagine himself without it and the Shores were a part of it, a part of his family's story, too, even if he thought people only mentioned the old feud to annoy him. “Hey, Aden, this is Dougie Shore. Have you two met?” Her face was such an open book that he wondered if she interviewed people for her blog. Because if she did, her face would tell her interviewee whether she thought what they were saying was boring or the greatest thing in history. Still, he gave the kid the nod. “Good job.” With a gentle smile, Dougie returned the nod. “Thanks, Mr. Riveau.” “Okay, go away and have fun with your friends,” Chase ordered, then made an honest-to-God shooing motion like an old lady trying to scatter chickens. Then she greeted Leda and the Sheriff and started to chat, laughing while Aden stood like a tongue-tied fool and wished the back of his neck wasn’t itching from all the observant eyes. He felt like a fifteen-year-old, thinking that everyone could tell what they’d done to each other last night. And he felt smug at the memory—but he also twitched at the idea of other people really knowing about it or speculating about what it meant.

“Aden,” Leda said, annoyed, clearly repeating herself. She looked at him like he was a hick, an expression she usually reserved for Dunk, and stated, “Chase wants a snack.” “All right,” he said slowly, not prepared to be alone with her at all, but Leda was setting him up and he couldn’t avoid this without being outright rude, “let’s go then.” The Sheriff drummed his thumb on the table, squinting in admonishment at Aden. Guiltily, Aden picked up his pace. Chase asked, “Why is the Sheriff giving you the look of death?” “I was rude to you,” he said as he steered her towards one of the food stands, a battered wood table where Theresa Archer was gathering her hair back and clipping it with a barrett. “Hey,” he said, kissing her cheek after she lifted onto her toes, her small, rough hands strong on his shoulders. She let go and held out her hand to Chase while he made introductions. “Theresa makes the best smoothies. Just tell her what you want.” Chase’s considering gaze flicked over him for a hot moment before she shifted it to the wide array of fruit, vegetables and yogurt displayed in colorful bowls and baskets on the table. She hummed, a low, sweet sound Aden had heard last night, which resonated through his body. He felt his cock start to harden in painful, slow increments inside his wet boxers and shorts and wondered what the hell Chase was playing at. While she mulled over the choices, Theresa gathered the ingredients for his regular order and asked, “You’re a travel writer, Ms. Cade, did I hear that right?” “Not really, no,” she corrected almost apologetically. “I am traveling and I do have a blog. But I wouldn’t say I’m a travel writer. My friend heard about Maybelle and since I was on the East Coast, she thought I’d enjoy coming here. She was definitely right.” “That sounds adventurous,” Theresa said, though not wistfully. Aden had worked at her family’s orchard, Archer Farms, when he was a teenager and had always liked her. She was competent and uncomplaining, and rooted in a way he thought he was too. “Do you have a house, or are you a nomad like Seth?” she asked with a quick smile for Aden. Chase eyed the smoothie Theresa handed Aden appreciatively as she began, “I have a little place near Monterey in California, but I’ve been subletting it—” She interrupted herself to ask excitedly, “Can I have vanilla yogurt, peaches and banana, please?” As Theresa reached for them, she asked, “Do you love it, traveling and blogging?” Aden realized that this was something he should know the answer to, since they’d come all over each other less than a day ago. So while he was antsy because he’d never liked small talk, he listened intently while he feigned resignation and sipped his smoothie. “Luckily, my family and best friend helped me leave a work/life situation that wasn’t working for me anymore. They didn’t help me ‘discover ’ traveling, but they were so supportive that I didn’t feel horribly guilty trying this out. If they hadn’t, I’d still be miserable,” Chase confided. “I always thought I was pretty sophisticated, you know, since in San Jose there’s people who’ve immigrated from lots of places, or their families are from lots of places. And I’ve read all about Egypt and India and Italy, you know. But seeing so much... It’s shown me how small I am, in the scheme of things, in the best way.” Her tumble of words fell off as Theresa passed over her frothy smoothie. She tried it, then sighed in soft pleasure. “This smoothie is magical,” she praised Theresa. “Thank you, sweetheart,” Theresa said, more generous than she usually was. “How long has your family had the orchard?” Chase asked. “Well now, we’ve owned the land for about seventy-five years,” Theresa replied as she settled into one hip. “But we changed crops and started the orchard thirty years ago.” Chase hummed again and swallowed some more before she replied, “I think it’s amazing to have a family business for so long. How lucky for you—and Aden and his family, too—that every

generation has at least one person who wants to keep it going.” “It changes over time, especially when lots of kids move away when they grow up now,” Theresa said. “Take the Houstons, for example. Emmett still owns and runs HACC, but his grandson Tristan is the only other Houston who works there at all, now.” “Do you have any kids?” she asked after nodding. “I do,” Theresa confirmed, “a son. He’s still in high school, and God knows what he wants to do with himself.” She chuckled and said conspiratorially, “Personally, I’m not sure if he has the constitution for the farm life, and some of my relatives would be hurt if he decided not to work there, but, you know, we just want our kids to be happy, right?” Chase looked as though she were thinking about that. Aden tried to decide if he was oddly fascinated by the glimpse into this side of Chase or just annoyed by her optimistic, rose-tinted view of her life and family businesses. Then she offered, “It was different for me; my parents had no illusions that I would follow in their footsteps, so they had twenty years to get used to it. But maybe it’s easier since my siblings did follow in their footsteps and keep up the tradition.” “How nice that they let you decide,” Aden said before he thought it through and realized that this was almost exactly what he’d said at the 3 Brothers that got him into trouble. Chase squinted at him, her eyes sharp as he watched her formulate a question. But he didn’t want to talk about that, so he used the approach of a gaggle of people to change the subject. “We should let Theresa go back to it,” he said, nodding at them. “Okay,” she said, and damned if she didn’t sound as disappointed as a kid told she couldn’t ride the roller coaster for a third time, while Aden kissed Theresa again. Chase twirled around on the ball of her foot and Aden took a step away, but then she twirled right back around, looking sheepish. “I'm so rude. How much for the smoothies?” “Don't worry about it,” Aden told her, embarrassed that he’d forgotten too, “I’ll get it.” “But your wallet’s on the floating dock with Jack,” Chase reminded him practically, “and while you were zoning out, I got my purse back from Leda and the Sheriff.” As if to prove it, she hefted it up and dug until she came up with her wallet triumphantly, and Aden belatedly noticed she'd also pulled on a purple sundress while he had been zoned out after they’d come ashore. “So, how much do I owe you, Theresa?” she asked again. “Seven dollars,” Theresa told her, giving Aden an apologetic look. When Chase got her change back, she promptly plopped it all into the tip jar without fanfare, as if a traveler with a blog who lived out of a suitcase could afford a cavalier attitude towards money. She waved at Theresa and they headed back towards the beach. Just as relief settled over Aden because Leda was in sight and he would be able to escape Chase and the discomfort he felt, she had to say, “Hey, Aden, about yesterday—” His cheeks heated under his beard stubble. “You’re too damn nosy,” he mumbled. But before he could finish his half-started thought, or say anything else, she veered off into the grass and stomped away from him. Swearing, he trailed after her, then dodged around her to plant his feet so that she had to come to an abrupt stop. Her eyes jerked up to his and she tucked her bangs behind her ears as she said, as quietly as she’d chastised him a few days ago, “There's nothing wrong with wanting to understand people—especially if they're your friends or you want them to be.” “People don’t want to be poked at like that,” he shot back, because he believed it, but also as a deflection from the conversation she’d tried to start about last night. With all the changes in his life— being single, Seth moving home, and Chase popping up all over—he felt his temper struggle against its restraints. “It would serve you right if you met someone you couldn’t figure out and he was impervious to your methods for uncovering feelings.”

The expression she gave him was patient on the surface but something else entirely underneath, but all she did was state evenly, “That’s an awful thing to say to someone.” A huge wave of guilt washed over him. If he were honest, he had no problem with her curiosity. It was just that she pushed a lot of his buttons and it felt like she did it on purpose sometimes, and he didn't appreciate it. Worse, he didn’t understand how she could’ve bounced over to the floating dock and not even blushed, as if last night was already forgotten, while he was having a hard time thinking of anything else. “Chase, listen, I—” She broke in, a frisson of anger making her words burn. “You don’t understand why I want to understand people because you don’t know anything about me.” He shifted his weight, uncomfortable, feeling like his skin was too tight over his muscles. He didn’t say anything right away in answer, because he honestly didn’t know what he was supposed to do. By this point in a misunderstanding, Ginger would have been screaming at him, dragging the night before and his pathetic escape into it. But Chase was just... waiting on him, one eyebrow crooked high and he felt almost panicked by the pressure of her expectant expression. “All I meant was that buying a smoothie from Theresa Archer while she’s trying to work isn’t the right time to get to know her,” he evaded almost desperately. “When should I try to get to know people, Aden?” she countered. “According to you, I’m just a tourist. A tourist’s whole purpose in your world is to spend money in your town, right? So when should I try to get to know Theresa Archer, if the only way I’ll ever encounter her is to buy stuff from her? By your logic, the only people in your world who are allowed to get to know each other are the locals, who already know each other.” Stunned by her quick wits, he felt like he was ten steps behind her, totally lost. “I don’t understand how you can have absolutely no curiosity about people you meet,” she went on, relentlessly. “For example: last night we hooked up. Do you have any curiosity about me at all? Do you have any desire to ask me anything about myself at all?” Floundering, his mouth worked like a fish dying on dry land. “Because I have what I would consider a pretty hefty amount of curiosity about you.” “I... There’s nothing to know about me,” he practically stammered. “Well, here’s something about me, volunteered free of charge,” she told him. “In less than a week, I've fallen in love with Maybelle and most of the people.” He couldn’t hide a wince at her unsubtle most of the people. “I don’t have very many friends at all, so that’s a really big deal for me. Almost everyone here has made me feel like I’m a part of the community, even if I won’t be a permanent part of it. That is also a really big deal. It means so much to me, I just donated a thousand dollars to the Lake Swim. So quit acting all distant and high and mighty.” “A thousand dollars?” he repeated, reaching out for that like a lifeline so he could ignore fallen in love with Maybelle and most of the people. “But I thought you don’t make any money blogging. How could you possibly afford to give away any money?” “God damn it, Aden!” she yelled, her composure utterly falling apart. She stormed off towards the parking lot a dozen yards off. Aden swore colorfully as he followed her, again. He thudded against the inside of her rental convertible’s driver ’s side door with a painful crack before she could pull it shut. He stood there, his chest heaving, leaning over. “What the hell do you want from me?” he growled desperately. “You’re so shitty at trusting people that you can’t say, ‘Oh, Chase, how generous of you,’” she cried, then shoved at his hip so that she could spring back out of the convertible the second he gave

her a half a foot of space. “I—it is generous,” he replied mindlessly, “of course it is, that wasn’t... You said I don’t know anything about you, so I was just asking...” he bumbled, not even sure if he was lying or skirting the truth or just making shit up, just trying to keep her there long enough to be able to think his way out of this, not even sure why he needed to. Her mouth pulled into a perfect circle of incredulity. “Are you kidding me? That’s what you want to know about me? You want to know my financial situation?” “What? No—” he tried. “My parent’s tiny biotech firm sold what they worked on for fifteen years and they gave my siblings and me some of the profit, about ten grand. It wasn’t much in the scheme of things, really, given how much they made and reinvested into their company.” “Okay,” he said, sounding confused because he still was. “I didn’t need it, though, because I was a corporate lawyer at a tech firm and I worked so hard that I was forty pounds lighter, but I made close to three hundred thousand dollars a year,” she barreled on furiously. “So I don’t give a shit what you think of how I choose to spend my money, and I don’t give a shit about what you told your brother about who I am or why Jesse asked what we were doing last night—” she gasped, running out of air. His stomach seized and he moved suddenly, grasping her face in both hands, and she went quiet. Up close, her eyes were watery and he was ashamed of his behavior. For two long, excruciating seconds he thought about kissing her—he wanted to. She had bared herself to him; he couldn’t remember anyone risking that with him, and not just over-sharing with their bartender or reminding him of a truth he already knew. “I apologize,” he whispered. Her chin dropped. “Are you always so mistrustful and defensive?” He paled and paced away, his hands clamped on his hips. “There are some new things happening around here right now,” he ground out, unable to lay it all out as brutally as she just had, measure for measure, even though he knew that he owed her honesty. “That’s hard for me. I don’t like change.” He hesitated, then added, “And this is my life, where I live. I don’t like feeling like I’m being judged, compared to every other damned place and person in the world, Chase.” “That’s not what I’m doing!” she cried, falling back away from him. He growled, furious and bristling, his mind snapping back into focus. “Isn’t it? Because I’m pretty sure you just told me, using big, fancy words, that I’m an insensitive jackass who only wants to know how you have money but not who you are.” Her eyes grew wide, but she held her ground and said with the sharp-edged logic he now recognized as something she had in common with Jack, another lawyer, “Since you’ve been making it perfectly clear that you don’t want me to try to get to know Maybelle or your friends or you, I’m not left with many options. All I can do is compare you to other people. Even if I’d be happy to ask about who you are and what you want.” Words started to tumble out of him, coming from all sorts of different places inside of him, reacting to all of the things she’d said and all of the things he thought she meant. “Why do you even care who I am or what I want? I don’t get it. You don’t know a fucking thing about me that should make you care. But if you want to know, here’s my truth. I’m not as wild as my parents or Leda or Seth, so everyone treats me like a boring, hyper-responsible freak. My siblings split as soon as they could, then my parents got sick of running Wild Harts, so they bought an RV and left six years ago. Left me in charge of everything—and Leda came back when her life fell apart four years ago and then yesterday Seth turns up. Do you think anyone ever asked me what I wanted?”

Her cheeks burst into a deep flush and he watched her breasts rise and fall in hitching waves. “They should, Aden,” she whispered, her voice strangled and high. “When I was at my most miserable, my parents and my best friend Sunny confronted me about it. They were right, and I started to change my life—I broke up with my boyfriend, I quit my job, I went traveling, I started my blog-and I’ve been happy.” It was like she’d punched him, forcing all the air from his body and causing it to seize up in pain, as she demonstrated in one brutal hit the ways his own family had let him down. But they were his family and he loved them, and they had never done those things to hurt him, not when they still didn’t understand how it had made him feel. He couldn’t let her insult them that way, couldn’t admit how much she saw correctly. “You’re happy because you’re running,” he countered. “You’re not dealing with what made you so unhappy in California. You went to law school and if you made so much money, you must have been really good at it. I know those jobs don’t fall into people’s laps. Instead of trying to make it work, you ran, and you might be happy now, but you can’t just travel forever and when you stop running, you’ll be just as miserable as before soon enough.” “You son of a bitch,” she sobbed. “So now I know how you feel about me then. Now I know why you said I’m not supposed to stir you up or pry. I never should have wanted to see something more in you, never should have wanted to believe that that first kiss or last night meant something. Fortunately for you, I’ll go and never come back!” Aden was cut to the core, and shocked by how visceral the pain was. Ginger had said I’ll go and never come back a dozen times, but it had never caused this horrible feeling that he was losing something vital. When had things gone so wrong here? Every time he tried to talk to Chase, it only made things worse, her defenses and his clashing so that they just hurt each other. He didn’t know when his feelings for her had strengthened way past like and attraction, but they had; nothing else could explain this pain. Because Chase had said I’ll go and never come back, and it was kind of breaking his stupid heart. So he grated out, his voice a wreck of a rasp that made him flush, “I guess there's nothing else to say, then.” As if he were hypnotized, he held perfectly still as she laid a hand on his chest and kissed his cheek gently. She pulled back and stared at him, her brows drawing together, and he was so upset and confused that he didn’t know what else to do. After a minute, she whispered as though she were exhausted, “Goodbye, Aden.” Like a starstruck teen, he couldn’t help but touch his lips, but then he felt his cheeks get even hotter as she sped away from him for what he knew would be the last time.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN Chase The next morning, Chase started to pack blindly. She was run ragged and fraying at the edges, and maybe it had something to do with Aden and that whole mess, but there was more. She’d been traveling at a fast pace, and her last trip had been exhausting and intense. If her time in Maybelle had been nothing but fun—befriending Jesse and Dunk and Leda, and enjoying the food and drinks, the art gallery, the fireworks, and Tristan’s barbeque— then right now, she’d feel rejuvenated. But that mess had happened with Aden, and she was worse for the wear. She’d felt as though they were in their own bubble when they were in bed, and instead of being surreal, it had felt more immediate than anything she could remember. But as soon as he’d popped the bubble by making a break for it, she’d been wrecked. What had she been thinking, dreaming of being with him, for even a second? It was all the magic of traveling, nothing more. The basic components of their lives, the values that circumscribed each of them, were completely different. Her house was three thousand miles away and any responsibilities she had, she placed on herself. Aden had allowed himself to be the responsible one, pressured by irresponsible parents and selfish siblings, and he held the world at bay, scared of change and new people of any kind. She’d tried to respect those boundaries at the baseball game and the Lake Swim by pretending like nothing had happened. The crowds at both, and Jack Honey on the floating dock, had helped too. But her control on her emotions, on that silly yearning to be back in the bubble with him, had slipped when he’d come out of the lake wet and irritated, but solicitous all the same. Watching him with Theresa, so gentle and respectful, had given her such hope, but then he’d burst that bubble, too, when he’d judged her and then hurt her so badly without really even arguing with her, somehow. Enough was enough, then; she was going back to Monterey, where she’d pick a much more enchanting and enthralling place than Maybelle County, Virginia to go next. When she reached for something else to shove into her suitcase, she realized that she was done. So she slid into flats and tripped down to the front desk to tell Jesse that she was leaving early. Dropping her key as though it were a million degrees hot, she couldn’t look Jesse in the eye as she told her, “Morning, Jesse. I need to check out early.” Jesse curled her fingers around the key and didn’t pretend she was clueless; she just drawled, “Well now, there is an early check-out fee of fifty-five dollars, Miz Chase.” “That’s fine,” Chase said, cool and unapologetic, but then her voice buckled and cracked as she finished, “because it’s all my fault anyway.” “Aden got hammered last night at the pool hall,” Jesse stated, crossing her arms. “It’s not his thing. Everyone was so scared of him, no one asked about it. If Seth hadn’t been there, we wouldn’t

have been able to get him home. So what the hell happened?” Crumpling, Chase's head thudded on the desk. “I don’t know,” she moaned. “One second we’re getting smoothies and the next I’m in the middle of a Jane Austen thing!” “What does that mean?” Jesse asked in frustrated confusion. “It means that he said something douchey,” she cried, hysterical, “so I said he doesn’t know anything about me. He told me I’m judgey. There was something about trust. Then I told him I was leaving and never coming back and I booked the next available flight out of here from Richmond, which isn’t until six tonight...” Jesse rubbed her forehead. “Sounds like the part in the romantic comedy where the heroine takes off and the guy waits too long to go after her,” Dunk commented from behind Chase, surprising the crap out of her. When she glared at him, he held out his hands in an I'm-innocent gesture. “Uh, sorry. I walked in and you were a tiny bit loud so I couldn’t help but hear some of that...” “What are you talking about, Dunk?” Jesse asked, her face screwed up. “There’s nothing romantic or comedic going on,” Chase snapped. He swaggered over and disagreed, “There’s definitely something going on, Ms. Cade. We saw y’all kiss at Tristan’s barbeque on the dock, and then after the fireworks, Aden drove you home, but it took him damn near an hour and a half to do it. And last night...” “So?” She thrust out her chin and glared at him. “It’s none of your business.” “How you feel may not be my business, but how Aden feels sure is,” Dunk pointed out, and the part of her that had been a lawyer had to admire a simple, neat truth like that. Since she couldn’t argue it, she glared. “And he sucks at saying anything about how he feels, unless he’s watching sports. All the Riveaus suck at emotional things, even if they will fight with each other. But last night, Aden drank a ton, and all the while he was clammed up way more than usual. He can be grumpy, but he’s hardly ever angry.” Chase’s face went slack in surprise and when she glanced at Jesse, she looked stunned. Dunk plunked his hands on his waist and looked mutinous. “What? Jocks can pay attention to feelings and shit too, you know! Why does everyone always assume juvenile and immature means that I'm also dumb as a post? That’s elitist or something!” “You're overestimating the situation,” Chase told him as firmly as she could. “I came here for a vacation, and I met a lot of awesome people and had some fun. End of story.” Dunk’s face fell in disappointment. “You think he’s feeling something for Chase?” Jesse asked Dunk, her voice pained. “I'm not solving a murder.” He rolled his eyes and waved his hands vaguely. “I'm just saying, Ginger Cartman is pregnant, and Aden’s just, like, whatever, we’re done. But something happens between him and Chase at the inn on the 4th—something good, I bet—and yesterday something else happens after the Lake Swim that put him in the worst mood ever, and then he tied one on like I’ve never seen him do before.” Chase’s eyes popped wide. Aden’s ex-girlfriend was pregnant? That was why he’d told her with such unflappable certainty that it was for sure over between them now? With a wince, as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to say, Jesse conceded, “Dunk does kind of have a point there. Aden and Ginger dated off and on for so long, I thought they’d do that forever, except Ginger got pregnant by some random guy... and he never dated anyone else, and never, uh, took an hour and a half to drop anyone off.” Dunk snorted and muttered, “Never had sex with anyone else.” “Dunk, try looking up the word ‘circumspect,’” Jesse yelled as she whacked him. While he grunted and grabbed his shoulder, Chase’s mind flashed back to the other night. He had

been magically... appreciative of her and incredibly creative, touching her like no one else ever had. It had felt like every movement was organic, one flowing into the next, not perfectly smooth but all the richer for that. But what were the chances that a man who’d only slept with one woman could do that? Her heart sank. It was more likely that he’d just used his routine with Ginger on her, not spontaneously explored their desire like she’d imagined. That his routine moves had given her such pleasure just made him lucky. “He probably got drunk because of Ginger,” Chase said flatly into the tense silence. “There’s a lot of history between them, and hardly any history between us.” “You’re such a cynic,” Dunk told her disapprovingly. Chase’s mind and heart raced along together at the same high speed. Jesse demanded, “If you’re such an expert, how come you don’t have a wife? Huh?” After a flinch at the word wife, Dunk plowed on, his eyes fixed on Chase. “Aden cares about you, I know he does. But you’re like an alien. You’re from somewhere else and you’re going back where you came from. He doesn’t like risks and never takes them. Not ever. That was why he was a crap athlete and why he took over Wild Harts. He never had another job, other than coaching, and that was offered to him, he didn’t go after it.” Jesse ranted back at Dunk, “Just because he always knew he wanted to run Wild Harts...” But Chase stopped listening as her mind whirled and her heart skipped. How could a man who had been with one woman since he was sixteen until six months ago like her after less than a week, especially when all they’d done was insult each other, sometimes on purpose and sometimes by accident? It would be impossible. Besides, whatever had been between them, one or both of them had botched it. Chase had stayed at her law firm longer than she should have; she’d been trying to make the job and the life that went along with it work, but things like that couldn’t be forced. She believed in making an effort if something didn’t come easily, but that wasn’t the same as trying to move or reshape an immovable, unchangeable thing. Aden might have accused her of running and it had hurt like a son of a bitch, but maybe it only looked like running to someone who was too scared to change, even if things weren’t right. So she interrupted, “Guys! I made a decision and I’m sticking with it. I had a little panic because yesterday felt kind of intense, but I don’t live in Maybelle and I’m traveling, and Aden does live in Maybelle and runs his family’s restaurant. I won’t give up my life and I would never ask anyone else to do that. So thanks a lot for caring so much; I don’t make friends easily and I appreciate it.” “Appreciate it—” Dunk exclaimed in outrage. “I’m going to get my luggage and then I’m heading out for the airport in Richmond so that I can go home to Monterey. Dunk, can you get a message to a junior named Eddie? I promised him I’d help him with his paper so I need you to get his email and text it to me.” “Yeah, I know Eddie, but—” “I don’t want him to think I forgot my promise,” she plowed on, voice cracking. “I’ll call you two soon—tell Leda I’ll call her soon too.” With that terrible kiss-off, Chase rushed up the stairs and out of sight. “Well,” Jesse said, both brows up to her hairline. “Do you think they might actually...?” Dunk gasped, then yanked Chase’s purse to him and pawed through it madly. “What are you doing, Dunk?” Jesse hissed, trying to grab the purse back. He slapped her hands away and made an exclamation of triumph as he lifted the keys to her rental car out of the purse. He dangled them in Jesse’s face. “I’m taking her keys.” “Dunk—no, what the fuck are you—” Jesse spluttered in outrage. “They’re in love,” he burst out. “I’m going over to Aden’s. She can’t go!”

Then, as Jesse started to rush around the desk to grab him, Dunk spun and took off, faster than she’d ever be, and skidded up to his truck. Jumping in, he roared away and left Jesse with her mouth hung wide open, waiting to take all of the blame.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Aden Aden was watching SportsCenter on the couch with Seth when Dunk burst through the screen door and then stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hey,” Seth said a little uncertainly, muting the TV. “What’s up?” “What’s up?” Dunk repeated in a hiss. Dunk was always easy-going, so his hiss pierced the nauseated fog of Aden’s vicious hangover. He dragged his eyes to Dunk, who looked furious. Aden let his head fall back against the couch and gave Dunk his best don’t-fuck-with-me-right-now face. “What’s up is that this motherfucker is an idiot!” Dunk yelled. Aden’s glare intensified, and his brain throbbed painfully at Dunk’s volume. “What are you talking about?” Seth asked again, sounding frustrated. “Chase Cade,” Dunk pronounced at a bellow, stabbing one finger at Aden. “I don’t know what the hell you did to mess this shit up, but I am so pissed at you right now.” “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Aden growled. “Oh, yes, I fucking do,” he retorted. “I swung by the inn to pick Munn up and found her completely breaking down at the desk. She’s leaving, man. Like, she’s leaving now.” At that, Aden jerked like he’d been shocked. He rocked up out of the couch and to his feet, his eyes pinched from the strength of his glare as he put his hands on his hips and demanded, “What are you talking about? She’s not supposed to be leaving yet.” Even he heard the desperation in his voice. “You dumb shit,” Dunk repeated triumphantly. “What happened?” “Nothing!” Aden roared unexpectedly. “I don’t think that’s right,” Seth murmured. He touched Aden’s shoulder, but Aden jumped and then shook off the touch. “I saw the way she watched you at the fireworks, and you took a really long time to drop her off at the inn. Something happened, didn’t it?” Aden swallowed hard. He was a bartender, for God’s sake; he listened to other people’s problems and kept his mouth shut. He didn’t have problems to share, and if things made him angry or frustrated, like when Wild Harts had been foisted off on him when he was barely twenty-three, he just lived with it. When Ginger had yelled and broken up with him, he’d accepted it; when she had cried and asked to be taken back, he’d accepted that, too. And suddenly, he was pissed off about it. “It doesn’t matter what happened. I could’ve been, like, Prince Charming and been this great gentleman and said all the right things, and she’d still be leaving.”

“So that’s what this is about?” Jack asked calmly as he stepped into the room and slipped off his sunglasses. He moved shoulder to shoulder with Dunk and hooked his sunglasses through the neck of his shirt, one brow quirked high. “You’re just being a coward and not telling her anything about how you feel or what you want?” “You too?” Aden snapped. “Dunk called and said he needed backup. Hey, Seth.” “Hey, Jack,” Seth murmured. “Good to see you again.” Aden yanked one hand through his hair, cursing. “I am not being a coward. So, I like her. So, I messed around with her that night. So, it wasn’t like anything else. What’s it matter? Every time we talk, it’s like a fight but it’s not, we don’t get anywhere, it goes in circles. It hurts—I hurt her. Her life is traveling all over the world, and mine is running Wild Harts with Leda and coaching baseball. I’m a reliable small-town guy and she’s some...” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t come up with a pithy, dismissive thing to say about her, he just couldn’t. His throat closed up and he growled, “There’s nothing I could do to change that.” “Yes, there is,” Seth disagreed, quietly but firmly. “I’m home, I told you; I’m not going anywhere. If you want to take some time off, then you can do that. You know that, right? I ran plenty long enough. It’s my turn. Maybe it’s your turn to run off and do something irresponsible, like beg that beautiful, smart woman to give you a chance.” “I do not want her like that,” Aden growled, nearly panting. Jack snorted in his genteel manner. “Please; you’re not fooling us. You had tons of ‘breaks’ with Ginger to have flings or find another girl, but you didn’t... You’re not still in love with Ginger, are you?” he asked, but Aden knew that it wasn’t really a question. “I dare you,” Dunk taunted. “I dare you to go after her.” Agonized, and overwhelmed by Seth’s simple promise to help out at Wild Harts if needed, Aden paced in a tight circle in front of them. “I can’t,” he muttered, looking down at the worn carpet. “I’m not that guy. Not the guy to catch a girl at the airport and...” “She’s not at the airport,” Dunk said. With one of his shit-eating grins, Dunk fished a set of keys out of his pocket, keys with the plastic fob on it that rental agencies used. “You didn’t,” Aden growled. “You didn’t, Dunk,” Seth groaned. “Oh, I definitely did steal her keys,” Dunk crowed. “I did not hear that,” Jack, the county prosecutor, said under his breath. Dunk pitched the keys at Aden, who caught them reflexively. His fingers shifted around them, the metals scraping almost inaudibly together. He looked up at his best friends and his brother. They were looking at him with sympathy, which was embarrassing, but also there was encouragement beneath it. Instead of being told that he had to take on another responsibility, they were telling him that he could shed the responsibility of Wild Harts temporarily if he wanted—that he could take on Chase. Chase, who wouldn’t need him to take care of her or fix her problems, like Ginger had always demanded and needed. Chase would want a partner, through and through. And what did he want? He closed his eyes. Just the chance to be with her. Just a chance. “Go,” Jack told him with quiet force. Aden snapped into motion. He shoved his bare feet into sneakers and grabbed up his own car keys from the kitchen counter on his way out the door, and he barely heard Dunk’s shout of excitement. He drove to the inn without a fucking clue what he was going to say, or what he wanted to do. Chase had been right when she’d said that he didn’t really know that much about her, and Jack had been right when he’d said that Aden had never really gone outside his comfort zone or fought for something.

So why would she ever want to take me on? he thought desperately. But as he parked at a shit angle and jogged up the lawn to the front door, he thought that maybe it didn’t matter. As he turned the handle, he thought, finally he was going after something that he wanted for himself. When he walked in, he was expecting Chase to be in the foyer, getting mad at Jesse or stalking around, but she wasn’t. It was only Jesse, doing paperwork. “Hey,” she drawled, looking up at him and tapping a pen on the top of the desk, “about time you showed up. She’s in her room.” “Okay,” he exhaled. “Okay.” He went up to the gable room and knocked, exactly like he had the other night. And when she yanked open the door, she glared furiously, but her eyes were a little red and her mouth was a little weak as she demanded, “Do you have my fucking keys?” “I’ve never been on an airplane,” he blurted out. She took a handful of his t-shirt and dragged him into the room. Like the other night, he stumbled and kicked the door shut with a bootheel. She let him go and whirled, wearing a striped stretchy dress that was molded over her breasts and waist and then fell softly around her legs. “Because I want my keys,” she repeated mulishly. “I’m leaving.” “I’ve never had sushi, either,” he said. “What?” she cried, fisting her hands at her sides. “So?” “And I’ve never been unemployed or taken more than two days off at a time for a vacation or sick days. And when my parents told me that they bought an RV and were going on some open-ended road trip, I took the keys to Wild Harts, too. I didn’t tell them how I felt about any of it. I accepted it, and then I went in to work the next day as the boss.” Something softened slightly, he thought, in her eyes. His courage was bolstered a little by that, so he kept going, even though it felt like he was groping his way through a pitch-black room. “And I’m so... comfortable here in Maybelle that I never wanted to try to change anything. I don’t like change. I like my steady job and living in the house I grew up in. I liked having one girl all my life.” Chase scowled at that, wandering over to the window. “But then I met you.” He’d meant it to come out romantic, but it came out accusatory. She turned back, her scowl even fiercer and her shoulder jerked in a shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aden. All I did was bug you and then insult you.” “Well, maybe I thought so at the time, but you also made me...” The words ended because his throat closed up again. He didn’t know how to say it, but then she bit her lip and he thought that maybe she was waiting, that maybe she wanted to know what he felt, maybe as desperately as he wanted to know how she felt. “You made me want things.” “What things?” But that was the end of everything he knew how to put into words, not that his words so far had been particularly clear. “I don’t know,” he admitted gruffly. “You were right when you said our lives are really different,” she said quietly, a little sadly, looking away. “I’ve traveled for the last seven solid months since I quit my job. Even the difficult trips haven’t made me love it any less. I love writing the blog and I love being nosy, as you put it. I want to meet a thousand more bartenders and ask them—” Aden barely suppressed a growl at that and strode over to her. He didn’t touch her, but they were only an inch apart. She tilted her head up, her bangs fanning away from her eyes from the sudden movement. He buried his face in her neck and repeated emphatically, “I don’t like change.” Her chin scraped

down the side of his head, as if she were tilting it to look down at him. “But I think I need it. I’ve never really gone after something that I wanted, and I...” He caught her hips and meant to simply look at her, but she kissed him, her body laid along his. She let out a quiet moan and he was astonished and awed and thrilled by how much he wanted her. During all of his breaks with Ginger, no one had caught his attention and he had never minded much at all. There were a thousand and one questions to ask Chase, as well as a hundred and one things to discuss and figure out. But as she kissed him, desire and curiosity and a sense of adventurousness surged through him. He could tell by how she clung to him that she was right there with him. So he smoothed the straps of her dress and bra off her shoulders and took the dress down her to slide to the floor in a pool. While she gasped into his mouth, he stripped off her bra and skated his mouth along her throat to the upper slope of one breast. Then he shifted to look at her, to let her eyes pierce into his as he took in her beauty, and when he felt her sigh, as if in relief, he claimed her mouth again. She pushed up his t-shirt until he had to let go of her to take it off, and after, she undid his button fly and pushed down his jeans and briefs. She hummed in pleasure as her hands scraped over his hips and thighs, then pulled away to get rid of her panties. He gulped at the sight of her fully naked as she went to her purse and took out a condom. He clasped her jaw and kissed her while he pressed her into the sheets, covering her body wholly with his. Their skin heated and melded together as they kissed. She slid her legs along the outside of his until her thighs clasped his hips, then ran one hand gently, sweetly down his shoulders and sides. His eyes fell closed, dropping his head to her collarbone, as she raised her hips to bring her core to the head of his cock, starting to push around its flare to take him in. It felt so fucking good, but he stiffened and gasped, jerking back an inch, “Condom.” Her mouth, swollen and slicked with moisture from their deep kisses, pursed as if she were going to argue, but instead she fished around the sheets until she found the condom. She tore open the packet and gently pressed his ribs until he eased back and she could see what she was doing. Her fingertips rolled the condom down in slow increments until it was all the way on, and then she shifted her hands to the base of his spine. She drew him closer, her hips tilting as his arched so that he could press and retreat steadily until he was all the way inside of her. He wanted her so badly, even as he thrust in and out of her, that his arms collapsed, his forearms bouncing down onto the mattress alongside her head. His ribs shuddered from his panting breaths, scraping back and forth over her nipples and making her writhe as her thighs locked tightly around his hips. Whenever he let go of her mouth to nip the tendons of her throat or smooth her hair off her face, she bit her lip and huffed out a quick, impatient breath, as if she couldn’t wait to kiss him again. So it didn’t take very long for him to be on the cusp of orgasm, his teeth gritted so that he looked like a fool, but he wanted to wait for her. He fisted his hand in her hair and dragged her head sideways to change the angle of their kiss, while he adjusted the angle of his thrusts. She cried out into his mouth, making his ears ring, and with a yell, he gave in to his own orgasm, then sank gratefully onto her. Chase looked over at the clock sometime later. “My flight is at six,” she murmured. Aden’s whole body clenched, furious and hurt. “Okay,” he whispered hoarsely. She rolled on her side to cover her nakedness as she gulped, reddening. “Shit—I, no,” he stammered, chest constricted in fear, “wait.” He made an aborted move to grab her thigh, then swallowed hard and sat up. He tried to clear his mind, which was sluggish from his hangover and languorous from his powerful orgasm. “I should’ve said this before we, uh, kissed,” he

said, feeling dumb, “that I like you.” Her head tilted and her eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she allowed. Even though he wanted to reach out, he held back and scooted up the bed to sit against the headboard instead. He dug a pillow out from under his ribs. Chase met his gaze squarely. “I like you, too. But I’m not sure where that leaves us.” “If, uh...” Aden cleared his throat and wished that he could smoke in the inn, since the ritual gave him an excuse to take pauses between his words. Then his nerves unwound when he realized that Chase was waiting, allowing him to find the words to answer her at his own pace. “If you lived here in Maybelle, if I asked you out...” Her lips parted and her eyebrows drew together delicately. “Dunk and Jesse told me about how drunk you got last night,” she murmured almost absently, as if she were thinking too hard to pay close attention to the words. “It sounded to me like you’re still pretty messed up about your exgirlfriend. Your apparently very pregnant ex-girlfriend.” Aden shot up off the headboard and stared slack-jawed at Chase for what felt like forever before he gathered his wits enough to reply, “I’d be heartless if I told you honestly that I haven’t been thinking about Ginger and all the crap that happened between us since we broke up, but last night... this... doesn’t have anything to do with her.” He stretched out one hand and smoothed his fingertips across her cheek, tilting her chin up so that their eyes met again. “Seth is home to stay, and last night he told me why.” Just mentioning it made him squeeze his lips into a line and struggle to breathe, the sadness overwhelming him for a few sawing breaths. “I can’t—it’s not my story and I wouldn’t feel right telling you, yet. But it’s pretty damn heavy and that’s why I got drunk.” Her mouth firmed as she swallowed visibly, her throat contracting. “I won’t press you about what happened to Seth. But, um, Dunk said that your ex is... your only ex.” Clearing his throat, he admitted levelly, “That’s true.” “So if you asked me out and I knew that, I don’t know if I’d be ready for that,” she explained carefully. “You told me how long you dated her. I’d be... concerned.” At that, Aden laughed. “‘Concerned?’” he repeated. “Yeah!” she exclaimed indignantly, even while she flushed. Aden scrubbed his hands over his face, his stubble itching his palms then mumbled, “Will you come here?” He slid so that he was almost lying down fully, gratified as she curled up against his side and sort of buried her face in one of his pectorals. “Okay, then,” he declared, staring up at the ceiling as his hand cupped her hip, “I’m only telling you this once, and I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of it to anyone. Especially Leda.” Chase snorted and nodded, dragging her temple up and down briefly through his chest hair, sort of tickling, raising tiny sizzles although his body was satisfied for now. “It’s kind of hard, in an... infamous family, to have anything that’s only yours, and Ginger was only mine. No one liked her; I always knew that,” he told her archly. “But I needed that, especially while Dunk and Jack were away at college and once Leda and Seth had gone.” “You were lonely,” she whispered, caressing his shoulder and chest as if absently. “I went along with whatever happened without protest, without caring much, until we found out that she’s pregnant with some guy’s baby, and she wanted to take me back.” He wanted to crack the tension and lighten the mood, sure she was about to say that if he had really loved Ginger, he would have taken her and some other guy’s baby back. But he’d never been funny, and he didn’t want to make light of Ginger, not when she’d been with him in one way or another for so many years. So he dug deep, fighting all of his close-mouthed Riveau and bartender instincts to offer up something deeper than analyzing why he’d been with Ginger. He wanted to give her something concrete to prove that he was a good bet, despite his surly attitude, his one ex, and his

extreme dislike of change. “Last night I felt... helpless after what Seth told me,” he forced out, looking down at her fiercely. “And I felt stupid for acting like getting into a fight with you was this huge deal when he’s dealing with this thing that’s really... awful. It put it all in perspective.” “I’m trying to take down all of my walls, too,” she admitted softly. He surged up on one elbow and took her soft mouth. She loosed this soft whimper and he was unable to resist the need to keep kissing her until she slid her lips to his chin and then wiggled so that she was sitting up again. “I’m sorry everything got so out of control yesterday,” she whispered, her hand turning over so that she could tangle her fingers with his. “I really do like you, Aden. But my flight is still at six, and I need to leave by one if I’m going to make it to Richmond and get through security and all that.” His eyes flicked automatically to the clock on the nightstand. Twelve thirty-five. This incredible time with her was only reinforcing how much he liked her and wanted to be with her, but the clock was still running and his time was almost up. “Cancel it,” he burst out, much louder than he’d meant. He gave her a level look, but underneath it, he was freaking out. He’d never really even asked a woman out, for God’s sake, and he’d just demanded that she cancel her flight. “You could stay here, uh, with me,” he added, feeling lame. “I’m not a good prospect,” she said after what felt like a full minute of her sucking in quick, hitched pants. “And I know I can’t travel forever, but that’s what I’m doing now—” All but growling like an animal, Aden tackled Chase to her back, laughing loud and free as she squawked and clutched his shoulders. “I’m not asking you to stop traveling,” he chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “I’m asking you to extend your vacation a week.” He watched her lovely mouth widen into a soft smile, knowing it was idiotic to enjoy watching her so much after only a week. “Maybe two,” he amended with a grin. “You... you really want to start something?” “Cancel your flight, Chase,” he murmured. “Let’s see if this could be something.” Those glorious mermaid eyes glowed and she slid her fingers into the short, soft hairs at the nape of his neck, swirling them. “Why, Aden Riveau,” she teased in a playful, exaggerated imitation of his drawl, “are you askin’ me out on a date?” He laughed, dropping his head to sink his tongue deeply into her mouth again. “Yeah,” he told her breathlessly a few minutes later, heart and body buzzing happily, “but only if you don’t mind if we have dinner at the diner with everyone tonight.” Her chest rose and caught, then trembled, but before he could soothe or reassure her, she smoothed one arm over his stomach and then picked up her cell. She swiped and pressed a few buttons, then laid it down, generic hold music blaring out. He raised one eyebrow and she offered simply, “The airline, to cancel my flight.” Her bubbly, almost triumphant tone made him rumble with laughter again.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Chase As soon as Chase had cancelled her flight, happier than ever with her decision to always buy refundable tickets, she rose from the bed and meandered naked towards one of the windows. Aden was in the bathroom, the shower already running, and she would absolutely go join him, but she needed a minute alone first. If there had been any doubts about whether Aden liked her or not, or whether they were a fantastic, organic match together in bed, she couldn’t believe it now. That wasn’t to say that she had completely lost her mind; she was sweating, now that she had cancelled, not rescheduled, her flight out of Virginia. Her heart was pounding like a frantic thing, too. Which was why she was taking a beat to let everything sink in. That morning, she had been distraught and utterly confused, packed and ready to run headlong all the way back to Monterey, where she’d been planning on forgetting Maybelle and everything that had happened here. Instead, barely three hours later, she was reminding herself that she was an independent, grown woman with no ties who could decide to stay in Maybelle another week—or two, she thought with a shy smirk—and go out on some dates with Aden Riveau and then... and then something. “Oh shit,” she gasped. It had sure as hell felt sudden when she’d quit the firm, broken up with Troy, and left California, but in retrospect, it certainly hadn’t been impulsive. Her unhappiness and feelings of being trapped and squeezed had been growing for a while. And during her first trip to New Orleans, she had done so many amazing touristy things, but she had also come up with meticulous plans and rules about what she was doing, how she was going to budget, and why she was doing it and what she wanted to learn and regain. Her decisions today had been impulsive, both her original decision to flee Maybelle like a bat out of hell and her revised decision to stay here to go on a date with Aden. But then, into the cresting freak-out of epic proportions, she heard her best friend’s advice from earlier that week. Whatever you want, go for it. Wasn’t that also, basically, what Aden had told her he was doing, what he wanted to do because of her? Go for it? “You got this,” she told herself, marching firmly across the gable room towards the bathroom. “You are a badass sexy woman with a JD and big boobs. Go get it.” With a little shimmy, she pushed open the door and looked up and around at all of the steam coming out over the top of the glass door of the shower. “That’s a lot of steam,” she commented loudly as she shut the door again. There was an aborted squeak—a foot slipping on the slick bottom of the tub, she deduced when Aden yelped, “Fuck!” She watched his elbow thunk into the glass before he twisted and pulled open

the door, looking like he had the day he’d run into her soaked from the rainstorm, except, well, naked. Gloriously naked. “I was expecting you to say something when you came in here, but I thought I’d hear the door open too,” he half-accused. She sauntered across the tile and stepped into the shower, into him. Her hands glided over his stomach and sides and she asked saucily, “Are you a big fan of saunas?” It took him a second, but he rolled his eyes when he realized that she was still making fun of him for the billowing steam. “You could’ve turned on the fan.” “How would I tease you if I did that?” she murmured, her hands wandering, slicking over his muscles and light body hair, learning him when he was standing and when he was soapy and relaxed. “You know you’re going to smell like my soap and shampoo and conditioner now, right?” “I’ll smell like you,” he rumbled back. Her head shot up, startled by how low his tone had dropped. “Are we due at the diner to meet everyone at a certain time?” she asked, not ashamed in the least that she sounded a little breathless. “Yeah, at seven or so.” Her eyelashes flickered as she shifted to watch water cascade down the strong column of his neck, pooling against his collarbones. “That’s plenty of time,” she murmured. With a groan, Aden shoved his face under the spray. “Please give a guy a break. I’m not nineteen; I need a little time. And I’m still hungover. How about we nap, then... have more fun, and then go have dinner with my sister and brother and all our friends?” She snickered while he rinsed out his hair, then he manhandled her aside to climb out. It had been a while since she had showered while a man moved around in the room companionably; it felt sweet, but nerve-wracking in that way that was also pleasurable. Still, she hurried through her shower, finding him dressed only in briefs and on his cell when she came out in her towel. She reopened her suitcase, realizing that she’d need to do some laundry soon, and slid into black panties and a scoop-necked white tee. When she looked over, she found his hands empty, his cell tossed aside, and smiled when she realized he must’ve simply been watching her. She sat down cross-legged on the bed next to him and grabbed his hand, then changed her mind and maneuvered them until they were laying down legs tangled and arms lightly touching. “Are you worried about meeting up with everyone, since they must know what we’re doing? Or are about to do again?It’s not like it’ll be as scarring as the sex talk... right?” He scowled at her, but now that they’d really talked to each other, starting to open up, she could see the amusement and fondness that made his eyes soft too. “I’ll live,” he told her dryly, then stretched out to adjust the blinds, probably still overly sensitive from last night and wanting it a little less sunny. “So,” she said, a little unsure of what to say now, because there was still plenty to discuss. But while she was thinking it through, Aden’s cell rang. He cut an assessing look over at her. She took in the slight challenging smirk and she had to comment, as mildly as possible, “‘Cochise,’ nice choice for your ringtone. No one makes rock like that now.” “Hm,” Aden said, but the corner of his mouth curled up even more. “Do you need to get it?” “No, it’s Seth’s ring. If I don’t answer, he’ll call Dunk.” She couldn’t help but laugh proudly at the idea that Aden’s grapevine was buzzing like crazy today because of the two of them, and she rocked forward to plant a smacking kiss on his jaw. He smoothed a hand across her lower back and offered her that quiet smile. “I talked to Jack to catch him up. He’s telling Dunk and Jesse and everyone that you’re extending your trip and that we’ll

see them later. He says I’m lucky I’m not in the drunk tank right now, eating lunch with the deputy,” he said with that dry as hell amusement, rubbing the side of his nose with a knuckle in embarrassment maybe. “If the lot of us ever get arrested for reckless endangerment, will you dust off your powerful lawyer skills and save us from big tickets and the deputy?” Aden murmured into the base of Chase’s neck. “If you needed me to, then I would,” she murmured back, feeling as though the glowing, absurdly smitten smile she was trying to hide was completely obvious. “Dunk’s lucky he’s not in a cell right now, too,” she added, trying to joke and relax. “There’s going to be hard feelings there, huh?” She gave him the scary look she’d used during cross-examinations during depositions and trials, and he held up his hands to demonstrate he wasn’t the threat. “I’m with you on this. Just because I’m not going to kill him for stealing your keys this one time doesn’t mean he’s off the hook—” “Sounds like that’s exactly what it means,” she laughed, then laughed harder when his look turned into a scowl that managed to be sheepish at the same time. Suddenly her go for it promise to herself collided with her cautious side, and she blurted out, “So what exactly is going on here? Am I like a rebound date for a week or maybe two? Because a few days ago, you were really into the whole tourists bad thing.” Aden took a deep breath. “You’re extending your trip and we’re going to figure it out as we go,” he answered calmly. “See what this is, what we want it to be, if anything.” “History shows that I’m not good at that,” Chase admitted softly. “Now I wish I were taking off with you, and to hell with everything else,” Aden bit out. Chase’s lips parted at the idea that he’d thought about it, especially because she couldn’t deny to herself that the offer had been at the tip of her tongue a bunch of times earlier too. “Seth said he’d help out at Wild Harts if I wanted to take a vacation,” he continued. She tightened her fingers minutely around his and said, once he’d looked back at her, “I’d really like that.” “Yeah?” he practically croaked. “Only if the meal later with everyone doesn’t kill you,” she teased, practically croaking herself. He scratched along the edge of his jaw. “A vacation will be nice,” he told her, and she couldn’t help but lick her bottom lip when he said will instead of would, a plan instead of a theoretical idea. “Leda and I have to teach Seth everything, since he’s never even waited tables or tended bar, let alone run a restaurant. Someone will have to cover the bar, and if Leda did that, we’d have to find someone to cover her responsibilities.” “Leda would be pissed as hell if you just took off,” Chase reasoned. “Rightfully so, too,” Aden agreed. “I’d fire anyone who called out the day of for anything other than illness or injury or an actual family emergency.” “And if this week goes well, and if we go on a vacation and that goes well too, then what?” Chase pressed, knowing she was going into interrogation mode. But this wasn’t the vacation fling fantasy come to life, this was something potentially much more... real. Aden’s mouth did that amazing curling thing again. It wasn’t as amazing as his full-blown grin, but it showed off his hidden cleverness, which she appreciated. “There’s always long distance. I’m used to breaks,” he reminded her. “I’m used to dry spells and... looking after myself.” Chase couldn’t help but snicker, and then he slid his fingers over her cheek as his self-mocking smile eased into something sweeter. “And we have cells; we’ll talk a lot—or you will,” he added archly. “I’ll practice getting-to-know-you conversation topics.” “What’s your opening question going to be?” she teased, mouth quirked. “So you... were a lawyer?” he tried. She hummed, the sound full of amusement, and he protested,

“I’d listen if you told me about it. I like listening to you talk.” Chase’s heart stuttered. It was her fault—she’d shoved them onto this serious path, way, way too soon, she knew—so she tried to lighten things up. “A+ in ‘Listening,’” she said with as much silly mock-seriousness as she could muster. “But how will you do in ‘Change?’” “Probably below average. How will you do?” he countered, gently somehow. She winced a little. “It depends, doesn’t it?” “On what?” he asked as his brows shot up and he arched back to inspect her expression. “Well...” She slid her hand through her hair and then shrugged. “I know I don’t ever want to be a corporate lawyer again. But you were right when you said I’ll have to figure out what I am going to do when I’m done traveling, whenever that is. But I...” Her mouth was like a cotton ball, but she met Aden’s steady gaze and began firmly, “Some things I don’t think I’ll change my mind about, Aden.” He nodded slowly, thumb stroking the base of her wrist where they still held hands. “I’ve never wanted to get married or have children. I’ve dated people who I thought understood that, and then after some amount of time, they’d start talking about the future in those terms, as if loving them meant I’d changed my mind. I’m not saying I’ll never change my mind, I’m just warning you that I may never change my mind.” He was still for a long moment, eyes shifting minutely across her face, and finally kissed her, moving so slowly against her lips to fill her mouth with his tongue. Her stomach flipped in a long, pleasurable roll, then squeezed in a faster, rougher-edged pleasure when he pulled back and grinned. “You’re crazy to tell me that not even a week into knowing each other,” he informed her, “but that’s the reason why I didn’t take Ginger back when she asked, after we found out that she was pregnant. I’ve never felt that need, so far anyway.” Everything in Chase stilled, all of those questions and worries stilling too. “I wondered about that. I know you aren’t the type to refuse to raise another man’s kid.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “If I had wanted to have kids with Ginger, then that wouldn’t have mattered to me at all, you’re right.” Chase’s mouth firmed and she told him blithely, “I’m going to kidnap Wild Harts’ bartender sometime in the near future.” Aden’s thumb pressed hard into the inside of her wrist, but she didn’t look down at it. “And I owe Jesse for introducing us that night.” “Just send her—or bring her—some California wine,” he mumbled. “You look a little shell-shocked,” she observed. He shook his head once, decisively. “I feel great.” His arm slid solid and warm around her waist and she sighed long and silent, feeling her world change even as it doubled in size. “We have a little bit of time before we have to leave for the diner, where I’m sure Leda will give us the third degree and Dunk will be so smug. So,” she burbled, “let’s talk about what other early 2000s ringtones you have.”

Aden Four months later Aden’s stomach lurched as the plane seemed to drop way too much at once. His dry eyes were focused intently on the view out his window, reassuring himself that they weren’t falling. He grunted when they curved harder, one hand gripped around his seat belt. “You okay?” Seth murmured from next to him. “Great,” he croaked out. Seth gave a soft chuckle. “It’ll take more than three flights to get used to, but this is normal,” he reassured him, and Aden thought he was only being humored a little bit. “Shut up, I’m fine,” Aden grumbled, then swallowed hard as some hot bile crept up his throat when they surged downwards again, the cars on the roads below them looking the size of a shoe box. “In less than two hours, I’m seeing Chase again,” he said. “Yeah,” Seth agreed, squeezing Aden’s arm. “You’ll see her, make love, come watch me play some jazz, and tell her that you’re in love with her. It’s going to work out, Aden.” He pushed out a breath, and if it was shaky, Seth had the grace not to tease him about it. Seth had summed up Aden’s plans neatly, but the reality of doing that, of telling Chase that he was in love with her, wasn’t anything easy or neat. But he would do it. “Tell me about Buenos Aires,” he ordered Seth, needing something to take his mind off the extreme discomfort he felt as their plane continued its final descent. “I stayed at this great hostel that was like lemon yellow on the outside and tomato red on the inside, and me and the guys had our own room, three bunk beds,” Seth told him, spinning out the story with more detail than he usually bothered to tell Aden. “We played three nights at this little club, I was doing this sort of tango guitar thing and being a backup singer—tough, since I haven’t sung in Spanish in a year, maybe...” In the four months Aden and Chase had been dating long-distance, Aden had had to learn how to get to know someone he hadn’t grown up with. Although he used to think that texting was impersonal, now he loved it because it gave him the time to think about what to ask and work up the courage to say what he needed to, to share himself back equally. A nice byproduct was that he was better at conversation in general now. He really appreciated Chase for helping him learn that right then, since it meant that he was able to keep up a pretty effortless back-and-forth with Seth about his time in Buenos Aires until they finally landed. While this was only his third airport, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to feel comfortable in them. Too many of the people around Seth and him were in such a rush, anxious and annoyed, or they ambled along like they were at a county fair. Seth fell somewhere in the middle, probably because he was at airports so regularly; he strolled, but he covered a lot of ground, an expert at slipping around people and luggage and strollers. Aden was less agile, but he made up for it with his grumpy demeanor. They reached their baggage claim and as soon as they’d retrieved their stuff, headed outside so that Aden could suck in fresh air and Seth could wait for his ride. A minute later, a beat-up, ancient Beetle chugged to a stop at the curb. Seth clapped Aden on the shoulder. “That’s Navarro. We’re going to swing by the club, then to the hotel. The front desk will hold your tickets, and the show’s going to start at maybe nine.” “Okay, we’ll see you later,” he said.

Seth took another second, though, face gentling as he studied his brother. “Take your time talking to Chase about how you feel. Don’t blurt it out in an airport.” He nodded and Seth nodded back before Aden headed back inside, settling in one of the seats near the luggage carousels to wait for Chase, who was due to land in an hour. After he answered a couple of texts, he tried to relax and mess around on social media, but he gave up and slid his cell in his pocket after less than twenty minutes. During the last four months, he and Chase had really gotten to know each other, mostly through texts, but also with phone calls or video chats. Some days it was an almost uninterrupted flow on what bands they liked or their favorite foods, and other days, it was nothing but a series of pictures sent back and forth. Obviously, Chase’s pictures were usually more exciting, since she’d gone to Montreal, Iceland, Scandinavia, and Taiwan. His pictures were surreptitious candids of Leda, Dunk, and tourists who were funny or looked funny. He blew out a breath and tipped his head back. They didn’t agree on everything, of course, but they agreed on the fundamental things that neither would, or should, compromise on. Every light-hearted argument, whether it was about if The Magnificent Seven was a better exploration of theme than Seven Samurai, or if French wine was that much better than California wine, only made him more interested, and enamored. Every picture of her grinning or looking thoughtful near a work of art just made him want to be there with her, or just made him want her to come back to him, and stay, even if only for a while. The five days he’d spent at her house in Monterey in August had been an utterly unique experience. He had been painfully aware of all of his firsts during the vacation. It had been his first time on an airplane, first time renting a car, and first time eating Indian food. It had been his first time having sex outdoors, on her deck with a gorgeous sunset behind her as she’d risen and fallen on him until the sky went black. But those firsts, and the almost overwhelming feelings he’d had for her as a result, like gratitude for expanding his world and heart-swamping pleasure and happiness, were priceless. All of which meant that he was all the way in love with her, no reservations left. Which meant, in turn, that he’d never felt more terrified or more exposed. Lost in his own mind, he jerked to his feet in one sharp tug as if shocked when he heard Chase’s laughter. She was only a yard away, breasts and backpack bouncing as she hurtled towards him, and he caught her up as soon as he could, arms under her ass. He kissed her laughter, groaned when her taste and smell flooded his senses. One of his hands lifted to cradle the back of her head, thumb stroking behind one ear. “Oh my God, I missed you so much!” she breathed, clinging to him. “Hi, darlin,” he murmured hoarsely as he forced his grip to gentle so that she could slide back to her feet, though he kept his hold of her. “How was your flight?” She smiled and countered, “How was yours? You still look a little green in the gills.” He shifted so that he was hugging her against his side, picked up his bag with his free hand, and started walking outside. “It was worth it,” he managed to say evenly. A sigh, small and pleased, he thought, puffed against his chest when she pressed her face close for a second, interrupting their walking for a heartbeat. “I’m so glad.” “Seth’s already doing his thing,” he said, a little gruff and abrupt, still uneasy with how exposed he felt, “so we have some time. I’d like to get checked into the hotel first.” “Hotel sounds good,” she agreed, and he heard the smirk in her voice before he glanced down at her profile to confirm that it was there, a sharp upcurve of her lips. They took a taxi to their hotel in the French Quarter and Chase handled the check in since she’d booked the reservations, and almost before he was ready, they were alone in the room. It was noisy,

the city exuberant and just plain loud, but they were finally alone. She tossed her backpack and purse onto one of the chairs, met his eyes and cocked one eyebrow high, and started to tug off all of her clothes. Aden wanted her fiercely and had been craving her like this since the second he’d driven away from her house, but he leaned back against the door and just watched her, eyes no doubt bright and hungry. Without looking away from her, he unlaced his boots, unbuttoned his flannel, undid his belt, and unzipped his fly, his breaths coming quick as hers kept pace. “I’ve missed you,” she repeated, but this time the words were quiet and serious as she stepped close, her hands smoothing with slow reverence over his chest and down his sides before she locked their mouths together again. They got him naked together, a little uncoordinated since it had been two and a half months and they were impatient, and then he scooped her up again and carried her to the bed. He sat down, her knees sinking into the soft duvet on either side of him, smoothing his hands from her shoulders to the curve of the small of her back, pressing her in tight. Her body rolled and his shuddered as their tongues tangled, his fingers dug into the side of one thigh and her buttery blond waves, nearly to her hips now, lungs bursting. He pulled a fraction of an inch back with a gasp, bottom lips still clinging wetly together, and said raggedly, “You’re so beautiful.” Almost desperately, she rose and writhed down, whimpering against his throat. His hands moved, flowing along until one was between their bodies, stroking her center as he promised, “Patience, darlin; I’ve got you.” She gripped his face hard and kissed him on a whimper, her body opening around two of his fingers as she plunged down until her clit hit the palm of his hand. Her thighs were locked so tightly that when she rocked into his hand, she pushed his knuckles against his cock, but he couldn’t have cared less. He only wanted to give her what she wanted, and he strained almost as hard as she did until she broke with a sob against him. Fumbling, he got them all the way on the bed, Chase sprawled beneath him as he panted on hands and knees above her, staring at the gleam of her orgasm on his fingers. “I don’t even—I—whatever you want,” she babbled, arching upwards helplessly. With a moan, his head hung between clenched shoulders and he swept his tongue around the undercurve of her left breast before taking as much into his mouth as he could. He groaned while she shivered and clung to his hair, her legs sliding restlessly against his, his tongue and lips working her nipple over until she cursed. So he moved to her other breast, its weight heavy against his chin. It consumed him until a hand wrapped around his right wrist and shoved at it as Chase begged, “Touch me again, oh God, Aden...” Every muscle in his body almost gave out, but he caught himself. “Whatever you want, darlin,” he whispered against her breastbone. He shuffled backwards and dropped to the bed between her thighs, running his nose along the crease of one hip. She cried out shakily when he began to lick her, long, light licks since she’d come not that long ago, and pushed one hand down to hold his cock, desperate for touch but more desperate to show her how much he wanted her. Sometime later, when he was hypnotized by the way she was working against his tongue and lips, she flung her legs over his shoulders, pressed down, and then came with an incoherent string of words. As soon as she stopped pulsing on his tongue, she jerked hard and sat up, and he pushed up on his free arm, brows creased in confusion. “Holy shit, you are—Aden—let me see,” she pleaded. “... What?” he croaked out, hand around his cock freezing when her eyes fixated on it. Looking into his eyes, she licked her lips nervously and said shakily, “Let me see.”

All he could do was shake his head almost helplessly. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been pumping his cock, but how could he not have, with what she’d been doing? “I can’t keep my eyes open when you touch me, and I want to see you,” she explained in a tremulous voice. Then her mouth flowed into a secret smile, one that included him, invited him in, and promised that she was going to keep him. Before he could fully absorb any of that, his ass flexed, pushing the head of his cock past the loose circle of his fingers, and he couldn’t hide the pleasure it caused. Chase moaned, as if watching him caused pleasure in her too, one hand stroking the soft skin of her belly, and he could never have imagined the ecstasy of being her sole focus like this. He lost control of his technique and shoved through his fingers over and over, his eyes flickering faster than he could think between her fingers low on her belly and her wet open lips and her blown-wide soft green eyes. “Fuck, I changed my mind,” she gasped, rearing up and curling her fingers over his around his cock, and then guided him over her again as she laid back. When she angled their fingers and raised her thighs higher, her feet braced near his knees, she told him, “I hate condoms, so I got on birth control after Monterey. I’m protected.” He felt sweat break out as those glorious hips swiveled and he had no choice but to echo her, to follow her. “Chase,” he whispered, “I’ve never—I’ve always used condoms.” She caressed his face and swiveled her hips. “I want to feel you, Aden, to have you.” “You have me,” he gasped mindlessly as their bodies took over fully, her body as greedy to take him as his body was to fill her up, their hips slamming together. Still, for all the power and speed of their movements, for all that his orgasm was starting to form already in his tingling fingers and drawn-up balls, his heart was steady and sure. He kissed her languorously, not letting their bodies’ urgency take over their kiss, and kept one hand cupped lightly around her neck, thumb arcing over her heart. “Aden,” Chase sobbed, and his orgasm broke over him like a lightning storm. When he came fully back to himself, hips still working in little ruts, she was still shaking around him, still sobbing harshly in his ear, face hidden beneath her hair. A part of him knew that this was the perfect moment to tell her how he felt about her, but because there was more to that conversation than love, he decided to wait. He shifted his weight carefully so that they were still joined, but he could hold her close and let her ride out the tears. “It’s alright, sweetheart; I told you I’ve got you,” he whispered. Her fingers dug sharply into his shoulders, but it didn’t hurt him. They stayed locked close until they needed to clean up, then drifted into a light doze. When Aden woke again, he saw they’d dozed for about an hour, so they got ready and went to find somewhere to eat before Seth’s gig. He let Chase drag him up one street then another, until they found a restaurant whose menu looked interesting to them both. While they ate fantastic crawfish étouffée, they told each other stories that were better told in person. Aden told her about Dunk’s antics trying to ask out Daniela Torres and Chase told him about the pain in the ass couple who had been renting her house since October. She asked more about Seth’s musical education and what kinds of music he played, and he avoided asking her where she was going next and for how long. After dinner, they walked around the French Quarter, holding hands. New Orleans was nothing like Aden had ever experienced, much more of everything than he’d imagined, and in the past he would’ve been itchy and annoyed. But his Riveau ancestors had called this city their home, until his great-grandfather had migrated to Maybelle. He wouldn’t say that he felt any deep or spiritual affinity with it, but he understood why Seth loved playing here and why so many people loved to visit and

throw themselves into it. “We should head over to the club,” Aden said, putting the club’s address into his phone to pull up a map of how to get there from wherever they were right then. “I’m so excited to hear him play,” Chase told him, gripping his hand. They both started walking a little faster, eager to get there. Chase’s skirt fluttered around her calves and against his left leg as they went, and he felt more content than he had in years, and he dropped a kiss on her cheek as they waited to cross at a light. “I’m so glad Marie’s working out, picking up some of Leda’s responsibilities so she can pick up some of yours,” Chase commented as they slid around a bachelorette party. “Me, too,” Aden agreed, “she’s a good kid. I didn’t think she would be authoritative enough to keep the servers in line, since she’s so shy and nice.” Chase laughed and bumped against him as they rounded another corner. “It probably helps her feel like she can do it, knowing that Leda’s backing her up.” “Well, I feel better knowing that there’s good backup for when I’m away,” he replied. “I’m really relieved that you’re not stressing out about it,” she admitted. He shook his head and told her, “I’m not stressed, since I’ve been obsessively reading all posts with Wild Harts tagged, and all of the hashtags about Leda, of course.” “Hashtags?” Chase snickered. “Yeah, I almost wish Dunk hadn’t told me about them.” “What are they?” she practically begged, tugging him closer. “#whenAdensaway is my favorite,” he said promptly, making her dissolve into snickers again as they made the final turn for the club. “But there’s also #Ledagoesnuclear and #watchoutginger, which I probably should feel bad about, but...” Chase danced in front of Aden and threw her arms around his neck, laughing as she bounced onto her toes, neck stretching up for a kiss. He curled down so she could kiss him, loving the way he could feel her breasts still shaking with laughter as she crushed them against his ribs. The few times he’d made the mistake of kissing Ginger while laughing, he’d wound up with his ears ringing when she whacked him. So laughing and kissing, and being playful and lighthearted in and out of bed, was a revelation; he hadn’t even know that he could be any of those things, since he was generally too surly for that. He ended the kiss reluctantly, brushing his thumb over her chin and the edge of her smile. As the light changed and they crossed, Chase told him about the other time she’d been here, on her very first trip after she’d quit Ingelson & Barnes, messed up but elated. Once they reached the club, they pulled out their tickets and went inside. Aden automatically noted as a restaurant/bar owner its layout, decor and good atmosphere. It smelled like bourbon and fried seafood, and little round tables were flung out from a small, softly-lit stage. People were dressed as casually as they were, with a handful of women in that sort of alt-pin-up style that he thought Chase would look fucking fantastic in. Their table was reserved, about three tables back from where the piano was set up, since that was what instrument Seth would be playing tonight. They settled in, ordering fancy martinis because why the hell not, and Chase told him about this new travel app she liked until the lights dimmed another handful of degrees and the band came out. Chase clapped enthusiastically while Aden gave a muted whistle. Seth looked somehow even more like a musician than he usually did, some kind of scarf thing around his neck that would’ve made Aden look completely ridiculous. “Good evenin’, New Orleans,” the saxophone player said. Without any more introduction or fanfare, the drummer tapped out a soft one-two-three with a

brush on his snare and they started to play. Aden didn’t know anything about jazz, other than the few songs that everyone knew, like “Ain’t She Sweet,” but his foot kept the beat while Chase’s shoulders swayed softly. After the opening piece, which lasted probably ten minutes, Chase turned to him and grabbed his fingers, pinching hard, and said in total awe, “He’s so amazing. I mean, everyone said he is, but...” “Yeah,” Aden said, glancing over at Seth’s shadowed face, “I know.” “I’m so jealous,” she sighed, dropping her chin into her hand. “Me too.” “You are?” He grinned at her surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be? Even I can tell he’s talented, and...” He shrugged, still not always comfortable with articulating his emotions, even in such a limited context like this. “Look at him. He looks at home. He always does, when he’s performing. Recitals, marching band halftime shows, on stage, practicing at home, doesn’t matter, he always looks like he’s exactly where he always wants to be.” “I like that,” she said softly. “I’m even more jealous now,” she added, almost wistful. “You’ll find that,” he leaned in to whisper in her ear, knowing what she meant. Her head turned sharply and her eyes pierced his, vulnerable and seeking. “I want to talk to you about that,” she whispered haltingly. Hope surged, but the small part of him that was afraid made him dip to kiss her quickly and then ask, “Do you want to dance?” “Yes,” she assured him promptly, even as he brought her to her feet. There weren’t too many people dancing, but the lighting was dim so he didn’t feel exposed, and besides, he wasn’t in Maybelle. It was liberating to know that no one but Chase and Seth knew him, and that no one was judging him in any way that mattered. They swayed and inched around in a very simple circle, one pair of hands tangled against his heart while his other hand palmed her hip and her other wrist draped over his neck. They did that for almost two hours, one piece flowing into the next, dipping back to the bar for another round of martinis, then laughing as they danced with them. But when Seth slid off his piano bench and brought an old-fashioned microphone stand to center stage and started to sing “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” Aden stopped. His hold on Chase turned fierce and her breaths sped up. “Can we go now?” she asked. “Yeah,” he breathed, and he was so focused on being alone with her that he wouldn’t have been able to describe how they got from the dance floor to their hotel room again. They wound up on the beautiful third-story private balcony for their room, the street below decorated by strings of bright lights and the air heady with jasmine. It was nearly dark, only slivers of their skin and clothes catching the light, and it felt unbearably intimate, a whole world of moonlight and hushed expectations just for them. “I’m thinking of going to Positano for Christmas with Sunny,” Chase said. He recognized the tone, both its misdirection and its challenge. “Is that what you want?” he retorted between shallow breaths. “You could come too, we could invite Sunny’s girlfriend,” she went on. “I’d like that.” “What else would you like?” he asked roughly, feeling free and reckless for the first time in his life. He knew what she was trying to ask, trying to say, and he knew that she was strong enough to handle his inevitable missteps and joyful and curious enough to outwit his grumpiness. Not just in texts and calls, not just during vacations, but always. He needed that, and she needed him as well, his dependability and his home and his wonderful group of friends who were already hers, whether she

believed it or not. “I’m not expecting you to change,” she offered, lifting one shoulder in a sophisticated kind of way. “I have been trying to figure out what I want. You and the others who say it are right. I can’t be unemployed forever. But I don’t want to stop traveling.” “All I need, when you go or I leave you, is a promise you’ll be back.” Shocked even as his heart soared, he watched tears rise and slip into the small hollows beneath her eyes, then track down her nose. He smoothed them away, and the last of his defenses, the last of his self-delusions, the last of his fears were washed away. “S-sorry,” she stuttered, her voice watery. “It’s just that that sounds like... like you...” “Does it, now?” he drawled softly. “Maybe it’s the perfect time to answer that question of yours— what the juiciest thing I ever heard over the bar was.” “What?” she mumbled, voice cracked and brows drawn together in confusion. “A guy leaned in and told this girl, Wherever you come, that’s where I’ll come too. Whenever you come, that’s when I’ll come too. Because my heart’s your heart, and my body’s your body, and your pleasure is my pleasure. Because... my love is your love.” “Holy shit,” she whispered hoarsely, her fingers digging into his waist. “But I’m not that smooth or that clever,” he said. He let loose the playfulness he’d always felt were his parent’s domain and sighed dramatically. “I probably would’ve just told the girl I was in love with her.” Chase surged up and plunged her tongue into his mouth for a single, deep stroke. Her voice shaky, she said, “I prefer your simple declaration.” With another loud swallow, she sucked in a breath, met his eyes, and declared, “I’m in love with you, too, Aden.” “Thank God,” he muttered. “And I really want to make a plan,” she started to ramble as he watched panic rise in her, “because I like them, too, even if you probably imagine I’m more of a gypsy type.” He couldn’t help but laugh at that one. “I hate to disagree, darlin, but you’re not. You camouflage it all you want with your bouncing and your bright clothes, but you’re just as boring and methodical as me. You want a place where you belong and a man who belongs to you, and you’ve got it.” His breath caught as her tears sped up, and he tugged her to the wicker rocking chair on the balcony, sinking down and bringing her onto his lap. She curled up, her hip on his knees and her arms awkwardly around his waist, her head over his heart. “While you were thinking about Positano, I was making a plan, too,” he went on, sensing that now she was the one who needed some time to think before she spoke. “I, uh, I moved out of the house and rented the top floor over the florist’s, two blocks south of the library on Central. It’s, it’s got two bedrooms and skylights, a bunch of closets.” “You did?” she whispered faintly, and then began, “I... I have a confession, too, then.” “Oh?” he asked, sweeping his hand up and down her back to soothe them both. “After Taiwan, I stayed with Sunny since I’m renting out my house, and I started feeling like it was... stupid. So I... I asked Jesse to keep an eye out in Maybelle.” He torqued his spine so he could stare down at her. “Please tell me you didn’t buy someplace in Maybelle,” he groaned, “because that would be awesome but unfortunate—” “No!” she protested hastily. “I didn’t ask her to keep an eye out for real estate... I asked her to let me know if, um, if any jobs came up that I might maybe be interested in.” “Jesus,” he stammered, his mind racing as he sifted through the endless reams of gossip and news about the county he was constantly exposed to, until... “Eléna Landal.” Chase hummed against his collarbone. “Smart man. She’s starting her four months of maternity leave from the Hart Foundation in three weeks, and I’m... her temporary replacement.”

He heard her swallow, a dry click, and he let out a whoop of sheer exuberance, getting his hands in her hair and her mouth on his. “Wow, uh, what are you going to do when I tell you that I booked the seat next to you on Monday on the flight to Richmond?” she mumbled when he eased back to stare at her. Laughing almost wildly, he rose to his feet and took her hands, backing into the room and over to the bed, where he sat down and buried his face against her breasts. “Whatever you want, darlin,” he told her, promised her, feet still grounded solid and sure against the carpet, but his heart dancing free and high in the sky alongside Chase’s. He took her waist and eased her onto his lap, a beautiful echo of how they’d begun to make love only hours ago, and whispered, “Are you going to move in with me?” “I think I can accept those terms,” she whispered back against his hair. He cupped her jaw and kissed her long and sweet, then mumbled blissfully, “Sealed with a kiss.” The End.



About the Author Zoe has been writing since she was a little girl, growing up north of Chicago. Since then, she's lived in Ohio and San Francisco, and now lives near Boulder. She has a job that she loves, but it doesn't sound exciting to anyone else. She does yoga and takes dance classes when she can. She has a husband, who reads her romances, and an amazing little girl, who is way too young to read what Zoe writes (yet). She's inspired by her family and friends, books and art, and all of the places she's traveled. You can find her at www.facebook.com/ZoeLeeBooks and @zoelee_books on Twitter.