A few days pass, and I refuse to take my daily walk to the woods. I can’t bear to do it. When I woke up the morning after my romp in the woods, I found my herb-gathering basket on my front step.

I know he brought it here and I don’t know what is worse… that he came here and didn’t say hello, or that he came here, and I wish he’d stayed.

I’ve tossed and turned for two nights, my body aching for the stranger to fill me again, and no matter what I do to try and satiate my cravings, it’s impossible. He woke something in me and now my own hand can never compare.

His dark eyes haunt my dreams. He’d asked to taste me, and I refused. Now I dream of his beard between my legs, tickling my pussy, making me squirm in delight.

Why had I walked away from him again?

Oh, right. Because he refused to tell me his name and told me I was better off without him.

What does that prideful man know about me anyway? About what I need?

What I need is a man in my bed each night. And he is the man I have my sights set on.

But he doesn’t want me.

That is the part that is most painful to swallow. When I had gazed into his eyes, I thought I’d seen true devotion, but I was wrong. I mean nothing to him.

But this wallowing can’t go on forever. I still have a life to lead. I have an online business where I sell my tinctures and homemade salves, and that won’t do itself.

Today, though, is better than work--though I love the work I’ve been able to create for myself. Today, my girlfriends are coming over, and their adorable babies will coax me out of my bad mood better than anything else I can think of.

To distract myself from daydreaming about the stranger’s chiseled abs, I bake a pie with the early summer blueberries. Usually, I’m a fine baker, but I mess up the crust three times before I punch the dough in frustration.

All I imagine as I roll out the crust is making this pie for him. Traipsing through the woods and giving it to him; saying Here, taste this. Proving to him I am a capable woman. Where I grew up, I’d hear women talk, saying good food was the key to a man’s heart.

Eventually, the pie is cooling in the window and I make a pot of coffee and pull out a bin of toys I know the toddlers will like. I carry it outside and then spread a tablecloth over my picnic table. I smooth the cloth over the hardwood planks, smiling at the embroidery I worked so hard on, the tiny green leaves and pink flooring roses.

The dreams I had when I made it two years ago, shortly after moving to this mountain, seem like a pipe dream. I had wanted to find a good, true man like Cherish did, to marry and have babies with. Now that is nothing but a naïve notion.

I live in the sticks all alone. There’s no one here to meet, to date. There’s one bar in town and it’s full of the same people. Nearly all of them have coupled off.

Of course, there is one man, who lives somewhere in the woods who was perfectly fine giving me his body but wouldn’t even reveal so much as his name.

A van pulls up in the gravel driveway and Cherish jumps out. I walk over to help her get her brood from the car. All six of her babies were wild and rambunctious. Now they are two and three years old, and each of them a ball of energy.

“Hey, sweetie,” I say, taking her bowl of fruit salad from her hands. “The morning going okay?”

“I need coffee. But gosh, the kids have been talking about coming to your cottage for days. They are ridiculously excited about this.”

“Well, I’ve got coffee,” I say, grinning. “And there are strawberries in the patch next to the house--they can help me pick some later.”

“You’re the best auntie ever.”

Cherish goes inside for her caffeine fix and I close the gate to the picket fence, making sure all the kiddos are safely inside it as Stella’s SUV pulls up. She and Wilder have five kids of their own, and I wave hello to her as she parks.

Her kids are getting so big, the older ones in the small grade school in town and the youngest son, Tobias, is now three.

“I brought my camera!” Stella tells me as she pulls her tote bag over her shoulder. “I have to go to the end-of-year field day later to take photos, but I thought could get a few shots of your garden for your website this morning.”

‘That’s so thoughtful,” I say. “I need to make a new blog post about what I’m planning for my summer line.” I’ve been working on making my website as professional as possible and Stella has an amazing eye for design, being an interior decorator herself.

Cherish comes to the small front porch with a cup of coffee in hand. “I love my babies, but I can’t help but be a teeny-tiny bit jealous of you, Stella. The idea of being alone all day with only one baby is pure bliss.”

Stella laughs and helps Tobias from his booster seat. “Well, next week, when the kids are out of school, I will feel your kind of crazy again. I don’t know how Harper does it, homeschooling all of hers.”

“Oh, gosh, I know,” Cherish says laughing. “And writing novels in her spare time? That woman is a machine.”

Stella and I head inside for coffee and I pile the tray high with the pie, cookies, and plates and forks. Stella holds the door for me as we head to the grassy green lawn.

“Your place is so cozy,” Cherish says, looking around as she inhales the coffee. “It’s so quiet out here.”

I guffaw. “Um, we live on the same mountain, and your property is way bigger than mine.”

“I know, but this cottage is so quaint, and you’re a master gardener. It looks like a magazine up here.”

I smile, slicing the pie, hiding my true feelings. I have well-tended garden beds because I’m by myself, all the time. I work here at the house, all alone. And while I babysit for my friends as often as I can, it still leaves a lot of time for me to do my own thing.

And my own thing happens to involve me weeding the garden and canning the harvest. I may no longer live in a conservative cult, but the way I was raised is embedded deep in my core.

Though, the stranger in the woods certainly would have never suspected that. With him, I threw all the teachings of my childhood out the window and gave into my carnal desire, and the truth is, I’d do it all over again if given the chance.

“Thanks, but I’d love to trade places with either of you,” I tell them honestly. “It gets lonely up here. And there is stuff I need to be fixed around the house that never seems to get repaired.”

“Grace,” Cherish says, patting my arm. “Don’t be crazy, I’ll have James come up here and help with your Honey-Do list.”

“I don’t want your husband doing my to-do list. He has enough on his plate.” Two of her toddlers come over, asking for treats, and I hand them each a cookie. They scamper away to show off their oatmeal raisin and draw attention to themselves. I laugh, handing cookies out to the rest of the kids. The sun is bright, and it is the perfect summer day.

I sit down, smiling, feeling grateful for so many happy faces here at my little cottage. The kids are examining rocks and plucking blueberries from the bushes. A few of them have found the bin of toys and are rolling cars or dashing around with tiny wooden swords. Taking a sip of coffee, I try to push away my not-so-secret desire to have a family of my own; a more fulfilled life.

“You okay, Grace?” Stella asks, nudging me as she takes the plate of pie that I offer her.

“I’m fine.” I shrug, not wanting to make things about me, but still wanting to be honest with my dearest friends. “Sometimes... sometimes I wish my life had gone differently.”

Cherish reaches across the table. “It could have gone a lot worse.”

My eyes meet hers, and I know we are both remembering the cult that held us captive. The tiny storeroom where we were kept in as punishment for trying to leave.

“I know. But...” I twist my lips, thinking of how to say what I mean. “I’m just jealous, to be perfectly honest.”

“Oh, Gracie,” Stella says, reaching for my hand. “Our stories all unfold in different ways but don’t be sad over the way yours has developed. Look at all you have accomplished: you’ve created a lovely home and run a thriving business. You’ve done all that after never going to school, never living outside of a compound until two years ago. You’re incredible, Grace. And one day you’ll meet a man who sees that.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks, and not just from her words, but because I am remembering the man I met so recently. Apparently, he didn’t see that in me. He didn’t even ask my name.

“What is it?” Cherish asks.

I run my fingers through my hair, turning my attention to the kids.

“What?” Stella presses.

“It’s nothing,” I say, blinking back tears.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t cry,” Cherish says, handing me a napkin.

“You don’t understand... I did something...”

I blot my eyes and tell them all about the stranger. They are my best friends and I can’t keep this from them.

Stella’s eyes go wide. “Holy smokes, girl. That is so hot.”

I roll my eyes, pressing my hand to the bridge of my nose. “Hot? More like mortifying. We had sex and then he just... ran.”

“Maybe he had an appointment?” Cherish asks, biting the side of her lip.

I shake my head. “He told me, in no uncertain terms, that he should never have come here.”

“Where is he from?”

I twist my lips. “I don’t know. I saw him on the trail for the last few weeks, but he always held back. So, he has to live around here.”

“You know, I remember Buck telling Wilder about a man who recently moved into the cabin on Wildcat Ridge.”

“Who is he?” Cherish asks.

Stella shakes her head. “They didn’t know, they’d heard through the grapevine that a man had moved in there.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say briskly. “He doesn’t want me.”

“It’s his loss,” Stella says.

“Yeah,” I say, eating the last forkful of my slice of pie. “But I really thought he was something special.”

“Was it good?” Cherish asks, biting her bottom lip.

“The pie?” I ask looking at my empty plate.

“No,” she says, laughing. “The S-E-X.”

“Oh!” I laugh too, then sit back in my chair, a delicious memory covering me. “More than good. Honestly, I would do it all over again, even knowing he was going to leave me after.”