He just hadn't expected the rental company to keep sending people to his door.
He checked the locks on the front and back doors, a habit he couldn't shake, then made his way down the hall to his bedroom. The cottage was small enough that he could hear the water heater kick on, the soft tick of the clock in the living room, the creak of the floorboards settling for the night. Sounds he'd come to love in the month he'd been here. Sounds that meant peace.
Now there was another sound layered beneath them. The soft rhythm of someone else breathing on the other side of the wall.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the unfamiliar presence in his space. She was quiet, at least. Hadn't complained about the spare room or asked for anything more than he'd offered. She'd sat by the fire and drunk her beer and asked him about Copper Moon like she actually wanted to know.
And she'd looked good in that flannel shirt. Too good. The way it hung off her shoulders, soft and worn and somehow intimate. Her father's, she'd said. Which meant it carried weight beyond fabric.
He rolled over and punched his pillow into shape. He wasn't going to think about how she looked. He wasn't going to think about the way her green eyes had gone glassy with tears, or the way her voice had cracked when she'd said she didn't have anywhere else to go.
He was going to sleep, and in the morning, he was going to sort this mess out with Jake Matthews at the rental office, and then he was going to get his quiet life back.
That was the plan.
Morning came too early and too bright.
Brian woke to sunlight slanting through his window and the smell of coffee drifting under his door. He frowned at the ceiling. He hadn't made coffee yet. Which meant she had.
He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and padded barefoot down the hall. The kitchen was small, just a galley with a window over the sink that looked out toward the water. Tessa stood at the counter with her back to him, pouring coffee into a mug she must have found in the cabinet.
She'd already showered. Her blonde curls were damp and pushed back from her face, and she wore jeans and a soft gray sweater that made her look smaller than she had last night. More fragile. Though something told him fragile wasn't the right word for this woman.
"Morning," he said.
She turned, and he saw the dark circles under her eyes. She'd slept, but not well. "Morning. I hope you don't mind. I needed caffeine to function, and I found the coffee in the cabinet."
"It's fine." He moved past her to grab a mug of his own, catching a faint scent of something floral as he passed. Shampoo, probably. Or lotion. Something that didn't belong in his bachelor’s kitchen.
She stepped aside to give him room, and they did a brief dance of avoidance in the narrow space. His hip brushed hers, and she sucked in a breath. He pretended not to notice.
"I can make breakfast," she offered. "It's the least I can do."
"I've got it." He pulled eggs and bacon from the fridge. "You're the guest. Sort of."
"The unwanted guest," she corrected, but there was a hint of humor in her voice. "I promise I'll stay out of your way as much as possible."
He cracked eggs into a bowl and reached for a fork to beat them. "It's a small cottage. Staying out of each other's way might be a challenge."
"Then I'll be quiet. You won't even know I'm here."
He glanced at her over his shoulder. She was leaning against the counter, both hands wrapped around her mug, watching him with those green eyes that seemed to see more than he wanted to show.
"I'll know," he said, and turned back to the stove before he could see her reaction.
They ate at the small table by the window. The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it was weighted. Two strangers trying to figure out how to share space without stepping on each other's lives.
"We should head into town by nine," he said between bites. "Jake opens at eight, but the craft fair crowds start early. Parking's going to be a nightmare."
"Right." She set down her fork. "I appreciate you letting me stay last night. I know you didn't ask for this."
"Neither did you."
She nodded, something shifting in her expression. "I'll do my best to make it easy. I clean up after myself. I won't move anything without asking. And I'm used to keeping odd hours, so if you hear me up in the middle of the night, it's not because anything's wrong. I just don't sleep well."
That last part landed differently than she probably intended. He heard what she didn't say: the sleeplessness wasn't new. It was a companion she'd brought with her from whatever life she was running from.
"There are some house rules," he said, pushing back from the table. "Nothing crazy. Boots off inside when it's wet. No food in the bedrooms; I don't want mice. If you use the dock, don't take the canoe unless I'm here. The current shifts fast in the afternoon, and this isn't the kind of water you want to be caught in without knowing what you're doing."
