Chapter One
Rowan
"Mr. Pierce, it's good to see you again." I stuff my work gloves into my back pocket before reaching my hand out to shake Mrs. Chambers' outstretched one.
"Hey, Mrs. C. How have you been?" She smiles warmly before looking down at the stack of papers she's always carrying around and back up to me.
"Same, still buried under a mountain of papers and loving every minute of it."
I laugh because most people would hate the amount of paperwork she has to do on a daily basis, but I guess when it's for a good reason it makes it a whole lot more tolerable. "Got a place to put me in there?" I nod toward the stack.
"I always have a place for you, Mr. Pierce. You know that."
"Call me Rowan, Mrs. C. Mr. Pierce is my dad."
She cocks her head to the side before turning and walking down the short hallway to her office. "I'll think about it, but I'm rather fond of Mr. Pierce. Seems fitting with those little grey hairs you have coming up on your chin."
I jerk to a stop, my hand immediately going to the short but trim beard covering my face, suddenly self-conscious. "I do not have grey hairs."
Mrs. C snickers before pulling out her squeaky office chair. "Relax, child, I was just messing with you. You just have the one."
She has a mirror hanging on one of her walls in the small but quaint office. I practically run to it. I tilt my head up, inspecting the area for any signs of a grey or white hair because that shit is about to get plucked right the hell out.
I'm too young for that shit.
I turn my head every which way, my fingers frantically running through the coarse brown hair, but I don't see anything.
That snicker of hers has turned into a full-blown cackle. "You make this too easy," she says between fits of laughter.
"Are you pulling my chain right now, Mrs. C?" What a sly little minx ol' Mrs. C is turning out to be.
She has to be in her late fifties, with a full head of grey hair that's always styled in tight curls. The fine lines surrounding her eyes and mouth tell me she's not afraid to laugh or smile, the kind that only comes with a life well lived.
"Of course not, Mr. Pierce. I know what I saw." She manages to keep a straight face this time, but barely.
Mrs. C and I have gotten to know each other pretty well over the past few weeks, ever since I volunteered with Stella and Wyatt to help build a house for displaced women and children.
My stomach dips a little at the thought of Stella. I quickly push away the feeling that I've unfortunately become very accustomed to ever since I decided—against my better judgment—to fall for a girl who was in love with another guy.
Stupid, I know.
A lot of shit went down in a matter of a few weeks. Things I would rather not think about right now because if I do, I'll end up punching a hole in Mrs. C's wall.
I like her too much to risk messing up her office that I know is her home away from home.
See, Mrs. C here runs the whole thing, she tells the volunteers when and where to show up, orders supplies, and manages the work crews outside of the volunteers.
It's a massive job, one that she does almost flawlessly. She's one of the most selfless people I've ever had the pleasure of getting to know.
And she's been a saving grace for me, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't even realize it.
This year has been hard.
When I say hard, I mean that I was in a horrific car crash with my best friend's girlfriend earlier this year.
My car went over a bridge railing and into the icy river below.
I barely made it out of the car in time to save myself and Lily, my best friend's girlfriend—but when I pulled her out of the car and dragged her to the riverbank, she wasn't breathing.
I spent twenty minutes performing CPR before my best friend, Luka, showed up to help me. Between the two of us, we were able to bring her back, but I haven't been the same ever since.
That day fucked with my head in more ways than one. I used to be the carefree guy everyone loved to be around. My nickname is Lucky Charm because everyone, including my whole family, says I possess an unnatural amount of luck.
But I don't feel fucking lucky anymore. Everything in my personal life seems to be falling apart.
The only time I felt understood was with Stella Russo, my best friend's sister. I didn't have to fake a smile or pretend I was that same carefree dude everyone loved.
I could just be myself and I foolishly mistook that for love.
But like I said, my luck must have run out because she didn't feel the same. And here I am, still floundering, still feeling like I want to crawl out of my own skin.
The noise in my head never stops.
It only grows louder.
At some point, it's going to be the only thing I can hear.
I blink because I realize Mrs. C just asked me a question, and I have no idea what she said.
"Sorry, can you repeat that?" I plaster on one of those fake smiles, hoping it's enough for her to forgive my rudeness.
Her eyebrows pull together slightly as she studies me. I hope she doesn't ask if I'm okay.
I'm tired of lying.
I just want to lose myself in the steady rhythm of a hammer and the noise of a saw. Maybe, just maybe, it will finally drown out all this other noise in my head.
"I have two you can choose from. Do you have a preference on where?"
I'm already shaking my head, "Send me where I'm most needed."
Her smile is soft and genuine, "Good, then I have just the one!"
She hands me the info on where to go, and I don't even bother looking. I'd drive halfway across the state if it meant I even had a small chance of suffocating this feeling deep in my chest that has become my constant companion.
I smile and thank her before standing and leaving, my steps lighter than they've been all week.
I can't fucking wait to get my hands dirty and hopefully feel normal again. Even if it's only temporary.
As soon as the cold water hits my tongue, I close my eyes and sigh. I was so absorbed in the work that I forgot to take water breaks all morning. When they sounded the horn that lunch was ready, it was the first time I stopped hammering and realized just how thirsty I was.
I hear a timid giggle to my left. I ignore whoever it is as I continue to guzzle my water bottle until it’s empty. I pull it back and look at it, turning it from one side to the other and then upside down to see if I can squeeze any more water out of it. Damn, it really is empty.
Just before I contemplate getting up to get more, I hear another giggle followed by a sigh right before a full water bottle is shoved in my face.
“Here, take this.”
My gaze swings over to find a girl that looks like she’s no more than twenty. She’s little, no more than five-foot-two, petite with wild light brown curls that frame her honey-brown eyes. She’s got a cute little pert nose that’s pink from the cold, with full, pouty lips that look damn kissable.
She shakes the water bottle in my face again when I don’t immediately grab it.
“Here, take it. I’ve got plenty.” She gestures over to where she must have been sitting. There’s got to be at least ten water bottles stacked neatly in a small cooler bag that’s unzipped next to a bench.
My eyebrows go to my hairline as a surprised laugh pops free. “No shit. You certainly came prepared.” I reach out and take the water bottle that she’s still holding in the air in front of my face.
She shifts and reaches up to push her curly locks off her face. “Better to be prepared than caught with your pants down.”
I almost choke on the water I just took a sip of. “Do you get caught with your pants down often?”
She shrugs, the gesture carefree and light. “Last week I was in charge of bringing all the bingo cards for the weekly library meet-and-greet for singles over sixty. I might have forgot the bingo card part.”
A surprised chuckle bubbles up from the base of my throat. It breaks through before I have a chance to stifle it. “For real?”
She nods, her plump lips puckering in the cutest little pout. “Yep. Needless to say, they aren’t putting me in charge of that again anytime soon.”
I shake my head, bewildered. Who is this chick? “So what’s that leave you in charge of then?”
She comes and sits next to me on the bench, angling her body toward mine. “That leaves the numbered balls, which Annette already has on lockdown, and the daubers.”
“What about the little spinney thing the balls go in?”
“Oh! The bingo cage. Nope, that’s out too because Mark has been in charge of that one for ages.”
This chick is cracking me up. What’s a young, spry twenty-something-year-old doing running a meet-and-greet for singles over sixty? “So that leaves the daubers—those are the marker things, right?”
She nods her head, “Yeah, I suppose I could make a play for those, but that means taking John out, and I kind of like him, so—”
“Oh, I know what that leaves,” I say, as a sly smirk makes its way across my face.
Her eyes light up, turning a warm honey color. “Pray tell.”
My eyes crinkle with mischief. “Vanna White it.”
“Ohhh! I like where this is going.” Her index finger comes up to tap her chin.
“I could totally do that. Put on a sparkly dress, maybe some heels.” Her face scrunches up into an adorable little pout before she says, “Maybe scratch the heels part. I definitely need to work on my hand motions though.” She suddenly pops up from the bench and stands in front of me.
Her left hip juts out as her hands wave erratically in the air.
I can’t help the smile that consumes my face. She’s so fucking weird, but I think I kind of like it. I start shaking my head. “Not like that. Slow and fluid motions. You really gotta sell it.”
Her eyebrows pull together with a level of concentration that surprises me but also has me cracking up. She places her right foot out in front of her demurely, then one arm comes up in a slow dance, her wrist extending out until she’s almost perfectly mimicking a Vanna White pose.
I clap, enjoying her antics. When she bows, I place my thumb and index finger in my mouth and let out a low whistle of approval. “Bravo, bravo.”
Her bow turns into a curtsy. “Thank you, thank you, kind sir.”
When she sits, she turns toward me once again. “What’s your name?”
“Rowan.”
Her hand juts out in front of me once again, taking me by surprise. “Rowan, I’m Millie. It’s very nice to meet you.”
I look down at her hand, then my gaze finds hers as our palms connect. I shake off the little zing that traces up my arm at the contact and smile at the slightly wacky, maybe a little crazy girl named Millie.
Her eyes twinkle, and her smile is wide as she shakes my hand up and down. Something in my chest loosens—that suffocating feeling eases for just a moment.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Millie,” and I actually mean it.