PIPER
As the sunbeats down on the back porch the following afternoon, I’m curled up in one of the oversized Adirondack chairs under the shade of the pergola with a thick paperback balanced on my knees. Ellie’s been down for her nap for about twenty minutes, and the afternoon is quiet.
Well, except for the rhythmic thwack of an axe hitting wood near the edge of the property.
I try to focus on the page in front of me. It’s a particularly gruesome scene in the true-crime inspired thriller where the detective discovers the third victim, but my brain keeps drifting. Iris’s selection for this month’s book club meeting is freaking me out, especially up here in the middle of nowhere. I mean, yes, technically I’m not alone anymore, but still.
I grab my phone and pull up the book club group chat.
Me: I want to formally lodge a complaint. This book is terrifying, and I’m reading it in a remote cabin in the woods. Can we go back to Taylor’s smutty romances? Those made me uncomfortable in a fun way.
The responses come fast.
Taylor: That’s what you get for running away to the wilderness by yourself!
Molly: Seriously, Pip. You picked the worst possible reading environment.
Avah: Maybe don’t answer the door if anyone shows up asking to use your phone.
Iris: In my defense, I warned you the story borders on horror. It’s SUPPOSED to be unsettling.
Sloane: Next month we’re reading a cozy mystery. Promise.
The familiar back-and-forth with Sadie’s book club friends—my friends now, too—has me smiling despite the creep factor of the novel. But Taylor’s comment about running away makes me wince a little. Even though she meant it playfully, the words sting. Because that’s exactly what I did, isn’t it? I ran away from Skylark. From my empty house. From Bradley’s smug face.
From my imploded life.
Me: There’s a difference between running away and strategically regrouping.
Avah: Is there though?
I type out a response, delete it, try again. But nothing feels right, and suddenly I don’t want to keep joking about it. I toss my phone onto the side table and pick up the book again, determined to push through at least one more chapter.
But before I get my eyes on the next word, I make the mistake of glancing up.
Felix is at the woodpile about fifty yards away, and he’s decided to go shirt optional in the summer heat. His skin is bronzed and glistening with sweat as he swings the axe overhead. The movement is fluid and powerful, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing as the blade comes down with a satisfying crack, splitting the log cleanly in two.
Sweet baby Jesus in a manger.
His tattoos—a geometric pattern that wraps around his left shoulder and down his bicep and lower arm—seem to move witheach swing. It’s like watching a very attractive,verymuscular Viking doing manual labor, and my brain short-circuits like it’s taken in too much data. Too much Felix Barlowe, that’s for sure.
He tosses the split pieces aside, grabs another log, and positions it on the stump. The motion makes his abs contract, and as I try to figure out if he’s got a six or an eight pack, my mouth goes dry.
Get it together, I silently command my hormones. I should be reading about serial killers, not ogling Felix Barlowe like he’s a Lumbersnack Monthly centerfold. My ovaries pay no attention, staging a full-scale revolt.
He pauses to wipe his forearm across his forehead and glances up to catch me staring. Even from here, I can see his smirk.
Shit.
I immediately drop my eyes back to the book, my face burning hot enough to fry an egg. Maybe if I focus really hard on the murder scene, I can pretend the last thirty seconds didn’t happen.
My phone buzzes with a text from Sadie.
Sadie: Hey, when are you coming home? How are you feeling? Do you need me to come up there?
A knot of emotion tangles in my chest as I stare at the message. Part of me wants to say yes and have my big sister come rescue me from this increasingly complicated situation. But that’s part of my problem. I keep letting Sadie rescue me. From raising me after Mom died, to taking care of Max when I couldn’t, to transferring the house to me and helping me get a job at the hospital when I moved back to Skylark.
I’m twenty-three years old and I’ve never actually stood on my own two feet.
