Chapter 1
Danielle
"Izzy!" My sister's name echoes in my dream before I scream myself awake.
"Elle, wake up!" Tina's concerned voice quickly pulls me out of the nightmare, her hands gently shaking me. "It's just a dream. You're okay."
"I'm okay," I say, wiping the sweat from my brow, trying to ground myself in reality.
"Same dream?" Tina asks, her voice soft as she rubs my arm, offering the comfort I don’t know how to ask for.
"Yeah," I reply, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. "I'm back there again. Izzy’s screaming my name, 'Dani!' over and over, and I can’t do anything to bring her back."
Tina's sympathetic smile doesn’t make the pain go away, but I appreciate the effort.
"Is that why you go by Elle now?" she asks, her voice gentle, like she’s afraid to dig too deep.
I nod, my throat tight. "I couldn’t stand hearing people call me Dani. Izzy was the only one who ever called me that."
Tina’s face softens, her eyes filled with understanding. "What about your parents?"
I shake my head. "They called me Danielle, but they were gone by the time Izzy was learning how to talk. The name was too hard for her to say, so we just went with Dani."
"I know you don't like to talk about what happened," Tina says softly. "But I'm here if you need to."
"Thank you," I reply, offering a small smile. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."
"You’d be living in this big, old house, all by yourself," she says.
"I bought this house with guilt money," I say, the words coming out bitter. "My grandfather didn’t want Izzy and me after Mom and Dad died, but he left me all his money when he passed. The guilt probably killed him. I’d trade it all for Izzy."
She nods, her eyes full of understanding. "I know."
Tina and I met in college, where we shared a dorm and both joined the nursing program.
We got jobs at the same hospital, living in a small apartment when I got the call from the executor of my grandfather’s will.
I was the sole heir to his estate. I dropped everything in California and moved back to Madison.
"I'm going to find her, Tina," I say, my voice steady with the same certainty that’s always fueled my resolve to find Izzy. "I didn’t have the means before, but I do now. God didn’t let a selfish old man like my grandfather leave me all his money only to let it go to waste. I’m going to use it to hire the best private investigator money can buy to track her down. "
Tina sighs, her voice soft with a kind of quiet concern. "Sweetie... it was a closed adoption. Those are like steel safes, locked up forever."
"Money can buy everything," I counter, the fire in my chest still burning bright." All I need is a greedy or needy employee in the right place, and I’ll find her."
"I have an interview at Norton Hospital today," Tina reminds me, a teasing edge to her voice. "I can’t expect you to support me forever."
I laugh, the sound light but full of certainty. "There’s enough money for both of us. And when I find Izzy, she’ll get her half too."
Tina swings her purse over her shoulder and smiles, her eyes knowing. She doesn’t argue—she knows better. No force on earth or in hell is going to stop me from finding my sister.
"Before I go," Tina says, as if recalling something important. "I met our neighbor yesterday."
"Oh yeah?" I say, sensing there’s more.
"He’s gorgeous," she says, giving me a wry smile.
"Six-foot-three, dark brown hair, a perfectly trimmed beard that highlights his strong jawline, a white smile that compels you to smile back, blue eyes that draw you in, and a sexy sleeve tattoo that covers a strong, defined, muscly arm. Lordy, he’s hot! "
"I hear a 'but,' coming" I say, catching the hesitation in her voice.
"He has a kid," Tina says, letting out a dramatic sigh. "If there's a kid, there's an ex. If there's an ex, there's trouble. I don’t do exes, and I don’t borrow trouble. Plus, you know I don't want kids."
I smile and shake my head. "That’s exactly what my grandfather said."
"Stop it!" Tina laughs before opening the door and giving me a quick wave goodbye.
***
As I lace up my running shoes, I glance out the window.
My new home feels like it's set apart from the world.
It's a stately colonial, perched on the outskirts of town, just a stone's throw from a state park.
The house sits on nearly two and a half acres of land—plenty of room to stretch out and breathe.
I smile, remembering how I had to drive down a long, winding driveway that circles the property just to get here.
I grab my phone and head for the door, ready to run, but my thoughts linger on the fact that my nearest neighbor would have to go out of his way to make himself known, yet somehow, Tina already met him.
When I reach the trail, I stop and take a few minutes to stretch my muscles before setting out on my six-mile run. I close my eyes and breathe in the morning air. When I open them, a pair of ocean-blue eyes stares back at me — assessing, probing.
"What the hell?!" I shriek.
"I'm sorry," he says, holding up his hands. "I didn’t mean to startle you. I was waiting for you to finish... meditating, or praying. Whatever it was you were doing."
"It's called breathing," I snap, feeling anything but Zen. In fact, I'm downright annoyed.
A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry."
"You don't look sorry," I point out. "You look satisfied that you scared the bejesus out of me."
"I run these trails every morning," he says, ignoring my irritation. "I don't think I've ever seen you before."
"That's because I've never been here before."
"Ah," he says, his smirk deepening. "That explains it."
"Explains what?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.
"Why I've never seen you before," he says, extending his hand toward me. "You must be my new neighbor."
When Tina said the man had a tattoo sleeve, she wasn't kidding. It stretches from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder, covering every inch of skin — taut muscles and defined veins on full display. I'm staring.
"You like it," he teases, moving his arm so I can get a better look.
"You know," I say, meeting his gaze. "I don't know you, but I'm already pretty sure I don't like you very much."
"Ouch!" he exclaims, clutching his chest in mock offense. "I said I was sorry."
"You're not sorry," I say, lifting an eyebrow. "What you are is cocky, arrogant, and—"
"You don't know me," he says, cutting me off.
"And rude!" I exclaim.
"Like I said," he replies smoothly, "you don't know me."
"I know your type," I snap back.
"Can we start over?" he asks, flashing me a sly smile. "Hi, I'm Cal, your neighbor."
When he stretches out his hand, I shake it—because no matter how much he rubs me the wrong way, I refuse to be what I just accused him of.
"Hi. I'm Elle," I say, pulling my hand back quickly and crossing my arms over my chest like a shield.
"It's nice to meet you, Elle." His eyes dance with mischief, the kind that could wreck a girl's common sense if she isn't careful.
This man is trouble, and he knows it.
"Are you starting your hike," he asks, "or finishing up?"
"I was going for a run," I say.
"This trail’s pretty steep," he notes.
"I can handle it," I snap, hearing the defensiveness in my own voice.
"Care if I join you?" he asks, flashing that devilish smile again.
"I don’t know you," I say, narrowing my eyes. "What if you drag me into the woods and murder me?"
"I'm not going to hurt you," he says, holding up three fingers like a Boy Scout. "Scout's honor."
I give him a long, skeptical look. "You have a kid, don't you?"
"A father can be a killer too," he counters, grinning.
"You're not exactly racking up points," I mutter.
"Why the sudden interest in my kid?" he asks, clearly amused.
"Tina," I say. "My roommate. You met her yesterday. She mentioned you have a child."
"A daughter," he says, and this time the smile he gives is different—soft, genuine. "Hannah. She's five."
I nod, weighing every word. "Okay," I say. "You can join me, but if you try anything, I swear I’ll kick you so hard you’ll be singing soprano for a week."
He laughs. A deep, rich, genuine sound that catches me off guard.
And just like that, I’m smiling too.
Not just with my lips, but somewhere deeper.
Somewhere that hasn’t smiled in ten long years—my heart.
***
"You weren't kidding," I confess, struggling to navigate the rough terrain. "This trail is brutal."
He laughs—a warm, rumbling sound that makes me suspicious.
"What?" I say, narrowing my eyes. "What's so funny?"
"This happens to be the toughest trail in the park," he says, grinning. "If you want to actually run, there’s a six-mile trail we can try tomorrow. Much easier."
"You're horrible," I say, trying—and mostly failing—not to laugh.
"I just wanted more time to talk," he says easily. "Less huffing and puffing from sprinting."
"Tell that to my lungs," I mutter. "They think I would’ve been better off running."
He glances at me then, his gaze lingering just a little too long. "You're in great shape," he says, locking eyes with me.
I arch an eyebrow. "Have you been checking me out, Cal?"
He doesn’t even flinch. "I'm a thirty-two-year-old heterosexual male," he says with a shrug. "I can recognize beauty when I see it. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get the chance to admire it."
"So basically," I say, biting back a smile, "you were checking me out."
"I was absolutely checking you out," he admits, his grin unapologetic.
"Did you check out my roommate?" I ask, more curious than I want to admit—wondering if this is just a habit for him, or if he actually finds me attractive.
"She's not my type," he says, his gaze steady and unflinching.
"And what is your type?" I ask, my voice softer now, almost daring him to say it out loud.
"First," he begins, a teasing glint in his eye, "can we both agree that you and Tina are vastly different in the looks department?"
"Okay," I concede, lifting a brow. "But she's beautiful."
"I agree," he says without hesitation. "Tina's a brunette. I prefer blondes. She's almost six feet tall and kind of... rough around the edges. She's someone I can imagine arm-wrestling."
"What's her eye color?" I ask, genuinely curious if he even noticed.
He pauses, then shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits. "But I know yours. Golden amber, the color of rich tea, with flecks of brown and green. Your hair’s a honey blond, your skin’s pale like porcelain... you're what, five-five? You're delicate. Soft. Feminine."
I feel my cheeks flush under his gaze, intense and unyielding.
"Well, I have you fooled, then," I joke, trying to lighten the thickening air between us. "I'm a great arm-wrestler."
***
On our way out of the park, we pause where our paths split, both of us taking our time as if neither of us wants to be the first to say goodbye. We stretch in silence, the air heavy between us.
"What do you do for a living?" he asks, his voice casual but his gaze sharp. "That house you live in wasn’t on the market for long, and I know what they were asking for it. Besides arm-wrestling, you don’t deal drugs, do you? I've got a kid I need to keep safe."
I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out if he’s joking or serious. "I don’t know whether you’re kidding or not," I say, keeping my tone level. "I'm a nurse, but I’m taking some time off. I inherited money from my grandfather’s estate when he died. I bought the house."
"Why here?" he asks, his expression unreadable.
"It’s as good a place as any," I answer, not quite meeting his gaze.
"I get it," he says, his voice softening. "I’m sorry for your loss. I know it must be hard."
I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. I don’t want to go into it—the fact that I didn’t shed a single tear when I heard my grandfather had died.
That pain is too sharp, too close. Instead, I focus on the path ahead, unwilling to give him a glimpse into the parts of me that I keep hidden from everyone.
"What about you?" I ask, wanting to shift the focus off me.
"I build furniture," he says, his tone matter-of-fact.
"Really?" I can’t help the surprise in my voice.
"Yeah," he responds, shrugging like it’s nothing. "These hands were made for building. Chairs, tables, benches, bed frames. You name it, I craft it. It doesn’t make me rich, but Hannah and I have everything we need. And when I’m gone, I’ll have something to leave her."
I can sense the pride in his words, and for a moment, his cocky demeanor fades into something a little softer. "I’m sure you will," I say with a smile. "Are you working on anything right now?"
"I usually have five or six projects going at once," he says with a shrug. "I’ve got a shop behind the house. I work from home, so I can be there for Hannah full-time."
"Sounds like that's really important to you," I say, my admiration not hidden in my voice.
He nods, his expression softening. "When Hannah’s mom left us, I quit my job and put all my eggs in one basket.
I had to turn what was a hobby into a full-time business.
Hannah’s my priority, and I needed something that would give me the flexibility to be there for her.
It’s not easy being a single dad, but it must be even harder being a kid with only one parent. "
"Yeah," I say, nodding. I know how growing up without a family can scar you, but I keep that part of me hidden, buried deep where it can’t escape. "How long have you two been on your own?"
"Three years," he says. "Hannah was too young to remember her mother, but she still knows something’s missing."
"I'm sorry," I say, forcing a small smile. "Do you have more family here?"
"Yeah," he says, a smile tugging at his lips. "I come from a big family. We’re all here in Madison—three brothers, a sister, mom and dad. Both sets of grandparents live in Florida, but they visit often."
"That's great," I say, feeling the familiar pang of envy tighten in my chest. "Tina comes from a big family too, but they’re all out in California."
"What about you?" he asks, genuine curiosity in his eyes.
"It's just me," I say. "My parents died when I was ten. Car accident."
"I'm sorry," he says, and the way his eyes soften tells me he means it.
"Any siblings?" he asks gently.
"A sister," I say, my voice catching slightly. "I haven’t—"
"Here comes the school bus," he says, cutting in, his tone brightening. "Want to meet Hannah?"