I awaken to what sounds like a herd of bulls stampeding through my living room.

Squinting into the morning light flooding my bedroom, I sit up in bed and listen. I’m disoriented, but not alarmed. I have neither the energy nor the presence of mind to be alarmed this morning. I spent the hours after Theo left in an intimate relationship with the bottle of whiskey, the remains of which are now perfuming my breath. It’s a good thing there aren’t any open flames nearby, or I’d be toast.

Flames—right. That herd downstairs must be Theo and his team.

The clock on the bedside table tells me it’s precisely eight o’clock. I guess Theo took my direction of “first thing in the morning” literally.

I drag myself out of bed and shuffle into the bathroom, snorting when I glimpse myself in the mirror. I look like a prehistoric cave woman who spent a long night losing a battle with a woolly mammoth. I need a shower and about a gallon of coffee if I’m even going to resemble a human.

But first I need to check on the herd.

I go to the top of the stairs and holler down, “Theo!”

Thump, thump, thump, then he appears, wearing boots, faded jeans, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, this one black. He lifts his brows when he catches sight of me.

“Put a sock in it, Sunshine,” I grumble. “Some of us had a rough night.”

I must be getting better at reading his expressions, because this one distinctly says, I can see that. How he looks so fresh and perky is beyond me, considering he probably got as little sleep as I did.

“I see you let yourself in. Glad you feel so at home.”

He cocks his head at my sarcastic tone, then makes a turning motion with his hand.

“Right,” I say. “The front door is missing a doorknob. Funny thing how when someone kicks in a door, these little mishaps occur.”

Then he makes a stabbing motion with his finger, cups his hand around his ear, and shakes his head.

“Yes, Theo, I realize my doorbell isn’t working either. But there’s this thing called knocking? Here, let me show you.”

I demonstrate a proper knock, rapping my knuckles theatrically on the wood banister so it echoes nice and loudly through the room.

Theo rolls his eyes. Then he presses his hands together in a praying position, rests them against his cheek, closes his eyes, and exhales an exaggerated breath through his mouth so his lips flap unattractively, like a cartoon character’s.

“I wasn’t snoring!” I say defensively, embarrassed because I probably was. Cass used to tell me I could wake the dead with the racket I made after I’d had a few drinks in me.

Grinning, Theo lifts his hands in surrender. Through my embarrassment, I find myself grinning back. Though rare, his smiles are infectious. Hopefully, now that he’s getting what he wants and is working on the house, they’ll appear with greater frequency.

I’m not holding my breath, but one can hope.

“I’m going to take a shower. You guys good for half an hour or so without me?”

Theo nods, waving dismissively. Apparently finished with the conversation, he strides off without waiting for me to say anything else.

“And a good morning to you too, Sunshine.” I listen to the thump of his boots recede toward the back of the house. For some reason, I find the sound comforting.

Because you haven’t had a man around in a hundred years, girlfriend.

Under my breath, I tell my uterus to shut the hell up. Then I head back upstairs to the shower.

* * *

“There she is!” Straightening from his inspection of a hole the firefighters punched in the baseboard of the living room, Coop beams at me like I’m his long-lost sister. He’s wearing a red-and-black flannel shirt rolled up his thick forearms along with a pair of dungarees. His resemblance to a lumberjack is uncanny. “How’re you doin’, Megan? Happy to see me?”

“Gee, everyone’s in such a chipper mood this morning,” I quip, trying to keep a straight face. I’m the boss here, after all. I can’t let all these big, burly men think they can get the upper hand on me by acting like some giggly teenager. “Theo actually smiled at me earlier. Did you guys smoke some dope before coming to work?”

“Naw, it’s just a beautiful mornin’ is all!” He props his hands on his hips and looks me up and down. “And you look prettier’n a new set of snow tires, if I might say so.”

Blushing, I run a hand over my damp hair and look down at my jeans and blue sweater. “I’ve never seen snow tires, but I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”

“Never seen snow tires?” He looks horrified, as if I’ve just told him my parents were siblings. “Where’d you grow up, the moon?”

“The desert, actually. Before here, I never lived anywhere but Phoenix.”

Coop thoughtfully rubs his beard. “Been to Phoenix once. Hot as hell and dry as a nun’s cooch.”

“Thank you for that disturbing visual. Is there some paperwork I need to sign? A scope of work or whatever?”

“Yeah, Theo’s got the contract all worked up. He left it on the kitchen counter for you.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I turn to head into the kitchen, but Coop says, “Megan?”

I turn back. “Yeah?”

He hesitates for a moment. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this.” He gestures to the house. “For givin’ Theo a shot. He really needed it.”

“Needed what? I’m not sure what you mean.”

Looking over my shoulder, Coop lowers his voice. “This house is kinda…important to him. Don’t ask me why, ’cause I don’t know, but he’s been obsessed with this place for years. I think it’s been a dream of his to get it back to its former glory.” His blue eyes grow a shade darker. “Like maybe fixin’ the house will fix him.”

What is this tremor I’m feeling, this fluttering of butterflies in my stomach, this jangling of nerves? Empathy? Anxiety? I’m not sure, but this is the first time I can say with confidence that Theo Valentine and I have something in common.

“We only agreed he’d do the electrical, Coop. We’ll see how it goes over the next few days. I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

Coop chuckles. “Too late for that. I haven’t seen Theo this happy in a long time.”

I say sourly, “Great. So no pressure on me to keep him on the job, then. What if I’m not satisfied with his work?”

Coop looks insulted on Theo’s behalf. “Tch. You’ll be plenty satisfied. He’s the best, and that’s no exaggeration.”

“And what if I’m not satisfied with him? He’s not exactly the easiest person to be around, Coop.”

Coop acknowledges that with a nod, then pierces me with a look. “Theo’s not easy, I admit, but he’s the best man I’ve ever known. He’s honest, and honorable, and the kind of loyal that doesn’t ever break. I’d trust him with my life. With my kids’ lives. How many people do you know that you can say that about?”

“Do dead people count?”

Coop doesn’t bat an eye at my odd question, which I spoke without forethought, Cass’s name leaping to my tongue at the mention of honor, loyalty, and trust. My husband was a person who was good to the marrow of his bones, but he was also as fearless as a lion, especially when it came to protecting someone he loved.

He was that thing women crave at our most elemental core, a thing made all the more beautiful by its rarity: a real man.

Coop glances at my wedding ring, then looks back into my eyes. “Sure,” he says softly. “Death doesn’t end a relationship. Only a life.”

I press my hand to my heart, because goddamn. That hurt. “Unfair, Coop,” I say hoarsely. “You’re hitting me with this heavy existential shit before I’ve even had my coffee!”

Coop’s smile is as gentle as his gaze. “I can’t take credit for that particular piece of existential shit. I read it in a book about some guy named Morrie, stuck with me.” He watches me try to blink away the water pooling in my eyes. “Knew you were a softie under that tough-chick act. But I promise I won’t tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me, marshmallow.”

“Shut up. And it better be. Now get to work.” I turn and stride away, listening to Coop’s amused chuckle as I go.

I nod at several workers as I pass through the house on my way into the kitchen. I don’t see Theo, which is fine, because without a hefty dose of caffeine, my head won’t be clear enough to deal with whatever mood change he might spring on me.

The first thing my gaze lands on when I enter the kitchen is the coffeemaker—which is when I remember the power’s off.

I stop, groan, and slap a hand on my forehead. Then I notice what’s on the island and stop groaning.

Next to a sheaf of stapled papers sits a large to-go cup, the kind with the plastic lid and the paper sleeve. A curl of steam rises from the hole in the lid.

Drawn toward it as if magnetized, I cross to the island, pick up the cup, and sniff. The delicious, nutty scent of strong coffee greets my nostrils, making my mouth water. I crack open the lid and grin in delight when I see that black gold.

If this was meant for anyone else, they’re out of luck. I’m claiming this sucker. I take a sip, closing my eyes in ecstasy when the coffee hits my tongue. It’s exactly how I like it: unsweetened and scalding hot.

Sighing in pleasure, I open my eyes…and find Theo standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Oh. Hi.” I feel flustered and guilty, as if he caught me masturbating.

Theo points at the cup in my hand, then gives me an inquisitive thumbs-up.

“Yes, it’s perfect. Did you do this?”

He nods.

“Thank you. I can’t function without coffee in the morning.”

He nods again. I know it’s only my imagination that thinks he’s saying I know, but now I’m even more flustered. Get your shit together, Megan. Focus.

I straighten my shoulders and put on my boss-lady face. “So this is the contract, I take it?” I point at the paperwork, and he gives me a thumbs-up. “Okay. I’ll look it over right now and let you know if I have any questions.”

Another incline of his head, this one looking regal. He’s calmer than I’ve ever seen him. His entire aspect is lighter, as if the thunderclouds that permanently follow him around have opened to let rays of sunlight shine through.

He looks at home standing there in the doorway to my kitchen. At home and at peace.

Why that should make me feel so good, I don’t know. But some part of me, a small, dark corner of my heart, just exhaled the breath it’s been holding since I met him.

“Theo Valentine,” I say quietly, holding his warm gaze. “Welcome to my home. I’m trusting you with the most important thing in my life. Don’t screw it up.”

His mouth bursts into a huge, glowing grin, devastating in its beauty. His entire face is transformed, as if there’s another man hiding beneath that mask of scowls he normally wears, waiting to break free.

He swaggers over, pulls a pen from his back pocket, flips over the contract, and scrawls onto it.

“No, I’m crabby this morning,” I correct, reading around his shoulder. “My house almost burned down last night, remember?”

I read the words he’s written, then glance up at his face. He gazes down at me with a secret little smile, lashes lowered, a lock of dark hair flopping onto his forehead. Then he winks.

The man winks.

I say drily, “Yes, Superman, you saved the day. And before I sign this paperwork, you’re going to tell me how you came to be outside my house last night at the exact moment a fire started inside the damn walls.”

His expression sours. He begins to turn away, but I grab his biceps. I’m shocked when I find a stony, bulging muscle beneath my hand. I knew he was big, but I had no idea he was made of steel.

At my touch, he freezes. Nostrils flaring, he glances down at my hand on his arm, then looks back up at me. I half expected his gaze to reflect irritation or disdain, but what I see in those expressive brown eyes of his is a depth of suffering so bottomless, it leaves me breathless.

He looks at me as if I’m torturing him with my touch. As if the mere laying of a few fingers on his clothed arm has caused him such misery, he might not be able to stand upright much longer. The rawness, the palpable realness of his pain is astonishing.

I snatch my hand back and stare at him in confusion, knowing I’ve made a terrible mistake, but not knowing how or why.

Then I’m horrified to realize I touched his left arm. The side that would’ve sustained the most damage in his accident, if, as Suzanne had said, he was broadsided by the other car.

I look at the ragged white scar over his left eyebrow, the snarl of scar tissue running down the left side of his neck, and blurt, “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I’ve hurt you!”

I back away a step but am prevented from going any farther when Theo grabs my wrist. I suck in a startled breath, then we stand there, staring at each other in a cavernous silence so tense, it crackles.

His gaze drops to my mouth. He swallows and moistens his lips, and a wave of heat spreads across my chest and up my neck. My heart starts to pound like mad, the drum of it drowning out everything else.

His gaze snaps back up to mine. I know he sees the effect he’s having on me, because his eyes darken and a ruddy flush creeps over his cheeks.

“There you are!”

In the doorway appears one of Theo’s workers, a redheaded guy with a tool belt strapped around his waist. He’s smiling, eager, unaware of what he’s walked in on.

I don’t know exactly what he walked in on either.

Theo drops my wrist as if he’s been scalded, turns, and strides out of the kitchen. The worker watches him go like it’s totally normal behavior for Theo to leave with no warning, then turns to me with a shake of his head.

“Hi, there. I’m Toby. I’m part of Theo’s crew.”

A little breathless, I lean against the island for support. I hope my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “Hi, Toby. I’m Megan. Nice to meet you.”

He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “There are some doughnuts out here if you want. Theo stopped on the way over and got ’em.”

Before the words are completely out of his mouth, Theo returns, holding something wrapped in a white paper napkin. He walks to me and holds it out, giving it a little jiggle when I don’t react quickly enough.

As soon as I remove it from his hands, he turns around and leaves again, pulling Toby along with him by the sleeve of his shirt.

“See ya later!” calls Toby over his shoulder as Theo drags him away.

Still a little shaky, I unwrap the little package Theo’s given me. When I see what it is, my heart stops dead in my chest.

It’s not technically a doughnut. It’s a pastry. A bear claw, to be specific.

Cass’s favorite breakfast food, which he ate at least a few times a week, including the day he died.