No one ever knocked at my door.

That was why, when the three heavy thuds sounded at just after ten the following morning, I jolted.

After checking to make sure Piper still soundly slept, I walked to the door, pulling it open. “Surely with deliveries, you knock quie—”

Everly.

She was here.

On my doorstep.

Holding a bunch of kale.

“Uh, hi.” I stepped outside to the patio, shutting the door behind me. “What are you … uh …” What was she doing here? Why had she brought me spinach? “Hi,” I said again, as it seemed easier, the most logical thing to say.

“Hey.” She looked at her flip-flops, then back at my face. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and tired red lines carved through their whites. God, had something happened?

“Are you okay?” I reached out as if to touch her shoulder, but stopped just short of making contact. Not until I knew where I stood. I didn’t want to freak her out.

“Yes.”

It wasn’t a convincing lie.

“Yes,” she tried again, as if she’d read my mind. “Sorry. I just … I’ve just had a long week, you know?”

I nodded. I got it—I needed her to know that. “I’m sorry I kissed you then unloaded all this … all this death.”

“You don’t make me think of death.” She shook her head. “You make me think of life. You and that beautiful girl in there—you’re two of the most life-filled people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Really?” I raised my eyebrows. “The strange thing is, I feel the same about you.” The way she spoke her mind. The way she laughed. The curves of her body moving gracefully in the afternoon sun …

My words seemed to please her, because she smiled, slow and wide, then thrust the kale forward. “Here.”

“You brought me a snack?” I took the bunch from her hands.

“No.” She raised her chin. “I brought you gratitude kale, to say thanks for the bunch of flowers you gave me. I was going to get some for you, only, men don’t tend to appreciate flowers, so I was going to buy you chocolate, but I know your stance on that, so … kale. Gratitude kale.”

“Thank you, Everly.” I turned the kale in my hands. Saying her name aloud—it just felt so right. Her name was beautiful. “This is the nicest bunch of gratitude kale I’ve ever received.”

And there went that smile again.

Her smile was beautiful.

“I’m glad.” Everly pursed her lips, then looked at me with a mischievous expression on her face. “Cameron, do you trust me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one,” she replied. “I thought honesty was important to you Lewises.”

“Honest love.” She remembered Dad’s story.

“So, do you?”

I blanched. Once again, Everly threw me with her direct questions. Why was she even asking that?

“Cameron?” She pressed, drawing me back to the present.

“I do.” The answer came quickly, because this, I was ready to commit to. This I knew was a fact.

“Is Piper asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Pack a bag. When she wakes, we’re going out.”

* * *

I sat next to the dad bag, jammed with a sandwich for Piper, a bottle, spare clothes, nappies, and all the other paraphernalia that accompanied her when we travelled.

Everly was perched on the couch opposite, but her hands fidgeted at her sides, her feet tapped, and when she jumped up for the third time since I invited her in, I wondered if we were on some kind of deadline. Piper hadn’t yet woken, but Everly had insisted we didn’t need to leave until she did.

She ran a delicate finger over the television, and when the light caught her hair as she turned to the door, a spider web of gold tendrils haloed around it. My chest tugged, and damn it, I sat on my hands to stop from reaching out to her. Why did she have such an effect on me?

“What’s through here?” She stopped in front of the door on the right side of the room.

“Just the garage.” I nodded as she hovered a hand over the doorknob. “Go ahead. It’s a rental, so the stuff in there isn’t mine.”

She opened the door, and the familiar scent of shut-up room and sweat reached me. Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said she could go in.

She flipped the switch on the wall and lit up the room.

I waited for her to go to the surfboards. Maybe even the fishing rods, or the paint cans, since she was so interested renovating.

But, no.

She walked straight to the punching bag and ran her hand down it reverentially.

I stood, walked to the doorway to study her further. To see what she did next.

She stepped back, her head tilted down as she focused on the bag in front of her.

Then she drew back a fist and punched it.

The crack of her knuckles hitting hard material echoed through the room.

“Shit,” she swore, wringing her hand up and down.

“Hey, hey.” I rushed to her side. Her wrist was silky soft as I gently inspected her hand for any damage. Her skin was pale, with red patches blossoming around the point of impact, but she hadn’t drawn blood. “What was that for?”

She shrugged, jerking her hand back, and when she looked up at me, pink coloured her cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Nearly break your knuckles?”

“No. Save the dad jokes for Piper.” She turned back to the bag. “I meant box. Hit a punching bag and all that.”

“I could teach you.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I could teach her?

“You could?” She was just as shocked as I was.

“Yes. I used to train. When my mum left when I was a kid, I had a lot of rage. A lot of rage that I guess I deferred, only dealt with when I turned eighteen.”

“And boxing helped?” She looked between the bag and me, as if trying to sense the connection between us.

“Sure. Not at first, but after a while.” It’s helping me now. “I guess that’s the thing about grief. We all have our ways of coping—there’s no wrong or right way.”

She nodded, taking it all in. “I like that.” She walked a circle around the bag, her eyes on mine the whole time. “So what would be your first piece of boxing advice?”

“Wear some goddamn gloves,” I growled, my eyes on her hand, and she laughed. I picked up the pair from the top of the box pile by the door and threw them at her, one at a time. She caught each with a snap. “Those are mine. If you get a pair similar, the same brand—no, don’t put them on.”

She grinned up at me, snapping the glove against her lily-white wrist. “What? You afraid of getting girl germs?”

“I sweat in those. It’s like having you inside my gym shorts.”

Oh, Christ.

Why had I said that?

Images flooded my mind, and I pictured her sliding those delicate hands, those long fingers inside my shorts. She’d touch me the way she did that bag—long and slow, almost reverently. Goosebumps pimpled my arms. My cock stirred to life inside my shorts, and if she missed the accidental innuendo in my speech before, there was no way she’d be deaf to it now.

“Maybe I like the idea,” she said in a low, husky tone, and Jesus Christ, was she trying to kill me? I groaned, trying to adjust myself, but she stepped closer, stopping less than a foot away. She looked at me with eyes that had sex and the devil inside of them, and whispered, “Teach me.”

I swallowed. Okay.

It was okay. I could do this.

She was Everly. Not someone I wanted to slam against the wall. Not someone I wanted to breathe in, whose elegant neck I wanted to devour with my tongue. Not someone I wanted to feel shiver beneath me as I licked between her legs, her hands in my hair as she cried out my name.

Just … Everly.

“So you want to stand far enough away from the bag that you couldn’t hit it if you tried, unless you pivoted your hips into it,” I said, my voice coming out gruff, husky. “Like this.”

I demonstrated the distance I meant, then gestured for her to imitate.

“Here?” she asked, reaching out to the bag and attempting a pivot to touch it.

“Perfect.” I nodded. “Now, which arm are you gonna punch with?”

She held up her right arm.

“Great.” I nodded. How could I explain this to her in a language that would make sense?

The garden.

Of course.

“So what I want you to do is imagine you’re a tree, and your big right toe is connected to the ground via roots. Strong, powerful roots.” I pressed my eyes closed for a second. For fuck’s sake. Roots? Innuendo was not my friend today. Thankfully, when I opened them, Everly appeared to have missed my second blunder. “You’re going to push down through your right big toe, digging deep into the ground, then use the force from that to heave up through your legs and torso.” I gestured along her body, careful not to touch her.

Everly shuffled a little on her feet, and I could practically see her mind ticking. Good.

“Then, you can pivot and take that punch,” I said.

In slow motion, she lunged forward, her arm lashing out like a yo-yo. “Ouch,” she muttered, shaking her hand again.

“Try not to punch with your arm,” I suggested.

“What else am I supposed to punch with, Einstein?” She glared at me, and I laughed. God, I loved it when she was mad.

“Your torso. Your toe—that root in the ground you’re connected to. Feel it forcing its way through your body and let that drive your punch, not your forearm.”

She nodded, seeming to take it in, then tried again. This time, it was a lot better, and she didn’t cry out in pain, but her elbow still jerked too far back.

“That was good, better. Let’s try again, but this time keep your elbow tighter.”

“Can you show me?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

Standing beside her, I shifted my weight to my right foot.

“Not like that.” She shook her head. “Show me using … me.”

Oh.

Like that.

I stood behind her, close. The scent of earth, as if she’d just been in the garden, and something sweet like chocolate reached my nose. On the back of her neck, tiny curls sprung loose from the ponytail that held the rest of her hair hostage. Hair I wanted to tangle my hands in again. Skin I wanted to lick, kiss, suck. So damn tempting.

“So I push down on my toe,” she said, leaning forward, and I couldn’t help it. I missed her closeness like I missed air when I dove under the break of the sea. I leaned with her, my hand resting on her thigh.

To check.

To check that she was feeling it in all the right places.

My cock stirred to life once more at the touch of my hand on her silky-smooth skin, and I cursed. Clearly, one of us was feeling something in all the right places, and that person most definitely was me.

“Then arm back …” Everly continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil as she drew her elbow up.

“More like …” I ran my hand along her forearm, wrapping my fingers around her wrist. Longing jolted through me from the touch, the way my body was wrapped around hers. The way I could smell her still, so good, so sweet, and all it would take was just a simple turn of the head for her to kiss me. For me to kiss her. For all this want and lust and desire to finally explode.

“Cameron,” she whispered, her body melding back into mine, and if she ever doubted how I felt about her, there was no hiding it now.

I took her hand, pulling it closer, lower. Her chest heaved with her laboured breaths, and damn it, I couldn’t take my eyes off the glorious swell of her tits. I pulled her into me, her body so soft, so sweet. She moved forward, and I didn’t know if the punch was coming from her leg, or from her arm, but all I knew was that I felt it everywhere. I felt the moment between us, the two of us connecting, in my mind, my body, and my heart. And damn it, it was intense.

I didn’t let go of her wrist, and she leaned back against me. Her head tilted up and I sunk into those goddamn ocean eyes once more. “Everly …” I husked. She exhilarated me. Left me feeling as if I’d done ten rounds with the bag.

“Cameron …” She licked her lips, and I made the decision.

There were so many reasons why this was wrong, but those lips, those sweet cherry lips, were just one of the reasons this was right. The desire between us was too much, too strong.

Everly offered me hope. Hope for a future.

Hope for a life that was better than this.

I ran my hand up her side, brushing the swell of her chest, trailing up her neck. She didn’t break eye contact, not once. God, I wanted her.

I lowered my mouth, stopping a centimetre from those lips I wanted to sink into. Everything was loaded in this moment. Tension tightened between us, and I couldn’t fight this anymore. This moment was more than just the two of us coming together. It was letting go. It was moving on. It was—

Piper cried out.

It wasn’t the cry of a baby just waking from sleep.

More that of a demon releasing the harpies.

I stepped back. My hand fell from Everly’s. The moment, the tight string of tension—it snapped.

“Sorry. I, uh …” I gestured toward the door. “I gotta go.”

“Go. Go.” She hurried me out, pulling one glove from her hand as I turned to head inside. And I couldn’t decide if Piper just stopped the best or the worst thing from ever happening to me.