PROLOGUE
Harper
Three months.
Three months I'd been whispering lies to myself, convincing myself this wasn't real.
Three months of smiling through the cracks as my life quietly splintered.
I stood on the snow-dusted deck, breath rising in pale clouds, staring at Anna's front door.
My gloved hand hovered inches from the weathered wood, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Warm golden light spilled through the frosted windowpanes, painting glowing rectangles across the boards.
From inside came Jaxon's low, contented rumble and Anna's lilting laughter, weaving together like a lullaby, one I wasn't sure I wanted to hear.
My chest tightened with a longing so sharp it felt like ice.
Before I could knock, the door swung open.
Anna stood framed in light, her cheeks flushed pink from the February chill.
Loose strands of blonde hair curled around her temples, and she wore one of Jaxon's oversized flannels over soft leggings.
She looked settled, at home, as though this cabin, and his arms, were exactly where she belonged. A hollow ache bloomed inside me.
"Harper! Come in, come in. You're frozen." She beckoned, her voice warm like sunlight on my skin, mocking my cold heart.
Cabin was too rustic a word for this two-story masterpiece of log and stone.
Large, framed windows revealed the dark pines beyond, and a massive stone hearth glowed through the entryway, promising heat and safety.
The air inside smelled of cedar, faint smoke, and something rich and savory simmering on the stove—garlic, butter, tomatoes.
My stomach growled, reminding me that lunch was a distant memory. Again.
Anna had lived here with Jaxon for nearly five months, ever since she'd escaped her psychotic ex and he'd rescued her. Together they'd become the embodiment of perfect devotion: entwined hands, shared glances charged with quiet desire. Everything I'd once yearned for with Connor but never had.
Connor. Six years of friendship, countless shared secrets, the way his jaw tightened when I joked with another man. Until a year ago, while he chased hollow dates with Morgan, oblivious to how she toyed with him. It stung that he'd clung to hope for her longer than I'd clung to hope for us.
I handed Anna the red wine I'd splurged on, refusing to arrive empty-handed. My favorite jeans and a creamy sweater felt like armor today, yet with Connor's voice drifting from the kitchen, I felt naked.
"Are you coming in, or do you plan to freeze out here?" Anna's laughter was gentle but edged with knowing.
"Sorry. Just—cold." I forced my feet forward, melting snow pooling at my boots on the polished hardwood floor.
The kitchen was a cocoon of warmth. Jaxon leaned against the countertop, a beer in hand. He'd recovered from the injuries he'd sustained protecting Anna; his dark hair curled at the nape, blue eyes crinkling when he smiled. Yet none of that stopped my breath from catching when I saw Connor.
He leaned against the island, white granite cold beneath his hand, dark blue Henley stretching across his broad shoulders. His hair curled at the collar, overdue for a trim. I remembered teasing him about it, his laugh echoing, before Morgan curled into his life and changed everything.
He turned his head slightly, meeting my gaze with a tight nod. No greeting. Just acknowledgment, a single drop of warning in an ocean of distance.
It burned more than I expected.
Jaxon set down his beer with unnecessary force, glass clinking on stone. Anna slipped beneath his arm; he kissed her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world, and it made something inside me splinter.
The four of us—Anna, Jaxon, Connor, and I—had shared weekly dinners since Anna's rescue.
This kitchen, perfect for two, now felt cramped with four bodies.
The island was crowded with cutting boards, wine glasses, and the heavy scent of garlic.
Four stools forced us so close our shoulders brushed, yet Connor's absence of warmth made the air suffocating.
"Hey, guys," I said, sliding onto the stool farthest from him. The metal bit through my jeans. I placed my palms on the granite, letting its chill anchor me.
"What have you been up to?" I asked, my voice too steady, too polite, a question meant for strangers.
Silence stretched. My throat tightened. Jaxon stared at Connor over his beer's rim, as though daring him to speak. Finally, Connor's clipped voice broke the quiet.
"I gotta go."
He pushed off the island and slipped out, the door's thud echoing like a gunshot.
I watched him vanish into the night air. His retreat felt like a verdict.
Jaxon's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry." He kissed Anna's temple, then disappeared through the same door.
Anna stood by the stove, stirring pasta with a tense, slow focus. "He thinks breaking up with Morgan was the right thing," she said without looking at me. "And it was. But Morgan… she won't leave him alone. Texts him. Shows up on Saturdays."
My fists curled. "She what?"
"Yeah." Anna finally met my eyes, frustration darkening her blue irises. "She's messing with his head. He's… different."
Different with me, I wanted to snap. But I stayed silent, the hurt twisting my stomach.
Jaxon returned, cheeks pink from the cold. He grabbed his beer. "Connor sends his apologies. Had to check on the horses. Winter's been hard."
My smile felt brittle. The horses were fine. Connor just couldn't stand to be near me. Three months of his icy distance every time I walked into a room.
We ate in strained silence, Anna's fettuccine alfredo with grilled chicken barely touched by my fork. The empty barstool beside me felt like a living thing. Anna asked about my boutique; I offered the safe lie—that it was busy, just the usual seasonal slump. The lie tasted sour on my tongue.
I sipped wine for another hour, pretending this was ordinary. But the hollow space Connor left choked me.
"I should go," I finally said, carrying my plate to the sink. "Long day at the shop."
Anna hugged me at the door, holding on longer than usual. "You know you can talk to me, right?"
I nodded, voice brittle. "I know."
I sank into my car's frigid seat, hands shaking as I started the engine. Frost clung to the windshield. An hour's drive to my apartment awaited, along with unpaid bills and a past-due notice.
I glanced up at the sun visor. An envelope with my landlord's name: Final Notice. Sixty days to pay or leave. Three months behind at the boutique, credit cards maxed, savings vanished.
Heat finally trickled from the vents as I pulled onto the road, heavy snow beginning to fall. I drove away from the golden warmth of the cabin, and the honeyed glance of a friend who no longer looked my way.
Three months I'd drowned in pride, never asking for help. Three months my closest friend barely looked at me. Three months of pretending everything was fine while my world collapsed.