I probably shouldn’t have done that just now, and by probably, I mean definitely.

It was irresponsible. It will put me back months if my parents don’t get a big catch this season.

But…

But…

But…

Connor will be happy.

He was melancholy when he left last night. He left. It’s the first time in weeks that we haven’t stayed together overnight. On the walk home from Walt’s, I asked him what was wrong. He told me he had a lot on his mind and then he kissed me goodnight and climbed in his truck.

He should be here any minute to drive us to the first job, and the truth is I missed him last night. Ten toes are half the amount I want in my bed. I’m already used to rolling over and reaching for his warm shoulder. This morning when I first woke up I forgot he wasn’t there, I reached for him and found only air.

Carefully I walk out front with my full cup of hot coffee and wait for him. Streams of sunlight drench the front porch in warmth. My coffee is only half gone when I see Conner’s truck rolling down the street. My heartbeats speed up, and I can’t blame the caffeine.

“Hey,” I say, hopping into the passenger seat.

“Guess what?” Connor’s eyes are bright.

“What?”

He drums a beat on his steering wheel for a few seconds. “I sold a painting this morning.” His grin is big and bright.

“Wow! Congrats. That’s amazing.” My loud claps bounce off the interior of the truck cab.

“Thanks.” He eases off the brake and drives away. “I checked my email just before I left my parents’ place.” He shakes his head, a slow grin easing onto his face. “I was beginning to think I might never sell another painting.”

“You’re too good for that.” It’s true, too. If I still had my connections in Phoenix, he’d be selling every last one of his pieces. I saw them all this morning on his website. Thank goodness he has a way to purchase straight from there, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off. I used an old, nondescript email address on the order form. Bada-bing, bada-boom.

Across the console, he offers me his hand, and I slip my fingers through his. “We’re done after Old Lady Linton’s house this afternoon. Want to take a drive somewhere and celebrate?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Does your agreement dependent upon how good my idea is?”

“My agreement should be assumed, and all I care about is the quality of the company.”

“Do you like blueberry muffins?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Then it’s settled.” Connor nods happily.

Happiness emanates from him as he drives, and I can feel it the same way tension makes air feel thick, but this air is better. It’s fluffy like a cloud, like possibilities floating around, and I could pick one from hundreds. Buying that painting was the right thing to do.

“You’re going to love Old Lady Linton.” He grins at me. “She’s something else.”

“Why do you call her that?”

His lips move as he thinks. “I’m not sure. It has always been her name. She’ll bring you homemade lemonade. It tastes awful. Drink it anyway.”

“Got it,” I nod. “Old people are my specialty, remember. I’ll do just fine.”

“Maybe you could get Walt some kind of new smell for his house.” His nose wrinkles. “It’s not awful, but it’s not pleasant.”

“Just be happy he used the nose hair trimmers I gave him.”

Connor barks a laugh as he stops at a red light. He leans over and kisses the breath out of me. He pulls away, laughing again. “I love you.” His eyes open wide. The expression on his face belongs on a guy in a horror movie when he discovers the killer is behind him. “I don’t love you. I mean,” he blows out a loud breath. “I don’t not love you, but I don’t love you love you.”

“I wish I had popcorn,” I say, straight-faced. “This is really fun to watch.”

The light turns green and Connor starts forward. His jaw flexes every few seconds, and his eyes stay trained on the road.

“Connor, it’s not a big deal. Slip of the tongue, right?”

“Right.” His expression now is less the killer is behind me, and more the killer has murdered everyone else and I’m determined to live.

“You sold a painting today.” My tone is extra cheerful and his jaw relaxes a little. “And you’re about to have delicious lemonade. If you’re lucky, I’ll stick my finger in it and sweeten it up for you.” Finally, his lips part, the teensiest smile moving them.

“Are you saying you’re sweet?”

“Are you saying I’m not?”

He pretends to think. “You’re more sour than sweet. At least you used to be.”

“I hope you enjoy your awful lemonade today.”

Connor slows to stop in front of a medium-sized home. A late-model sedan is parked in the driveway and the garage door is open.

He points out my window. “See that garage?”

I look. Boxes upon boxes are stacked everywhere. A fake Christmas tree stands in the corner, which is really depressing. Nothing kills the magic of Christmas like seeing a fake and undecorated tree lying against a wall.

“That’s our job today. Mrs. Linton needs us to move all that out of the garage and repaint the walls.”

“It’s not my idea of a good time, but okay.” I’m in no position to argue, especially since my bank account took a dip after I woke up today. Maybe I can find another way to make money. I hear inmates pay top dollar for used underwear. I gag on the thought.

Apparently I gagged for real, because Connor eyes me with concern and asks if I’m okay.

“A bug flew into my mouth.” Yep. A bug has been in the car with us this whole time and we didn’t know it until it careened into my mouth. I can tell he’s not buying it, but I said it and now I’m committed.

He makes a face before lowering his mouth to sip coffee from his forest green thermos. When he’s finished, he nods toward the house. “Let’s go. She’s probably waiting for us to get out.”

I slap on a smile and get ready to work. I need the money now more than ever.

Mrs. Linton stands on her front porch, waving goodbye. I wave back, mustering an exhausted smile, and climb into Connor’s truck.

“I thought the mountains were supposed to be cooler in the summertime.” The inside of Connor’s truck is sweltering, the stagnant air more like a fog. “I think I sweat through my shirt at least two hundred and seventy-two times today.”

Connor starts the truck and turns a couple knobs. Air blasts me, but it’s not cold yet.

“It’s a heat wave.” Pulling his blue T-shirt over his head, his eyes focus on mine as he tosses it in the backseat. “You don’t watch the news?”

I shake my head slowly. If he doesn’t have another shirt to put on, it’s going to be hard for me not to jump him while he’s driving. He leans across into the backseat. His ab muscles flex as his core holds him in place. Moving boxes and painting all day really sucked, but this display might be making it worth it.

Sitting up, Connor pulls a white T-shirt over his head. Why is he looking at me like that? Oh, right, he asked me a question.

“No, I don’t watch the news. Too many bad things on there.” That, and the fact that at one point, I was the bad thing on the news.

Connor doesn’t pick up on that, so I don’t share it. No need to put a damper on our time.

He drives away from Mrs. Linton’s house with a final wave at her. I watch in the side mirror as the sweet old woman walks back into her house. “I know I said we’d get blueberry muffins, but I need a shower first. You?”

He sniffs the air. “You really do need a shower.”

I smack his arm. “Not funny.”

“Want to save water? We can shower together.” He grins.

I tap the center of my lower lip with the pad of my finger. “I think I’ve seen that on a T-shirt somewhere.” He laughs like I’m kidding, but actually, I’m certain I have.

“What do you say?” He snatches my hand and holds it up, kissing the top.

“Drive faster to whoever’s house is closer.”

There’s something to be said for shower sex. It’s slippery and fun, but with Connor, everything is fun. Even dragging a limp Christmas tree across a garage.

We’re on our way to a small town east of Brighton. Sugar Creek. The name itself makes me want to go there.

I reach back, lifting the hair off the nape of my neck. I gather it into a small ponytail and attempt to twist it around my finger like I did a million times before I cut my hair. Sighing silently, I drop the hair. How long will it be before I can twist my hair into a bun that doesn’t have short pieces of hair sticking out like shards of broken glass?

“Birth control time,” Connor says when the alarm on my phone goes off in my purse. “You’re definitely going to need to take that pill today.”

Memories of what was happening half an hour ago flood my mind. I grab my purse and pull my little wheel of pills from the pocket. I pop the next one into my mouth and take a drink from my water.

“All set.” I toss my purse back down on the floor. “Ready for your next load.”

Connor lets out a surprised laugh and shakes his head. “You have the most incredible mouth.”

“That’s the second time today you’ve said that.”

“Hah,” he says loudly, his shoulders shaking.

I watch him laugh. He tips his head back every time he laughs. It’s only a little, his chin lifts just a few degrees, but it’s adorable, and when he laughs, he does it without reservation. So many of the guys I dated and spent time around concealed their laughter or happiness because they thought it made them look weak or less attractive. In my industry, attractiveness was paramount. If you acted like a happy-go-lucky, nice guy, you probably weren’t going to be admitted into the club. Girls like the challenge a brooding, reserved man offers, and the club wants the girls, because the guys want the girls. So many times I’d imagined tossing a wrench into the spinning gears and watching them grind to a halt. What would happen if everyone acted like themselves for a night?

“Lost in thought over there?” Connor’s voice filters through my memories of pulsing lights and manic music.

“Thinking about my past life, I guess.”

“Anything you want to share?”

I finger the ends of my hair. “I used to have long hair. I chopped off ten inches before I left. I almost dyed it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Connor grabs a strand and lets it slip through his fingers. “I like your hair this length.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, running a hand over the back of my head.

“What else do you miss about your old life?”

I look out the window, the trees flying past us, and bite on the end of a nail. After a moment to think, I drop my hands into my lap, squeezing them between my knees. “I miss the work I did. It was fun meeting people, talking to them, getting them excited and wanting to party. I’m sure to you that sounds empty, but I was a social person. I could talk to anyone. I used to walk around the clubs I worked for and introduce people, get them hyped, and make them want a table and bottle service. I miss being capable of something. It wasn’t about giving them something they didn’t want. I was showing them what was available to them, when they didn’t know it was there.”

“So you’re an educator.”

My head tips as I think. “Yeah, I suppose, in a non-traditional way.”

“You educated me.”

“How so?” I ask.

Connor pulls off the interstate and turns right. “I wanted someone to spend time with, I just didn’t know you existed.”

I smile at him. “Connor—”

He waves a hand between us. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t say things like that.” He flashes me a smile. “It’s my turn to educate you on blueberry muffins. I’m about to ruin you for all others.” He pulls into an open spot and gestures out the front windshield.

In front of us is a quaint storefront. It’s red brick, attached on both sides to other stores. Looking down the street, I realize it’s all brick storefronts and up front parking. It’s adorable, like something from a movie.

“I’ve been to a lot of places, but this might be the cutest.” I climb out and walk to the front of the truck. Connor slips his hand over mine and points to a window painted with a cup of coffee with steam swirling up from it and a muffin.

“That’s Lady J bakery. Kiss all other muffin memories goodbye.”

He leads me over and holds the door open. Stepping inside is like stepping into someone’s grandmother’s kitchen. My mother never baked, or even cooked. She called herself an assembler. One bag of salad with one container of pre-cooked chicken and dinner was served. My grandmother was a different story. She baked every Sunday, and her kitchen smelled like this bakery—warm spices and sticky sugar.

A bell chimes overhead, announcing our arrival. It’s late in the afternoon, and there are only a few other customers. Connor steps right up to the counter and orders.

“Two blueberry muffins, please, and two coffees.”

“Sure thing,” chirps the friendly girl at the register. She gets everything together and sets it on the counter between us. Connor pays while I grab the two coffees and paper bag and find an empty table.

“Thanks,” I tell him when he sits down across from me.

“You can thank me later,” he winks.

“You’re insatiable,” I say, but the muscles in my thighs tighten at his suggestion.

Taking the muffins from the bag, I set them in front of us and choose one. They smell too amazing to waste time removing the wrapper. I sink my teeth into the top of what is the most delectable thing ever to be created in the history of everything.

“Ohhhh,” I moan, taking a second bite even though I haven’t swallowed the first.

“I know,” Connor says, doing the same.

“I don’t know whether to thank you or be furious you’ve stolen all future muffin joy.”

He uses a napkin to brush crumbs from the corner of his mouth, and sits back, watching me. “Would you rather have something exceptional once, or something basic all the time?”

I stretch my legs out so they reach between his under the table, and lean back against the chair. “I know what you’re asking, and you should know my answer.”

“When we get back to your place tonight, I’m going to exceptionally—”

Riiing.

Connor’s mouth closes as he reaches for his phone, and looks at it. “It’s my mom. I should take this. My dad had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”

I retract my legs so he can get up. “Of course.”

He stands and strides out of the bakery. From the window, I can see him put the phone to his ear and say hello.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” A pleasant voice chimes behind me. I turn back from the window. A strikingly beautiful woman smiles at me. Her dark hair is gathered into a high bun and her expression is open and kind. She’s wearing an apron with Lady J Bakery printed on the front.

“Immensely,” I say, “I’m sure you’re aware these are the best muffins on the face of the planet.”

Her lips curve into a knowing smile. “I’ve heard that once or twice before.”

“Are you Lady J?” I ask.

“Jane,” she says, extending a hand.

I stand to shake it. “I’m Brynn.”

“Would you mind if I sit?” She gestures to Connor’s vacant seat. “I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“Please,” I say quickly, grabbing Connor’s empty muffin wrapper and putting it in the bag.

She sits down, exhaling softly. “I love this place, but by the end of the day I’m exhausted.”

Last year a statement like that would’ve meant something obscure to me, but after working with Connor, I empathize. I understand the feeling of exhaustion felt everywhere, even in your fingertips, after using your body all day long. Glancing out the window to Connor, I tell her I understand that feeling.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

I look back to Jane and see she’s looking at Connor too.

“Uh, no.” I shift in my seat, crossing one ankle over the other. “He’s a… friend.”

She chuckles softly. “Sounds complicated.”

“I wasn’t expecting to meet him.” The admittance feels good. “I had other plans.”

Something flits across her face, an emotion I can’t see long enough to name. One slender finger rubs the base of her empty ring finger on her left hand. It looks like an absent-minded action, something the body does when the mind recalls a specific memory.

“That’s the way it goes sometimes.” She drags her gaze away from Connor and back to me. “Are you from here?”

I shake my head. “Phoenix. I’m staying in Brighton currently.”

That look comes onto her face again, but this time it stays. Nostalgia. Remembrance. Regret. All wrapped up in one tormented expression. Before I can ask her if she’s okay, she opens her mouth. “Brynn, I don’t have anybody to give advice to, so I’m going to give it to you. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t let your plan limit you. Plans can make you short-sighted. They don’t take into account the wonderful, beautiful, messy parts of life, and you’ll end up missing them. Blind devotion to a plan can lead to regret, and regret can choke the life out of you.”

“You’re speaking from experience.”

Jane swallows and averts her eyes. “Some regrets are forgotten over time. Others, well, they last a whole lifetime.” The bell chimes and Jane looks up. “Your friend is back.” She stands and smiles at Connor, but it’s a shaky smile. Nothing like the warmth she exuded when she first approached me. “Hello,” she says to him and walks behind the counter.

He responds to Jane and sits down. Worry creases his forehead.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“My dad’s appointment was fine. Nothing new. But”—Connor pauses, the corners of his lips turning down—“my mom told me someone stopped by a few minutes ago, looking for me. I wasn’t at home, so she went to find me at my parents’ house.”

“She?” My voice is cool, even though my insides feel hot. Connor isn’t mine. I’m his employee, and we’re fucking. I have no business feeling territorial.

“Desiree. My ex.”

Cue the fake smile. False happy head nod. “She probably realized what a mistake she made. I certainly would if I was your ex.”

Pushing back from the table, I stand and gather my trash. “Ready?” I ask, locating a trash can and depositing the empty coffee and muffin wrapper.

I don’t want to talk any more about Desiree. Jane might be right, some plans are limiting, but not this one. If Connor’s ex wants him back, I should bow out. Maybe this is a sign I need to hop back onto my path.

Connor tosses his containers in the trash and strides over to where I stand beside the door. His mouth is set in an unhappy line. The drive home will be a lot less fun than the drive here.

“Brynn?” Jane calls from behind the counter, making Connor and I both look over. “You said you’re from Phoenix. I know this is a long shot, but you wouldn’t happen to know someone named Aubrey Reynolds, would you?”

“No.” I shake my head.

I did know an Aubrey Cordova. She wrote the insurance policy for my parents’ fishing business. I handled it for them because they were out of the country. She was professional and jaw-droppingly gorgeous. At the time I thought she would’ve made a great club promoter if she weren’t so buttoned-up, although I wouldn’t recommend that job to anybody now.

“Sorry,” I add when I see my answer has disappointed Jane. That name must have something to do with her advice to me.

“It’s okay. Good luck,” she waves.

“You’re very different from the person I thought you were when we first met,” Connor says quietly on our walk back to his truck. He opens the door for me and I climb in, sitting sideways and letting my feet dangle.

“Maybe you should be open to Desiree, Connor.”

His jaw flexes, tense again. “And why is that?”

“My basket is flimsy. Don’t put your heart into it.”

“I thought that saying was about eggs.”

“Whatever the content of the basket, it has the same ending. Splat.” My hands slice sideways through the air.

He reaches up, gripping the top of the doorframe, and leans in so we’re less than a foot apart. I can’t help but stare at him as his shirt rides up, his arms and muscles flexing with the grip of his fingers. “Sometimes, with you, it’s like I’m in combat.”

Despite the seriousness of our conversation, I grin. “Be careful, I fight with a baseball bat.”

“Until I have you on your back, and then you mewl like a cat.” Connor winks. “I’m done rhyming. Kiss me and don’t tell me to be open to anyone else again.”

“Connor…”

“Do as I say for once, Brynn.”

Fuck it. For now, anyway.

I reach up. His cheeks are rough with tiny, stiff hairs, and I love the tingle it puts on my palms. I know I shouldn’t let Connor have his way, but I can’t help it. His lips are soft against mine, and he gives just as much as he takes. I thought the blueberry muffins were the best taste in the world, but I was wrong.

The sweetness of their aftertaste on Connor’s tongue is even better.