“There are other jobs out there,” Gigi says when she finds out about my failed attempt to talk to Matt Hansen.

But she’s still in school and hasn’t really looked for herself, apart from small summertime jobs such as selling tickets at the drive-in movie theater out of town and the occasional festival. If we lived in Springfield, or close to it, maybe, but here…

Here we’re in the middle of nowhere. Besides, I need something better than minimum wage. I need a steady job, a good-paying job, to pay those debts off, debts accumulated at a time Merc was sick and Mom had to take out some loans to keep us afloat, what with having no family to support her.

Pay the debts, and go off to college, so that I can return and take proper care of my family. That’s my dream.

Hey, I’m not giving up on that.

So I’m officially on a job hunt. I’ve already asked at the few shops on the main street if they’re looking for help, but so far, all I got in way of answers was heads shaking in the negative.

Nothing.

Not that I’m surprised. There’s a reason I banged on Matthew Hansen’s door and insisted to be interviewed. Although embarrassing myself in front of his neighbors made no frigging difference.

I’m not qualified for anything much, not yet. I’ve worked in a store before, so that counts, but without any job openings in the few stores of the town it’s useless.

And like I told Tall, Dark and Jerk, I know how to handle kids, how to care for them. I just love kids. I’ve thought about studying to become a kindergarten teacher. That would be awesome.

But that’s in the future. For now, the dream seems so distant. No matter how many ads I’ve gone over, how many houses I called, the few requests for nannies that were advertised have all been filled, and I’m running out of options.

I lick my dry lips, too hot in my dark pants and soft gray blouse, my feet killing me even in my conservative low heels as I make one more round, the same I made yesterday and the day before.

The round of desperation.

I visit the grocery store, the ice cream shop, the small hardware shop, the bank, the dentist and the two diners. I ask at the second-hand store, the gas station, and the old pizza place where Mom works. Then I enter the new coffee shop with its shiny brand new white tables and steel chairs and ask once more.

Nope. Nada.

My dream of escape dwindles on the horizon. A mirage. It was never real, never going to happen.

Unless… unless I pack my bags and leave town, penniless and desperate. Go to the big city and take my chances there.

Leave Mom, and Gigi, and Merc behind.

Not forever, I tell myself as a vise tightens around my heart. Just for a while, until I find a job and save some money. And then I’ll go to college and return with a good salary to take care of them all.

This has been my dream ever since I can remember.

And what kind of job would an educated person find here?

That’s the question I’ve been avoiding.

That, and the thought of the years between now and then, and of how badly leaving my family behind will hurt. We’re so close. My dad leaving only served to bring us closer, and going away will be like sawing off a limb.

Shaking my head, trying to dislodge the thought like every time it surfaces, I stop in front of the drugstore.

“Whatcha doing here, Zipper Lips?” The witty one is Anthony “Stone” Campbell, who’s lounging outside the coffee shop across the street, his lips pulled into a sneer.

He may have grown up from the skinny, stinky kid in my class into a tall, less stinky guy, but he never lost his obnoxiousness. Looks like you can’t outgrow mean, or stupid.

Ignoring him with the ease of long practice, I step inside the drugstore, not even sure I want to ask yet again about a job. I already know there isn’t an opening.

Maybe I’ll just buy some painkillers. My head hurts from the heat I’ve been trudging through all day.

Or some sunscreen. It feels as if my nose will be peeling come tomorrow. I touch it gingerly and wince.

Inside the store it’s blessedly air-conditioned, and I let the cool air blow on my flushed cheeks as the door closes behind me.

My hair is a frazzled mess, and I pat it down in a desperate effort to look presentable as I approach the counter. I easily find some ibuprofen, but then realize there are three people ahead of me, and I check out the small make-up display to distract myself while waiting.

Gigi always says I should wear more make-up. She says my eyes are pretty and that I should outline them more.

Gigi is crazy.

I put down the lipstick I was checking out—the hue is called Flamingo, which makes me grin—and catch a guy’s gaze on me. He’s standing second in the small line, and he’s handsome in a classic, clear-cut way with his wavy brown hair and green eyes, the five-o’clock shadow on his cheeks, the wiry frame filling out his navy-blue shirt nicely.

A cold shiver runs over my skin when his gaze lifts to my face, and his mouth tilts in a smile.

I look away, flustered.

By the time I gather my wits enough to look back at him, the line has moved, and a broad-shouldered guy is walking by me, his shaggy black hair and beard registering after the longest second in history.

Matthew Hansen. What are the odds?

Then again, it is a small town. Nothing fateful here. Just everyday life happening.

He doesn’t seem to think so, judging by the way his brows draw together when he notices me. He stops.

“You,” he says.

It sounds like an accusation. And yet his gaze holds no heat, only surprise.

“Mr. Hansen.” I pull my shoulders back. “Fancy meeting you here.”

I’m standing so close to him.

Way too close. He’s so tall and broad-shouldered he’s like a wall.

He says nothing, just staring at me, the darkness in his eyes swallowing me whole. I’m so aware of his height, the big muscles in his arms, his long dark lashes, it’s insane.

I’m wringing my hands together, and I make myself stop. “Look, Mr. Hansen…” I have to say something sensible. “How are the kids? Have you found a nanny for them yet?”

But this was the wrong call, because his expression shutters. “Yeah.”

That one word hits me hard. “You hired someone else?”

He nods and pushes dark hair out of his eyes. He’s still looking at me. His gaze is like a laser beam, passing over my face, then moving lower, and a wave of desire hits me, knotting up my insides.

Crap.

Christ, what’s the matter with me? For some reason, Matt Hansen has my whole body clenching with need just by standing there.

Why does my body react to this bear of a man when it remains numb and cold when other guys look at me?

When he passed me over for the job, not even deigning to talk to me, and went and hired someone else the next day?

God.

“That’s a pity,” I whisper, deciding to cut my losses and go back home. I just need to rest a little, cool down, and maybe inspiration will hit, and I will magically know what to do.

Adjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder, I turn blindly to go and promptly trip over my own feet.

Man, I just can’t catch a break these days, can I?

But I don’t hit the floor. An arm like a steel band is wrapped around my waist, and that scent of spicy male musk is everywhere.

My heart is hammering. I sag in his hold, my legs like rubber.

Without a word, he sets me down on my feet and pulls the strap of my purse back up on my shoulder, a strangely intimate, gentle gesture.

Then he bends over to gather the small bag he dropped while saving my ass from meeting the linoleum, and the reality of what just happened hits me.

Matthew Hansen caught me.

And I can’t catch my breath. My heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour.

He watches me a few moments longer, as if making sure I’m not about to topple over again, those dark eyes strangely mesmerizing.

Then he rolls one massive shoulder in a shrug and starts walking once more toward the door.

“Thank you,” I finally find the presence of mind to call after him and take a step in his direction.

But by then he’s already gone.

* * *

Trudging back home, kicking off my shoes the moment I pass through the door, I head straight for the bathroom, only to find it occupied.

“Gigi!” I bang on the door. “I need to shower.”

“Five minutes!” she yells back.

Gigi’s five minutes usually last two hours. The house is otherwise empty, Mom and Merc not answering when I call out their names.

With a sigh, I walk back out and sit on the steps of the porch, trying to find my calm center.

Something will come up, I tell myself. An opening in one of the stores. I tend to panic easily, lose my patience when things aren’t going my way.

Which means I spent most of my childhood and teenage years raging and waging war with the world. Things rarely went our way—what with Mom losing her job time and again, with Merc getting sick all the time and Gigi going through a shoplifting phase that had Mom in tears.

And as for me… I had my phases, too. Like that day when I left home and started walking along the highway, not knowing or caring where I was going.

Or when I took Mom’s decrepit car and drove into a wall. I’d been going real slow, thank God. I came out of it just fine—but the car was a total loss. No idea how that is possible, but there you go.

Back then I really wanted to escape. From the bullying, the hopeless trudge of everyday routine.

And now the mere thought of leaving has me breaking out in hives.

Funny how we change over the years. How our priorities change, our perspective shifts. The idea of not being here when my family needs me is unthinkable. The idea of not being present to look after them, to keep an eye on them, to watch my brother and sister grow into adults, finish school, find their way…

I rub my bare arms. The sun is sinking low over the roofs and trees, and the breeze is drying the sweat on my back, cooling me down.

Someone is walking down the sidewalk. He stops a few feet away from me.

“Hey, I know you,” he says, and smiles.

The sun is behind him, lighting up his brown curls, casting his handsome face in shadow. “I’m not sure…” I start even as I realize that he does look familiar.

“Today. At the drugstore.” He shoves his hands in his pant pockets and tilts his head to the side. “I was waiting in line, and I saw you.”

“Right.” I nod and look down at my hands, grinning. “You have a good memory.”

“Not really. But it’s easy to remember a pretty girl like you.”

I glance up at him, surprised at the rush of pleasure and the heat flooding my cheeks. “Thanks.”

Hey, every girl likes to hear she’s pretty now and then, right? Especially after years spent wearing frigging braces and being called names.

Yeah, Zipper Lips wasn’t the worst of my nicknames back then. Things improved since I removed the metal from my mouth, but I’m still the ugly duckling in this story.

“You live here?” He parks his hip against the open gate and nods at the house behind me.

“No, I just like sitting on the front steps of strangers’ houses.” I tuck my hair behind my ears, wipe the sweat off my nose. “What are you doing around here?”

He shoots me an easy grin. “I know how it looks.”

Does he? And that would be…?

I laugh. “Like you’re stalking me?”

It slowly dawns on me, even with my sunbaked brain, that I’d never seen him before today. The coincidence of meeting him twice in the same afternoon is kind of strange.

“Well…” His grin widens. He turns and points down the street, at Mr. Collins’s small brown house. “I’m your new neighbor.”

Seriously? I realize I’m gaping and shut my mouth before a fly wanders in. “That’s, um… that’s nice.”

“Nice? That’s all I get?”

Even I can figure out when a guy is flirting with me, and he certainly is. His tone is light and teasing, that grin he’s wearing lighting up his eyes.

You could do worse, a smug little voice in my mind quips, because he is cute. And anyway, what’s the harm in flirting with a handsome guy?

Not like there’s anyone else in my life. I’m eighteen, but I’ve never had a boyfriend. Not unless you count Cameron when we were eight, who drew hearts on my notebooks and held my hand during break.

And how sad is it that I think that’s the sweetest thing a guy has ever done for me?

Sad, Octavia. Real sad and embarrassing.

“Waiting for someone? A boyfriend?” He looks at the street as if expecting a car to arrive and a guy to come and sweep me off my feet.

Wait, is he a mind reader?

No, Tati. A guy flirting with you would be interested in knowing about any competition.

Ah. There’s none.

“I’m just waiting for my sister to stop hogging the bathroom.” I wave vaguely at the house behind me. “It’s too warm to wait inside.”

“Yeah.” He rocks on his heels. “Definitely cooler out here.”

He’s well-dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a gray T-shirt that fits him perfectly. Good quality clothes, and a pair of shiny new black loafers, that somehow don’t look too nerdy or over the top, but classy.

Yeah, he sure is handsome, and it feels good to be hit on by him. Besides, let’s face it, Matt Hansen’s cold and generally rude behavior hasn’t helped my shaky confidence any.

It occurs to me it’s my turn to say something, to keep the conversation going, but for some reason now all I can think of is Matt Hansen, his strong arm around my waist, preventing me from falling on my face inside the drugstore, and my heart trips.

“Well, I’ll be going, then,” he says, and I glance up, not realizing I’d looked away. He’s smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Leave you to your thoughts.”

“No, I…” Crap, why am I wasting the chance to talk with a hot guy who is being so nice to me? “I’m sorry. It was great meeting you.”

His eyes flash. He takes the path in two strides and lifts my hand to his mouth. “Pleasure is all mine,” he purrs and brushes his lips over my overheated skin.

My mouth falls open. Nobody has ever done this to me before. It’s like a scene right out of a movie.

And again I have no words.

“My name’s Adam. Adam Cash. At your service.”

Charming. That’s what he is. Very charming. He could seem ridiculous, or pretentious doing this stuff, but I can’t help a smile.

He does look a bit smug as he releases my hand and steps back, but I guess he’s earned it. I’m still smiling when he waves and walks down the street, in the direction of the house he pointed out before.

And then I jerk when Gigi says from behind me, “Who’s that hunk?”