Angela
The road sign appears just after midnight.
WELCOME TO CEDAR HOLLOW
Population 1,812
Where love is the only currency that matters.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
Only Pascal would send me somewhere like this.
Love. Ha.
Power. Money. A spine of steel.
That’s what matters.
Rain drizzles softly across the windshield as I take the final curve of the mountain road, the dark pine forest that had been on either side of me for miles fading away, revealing a town…
That’s empty.
Much like the last year of my life.
Just silent. Just empty. Just…uncomfortable.
I drive along the quiet street that’s lined with adorable storefronts. Flower boxes sit beneath windows, flags hang from streetlights, a bookstore’s window still glows faintly despite the late hour.
All the while, Pascal’s instructions replay irritably in my head.
Lay low. Maybe do something fun for a change.
How the hell can I lay low in a town of less than two thousand people?
And there sure as hell won’t be any fun happening.
I park outside a small inn near the center of town and step out into cold mountain air, the scent of cedars and smoke in the wet air.
For a moment, I simply stand beside the car listening to the quiet, something loosening in my chest.
No one knows my name. No one knows what I’ve done.
A bell jingles softly behind me, and I whip around to see a man coming out of the back of the bookstore.
He’s juggling a stack of novels against his chest.
He’s also the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot of them.
Tall. Dark hair. Scruff on his jaw. Glasses slipping slightly down his nose. The barest hint of gray at his temples.
And he nearly mows me over.
“Oh—sorry,” he says, skidding to a halt.
One of the books tumbles forward, falls to the sidewalk, and it’s not my book, not something I should give a damn about…
I still bend forward to pick it up.
The trouble?
He bends too.
Our hands brush, and sensation explodes up my arm. Not a spark. Not a flicker. But fucking lightning.
I jerk back, stand.
He straightens too, offering an apologetic smile as he takes the book I hold out. “Sorry about that.” His grin turns chagrined. “Sometimes I get too into my own head and lose track of my surroundings.”
Which is dangerous. Stupid. Something I haven’t allowed myself to do for decades.
“Are you new around here?” he asks.
I scowl at him. “Why do you care?”
He doesn’t seem bothered by my surly tone. Instead, he just smiles and says, “You’ll learn that everyone in Cedar Hollow cares about everyone else.”
Again, dangerous.
And stupid.
For me.
I should get in the car, keep driving.
Get lost in a big city, finally put my past behind me.
Instead, I stay in place and ask, “You work at the bookstore?”
“I own Page After Page,” he says.
He has a gentle voice.
And kind eyes.
And a nice smile.
And I should stay far, far away from him.
Instead, I still stay where I’m at and ask, “How can you tell I’m not from here?”
“Small town problems,” he says lightly. His glasses are sliding down his nose, and I have the strangest urge to push them up for him. Then he shifts the books and does it himself. “New faces stick out.”
I’m going to kill Pascal.
And yet…I still don’t move.
The man shifts the stack of books in his arms again and extends his hand.
Something happens in my chest as I stare at that outstretched hand. Something big. Something weird.
Something wrong.
But I stay right where I am.
Rain falls softly around us.
The cedars rustle in the wind.
The moon shines through the clouds.
“I’m Everett, by the way.”
Angela.
The name rises automatically in my throat—then halts.
Because Angela Rosseau belongs to another lifetime.
Another woman.
Out of habit, I glance beyond him, searching the shadows for unseen threats.
But all I see is the outline of a quaint little town…
And the terrifying possibility of staying somewhere long enough to become someone else.
Then I look back at the man patiently waiting in front of me.
And for the first time in years…
I hesitate before deciding who I want to be.