"She is. Keeps this town healthier than we deserve." He studied me for a moment, his cop eyes seeing more than I wanted them to. "You hungry?"
"Tired, mostly."
"Get some rest. I've got a station shift tonight, but I'll leave dinner in the oven. I have some things to do out back before I go. I’ll let you get settled."
I nodded and waited for the questions.When did you and Garrett end things? What happened? Are you okay?
They didn't come.
Cal grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. "It's good to have you here, Daisy."
The door closed behind him, and I was alone in the quiet.
I stood in the middle of the cabin for a long moment, listening to the fire pop and the wind push through the trees outside. Then I grabbed my suitcase and climbed the stairs.
***
The guest room was small and simple. Log walls, a quilt on the bed, a window that faced the driveway and the tree line beyond. I dumped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at nothing.
This was fine. This was manageable.
Three months. Maybe four. Long enough to pay off the credit card debt Garrett had talked me into. Long enough to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life now that the plan I'd built had collapsed.
I'd been so sure. College, career, marriage. The right steps in the right order. I'd done everything I was supposed to do, and I'd still ended up here, sitting on my uncle's guest bed in a town I'd spent years running from.
The thing about failing is nobody warns you how quiet it is. No dramatic crash. No explosion. One day you wake up and realize the life you thought you were building was never real in the first place.
I unpacked slowly. Clothes in the dresser. Toiletries in the bathroom. The framed photo of my mom stayed wrapped in a sweater at the bottom of the suitcase. I wasn't ready for that yet.
By the time I finished, the sun was starting to dip behind the mountains, turning the sky pink and gold. I changed intoleggings and an oversized sweater, then went downstairs to find the cinnamon rolls Cal had left on the counter, seeing he had already set aside some to take for his shift tonight.
Mae Whitlock's handiwork. I recognized the glaze. I ate one standing at the window, watching the shadows stretch across the driveway, letting the sugar hit my bloodstream.
This was fine.
I was fine.
I was halfway through my second roll when I heard the truck.
The engine was loud, deep, the kind of rumble that vibrated through your chest. I watched it pull into the driveway, a black Ford with mud on the wheel wells and a dent in the front bumper.
Not Cal's truck.
The door opened.
A man climbed out, tall and broad, wearing a fitted shirt and jeans that sat low on his hips. He moved like he owned the ground under his feet. Confident and unhurried. Dark hair, a little too long to see his face clearly. But I knew that body too well.
My stomach dropped.
No.
He turned toward the cabin, said something to someone I couldn't see and laughed. The sound hit me like a punch to the chest, dragging up eight years of memories I'd spent every day trying to bury.
Knox Parker.
He was still here. Of course he was still here. Where else would he go? This was his town, his territory, the place he'd been causing trouble since before I ever set foot in it.
Did I move away from the window to step back, out of sight and given myself a second to breathe?