Music plays in my ears, drowning out the sound of my footsteps pounding on the asphalt. My headache came back with a vengeance this week, and I haven’t been able to sleep. Sometimes the endorphins surging through me from my run kills the ache. Ten miles later, I’m finally free of the pain.

The rays from the sun are just opening up the day as I make it home. Paul is pulling out of the driveway. He rolls his window down when he sees me. “Not sleeping still?”

“No.” I huff and wipe the beads of sweat rolling down my brow and burning my eyes. I disconnect my Bluetooth, so I can hear him better. “My headache has finally eased, so I’m headed up for a shower and a nap.” I lean against his car.

“You’re a hot mess.”

“I wish the weather would ease up. It’s December for God’s sake.”

“Why don’t you take a vacation? Go somewhere cold and curl up by a fireplace.”

“I can’t. I have clients already chomping at the bit for me to get them more music.”

“You have plenty of work. Give it to someone else. You’ve been working nonstop for far too long. Go to France. You’re not sleeping with me, so meet some Frenchmen and screw his brains out.”

“You’re an idiot. I’m not going to France, but a break for the holiday does sound nice. Do you want to go with me?” I squat down, so I can see him through his window.

“Does that invitation curtail anything else?” He cocks an eye.

“I love you, but no.”

“I’m going to my parents’ for Christmas this year. You’re welcome to come with me.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Your mom hates me.” I stand.

“That’s because you broke my heart.”

“Your heart belongs to all the woman you sleep with,” I yell, heading for the mailbox.

He backs up into the street and waves as he drives off. I know he’s teasing me about breaking his heart. We care deeply about each other, but we’re not in love. His mom wanted us to be. She thought he would finally settle down and maybe give her some grandkids. I think if I could love someone, it would be him, but there is a hole in my heart that always holds me back. He can’t get to it to fill it. It’s an ache that is always with me.

I pull a stack of mail out and drop several envelopes on the ground. I bend down to pick them up and notice the now familiar handwriting of Keegan. My heart does an odd little flutter. I carry the stack inside and grab a much-needed bottle of water from the fridge.

I sit at the counter finding myself excited about opening the letter. I never made it to the post office to mail the box. Maybe that’s why he’s writing me again. I tear it open and start reading. My fingers drum on the countertop as I take in his words.

“Am I married?” I laugh out loud. “Who has time for marriage?” His question makes me curious as to what he looks like. I run upstairs to my office with the letter in hand. My fingers hover over the keyboard. I only know him by Sergeant Keegan. He said his family owned an outdoor center in Jackson. How many can there be? I Google outdoor centers in Jackson and Outdoor Adventures is at the top of the list.

It’s a beautiful, rustic log-cabin-looking building on the outside with a unique A-frame build on the front. Placing the mouse on the title bar where it says contact, I click on it. There is a gray-haired man with glasses, Dave Keegan, owner/operator. Vice president, David Keegan. All this time, I thought his first name was Keegan. He never signs his name David.

There is a picture of a handsome man with hazel and honey eyes. His hair reminds me of the color of a child’s teddy bear. For a brief second, I imagine running my fingers through it. Where the hell did that come from? It’s only a headshot of him, so I can’t tell anything more other than the dimples he has deep-seated in his cheeks and the most perfectly straight teeth. He’s very good looking and fetching with his crooked smile. I bet he’s charmed many a woman in his day. Something about him is sad. Maybe it’s because his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. They have no sparkle to them. I wonder how long ago this picture was taken? After Wolfe or his wife died? It can’t be right after his wife died. He said she’s been gone twelve years. He only looks a few years younger than me in this picture.

I thumb through the brochures he included with his letter. The place looks like a Norman Rockwell town with its old-fashioned streetlamps. The main feature of the town is covered Honeymoon Bridge he told me about. It’s painted a dark shade of red with white trim, reminding me of an old barn. I don’t know why, but I want to go there. I could use the break and some cold winter weather for a change.

I take out pen and paper to write him back.

---

Keegan,

Thank you for the brochures, the town looks fascinating. Who knows, maybe I will show up there one day. The covered bridge looks like something out of a fairy tale. No wonder you and your wife liked it so much. I can almost see couples standing arm in arm, kissing each other under the gables of the roof.

Wolfe’s father sounds perfectly awful. It does explain his demeanor in the picture with him. I’ve done a little digging, and there has been no one by the name Rowan that has owned this house. I checked the entire neighborhood, thinking maybe the address was off a digit or two. I even checked other street names that were similar.

It sounds like your wife and I are kindred souls with our love for music, although, I’ve never been in a band and can’t imagine performing in front of an audience. I don’t even like my picture to be taken. I know I’m in a celebrity field, but I like my privacy. I haven’t even met but a few of my clients in person. Everything is done over the internet.

Again, I’m truly sorry about your wife. You talk like she was your soul mate and that is something not many of us find. To answer your question, no I’m not married, and I don’t think I will ever find my soul mate. Something inside me keeps me at arm’s length from falling in love. I don’t know why I shared that with you, I seem to do that a lot. Maybe it’s that kinship that I feel with you, too.

Your daughter sounds like the typical teenage girl, hormonal, LOL. I’m sure at heart, she’s still a daddy’s girl. She will come back around. I can completely understand spoiling her. Have you ever thought about getting remarried? Maybe she could use another woman in the house. Then again, it may make her jealous for your attention. Studies have shown, people that are happily married and then lose a spouse, tend to remarry. I Googled you on the internet. You’re a nice-looking man and seem very kind. I would think women would be falling all over you.

I hope you and your family have a fabulous Christmas. Sorry about the delay in getting Wolfe’s belongings back to you. I promise to get them to you soon.

I smile to myself. I’m seriously thinking about going; it would be so nice to get away. I don’t want to tell Keegan. Maybe I would surprise him at the outdoor center. A bed-and-breakfast really isn’t my style, so I throw that brochure away and Google Airbnb rentals in Jackson, New Hampshire. I skip through several of them until I find one that says remote location. It’s a small two-story stone-brick cottage. It says it is three miles outside of town, nestled in the woods on a mountain. The cute brown log fence that surrounds it makes it look even more inviting. I could lock myself up in there and do nothing but read for two weeks. No computer, no music, no phone, no television. It sounds so tempting, but I doubt at this late of a date that it’s available. I click on the calendar, and I’m shocked to see it not rented. The rental company has a note that there was a last-minute cancellation.

I lean back in my chair, thinking about it. A file pops up on the bottom of my computer screen. I click it, and it’s a message from my agent wanting to know if I’m taking on five more assignments. It is my determining factor. I switch back over to Airbnb and book the stone cottage. My hands tremble as I click the final confirmation.

I did it. I’m going to take a vacation. Paul will be so excited. My agent, not so much. I really don’t need the extra clients anyway. I need to hire help, but I’m such a control freak when it comes to my work.

I hit the shower and towel off. I don’t even bother dressing. I shut the automatic blinds and curl up in my bed. I’m suddenly so tired and completely content with my decision to take a break. I pull the comforter over my head and close my eyes.

His arm pulls me against his chest. The scruff on his face teases my neck while his woodsy smell warms my body. I reach back and run my hand through his thick, messy hair. I don’t open my eyes, but I turn my head, baring my neck even more. He chuckles deep in his throat, letting me know that he is more than happy to continue. His lips trail kisses from the olive skin of my neck to my shoulders. My hands glide from his hair to his hip, feeling his muscles flex. His hand travels down my skin, stopping between my legs. A soft moan escapes his lips. His fingers barely touch me, and I’m already wet with need. I whimper as he spreads my legs and his fingers tease me.

I turn my head, and his mouth crashes on mine, taking what he wants from me. He repositions, pressing my back to the bed and him between my legs. I feel his swollen cock nestled between us. He lifts his head, and his hazel and honey eyes lock on mine.

“I love you, Timber.”

---

I bolt straight up. My chest heaves as I try to catch my rasping breath. I drape my arm across my forehead and feel the clamminess covering my body. I press my hand to the scar on the back of my neck, and my fingers get tangled in my damp hair. I feel the tightness of my chest as I hold back a scream. I have to talk myself into calming down. It was only a dream, yet it felt so familiar. I brush my hand over my shoulder, still feeling his lips running across my skin. I never recall my dreams. I’ve woken up in a cold sweat before, but couldn’t remember why.

I’m sure it’s because of the letters. I’m envious of how much he loved his wife. That has to be it. His story triggered something in me that I’m missing. Seeing his picture on the computer made him real to me. Made the dream real to me.