Chapter Five
Nate
I’d just dismissed the chef for the night and walked him to the door when my phone buzzed.
For a second, I thought about ignoring it, but I let the chef out and glanced at the screen.
Not a number I knew. Usually, I answered.
Few people had this line, and those who did were worth my time.
But tonight wasn’t about business. It was about Jo.
I returned to the dining room and noted the crisp white linen, the perfectly set table, the candles waiting to be lit. Was it all necessary? No. But I’d curated my life with the same precision I expected my tailor to use when cutting my suits. Quality was in the details.
With a few minutes to spare, I wandered into the old study. It was just as I remembered. Dark wood, classic novels mixed with modern autobiographies. I ran my fingers along the shelves, wondering what Silas had seen in these stories that made him keep them.
When curiosity finally won, I crossed to the desk and sank into Silas’s leather chair. He’d walked away from the family business to farm? That had never made sense.
I opened a few drawers, then closed them again. It felt wrong to rummage through the life of a man I’d barely known. That’s when I noticed the photo. Me outside the barn, ten years old, looking nothing like the city boy I was.
My gaze shifted to the cabinet behind it. Inside, resting like an artifact, was a scuffed leather bag.
My old bug-out bag.
I remembered packing it when my father announced we were “vacationing” with Uncle Silas in New Hampshire. Even then, I’d sensed it wasn’t a vacation. My gut had been right.
Giving in to curiosity, I pulled the item out and dropped it on the desk. “Let’s see what scared little Nate thought he needed to survive the White Mountains.”
The zipper fought me but finally gave. Inside: a corroded flashlight, a dull pocketknife, a melted candy wrapper stuck to a granola bar wrapper.
I almost laughed. Ten-year-old me. Rich kid from the city.
Trying to prepare for a “fun adventure” that even Dad looked reluctant to take.
My mother had announced she’d stay behind.
At the bottom sat a small notebook.
I flipped it open. The first pages were a mess. Skyscrapers like weapons, pencil gouged deep enough to tear the paper. But as I turned the pages, the lines softened. A hawk. A pond. Trees. A barn filled with poorly drawn horses.
Each image pulled loose another memory: Silas walking me through that same empty barn, sunlight slanting through the boards, the smell of dust and wood. He’d asked me to draw his “future horses,” swearing maybe they’d show up if I did.
And they had. Years after I left.
Thunder and Lightning.
I shut the notebook hard, my pulse tight in my throat. For a second, I could hear my father’s voice again, arguing with Silas the day he’d come to collect me. I’d wanted to stay and I’d said it. Maybe that’s why the memory still stung.
I replaced the bag in the cabinet and looked around the study once more. How had Silas ended up here? Everyone said he’d chosen this life, but for the first time, I wondered if my dad had driven him out. If this place had been a refuge more than a dream.
The doorbell rang, saving me from my own damn thoughts.
I forced myself to walk. Don’t run, Keaton. And opened the door.
Jo stood there in jeans, a coat, scarf loose, hair pulled back, eyes both daring and uncertain. A contradiction that made me want to kiss her senseless and swear I’d help her whatever way I could.
“Come in,” I said, voice rougher than I liked.
She hesitated. “You changed into another suit.”
“I did.”
Her gaze flicked around the foyer, noting the quiet. “Is anyone else here?”
“No.”
“Oh. Okay.” She stepped past me, hands tucked into her pockets like armor. “I didn’t change my mind about not going anywhere.”
“Good.” I placed a hand on her lower back, felt tension humming beneath the fabric. “I had a meal prepared for us.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is that what you call ordering in?”
“I’ll take your coat,” I said instead.
She turned. Her hair brushed my wrist as I slid the coat from her shoulders. Simple. Efficient. Electric.
I folded it over my arm and took her in. The conservative long sleeve shirt that was effortlessly sexy. “Are you hungry?” I asked.
“That’s why I’m here,” she said.
I smiled. “Okay.”
She fell into step beside me, looking wary but curious. “Since I know where everything is, I can help you set the table.”
“That’s unnecessary. The service handled all of it. They’ll even clean up.”
She frowned. “How’d you convince someone to come all the way out here?”
“I paid them well.”
Her brows shot up. “Of course you did.”
“I hear he’s exceptional.”
“Yeah, well, so’s Tony. He runs the pizza place five miles from here and makes a Greek salad that could change your religion.”
I couldn’t help the grin. “Hopefully tonight’s meal lives up to your standards.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Competitive, even when there’s no reason to be?”
The truth of it hit harder than I expected. “There’s no shame in wanting to be and have the best.”
“And what if your definition of the best isn’t mine?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re digging for.”
She searched my face before saying, “You and I are very different people.”
“That much was instantly obvious.”
She smirked. “What a dick thing to say.”
I should’ve been offended. Instead, I laughed but without humor.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like the one in control. And I liked it.