Chapter 4 Odin
Damn it.
That's the only word that circles in my head as I stare at the ceiling in the pool house. Sunlight is just beginning to creep through the gaps in the blinds, painting stripes across the hardwood floor.
Nicola Williams. My sister's best friend, and apparently, a woman who can stand toe-to-toe with me without flinching. Something almost no one has done since I built my empire. She has no idea who she is dealing with. I have to admit I do admire her passion, but this could get messy.
I push myself up in bed, the crisp white sheets rustling around me.
Stevie is still asleep in her room down the hall.
Thank god for small mercies. At least I don't have to explain adult frustrations to a five-year-old this morning.
Explaining the confusing, messy adult world to my daughter isn't exactly on my list of favorite things to do.
What was I thinking? I can't let Nicola get under my skin. Three years of living in emotional numbness since Sarah's accident, and one heated discussion with a stubborn, passionate woman, and I'm suddenly... feeling things again.
No. Absolutely not. I can't let that happen. I'm here to expand my business, to give Stevie a stable life, to be closer to Mom. I'm not here for... this. This confusing, chaotic pull towards a woman who is the antithesis of everything I am, everything I've become.
Nicola is sunshine and light and laughter. I'm... well, I'm granite and shadows and the echo of a life that went silent when Sarah's car slid off that icy road. We are oil and water. Cat and dog. Pick your cliché. None of them scream 'happily ever after.'
And happily ever after isn't even on my radar. It's a fairy tale, a myth, something for songs and movies, not for real life. Real life is hard edges and broken promises and the constant, gnawing fear of losing everything again.
I drag myself out of bed and head for the small, sterile kitchen. Coffee. Black. Strong enough to kickstart my brain and remind me of the very serious and very real reasons why I need to keep Nicola at arm's length.
As the coffee brews, I pace the living area. I spent my days in boardrooms and behind desks, building a fortune that could secure Stevie's future.I am certainly up to any challenge Redwood Hills can throw my way.
My phone buzzes on the counter. A text from Riley.
"Morning, grumpy gus. Big day at Town Hall today. Don't forget to charm the pants off the zoning committee. And for the love of all that is holy, be nice to Nicola if you see her. She's probably still fuming about the bylaw application."
Riley. Always the mediator. Always trying to smooth things out.
She means well, but she doesn't understand.
Doesn't understand how Nicola's passion for this town, her unwavering commitment to its preservation, somehow makes me want to be better.
Makes me question decisions I would have bulldozed through without a second thought six months ago.
I type back a curt, "Morning. Got it. And yes, I'll 'be nice'." Emoji of a grimacing face for good measure.
Sipping the scalding coffee, I glance out the window. The neighborhood is waking up. Birds chirping, the faint hum of traffic in the distance. Normal, suburban life unfolding. A life I'm supposed to be integrating myself back into.
And then I see her.
Nicola.
She's in her yard, the vibrant green of her lawn a stark contrast to the muted tones of the other houses on the street.
She's wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
But even from this distance, I can see the determined set of her jaw, the way she's attacking a stack of lumber with a hand saw that looks entirely too big for her.
She's building something. Or trying to, anyway. The saw is bucking in her hands, the wood splintering and she's clearly struggling. Frustration radiates off her in waves, even across the distance.
And just like that, my carefully constructed resolve to avoid crumbles. Like a poorly built wall in a hurricane. All my good intentions, all my rational arguments about distance and boundaries, evaporate. Just like that.
Because... because she looks... determined. Fierce. And something inside me, something I thought I'd buried deep under layers of cynicism and grief, stirs. A flicker of... protectiveness? Ridiculous. I don't do protectiveness. Not anymore. Not since Sarah.
But still... I watch her struggle, her brow furrowed in concentration, and the urge to go over there, to take the saw from her hands, to show her the right way... it's almost overwhelming.
Damn it all to hell.
I drain the last of my coffee, the bitter taste doing little to quell the rising tide of.
.. something. Irritation? Pity? No. It's more than that.
It's... a reluctant admiration. For her stubbornness, for her spirit, for the way she throws herself into things, even when she's clearly out of her depth.
I should stay here. I should finish getting ready for the Town Hall meeting.
I have a business to run, a project to launch, a reputation to.
.. well, to not completely destroy. Getting involved with Nicola Williams, in any way beyond the bare minimum of neighborly politeness, is a recipe for disaster.
But... but she's still struggling. The saw slips again, and she lets out a frustrated huff, throwing her hands up in the air. For a split second, she looks utterly defeated. And then she squares her shoulders, picks up the saw again, and plunges back in.
And that's it. That's the moment I know I'm screwed.
Because I can't stand here and watch her struggle. I can't ignore the way her determination, even in the face of obvious difficulty, resonates with something deep inside me. Something that's been dormant since the day I buried my wife.
I set my coffee cup down with a decisive clink. Stevie is still asleep. I can spare a few minutes. Just to... offer some neighborly advice. Just to make sure she doesn't saw off a finger or something equally ridiculous.
Yeah. That's it. Neighborly concern. Nothing more. Definitely nothing more.
I head for the door, grabbing my jacket off the hook.
The crisp morning air hits me as I step outside, the scent of pine and damp earth filling my lungs.
As I walk towards Nicola's yard, I try to tell myself it's just about the wood.
Just about preventing a DIY disaster. Just about being a decent human being.
But deep down, a treacherous little voice whispers a different story. A story about sunshine and smiles and the first woman who's made me feel anything in three long years. A story that's just beginning to unfold, whether I like it or not.
And as I reach the edge of her property, the sound of her frustrated sigh reaching me across the lawn, I know that whatever happens next, it's going to be anything but simple.
This is going to be complicated. And probably a disaster.
But I'm going in anyway.
"Rough morning?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.
Nicola whips around, startled, her green eyes widening as she takes me in. For a split second, there's a flicker of... something... in her gaze. Surprise? Annoyance? Maybe even... recognition of our heated debate last night?
Then, the sunshine smile flickers back into place, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes this time. "Just... admiring the resilience of this wood," she says, her voice laced with sarcasm, gesturing to the splintered mess at her feet. "It's putting up a good fight."
Yeah, well, so am I. Or at least, I'm supposed to be.
But standing here, looking at her, at the stubborn tilt of her chin and the way her cheeks are flushed with exertion, I know that this fight... this fight to keep my distance... it's already lost