Chapter 1
ONE
Swirlingred-and-blue lights accompany the brief, steady yelps of a police cruiser, forcing a little red sports car to pull over against the Main Street curb. I set an empty beer mug beneath the tap before pausing to take in the action through the long rectangular window framed with alphabetized books directly across the dimly lit bar.
My curiosity gets the best of me. Another Firefly Man murder was discovered last month, this one several towns away. Before that, it had been two years. But it doesn’t truly matter when they happen, or where. The small town of Bryson City becomes anxious in waiting, praying that this is the time the killer will finally get caught. That time never seems to come.
I watch as Gabe steps out of his cruiser and begins an agonizingly slow and steady walk toward the sports car. He wears an overly confident expression on his perfectly clean-shaven face, one that gives way to the truth of the matter—this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to him in weeks.
Downtown Bryson City has its perks, quiet streets being one. Events like these are few and far between—especially from where I’m standing. One would think the most popular bar in town would invite the most action on an early Friday evening, but the opposite is true. Regulars come here for the quiet ambiance, made possible by the low lighting, the wall-to-wall shelves holding used books organized by genre, and the indie soul music streaming from the speakers.
“Looks like Gabe is having some fun tonight,” Uncle Patrick mutters with a grin as he walks from his office to the long bar to stand across from me.
Tearing my eyes from the scene outside the window, I shrug and flip the nozzle to the beer tap. “Seems a bit anticlimactic to me.” I’m careful to tilt the glass to prevent getting too much foam. “A car chase, a drug bust… Anything would be more thrilling than the same old traffic stop.”
Uncle Patrick gives me his famous I-don’t-believe-you side-eye. “That why it didn’t work out between you and Gabe? He wasn’t thrilling enough?” When I don’t immediately respond, he chuckles. “The guy’s a cop, Evie. Following the rules is the man’s job.”
My entire body cringes at my uncle’s teasing words. He means no harm, but I can’t give him an explanation that will make him understand that Gabe isn’t the problem—nor is any other man I’ve attempted a relationship with. According to my therapist, it’s me. I’m the problem. And until I’m ready to move past being starved of love by my parents while growing up, I may never experience it at all.
“Gabe’s a great guy,” I say while sliding the full beer glass to him. “He’s just not for me.” Grabbing hold of the tie on the back of my apron, I tug it loose and whip it over to where his waiting hands catch it. “If you think he’s so great, maybe you should date him.” I wink.
My uncle glares, and I manage to dodge his playful nudge as I walk by him. “He’s a little young for me, smart ass. Hey,” he calls out behind me, holding the beer. “Where is this going?”
Without looking back, I point to a woman sitting cozily on a couch in the corner of the room. “She just started a tab.” After a quick wave, I push through the green double doors and say over my shoulder, “I’ll be back in a couple hours to close.”
A warm breeze wraps me in a hug the moment I enter the sidewalk. There’s nothing better than stepping out from the frigid temperature of the bar to the perfect summer air. While most people dread the humidity, especially during these peak months, I live for it. There’s nothing better than throwing on my signature outfit—a mid-length fitted skirt with a single slit running up one thigh and a retro T-shirt that reaches a millimeter above the top of my waist.
Luckily, Gabe is too busy talking to the driver of the red car to notice me when I walk by. Thank goodness. Ever since I ghosted him last month—his term, not mine—our encounters have been awkward at best. In my defense, we both agreed to keep things casual in the beginning. His attention was flattering, the sex was a good distraction, but no matter how persistently Gabe worked to transition the relationship into something more serious, I just couldn’t get there. He didn’t take the news well.
After I quickly round the corner, darkness engulfs me between the shadows of the buildings on either side. Not much scares me anymore, not after finding Carley in such a brutal way that night long ago, but I’ve never been able to erase the chilling fear that someone is watching me. Not always, but from time to time, like now, when I’m most vulnerable—a woman alone at night without a single witness to vouch for her whereabouts.
Clutching the pocketknife I carry with me wherever I go, I pick up the pace, determined to make it to my appointment on time for once. Yeah, I might be numb to a lot these days, but I’m not stupid.
After a scolding last week, I realized how desensitized I’ve become to my weekly sessions with J.D. Wright, an old childhood friend of my uncle’s and the only therapist in town. It’s hard to believe there was a time when sitting on J.D.’s worn leather couch at Calm Waters felt critical to my survival—when I clung to routine visits like they were a safety net. But it’s been twelve years, and until recently, quitting therapy has simply never been an option.
The two-story, red brick building that overlooks the Tuckasegee River is a statement as much as it is a historical landmark for the town. Structured much like a townhome, there’s a comfort it brings just stepping foot inside its double doors. I was a teenager the first time I entered this spacious foyer, and save for a few art pieces, nothing has changed. Well, except for Doreen, the Calm Waters receptionist, whose usual warm expression is nowhere to be found as she talks on the phone with her head down like she’s in a serious conversation.
Not wanting to disturb her, I make my way through the waiting room and around her desk to my therapist’s office. Twelve years of coming here has made me comfortable enough to walk straight through the open door to take a seat on J.D.’s burgundy couch. There isn’t much to the narrow gray office, just a window that takes up one long wall, a gray bookshelf that takes up the other, and a matching desk against the back wall.
Sinking into my favorite corner of the leather couch, an instant calm washes over me. I used to joke that this place was my home away from home, but at one point in time, I didn’t even know where home was. After I got kicked out by my parents at seventeen, my uncle was right there to take me in, insisting I stay in the extra bedroom above the bar. His only conditions were that I talk to a professional and help around the bar as much as I could, being underage at the time.
A click of the door as it closes alerts me of my therapist’s presence, and I wait to hear the sophisticated drone of J.D.’s voice. He walks by as my gaze is lowered, and I take in an unfamiliar scent. For as long as I’ve known my uncle’s friend, he’s carried a musky scent with subtle tones of vanilla. So when the smell of rich cedar, mint, and green apple intensifies, my eyes shoot open to find a man who is most certainly not J.D. Wright taking a final step to reach the desk before turning around to face me.
“Hello, Ms. Vaughn.” The deep voice that greets me so warmly is as foreign as it is shocking.
I’m at a loss for words, my confusion making it difficult to process the tall stranger with a full beard standing in front of me.
A piercingly handsome stranger.
A stranger who knows my name and who just walked into my therapy session.
The man wears a white button-down shirt, a fitted gray suit jacket, and matching slacks that do nothing to hide the muscular form of his thighs. His dark-rimmed spectacles cover his eyes, making it difficult to make out exactly how he’s assessing me now.
“Who are you?” I sweep a glance around the room, like maybe I missed J.D. entering the room along with the mysterious man. When there’s no sign of him, I look back at the stranger now leaning against the front of the desk, seemingly far more comfortable in this space than he should be, considering it’s not even his. “Where is J.D.?”
Lines form across the man’s brow. “I’m sorry?” He looks just as confused as I feel.
“J.D.,” I say again before realizing the problem. Referring to a therapist by his initials is not exactly standard. “Jenkins,” I correct. “Jenkins Douglas Wright—J.D.”
His mouth opens like he finally understands. “Oh.” Another uncomfortable pause. “Doreen assured me she contacted everyone. I’ll be filling in for Mr. Wright.”
Filling in for J.D.?
My mind spins, trying to make sense of this news.
The man hesitates for a second then picks up a folder from the desk and places it in his lap. “I’m giving all of Mr. Wright’s patients a free consultation so we can get to know each other and to ensure I’m the best fit for your sessions moving forward. No obligation. You don’t sign a thing unless you want to. We can just take this time to get to know each other.” The man searches my eyes as if uncertain how to phrase his words. “I’m so sorry you weren’t informed ahead of time.”
Tension radiates through my body, tightening my muscles while my blood pulses wildly through my veins. Panic, discomfort… curiosity. This doesn’t make sense. Certainly, if something happened to my therapist of twelve years, Doreen would have told me about it.
I slowly sit up, straightening my back and shoulders. “I still don’t understand. Why are you filling in for J.D.? Where is he?”
Before he can respond, I push off from the couch.
“You know what?” Shaking my head, I head toward the door. “I need to go.”
“Ms. Vaughn. I know this must feel sudden. I would very much like the chance to…”
I ignore him, not able to hear another word as I throw open the door so hard that it bangs against the wall. Oops.
Doreen jumps and spins in her chair to face the noise. She sighs with relief when she sees it’s me. “Oh, Evie. You scared me. I didn’t see you come in.”
“You were busy, so I let myself in.” The words are rushed as I get to more important matters. “Where is J.D.?” I look over my shoulder to find the mystery man slowly lifting himself from the desk and taking a step in my direction. Lowering my voice and leaning forward, I ask, “And who is that?”
Her eyes flash wider and blood drains from her face. “Oh my. Didn’t I call you? That’s Doctor Reed, dear. He’s filling in for J.D.”
I give the sweet old woman a bewildered stare. “But why?”
She shakes her head, clearly filled with as much concern as I would expect, given the unexpected circumstances. “I’m afraid I don’t know the details. Gena called last week and said that J.D. would be taking an unexpected leave and that the Care Group would be sending a replacement therapist in his absence.”
Well, that explains how a stranger could just walk into my session… I think… but I have so many questions.
“An unexpected leave?” What a strange thing for J.D.’s wife to say without explanation. “For how long?” I’m trying not to become too angry with the sudden turn of events.
Doreen blinks like she’s still trying to process the information herself. “Indefinitely, I suppose.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, as if somehow the darkness will help stop the feeling of the ground opening up below me. “None of this makes any sense. Why wouldn’t he reach out to me himself?”
She opens her mouth like she wants to reassure me, but I see the conflict that flickers through her expression. “Whatever is going on with J.D. must be very personal. All we can do is wish him and Gena the best and hope we hear from him soon.”
My heart clenches for the poor old man—a man who has always felt like more of a friend than a professional hired by my uncle during a dark time in my life. I hope he’s okay. I hope his family is okay. But how am I supposed to start seeing someone new now, especially when I’ve been questioning if I should still be coming here at all? Surely after all these years I should be able to kick away the crutch and walk on my own, but this turn of events has thrown me into a tailspin.
Doreen begins muttering something about being so organized and forgetful which is why she probably never left me a voicemail, but I can’t listen anymore. I look around the reception area instead. I’ve never understood why J.D. filled it with so many plush leather chairs when there’s only one office. Maybe guests wait there every now and then for their loved ones in sessions or arrive early for appointments of their own, but I’ve never seen anyone else sit there.
Still reeling from the news, I turn at the sound of someone approaching. For a brief second, I forgot anyone was behind me. My eyes connect with the new therapist’s, and shame washes over me as I replay my reaction to seeing him.
“Maybe we should try this again.” The man’s deep voice rumbles when he speaks. He holds his hand out. “Dr. Lincoln Reed. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Vaughn.”
Swallowing, I reach out to take the offered hand. His firm grip engulfs mine. “Just Evelyn,” I say, blushing at my own correction. “Ms. Vaughn is too formal and reserved only for my mother, whom I haven’t spoken to in years.”
A glint of humor sparks in his eyes, and I’m afraid I’ve led the gorgeous man to believe that I’ll actually sit back down on that couch and spill my guts. It’s not going to happen, though I do allow myself to shake his hand.
“In that case,” he says, still holding my hand. “I’m just Lincoln. No need for formalities here.”
For the first time, I really look at him. Just on physicality, I would have never pegged him as a therapist—or a doctor of any sort. Maybe I would place him at a construction site or wielding an ax in the middle of the woods, preferably shirtless. Then again, what else do I have to compare to other than J.D., a sixty-something man who never goes anywhere without his gold cane?
Green eyes stare back at me beneath the reflection of his glasses. His full beard somehow makes him more of a mystery up close—and that scent. Now that I’m taking it in again, I realize how much the cedar and citrus tones remind me of an apple orchard my uncle and I once went to in Asheville during one of my summer visits. I was eight and remember it being one of the most magical days of my life, exploring endless rows of trees, climbing small ladders to pluck my favorite fruit from the branches, dancing to live music, seeing happy faces, and eating from food trucks. My uncle bought me my first caramel apple that day, and nothing had ever tasted better.
When I finally pull my hand away from his, I can feel some of the tension roll off my body. “Do you mind if I have a private word with Doreen? Just to work out some scheduling conflicts?”
Lincoln nods and takes a step back. “Of course. You know where to find me when you’re done.” He gives the smallest of smiles before turning away and retreating into J.D.’s—well, his office.
“Oh.” Doreen perks up slightly, bringing my attention back to her. She hands me a dark-gray business card with the name Dr. Lincoln Reed and contact info in gold script. “You’ll probably want one of these. And I’m happy to look at your scheduling conflicts.” She turns to her computer and begins clicking around to get to the right screen.
“Thanks, Doreen.” I look down at her, feeling a tinge of guilt for what I’m about to say. “But I don’t think I’ll need any more appointments.”
Doreen’s crystal-blue eyes widen on me. “At least take the consultation, Evie. He came with glowing recommendations from the Durham branch office.” She leans in, lowering her voice even further. “And he’s a real doctor. A psychologist with a slew of degrees and certifications. The cost to you won’t go up a single penny.” She searches my expression with visible concern. “Give him a chance.”
I shake my head, committed to my decision—a decision I think I made even before coming here. “No offense to Doctor Reed. This has been on my mind for quite some time. J.D. leaving just makes it easier, I guess.” I give Doreen a warm smile, hoping she won’t take this personally. “I’m ready to end my sessions. Permanently.”
With those final words and a goodbye hug to Doreen, I head straight for the exit. And as I pass a little red sports car in the parking lot, I take a long deep breath and smile. Because for the first time in over twelve years, I feel okay—like I can let go of the crutches that have helped hold me up for so damn long and just live.