Why am I doing this?

Anxiety convulsed through my nerves as I waited for my computer to fire up. The truth was, I couldn’t not know. I connected to my hotspot and logged on to Facebook. It felt like forever while I sat there, the screen churning, lighting up like a window to the past. I could almost feel it stretching its fingers out to touch me. To tease me with the control it’d held over me for so long.

For too long.

Fingers trembling, I managed to type the name into the search bar. A task I’d attempted at least twenty times before I’d set out on my journey back home. I had never found the courage to press enter.

Today, I did.

She was the third listing. A grainy picture. Almost indistinguishable. But I knew it was her.

Missouri.

She lived in Missouri.

I slammed the lid down.

That was all I needed to know.

As long as she wasn’t here? I could totally manage staying in this town.

* * *

“Tell me you’re miserable without me.”

Laughing quietly, I flitted around the kitchen on my bare feet. My cell was pressed between my ear and shoulder as I slowly unpacked the few things I’d brought. I hadn’t needed much since my grandmother had left everything she owned to me.

“Completely miserable,” I told Macy, letting the tease wind into my tone as I hiked onto my toes to set my favorite Christmas mug on a high cupboard shelf.

“Huh. That’s weird. I haven’t even noticed you’re gone,” she deadpanned.

“Says the girl who’s called me like ten times today,” I ribbed.

She giggled. “Okay, okay, I might have kind of noticed.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s just that I think the apartment is haunted.”

“The apartment is haunted? And this happened sometime in the last three days?” Skepticism rolled from my tongue.

“You know how these things work. Ghost girl has been stalking me, and the second she felt your absence, she slid right in to take your place.”

“You know you’re absolutely ridiculous, right?”

“Which is precisely why you love me.”

Affection pulsed. How was I ever going to live without seeing her every day?

“Honestly, though, Ryn. How are you doing there by yourself? It must be weird to be alone in that old house. God knows it’s weird around here without you.”

I paused to look around at my dated surroundings—the floors linoleum, the cupboards hailing from the early eighties, the beige Formica countertops dingy and faded to a dreary yellow. The décor was mainly all the trinkets my grandmother had collected over the years, and the same two floral placemats I remembered from my childhood were still on the small round table.

It was as if she’d been waiting for me to return all this time. Next to nothing had changed since I left eleven years ago.

The house needed a full renovation. That was when, or if, I ever had the money to do it. Honestly, I still didn’t know how I was going to manage to hold on to all these frayed threads, if I could come back here and take over where my grandmother had left off. If I had what it would take to breathe life back into everything she had built.

But when I inhaled? I could almost smell the lingering memory of sugar browning in the oven. When I focused hard enough, I could almost taste the tart cherries and sweet crust melting on my tongue. When I listened intently enough, I could almost hear the steadfast belief in her voice echoing from the walls.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah,” she said.

An old warmth surrounded me, all mixed up with the reservations and fear that had kept me away for so many years. “It feels like home. Like I never left. Like I could walk through the door and my grandmother would be standing right in this kitchen, pulling a pot pie from the oven for dinner.” I swallowed over the lump that grew heavy at the base of my throat, the loss that echoed back her presence. “I just wish I would have come back earlier. Before it was too late.”

My heart clutched at the memory of the phone call I’d received two months before. A social worker had been on the other end of the line telling me my grandmother had suffered a massive heart attack while behind the wheel of her car, that though the responders had tried, there had been nothing they could do. She was pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital.

Macy’s voice dipped in sincerity. “You can’t blame yourself, Ryn. Even if she didn’t know the reason you left, I think she at least understood why.”

“Then why does it feel like such a pathetic excuse now?”

“Maybe I was never lucky enough to meet your grandma in person, but in all the time we lived together, I don’t remember a day that passed without you talking to her. So maybe the circumstances sucked. But I promise you that she knew how much you loved her. And you want to know why it feels pathetic now? Because you’ve moved beyond it. Above it. You’re not even close to being that timid, insecure girl who answered my ad for a roommate eleven years ago. You’ve grown, changed. Your grandma got it. That was one smart woman.”

I exhaled slowly. “I know. I just . . . I wish I would have come back before it was too late.”

Wished she had let me know she was in trouble. I wished we had more time.

But I guessed us Dayne women were stubborn that way.

“I’m betting your grandma didn’t see it that way, which is the very reason you’re back there now.”

I gulped around the emotion, voice hushed. “Thanks, Mace. I needed to hear that.”

She tsked softly. “Of course you did. This is why you have me.”

From the other end of the line, I heard rustling, could feel her mood changing course as she settled back in the plush couch in the den. I could almost see the glass of red wine in her hand. “So, how is it being back in Gingham Lakes so far? Have you run into anyone you know?”

Her voice turned wry. “Tell me you found out bitch-face took a deep dive into the lake and never came back up for air. Or maybe she took a sharp curve driving a little too fast? Which would you prefer?”

A low chuckle rumbled free. “You’re horrible, Mace.”

“Psh. Don’t tell me you haven’t imagined it a thousand times.”

“Okay, okay, maybe I imagined her demise a time or two.”

Like every time I’d closed my eyes for two years after it happened. Wondering what it might have been like if I could have turned the tables on her and wishing all the same she could just take it back.

What had I ever done to warrant that level of cruelty? Could she possibly have known just how badly what she’d done had hurt?

Old memories twisted my stomach into knots. Traces of that evil, depraved laughter touched my ears, visions of her standing there like it’d meant nothing at all while she’d destroyed my entire world. It was as if crushing me had been nothing but entertainment.

“And no. I looked her up. She moved to Missouri.”

“You looked her up?” Surprise coated Macy’s tone.

“I just . . . had to.”

Silence filled the space between us. “I get it,” she finally said.

Bending down, I pulled my coffee pot from the box, puffing out a breath as I did. “To answer your question, no, I haven’t seen anyone I know. My Gramma was right, the city has really grown since I left. It’s not filled with the familiar faces like it used to be. I stopped by the grocery store this afternoon and didn’t recognize a soul.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

I sighed. “I don’t know . . . both, I guess. I used to love that I knew everyone. That I’d go into the restaurant and knew at least half the people there. It made it feel safe. But after everything? The rumors?” My lips pursed. “It’s nice to be somewhere I love and have a clean slate. It feels like a second chance.”

I just prayed it remained that way.

“Well, if there aren’t any familiar faces, tell me there are at least some panty-melting ones you’ve run across. You know, some yummy to my tummy hotties hanging around, waiting to steal your heart? Knowing you’re getting some will at least ease some of my worry for you.”

A scoff scraped my throat. Leave it to Macy. “Oh, there’s a hottie, all right, but he definitely isn’t hanging around waiting to steal my heart.”

It was that moment when I heard the low rumble of a powerful engine approaching in the distance.

Of course.

Gramma had always told me all you needed was to speak of the devil and he’d appear.

There’d been something about our encounter this morning that had left me unsettled. Something about that gorgeous stranger that had left me restless and curious.

Interest piqued.

The man was a paradox.

Hard and brittle and cold.

Yet so incredibly gentle with the little girl, who’d clung to his hand as if he were the center of her world.

There seemed to be nothing I could do but edge toward the window, stealing to the side to remain out of sight.

I pulled back the edge of the curtain and peeked out.

Headlights cut into the night, and my stupid heart kicked an erratic beat. That intrigue increased my pulse to a thunder. I was riddled with that same fierce attraction I’d felt when I’d looked up earlier today to find him towering over me, the way my stomach had twisted and the nervousness that had followed me back to Gingham Lakes took a new form.

The headlights grew brighter, illuminating the space between our houses before the monstrous truck slowed and turned into the driveway across the street.

“Oh, oh, oh, tell me all about it. Someone sounds pouty . . . and turned on.”

“You know how my luck goes when it comes to men.” The scales were always tipped to bad. “You shouldn’t be surprised that my neighbor is like . . . gorgeous.”

Macy squealed. “How gorgeous?”

I watched as Rex hopped out of his truck and went straight for the backseat.

All six feet three inches of mouthwatering deliciousness lit up by the moonlight.

“Like Greek God with a sledgehammer gorgeous.”

I could hear her kicking her feet. “And how is this a bad thing?”

“I was pretty sure he would have preferred to drag me to the lake and drown me rather than tolerate my living across the street from them.”

“Them?”

“I met his daughter, too. At least she was super excited to meet me.”

I suppressed laughter as I thought of her rushing out of their house. The little girl had been a perfect kind of disaster in that hot pink tutu and those atrocious socks she had to have stolen from her dad.

She was a bluster of energy and innocence.

It was almost worry that entered Macy’s playful tone. “Oh God, tell me you’re not actually crushing on the married guy next door? That’s just poor form, Ryn.”

Through the milky, opalescent night, I watched as he pulled a sleeping Frankie from the backseat and shifted her so her head rested high up on his shoulder. He ran a hand over the back of her head and set a kiss to her temple.

The image was so at odds with the hostility he’d met me with earlier.

That intrigued attraction flared, my mouth dry as I watched him start up his walkway.

Maybe what struck me most was there was something sad about him, too. Something helpless and scared beneath all the harsh, hard dominance he wore so well. Something bitter and broken.

I found myself whispering when I came to the realization. “I’m thinking there’s no wife.”

“No wife . . . so . . . he’s like . . . a single dad?”

“Maybe,” I uttered so quietly as I peered through the night, drinking in the way his long legs took the steps, and then the way he angled through his front door with his sleeping little dancer girl. “I think so. I’m not sure.”

Why did I want to know so desperately?

“Why are you whispering?” Macy whispered back.

I bit down on my bottom lip while guilty silence spun around the room.

Macy busted up laughing. “Oh my God, you are spying on him right now, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” I told her, quick to let the curtain drop. I got straight back to work unpacking.

“Someone has a crush,” she sing-songed.

“Stop it.”

I was so not spying, and I so didn’t have a crush.

I’d just met them, and the worst thing I could do was get mixed up with the angry guy across the street with his sweet, adorable little girl, who was a big fan of my grandmother. Apparently, she had really good taste.

But her dad? He obviously had some ginormous chip on his shoulder, and I had enough to worry about without giving thought to the flecks of sadness scored in the depths of his eyes.

Eyes the color of sage. Rimmed in the darkest gray.

No, I wasn’t thinking about those soft, full lips barely hidden by the sexy scruff on his strong jaw. And I definitely hadn’t noticed his big hands or the strength in his deeply tanned, muscled arms.

Nope.

Not at all.

A guy like that had heartache written all over him.

And I’d had enough of that to last me a lifetime.

* * *

The sound of a whisk clanging against metal echoed through the kitchen. With the bowl tucked under one arm, I cut butter into the flour in the other, giving myself over to the sense of deep peace that had taken me over.

The late night was like a warm blanket wrapped around the old house, holding me safe and secure, the vast silence a comfort as I slowly swayed in the kitchen.

I had the crumpled letter smoothed out on the counter beside me where I worked. Every so often, I would peek over at it, relishing in her presence. I had to have read it close to a million times since it’d slipped out with the file the attorney had given me two months ago. But I kept going back to it, wondering, why now?

Why hadn’t she asked this of me before?

My chest tightened as a wave of grief and love slammed into me.

I could feel the weight of her spirit dance around me. Soft, soft encouragement. The same as she’d always given me.

Belief. It was right there. Shining with all the questions that still remained.

“I am scared, Gramma. I’m not sure how I can do this without you. But I promise you that I’m going to try. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you proud.”

I jumped when the oven dinged, letting me know the temperature had reached three hundred and seventy-five degrees.

Maybe I really was letting this old house get to me.

I set the bowl aside and dug into the paper sack to find the almond extract.

Almond extract I was certain I’d purchased this afternoon at the store.

Almond extract that wasn’t there.

With a frown, I sank back onto my heels. Frustration leaked into my veins.

Damn it.

My first pie, and I was already failing. It was one of those ingredients I could probably get away with not using, but it just wouldn’t be the same. Looking around, my attention landed on the pantry.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Gramma,” I mumbled, opening the pantry door and rummaging through the few items that hadn’t already been discarded.

“Aha.” It was a cry of victory as I held the bottle of almond extract in the air.

Victory that was short-lived. It’d expired three years ago.

“Damn it,” I muttered again. I tossed it into the garbage bin right before my eye caught on a white envelope tucked on a shelf at the side of the pantry wall. Like a forgotten partner to all the expired spices and extracts. A token of the past.

Apprehension swelled, anxious and uneasy, and I slowly moved forward.

It felt as if it were some kind of secret.

As if I were on some kind of forbidden mission.

Silly, I knew, but my fingers trembled when I reached in and tugged it free, the paper tacked to something sticky on the pantry wall.

That anxiousness thickened like molasses, my throat full and bobbing, my stomach twisted in a vice.

My name was written across the front, the familiar handwriting scratchy from an unsteady hand.

“Oh God.” Grief came swooping back in, but I smiled through the tears that were suddenly clouding my eyes as I ripped into the letter.

There was so much comfort in knowing she felt confident that one day I would find what she’d left for me.

I tugged it out and quickly scanned the card.

My spirit flooded with love, and I clung tight to the reminder of this amazing woman who’d always viewed the world as if it were right on the cusp of something magical. The tough times nothing but a stepping-stone to propel us to where we were supposed to be.

I took a fumbling step back when I sensed the change outside my kitchen window. A light had flickered on across the street. Drawn, I inched across the creaking floor, again keeping myself hidden as I crept toward the window. I pulled back the edge of the lacy drape and peered that direction, not sure if I felt guilty for doing it or if it was somehow my duty.

Because this time there was no question I was spying.

Unable to look away.

Somehow knowing I didn’t want to.

The bulk of him took up the entirety of his kitchen window, his hair, which was a dark, golden blond and a little long on top, was in complete disarray and stuck up in all directions. As if he’d spent the night tossing in bed, waging a war I didn’t understand. I couldn’t make out his expression with the way he had his head dropped between his shoulders, his hands most likely propped on the counter to hold himself up. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t clearly see him fighting with whatever demons plagued him.

“Shit,” I whispered, clutching the letter in my hand, waging my own war. The battles I’d once fought in this town had been lost. The memories of them stalled me with trepidation, the strength I’d found through the years away coming against them and instilling me with courage.

I glanced at the letter again.

And I chose to take a chance.

Before I could think better of it, I moved through the arch and out into the dated living room. I slipped on my sandals I’d left by the door.

Then I let myself out into the muggy, Alabama night, the air heady with wafts of honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass.

Moon, huge and high, cast the slumbering houses and trees in a silvery glow, and the steady trill of cicadas danced all around.

It felt like stepping straight back into my childhood. The memories of the nights I’d spent on the porch with my grandmother staring up at the stars seemed so close it felt as if I only had to reach out to go back to that time.

Inhaling the vestiges, I kept my footsteps as light as possible. Even still, they crunched against the gravel driveway, and I sucked in an emboldened breath when I stole through the night and across the street, silently making my way up his walkway.

Carefully, I climbed his steps, hand on the railing as if it offered moral support, and crossed his freshly stained deck. I stopped at his door, my heart the thunder that incited a storm within my chest.

What was I doing?

This was insane.

This guy hated me for no apparent reason at all.

Still, I found myself lifting my hand, my fist quietly knocking at his door.

I was shaking all over by the time the latch turned and the door flew open, and I was again met with the same unwarranted fury from earlier. Although this time it was harder.

All of it.

His scowl and his glare and every gloriously defined ridge of his body.

Oh. My. God.

There was nothing I could do to keep my eyes from dropping to explore the wide expanse of exposed flesh. His shirt was missing, and he was wearing nothing but boxer briefs.

I gulped. That foolish attraction drenched me through, wet and hot and sticky. Flaming free and leaving me weak in the knees.

My gaze latched on the tattoo that ran the entirety of his left upper arm. It was a landscape of a jagged cliff with a waterfall pouring over the side. The splashes rising up from the seething pool of water were bright, colorful feathers that floated and twisted as if blown by the breeze.

Sorrow and hope.

They were so clearly impressed into the depiction.

“What are you doing here?”

The severity in his voice cut through the night, impaling my stupor, jerking my attention up to his face.

Of course, it had to be equally as striking as the rest of him.

Powerful and dominant.

I shook as I took a fumbled step back.

Oh, wow, was this stupid. So damned stupid.

Still, I lifted my chin. “I was just . . .” I fumbled for an excuse to be standing at his door at one in the morning. “Wondering if you had any almond extract?”

His head cocked, and if it were possible, his eyes narrowed even more. “Do I look like I have almond extract?”

“Ummm . . .” I stammered.

Great.

I was a blubbering fool.

This man set me totally off balance. He was so different from the men I was used to back in San Francisco.

Rougher.

Unpolished and raw.

More dangerously beautiful than any man had the right to be.

Maybe it was because he reminded me a tiny bit of Aaron. The asshole back in high school who’d had a hand in the breaking of my heart.

But this was more.

Different.

Everything about Rex Gunner was unique.

Blinding in his darkness.

Warm in his coldness.

“I just—” I gestured back to my house across the street. “I was making my gramma’s cherry pie and was missing almond extract when I saw a light on over here. I thought I would take a chance.”

All moments matter. We just rarely know how important they are until the chance to act on them has already passed.

Was this one of those moments that mattered?

And why did I feel like I had to take this chance?