1. Thea
The first tendrilsof sunlight streamed through my kitchen window as a series of almost barking meows sounded below me.
I sent Moose a warning look. “I’m going as fast as I can.”
It wasn’t good enough. He leapt onto the counter—a feat, considering he now bordered on twenty pounds of beefy glory. He hauled off and smacked my arm with a paw the moment he reached me.
My eyes narrowed on him. “Seriously?”
He simply licked his paw and began washing his face.
“Don’t think I believe that innocent act for one second,” I huffed, mixing his wet food with some dry. When I was done, I carried the plate into his corner of the living room, where I had a place mat and a cat tree. His bell jingled as he hurried to follow.
I bent and lowered the bowl. Moose was on it in a flash, batting my hand out of the way like the vicious little monster he was—but an adorable monster.
As I straightened, my gaze caught on the pen I’d set up for the foster kittens I’d be getting in the next couple of days. The babies had a litter box, heated blankets, and a little house to retreat into. It was the perfect little nook. Something about creating it had soothed me. Making a home for them where they were safe, warm, and happy. It gave me hope.
Even though my world had been torn apart, I could put theirs back together.
Glancing at Moose, I surveyed the bowl. Already almost halfway gone. A true fiend for food. I turned and headed down the hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet.
The old cabin in the Central Oregon mountains had lain vacant for years. As he aged, the previous owner had sold off his land piece by piece. When he finally passed, the house and remaining land had reverted to the state. The house had been so dilapidated that no one wanted it—no one but me.
I’d gotten it for a steal, even if the hot water only lasted four minutes, and the living room floor sloped to the right. The best part about it was that the land was state wilderness or fields used for grazing and stretched as far as I could see. The only visitors I had these days were cows and horses. Just the way I liked it.
The small log cabin was nestled in the forest, but enough of the tall pines around the house had been cleared to let in plenty of light—sunshine that allowed a garden and greenhouse to flourish. But the trees still offered enough protection to make me feel somewhat…safe.
Everything about the home was perfect, and it was only thanks to Nikki that it was even possible. She’d helped me set up a trust to purchase the property. Each month, I mailed her cash hidden in the bottom of a tin of bakery treats, which she then used to pay the small mortgage for me. No trail led back to me—nothing Brendan could trace.
Because I’d all but disappeared.
No email address. No phone number. No cable or computer. No tech of any kind. I’d closed every account and deleted every piece of my digital footprint I had control over.
But there were some I didn’t. Photos and videos of me at my most vulnerable still floated around the internet, and there was nothing I could do about it.
My throat wound tight on instinct as I swallowed down the burn. There was nothing I could do. I’d tried. It would’ve likely taken thousands of dollars I didn’t have for the lawyer fees, and I still wouldn’t have gotten it all. Because bastards in the dark parts of the internet lived to hold those kinds of things hostage.
Instead, I let Selena die. She simply faded away into nothing, each piece of her erased like writing in the sand at high tide. Now, I was Thea. My blond hair had been transformed into a deep brown, and my pale green eyes were now the shade of mud thanks to contacts. No one would recognize me if they’d seen those cruel photos or the handful of shots the paparazzi had snapped of me and Brendan when we were together.
I pulled a brush through my brown locks, checking the roots. I’d need a touch-up this weekend. But I had what seemed like a lifetime of dye in the hallway linen closet. I splashed water on my face and then slathered it in lotion and sunscreen. After my shift at the bakery, I’d head to my gig at the nursery, and the sun could fry you in an hour if you weren’t careful.
Checking my watch, I hurried to dress in jeans and a tee, making sure there were no new holes I’d missed. I slipped on my boots and headed back toward Moose. “You going to behave today?”
The cat meowed from his perch on the tower in front of the window.
“Who am I kidding? You’re always up to no good.” I made quick work of checking the locks on every window, then gave Moose one last scratch.
He did that chattering thing again as I headed for the front door, wanting me to stay put. But he’d be fine. He had cat TV—the massive picture window pointed toward the garden and the forest beyond it.
One day, I’d give him a better view. A giant picture window overlooking Castle Rock or the mountain range to the east. Maybe both.
It was the thing that had stopped me on my road trip escape from LA to Oregon. The breathtaking beauty could freeze you to the spot—the golden statues of Castle Rock and the purplish snowcapped Monarch Mountains. Something about the vastness of it all had made my problems seem small. And the way the small town of Sparrow Falls was nestled into that vastness made me feel safe for the first time since I’d met Brendan Boseman.
I let out a breath as I stepped outside. Even though we were deep into June, the mornings were chilly in the mountains. But the hummingbirds were already out. A smile tugged at my lips as I watched while two deftly navigated the garden to the feeders I’d placed throughout. Something about the creatures and how they hovered and darted touched me. While delicate, they were warriors in their own right. Escaping enemies left and right.
I forced my gaze away, pulling my sweatshirt over my head and turning to lock the door. Some might consider the deadbolt extreme. It didn’t look like a normal lock on a home, and it had taken me months to save up the sixteen-hundred-dollar price tag. But when someone lived through what I had, you did whatever it took to keep intruders from your home. A dozen of these deadbolts wouldn’t be enough.
I knew it was a coping mechanism. Some tiny measure of control when so much of that very thing had been stripped from me. But it helped. The sound of the lock clicking. My keys tucked into my pocket. They were never off my person. Never anywhere someone could lift them and make copies.
Just like I placed alarms on each and every window. Not ones wired to any electronics, just those that would blare a horrendous sound if the windows were opened. You could create your own tech-free alarm system if you were creative enough. And I’d found a book at the library that helped with ideas. Motion sensor lights, window shields that allowed me to see out but prevented anyone from seeing in, and a garden that would tell me if anyone had been in its midst.
It didn’t matter that I hadn’t seen or heard from Brendan in almost two years. The routine was ingrained in me now. And it did soothe. It was more than simply thinking it kept me safe. It was almost like compulsively knocking on wood. The routine kept me safer than the actual locks and sensors did.
Because even though I’d braced my first few months in Sparrow Falls, Brendan hadn’t found me. And as each day passed, a little more traitorous hope filled me that he wouldn’t. That he’d forgotten about me and moved on with his life.
Sliding my keys into my front pocket, I grabbed my helmet. I lived for the months when I could ride my bike into town. It might take me thirty-plus minutes, but it saved on gas, and the trip was also a meditation of sorts—with a stunning backdrop.
Today was no different. I pushed off, riding down the gravel road that would take me to the two-lane highway into town. The cool morning air stung my cheeks, but in a way that reminded me I was alive. I never took those reminders for granted.
As I reached the edge of the forest and rode into the pastureland, a cow let out a bellowing moo in greeting. “Morning, Bessie,” I called back. I had no clue if it was the same cow from yesterday. They all looked identical to me. But they were freaking adorable, just the same.
Turning east toward town, I got my first peek at the breathtaking mountains, just as the sun crested their peaks. The early rays painted the forests and fields in a riot of color—the kind of creation I never would’ve gotten in LA. And that was a gift, too. A path I never would’ve expected but was grateful for all the same.
My bike hit the rumble strip, and I cursed as I righted it. I probably shouldn’t let that gratitude get me killed.
I kept a closer eye on the road for the rest of my trek. It wasn’t long before I reached the outskirts of town. Sparrow Falls was the kind of picturesque place you saw in movies but never thought actually existed. Many of the brick buildings flanking the main street through town dated back to the early nineteen hundreds, but they’d all been painstakingly restored. And new builds had to be thoroughly vetted to ensure they fit with the look of the place.
The community had pride in their town. You could see it in how the flower beds were meticulously maintained at each and every corner of Cascade Avenue. How there was rarely a speck of trash to be found anywhere. But the place had heart, too—the kind that freaked me out at first.
People in LA mostly minded their business. But not here. As you walked by the locals, they greeted you with a hello or a head dip. They offered to help if your hands were full and held doors open if they were in front of you.
Those simple kindnesses made it harder to stay anonymous. Threading the needle between careful and rude was a tricky balance I failed at most days. But a part of me hoped I could finally simply be in this new life.
I pulled my bike to a stop in front of a storefront with huge glass windows and a teal sign above them that read The Mix Up. The letters were perfectly imperfect in a way that represented the chaos of the woman who owned the place. But Sutton’s haphazard energy was only matched by her kindness, and the combination was incredibly endearing.
Locking my bike to a lamppost, I crossed to the door of the bakery and keyed in the code to the electronic lock. It made a whirring sound and then a pop. I pulled it open, the bell overhead tinkling. Strains of country music drifted out of the kitchen, and the space was toasty warm.
“Morning!” I called.
A second later, Sutton appeared in the kitchen entryway. Her blond hair was piled on the top of her head, and she had what looked like a butter knife stuck through the bun to hold it in place. Flour dusted one cheek and speckled her hair, but I didn’t miss the dark circles beneath her eyes.
I had no idea how Sutton managed to get up sometime between three and four every morning to prep the day’s goods. Add on running a business and raising a seven-year-old little boy, and I was pretty sure she was superwoman.
“Morning, Thea. How’s it looking out there?”
“It’s going to be a beauty.”
“Hopefully, that means lots of tourist dollars,” she said with a grin. “I’ve got the bread, scones, muffins, and croissants already out. The sweet and savory Danishes are cooling. And I’m working on the cupcakes now.”
I frowned at her. “How many cups of coffee have you had today?”
Sutton’s lips twitched. “Just a few.”
“Mooooom?” a slurred voice called as footsteps sounded on the back stairs leading to the small apartment above the bakery.
“Right here, baby,” Sutton called, moving toward the little boy’s voice.
He appeared a second later, clad in pajamas covered in hockey pucks and sticks in bright colors. His light brown hair was darker than his mom’s, but they had the same piercing turquoise eyes.
The moment he was within arm’s reach, he launched himself at Sutton. She caught him with an oomph as he nuzzled into her, then rubbed a hand up and down his back. “Sleep good?”
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled.
Sutton bounced him in that soothing way that seemed almost second nature for most mothers. “I swear he’s still half-comatose when he gets up.”
I grinned. “Waking up is hard.” Moving around the two of them, I tickled the little boy’s side. “Morning, Luca.”
“Hi, Thee Thee,” he whispered.
Sutton chuckled. “I’m going to get him ready for camp. You good to handle opening?”
I nodded. “I’ll get the coffee brewing and then switch to cupcake duty.”
“You’re a lifesaver. I’m in the middle of the cookie monster ones.”
“Me want cookie,” Luca mumbled against his mom’s shoulder.
I laughed. “I’ll see if I can finish one in time for you to take in your lunch.”
Luca lifted his head, turquoise eyes colliding with mine as he gave me a sleepy smile. “You’re the best, Thee Thee.”
My heart squeezed. God, the kid was sweet. “You are.”
Sutton gave me a thankful smile as she headed back up the stairs. He was really getting too big for her to be carrying around, but I wasn’t surprised. She was one of the strongest people I knew.
I moved my way through the space. Sutton had done an amazing job bringing it back to life this past year. The walls were a pristine white, but dark, exposed beams soared overhead, and antique, shabby-chic-looking chandeliers illuminated the space. Teal banquettes lined the walls, bringing in a whimsical pop of color.
But the true stars of the show were Sutton’s baked creations. While we carried a wide array of options, she specialized in cupcakes, and each one was a work of art. She had everything from butterflies to rainbows to princesses. And she had themed confections for every holiday. Even freaking Arbor Day.
I got to work brewing our standard decaf and regular in the coffee urns as I hummed along to the country song spilling out of the speakers. I’d never really been a fan of country until I started working here and ended up inundated with it, thanks to Sutton. It was probably more that I hadn’t been exposed until now.
Country wasn’t exactly a staple in LA, and growing up in the valley, it hadn’t been much of a thing there either. Over time, I’d slowly found myself enjoying the storytelling tunes and unique guitar strains. I hummed along as I glanced at the clock. Still fifteen minutes until we had to open.
I moved into the kitchen, the music louder there, and slipped an apron over my head, then quickly washed my hands before grabbing the food dye to turn the white icing blue. A new song came on.
I grinned as I grabbed the large mixing bowl and stirred in the blue coloring, all the while singing along off-key to the lyrics about finally kissing someone new and being unbothered by whatever your ex was up to. God, I longed for that kind of freedom. To remember what it felt like to have my lips tingle from the contact, and a flutter take root in my belly with the excitement of what could be.
“Sounds like tortured cats reaching for those high notes,” a deep voice said, amusement lacing his tone.
The shock of the voice, the deep rasp of it, the presence of it all, had me whirling around. The only problem with that was that the bowl of bright blue icing was still in my hands. When I stopped moving, the frosting did not.
It flew out of the bowl and landed squarely on the chest of the man standing opposite me—chest, because even though I was on the tall side, he was taller, towering over me at what had to be six three or four. A white T-shirt was pulled taut over that broad, leanly muscled chest—one now covered in blue icing.
My mouth went slack as my eyes went up, up, up to collide with now familiar amber orbs that had me sucking in a sharp breath. Eyes that were full of sparkling amusement, but somehow also seemed sharper than others I encountered.
Eyes that made my stomach flip and my pulse thrum faster. Ones that had DANGER in huge capital letters flashing in my mind. So, there was only one thing I could say.
“Oh, shit.”