Normally, he didn’t pay much attention to what he wore. Today, he stood in his closet and looked at the rainbow of T-shirts in front of him. He was spending the day with Samantha. He didn’t know why that made him so happy, but it did.

She said she was leaving, which he understood. Aspen Cove didn’t have much to offer, but he hoped she’d change her mind.

He tugged the bluish gray T-shirt off the hanger. Something about Samantha pulled at his natural instincts to nurture. He remembered the sullen little girl who looked at the world from the outskirts. She was skittish and unsure—almost afraid. Behind her brassy persona he saw glimpses of that same fear, and he wondered what she was running from.

He whipped up a few breakfast sandwiches and grabbed a yogurt from the refrigerator before he walked over to her cabin.

She answered the door wearing yoga pants, a long shirt and a smile. “Come in, I have to grab my watermelon lip gloss.” She looked over her shoulder as she walked away. All he could think about was making sure she had to apply that all day long.

“I brought you breakfast.” He walked in and stood next to the doorway.

She returned holding the tube of gloss in the air. “Still trying to fatten me up?”

He shook his head. “No. Eating in front of you would be rude, so I brought you food.” Truth was he wanted to fatten her up. She was beyond underweight, but he could see she was fit and seemed healthy. He pulled one sandwich from his coat pocket. He unwrapped it and took a bite. Nothing went together better than bread, cheese, eggs and bacon.

“You got one of those for me?” She moved toward him like a bug to a light.

He teased her. He took another bite and slowly chewed before he swallowed. All the while, she watched the bacon peeking past the sourdough bread. “I brought you a yogurt. Seemed more your thing.” He reached into his right pocket for the strawberry yogurt.

She deflated in front of him like a punctured raft. “Oh, yes, that’s probably a better choice.” She reached forward to take what he offered.

He held it out of her reach. “Or … you could have what’s behind door number two.”

Her chin lifted, and her eyes sparkled with interest. “Ooh … I’m intrigued.”

“Are you now?” With food in both hands, he lifted them into the air. “Tell me, what intrigues you?”

She looked him up and down like he was a tasty meal and for a minute he wished he were.

“Everything. I want everything.” She sounded so excited and happy. He would have a hard time denying her.

“Let’s start with breakfast.” He walked into her kitchen and set the yogurt on the table before he pulled the other sandwich from his pocket and offered it to her.

“I think I may love you already.” She unwrapped it and took a bite. The humming sounds of satisfaction she made sent his heart racing and body parts pulsing. So as not to embarrass himself by the swell in his jeans, he turned around and opened the door.

“We should go.” The cold air hit, and any evidence of his desire disappeared. “It’s chilly, so grab a jacket.” He zipped his up to his chin. Yesterday was hot. Today was cold. Weather was as confusing as women.

Dalton led her to his truck where he opened her door and helped her inside. When she raised the sandwich to take a bite, he took one instead.

“Hey, that’s mine.” She pulled it aside like it was something to be treasured. Something more than a simple egg sandwich.

“We can share.” He’d finished his in four bites. Hers looked better, but maybe that was because she looked at it like she looked at him—with hungry eyes. He shut the door and made his way to the driver’s side.

By the time he buckled in, she turned in her seat to face him. “You want more of what I got?”

One thing Samantha was good at was the art of double entendre.

“What are you offering?” After last night’s kiss and the declaration that she was leaving, Dalton wasn’t sure how to proceed. He didn’t know how to do short-term unless it was really short-term, like one night. Before incarceration, he had a long-term girlfriend. Casey had been at the bar that fateful night. She’d stuck with him through the trial, but as soon as he went away, so did she. On their final visit, she said his reputation would ruin her. He knew that to be true. No one would give him the chance to prove he was something other than a killer.

He’d decided then to be a hit-it-and-quit-it guy, but Samantha seemed different. Outside she gave the impression of a good-time girl, but her kisses weren’t those of a woman who practiced hit and run.

There was an innocence and awe about the way she responded to him. Like she’d never been truly kissed in her life. That made him think … just maybe he could risk more with her. Until she said she couldn’t keep him.

They sat in front of the fire last night. Everyone paired up except Doc, who’d remained single since his wife’s death. Dalton didn’t want to be like him, old and alone. His friends were blissfully happy and moving forward with their lives. He wanted that for himself, but he didn’t know how to get it. He was on pause.

“Where do you need to stop today?” he asked as he backed out of the driveway.

“We can stop where I need to go too?” She said it like it was a shock. “I thought we were running your errands.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t run yours too. What do you need?”

She rolled those pretty dark eyes. “The real question is, what don’t I need?”

“All right. Let’s phrase it this way. What do you want?” He knew what he wanted. He wanted her. In his head, it made sense. They could have fun while she was here. His heart knew better. He finished one kiss and wanted the next. She was like that extra piece of pie you wanted but knew you shouldn’t have because there was no stopping once you tasted it.

“I want a television. I want groceries. I want a new cell phone.”

“All right. That helps with logistics. We’ll hit the phone store first, then the electronics store. I’d love to take you to lunch at my favorite burger place, and then we’ll grocery shop before we head back to Aspen Cove. Sound good?”

“Perfect. Grocery shopping was all you had on your list?”

“And lunch.”

“It’s always food with you.”

“Not always.” He turned the radio on. “But I like to taste things.” He risked a quick glance at her. “How much lip gloss did you bring?”

Her wide smile told him she had plenty. She wet her lips with a single lick. It was sexy and seductive and super hot because Dalton knew she wasn’t trying. She was responding to her base instincts. Samantha didn’t have to try. She was stunning. He liked women who didn’t require much maintenance. Samantha was that girl. She could wear a trash bag cinched at the waist and make it look good.

A song played on the radio he recognized. It had the same rhythm as the music Samantha played that night on the beach.

“You were playing this song.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her nod. “I like it.”

“Do you know the lyrics?”

She laughed. “By heart.” She fidgeted in her seat and pulled at the belt across her chest. “It’s a song about looking like you have it all but knowing inside you’re hollow.”

“Sounds grim.” He didn’t know what it looked like to have it all, but he sure knew what hollow felt like. It felt like six years in prison. Coming home to find that life went on without you was brutal.

“No, not so much grim as honest. I think we all hide behind the truth that people make for us. It may not be the truth as we see it for ourselves.”

He thought about that for a few minutes. He knew how people viewed him. He also knew he wasn’t that man. “Yes, but once you're labeled, it’s often who you become.”

She nodded. “A shame, really, because I think we are so much more as a whole than as the various parts people focus on.”

He knew he liked her, but that statement confirmed it. “What do you think is worse, lying to yourself about who you are, or lying to others?” He’d spent the last year telling himself he was fine being an island. He didn’t need anything but his job or anyone other than his friends and family. Those were lies. He’d had dreams that were dashed by a dose of gallantry.

She turned her body to face him and leaned against the door. “I think we all lie to ourselves, and in lying to ourselves, we lie to others. Don’t let your lie become your truth.” She hummed along with the song until the music faded into the next.

“You have a beautiful voice. Have you considered a career in music?”

She laughed until she choked. “Sure, it’s crossed my mind.”

“You laugh, but you are good.” She had a voice like a lover’s caress. He could listen to her serenade him all day. “Seriously, sing me something.”

“You want me to sing you a song?” She reached into her pocket and slicked on more gloss, which only made his mouth water for another kiss. “What song?”

“Whatever, but I love the oldies.” He could picture her singing anything from Stevie Nicks to Aretha.

She leaned forward and changed the radio station until it landed on his favorite music channel. When the Lynyrd Skynyrd song “Freebird” played, and she belted out the lyrics like she’d written them. He was a goner.

“Wow.”

“I can’t do the original justice, but what a great song. Kind of sad when you think about the lyrics. It’s about a man explaining to a woman why he can’t settle down and make a commitment. He has to let her go.”

He hated to ask, but he needed to know. “Speaking of leaving, how long do you plan to stay?”

“As long as I can. Work can be demanding and unpredictable.”

“Do you love what you do?” He turned onto the highway that led to Copper Creek.

She pulled her upper lip between her teeth. Over the last few days, he’d seen her do that when the question was tough.

“I love many aspects about my job. I dislike others, but isn’t that the nature of work? Some days are good. Some days are bad. Do you like your job every day?”

He did. He loved to cook, but cooking at Maisey’s wasn’t the dream. “I love what I do.”

“Lucky you. You’re living the dream.”

“I didn’t say that. I said I love what I do, but cooking in my mom’s diner wasn’t the dream.” He gripped the steering wheel until he felt the texture of the leather on his palms.

“So, what was the dream, and why aren’t you going after it?”

“It’s complicated.” He gave her a quick glance and saw the softness and acceptance in her expression. Would she be that accepting if she learned the truth? He didn’t want to find out. She was leaving, so the truth didn’t matter. “I wanted to open a culinary school.”

“So why don’t you?”

It all sounded so easy when she said it, but it wasn’t easy. “I never finished school. I was about to when I got into some legal trouble.” He waited for her to ask for more details, but she didn’t.

“You can still finish.” Her voice lifted in excitement. “What’s stopping you?”

Her excitement bled into him. “You’re right. I could. I’ll give it some thought. I’ve got stuff to take care of first.” Prison gobbled up the best years of his life. The years he could have used to make a name for himself. Who wanted to learn to cook from a guy who spent more time in a penitentiary than a kitchen?

Conversation ate up the rest of the trip, and before he knew it, they were pulling into a place where she could get a phone and a television.

When the salesperson offered to back up the old phone to the new phone, she said she wanted a new number. She said it with such desperation that Dalton was sure Samantha had secrets too.