I’d always heard that your formative years are everything before the age of eight. I was sure that held at least some truth, but I was twenty-one when my parents suddenly split up, and it rocked all of us to the core. Maybe they weren’t lovey dovey all the time, but they never seemed unhappy and divorce was supposed to be for unhappy couples that reached the end of the road and didn’t see a reason to turn around together. Celia, Freddie, and I had sat side by side as they broke the news, Dad’s breath full of liquor as his feelings poured out of him. He loved us more than anything but was no longer in love with Mom. Mom cried, dabbed her eyes with one of Dad’s old-fashioned handkerchiefs, and said the same.

“This has nothing to do with the company,” Mom added.

We all had known it was bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit.

In the years following their split, I had buried myself in schoolwork and graduated at the top of my class. It had been my way of not dealing. Not that it had helped, because here I was again, feeling lost and afraid in a way I hadn’t felt often in my life. I’d had everything mapped out for me since I was a girl. We all had. And then boom, it all shattered, just like that. I looked around my room and sighed. There was no noise outside, no loud arguments or doors slamming, no laughter or music. It was just me in this big-ass house. As a teenager, I would have reveled in that.

I buried my face in my pillow and tried not to think about it. When I was sure I wasn’t going to cry, I pushed myself up, grabbed my phone, and headed downstairs. I called my sister in London and fell into a fit of tears the moment she answered. I poured it all out there and apologized.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Have you not been paying attention?” I snapped. “The reason mom and dad split up was because they couldn’t handle paying for Yale and everything else.”

Celia was quiet for a beat before she laughed. “I hope you’re joking.”

“I’m not. Grandma said it too. Well, sort of said it. It doesn’t matter. I feel responsible.”

“Well, don’t. The moment you left for college mom and dad were at each other’s throats. Trust me. I know. Why do you think I moved into that shithole apartment in the Bronx? They were miserable and it had nothing to do with you, so wipe your tears and move on. It isn’t your fault, and Freddie and I don’t blame you for it, either, so don’t go thinking that.”

I let that sink in and took a deep breath. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Is that what you were calling me for?”

“Well, that and I’m pretty sure the house is ready to list. I know we all talked about it briefly, but I think it’s time. I’m leaving soon so unless Dad comes back again or Mom comes in or one of you—“

“Hell no,” she interrupted. “Let’s conference call and get this over with.”

She added Freddie, who was in Boston, and he called Mom, who was in France. Last, we added Dad, who was in Port Townsend.

“What time is it?” Dad grumbled. “Did anyone die?”

“No, but you will if you don’t listen to what they have to say,” Mom snapped.

“Who’s going to kill me? Your pre-school-aged boyfriend?”

I cringed at my father’s words. Freddie and Celia exploded with laughter.

“You guys might as well still be married,” Freddie said, his deep voice taking over the call.

“I’m calling because I’m done with my portion of the house stuff. Everything except my room furniture and the barstools in the kitchen are in storage,” I said. “So, should I call the realtor tomorrow?”

Everyone stayed quiet for a beat.

“You shouldn’t do this on your own,” Mom said, but her voice was soft, wary.

“Are you going to come home and help?”

“Not right now,” she said.

“I say go for it,” Dad said. “We can use the money and start something with it.”

“You’re always thinking about money,” Mom pointed out.

“He has a point, Mom. You’re comfortable because Grandma Joan saved the day, but Dad sold everything and used the money for necessities,” Celia said. I wondered if she’d still sound so supportive if she knew where a chunk of the money had actually gone. Guilt nestled into my chest, splayed out there and chilled.

“Fine, call a realtor,” Mom agreed. ”Give him my information for any paperwork I’ll have to sign. Make sure they have your Grandma’s information as well, just in case you leave before anything happens.”

“Of course, she’ll leave before anything happens. Houses don’t sell in a week,” Dad said.

“You’d be surprised,” Mom argued.

“Okay. Good talk,” Freddie said. “I need to get back to work.”

“Where are you right now anyway?” I asked. I’d called him a few times, and he always dodged the question, but if any of the people on the line knew where he was, they’d spill the beans for sure. I waited and pressed the phone closer to my ear. No one said anything. It was as if we were all waiting for the same thing.

“Working,” he said simply. “Love you all. See you in Thanksgiving.”

“At,” I said.

“Whatever. At. It doesn’t matter. Too many Native Americans died for us to just sit around the table, ignoring that fact while we dig into dry-ass turkey. I hate that holiday.”

“Me, too,” I agreed.

“Me, three,” Celia said.

“Me, four,” Dad added.

“So why do we even celebrate it?” Mom sounded as if she was about to cry. “Is this your way of telling me I won’t be seeing any of my children this year?”

I exhaled. “I’ll be there. Not sure where there is, but wherever you guys decide to meet, I’ll go.”

“Same.”

“Same.”

“Same.”

I smiled. “I’ll give you details on what the realtor says.” I’d call my mom privately and ask her if she still wanted a small cottage near Grandma Joan’s. She’d mentioned it in passing, but I wasn’t sure if it was one of those things she just said or if she meant it.

“Thanks, baby,” Dad said.

“Thanks, Sissy,” Celia added.

“Gotta go,” Freddie said and disconnected.

I hung up the phone and readied quickly, dressing as if I was going to a business meeting, even though I had no set destination just yet. Surely there must be at least a dozen realtors nearby. I always saw the open house signs scattered around. My heels clicked on the marble floor as I headed downstairs and into the kitchen. I started a pot of coffee, set a pan with some oil on the stove to fry some eggs, and had just popped two slices of bread into the toaster when the doorbell rang. I nearly dropped my jam.

I looked around the kitchen and put a timer on just in case. The last thing I wanted was for the oil to get too hot and for the entire house to smell like smoke. As I walked to the door, I tried to figure out if the insurance coverage was worth the potential jail time. I opened the door, my mind still on jail and whether or not the food was as bad as they said it was when my breath caught at the sight of Rowan on the other side. His hands were tucked into the black slacks he was wearing, his eyes as piercing as the blue tie around his neck. Why did he have to be so handsome with his perfectly brushed back hair and perfect body? And why the hell was he at my house? I gripped the door.

“What are you doing here?”

His head tilted. “You aren’t going to invite me in?”

“No,” I said. “How’d you know I was here?”

“This is your house, isn’t it?”

I searched his face for a beat and realized he really had no clue what was going on in this house.

“Still. What do you—“ The beep, beep, beep of the timer filtered through the house.

“Shit.” I let go of the door and strode back to the kitchen, putting the toast on a plate and setting the bubbling oil aside for a moment. It had gone from not hot at all to too hot too quickly.

“You move impressively fast in those heels,” Rowan said behind me.

“You want eggs?” I asked out of courtesy. He stayed quiet for a moment too long, so I turned and found him leaning against the threshold, his arms crossed, and a strange look on his face. “Is that a yes or no? Did you eat?”

“I . . . eggs would be great.” He pushed off the jam and joined me, walking to the coffee machine and pouring two mugs. “You still take it black?”

“Like my soul.”

He set the black one aside and poured a shit-ton of sugar and cream into the other. He glanced up at me, grinning. “One of us has to have one.”

“Do you want your eggs scrambled?”

“Please.”

“Ham? Cheese? Hot sauce?”

“My mouth is watering. I’ll eat whatever you give me.”

I smiled and got to work. Rowan watched me from the barstool and sipped his coffee. I kept my back toward him as I prepared his food in silence because the air was already charged with enough strange energy. Once I was finished, I set our plates down, leaving a chair between us. His arms were too long and sitting beside him when he was eating had always annoyed me.

“This is great,” he said, stuffing more eggs into his mouth. “I could get used to this.”

“You shouldn’t, but I’m glad you like it.”

He smiled, wiping his mouth on his napkin. “Where did the maid go?”

“We don’t have one.”

“Where’s your sister? Freddie? Your dad?” He frowned, looking around. “I know your mom’s in France.”

“Everyone’s gone.”

“Who are you staying here with? Joan?”

“No. Joan has her own place, she’d never leave that hill.”

Rowan stared, chewing slowly. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“I always dress like this. Not that you would know.”

His lips twitched. “I’m used to seeing you in converse and ripped-up jeans.”

“I’m used to seeing you in spandex.” My face flamed as I thought about him in his rowing outfit . . . and halfway out of it. I’d seen pictures of a well-celebrated calendar that he and his rowing crew had been a part of. It was . . . impressive to say the least.

He chuckled softly. “You saw the calendar.”

“Who didn’t see the calendar? It was all anyone talked about.”

“Does my brother know that you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“I haven’t, and it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.”

“Why’s that?” I asked despite myself.

“Because it means you’re still interested in me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t need to.”

I rolled my eyes and took a bite of my toast, swallowing my snappy comeback. I didn’t have time for this game today.

“Why isn’t Sam staying with you?”

“Why would he be?”

“You have a huge empty house all to yourself, you’re together now, why wouldn’t he?” He raised an eyebrow. I realized two things: Sam hadn’t told him the truth and Rowan was trying to call my bluff. Tough luck. I wouldn’t budge on this.

“You’re right. I’ll invite him over tonight, tell him to pack a bag.”

His jaw clenched. “Why him?”

“Why not?”

“Why him?” he asked again.

“Why her?” I fired back.

“Why do you keep bringing her up? Because of the rumors back in college?” He dropped his fork and ran both hands through his hair in an exhale. “It was never serious between us.”

“It never is with you.”

He stared at me a moment longer. Seconds ticked by. Minutes. My heart felt as if it were on a frantic free fall from the highest rollercoaster imaginable. I hated that I felt this pull between the two of us, hated that it had to be him to make me feel this way every time. I broke the staring contest first, and he stood and gathered our plates before taking them to the sink and washing them while I sipped my coffee. The entire exchange may have been the most domestic thing to ever occur in this kitchen, argument and all. The thought made my heart heavy.

“So, where to?” he asked as he dried his hands and faced me.

“I need a realtor.”

“I thought you wanted to get out and never come back.”

“We’re selling the house.”

He blinked. “This house?”

“We don’t have another one that I’m aware of. Unless you want to drop some more knowledge on me while I’m in town.”

“You love this house.”

I shrugged. “What is love anyway?”

He looked as if he wanted to say something but just shook his head. I hated when he left my curiosity scrapping for more, but I wouldn’t give in to it this time. I’d purged and wasn’t allowing myself any luxuries.

“Do you know any realtors?” he asked.

“No. Do you?”

“A few. Want me to make some calls?”

“No, thank you. I’m sure you’re busy. You’re all dressed for work and stuff,” I said and then frowned. “You never told me why you came by.”

“You didn’t answer my call yesterday.”

“You called once.”

“And you didn’t answer.”

I laughed. “You call someone one time and then show up at their place if they don’t answer? This is something that women are actually okay with?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t call people unless I’m interested in doing business with them or fucking them.”

My heart launched hard against my chest. “Oh. Are you trying to hire me?”

“Not exactly.” His smile was sinful. “Although, I do have a job if you want one.”

“Want and need are two entirely different concepts,” I said. “I know they’re entirely foreign to you, but you should become familiar with them just in case.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he said. “Do you need one?”

I hesitated. “I’m only here for two weeks.”

“You’ll probably be more efficient than half the people there in those two weeks.”

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and peered up at him. I had a little money socked away, but I could definitely use the extra cash just in case. “What positions are available?”

“I need an assistant.”

“An assistant?” My eyes widened. Work in close quarters with him? “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’s only temporary. The assistant I hired bailed on me yesterday, and I need to start going into the office to sort shit out, but I can’t do that and book appointments. I could use someone I trust.” He paused, watching my reaction.

Having Hawthorne on my resume would look pretty good, even if it were only a two-week assistant job.

Don’t do it. He kissed you the other day and awakened things you hadn’t thought about in years. He’s here because he clearly wants to fuck you, and that will never end well. Don’t do it.

“So, I’d be doing you a favor.” I heard myself speak, but I hadn’t meant to. It was as if my brain and my heart were having an invisible tug-of-war and my heart was winning by a mile.

“Huge favor.” His eyes glittered in a way that made me shift from one foot to the other.

“What’s your position?”

“Officially? CFO.”

“Well, la-di-dah.” My brows rose. “Must be nice.”

His expression soured. Rowan hated talking about things like that. “Do you want the assistant position or not?”

“When would I start?”

He eyed me up and down. I tried not to let that sweep affect me. “You can start right now.”

“I need to find a realtor.”

“You can make some calls from the office.”

My heart pounded. “Okay.”