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She carries my suitcase downstairs while I make one last pass through the house.

Kitchen.

Living room.

Hallway.

The marks on the pantry door where Grandpa measured me every year until I stopped growing.

I run my fingers over the last one.

Five foot four. Age sixteen. Grandma’s handwriting.

I swallow.

Then I pick up my purse and walk out.

I don’t look back.

Not because I don’t love this place, but because I do.

Maybe that’s why I can’t stay.

There isn’t anything here for me anymore except memories.

And a few hundred miles away there’s a four-year-old little boy named Shiloh who needs someone to help make his house feel like a home.

There’s a man I’ve never met who is now legally and somewhat ridiculously my husband.

There’s an entire life waiting for me that I know almost nothing about.

For the first time in years, I have no idea what tomorrow is going to look like.

It’s terrifying. And a little exciting. Maybe it’s completely insane.

But it’s mine.

I get behind the wheel and start the car.

chapter

three

Noelle

My husband doesn’t come home, which sounds significantly more dramatic than it is.

Maverick isn’t missing, or even avoiding me. At least I don’t think he’s avoiding me. Considering we’ve never met, that would be impressive.

He’s in Chicago.

Or Atlanta?

Possibly Chicago and Atlanta?

There’s some kind of problem with one of his developments that was apparently serious enough for him to leave Tennessee three days before I arrived, and complicated enough that he’s now going to be gone for at least another two weeks.

He offered to delay my move.