The next time I see Gwen, it’s the next morning in Milton’s.

I’m replacing the countertop, and the second I see her come through the door in a light sundress and those blue boots, my chest constricts. It’s because of the look on her face. Her eyes are bright, and she’s smiling as if she’s never been so happy to see anyone in her life.

She rushes toward me, and I cover the ground between us in a heartbeat, then scoop her up and whirl her through the air. She squeals and laughs, and I hold her up for a few seconds just to look at her some more.

I eventually met a great girl, I told Jerry.

As all the breath leaves me and something warm and implosive takes its place, I can’t bullshit myself anymore. Gwen’s way beyond great. This is the girl I’ve been looking for without even knowing it.

I let her slide down my body, and we never break gazes. Each second is a pounding epiphany, and when we come face-to-face, I bring her to me for a kiss. It’s slow and devout, and I didn’t know how much I really missed her until now. I want to lose myself in this woman … at least until I have to sit her down for that talk.

Something in my chest drops like lead, and I break off the kiss and gently let her down to the floor. The sound of hammering and whirring from the kitchen infiltrates my consciousness, but I feel like all the noise is going on inside of me as I look into her eyes again.

She smiles that rock-my-world smile. “I wanted to see how Milton’s is doing.”

I can tell she’s toying with me. She’s here to be with me. God, we need to have that talk.

“Am I going to see you tonight?” I ask.

She fists my shirt as if she’s restraining herself as much as I am. “Come over to my place and I’ll cook dinner for you. Grace is going out and Mom went to visit some friends out of town.”

“Sounds good.” And it is — if “good” means that she’ll be fine after I tell her about Jerry and all the shit that’s gone down in my life. “Sorry we haven’t talked before now, but—”

“You needed sleep and Milton’s needs you to work. I’m with you.”

She smiles some more, and I vow not to kiss her again or take advantage of her in any way until that talk. So I become Man of Business and show her all the efficient progress we’re making on the diner. When she leaves fifteen minutes later, she waves to me as I watch out the window, and it feels like something sharp has busted into my chest and latched on, dragging every part of me out.

I can barely get through the rest of the day, finishing at Milton’s, then going to Climax to check on the state of the tasting room. By the time I pull into the driveway of Gwen’s modest ranch house that evening, I’m a fucking mental mess.

She greets me at the door still wearing that pretty dress, and before I can ask her to sit down and listen to me, she smiles and puts me to work in the kitchen. Odd, but she seems more thoughtful than she did this morning, as if she’s been thinking about something heavy, too. Is it about me?

That monster claw yanks at my guts again.

We start to work in silence at the counter, and the sound of me chopping up tomatoes for a salad marks every painful second. She’s slathering a couple of choice steaks with garlic salt, pepper, butter, and olive oil.

When she turns to me, I clench my teeth together. “Either you’re thinking about getting me naked or you’re working really hard to read my mind and see if I’m thinking the same thing. Spoiler: I am.”

A blast of lust rattles me but … no. No funny stuff before telling her everything.

Still, I try not to act like I’m about to shake things up. “Gwen Milton: flirt. This is a real turnaround from when I first met you.”

She puts down the peppershaker. Things have suddenly gotten serious. Has she heard about my past already and she’s been waiting for me to say something? Is she about to beat me to it?

“Quinn, I usually don’t let myself get too close to anyone.” Her voice is real quiet. “I just want to let you know that it’s because of more than my fixation on work and … well, there’re other reasons.”

I put down the knife next to the tomatoes on the cutting board. “What other reasons?”

It’s as if I’ve given her permission to relax all the way, and she sighs and leans back against the counter. She’s picking at her skirt like she’s anxious again, and I hate seeing her like this.

“The other night when we had wine, I mentioned my dad.” She peers at me. “You probably deduced that he’s a big reason my family struggled so much.”

Her Dad. Yeah, I remember her mentioning him. I also remember how, back in the diner one day, Abby Peters shut up tight when the subject of Mr. Milton came up, almost as if she was guarding the family in some way.

Things aren’t going the way I pictured them. Gwen’s obviously got her own story to tell me, and I’m not about to butt in and force my own issues on her. “Go ahead.”

Gwen blows out a long breath, and I walk closer to her. I don’t touch her — she’s clearly fighting to keep down those shields she used to have up all the time — but I’m near enough so that she seems more comfortable now.

She shrugs, her voice thick. “See, my asshole dad was a drunk. An abusive one.”

I tense up. “Did he—?”

“Emotionally harass us and slap us around whenever he got wasted? Sometimes.”

A sense of horror steals over me, and it’s about more than just imagining Gwen getting slapped around by some motherfucker. It’s about my own story.

This isn’t going anywhere good, and I close my eyes in agony for a moment as she continues.

“This is complicated but ...” Her words shake. “Mom and Dad fell in love in high school right outside Cherry Valley. She was a good farm girl, and he drove a tricked-out old Camaro and drag raced on the weekend like a country James Dean. They got married right after they graduated, and after a couple of fun years, Mom got pregnant. After that, he worked as a mechanic while Mom raised us. Things were great. Then he started drinking too much.”

And that’s why Gwen doesn’t drink much herself. I know. I rest a hand on her arm, telling her that I’m still listening, even if I don’t want to hear the rest.

She exhales again. “He died when I was ten, but the memories are still fresh. The first time he went to jail, it was because he beat up some guy in a bar.”

Jail. He went to jail, too.

Gwen goes on. “I remember hearing my mom scream from the other side of the house some nights, and Grace and I would hold on to each other, not knowing what to do. Afterward, Mom would try to act like things were okay, and I would read my books to forget. Grace would put on her headphones and lose herself in music and old movie magazines passed down from my grandma. Then came the day when Dad freaked out and spanked the shit out of me for not clearing the table fast enough. It started to happen more often, and when he tried to touch Grace ...” She fists her hands. “I’d take it for her. Of course, Mom would drag him away until he calmed down, then she would cry and he would promise to be the guy she fell in love with. Then life would be fine for a while.”

I take her hand in mine, holding it tight.

“Mom had loved him so much in high school and their first years of marriage that she could never quite believe he became such a monster.” Her voice cracks on that last word, and her gaze is watery. “I never gave him the benefit of the doubt, though.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I couldn’t.”

She looks up at me with those teary blue eyes. Gwen, a woman who probably never cries, is about to do just that with me here. I wrap her in my arms.

She clings to me and talks into my chest. “Then the shit really hit the fan. Grace and I were horsing around while cleaning up the kitchen, and we broke a dish. My dad flipped out and started slapping me over and over while Grace tried to pull him off. That’s the night Mom came with the shotgun.”

“Jesus.” My voice is muffled because my mouth is against her head.

“She fired at him and missed on purpose, just to warn him.” She gestures toward some shelves. “The shot is still in the wall, but we covered it with shelves later. Anyway, she pointed that gun in his face and told him to get the hell out and never come back. A few days later, he came back, hat in hand, and she told him that if he ever laid a finger on Grace or me again, she wouldn’t miss the next time. It wasn’t long after that when Dad got drunk off his ass, hopped in the car, then crashed into another person. Mr. Gerrity. He had a family, too.”

The air goes out of me.

Her tears are soaking my t-shirt. “They both died. God, you don’t know what it was like having to go to school and see his kids after that. People in town knew it wasn’t our fault, but Mom hid herself away for a long time while we lived on what savings we had. Some people around here wondered why she didn’t leave him long before he died, but I know the reason — she didn’t think she had any education to fall back on and she didn’t have options. Also, she loved him and always had such hope he would change.”

The more she says, the darker my own hopes get. Somehow, I managed to fall for a woman whose life is hitting a little too close to what mine would’ve been like if I’d let it continue down the path I was taking. I slip my hand under her jaw, lifting her face to me. Tears streak her cheeks, and I use my thumb to wipe them away. But that doesn’t erase what’s in her eyes: affection and, dear God, hope, because I’m standing here with her, taking in every bit of this while dying a little inside with every word she says.

She tries to smile as I stroke her hair. “Things were tough then, but when the old soda shop closed down, we opened Milton’s with the help of some townsfolk like Mr. Doughte. He was a silent partner for a while before we were able to buy him out.”

And that’s why Gwen Milton has worked her ass off for years and never had any fun. Shit, I can’t stand the thought of taking fun and hope away from her; there’s no fucking way I can tell her anything about me tonight.

But when?

As I keep stroking her hair, she touches one of my arms, tracing over the blades of my tattoo. “Why did you get these?”

“I thought it’d be cool when I was a kid.” In my craphole neighborhood. Long before I was even in jail.

“My dad had tats, too. Not that you’re anything like him, thank God. I would never let a criminal and an abuser like my dad anywhere near me.”

Even if that monster claw is digging inside of me full force now, I can’t let her think that there’s even a chance that I’m her worst nightmare. I won’t ever be. “I’m nothing like him, Gwen. Nothing.”

Then I hold her closer, resting my face against the top of her head, feeling as if everything is about to drop out from under me.