Of course it was.
The last thing I needed was a reminder of how easy things came to people like him.
Young. Untethered. Uncomplicated.
At thirty-six, I didn’t need charm or tattoos or one more reckless mistake. I needed someone I could trust with the most important thing in my life.
I refreshed the nanny job board.
Still nothing.
THREE
AUSTIN
I hadno plans to stay. Not in Star Harbor. Not in Michigan. Not anywhere, really.
But there I was—unloading the last box from the back of my pickup, the tailgate creaking like it held an opinion about my life choices. A summer’s worth of sand still clung to the floorboards, and my baseball glove, worn smooth from years of rec-league games, rolled off the seat and landed at my feet.
I was just happy to no longer be couch surfing. I needed privacy. A place of my own.
That wasn’t something I’d had much of. Mom had always been the fun one—spontaneous, beautiful, a little reckless. She was a parent who let you eat ice cream for dinner but forgot to pay the electric bill. I learned early how to take care of myself. How to pack fast and not get too comfortable.
Brody had had a much different life. Steady. Solid. He was the older half brother I’d watched from a distance—not close enough to reach, but just near enough to want more.
Somehow I’d deluded myself into thinking a man who was told I shouldn’t exist might want to get to know me. Brody hadn’t pushed me away, and that was more than I’d let myself hope for. I just had to figure out how not to mess it up.
Half of a weathered duplex wasn’t much, but it had a roof, decent plumbing, and the kind of quiet that suggested no one would be screaming through paper-thin walls. I’d take it. I hadn’t stuck anywhere long enough to decorate since college, so it might be a fun change of pace.
Brody had helped me find it. Technically his friend Wes had called in the favor, and I owed them both more than I could articulate. Wes was finally home from the hospital, recovering from the car wreck that had cost him his leg. He’d pushed his friend Hayes out of the way of an oncoming vehicle, taken the hit full-on, and somehow come out shattered, but alive.
Lately I’d been filling in for him on his construction sites while he healed. Swinging hammers, hauling lumber, and trying to stay out of my own head.
Maybe that was the problem. The longer I stayed in Star Harbor, the more I found myself wanting to, and wanting anything too much had always meant trouble.
I dropped the last box on the porch and stretched, my shoulders cracking with the effort. The morning sun baked against the back of my neck, and for a moment everything felt still.
Then I heard it.
Laughter.
High, bright, and warm. The kind that didn’t just fill the air but changed it. I turned my head toward the sound and?—
Froze.
She was there. Standing in the backyard with a little girl, both barefoot in the overgrown grass. Her hair—wild and mousy brown, though I’d argue it looked more like sun-warmed beach grass—was twisted into a loose knot, a few strands escaping to catch the light. She was holding a glass of what looked like pitifully weak lemonade, and she was smiling. Laughing.
She was glowing.
Not the polished, curated kind of beauty I was used to seeing in airports and bars and brief encounters. No, this was something else. She looked like sunlight caught in skin. Solid. Soft. Alive.
And then it hit me.
Holy shit, it’sher.
I had absently waved to the neighbors when I’d moved in, but I hadn’t taken the time to really look.
Of course it was her—the woman I still dreamed about lived twenty feet away.
