CHAPTER
ONE
GARRISON
I leanagainst the doorway of David’s kitchen, nursing a drink I haven’t touched in ten minutes, watching him laugh like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Which is ironic, because turning fifty should freak him out more. Or at least that’s what I used to think.
“Hey,” I call over the noise, raising my glass. “You’re ancient now. How does it feel?”
David grins, wide and unapologetic, the same grin he had when we were twenty and thought we owned the world. “Feels like I can still take you in a fight.”
I snort. “You couldn’t take me when we were twenty.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waves me off, already getting pulled into another conversation by a group of guests crowding around the cake. “Go grab yourself another drink. You look like you’re suffering.”
I glance down at my barely-touched glass and shrug. “Maybe I am.”
Truth is, I’m not much for parties like this anymore. Too loud. Too many people I don’t know. Too many reminders that time doesn’t slow down just because you want it to.
I slip away before anyone else can rope me into small talk and head toward the back of the house. The noise dulls with every step until I reach the door leading into the garage. It’s cooler out there. Quieter. I push the door open and step inside.
The garage smells faintly like motor oil and sawdust, the way it always has. David’s old workbench is still shoved against the wall, tools scattered across it like he might come out here any second and start fixing something.
There’s a cooler sitting on the ground near the fridge.
I pop it open, reaching in?—
And then I freeze. Someone’s already here.
She’s sitting on the edge of the ladder, one leg dangling, the other bent slightly, a bottle of beer loosely held in her hand. Her hair falls over one shoulder in soft waves, catching the low light from the single bulb overhead.
Willow. David’s daughter. All of nineteen years old.
I haven’t seen her in… what, a couple of years? Last time I remember, she still had braces and a messy ponytail and used to follow us around asking a million questions.
This is not that girl.
My eyes move before I can stop them. Down the line of her legs. The curve of her hips. The way her shirt fits just enough to suggest more than it shows.
Then back up. And when my gaze meets hers?—
She’s already looking at me. A slow, knowing kind of look.
Like she caught me.Shit. I shut my eyes for half a second, dragging in a breath.
What am I doing?
This is David’s daughter. I should turn around. Walk right back into that noisy house and pretend I needed something else. Pretend I didn’t just?—
Yeah. That’s exactly what I should do.
I straighten, already shifting my weight to leave, when her voice stops me.
“Garrison?”
My name sounds different coming from her now.
