Page 5 of Goode Tidings

"Call Justin, too," she tells the kid.

My ears perk up at the name. It's a common enough name, but it's hard not to be triggered by the name of a person who once held me in a headlock until I passed out.

The kid looks at her with annoyance. "I thought you wanted me to call the police. I can't make two calls at once."

She surveys me, lips twisting as she thinks. "Call Justin," she says, coming to a conclusion.

Something tells me her Justin and my Justin are one and the same.

This is really bad. My irritation with the woman morphs into what can only be described as abject panic. The hot kind that portends the beginning of the end.

My throat clears. Real-time damage control is not one of my lauded talents, but I need to get ahead of whatever is about to happen. "So, I, uh, I think I've figured out our issue."

"Me, too." The woman sends me a withering glare. "I have ten minutes before I need to talk to my boss and there's a naked trespasser in my backyard." She looks at the hot tub and shudders.

Rude. I showered before I climbed in.

Setting that aside, I say, "I know Justin." Unfortunately. The guy is a grade-A asshole.

The woman's eyebrows lift. "You do?" She sounds relieved, like maybe I'm not the problem she believes has been abruptly dumped onto her lap.

A breeze streams over my exposed skin, and that's when I realize I'm actually pretty cold right now. I think the adrenaline from this whole situation kept me from feeling it. But, yeah. My nipples could cut glass.

"I do." I nod, confirming. My mind spins, concocting elaborate yarns with lightning speed. How can I explain my presence at the cabin? "Justin was nice enough to let me stay here. Because he's a...nice guy." I grimace. The lie tastes terrible.

The woman's expression mirrors my own. "Say no more. You definitely don't know Justin." She looks at her watch, then at the kid. "I changed my mind. Call the police."

"I'm Justin's stepbrother," I say quickly, stepping closer with my hands out in front of me, palms forward. There really is a lot being asked of this towel.

The woman moves back, pulling the kid along with her. "Justin doesn't have a stepbrother."

Hmm. Ok. Let me try that again, this time with a pinch more honesty. Pointing at myself, I say, "Former stepbrother." From approximately one million years ago, but let's not split hairs.

Recognition flashes in her deep brown eyes. "Callum?"

She's heard of me? This is good. Maybe we can sweep this under the rug. Maybe we can laugh about this. We definitely don't need to call Ernest the lazy police officer. He may be ineffectual, but he can still throw me in that one-room jail.

If I'm being really honest, it's possible Justin doesn't know I'm here. And by possible, I mean he definitely does not. Confession: I've been here for two years and he has no idea. Maybe I'm the one who needs to submit an unsolicited profession of wrongdoing to the Goode Tidings email inbox.

I watch the woman, waiting. She stares at me, considering. Everything about this is awkward and uncomfortable, and I do not know what to do next. So I stick out my hand, offering a nice to meet you handshake.

The woman's gaze drops to my outstretched hand.

That's when I feel it. The slight shift in my towel. Her eyes widen in horror as the fabric knot uncoils. The towel falls to the ground, taking with it my dignity, and leaving behind the sound of her appalled gasp echoing in my ears.

CHAPTER 3

Eden

"He was in the hot tub," I explain in a clipped voice to Justin. "He said his name is Callum. Your former stepbrother."

A man I've never met, a person I've heard of from the scant childhood memories Justin chose to divulge, has suddenly appeared. What do I do with that?

Tears of frustration and confusion and fear burn at the backs of my eyes, but I hold them in check. Here I was thinking the most emotionally taxing part of my day would be keeping me and Oliver safe on our four-hour drive to Snowflake, but no. Chuck-wad has called twice, despite me sending him a text informing him I'm dealing with an unforeseen situation. As for the nude male in the backyard, I don't know what happened to him after his towel dropped and I grabbed Oliver's hand, hightailing it back the way we came.

Now, phone on speaker and held in my open palm between me and Oliver, I wait for Justin's response as I glance up at the cabin. Slumped against my car, the sense of let-down is heavy.

When we'd initially pulled up to the cabin, the thrill of adventure had taken hold. The reality of what we are embarking on became tangible. My first impression was that the place was way nicer than Justin had let on. It's a woodsy little cabin, he'd warned. I took that to mean shabby. That, to me, was acceptable. I romanticized about a ramshackle but cozy space, warm lamplight and a crackling fire I could sit beside where I'd draw during the day, and work on my knitting and crocheting and wax seals at night.