Page 4

I let my head drop forward, my forehead hitting the steering wheel.

Regret and panic sliced through me, sharp and grueling. What was I thinking coming all the way out here knowing full well this was severely out of my comfort zone? I wasn’t cut out for living lakeside in the middle of nowhere. I was an architect who liked Italian leather heeled boots and frothy, caramel cappuccinos. I’d never so much as gone camping after the age of twelve.

Then it hit me. This was exactly why we’d settled on this place for me to run to. No one would think to find me here. It wasn’t just about comfort. It was survival. And ultimately, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d chosen to ignore everything I discovered. I was doing this for a reason.

I exhaled sharply.

Maybe I couldn’t rely on anyone else to save me right now. But I had legs. I’d have to walk the remaining journey to the lake house, whether I wanted to or not. Julia had taken a huge risk for me, and it was one she was still shielding right now. I had to get to that cabin.

It’s only a mile away, I thought to myself. Easy peasy. That’s it, just keep lying to yourself until you get there.

I pushed the door open, gasping as the biting mountain chill hit my face for the first time. I gingerly climbed out of the driver’s seat and stepped straight down into the muddy pothole that had claimed my car. I cringed at the sound of my boots squishing, trying not to think about the irony of Julia’s joke earlier as I wrenched my suitcase from the passenger footwell.

Thank God I’d managed to fit all my essentials in just one of these.

Shivering, I dragged the rolling bag blindly up the steep, gravel-strewn incline, passing deeper into the fog until I could no longer see the flashing blinkers of the SUV when I turned around.

*

After what felt like an eternity of hell, a steep descending clearing finally crept into view where the dense treeline gave way to a sprawling valley bowl. Below sat the gray, glass-like surface of Blackwood Lake, still partially obscured by ribbons of low fog. The cabin was isolated, surrounded by the dark water.

Relief crashed through me at the sight of the familiar-looking lake house. I’d never been more grateful to see something so decrepit in my entire life. But as I continued to plow through the last leg of the journey, with aching shoulders and legs and feet that would no doubt blister in the morning, I could’ve sworn it was the most beautiful sight in the world.

The smell of the air was thick with wet earth, pine resin, and stagnant lake moisture. I hoped it wouldn’t be something I’d have to get used to. I could feel the mud and sweat clinging to me and began fantasizing about taking a hot shower and then just collapsing into bed the second I stepped inside.

But as I finally reached the cabin, I noticed a weathered, twenty-foot or so white box trailer standing approximately fifty feet from my new home. My steps faltered. As I got closer, I noted the industrial logo decals, with the name “Cornerstone” written across the back. There was a truck parked close by as well.

I wasn’t expecting the construction guys to have arrived this early. I pressed on, so deeply focused on the trailer and truck that I nearly jumped out of my skin when a deep, baritone voice came out of nowhere to stop me dead in my tracks.

“Sorry, ma’am, but this is private property. You aren’t allowed to be here.”

My eyes found the source through the tendrils of fog. It was coming from my wraparound porch. A man, leaned back against a stout corner support post near the front steps. One boot was hooked back against the baseboard, a steaming metal thermos held at chest level as he watched me with a sort of resigned curiosity.

I probably should’ve been more nervous that I was seeing a stranger hanging around my home like he owned it, contractor or not. Especially out here. But I was freezing, hungry, filthy with muck and sweat, and I didn’t have time to think beyond the glare I shot him.

Given how his body stiffened, I was sure he could see it even with the low visibility.

“Actually, sir, this is my property,” I said resolutely, dropping my suitcase. “And you’re the one trespassing.”

3

Ava

“Ava?”

I blinked in confusion. That voice… it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. And he spoke as if he recognized me too, but couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. I squinted, taking two more steps closer but still keeping enough distance between us. When I finally realized where I knew him from, my jaw dropped

“Nate?” I croaked out.

He was tall, probably around 6’3” at a guess. But instead of the lankiness I was expecting now that I remembered who he was, he was packed solid with mass beneath his layers of clothing. There was not an inch of loose fabric in the stiff waxed cotton shirt-jacket he was wearing, or the black thermal shirt underneath, or the heavy utility pants. Instead, the sharp lines of his shoulders and broad, thick chest filled the clothes out completely.

My eyes traveled down, on a journey of their own accord. Those wide shoulders tapered to a slim waist and powerful-looking thighs that almost made my mouth start watering. What the hell happened here?

The Nate Kavanaugh I remembered was a tall, scrawny kid fresh out of high school, with a bowl haircut and glasses. Not this prime specimen of grade-A beef. What did they feed this guy in the military? Super Soldier Serum?

Holy shit, Ava, calm yourself. This is Julia’s brother, not some random guy you can ogle. There are rules. There are rules, right?

I cleared my throat, trying to reestablish some semblance of dignity as I mentally clutched my pearls. “Nate, it’s good to see you. What’s it been, more than a decade?”