Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
HAZEL
Star Falls—population: still too damn small
On my personal list of terrible ideas, moving back to Sonoma County ranked somewhere between cutting my own bangs and texting my ex after midnight.
I’d called it a new beginning, like that made it less terrifying.
In reality, I’d come back for a do-over I wasn’t sure I deserved, complete with small-town drama, unavoidable awkward run-ins, and of course… Tucker Colburn.
Nope. Not going there. Not when the sun was shining and I had a piping-hot breakfast burrito made by my friend Penny at her café, Redwood Roost. I took another bite and moaned. Nobody, and I mean nobody, could make a breakfast burrito like Penny. Served all day, no questions asked.
Take that, McDonald’s.
Cruising down Main Street, I had the windows down and music up, and the late-summer air carried the scent of Monterey pines, eucalyptus, and just enough exhaust to keep it real.
I stuffed another bite in my mouth and sighed in pleasure at the symphony of fluffy eggs, crispy bacon, and melty cheese on a toasted roll.
Pure bliss.
It should’ve been smooth sailing. Still, anxiety wormed in like a splinter you couldn’t remove.
Here I was, on my way to work. I’d become the proud (if slightly frazzled) owner of Pierce Custom Woodworks, fighting to lift it off the ground since my return.
Sure, I’d nabbed a few small gigs, but around Star Falls, I was still the infamous teen terror, not exactly the poster child for trust.
I had two contracts at the moment, one of them with Colburn Restorations, which meant every site visit was basically emotional Russian roulette. Would today be the day I ran into him?
Tucker.
Not if I saw him first. I mean, looking at his ridiculously hot self whenever I caught sight of him was bad enough. But having to talk? No. I still couldn’t even say his name out loud without something sharp pressing behind my ribs.
Tucker was exhibit A for a good guy with an asshat streak. He had presence, the kind that drew attention without even trying. Add in a boatload of annoying charisma. And then there was his smile, the one that made you want to slap it off his face one second and kiss it the next.
Teenage me had wanted to do both.
Teenage me had done both…
But I’d left him in my rearview a long time ago.
A car coming the other way on the narrow two-lane highway drifted over the line far enough to have me grinding my teeth as I swerved. My sunglasses slipped and my burrito wobbled.
Sophie’s Choice, breakfast edition: my sunglasses or the burrito.
That was easy. My glasses hit the floorboard like a sacrifice to the highway gods. But the burrito? Secure. And still glorious. I took another huge bite as I settled back into my lane and…dribbled hot sauce down the front of my white tee.
I looked like a walking crime scene.
This didn’t stop me from taking another bite because this burrito was better than sex.
At least from what I remembered. I was thinking about that and wondering if my lady bits still worked when a wasp flew into my work van like it owned the place, legs dangling, wings buzzing, buggy eyes locked on mine.
Someone screamed.
Spoiler: It was me.
I panicked and did the only logical thing. I threw my burrito at it.
The wasp ducked.
Ducked.
Then dove straight for my face, its demon eyes narrowed in battle mode.
My brain slammed the red panic button. Full system shutdown.
There was a sharp pain right between my eyes, my tires squealed, and then a gentle but still jarring impact.
Almost in slow motion, my van tilted, then lurched, sliding down a slope like a rickety carnival ride and straight into Star Falls Creek.
What if I drown? What if no one even notices?
What if I never get the chance to right my wrongs?
The van thunked to a stop in the center of the creek. I braced for a rush of water, already making a plan: Break the window, crawl out, swim to shore, go straight to the convenience store for chocolate as a reward for surviving.
But…no water poured in. The creek fed into the Russian River, which in turn dumped into the Pacific Ocean. At any other time of year, the creek would’ve been raging, but because it was late summer, it was barely a few feet deep.
I wasn’t going to drown.
Yet.
My head spun, and I sucked in a breath. Right. I had a big problem, a really big problem, and it wasn’t that I’d tried to submerge my van.
I’d been stung right between my eyes, and…I was allergic to wasps. Already, my tongue felt thick, like it belonged to someone else.
I had maybe ten minutes.
I fumbled to release my seat belt, then hesitated. My work tools were in the back. All my custom gear, from molding blades to trim templates to specialty wood bits I couldn’t afford to replace. Everything that made my business possible.
If I opened the door and water rushed in, I’d destroy it all. So I grabbed my backpack, climbed out the window, and dropped into the water. It lapped at my calves, cold and real.
Too shaky to make it to shore, I climbed onto the hood, heart racing like a drum solo, vision tunneling.
I was on borrowed time.
I shoved my hand into the front pocket of my backpack for my EpiPen just as I heard the unmistakable whoop-whoop of a siren.
Of course. Awesome. An audience. Fine. Whatever. I’d need a ride to the hospital anyway.
I shaded my eyes and took in the road above where flashing lights crested the ridge. A truck with Star Falls Fire Department stenciled across the side.
And, oh, hell no.
Tucker freaking Colburn, in his service blues. Even if his face gave absolutely nothing away, his presence hit me square in the chest, a sucker punch of regret and muscle memory I hadn’t asked for.
My stomach had hit my toes. Why him? Why now?
“Go away,” I called out to my biggest regret in the history of ever. My heart pinched, and I had to work to get the words out. “Just go away.”
But did he? No. He stepped out slowly, hands raised like I was a wild animal.
I certainly felt like one.
“I’m here to help,” he said, his voice annoyingly calm. Steady. It only made everything worse.
We both knew I didn’t deserve his help. But that had never stopped him before.
He might be the youngest Colburn brother, but he was the tallest, six four-ish, and leanly muscled in a way that drew attention.
I refused to let it draw mine as he pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and gave me that tight-lipped, frustratingly cocky-as-hell look.
The one that said he knew exactly how to get under my skin, the gesture so achingly familiar, it gave me a gut and heart check all at once.
When we were teens, he’d been my best friend before he was anything else, the person I trusted with every secret I couldn’t tell my dad, pretending we weren’t already orbiting the same sun.
And then one night, we stopped pretending.
But that had all been a very long time ago.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said, voice annoyingly shaky. I’d been going for heavy sarcasm because it was easier than remembering how it had felt to be seventeen and completely in love with him.
“Wanna bet?” he asked, unruffled as ever, those green-and-gold eyes making me want to cave and spill all my secrets.
Well, except the one.
I opened my mouth to fire back…except my eyes welled up.
No. Not happening. I would not shed tears in front of Tucker.
I turned away, pulled the cap off the EpiPen, winced in anticipation, and jabbed it into my thigh. My hand shook so bad, I nearly missed. The sting of the needle was sharp, but it was the rush of relief that nearly buckled me.
From the shore came a low mutter. “Fuck. You were stung.”
I closed my eyes. It would get better in three to five minutes, I assured myself, but pressed my palm into my chest like I could force the medicine to kick in faster. Anything to get air. Anything to get my sea legs back so I could hightail it out of there.
On my own. Like always.