Mitch couldn’t begin to describe the irritation scratching at his cloudy brain as he opened the front door of the Cape Van Buren house just a crack to see who the hell was waking him up so early the sun itself had barely stirred.

“Why are you here?” The question grated out as if dragging across a cheese grater.

His mother gave him a hard stare, apparently very confident her reason to wake him up at 7:00 in the morning on a Sunday was beyond important enough. She and Maxine stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their arms crossed, tapping their feet, waiting to be let in.

“What did I ever do to the two of you?” He left the door ajar, dragging his ass to the kitchen to make some coffee. “I need to put some clothes on.”

“You’re as bad as Ryker, walking around half naked, never knowing who’s going to be coming through the front door.”

“It's seven in the God damn morning on a Sunday, Maxine. The Center doesn't open until eleven. There shouldn't be anyone at my God damn front door.”

“Watch your language,” Janice scolded.

Maxine laughed. “You tell him, Janice.”

Mitch rolled his eyes as he filled the coffee maker with a few extra spoonfuls of coffee. He had a feeling he was gonna need it. As he went through the motions, the two ladies took their seats at the island.

“Why are you here?”

His mother folded her hands in front of her and leaned on the white island top. “We've come to take you to church.” She gave him a look. The kind he used to get when he was a kid walking through the front door after doing something he wasn't allowed to do. It had always driven him crazy how she could know before he’d even stepped through the door.

“The hell do you mean, take me to church? No desire to hear Clint Fenwick talk about the sins of Van Buren while he welcomes the parishioners through the door.”

“If you didn't sin, you wouldn't care,” Maxine stated with a faux air of propriety.

He shot her a look. “You're one to talk.”

“But this isn't about me,” she said with a smirk.

He scrubbed his face with his hands and set out three cups. Filling one, he asked, “Would either of you ladies like any?”

His mother jabbed a thumb at Maxine. “She got her fill yesterday. I'm sure she's fine but go ahead and pour me a cup.”

“This isn't about me,” Maxine repeated, shooting her friend a warning look.

“Did you sleep with Claire?” Janice blurted.

His coffee spurted out his nose, and he grabbed the kitchen towel as his lungs worked to remove the hot liquid from their depths. Pain seared through his chest when he tried to pull in a breath.

Both women rounded the island and started beating him on the back. He threw his hands up to wave them away. “Stop.”

He forced air in past the humiliation and leftover coffee in his throat. “Mom! I'm not having this conversation with you.”

“I told you, Janice,” Maxine said. “It's too weird for a mom to ask. Why don't you wait outside.”

Mitch looked at Maxine the same way he did when she’d told him and Ryker to strip and hose off before entering her house after they’d decided to mud wrestle in the woods. “I am not talking to you about this either.”

Maxine and Janice exchanged looks; something silent passed between them, then both woman women turned, walked back around the island, and sat down. Maxine folded her hands in front of her on the table. “If you're not going to talk to your mom and you're not going to talk to me, then you're going to talk to both of us.”

Mitch raised his brows. “What kind of logic is that? I'm not talking to either of you.”

Janice sighed. “Where did I go wrong? Mae never gives me any trouble.”

“Shit. It is too early for this.” Mitch scrubbed his face with his hands at the kitchen sink, then downed half of his cup of coffee, careful this time which pipe it went down.

“I don't know, hun, do you think you coddled him too much?”

“Maybe,” Janice paused. “You know he did breastfeed longer than his sister did.”

“And if I recall,” Maxine added, “it took him a long time to potty train.”

Mitch could not believe what he was hearing and spun back around. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Oh, stop your whining,” Janice scolded. “We know what this is all about.”

“Fine. Enlighten me,” he grumbled. Clearly, they weren’t gonna let this alone, so the sooner they hashed this out, the sooner they’d be gone.

Both women studied him through narrow eyes. “A special lady,” Maxine crowed. Fucking great. Tongues were already wagging that the playboy attorney of Van Buren was messing around with the emotionally fragile Claire Adams? So he was cast as the villain, and they were storming in on their white horses to put a stop to his evil ways. He couldn't help the sharp pain of disappointment in his chest. His own mother didn't even believe he was the right man for Claire.

He drained his coffee then filled it with more.

“You know too much of that isn't good for your stomach.” Maxine waved her fingers for a cup.

The discomfort from too much espresso in his stomach would be a comforting distraction from the pain caused by this visit.

“Look, I’m not going with you to church, and I'm not talking to you about my sex life.”

Janice raised a brow. “You know that tone never worked with me—”

“Seriously, Mom? I'm a thirty-five-year-old man. I can take whatever tone I want.”

Maxine slowly pushed up from the island. “Be that as it may, just remember, there are things that you love that can be lost.”

Mitch's head felt like it was a punching bag. It was all too much, too soon, too early in the God damn morning. He loved Maxine to death, but sometimes he had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

He just stared at her.

“So you think this visit is all about you,” she continued. “I came by to pick up some crates from downstairs. Need your help to get them out to your mother's car.”

She let her words sink in until he finally connected the dots with her threat a few moments before.

Fuck my life.

She was always using her damn moonshine to manipulate people into doing what she wanted. And he was too damn weak to stand up to her and risk losing it. With a sigh, he nodded.

“That's what I thought,” Maxine said with a wink.

Janice joined Maxine as they walked toward the foyer. “Put a shirt on first, for goodness sake,” his mother added. “You're walking around like you’re some sort of gigolo.”

Mitch didn't know how much more he could take. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed a sweatshirt off the coat hanger in the foyer and dragged it over his head. They made their way downstairs to the basement.

“Hold on tight to the railing, Maxine. You never know when he reaches his limit and decides to just shove us down the stairs and end us once and for all.”

“I don't think he’d risk the moonshine. The town would never forgive him.”

Both women cackled behind him, and he bit his tongue. It might be time to find a new favorite vice. But damned if it wasn't the finest kind.

Maxine had given the basement a huge overhaul since she had moved out. The once dirt floor cellar was spotless with a cement floor and temperature and humidity controls. Stainless countertops, white walls, lots of glass and mirrors.

It didn’t look like the basement of any other Victorian home he’d ever visited with all the light reflected from the small above-ground windows. Distilling equipment gleamed on the countertops, ready to be used, and barrels of aging moonshine sat in a row against one wall.

Pictures of the North Cover Mavens toasting by the bonfire during one of their Howl at the Moon parties hung along the walls.

“Wow, it really looks great down here. I haven't been down here since you renovated.”

“Thank you.” Maxine waved her hand at him, her jeweled fingers reflecting all the lights. “Making my moonshine isn't illegal, so there's no reason for me to be hiding in some dark and shadowy underground meth house.”

“Nope,” he agreed. “But selling it is.”

Janice shook her head. “You never did know how to stop while you were ahead.”

“Come on.” Maxine pointed to a wooden crate full of cobalt blue canning jars. “I would like these three crates taken up to the car.”

“No problem.” Anything to get them out of the house. He lifted a crate, welcoming the weight and the distraction from their visit, and made his way back up the stairs.

“He’s handy to have around.” His mother’s voice followed him up the stairs. “Good with his hands, always making things around the house when he was a boy.”

Mitch kept walking. Joining their conversation was more dangerous than going out to the coast during a nor’easter. He set the crate in the trunk of the car, then went back for the other two while the ladies waited.

They continued to whisper and point as he unloaded the second crate. He ignored them, going back to get the third. His best strategy was to stay silent and get them off the cape. Once he got the last crate secured, he closed the trunk.

“Okay, you’re all set. Thanks for the visit. Always good to see you.” He kissed Maxine's cheek then his mother's, adding a hug.

The ladies got in the car, but Janice rolled the window down. “About Claire...”

He threw his hands up. “I know, you want me to stay away from her. I got the message loud and clear.” He was overreacting, but damn if it didn't hurt to hear the same shit from his own mother.

“On the contrary.” Maxine leaned across the front seat to talk to him through the passenger window.

Janice nodded. “We don't want you to stay away from Claire. We think you're the best man for her.”

And that same nor’easter couldn’t have knocked him over any harder than their words did at that moment. Confusion and doubt, elation and fear, tied his tongue.

He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “No, Mom, I'm not.”

She waved dismissively. “You’re one confused young man, Mitch. But you'll figure it out.” Before he could respond, Maxine put the car in gear and pulled away, driving around the fountain and out toward town.

What the fuck just happened?

He stared at the car until it disappeared from sight, startled when Puzzle weaved around his ankles. Picking up the cat, he hugged him against his chest, comforted by the familiar purr.

The sun was shining but hadn’t yet warmed the earth in the early hours, and the breeze coming in off the ocean made him shiver.

They weren't there to tell him to stay away from Claire? Were they insane? There was a good man out there for someone as special as Claire.

But it sure as hell wasn’t him.

Claire finished stringing globe lights across a narrow space between two trees in the woods, making a faux starry sky canopy. The past couple of days had been spent in a haze of lustful memories and barrels of wanting. Wanting to feel the weight of Mitch on her body, wanting the taste of him, the smell of him.

Gliding her palms across the dense muscles of his chest had been an exercise in discovery for sure. She and Jimmy had been so young when they’d met. He’d been a runner, thin and sinewy, which was a different experience than Mitch’s thickly muscled physique. The difference between a boy and a man, young love and one that was more mature.

That thought stopped her short. Love? No, no. Lust, desire.

But not love.

Been there, done that, and crushed by it. Not happening again. But hot sex with a man she considered a friend? Hell yeah.

Her palms itched at the thought, and she brushed them against her navy blue skirt, trying to ease the sensation. She was going to need to get her hands on him again...and soon.

“Hey.” Mitch’s voice slid up her spine like a silk caress, and she turned to see him walking toward her from the path that led back to the Cape house.

Nerves raced through her body and lodged in her throat. “Hi.” Her tone was as breathless as if she’d gone for a jog...or just finished an energetic round of sex.

There it was again.

She couldn't get enough of him just by looking. He seemed bigger, broader, sexier than when he'd left her apartment. Leaving her in a very real state of post-coital bliss, and she didn't know if she would ever look at her kitchen the same way again. Baking was already one of her favorite things to do, but combine that with mind-blowing sex, and now she might become an addict.

A nervous chuckle escaped her lips. “Are you ready to begin?”

Mitch's eyes flashed in much more than agreement.

“I mean...with the exercise?” The words spilled out, but in her mind, all she could think of was his hot, naked flesh pressing against hers surrounded by the evergreen of the forest. She tried to focus and pointed his attention to the space she’d been working on.

“The trees act as a sort of wind barrier, and the space is big enough that the kids will have plenty of room to stretch out and work. Local artists will be displaying their work all along the path. It will all start here with the art therapy classes, face painting, and hide-and-go-seek here for the kids; then it will end with wine tasting and a coffee bar at the far end of the trail before looping back through.” She couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement of her plan. “We wanted to make sure there was a strong enough draw to make everybody complete the whole course. It’s gonna be amazing.”

“It’s brilliant.” He looked at her as if he wanted her to teach him to bake again.

A shiver raced up her spine.

“Was this all you?”

“It's a team effort. And if I have anything to say about it, the North Cove Mavens and the South Cove Madams will find a way to work together to make this event a success.” Her laugh was breathless. She’d blame it on the task before her and not how much she wanted him to kiss her again.

He nodded as he stepped closer. “But the idea was all you, wasn't it, Claire? You have a way of taking care of people in a very unassuming manner.”

She smiled. “You're the only one who would think so. I thought Larkin was gonna kill me for hovering about her like I did when she was pregnant.”

He ran a finger along her jaw and tucked an errant lock of hair behind one ear, following the length to the end then skimming his fingers back under her jaw. “Your hair is getting long.”

The statement distracted her, and she blinked.

“That had to be hard, seeing your friends get married and seeing Larkin pregnant when I'm sure it is still a raw loss for you.”

This was the Mitch that no one else saw, and a bit of wonder washed through her. Her friends understood that she was happy for them, and it was difficult at the same time, but she certainly didn't expect such sensitivity or thought from a man.

Even if he was a friend.

Just a friend.

She had to keep reminding herself, not just because she knew he didn’t want a relationship, but to protect her own heart as well. She grabbed his wandering fingers and nodded. “It is, but I am so happy for them.”

“You have to want the same for yourself again someday, Claire.”

She shook her head. “I had my chance.”

“I don't believe that at all.” His eyes roved over her face. “I can see you with children and a husband who cherishes you. The family you've always deserved.”

A heavy weight constricted her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “You know, it wasn't easy to get past it all, but I made myself face it. I went to the cemetery. I worked through my steps. And now I've moved on. I'm fine, Mitch. But I will not open myself up to that kind of loss again.”

“Just because you lost once and you lost hard, doesn't mean you'll lose again.” He squeezed her upper arm with a small shake as if desperate to make her understand.

He got her attention, that was for sure. It was time to focus back on him. “Let's explore this,” she said, pulling out his drawing. “You yourself always say that you don't want a commitment. What are you afraid of?”

He stared at her a moment then dropped his chin to his chest. “I'm not afraid; I'm practical.”

“Oh? And I'm not practical?”

“That's not what I meant, and you know it.” He moved to sit down at the long picnic table under the canopy of globe lights. He glanced down at the picture she set before him, and emotion scattered across his face like sand blown in the wind. He didn't even realize how much he said without saying anything at all.

“Look.” He tapped at the paper. “I know you mean well with this exercise, and I believe it will make a really big impact on the children in this area, but it just doesn't work for me.”

“That's fair.” She sat across from him at the table. “Not everything works for everyone. We are all unique, and all of our needs are different. But then, tell me about them.” She pointed to the three people with the forth, a shadowy silhouette, standing behind them.

“There's nothing to tell. You know my father left when we were young, everyone knows that.

“Yes.” She ran her finger over the dark silhouette. “So the shadow of the person is a man? Your father?”

He looked at her with a raised brow. “I just told you it was my dad or a symbol of his absence. In situations like this, when isn't it the man?”

His words sparked compassion in her heart. She was beginning to see the true Mitch.

“So you think men are the only ones who leave their families?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I'm not an idiot, Claire. I know anyone could leave anyone. But for me, for the people I love, it has been a man who has caused the pain. Have you ever heard of Ryker’s story?” He asked his voice gaining an edge. “We were eight years old, and his father sought us out in a drunken rage. He couldn't find a bottle of whiskey that he’d misplaced the last time he was drunk. That man wasn't particular about who he hit, but he did enjoy hitting Ryker the most. I don't know that I've ever felt such fear as I did the night I hid in the Cape house attic.” He shut his eyes against the memory, and she steeled herself against reaching out to him, soothing him, afraid he’d stop talking.

“Ryker had told me not to go up there, but I was too scared to listen. It was a trap because once you were cornered in the attic, the only way out was through his dad.”

Claire couldn’t help it and covered his hand with her own. “I can't imagine.” Her heart broke for the man who worried about the little boys he and his buddy used to be. She had heard stories, but it was different hearing it from someone you cared about. Because she did care, whether she wanted to or not.

He pointed to the three people in the foreground that she could only assume was him and Mae and their mother. Their bodies in a fairly spread out position, which was curious to her because she knew that they were a loving trio.

“What happened that night? Did you get out? What did your parents do? Your dad was still with you then, right?”

Mitch grunted. “It was the first night I’d ever heard bone smashed against bone. Ryker ran up and threw himself between his father and me at the last moment.”

Claire gasped. “I can't imagine.”

“I grabbed an old chair and smashed it over his father's head, stunning him just enough for the two of us to get out. Ryker’s eye immediately swelled closed, and blood was gushing from a gash on his cheek. Maxine wasn't home, so we sped off to my house. Just as my father was loading his luggage into his car. He spared us one glance then got in his car and drove away.”

“Oh, my God.” Claire held her hand to her heart. “What kind of man would see a hurt child and just walk away?” She said the words without realizing she'd said them out loud.

Mitch gave her a pointed look. “He wasn't a man. And neither was Ryker’s father. They're barely shadows. Shadows that only exist where light can't reach.” His voice sounded gravelly and thick, and she rounded the table, unable to stop herself from going to him.

He turned, sliding one leg over the outside of the bench, and she mirrored his position, straddling the seat in front of him. Placing a hand on his cheek, she smiled. “You aren't that man. You'd never be that man.”

He swallowed hard. “I guarantee that neither Ryker’s father nor my own ever thought they'd be that man either.”

She scooted closer, wrapping her arms around him, trying to ease the pain of the memories. This was what fueled the Mitch that he showed to everyone else.

“And there is one way I can guarantee that I never will be that man, guarantee that the stresses of life will never bring that side out in me.”

She placed a finger over his lips, trying to hush such words. Trying to soothe him. Tilting her face, she gently pressed her lips to his once, twice, gliding them back and forth. “You're not that kind of man,” she whispered against his mouth.

With tentative strokes, she tasted him. He resisted at first, then on a groan, he gave in and yanked her even closer, pulling her legs up and around his waist. The hard length of him pressed between her legs and a thrill of pleasure shot through her.

It was so different with this man. The sensations were heightened, more intoxicating than anything she’d ever felt before. She didn't know if it was lust or the promise of decadence or the gentle way he caressed her cheeks or the feather-light kisses he fluttered across her collarbone. But with him it was special. Profound. Life-altering, even.

She was falling...hard. And everything in her tried to dig in her heels and pull him to her all at the same time.

“I'm sorry the program isn’t working with me,” he whispered against her mouth. “I really want this to be a success for you.”

She kissed him back hard, trying to absorb the pain and disappointment he felt, the pain he kept hidden from when he and Ryker were young boys. She found it both beautiful and sweet that he thought for a second her project wasn't working for him.

But he was wrong.

It was working better than she'd imagined it would.

He’d revealed more to her than he realized. So much that he would probably not be very happy about the insight he had given her. It was amazing how sensitive so many big, strong men really were.

She pressed her body against his, trying to ease the building desire. She pushed her hands between their bodies to unbuckle his belt and release his zipper. His touch and whispered words emboldened her. Taking the length of him out of his jeans, she gripped him firmly, stroking him to the edge of excitement.

His hands were everywhere, tenderly cupping her breasts, giving a gentle squeeze. Dipping his head, he pushed the V of her t-shirt aside until he was able to bare one pert nipple. Without hesitation, he took it in his mouth, flicking his tongue back and forth over her flesh.

Waves of pleasure built with each caress. “I want you.”

“Thank God,” he growled.

After shoving his jeans and underwear down his hips, she scrunched her long maxi skirt up around her waist, slid her panties to the side, and stroked herself across the tip of his cock.

His fingers dug into her hips as he encouraged her to continue her exploration. She gently lowered, taking him inside her, thrilling at the sensation of being stretched and filled. She set a rhythm to build their pleasure even more.

Mitch found her clit with his thumb and with feather-light caresses pushed her higher.

She dug into his shoulders, using his shoulders as leverage to lift and drop. Faster and faster the pressure built, his hands stoking her fire, her desire unrestrained, and with his name on her lips, she crested over the precipice, drowning her cry in a deep, hard kiss.

“Holy fuck.” His voice was barely audible.

She rested her forehead against his. “I know. I don't know what is wrong with me. I was supposed to be focusing on this festival, but when I saw you all I could think about was getting your pants off.”

His low chuckle was full of appreciation. “So much for ripping the Band-Aid off, I think we annihilated a whole bandage.”

“I thought one time would be enough to push me forward.”

“Maybe you just need to get a little bit of exploration out of your system. I don't mind helping you with that.” He pressed into her harder, sealing his sexy offer with a kiss.

She smiled against his lips. “You are so generous.” She giggled.

“I really am,” he returned with a devilish grin. “Maybe after today, you'll be able to move forward.” His voice sounded so strong and so sure, and she admired his ability to keep a distance.

Because as she looked into his blue eyes, recognizing the man he truly was, the idea of moving on from him became harder and harder to bear.