Mended Fences (Sable Point #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

ELENA

Every day, I woke up and chose happiness.

Correction.

Every day, I woke up and forced happiness.

In truth, happiness had eluded me for months, despite all I had to be grateful for.

Including my best friend Tessa, who was sitting across from me at The Bean Counter looking devastatingly chic in a burnt-orange turtleneck. Her blonde hair was up in a messy ponytail, and her green eyes sparkled beneath long, mascara-swept eyelashes.

I, on the other hand, wore teal scrubs, hadn’t washed my hair in days, and felt bloated as hell.

But that didn’t stop me from shoving another piece of coffee cake in my mouth.

The Bean Counter was a Sable Point institution, wedged between Callaghan’s—the dingy dive bar where so many of my problems started—and the real estate office on Main Street.

Its faded green awning collected snow like powdered sugar.

Through the frost-edged windows, Lake Michigan was a steel-gray smudge on the horizon, and its waves churned white beneath a pewter December sky.

Inside, the ancient radiators hissed and clanked, fighting against the winter wind that seeped through the original 1920s storefront windows.

The little brass bell above the door chimed constantly as the morning regulars stamped in from the cold.

The place smelled like it always did—fresh coffee, butter-soaked pastries, and the ghost of wet wool from people shaking snow off their coats.

I’d moved here in April, when the apple trees were just starting to bloom and hope felt as fresh as spring air.

It had just started to feel like home when everything went to shit.

Eight months ago, I would have told you Sable Point was my fresh start.

Now, watching fat snowflakes swirl past the window and pile up on the empty sidewalks, it was my fresh hell.

“This is so good,” I said around a mouthful of the decadent pastry. “Unfortunately, it’s gonna go straight to my ass.”

Tessa laughed but was quick to scold me. “Oh, please. You look incredible.”

If I could have chosen to be in love with her, I would have. She would, without a doubt, have caused me less heartache than the men in my life.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Fine,” I lied. “Tired.”

Tessa’s green eyes narrowed as she studied my face. “Fine? Really?”

Damn her. No one could read me as well as she could. Except maybe him.

I shrugged, picking at a loose thread on my scrub pants.

“Three more days,” she said.

“Three more days,” I echoed the words on a sigh.

“Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

“Right now, I’m going to go home and go to bed.” My jaw cracked with a long yawn. “I can’t wait to be done with night shifts.”

“It’s good practice.” Tessa beamed.

“That’s true.” I could’ve sworn my wince was internal, but Tessa’s abrupt change of topic had me questioning my poker face.

“How’s the house?”

“It’s good. Coming along.” I’d ditched the little rental cottage I’d escaped to when I first moved to town and finally bought a place of my own.

“Do you need any help getting things set up?”

“No. Thanks, though. It’s keeping me busy. Distracted.” From the memories—both good and bad. From the fear that followed me from Detroit like a ghost.

“Okay, well, if you need anything—”

“I know where to find you.” The words came out sharper than I intended them to. My best friend meant well, and she’d been nothing short of amazing as she helped me navigate the past few months.

“Think about coming to brunch Sunday, okay? It’ll be easier with family around.”

She was wrong, but I wouldn’t tell her that. Nothing would make this reunion easier. Not even Tessa’s well-meaning attempts to surround me with love.

“I’ll think about it,” I lied again. I gathered my dirty plate and napkin to take to the trash then climbed out of the booth. Everything ached.

My back.

My feet.

My heart.

I’d kill for a scalding hot bath, but lukewarm would have to do.

“I love you, lady.” Tessa pulled me into a tight hug that made me wince.

“Love you, too. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Five minutes later, I was climbing out of my Volvo SUV and trudging through the snow toward the back door.

The key stuck in the lock like it always did, requiring the special wiggle-and-curse combination I’d perfected over the last few weeks.

My new house—still strange to think of it that way—sat on Oakpoint Road, three blocks from the lake.

It was a decent-sized Victorian painted a faded shade of blue that reminded me of robins’ eggs with good bones and bad wallpaper.

The previous owners had called it a “charming fixer-upper.”

The realtor had called it “a steal.”

I called it my hideaway.

Inside, I kicked off my highly attractive work clogs next to the cardboard boxes that still lined the hallway—the ones I’d promised myself I’d unpack days ago.

The wooden floors creaked under my tired feet as I made my way through the kitchen, past where I’d at least managed to set up my coffee maker.

Essentials first.

The December wind rattled the original windows as I walked down the hall toward the guest bath.

I really needed to call that handyman Tessa recommended.

What was his name? Mike? Mark? Clark? The business card was somewhere in my purse, buried under hospital cafeteria receipts and Ginger Chews wrappers.

With the divorce finally settled last month, I could actually afford to hire help now. He would have known exactly who to call about these drafty windows, but... Well, that wasn’t an option right now. Instead, I opened my phone and added Call Handyman to my ever-growing to-do list.

It could wait until after I’d slept.

Everything could wait until after I’d slept.

I peeled away my scrubs, leaving them in a heap on the bathroom floor. The clawfoot tub beckoned, its vintage charm one of the reasons I’d fallen in love with this place. But no hot baths. Not yet. Not for a while.

Instead, I turned the shower to lukewarm, letting out a resigned sigh as I stepped under the tepid spray.

Here, hidden behind a damask-printed shower curtain, I could let the mask slip. Could let the pain of the festering wounds get the better of me and let the tears fall. No one would ever know.

Soon, though, things were bound to change—I just wasn’t sure which way they’d go.

Three more days. Just three more days, and then... what?

My phone pinged from the vanity, snapping me back from my moment of self-pity. I made quick work of washing my hair—because, let’s be honest, it was getting gross—and my face, resigning to do the full soap and shave shower before my next shift.

With the water turned off, I stepped out of the tub and toweled off. The bathroom mirror was still fogless as I wrapped myself in the fluffy robe Tessa had given me as a housewarming gift. I checked my phone and read the awaiting text.

RHETT [10:10AM]

How ya doin today?

I smiled to myself, even though I hated that he felt like he had to check in on me daily.

Padding down the hall toward my bedroom, I typed out a quick response.

I looked forward to the day when my master bath was remodeled and I could avoid these long, frigid hallway walks between the shower and bed.

ELENA

I’m fucking exhausted.

How are you?

RHETT

Workin hard. Miss you.

See you in a couple weeks?

ELENA

Absolutely. Can’t wait.

In my room, the mattress and box spring were stacked directly on the floor—I hadn’t gotten around to assembling the bed frame yet—but I’d splurged on expensive sheets. Another essential.

From my bedroom window, I could just make out a sliver of Lake Michigan between the neighboring houses, its waters dark and restless under the winter sky. Eight months ago, any view of the lake had felt like possibility. Now it felt like—

A car door slammed somewhere outside, and I jumped, my heart racing. But it was just Mrs. Stacey next door, coming home with her groceries. Just like she did every Tuesday at this time.

Normal. Predictable. Safe.

I was safe here.

Wasn’t I?

Truth be told, I hadn’t felt safe for months—not since I was wrapped in the strong arms of the man I loved.