Chapter Two
Mia
The novel in my lap had become nothing more than a prop.
I’d turned to page forty-seven somewhere around two o’clock, and the sun had moved a full hand’s width across the sky since then without me comprehending a single sentence.
Laughter erupted from the neighboring cabin, bright and unrestrained, followed by the opening riff of a song I half-recognized.
I shifted in the chair, tucking one leg beneath me.
Normally, I devoured novels the way other people devoured junk food.
Compulsively, guiltily, and with complete abandon.
Books had saved me as a kid when my mother’s temper flared and the walls of our tiny apartment closed in.
Books had carried me through college after she died, through the grinding loneliness of doctoral work, through Eric’s increasingly obvious disinterest in anything I found meaningful.
But today, this book held all the appeal of a tax form.
The lake stretched before me, its surface hammered gold by the late afternoon sun.
A pair of ducks traced lazy figure-eights near the opposite shore.
The air smelled of warm pine needles and the mineral tang of water baking on stone.
Peaceful. Gorgeous. The kind of setting that should have smoothed every rough edge in my brain.
Instead, I kept hearing Oktober’s voice.
I see an invitation in your gaze, sweet Mia.
He’d seen what I felt and named it out loud, and rather than making me feel exposed, his honesty had felt like relief.
Like hearing someone speak a language I’d forgotten I understood.
I closed the book and set it on the arm of the chair and surrendered to the distraction.
From the neighboring cabin, someone turned up the music.
The bass thumped through the tree line, accompanied by the clink of bottles and a burst of feminine laughter that sounded so free it made my chest ache.
I caught myself absently tracing the small tattoo on my inner wrist. A single word in my mother’s handwriting, lifted from the one birthday card she’d ever given me. Read.
My mother couldn’t read, but she’d demanded I learn.
Insisted on it with the same fierce, uncompromising force she’d applied to everything in her short life.
The irony of her handwriting permanently etched into my skin never escaped me.
She’d copied that word from a children’s book, letter by letter.
She said the shapes that held no meaning for her were the key to my future.
I pulled my gaze from the tattoo and stared at the tree line again.
I’d made a promise to myself, sitting in this very chair two nights ago.
No more leaving things on the table. No more not appreciating what each day had in store for me…
And yet here I sat, alone on my porch, turning down invitations from people who seemed genuinely kind because…
why? Because the last people I’d trusted had shattered me?
Because I didn’t trust my own judgment anymore?
Another woman’s laugh rang out from the neighboring cabin, and I found myself leaning toward the sound like a plant desperate for sunlight.
That’s when I noticed two figures emerging from the tree-shadowed path that connected our stretch of shoreline cabins.
They moved at an unhurried pace, the taller one slightly ahead, her stride fluid and purposeful.
Chestnut brown hair hung in a loose braid over one shoulder, and she carried a covered dish in both hands.
Behind her walked a smaller woman with hair the color of autumn leaves, a deep red-orange that caught the last of the afternoon light and turned it to copper.
She held a bottle of something in one hand, her other arm wrapped across her own midsection, her posture closed and watchful.
I straightened in my chair. The taller woman spotted me first and lifted her chin in greeting, her expression open and easy. The redhead’s gaze found mine a few seconds later and she gave me a smile as open and friendly as her counterpart’s.
“Hey there.” The taller woman reached the foot of my porch steps and stopped, giving me the choice of distance. Smart. “I’m Ada. We’re staying next door.”
“Mia,” I said, and my voice came out steadier than I expected. “Are you friends of Oktober’s?”
“We are. Oktober mentioned you were here by yourself,” Ada said, lifting the covered dish slightly. “And I made way too many burgers and dogs. It’s a curse. I can’t cook for fewer than twelve people. My brain just won’t do the math, and I wasn’t wasting the extra meat.”
The aroma hit me then, rich and savory, threading through the pine-scented air. Beef. Onions. Something herby and deep that made my stomach clench with sudden, desperate hunger. I’d eaten a granola bar for breakfast and half a sandwich for lunch. And, oh, my God, my mouth watered.
“That smells incredible,” I said, and meant it.
“It tastes even better.” Ada climbed the steps without waiting for a formal invitation. She set the dish on the small table between the porch chairs. “There’s enough for tonight and tomorrow if you pace yourself. Which I never do, but I’m told it’s possible.”
The redhead had followed Ada up the steps. The bottle turned out to be a nice-looking red wine, which she placed on the table next to the plate of burgers and hotdogs without comment.
“This is Violet,” Ada said, gesturing.
Violet gave me a nod, and a bright smile. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I said. “Please. Sit down. Both of you.”
“So,” Ada began, handing me a paper plate for my food, “Oktober told us you were over here being stoic and independent, and the women collectively decided that wouldn’t stand.”
I huffed a laugh. “He said that? Stoic?”
“His exact words involved something German that I think translates to ‘stubborn little mountain goat,’ but I might be paraphrasing.” Ada’s grin held genuine mischief. “He meant it as a compliment. I think.”
Despite everything, despite my bruised heart and my instinct to keep the world at arm’s length, I felt the tight thing in my chest loosen a fraction.
“Mountain goat. That’s a new one.” We laughed as we ate, and I found I enjoyed myself more than I had in a very long time.
They put me at ease, and I found I really wanted to know more about them.
“Do you mind if I ask a personal question?” I smiled, trying to be polite.
“Absolutely.” Ada’s smile didn’t falter.
“Is your club really associated with Haven in Nashville?”
Ada nodded. “Yes. It’s our most important project.”
“I’ve heard nothing but good things from everyone I know who’s had to use your services. One of my kindergartners. Her mother told me it saved their lives.”
Violet’s gaze softened and she looked a little haunted. “They’re the best people, Mia. I know firsthand because my son, Caleb, and I had to stay with them for a while. So did Penny and her girls before Tiny took them on.”
“Isn’t Haven for abused women and children?”
“It is.” Violet looked at me serenely. “The guys in the club saved more than one of us. All of them are so protective and, to be honest, we have them all wrapped around our little fingers.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That surprises me.”
“Really?” Ada gave me a confused look. “Why?”
“I mean, I know it’s a stereotype and I shouldn’t make assumptions, but I never really thought of bikers as the type of people to let women wrap them up.”
Both women laughed merrily. Obviously, they adored their men and the rest of the club.
I envied their happiness. “The thing about this bunch of guys,” Violet explained, “is, yeah, they’ve all done some serious prison time.
Some of them have killed. But there were altruistic reasons in most cases.
Well, the violent cases anyway. They’re good guys.
And they love women.” They both giggled again. I found myself smiling with them.
“And the bikers don’t scare the women?” I asked, then immediately wished I could snatch the question back. It sounded presumptuous.
But Ada just shrugged. “Some, at first. The fear never lasts long, though, because they have a way of charming their way into your heart. That and they’re protective to a fault. Also, with the guys visible, it tends to deter anyone stupid enough to come looking for a resident.”
“They’re exactly who they appear to be,” Violet said. “No pretense. No performance. Just exactly what you see.”
Ada stretched her legs out, crossing her ankles.
“So. We’re doing a bonfire tonight. Down by the water.
” She delivered this information with studied casualness, examining her fingernails as though the invitation carried no weight at all.
“Oktober may have strongly suggested -- and by strongly suggested I mean borderline begged -- that we invite you.”
Heat climbed my neck and flooded my cheeks before I could stop it. I felt it spreading like a visible confession, turning my skin pink from collarbone to hairline.
Ada caught it and her lips curved into a knowing smile, the amusement of a woman who recognized and understood attraction and its inconvenient timing.
Violet’s mouth twitched at the corner. The barest hint of a smile. “Oktober’s not subtle.”
“I don’t want to intrude on your vacation,” I started, deploying the same deflection I’d used on Oktober. It sounded even weaker the second time around.
“Honey, there’ll be so many people coming and going while we’re here, one more person, especially if they’re as sweet and kind as you, won’t be an intrusion.
If anything, we’re the ones intruding on your peace and quiet.
The guys and their old ladies are taking turns coming out so they always have someone at Haven.
A few of us will be here the entire time, but mostly, everyone will be filtering in as they can.
” Ada leaned forward, elbows on her knees.
“You’re sitting alone on a porch not reading a book and eating a picnic brought to you by strangers. You want to come. Just say yes.”
I found a smile tugging at my lips and threw caution to the wind. “What time?” I asked.
Ada’s grin spread wide and genuine. “The second you’re ready. Come as you are. Nobody dresses up.”
I watched them as they left, following the path through the wooded divider. Their voices drifted back to me, too low to make out words but happy and friendly all the same.
I sat at the table, the unopened bottle of wine catching the light.
The lake had begun its evening transformation, gold deepening toward amber, shadows stretching long and dark from the pines.
From the neighboring cabin, someone had switched the music to something slower.
Blues guitar, maybe. Soulful and unhurried.
My phone sat inside on the kitchen counter, still powered off.
I hadn’t turned it on since the first night.
Didn’t want to. Whatever Eric and Jade had to say existed in a different life.
There were no creepy vibes to this group.
I only knew them by reputation, but by all accounts, they really were good people.
Decision made, I took a breath and smiled.
I felt lighter somehow, like I’d finally given myself permission to experience life.
I’d go to this little party and give them a chance.
For once, I refused to overthink my actions.
I wanted this moment in the moonlight with a sexy man.
Then, maybe I could start something new.