Standing in the middle of what would eventually be my living room, I surveyed the progress my contractors had made over the last couple of weeks.
Walls that had been demolished and moved were now drywalled, taped and ready for texture. The maple cabinets I’d chosen for the kitchen were in the corner, covered in a drop cloth and waiting to be hung once the walls were painted. The enormous island that separated the kitchen from where I was standing had been set in place.
My project was coming together. The demolition and reconstruction of my house had been time-consuming. For the last month, I’d wondered if this was a mistake, if attempting to tackle such a large remodel on my own had been the equivalent of shoving an entire pound cake in my mouth and attempting to chew.
But when I’d come over tonight to check on the progress, I’d found a slew of samples leaning against the island. Paint swatches. Carpet squares. Tile boards for the bathrooms and kitchen backsplash.
Finally, we were getting to the good stuff.
The foreman estimated that in another six weeks or so, I’d be able to abandon my Airstream and move into my home.
Though it had been draining, a part of me didn’t want this project to end. What would I do at night when I didn’t have colors to pick and flooring options to weigh? My neighbor certainly wasn’t keeping me occupied anymore.
It had been two weeks since my dinner at Kaine’s house, and I hadn’t seen him once in that time. The first week, I’d found excuses not to be home. I’d driven to Kalispell for three impromptu shopping trips. I’d eaten at Bob’s Diner once and the bar twice. At night, I’d taken to sleeping with earplugs so if Kaine ventured over in the dark, I wouldn’t hear his knock.
Then last week, I’d simply left town, traveling south to Bozeman, where I visited the veterans’ organization and delivered them a huge check. Logan had decided to stay home, letting me represent the company in his stead. I think he opted out of the trip because he wanted me to get all the praise for our donation.
It was different to be in the spotlight, and though I’d enjoyed my day being fawned over, I preferred to stay behind the curtain.
The rest of my trip had turned into a short vacation, exploring a new part of Montana. I’d driven to a quaint town called Prescott and spent a few nights there in one of the most charming motels I’d ever seen, The Bitterroot Inn.
That area was a bit more rugged than Lark Cove, though just as beautiful. Underneath the modern-day amenities, you got a small glimpse of the Old West.
After a few days, I’d left Prescott and taken a scenic drive through Yellowstone National Park, slowly making my way home and back to my corner of paradise.
The trip had been wonderful and the long drive exactly what I’d needed.
Sitting behind the steering wheel with nothing but the radio and my thoughts, I’d had time to think about everything that had happened in my life these last few months. The quiet drive had given me time to get some perspective on the dinner nondate that had toppled upside down.
I’d been so excited to have dinner at Kaine’s. His invitation had made me feel like more than just his late-night booty call, and I’d taken it to mean he at least wanted some sort of friendship. That he’d wanted to get to know me as a person, not just a bed buddy.
It wasn’t a date. I knew it wasn’t a date. Still, the evening had started off awkwardly, like the blind date I’d had my freshman year in college that had lasted all of twenty minutes until the guy ditched me to go bowling with his roommate.
But when Kaine and I settled into those chairs on his porch, I felt a shift. A click. He was easy to sit beside.
Then he shocked me by opening the door to his past. I forced myself not to squirm in the chair as he told me about his hometown and that his mother still lived there. For a fleeting second, I thought he might actually confide in me. Maybe he invited me over to unburden some of the weight from his past.
Foolish thoughts.
Kaine Reynolds was the most closed-off person I’d ever met. In no uncertain terms, he made it clear. His past was his secret. Check.
As we sat on the porch, I refused to let his silence bother me. After all, he had invited me to dinner. That was something. Little wins were often just as important as the big victories.
So I told him about my job and my brother. I carried on a mostly one-sided conversation until it was time to eat.
Then my damn phone rang.
Why was it so hard for me to just ignore Adam? Of all the nights and times to call, he’d picked the worst. Yet still, like an idiot, I’d answered.
I always answered.
Adam immediately began bitching about his director. I listened. Whenever Adam was having a hard time at work, he came to me. For years, I was proud to be his sounding board. He couldn’t afford to complain to coworkers or cast mates. The gossip mill on Broadway was worse than an all-girls boarding school. It had been my duty as his wife to listen.
Old habits died hard.
When I finally got a word in edgewise, I told him I was busy. Then came the questions.
Doing what? Are you on a date? You’re not seeing someone, are you?
Was I seeing someone? One glance to the dining room table where Kaine was pretending not to listen and the Yes, I am just slipped out.
Adam exploded, and after the second accusation of betrayal, I hung up.
It took me the week of my vacation to realize I’d let Adam’s feelings control me for too long. I had every right to see someone. I had every right to have casual sex with my neighbor. Because I wasn’t married anymore.
Adam hadn’t come to terms with our divorce, and I’d realized after about five hundred miles of open road, neither had I.
Too bad my realization had come weeks too late. I’d let Adam’s phone call set me off-kilter. I’d retreated into myself and ended my fling with Kaine.
I owed him an explanation. Since I’d gotten back from my trip, I’d looked out my window toward his house twenty times, knowing I needed to cross the line. But I couldn’t seem to force myself in his direction.
Instead, I’d walk out the door and into my house, inspecting every little detail of the remodel. Last night, I’d borrowed the crew’s industrial vacuum and cleaned each bedroom of wood splinters, sheetrock dust and fallen nails.
The foreman had told me this morning it was unnecessary. I’d pretended not to hear him.
That vacuuming had distracted me for over an hour of thinking about Kaine. Of missing his late-night visits to the camper. Of missing his spicy smell on my sheets and the flecks of sawdust he often left behind.
I’d realized another thing on my road trip—I was not made for casual sex.
My bruised heart was on the line and it required careful relationships, not callous.
Friendship was the most I should offer Kaine.
My phone rang in my pocket and I dug it out. Mom had told me she’d call to catch up and I was excited to talk with her. But Adam’s name flashed on the screen instead of Mom’s smiling picture.
I hesitated over the button that would decline him. Then I pushed it.
“Ha!” I cheered with a fist pump. “Go, me.”
Adam hadn’t called me since my dinner at Kaine’s place. I certainly hadn’t called him. I’d been dreading it the first few days, and after a week, I’d let myself hope that maybe the calls were over.
I should have known better.
My phone rang again, his name returning to the screen. And once again, I hit decline, this time without hesitation.
I smiled to myself, though it turned to a frown when he called again. He would just keep calling, and as therapeutic as denying him was, I didn’t want to be doing it all night.
Besides, ignoring two out of three calls was progress.
“Hello.”
“Hey, how are you, Pip?”
I cringed at the nickname. “What’s up, Adam?”
“Just calling to check in. See how your week was.”
“Fine.”
“That’s it?” He chuckled. “Fine? You used to tell me all about your day.”
“I did. When we were married. But we’re not married anymore.”
“That wasn’t my choice.”
“Yes. It was.” My voice stayed cold and calm. “You kissed another woman. That was your choice. Surely there’s a picture hashtagged out there somewhere.” #cheatingbastard maybe?
“It was just a kiss.”
“Was it?”
“I didn’t—you know what? I don’t want to fight. I just miss you. That’s all. You live on the other side of the country. It’s just a phone call to check in.”
I sighed. “Okay.”
“How is work? How’s Logan?”
“Good. He’s happy.” Adam hadn’t ever really gotten along with Logan. I think because he was jealous of how much I admired my boss.
“Great. That’s great.”
There was an awkward silence as I waited for the question I knew was coming. All the curiosity about my job and Logan was just Adam’s way of biding his time. What he really wanted to know was if I was dating someone.
“So . . . who’s this guy you’re seeing?”
Called it! Adam was like a little kid and someone had just stolen his favorite toy. Well, Kaine hadn’t really stolen me. But Adam didn’t need to know that. “A man I met out here.”
“Is it serious?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Oh.” He sounded too chipper. “I was thinking about coming out to Montana.”
“What?” I gasped.
This was my place. My safe place. I didn’t want Adam out here, filling it with memories of what I’d left behind.
“We should talk, Pip. Really talk. So much has happened, I feel like we need some closure. Or maybe even a fresh start.”
I opened my mouth but no words came out. A fresh start? Did he actually think there was a chance for us to get past everything that had happened?
Our marriage had been riddled with problems, fundamental issues I’d ignored for much too long. And one by one, they’d revealed themselves since the day I’d asked for a divorce.
Adam had to be the center of attention. He’d rarely accompanied me to the foundation’s employee functions because they were about me, not him. I’d begged him to attend three Christmas parties, and after listening to him yawn through each, I’d just gone solo from then on out.
His family’s money meant we were always running in the elite circles. My parents weren’t hurting for money, but we’d never been rich. I hadn’t ever wanted to make Adam feel ashamed of me, so I’d acted as perfectly as possible. I’d gone so far as to take private etiquette lessons before our wedding.
Adam never criticized me or put me down. He was supportive of my job and loved my family. But I never fit into our lifestyle. His lifestyle. Most nights, I went to bed with knots in my stomach. I’d chalked up my constant stress to a demanding job, but that had simply been an excuse.
I’d been exhausted, trying so hard to make everything perfect. And somewhere along the way, Adam and I had fallen apart.
From the moment we’d traded I dos, I’d labeled us as Happily Married. Then I’d used that label as an excuse to put on blinders and ignore the things really happening between us. I’d disregarded the changes shaking our foundation. Our young love hadn’t been strong enough to last, not without work—work neither of us had cared to do.
“What if I came out in two weeks?” he asked. “We’ve got a break in the play schedule. I could visit for a couple of days.”
“Adam, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because it won’t accomplish anything. I’m sorry you don’t feel like you’ve gotten closure. I really am. But this is closed. And I think it would be best if you stopped calling me for a while.”
“Piper, you can’t mean that.”
“I do,” I said gently. “I’m sorry, but I do.”
“We belong together. We lost our way, but it’s always been you.”
My heart ached with the pain in his voice. When was this going to get easier? He’d said the same thing all during our divorce. Every meeting with every lawyer, he’d always pull me aside to tell me he loved me.
I may have fallen out of love with Adam, but I still had love for him. Our lives were just no longer paired together. Our paths were no longer entwined.
“No, we don’t belong together. We grew apart, Adam. Please find a way to accept our divorce. Please. I wish you all the best, but this is good-bye.”
“Pip—”
“Good-bye.” I pulled the phone away from my ear even though his protests were still coming through. Then I ended the call.
That was harsher than I’d hoped it would be, but that phone call was long overdue.
I’d asked for a divorce. I’d seen it through despite Adam’s protests. I’d changed my last name back to Campbell and moved to the opposite side of the country.
If Adam wasn’t able to recognize that as the end of our marriage, this phone call tonight should make it unmistakably clear.
Tonight, I’d handled Adam.
This weekend, I’d make peace with Kaine.
This would be my home for years to come, and I refused to have my sanctuary ruined because of a short-lived affair.
Now I just had to find an olive branch.
As I walked through the living room toward the dining area, an idea popped into my mind. Maybe he’d be willing to build me a dining room table.
Hiring Kaine might bridge the awkwardness. His furniture was a safe zone for conversation. My renovation was one too. Combining the two together could be the first step in a new relationship with my neighbor.
A platonic one.
It was Memorial Day weekend, and though I doubted Kaine had any big plans on a Friday night, I didn’t want to go over so close to dark. I didn’t trust my body around his in the twilight hours. One brush of his muscular chest against mine, one nudge from his bulky arms, and we’d find ourselves in bed.
Tomorrow, I’d put an end to the hiatus. From here on out, my interactions with Kaine would be limited to daylight hours.
I continued my inspection of the house, walking down the long hallway that led from the front door, past the kitchen and to my master bathroom. None of the work had started in there yet, but I still wanted to check, just in case the crew had done a little something extra.
The room was the same as I’d found it last night, except clean, since I’d vacuumed, so I continued down the hallway to the guest bedroom at the far end of the house. From the big window that overlooked the forest, I had the perfect view of Kaine’s cabin.
He’d told me at our failed dinner that he’d come here looking for a place to disappear. It would be a lie to say I hadn’t left New York to disappear too.
But while Kaine simply resided here, I wanted to grow roots deeper than the hundred-year-old trees shading my front door.
This house would be my forever home.
It would be full of happiness, even if it wasn’t filled with children like I’d once dreamed.
Adam and I had tried to get pregnant for years, and every month, I’d cry over a negative pregnancy test. Finally, we’d gone in to see a fertility specialist and learned what I’d feared.
No matter how many ways we attempted to correct my hormone imbalances, I wasn’t ovulating. Add to that my cervical abnormalities, conception had been impossible the old-fashioned way. Before Adam and I could talk about other options, like IVF or adoption, our marriage had imploded.
The only good thing about my divorce taking years was that it had given me ample time to accept that I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t defective. And I didn’t need a husband or children to make me whole.
What I needed were things to love, like this house. Maybe once it was finished, I’d get a dog or a cat or both.
I bet a cat would love to sit in the large window of this guest room and stare outside.
I finished exploring the house and went outside, crossing the gravel driveway toward my camper. It was well past time for a large glass of wine and some meaningless social media surfing.
But as I reached for the door handle, the sound of an engine revved to life. It wasn’t a car or truck, but something smaller like a lawn mower being started with a pull cord.
I took two steps backward and looked to Kaine’s cabin. He was standing on the porch with a chainsaw in his hands. The engine idled for another moment, but then he hit the gas and the thing roared.
What was he doing?
His back was to me, but even from a distance, I saw that his movements were off-balance. He stumbled sideways, one foot tripping over the other. The chainsaw was still screaming, and the vicious blades spun dangerously close to his leg before he regained his footing.
Was he drunk? My heart lurched as he swayed again, and I dashed up the path between our homes.
“Kaine!” I shouted but he didn’t hear me over the noise of the saw.
I ran faster.
He lifted the saw, bringing it dangerously close to his ear, then dropped it down on one of his porch chairs. The same chair I’d been sitting in two weeks ago.
Sawdust flew from the back of the machine. The engine strained as it sliced through the wood. With one cut complete, Kaine lifted the chainsaw and hacked at the chair again. His feet stumbled between cuts, but he managed to stay upright.
My heart was racing, my flip-flops sliding on the uneven earth as I hurried to his cabin, terrified I’d be just seconds too late. I had no idea how I’d wrestle the chainsaw from his grip, but I’d try.
“Kaine! Stop!” I yelled again, but he was lost.
The cuts got faster and as I approached the cabin, the chair was no longer standing. He’d cut apart the back and both armrests. All that was left was the seat resting in a mess of broken boards.
The saw went after that piece too, but instead of cutting it clean, a grinding, clamping noise filled the air. The chain on the blade had gotten wedged.
Kaine let off the gas, letting the motor idle. Then he dropped the machine on the porch. “Fuck!”
He stumbled backward, raking both hands through his hair. As he took one step, then two, he tripped on his own heel and dropped on his ass.
“Kaine!” I yelled again. If he heard me, he didn’t turn.
He just rested his hands on his bent knees, staring at the chainsaw that was still idling on the porch boards.
I sprinted up the porch stairs two at a time, breathlessly falling to my knees at his side. “Are you hurt?”
He didn’t answer.
“Kaine,” I snapped, my hands and eyes scanning his body for cuts. “Are you hurt?”
His foggy and unfocused eyes drifted up to my face. “Piper?”
I took his bearded cheeks in my hands. “Are. You. Hurt?”
“Yup. Just like you.”
He wasn’t drunk. He was incoherent.
I didn’t see any cuts and there wasn’t blood anywhere, so I let my hands fall from his face as he breathed. Alcohol wafted off his body in waves.
I stood, going over to the chainsaw. I’d never seen one in real life before, but I searched the machine, looking for an off switch. Next to the handle was a small toggle and I flipped it, killing the engine cold.
The quiet was startling. My chest heaved as I stood, the adrenaline still pumping in my veins as I took stock of what Kaine had done.
He’d destroyed the chair completely. Sawdust and wood bits were strewn across the porch. He’d managed to saw uneven slashes in the porch boards too. He could have taken off his own arm. Idiot.
I whirled back to Kaine, fury taking the place of fear. “What were you thinking?” I shrieked. “You could have killed yourself!”
His eyelids drooped closed as he shrugged. “That chair was too short.”
“Too short?”
He nodded. “Half an inch.”
“I see.” I frowned. “And that meant you had to hack it to pieces like a crazed serial killer? Should I call you the Chair Chainsaw Murderer?”
He chuckled, flashing me his white teeth. “You’re funny.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Meh,” he muttered.
“Shit.” I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple.
Kaine sat on the porch, disheveled but no less gorgeous. His words weren’t slurred, but he was most definitely intoxicated.
“Just . . . stay there.” I held out my hand in a stay gesture, though I doubted he’d get too far in his state.
I hurried inside the cabin, my feet skidding to a stop at what I saw. The place was filthy. There were dirty dishes all over the kitchen and even some in the living room. The foul odor hit me next, making my face sour.
Kaine had always impressed me with his cleanliness, both here and in his shop. But it was like he’d purposefully tried to trash his home over the last two weeks.
From the living room, I could see down the hall and into his bedroom at the rear of the cabin. His bed had always been made whenever I’d been here before, but now the ugly green quilt was on the floor. The blue sheets were in a tangled mess on the bed.
I went to the kitchen, gagging as the smell got stronger. I risked a glance at the overflowing sink. The plates at the bottom appeared to be broken.
Was this disaster because of me? I went to the cupboards, searching for a clean glass. The shelves were mostly empty, but I rummaged around on the top shelf and found a dusty beer mug.
I rinsed it out, then filled it with water, taking it back outside.
Kaine had scooted across the porch to the stairs and was propped up against a post. Both of his legs hung loosely down the steps, his booted toes pointing up to the sky at different angles.
“Here.” I sat next to him and held out the mug. “Drink some water.”
He blinked slowly, his face lazily turning my way. With an unsteady hand, he took the water from my hand and gulped. Dribbles fell down his chin, leaving droplets in his beard. But when the glass was empty, he handed it back.
“I threw it out,” he muttered.
“Threw what out?”
“Your cake.”
My cake? He had to be talking about the cake he’d made for our dinner. The one I hadn’t tried because I’d been too busy running out the door when he’d ordered me to leave. “I’m sorry.”
He waved a hand. “It’s fine. Over now.”
Yes, it was over now. “Are you okay?”
He let out a low groan that sounded like no.
But I didn’t ask for more. I wasn’t comfortable leaving his side, not with the chainsaw within reach, so I scooted over to the opposite post and leaned against the wood.
The evening sun was setting, and with the tall trees surrounding us, the light faded quickly. I let my eyes drift closed as I listened to the sounds of the forest and Kaine’s heavy breathing. If he fell asleep out here, I’d have a hard time getting him inside. But I’d deal with that after five minutes of quiet.
“It was three years ago.”
My eyes flew open. “What was three years ago?”
“They betrayed me.”
Who? And what was their betrayal? I wanted to ask so badly, but Kaine was drunk. It wouldn’t be right to push for information in his drunken haze.
“She died on Memorial Day weekend.”
I winced. It wasn’t just pain clouding his tone. It was misery. It broke my heart to see the anguish he worked so hard to hide, out in the open. I didn’t know who she was, but I could venture a guess. Kaine had lost someone he loved, and that loss had created the shell of a man at my side.
“I’m sorry.”
“I can’t feel anything.” He let out a long breath, then he shifted. He laid back on the porch boards while at the same time twisting so his head rested in my lap.
My body froze, waiting to see what he’d do next. But he sighed and relaxed, the weight of his neck and head on my thighs. Of their own volition, my fingers found their way into his silky, dark hair.
“I can’t feel anything.” Kaine’s eyes held mine. “But I can feel you.”
“I feel you too,” I whispered.
He turned away, staring off into the trees. “I don’t want to feel.”
My fingers stopped threading his hair. His tone was sharp but it didn’t sting. It was born of fear.
This would all be easier if we could turn off those feelings like the toggle on the chainsaw. But here they were, circling us with the evening air. There was nothing more to say, so I resumed toying with his hair and watching the sun’s light fade.
Until Kaine and his broken heart fell asleep on my lap.
