I’d fix the slat tomorrow. Hell, maybe I’d leave it and widen the gap at the bottom while I was at it. Give them a proper playing field.
Jolly and William deserved it.
Chapter 11
Kayla
I heard Ben’s truck pull into the driveway next door just after seven. The engine cut, a door closed, and I absolutely did not set down my pencil and listen.
I was sketching. The deck had good light this time of day, and the Barley deadline wasn’t getting any further away. I had no reason to be paying attention to sounds from the front of the house.
But my brain had already conjured the image anyway—like how it kept doing lately, at inconvenient moments, without my permission.
If I’d had to draw Ben from memory, I could have done it without hesitating. A strong jaw, deep-set eyes that changed color depending on the light—brown in shadow, green-gold in the sun. A face that was all clean angles, interesting rather than pretty, the kind that would only improve with age.
Nothing like Craig, who’d been allproduct-in-the-hair,watches-himself-in-every-reflective-surfacegood looks. Ben was less polished and more real.
Yesterday, he’d knocked on my door to return the plate from the chicken dinner. He’d also been holding a to-go cup of lemon ginger tea from the shop on Elm. Still warm. Two sugars.
We’d stood in my doorway trading thank-yous while the steam curled between us, and neither of us had known how to turn the moment into an actual conversation. Then William had come barreling outside, yelling that Jolly was at the fence, and Ben had spent twenty minutes throwing pinecones with my son and his dog while I’d watched from the kitchen and forgotten how to breathe normally.
Because that was the other thing. The fence.
Jolly had broken another slat, and instead of replacing it, Ben had pulled down two more on either side. Older ones, weathered and starting to split. He’d cleared them out and left a gap about a foot and a half wide at the bottom—big enough for a boy to sit cross-legged on one side and a dog to lie on his belly on the other, nose to nose through the opening.
He hadn’t asked. Hadn’t mentioned it. He’d just done it. Like dismantling a fence for a six-year-old and a dog was the most practical decision in the world.
Everything about this man pulled at me, and that pull terrified me.
The last time I’d let myself feel this affectionate, dangerous tug toward someone, I’d chosen Craig Dutton. And my son had paid the price.
My laptop was on the table beside my sketchbook, notification light blinking. I tapped the screen awake out of habit.
Two new emails. One from my editor. The other from an address I didn’t recognize, but I didn’t need to. Craig cycled through new accounts the way other people cycled throughpasswords. The subject line was all I saw before I closed my eyes.
You can keep running, but we both know how this ends. You’re not built to be alone, Kayla. I’ve been patient. More patient than you deserve. But my patience has a?—
I dragged it to theEvidencefolder without opening it. My hands weren’t shaking. A few months ago, they would have been. But steady hands didn’t mean steady everything—my chest was tight, and the warmth had drained out of the afternoon like someone had pulled a plug.
I didn’t believe his words anymore. Therapy had dismantled that particular lie, piece by piece. But the fear underneath was harder to reach. Not that no one would want me, but that I’d choose wrong again. That I’d look at a man and see something solid and real, and it would turn out to be another mirage.
William’s laughter rose over the fence, bright and wild, and I let it push Craig’s voice back where it belonged.
I tried to work on Barley’s ears, but my focus was gone. I set the sketchbook aside and watched William instead. He was on his belly in the grass, face inches from the gap in the fence. Jolly mirrored him on the other side—dark head resting on his front paws, tail sweeping the ground. William was talking, earnest and steady, the voice he used when he was telling Jolly something important.
My phone rang before I could pick the pencil back up. Trish.
“Okay, don’t panic, but I have terrible news.” She got the words out before I could even say hello.
I laughed. “The last time you said that, Theo had flushed a Hot Wheels car down your toilet.”
“This is worse. The reptile guy canceled for the assembly tomorrow.”
I sat up straighter. “What? Why?”
“Sick. The zoo called an hour ago. No snakes, no lizards, no boa constrictor. It’s off.”
“The assembly istomorrow, Trish.”
