I fucked my neighbor.
Honestly, I never thought it would happen. Was I intrigued by my sexy neighbor? Sure. Did casual, hot sex with a man who had muscles upon muscles sound appealing? Absolutely. What recently divorced, single female wouldn’t want a guy like Kaine to make her see stars?
He was the unintended perk of picking this house as my forever home. From day one, I’d hoped to get to know him intimately. I’d earmarked him as a potential Post-Divorce Fling.
But I’d never really expected it to happen.
And certainly not the week I’d moved in.
At thirty-two years old, I’d been with two men. One was my high-school boyfriend of three years. The other, my ex-husband who I’d met in the dorms our freshman year of college. We’d dated for four years before getting married after graduation.
I hadn’t flirted with a man in over a decade. My skills at picking up a man weren’t just rusty, they’d never existed in the first place. So the fact that I’d just had sex with my neighbor was more than just shocking, it was unreal.
If not for Kaine’s semen sticking between my thighs, I would have sworn I’d fallen asleep after lunch and had one hell of a wishful dream.
When my marriage had imploded, I’d thought about going down to a corner bar and finding a random hookup. But I’d never had the courage. Now I was glad that I’d stayed home all those lonely nights.
Kaine had been the right choice for my first foray into casual sex.
I stared up at the camper’s ceiling and ran my fingers over my lips. Kaine’s beard had rubbed the skin around my mouth raw. My nipples had suffered under the rough calluses of his fingers. And my vagina would be sore for a day.
It was the best I’d felt in years.
I searched for a tinge of regret but came up empty. My only wish was for a bathtub instead of the camper’s narrow shower.
I sat up and fished for my panties with a toe. I stood, then gathered the rest of my clothes scattered across the floor. Carrying them down to the bedroom, I paused as I passed the large window by the dining table.
From here, only the corner of Kaine’s log cabin and its green tin roof were visible. But just that small glimpse made me smile because he was in there, hiding from me.
“That was either the dumbest thing I’ve done in years or the smartest.” I touched my lips again.
Smartest.
My ex and I’d had a great sex life. At least, we had at the beginning of our marriage before the scheduled sex took the fun out of it. And I’d always considered Adam an incredible lover.
I’d been missing out. Kaine and I might have gone quick, but that fifteen minutes was the best sex I’d had in my life.
I wanted to shout it to the treetops and scream with glee.
Sex with Kaine was just another reminder that the love I’d thought would last my lifetime, the love I’d thought ran bone-deep, really just stopped under the surface.
For months, I’d been single. For years, I’d been separated from my husband, waiting for our divorce to go through. And though signing divorce papers had been a milestone, the legal declaration of my single status, today had been the turning point.
I wasn’t just proclaiming that I was over Adam—words without action always felt empty. Today, I’d taken action. I’d had sex with another man. I’d jumped off the boat into new waters.
I was swimming with fast, sure strokes into a future of my own making.
Dumping all of my clothes into the hamper, I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water warmed, I went to the mirror and giggled at my flushed cheeks. Kaine might regret what we’d done, but he’d left behind a look of utter satisfaction on my face.
Steam filled the room quickly and I hurried into the stall. I didn’t get luxuriously long showers in my Airstream, but the hot water was enough to relax away the stiffness in my shoulders.
When I stepped out and tied up my hair in a towel, I met my own smile in the mirror. Should I be this happy? Shouldn’t there be some worry rattling around in my brain after having sex with a stranger? I searched again for a ping of shame.
And again, I came up empty.
Wearing only my towels, I went to the fridge and got out the chardonnay I’d put in there last night. I poured myself a healthy glass and sat on the couch. As I sipped, a grin tugged at the corners of my mouth.
Kaine had run out of here so fast, he’d probably pulled a muscle in one of his bulging thighs. He’d been so angry when he’d stormed over here earlier, so sure that my renovation trash had encroached onto his property.
The look on his face when I’d pointed out those two property-line markers had been priceless.
A giggle slipped loose, followed by another. Then the dam broke, sending me into a fit of hysteria as I set down my wine and laughed so hard there were happy tears.
I’d missed laughing. I’d missed feeling carefree.
I’d missed being . . . myself.
Kaine couldn’t know, but what he’d done for me this afternoon had broken the chains I’d wrapped around my heart these last few years.
With each negative pregnancy test, I’d wrapped a chain. With the test results from our fertility doctor, I’d added a lock to the chains. When Adam had admitted to kissing his costar, I’d added an anchor.
Those chains had become a shield, one I’d retreated behind years ago.
Slowly, I was casting them away.
My phone rang on the counter by the sink and I got up, holding my towel secure to my boobs as I answered Thea’s call. “Hey!”
I’d missed her earlier today when I’d gone down to work for a few hours with Logan in his home office. She’d already been off to work at the bar.
“Hey! Want to come down to the bar for dinner? Logan is at home with the kids, and there’s a pretty good after-five crowd in here so it could be fun. A few of your construction workers just walked in.”
As tempting as it was to go down and gorge myself on pizza and an amber ale, I wasn’t up for it. I wasn’t a leave the house makeup-free with wet hair kind of woman, and I didn’t have the energy to do myself up. I wanted to spend the rest of the evening relaxing and reveling in my postcoital bliss.
“I think I’m going to pass tonight. I’m wiped. Rain check?”
“Of course. I’ll be here.” There was a smile in Thea’s voice. She didn’t need to work, not with Logan’s vast fortune, but she loved being part owner of the Lark Cove Bar. It was her passion.
Just like working for the Kendrick Foundation was mine. It wasn’t glamorous. I was on the stage crew, watching from the curtains as men like Logan and our CEO got the standing ovations for the work we did to change people’s lives. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Thea asked.
“Yes. Logan and I have a conference call with the New York crew at ten. I’ll stop and get us all lattes from the hut.”
“Have I mentioned how happy I am that you’re living here?”
I smiled. “Once or twice.”
“Bye.”
I said my farewell, then set down the phone on the counter. With my wine in hand, I went to the bathroom and unwrapped my hair. I’d been blessed with a head of thick, silky hair, but it required a hair dryer to keep straight.
Air-drying was not an option if I didn’t want to wake up with kinks on one side and a flat spot on the other. So I got out the blow dryer and went about taming my tresses. The generator kicked on with my hair dryer, and I gave myself a diabolical grin in the mirror.
Could Kaine hear my generator? Did it annoy him too? Maybe he’d get mad about the noise again and come over for another round on the couch.
As I dried my hair, I saw dimples each time I caught my reflection. The grouchy man next door had turned me into a smiling fool, and I didn’t even know his last name.
Kaine had left here in such a hurry, there was no way he felt the same about our encounter. But after the shock subsided, I hoped he’d feel differently.
When I’d seen him on the ridge last month, he’d been shrouded in agony. He’d shown up at my camper with the same tortured heart—pain lurked behind his colorful eyes. It rippled over each of his muscles, floating underneath his skin.
My only regret from earlier was that our sex had been so fast and consuming, I’d missed the chance to give him one tender touch.
Kaine had helped me over a hurdle today. In turn, I wanted to erase a bit of his pain, even if it was only a pinch.
With my hair dry and resting over my shoulders, I put my hair dryer and round brush away just as my phone rang again from out in the kitchen. If it was Thea, I’d have a harder time saying no to an evening at the bar now that my hair was dry.
The task was always a feat, but with it done, it wouldn’t take much to summon the energy for makeup. I was contemplating eye shadow palettes as I picked up the phone.
Adam.
When would he stop calling? Hadn’t we said all there was to say?
I hadn’t seen my ex-husband in person since the day the judge had finally granted me a divorce. Though, it hadn’t stopped me from seeing his face throughout the city. Adam was the star of a hugely successful Broadway play, so his chiseled jaw, blue eyes and blond hair were plastered all over Manhattan.
They popped up on my screen with every one of his phone calls.
God, I wanted the ability to ignore him. I wanted so badly to hit decline and block him out of my mind. But I’d never declined a call from Adam. Not once.
I’d missed some calls over the years. I’d let some go to voicemail if I was heading into a meeting or if my hands were full. But I’d never made the conscious choice to actually decline, not even as we’d been going through the divorce.
Why was it so hard to cut him out of my life? Less than an hour ago, I’d thought I was over this and moving on. But with just his name on the screen, the ache from our failed marriage was creeping its way back in.
My finger hovered over the red circle to decline. Push it. As it came down on the green circle instead, my heart sank. I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hi.”
“Hello.” Adam’s smooth voice rolled over my skin like oil. For years, I’d called him just to hear his hello. His voice had once been the balm to soothe my hurting heart.
Kaine’s voice was the exact opposite. It was deeper, gruff and unrefined. He’d only spoken to me twice, both times with anger, giving his tone an additional bite. Yet I couldn’t get it out of my head. It overpowered Adam’s greeting.
“Piper?”
“I’m here.”
“How are you?”
I was good—on the road to fantastic. At least, I had been until this call. “What do you want, Adam?”
“I was just checking in. Wanted to see how your project is going.”
My project. I slid into the bench seat at my small table and looked out the Airstream’s window to my future home. “It’s coming along.”
The construction crew had nearly completed demolition. They’d ripped out all of the old finishes, carpet, cabinets and countertops. They’d already torn out one of the walls I was taking down between the kitchen and living room to brighten up the space. And they’d marked out places where we could add windows so the forest’s magical light would seep inside.
I smirked at the pile of trash next to the property line. The crew had gotten on a roll with demo, and rather than stop and wait for the industrial-sized Dumpster to be emptied, they’d piled junk beside the full one. My plan was to turn that area into a flower garden, so the bushes and shrubs in that area were getting ripped out anyway.
Kaine was averse to yellow cabinets and old carpet. How would he react to rose bushes?
“Are you happy with the crew you hired?” Adam asked.
“Yes.” I might be unable to decline his calls, but I didn’t feel the need to elaborate with long sentences.
“Are you, uh . . . seeing anyone?” Adam asked.
I rolled my eyes. He asked me that question every time we spoke.
Though I was tempted to say yes just to hear his reaction, I answered honestly. “No. I’m not seeing anyone.”
“That’s good. That’s . . . great.” He was overly happy about it, victorious even. “Listen, I ran into Gin Kaneko a couple of days ago. I mentioned to him that you’re renovating a house. He offered to make you a dining room table.”
“Really? I’d lov—” I stopped myself.
Out of habit, I’d nearly accepted the offer. Gin Kaneko was a well-known furniture designer to the wealthy elite. He’d done a few pieces for our home at one point, and his current waiting list was six years long.
As a local celebrity, Adam had connections all over New York, so getting elusive material items wasn’t hard for him. There was no such thing as a waiting list. Whether it be clothing or art, he used to come home every other week with something only available to people who ran in the right social circles.
The rich social circles.
And normally, I’d jump so fast at Gin’s offer my head would spin. But not today.
Gin’s style was minimalistic with an Asian flair, true to his roots. His pieces were stunning and had gone beautifully in the modern home I’d shared with Adam. The museum with white walls, white floors and white ceilings.
Except I wasn’t going for minimalistic or modern in my new home. I was going for rich and colorful. I wanted beautiful pieces full of details. I craved a life full of messes and dirty dishes and piles of laundry.
“Please give Gin my deepest appreciation,” I told Adam. “But no, thank you.”
“W-what?”
“It’s not the style I’m going for in this new house.”
His frown was audible. “You love Gin’s work.”
“Yes, I do. But I’m doing something different with this home. Something . . . me.”
Not me and Adam. Just me.
“I didn’t realize my style was so different than your own,” he snapped. “Many seem to share my tastes.”
“I’m going for something different. Something warmer.” I got up from the table and went down the short hall to the bedroom.
For too many years I’d protected his ego, stroked it even. This would have been the point in previous conversations where I’d spend ten minutes complimenting his style. But we weren’t married anymore, and his ego was no longer my problem.
So I let him huff as I pressed the phone between my ear and shoulder. With it wedged tight, I stripped off my towel and slipped on some clean panties.
“Warmer,” he repeated, his tone full of disdain.
“Yes, warmer.”
Adam’s mother was a well-known architect in New York. She’d become quite famous over the years, designing expensive homes and penthouses for the city’s social climbers. And she’d imprinted her style on Adam from an early age.
He probably took my critique as a snub to his mother.
But since she’d all but disowned me during the divorce, after years of telling me I was the daughter she’d never had, I didn’t care if I offended either of them.
“I want a house that’s cozy,” I told him as I hiked up some leggings. “One where you can tell that people actually live there. I might even get some magnets for the refrigerator. I don’t know, I, uh . . .” I needed both hands to get my breasts covered. “Hold on a second.”
I didn’t miss his huff before I tossed the phone on my bed and stuffed myself into a sports bra. My breasts had developed early and hadn’t stopped growing until my junior year in high school. I was a solid double D, too big to avoid underwire most days, but I’d found a few high-end sports bras that gave the girls a good lift and had a cool crisscross pattern on the back.
I wasn’t going to be a women’s fitness model any day, but my curvy hips and great bust looked pretty damn good in spandex.
After tugging on a slouchy green tank, I went back to the phone. “Okay, I’m back.” And I was done with this conversation. “Was there something else you needed?”
“No. I just wanted to talk. I’m sorry about the furniture. I didn’t realize you were so unhappy with the style we’d picked for our home. If I’d known, we could have done something different.”
Damn him. He’d annoyed me with his attitude, so much that I’d been ready to hang up. But then he said things like that and in rushed the guilt.
It was no secret he hadn’t wanted our divorce. He’d wanted to stay together to work on our marriage. I’d called a lawyer.
“Adam—”
“Are you okay? Everything good?”
I nodded, hating the heartbreak that laced his voice. I hated knowing I was the reason he was lonely right now.
“Piper?”
“Yes.” I cleared the lump from my throat. “Yes, I’m good.”
“I wish you were still here. I was craving a hot dog for dinner, but I can’t go to Gray’s Papaya without you.”
That restaurant had been our spot in college. Any time one of us had an important exam, we’d go there afterward to celebrate. Except as soon as Adam had turned twenty-five, he’d deemed hot dogs contraband. Our home hadn’t just been devoid of color but junk food too. I’d brought home a bag of Cheetos once and he’d acted like I’d brought in the bubonic plague.
“You don’t eat hot dogs anymore, remember?”
He chuckled. “I would have been willing to break a rule.”
My eyes closed and I sank down to the edge of the bed. “Did you get the key?”
“I did. Though you could have given it to me directly.”
“I forgot.”
We both knew I was lying because I never forgot anything.
I’d brought the key to our home, the one where Adam still lived, with me to Montana. I don’t know why I hadn’t just left it with the doorman. Or why I hadn’t set it on the counter when I’d moved out. But I’d taken it with me during both moves, keeping it on the same keychain it had been on since we’d bought the place.
The day I’d closed on my home in Lark Cove, I’d mailed the key to New York.
“What if you want to come home?” he asked softly. “How will you get in?”
I sighed. “I’m not coming back.”
“But Pip, you love the city.”
I cringed at the nickname, one that he’d given me our first year together. While we’d been happy and he’d been my Good Guy, I hadn’t minded when Adam called me Pip. But things were different and he didn’t get to use old nicknames.
“Piper,” I corrected.
He grumbled something into the phone, chasing away the softness in his voice. “I can’t believe this is where we are. You’ve thrown everything away because of a kiss.”
“Me?” Rage ran through my veins, burning away the guilt. “You did this. Not me. You threw us all away when you kissed another woman.”
“She was a costar.”
I shot off the bed. “Were you on set? Were you rehearsing? Because as I recall, you were out to dinner with her at my favorite restaurant and got caught kissing her in a back booth by an overeager fan with a selfie stick.”
The fan had snapped the photo with herself in one corner and Adam and his costar in the other. They hadn’t noticed with their mouths fused. A herd of elephants could have trampled the restaurant to the ground and they would have been found in the rubble with their lips still locked.
As Adam’s Number One Fan, I’d stalked his social media accounts regularly, never wanting to miss someone bragging about my husband or overlook a picture a fan would post of him signing an autograph.
That was how I found out my husband was having an affair. Via Instagram.
And it had shattered my already broken heart.
“I’m sorry,” Adam whispered. “For the millionth time, I’m sorry. It meant nothing. It was one kiss.”
“And that is what you still don’t understand. It was one kiss.”
I knew that when I’d started dating Adam, he’d often be physical with other women during his performances. I’d sat front row at his first college play, and when he’d kissed his costar, I’d about fainted. It had taken me a week to decide if I could handle it.
But even as a freshman in college, I’d decided he was worth it. I’d learned to compartmentalize that part of his job. It wasn’t my Adam with another woman, it was his character. In my mind, they were two completely separate human beings.
Except the kiss in the restaurant wasn’t him playing a character. It was him. My husband. The man who’d vowed to stick with me through good and bad had shared something intimate with another woman.
And he’d done it a week after we’d found out that I couldn’t bear his children.
The photograph of them together was burned in my brain. It kept company with a slew of images I’d conjured of the pair together, all of them naked in bed.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No,” he insisted. “I’ve told you that over and over. It was just that kiss.”
Yet I still asked because the pit in my stomach screamed there was more to his story. “It doesn’t matter. The kiss was enough.”
“This isn’t all my fault,” Adam declared. “You weren’t the only one devastated by the doctor’s news. That was a game changer because I wanted kids too.”
I flinched. Not once had Adam held my infertility against me. But here he was, taking my greatest insecurity and using it to justify his infidelity.
So for the first time in my life, I hung up on Adam Hall.
It hurt knowing I’d let Adam down. It hurt knowing I was unable to give him a family. It hurt knowing that someone I’d once loved with my entire being was in pain.
But he’d kissed that woman. Instead of dealing with our problems, he’d found solace with another.
This is not my fault.
Yet here I was, suffocating with guilt.
The air in the camper was too thick, so I stepped into some tennis shoes, not bothering with socks, and rushed for the door. The minute I burst outside, my lungs filled with the May mountain air and my legs took off.
I took the trail to the ridge at a near sprint but slowed to a jog as my thighs protested the steep incline. About halfway up, my throat was on fire and I tasted blood. But I refused to give in to the pain and pushed on, hiking faster and higher. I tripped on an errant rock and again on a fallen branch, but I didn’t stop.
I climbed until the trees broke and the world opened.
And then, I walked to the same place in the meadow where Kaine had once sat and dropped to my knees.
Then I let it all go.
