Chapter 2
Chapter Two
What the ever-loving fuck was this shit?
Brian stood at the kitchen counter, staring out the window at the fire ring where the embers still glowed faintly in the darkness. Tessa had gone to bed an hour ago, retreating to the spare room with a quiet "goodnight" that carried more exhaustion than he'd heard in two syllables before.
He was supposed to share his little cottage with a stranger. A stranger who seemed to think tears fixed everything.
Except that wasn't fair, and he knew it. She hadn't cried to manipulate him. She'd cried because she was at the end of her rope, and he recognized that look. He'd worn it himself not so long ago.
He finished his second beer and set the empty bottle in the sink. Through the wall, he could hear nothing from her room. Either she was already asleep, or she was lying there in the dark, trying to figure out how her peaceful escape had turned into this.
He knew the feeling.
The Calloways had been good to him when he'd first arrived in Copper Moon.
He'd helped them with some repairs around their place, and when they decided to move closer to their daughter in Charleston, they'd offered him the cottage at a price that was more gift than sale.
Mr. Calloway's dementia had been getting worse, and Mrs. Calloway couldn't manage both him and the property anymore.
Brian had been happy to take it off their hands, happy to finally have a place that was his.
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. "
"Got it." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Boots, food, canoe. Anything else?"
"If you run laundry, empty the lint trap. The dryer's old, and I'd rather not burn the place down."
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "I think I can manage that."
He grabbed his keys from the hook by the door. "I'll grab my wallet. Meet you at the truck in five."
They took his truck into town. The cab smelled like cedar and motor oil, scents that had seeped into the upholstery over years of use. Tessa sat in the passenger seat with her hands folded in her lap, watching the lane unwind through the tunnel of trees.
The morning had that late-summer brightness that made everything look freshly washed. A farmer's stand at the bend had crates of tomatoes and sweet corn set out, the colors vivid against weathered wood. Hand-painted signs pointed to orchards and galleries down side roads he'd never taken.
The town came into view all at once, white buildings and bright doors, pennants strung across Main Street like a celebration.
The craft fair had transformed Copper Moon into something out of a postcard.
White tents lined the green. Vendors were already setting up, their tables covered with handmade goods.
The smell of kettle corn drifted through his open window.
Brian found street parking at the far end, closer to the water, and killed the engine.
People were already streaming toward the green with folding chairs and wagons full of kids.
Music drifted from a speaker somewhere, low and cheerful.
The harbor threw light up the street in broken, glittering pieces.
"It's beautiful," Tessa said quietly.
He saw her looking at the town, and something in his chest shifted. "Yeah. It is."
Copper Moon Rentals sat between a bookstore and a chocolate shop, its storefront painted the same cheerful blue as half the shutters in town.
A bell chimed when they stepped inside, and cool air brushed his face.
The office smelled like paper and lemon cleaner, old-fashioned and oddly comforting.
A wall of keys behind the counter made a neat pattern, each one labeled with careful handwriting.
Jake Matthews stood up from a stool behind the counter, his smile quick and apologetic. He was younger than Brian had expected when they'd talked on the phone, maybe mid-thirties, with the kind of earnest face that made you want to trust him even when he'd just screwed up your evening.
"Ms. Callahan. Mr. Knight." Jake gestured toward a small seating area with two chairs and an oval table where a jar of wrapped caramels sat. "Thanks for coming in. Let's make this right."
They sat. Jake slid a stack of papers in front of him and clicked a pen.
"First things first," he said. "The Calloways called me again last night.
They feel terrible about this. We should have been notified about the transfer of ownership sooner.
I understand they sold you the cottage as a way to repay you for the work you did for them.
We weren't made aware of that, hence the rental listing and subsequent rental to Ms. Callahan. "
"Is Mr. Calloway okay?" Tessa asked.
Brian glanced at her, surprised by the question. She didn't know these people. Had never met them. But she asked about the old man's health like it mattered to her.