“Shh. Daisy’s sleeping.”

Beckett slapped his hand over the many straps, keys, and boondoggles hanging off his bag to keep them from clanging. He hadn’t noticed the noise in the busy airport terminal, nor in the driveway with the big open sky to absorb sound. But inside the modest two-story home with hardwood floors throughout and nine-foot ceilings, the pack sounded like a Goonies booby trap. “Sorry,” he stage-whispered to Quinton, his childhood best friend, who still had red hair and freckles. “Is she sick?” Though it was dark outside, his phone had auto adjusted to the local time and said 8:32 p.m.

“No. She has to get up early for work.”

Quinton chucked his shoes by the front door and led Beckett into the living room. A couple of lamps cast soft light over the room, revealing teal walls, white furniture, and modern fixtures with gray accents. The throw pillows had funky zigzags and the carpet had polka dots. Not exactly what Beckett expected from a confirmed bachelor. Then again, Daisy lived here too. That alone explained everything from the fur throw to the “Be Great at What You Do” sign on the far wall. Pictures of their power-couple parents on a beach somewhere—make that beaches, since the water was blue in one picture and green in another—and of the four of them at Disney when the kids were in grade school adorned the gas fireplace mantel.

“Daisy works?” Beckett scratched his head. Quinton’s little sister was a heart-faced doll, but while Quinton and Beckett slaved the summers away mowing lawns and cleaning pools, she’d played with makeup, hairstyles, and her video camera.

“She’s legit grown-up.” Quinton disappeared down the hallway and came back with an armful of sheets, pillows, and blankets in shades of white and gray, which he dumped on a chair. “You tired?”

The thirteen-hour plane ride, coupled with two layovers and airport food, weighed heavier than Beckett’s pack—and his pack held everything he owned except for a pair of socks and a package of underwear they’d stopped for on the way home. He’d given away his clothes, save the ones on his back, before boarding the plane—the underwear he just threw out because no one should be forced to wear that stuff. His mouth was constantly full of cotton, his sinuses screamed from the dry air, and the bottoms of his feet were numb. “Exhausted.”

“I thought so. You look like crap.” Quinton squinted at him. “What’s with the man bun anyway?”

Beckett chuckled lightly. Quinton could get away with saying just about anything. Not only was he a loyal friend; he’d taken Beckett in at the last second—saving him from sleeping on the airport tiles when his flight was delayed until tomorrow morning. On the way to his house, Quinton talked him into skipping the flight in the morning and staying until his next assignment came through. “It’s easier than getting a haircut.”

Quinton leveled him with a look. “Don’t let your dad hear you take the lazy way out.”

Beckett didn’t need a reminder of what a hardnose his dad was—no one who met Kevin Kingsley needed a reminder. “Didn’t you hear? I’m the golden boy now. Dad is all over the FreeWater project—I can do no wrong.” Sarcasm dripped from Beckett’s words like honey off warm toast. His stomach growled. When he weighed his needs, a shower and sleep were higher on the list than food—he was that tired.

“And I thought Amber was the favorite for giving him progeny.” Quinton slipped a fluffy pillow into a pillowcase.

The smell of lavender laundry softener overwhelmed Beckett—he hadn’t smelled anything so clean in a long time. It didn’t quite smell like home, but it was a reminder of all the comforts he’d left behind when he chased his dream. Since he’d left right after graduation, he didn’t have the training to engineer the wells, nor did he have the political connections to get FreeWater representatives across borders. What he did have was an ability to work with people. He was the one FreeWater sent into remote areas to get the work done. He’d make friends with tribe leaders, chiefs, kings and queens, and orphan children. It wasn’t always easy to get them to trust an outsider, but he believed in FreeWater’s mission.

“Amber took front row when she had Kevin Jr., and she scored extra points naming after Dad. At least I’m no longer the family embarrassment.” There was a heavy pause in the conversation as Quinton laid a sheet over the white leather couch. Beckett bit his tongue. His social skills were rusty.

“Okay, kitchen’s through there. On the other side is the laundry room.” Quinton pointed behind the couch, where a gray countertop gleamed and shiny appliances hummed. “Bathroom is down this hall. My room’s on the left and Daisy’s is on the right. Do not wake her up! She’s a tyrant about her beauty sleep.” He fished a Post-it out of his back pocket and handed it over. “This is the Wi-Fi password. I have to run back to the clinic and check on a cat that had surgery today. Make yourself at home.”

Beckett hated pulling Quinton away from his thriving veterinary practice to pick him up from the airport. The fact that he came without so much as a peep about the inconvenience attested to his loyalty. “Thanks again for letting me crash here. It should only be for a couple days.”

Quinton broke into a smile that reminded Beckett of the carefree days when they would zoom through the neighborhood on their bikes and tease Daisy with the frogs and spiders they’d caught. “It’s good to have you. It’s been … too long.” They exchanged a man hug, complete with heavy poundings on one another’s backs.

With Quinton gone, Beckett sorted through the plastic bag for a new pair of underwear. He glanced down the hall to where two bedroom doors were shut and the bathroom hung open.

Daisy was down there.

He glanced at the boxer-briefs in his hand and then towards the laundry room. His clothes needed a good washing. Who was he kidding? They needed to be burned. But they were all he had until he got some sleep and could see colors again. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and pushed against the desire to flop onto the couch and disappear into dreamland. He’d be a horrible guest if he slept in those white sheets with this much airport grime on his skin.

He made his way to the washing machine and stripped down to his underwear in the semi dark, praying Daisy wouldn’t need a glass of water at this inopportune time. Being in the States was already changing his state of mind. In the last village he was in, kids up to the age of twelve ran around without any clothes on at all. The chief maintained his dignity in a simple loincloth. No one would have given his a second glance if he’d run around in his underwear. He hadn’t—he’d worn cargo shorts, though he often shucked his shirt. The heat was too much and he’s become slick with sweat as he worked. Sliding away from the memories, he dumped in the soap and started the machine, impressed by how quiet it ran.

Moving with the stealth of a cat burglar, he managed to get to the bathroom and lock the door. A quick shower and a mad dash to the couch had him tucked safely under the blankets. The hot water had been heavenly. He really missed warm showers.

The couch was softer than the three-bar cot he’d slept on for the last eight weeks and the pillow was like a marshmallow, firm and soft all at the same time. He sighed, letting all the tight places that had accumulated go slack. His back and neck would be sore now that he no longer clenched up before sleeping, but that was normal.

His thoughts drifted to Daisy sleeping down the hall. He’d teased her more than he should have growing up. Truth be told, he thought about her a lot when he was alone in a new place. Something about her wholesomeness comforted him.

She was such a cute little thing with her red hair and fair skin, full cheeks and a few freckles. There was a dark freckle on her chin where the classic movie stars used to place beauty marks. Maybe that’s what inspired her to start the silly beauty channel she’d obsessed over.

He wondered if she was still that innocent and sweet girl or if all the attention she paid to makeup and beauty tips had turned her into a self-centered brat. Probably the latter. No one could spend that much time watching themselves on camera and not think the world revolved around them.

The last night he’d spent with the Covington family had been her sixteenth birthday party. She’d curled her hair like Taylor Swift’s on the front of her “Beautiful Eyes” album and it hung loose and free—tempting him to bury his fingers in all those curls.

He threw his arm over his eyes. Why did he remember that? He took a deep breath and felt his bio waves slowing down. He couldn’t get the image of Daisy’s mop of curls out of his head. He hoped she hadn’t cut off her hair. That would be a real crime. His thoughts meddled with his dreams and he could feel the soft tresses between his fingertips. A contented sigh escaped his lips and the jet lag took over.