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If you missed Episode Nine, read it here.

Coral

I couldn’t believe my life and my luck.

A long time ago, I’d realized that when I miraculously beat breast cancer at the age of nineteen, I’d used up all of my good fortune and lucky breaks. From there on out, I never complained when things didn’t go my way because I knew I had to be grateful to be alive at all.

Sure, I’d landed a sweet publishing deal at the age of twenty-one, but in my mind, that too was linked to my cancer. I’d started writing romance as a way to escape during chemo and radiation treatments, in the aftermath of surgeries and during hospital stays. My agent didn’t exactly exploit my disease to help land my first contract, but she was savvy enough to know that stories sell, and playing up the fact that I was a young cancer survivor definitely didn’t hurt.

Even my best friends came into my life because of my breast cancer diagnosis. We all met at a volunteer rally for Young Survival Coalition, and we’ve been joined at the hip ever since. I love Celeste and Sabrina. They’re the sisters I never knew I needed.

But there are a lot of other things that haven’t gone my way. For instance, I have a chronic case of the talkies, as Sabrina calls it—I go off on long and involved rambles, babbling while the people around me blink and try to find an excuse to get away. Also, when I’m with anyone outside of my closest friends and family, I’m the most awkward person on Planet Earth. Maybe in the Milky Way.

So was I surprised that this evening had gone the way it had? That instead of enjoying a promising meet-cute date with the hematologist, I was sitting at a bar, pouring out my troubles to a bartender whose name I didn’t even know?

Nope. That sounded about right.

***

He was cute, though. The bartender was, I mean. His hair was long, which was something I didn’t usually like in a guy. It was a light brown, and he had it tied back now as he moved around behind the bar. His eyes were a rich, deep chocolate, and I didn’t miss how steady they were on my face as I spoke. He wasn’t looking over my shoulder or even dipping his attention to check out my body. That was a nice change.

“All right,” he was saying now in response to my confession of social ineptitude. “So you’re this famous author, and you need a date to a movie premiere, and . . . what happened next?”

I wanted to throw myself onto the bar and bury my face in my arms, but that felt a little too far over the drama line. Instead, I shifted the ice I was holding to the back of my head and shivered as a droplet of water snaked down my neck.

“My friend Sabrina is a doctor here in Savannah. She works at the hospital in the oncology department, helping with clinical trials and treatments for breast cancer.” I bit my lip and took another deep breath. “She offered to set me up with this guy who just moved to Savannah. He’s a hematologist. She said he was super nice. I was all excited, thinking he might work out to be the perfect date. I had it pictured in my head . . . you know, he’d be all gentlemanly and kind, and I’d be comfortable enough not to be so very . . . me.” I grimaced. “And at first, it was fine. It was wonderful! He chose an amazing restaurant in this beautiful hotel, and he was at the table waiting for me. I made it to my seat without tripping or landing on my ass. All good.”

“You set the bar kind of low, you know.” Bartender Dude interrupted my flow. “If a great start to a date is getting to the table on your feet.”

“You don’t know my life,” I replied darkly. “The stories I could tell you . . .” I gave my head a small shake and winced again. It really did hurt every time I moved my head. Or my eyes. Ugh. “Anyway, then we ordered appetizers—or rather, he did—and right after the waiter walked away, Dr. Dopey made his pirate remark. He said—” I closed my eyes. “He told me that he’d looked me up and saw that I wrote pirate romance. And he kind of chuckled like—you know, isn’t that cute? So fucking patronizing.”

I felt the same fury rise in me that I’d experienced at the table. Dr. Dopey wasn’t the first person to sneer at my romances, but my tolerance for that kind of condescending shit was just about at an end.

“He sounds like his name should be Dr. Dick.” Bartender Dude scowled. “I mean, what the actual hell? You’re a published author who has fucking movies made out of your books. The asshole is probably just jealous of you.”

I managed a smile. “That’s really sweet, but he didn’t come across like he was insecure at all. He started pretending to talk like a pirate. He asked me if I wrote stories with peg-leg kink, or if the parrots could talk in my books. I tried to explain to him nicely that he was way off, that real, historical pirates weren’t anything like what we know from movies, but he just kept on going and going . . .” I gulped. “Until finally, I let go. I basically word vomited all of my research, and even when he tried to interrupt, I just ran right over him. I ended up by telling him that his attitude toward my work and my craft was insulting. I said, um . . .” I hunched my shoulders forward and dropped the melting ice pack on the bar. “I told him that he was a misogynistic literary snob, the worst kind of human to ever walk the earth.”

“Huh.” Bartender Dude smirked. “Sounds like he got a little of what he deserved.”

“But he didn’t even react. It was like what I said didn’t bother him one bit. The risotto he’d ordered arrived, and he started eating it. So then of course I felt guilty, and I tried to apologize, to explain, and he ignored me. That was when I knew I had to get out of there. So I told him my sister was broken down on a country road. And I don’t even have a sister. Not that he’d know that. Or care.”

“Why the hell did you feel guilty?” Bartender Dude looked aggravated. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He did.”

“Well, maybe,” I hedged. “But still. I was there to basically ask him to do me a favor, to go to this premiere with me. I was hoping we’d get along well enough that he’d seem as though he liked me on the big night. And then I threw that chance out the window, and now I’m back to square one.” Sighing again, I nudged the sopping mess of ice across the bar. “I’m done with this, thanks. And thanks for listening. I’m going to call my friend Sabrina and see if she can come pick me up. I can crash at her house tonight.”

“Hold on a sec.” He put one of his large hands over mine. “Let’s think about this. You really need someone to be your date on Saturday at this important event, right?” He rolled one shoulder. “I could do it.”

“What?” I stared at him stupidly. “What do you—I mean, why? You don’t know me. I don’t even know your real name, Bartender Dude.”

“Bartender Dude?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Sorry. It’s the storyteller in me. I have to call everyone something, and if I don’t know the actual name, I come up with one as a placeholder. That’s yours.”

“Oh, okay. Got it.” He stretched his arm toward me, holding out his hand. “I’m Dax Turner. Also known as Bartender Dude, I guess. And yeah, I don’t know you, but you seem like a nice person, and you need this one favor. I knocked you over. This is the least I can do to make amends.”

“You don’t have to make amends . . . Dax.” I tried his name on my tongue and found I liked it. “It was an accident, and like I said, it was just as much my fault. You don’t have to go out of your way to do this.”

“But maybe I want to.” He studied me now, his close perusal making my face go hot again. “I’m an adventurous guy. I like to try new things. And I’ve never been to a movie premiere before. Sounds like a blast. Just tell me what I need to do, and I’ll be your date.”

I blinked. “I can’t believe this. Maybe I actually hit my head harder than I thought. This could be a, like . . . a coma fantasy. I’m really laying in a hospital bed, and none of this is real.”

Dax chuckled. “If that’s what’s happening, what do you have to lose? Just say yes.”

I tried to think through all of this rationally, tried to come up with a reason I shouldn’t do this. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer, or a kidnapper, or . . .” My eyes widened. “A vampire?”

Dax leaned forward and rested his forearms—his very muscled, very sexy forearms if we’re being specific—on the bar. “You don’t, but since we’re going to be together in a public place at the premiere, I think you’ll be safe from all of those dangers.” His eyes were filled with amusement as he straightened and reached to his back pocket. “And here’s my ID, just to prove I’m who I say I am. You can always call the hotel and confirm that, too.” He slid a card over to me. “Here’s the number.”

“Hmmm, okay, well, it all seems in order.” I was so flustered, so completely out of my depth. I just needed to get back to someplace familiar and comfortable and process this whole crazy evening. “Uh, I’m staying at the Hyatt on Saturday. Checking in that day, and the hair and makeup people are coming there to make me look presentable. You should—I mean, you could come over there. The limo will pick us up at the hotel at seven and take us to the theater.”

“All right. Sounds good.” Dax nodded. “You should give me your cell number, too, and I’ll give you mine. Just in case anything changes and you need to get in touch.”

“Yeah, sure.” I reached for my phone. “I need to call Sabrina, anyway.” I recited my digits to him and then carefully added his number to my list of contacts.

“How did you put me in there?” He was smirking again, and the expression on his face shot something hot and unsettling straight to my core.

“I’m sorry?” My finger hovered over Sabrina’s name as I prepared to call her.

“I want to know if I’m in your phone as Dax or Bartender Dude.”

I was aware that my face was flaming red as the tip of my tongue darted out to run over my dry lips. It was as if he knew what I’d typed into my contact info next to his phone number.

“That’s definitely for me to know—and you to never find out.”

Want to know what comes next?

Episode Elevn is coming next Friday, November 5th!

And we’ll find out what happens between Coral and Dax . . .

What about Celeste?

Her romance is revealed in

which is part of the holiday benefit anthology

Get your copy now–this is the final week!

Get your copy of Tinsel and Tatas Today:

An excerpt from THE CHRISTMAS KETTLE CAPER

October 14, 2021 No Comments

Enjoy this sneak peek from

Mysteries of Christmas Past Anthology!

I was subjected to what amounted to the silent treatment on the train trip, though in truth Jenny Dee chattered and chortled enough for all three of us. Lilly maintained a stoic silence, staring out at the passing scenery as we chugged southwest in the direction of the state capitol in Austin.

I’d been surprised when Lilly suggested she might come along on the trip, but she’d sullenly said, “I spent two Christmases apart from ye, James. I’ll not spend another.”

And that was all it took. One tiny indirect mention of the Great War, and I felt my hand twitching again as memories of the horrors battled their way to the front of my consciousness.

As the train rounded a bend, I was at once thankful for Lilly’s deafening silence and annoyed by Jenny’s endless prattle.

“… but their daddy didn’t love her as much as her much prettier sister. And so she had no choice but to marry someone she didn’t love. Isn’t that the saddest thing you’ve heard, Daddy?”

The little flask in my coat pocket beckoned me, and I spared my wife only a moment’s glance before retrieving it to take a long swig of fine Irish whiskey. Her frown was searing, and I decided I must be a glutton for punishment because heaven help me, I liked the burn of both the liquor and of the woman born of the Emerald Isle.

“…so then the two sisters are on a train,” Jenny continued, curling her legs under her in her seat. “Um, I think heading for El Paso, maybe. But anyway, that’s when some dastardly robbers decide to hold up the train.”

“Jenny, sit properly, lass. You’ll muss your fine traveling dress.” Her brogue wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been when I’d met her, and certainly not as much as her grifter brother’s. But that was only because my wife had taken great care to work the accent out, despite my assurances that I much preferred her native drawl.

I sucked down another sip of the whiskey, then slipped it back into my coat as I watched our daughter ignore her mother, instead pushed up onto her knees and leaning towards the window to get a better view of the passing scenery.

“Oh, Daddy! Look at that. They’re longhorns! Do you know…”

“Sit down, Jenny!” I bellowed, smacking the arm of my chair. “Did you not hear your mother admonish you to sit?”

Her eyes were wide as saucers, and I knew that most children her age might burst into tears. But not my Jenny. She fixed me with a long, hard stare, then she carefully plopped down onto her backside with her legs out in front of her. I nodded my approval, then she crossed her arms over her chest and pivoted to look out of the window again.

It seemed I would get the silent treatment from both of my girls.

{Trigger Warning: this episode contains a description of an abusive situation, including violence. If this is a trigger for you, you might want to skip this one.}

Sabrina

“My God, it’s a tornado.”

The words had no sooner slipped from my lips than Wesley grabbed my arm and yanked me with him down the steps. I wasn’t sure my feet actually touched the ground; he ran so fast that the world spun around me.

Terror pounded in my veins. I knew what tornados could do. Growing up in southeast Wisconsin, I’d learned that when the dreaded siren sounded, I had to drop what I was doing and race to the basement, where we huddled until the radio assured us that it was safe to leave. We’d never been hit by a twister directly, but I’d seen the grim pictures of nearby towns that had been devastated by storms.

I was so worried about getting away from that looming funnel cloud that I didn’t even think about where Wesley was dragging me until he paused to tug open the door that led to the basement.

“Wait!” I yelled over the sound of the wind, rain, and thunder. “I don’t want to go down there.”

“Sabrina.” Wesley gripped my wrist. “We don’t have any choice. That tornado is heading this way. The basement is the only safe place.”

“But it’s horrible. There’s not even a floor. I talked with Linc about putting in a subfloor and some better walls, but he said we should focus on the main part of the house first.”

“We don’t have time to debate this. You’re coming down here with me, and that’s all there is to it.”

I opened my mouth to argue some more, and growling in frustration, Wesley bent and scooped me into his arms. Stepping down onto the top step, he slammed the door behind us and made his down into the pitch black of the basement.

It was ridiculous to be frightened, I scolded myself silently, even as I hid my face in Wesley’s shirt. It was just an old basement. But it smelled of earth and decay and mildew, and I couldn’t help feeling as though we were about to be buried alive.

***

“It’s not so bad, Brina girl.” Wesley’s breath was warm as he murmured against my ear. “Better than being upstairs and getting carried away to Oz.”

“Oz has its virtues,” I mumbled, keeping my eyes squeezed shut. “It’s all dirt down here. There are probably mice and rats and snakes.”

“Doubtful,” he answered, but I noticed that he didn’t exactly sound convincing.

“No, there are,” I insisted. “I remember my grammy’s basement in Ripon. There were mice.”

“Yeah, probably, but my point was that if there are snakes, there probably aren’t mice. Snakes eat mice.”

“Well, that’s just great.” I curled my fingers into Wesley’s neck. “Thanks for the biology lesson.”

“No problem.” He came to a stop, his back against the earthen wall, and then I felt him slide down until my feet hit the dirt floor.

“Hey!” I pulled in my legs and rolled up my body like a little potato bug. “Why are you sitting down on the ground where the snakes are slithering around?”

“There aren’t any snakes. And I’m sitting down because if I don’t, I might drop you.” Wesley brushed one hand down my back and then wrapped his arm securely around me, snugging me tight against him.

“Well, thanks for that.” I began to struggle against his embrace and then remembered the possibility of rodents and reptiles and stayed put. “Are you saying I’m so heavy that you had to get off your feet?”

“Not at all, babycakes. Just that I ran down here, and you’ve got a stranglehold on my neck. Safer for both of us if I’m sitting.”

“Okay.” I closed my eyes and let myself lean into Wesley. The one positive thing about this solid earthen basement was that I could barely hear the sounds of the storm anymore. Everything was muffled and softened. “Do you think it’s going to hit the house? The tornado, I mean?”

“Hard to say. Those things are so damn unpredictable. It could hit us. Or it could dance around and hit a bunch of other stuff.” He rolled his shoulder. “Impossible to know for sure.”

“Hmmmm.” I tried to focus on good stuff, to settle my mind, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen growing up. “Wesley, do you remember the year the twister hit Genessee?”

I couldn’t see him in the dark, but I could feel his body tighten. “Yep.”

“It was so bad. Up until then, I didn’t take the storms seriously, you know? I always dragged my feet about going to the cellar when the radio warnings sounded. It seemed ridiculous because they always missed us. But when that one hit so close . . . I saw the pictures. We were in . . . what, eighth grade? Seventh?”

I felt Wesley’s throat work. “Eighth. I remember because . . .” He expelled a long breath. “It was spring of eighth grade. I was playing baseball. First base, remember?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Of course. I went to every game and sat on the first row of the bleachers—until you broke your collarbone and couldn’t play.” Something inside me clicked suddenly. “Oh, my God, Wesley. You—I thought you fell down the steps. That’s what you said. But that wasn’t what happened, was it? It was him—it was your father, wasn’t it?”

His head moved slowly. “He didn’t want to go downstairs because he was watching something on TV, and my mom begged him—she said what if we got hit and he was trapped up there? I said—” Wesley’s breath hitched. “I said, let him stay up here if he’s so hell-bent on doing it. I was standing at the top of the steps of the cellar steps, and before the words were even all the way out of my mouth, he came charging at me. Knocked me down, and I heard the crack—I knew it was bad. My mom was screaming at him to stop, but he dragged me back upstairs and made me stay there with him. Forced my mother down to the basement and locked the door—she was pounding on it, yelling for me, but after a while, the wind and the storm were so loud, I couldn’t hear her anymore. I was in so much pain—I puked, and he smacked me again for doing that. And then he held me down while the twister went past us, and I prayed—God, I prayed that it would hit us, suck both of us up and end all that misery. But it didn’t. And when it passed, he gave me a kick and then left the house. I had to drag myself over to let my other out of the basement.” He was silent for a beat. “So yeah, I remember it. We were sitting in the emergency room watching the coverage that day.”

“Oh, Wesley.” Reaching up, I stroked his cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t know. I was so clueless. You must’ve hated me for not realizing.”

“No way.” His response was swift, and I wasn’t sure, but it felt as though he’d brushed a kiss over the top of my head. “You were my safe spot. My happy place. If you’d been part of that, if you’d known . . . I would’ve hated that. But there is no fucking way I could have ever hated you. Not ever.”

I toyed with the collar of his shirt, my nose pressed into his neck. He smelled delicious, like sawdust and musk and the woods at sunset. It was a killer combo.

“Maybe not back then, but more recently . . .” I sighed, and Wesley shivered as my breath tickled his skin. “I’ve been a raging bitch. I acted like a spoiled kid who’d gotten her feelings hurt, and I never stopped to listen to you, to ask what happened. Why you left. I’m sorry, Wesley. So fucking sorry.”

“Hey, I told you before. Nothing to apologize for.” He cupped my cheek with one warm hand. “Second chances mean not saying you’re sorry for things that happened before.”

“Oh, really?” I teased, loving how his touch made me feel. “So you’re making the rules now?”

“I’m making that rule.” His head bent over mine. “Brina girl . . . can I ask you something?”

“Of course. Anything,” I whispered, my heart stuttering erratically.

“If I promise that I’m not going to leave town unexpectedly in the foreseeable future, could I kiss you?”

My mouth curved into a helpless smile. “That depends. Will it be as magical as it was when we were sixteen?”

His deep chuckle jostled us both. “Baby, you can count on it. All that and more. I’ve picked up some moves in the past fourteen years.”

“Then I say . . . a little less talk and a lot more action.”

Taking that as the assent it was, Wesley nudge my chin up until the back of my head rested on his arm. When he angled his mouth over mine, I was suddenly catapulted back to that young hopeful girl having her first kiss . . . and at the same time, I was me, the older and somewhat cynical woman who still couldn’t resist the man holding me in his arms.

The moment our lips touched, I knew for sure that we’d never lost any of the spark between us. Wesley groaned, and I trembled, my entire being catching on fire, needing his touch more than I needed to breathe. I arched my back, wild to be closer to him, to press my body against his and feel every subtle movement he made.

One of his hands—the one not attached to the arm that was cradling my head—wandered down to squeeze my ass and then back up toward my breasts, cupping first one and then the other through the thin cotton of my shirt. His thumb stroked the stiff tip of my nipple, and I was pretty sure that I was going to melt into nothing right then and there.

“See,” he murmured against my lips. “So much better than when we were sixteen. This is the kind of stuff that I only fantasized about doing back then.”

“Did you really?” I nuzzled his jaw and then hummed with pleasure when his lips trailed down my neck. “Did you really fantasize about me?”

“Only all day, every day.” His soft laughter rumbled again. “Took me way the hell too long to get up the nerve to actually do something about it. If I’d acted sooner . . .” He heaved out a long breath. “Let’s just say my timing sucked.”

“Hey now.” I kissed his chin. “Remember your rule.”

“Right.” His fingers slipped lower until his palm flattened over my stomach. “Brina, babe, about that second chance—”

“Wesley? Dr. Hudson? Are you down there?”

The voice calling from above jarred both of us from this sweet world where no one existed except the two of us. Dim light illuminated a slice of the basement, and I heard the clump of Linc Turner’s boots on his way the steps.

Without thinking, I jumped up from Wesley’s lap, brushing at my jeans and raking my fingers through my hair. God, did I look like I’d been making out in the basement? What would Linc think?

“Yeah, boss, we’re here. We’re okay.” Wesley rose slowly to his feet, stretching his back. “Is it all clear up there?”

“It is.” Linc hit the bottom step and squinted toward us. “Lord A’mighty, I’m glad you made it down here. I was just leaving the office when we heard the report of funnel clouds, so I called home to make sure they were taking cover, then the guys and I hightailed it to the interior bathroom.” He glanced at me. “No basement at the office, so that was the safest place. But let me tell you, after spending fifteen minutes in that space with four sweaty, dirty men, I’m putting in a storm cellar just as soon as I can.”

“I bet.” I cleared my throat. “I’d just stopped by the house, and as I was upstairs, uh, talking with Wesley, the power went out and we saw the cloud. Wesley was smart enough to drag me down here.” I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes yet, so I gestured toward him instead. “Note to both of us, Linc—let’s make getting this basement fixed up a priority, okay? I know we put it on the back burner, but if I’d have had to spend any more time down here than I did, I wouldn’t have been very happy.”

Too late, I heard the words that came out of my mouth and realized what they might sound like to Wesley. Shit. That hadn’t been what I meant, but going back now to clarify wasn’t going to help either of us. Linc Turner was a great guy and a hell of a restoration contractor, but I wasn’t in a hurry to share my deepest, darkest secrets with him. He didn’t need to know that I’d been in a lip lock—and more—with one of his employees.

The overwhelming stress of it all—rushing over here to spill my heart to Wesley, the storm, the basement, revisiting our past—not to mention a very hot make-out session with the guy who’d always made my insides go gooey—suddenly rolled over me, and I needed to get out of there as fast as I could.

“The tornado didn’t hit the house, right?” I asked Linc. “Nothing’s damaged? And my car’s okay?”

He shook his head. “Everything’s fine here. There are a couple of branches down, but they didn’t hit anything. The twister passed by about a mile south. Mostly, I think it stuck close to the road, though I heard a couple of farm fields might have been torn up. Let’s hope it was the ones that have already been harvested.”

“Yes, sure, let’s hope,” I babbled. “I better get out of here and check on my friends. Make sure they’re all right.” I skirted behind Linc. “House looks great, Linc. Awesome. Wonderful work. I’ll be in touch.”

With my foot on the bottom step, I paused and finally glanced back at Wesley. “Thank you. For saving me. For getting me down here. For—everything.”

It was too dim for me to make out his expression, but in my mind’s eye, I already knew that he was probably scowling.

“Sabrina—” he began, moving toward me, but I didn’t give him a chance to go on.

“See you all later!”

And then, racing like the devil himself was on my tail, I ran up the steps, through the kitchen and out the door.

Want to know what comes next?

Episode Eight is coming next* Friday, October 15th!*

But . . . Wesley and Sabrina’s HEA will have to wait a bit.

Because it’s time for the tale of

Coral’s movie premiere date!

What about Celeste?

Her romance is revealed in

TITS THE SEASON

which is part of the holiday benefit anthology

TINSEL AND TATAS

Releasing Today!

Wesley

“Are you sure you’ll be all right out here?” Linc raised his voice to be heard over the howling wind that was bending trees outside the house. I peered through the window, frowning at the darkening sky.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I answered. “You need to get home, dude. Not every day your daughter turns seventeen. And I want to finish the trim on the window seat upstairs in the master before I knock off for the day.”

A horn sounded close by, and Linc rolled his eyes. “Hollister needs to keep his pants on. He wants to get back to the shop before it rains—like he thinks he’ll melt.”

“But he’s giving you a lift, so let’s not keep him waiting.” I reached for the doorknob and tugged on it. The wind whipped it out of my hand, throwing it backward, and it might have banged into the wall if I hadn’t caught it.

“Note to self: let’s get those wall guards added sooner than later.” Linc pulled his hat down more securely. “Okay. I’m heading out then. Don’t forget—”

“—to lock up and make sure all the windows are closed and check the tarps on the questionable spots on the roof,” I finished for him. “Got it, boss. Get out of here. And tell your girl I said happy birthday.”

Linc nodded and jogged out to the waiting pickup. I closed the door behind him and then stood for a moment, glancing around the house. It wasn’t often that I had her all to myself. Patting the gleaming banister, I spoke aloud.

“Alone at last, huh, beautiful? Let’s see what I can do to make you even sexier than you already are.”

There was no answer as I climbed the steps, not unless you counted the creaks and groans of the trees. I’d been in plenty of houses where sometimes, I got the sense that I wasn’t quite . . . alone, even when I was. Like most of the guys who routinely worked historical rehabs, I’d had my share of experiences that bordered on the creepy. I didn’t scare easily, and I didn’t have a problem with former residents hanging around to see our work, even if they happened to be spectral. Still, I was vaguely relieved that Sabrina’s house didn’t seem to fall into the possibly haunted category.

Sabrina. I forced away a wince as I thought of her. Last weekend, I’d joined the rest of the crew at the Turner home where we’d all enjoyed a barbecue. Linc had introduced me to his wife Jenna and demanded that I repeat the same history I’d given him—to tell the story of why I’d ghosted on Sabrina back in high school. Apparently, Jenna was friends with Sabrina’s BFF in Burton, the one who owned some kind of store. Linc had slapped me on the back and assured me that he had everything covered—that with his help, Sabrina Hudson would shortly have full knowledge of the truth.

“Does it even matter?” I muttered to myself, taking out a tape measure to check on the length of a piece of trim. “We were kids. We weren’t dating. We weren’t in a relationship. Not even a teenage one.”

***

But even as I spoke those words aloud, I knew I was lying to myself. The night my mom and I had fled the only home I’d ever known, Sabrina had been the one person I’d mourned, the one regret I’d held. I’d missed her keenly for months. And even now, seeing her again reminded me of the deep feelings she’d stirred within me once upon a time.

Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, throwing weird shadows on the opposite wall. It was getting darker and darker, and I paused for a moment, squinting out a nearby window, wondering if maybe I should call it a day. Storms like this weren’t uncommon in the late summer, but this time of year, with autumn in full swing, it was a little more unusual. There was a better than decent chance that the power would go out, and if it did, I wasn’t going to get anything done anyway.

Still, for now, I had electricity and decent light. I dropped to my haunches and laid the strip of trim, examining it with narrowed eyes. When I worked on houses like this, I had an image of what the result should be, and if reality didn’t match my vision, I kept at it until I was satisfied.

I’d just lifted the nail gun and filled it with the tiny finishing nails when I heard a loud bang downstairs. It sounded like the door again and swearing under my breath, I set down the tools and trotted toward the steps. I must not have closed the door all the way, and with gale-force winds like these, I probably should have turned the deadbolt, too.

But I came to a sudden halt when I saw a figure in a bright red slicker climbing up the steps. A wide hood obscured the person’s face, and out of instinct, I reached for the hammer hanging from my tool belt.

“Hey!” I hoped my voice sounded deep and threatening, with none of my trepidation noticeable. “What’re you doing here?”

And then the hood was thrown back, and it was Sabrina standing midway up the stairs. Her face was damp, with drops clinging to her long eyelashes. Blonde hair was plastered to her head. But none of that mattered when I looked in her eyes because for the first time in fourteen years, what I saw there wasn’t hurt or anger or accusation. Instead, I saw a soft eagerness that made my heart stutter.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, slipping her arms from the sleeves of the oversized raincoat. “I wasn’t sure . . . I saw your truck or at least a truck, but I hoped it was yours. Anyway . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I didn’t mean to spook you.”

I spread my hands. “I wasn’t spooked exactly. Just surprised. I thought I was here by myself.” Pointing to the large window downstairs, I added, “I figured no one was fool enough to go out in this crazy weather.”

“Only me.” She offered me a tentative smile, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

“Can I . . . I mean, do you need to see something? Are you here for an update? Linc’s not here, but you can look around, of course. It’s your house.”

“I’m not here to see the house. And I knew Linc had left because I called him on my way over to see if you were working today.” The tip of her tongue darted out to trace the seam of her lips. “I came to see you, Wesley.”

“Me?” I echoed dumbly, frowning. “Why?”

“Because.” She took a deep breath. “I owe you a massive apology, and I didn’t want to wait another hour before I told you how sorry I am.”

I had a pretty good idea of where this was going, but I’ve never been the kind of man to assume thing. “Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t listen to you. I didn’t give you a chance to explain what happened all those years ago back in Wisconsin. I jumped to some pretty shitty conclusions back then, and I never let you tell me the truth. I’m really sorry, Wesley. So deeply sorry.”

I gazed at her without speaking for a long moment. “You had no way of knowing. If you’d vanished on me back then, I’d probably have been a little bitter, too.”

“Probably not,” Sabrina argued. “You’ve always had that thing where you think the best of people. You used to give me more credit than I deserved. I bet if the situation had been reversed, you’d have been nicer to me when we met again, too.”

“Maybe, but—” I shook my head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I accept your apology, Brina girl, if even if I don’t need you to give it to me.”

“Thank you.” She climbed the last few steps until she stood only a couple of feet away from me. “I really missed you, Wesley. Every single day of the rest of high school. Nothing felt right after you were gone. You were my best friend.”

The sad note in her voice cracked me open. “It gutted me to leave you, Brina. But I didn’t have a choice, you know? Mom wouldn’t leave without me. If I’d kicked up a fuss, she’d have gone back to that house, to getting knocked around by the asshole who called himself my father, until he finally killed her—or until I killed him. Either way, it wasn’t going to be a pretty ending. As much as I—cared about you, I couldn’t do that to my mother.”

“I understand that now. Back then, I honestly had no idea.” Sabrina lifted her hand as though reaching toward me, then dropped it back to her side. “Why didn’t you tell me, Wesley? Before then, I mean. Why didn’t you let me know how bad things were at home?”

I rolled my shoulder. “I couldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want your pity, and there was nothing anyone could do—not until we had a way out. And I didn’t want you to look at me differently. You know how you hated being the girl whose mother died? I didn’t want to be the guy whose dad was abusive.”

“I guess I see.” She nodded, lowering her gaze to the floor. A silence stretched between us, and I wondered if Sabrina was thinking the same thing I was—what now?

“Well, I guess that’s all I came to say.” She straightened her spine. “I’ll just—”

A gust of wind rattled the house, making it groan and creak. Then all at once, it was dark, the power cut off abruptly. Sabrina shrieked, and I reached for her, my hands grasping. She leaped into my arms, wrapping herself around me.

“It’s okay.” I ran my hand down her back, offering what little comfort I could even as my body responded to her scent, her soft curves, her very nearness. “Probably the wind blew down a line, and it’ll be fine in just a little bit.”

But my last words were drowned out by a roar like I’d only heard once in my life, and my stomach dropped even before I pivoted to look through the rain-splattered window behind me where, in the black sky, I spotted the unmistakable sight of a funnel cloud.