Copyright © 2024 by Emerie Hart

Kolkoi Publishing

All rights reserved.

Paperback version ISBN: 979-8-9909723-1-5

Kolkoi 2nd Edition April 2025

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests or other questions, contact Emerie Hart emeriehart@gmail.com or Kolkoi Publishing at kolkoipublishing@gmail.com

The story, and all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. No AI was used in any part of the creation, production, marketing materials, or any other aspect of Audiophile.

Cover Illustration by Carolina Soares   @carolemellow

Contents

Content Warnings

Dedication

Prologue

1. Petra

2. Reed

3. Petra

4. Petra

5. Reed

6. Reed

7. Petra

8. Petra

9. Reed

10. Petra

11. Reed

12. Petra

13. Petra

14. Reed

15. Petra

16. Petra

17. Reed

18. Reed

19. Petra

20. Petra

21. Petra

22. Petra

23. Reed

24. Petra

25. Reed

26. Petra

27. Reed

28. Reed

29. Reed

30. Petra

31. Petra

32. Petra

33. Reed

34. Petra

35. Reed

36. Petra

37. Reed

38. Petra

39. Petra

40. Reed

41. Petra

42. Reed

43. Reed

Bonus

Acknowledgements

Italian Translations

Full Content Warnings

Content Warnings

This book contains explicit language and graphic depictions of consensual sex, and is intended for those 18+

Audiophile is a story of healing and, as such, deals with intense topics and traumatic memories. Warnings include, but are not limited to:

Death, SA, depression, domestic abuse, mental illness, miscarriage, physical violence, and stalking.

For a full list of triggers, including spoilers, please see the index at the back of the book.

There are bits of Italian sprinkled throughout the story. While the translations are list at the back of the book, most can be inferred while reading. ‘Ti voglio bene’ is the most repeated, which is the familial way to say, ‘I love you.’

If you’ve struggled with depression, or have been told to hide your pain, I see you and your scars. I’ve been you. I hope you find a way through the dark to the joy, because you deserve it. You deserve a dawn that chases all the shadows away.

Prologue

Reed

NOVEMBER

I must’ve been hit by a bus, because my eyes are stuck shut, my ears are ringing, and everywhere hurts. Someone asks if I’m okay.

I’m not okay.

I might never be okay again.

Time served, my lawyer said. The words echo, like a rumble of thunder that only continues to grow. It swells, until it’s all I can hear. The plea deal is final. There’s nothing more we can do.

“Reed?” Amanda asks again as she strokes my cheek. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. “He’s having a panic attack. Mom, can you get a cool washcloth? You’re okay, Reed. You’re in your house, in Los Angeles, with me and Mom.”

I grit my teeth, clenching my fist against a wave of nausea that pushes hot bile up my throat. Fresh blood seeps from my ravaged knuckles, and I close my eyes against the pain.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” I say. I’ve got to be bleeding rivers all over the floor, because there are thousands of tiny cuts across my skin. Every joy Kinley took from me, every betrayal, every night I refused to sleep, dreading what I might wake up to—each slices me open and shreds me into scraps.

“You don’t have to be,” Mom says. “Come live with me for a while. We’ll get you back on your feet.”

But I wasn’t talking about Los Angeles.

“This will be cold against your neck,” Amanda says. She’s soft and patient, as she’s been through this with me before. I flinch as the washcloth makes contact, though the fuzziness in my ears clears instantly. “There you go. I’m here.”

Mom’s trembling hand closes over my arm in a spot that itches and moves restlessly. A spot that she refuses to let me see. She pulls my sleeve down to my wrist and wipes at her face. “I hate what she’s done to you.”

Mom doesn’t know everything, but my sister does. Amanda’s face is solemn, but she’s not crying. “You are strong,” she says. “You are resilient, smart, and brave. This is not how this ends. You hear me, Reed Alexander? She’s not going to get off that quickly or easily. This is not how this ends.”

“Okay,” I rasp. “I hear you.”

“We’ll figure it out together.” Amanda’s fingers are soft as they curl around my hand, careful to avoid the open wounds. “Just breathe.”

“I can’t stay here. I can’t live here.” Each inhale is too thin. My lungs expand as though they’re pressing against fiberglass, and I hate it. I hate my skin. This house. I hate Los Angeles and that my dreams here went up in smoke.

I take in both of them, with their watery smiles and light blue eyes. Two of my three rocks. I wish Grant was here to make a joke, or talk to me without pity dripping from his features. Mom says something, but it’s Amanda I turn to. Amanda, who pins my gaze with hers, steely and determined. “I’ll call the storage company. We’ll move you out tomorrow, and you can come back to Iowa with us,” Amanda decides. She leans forward to kiss my forehead, but I turn away. Though she purses her lips, she gives me space. “I know it’s going to take time, but we’ll get there.”

I’m not as sure. I wish I was a snake and could slough off my skin. Shed this house, this city, this life, and go somewhere Kinley can’t haunt me. I’ll run forever if I have to.

Easier said than done. I wouldn’t be surprised if she followed me to my grave.

Chapter one

Petra

FEBRUARY

Sunday nights are the bane of my existence.

That’s because family dinner with the Diamantes is routine: Everyone shows up to Mama and Papa’s house way too early, and the smell of garlic permeates the room no matter what’s for dinner. The whole place is crammed with laughter and conversations with people who have no idea what an indoor voice is.

“I don’t want to be the monster!” Antonio yells. He runs through the kitchen and into the living room as his twin sister chases after him. “Mom!”

“Get your dad to be the monster,” Livi offers with a wink, and Darin’s groan is loud above all the noise.

This used to be my favorite day of the week. The day we were all connected, from Sunday Mass to dessert. But not anymore. Aunt Carla, Mama, and my sister, Livi, gossip around the stove while they cook, while Papa watches soccer—calcio—with the men in the living room. They all carefully navigate around me, avoiding contact with me like I have the malocchio.

“Petronia can’t sit around all day!” Mama hisses loudly, as though I’m not fifteen feet away at the dining table. She’s never quite lost her East Coast accent, which makes the knee-yah in Petronia extra grating. She stirs a giant pot of red sauce, and drinks a glass of equally dark wine, while her curly, espresso hair frizzes wildly in the steam. “She needs to move on—meet a man! If she was busier she would have no time to mope.”

I roll my eyes and shift Hailey in my lap. Her chubby cheeks round out as she laughs and grabs my nose, pulling me close with her sharp baby nails. Livi is always happy to pass Hailey over for a couple hours, and I soak up every minute of being an auntie that I can. Still, I wish she’d use her baby talons to rip my ears off so I don’t have to listen.

Livi murmurs something, and Ma scoffs. “Papa would have Petronia stay here for a thousand years if he could live that long,” Mama complains.

“If they saw my spiraling depression, they’d think differently,” I tell Hailey. She can’t understand me, but she smiles when I wrinkle my nose at her. I break the family rules—feeling more guilty about it than anyone over thirty should—by tucking an earbud into one ear. The sounds of a gently running spring make it easier to tune Ma out. She keeps talking, but I don’t pay her any more attention. Instead, I heft Hailey onto my hip and make my way into the living room, where there’s a soccer match on the big screen.

“This scemo!” Papa yells, gesturing wildly. “Clear shot, and what does he do?”

“Trips,” Darin mumbles. It’s obvious this is a taped match. Darin is the only blond in the room, and the reason Hailey’s eyes haven’t turned brown like the rest of ours. Not yet, at least.

“Trips over his own foot! If they had Totti—” Papa keeps going, and they hardly notice me as I settle in on the sofa. My brother, Tommy, catches my gaze and rolls his eyes. He’s too handsome for his own good since he seems to get out of any meaningful punishment, which means he’s still playful and immature at twenty-six.

Eventually, Papa overcomes his exasperation and greets me with a whiskery kiss to my cheek. His short beard is streaked through with gray, and his dark eyes have a blue ring forming around the iris. Not that he’ll see the doctor about it.

“How are my principessas?” Papa asks, squeezing Hailey’s little hand.

“Fine.” I force a smile, and it comes out as a grimace. “Want to hold her for a while?”

Papa shakes his head, shadows in his dark eyes. I hate that I put them there. “This is your favorite part of the night, my Petra. Another time.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you.” He nods, turning back to the game, and my phone pings in my pocket.

It’s a text from Silla.

Thinking of you. How’s dinner? What am I missing? Livi still being annoying?

Silla and Livi get along fine now, but I know what she’s doing. She’s always trying to cheer me up.

It’s fine. Ma would love you and Josie to come sometime.

Soon! Once Josie has some PTO from her new job, we’ll come down.

She sends three more texts, but I ignore them. One response is all I can muster.

“Dinner!” Mama yells loud enough to hear three houses over. I avoid attention as we dish up, quietly feeding Hailey small bites from my plate.

“I heard you arrested Georgie the other day,” Aunt Carla says. Her eyes are hungry for gossip as she leans in toward Darin.

“Georgie Faulk?” Mama asks. “He’s such a sweet boy! What’d he do?”

Darin rolls his eyes. “The kids just took a prank too far.”

George is sweet, and I want to know more, but the topic changes. I’ve forgotten basic conversational skills, and I’m rusty on how to navigate us back to Georgie’s predicament.

When we finish the first round, Ma stuffs second helpings down everyone’s throats. She huffs at me, mouth tight, while Tommy scrapes my uneaten portion onto his plate instead. “More for me.” Tommy shrugs and throws me a grin.

Livi slaps him upside the head, and then the twins copy her, slapping each other anywhere they can reach. After that, dinner falls into chaos. Stuffed full, Hailey nods off against my shoulder, and I’m left to fend for myself.

Mama sighs. “Tommy, it’s your turn for dishes, baby boy. I’m going to put my feet up.”

Tommy groans, but I see my opportunity. “I’ll do them,” I offer, and tuck Hailey into Papa’s strong arms. He melts as he gazes at her, and rubs circles on her back to soothe her.

Tommy’s charged with clearing the table, and he piles dishes in the sink faster than I can rinse them. When he bounds over to drop more in my way, he laughs and pinches my hip.

“Knock it off, Tommaso!” I slap his hand away with a glare. His grin drops, and his whole body deflates like I’ve shoved a puppy. Guilt stabs at my chest. “Tommy, wait—”

“It’s fine, Petra,” he grumbles, and retreats to the living room. He doesn’t come back.

Something pricks, hot and needlelike, at my sternum. It’s been five months of pushing my family away, and I can’t stop. I hurt them over and over, the way I’m hurting, and the shame of it swallows me whole. I drown in it the entire time that the water runs and dishes clink.

By the time I’m done, a knot sits high in my throat. “I’m going to bed.”

There are muttered goodnights as I drag myself up the stairs and into my bedroom. It hasn’t changed since I was seventeen and shared it with Silla. The desk is scratched, worn, and covered in unicorn stickers, but it does the job. Posters, accolades, magazine cutouts—anything important to my sister and me when we were teenagers—cover the walls from floor to ceiling. I ignore their smudges of color, just like I ignore the pile of unwashed laundry and the stacks of books on the floor.

The same way I avoid the hurt etched into Tommy’s face.

I slump into the squeaking chair, tuck my earbuds in, and open my laptop to my latest document. With the first few words, the gray and brown tone of the world is scrubbed away, and a more colorful one shines through. The coffee stain on the desktop disappears under a mint green toad, who plops herself down with a hot cup of tea. A silvery crane soars above me to perch on the pile of laundry, his gold-rimmed glasses glinting in the light of my computer screen.

My hair shifts in the gentle breeze stirred up by fluttering, lavender wings. The pixie giggles as she flies closer and perches on my printer. She waves her shining, diamond wand playfully in my direction, sparking rainbows to life across my bedroom walls.

“What adventure are we going on tonight? Can I invite the dragon to dinner?” Natalia asks. There’s mischief in her warm, green eyes. She’s only a child—bossy, but full of fun—with traits passed down from all of my siblings. Pulling pranks like Silla, as smart as Tommy, and always getting her way like Livi. There’s some of me in there, too: maybe the stubbornness I’d worn as a cape when I was her age.

“The dragon is mean è scontroso.” Her cheek is soft against my knuckles. “Not good dinner company unless you’re the meal.”

She frowns at me. “Maybe he’s only grumpy because no one invites him to dinner.”

I laugh, unable to deny her. “Fair enough, piccina. You can try.”

I wish I could join her there. Oregon is dark and cold this time of year, but in the fairy world it’s warm and gentle—a kaleidoscope of bright colors even on the bleakest night. It might be fictional, but I’m more alive in Galin than I am in my own body.

I immerse myself in Natalia’s world, and the words pour out of me. Each stroke of keys brings it to life, until the words on the screen blur and I’m surrounded by purple mountains and a sea of tall, emerald grass.

As I write, the shouts and laughter from downstairs shifts into quiet words that are few and far between. It’s a sign that everyone is leaving or heading to bed. Papa knocks on my door, pulling me out of my imagination. “Petra? What are you still doing awake?”

Papa would support me if I told him. He’d understand why I write books for children when I can’t sleep. “Just playing around.”

He hums and closes the door behind him. “Sognare con la testa tra le nuvole, stellina?”

“Always daydreaming,” I confirm. “You’ve known that since I could talk. Good luck breaking the habit now.”

Papa smiles as he sits on my bed. “I wouldn’t dare. Your mind is a beautiful place. Petra, you think I don’t see you, typing away at night?”

“Is it a vivid imagination, or mental illness? Who knows.”

Papa rolls his eyes at me and sighs. “Always defensive. You know, it’s not too late to finish school, to write.”

I shrug. I don’t have the drive I once did.

“I want you to be happy, stellina,” Papa says. “I’ll pay for your school. You only had one year left—you don’t have to start from the beginning.”

“I would. I’ve forgotten everything.” Papa opens his mouth to argue, but I lay my hand over his. “I wasn’t meant to publish, Papa. That’s okay. It’s okay to have dreams that never come true. The dreaming is the fun part.”

I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—him or me. It doesn’t matter, because Papa blinks back heavy emotion that I only see in him now, as he gets older. “I had a dream. A life with your mother. A business to run for myself and to keep her comfortable. Many beautiful children, who grow up to be happy.”

“I am happy, Papa. You achieved your dream.”

Papa takes my chin in his hand. “You’re my favorite, even when you lie to me.” He places a kiss on my hair and lets go. “Don’t tell the others.”

“They already know,” I say, trying to scrounge up a smile. I fail, and his frown deepens.

“I would do anything to see you laugh again. I hope you know that. When you smile, it lights up the room.” Papa stares at me as though he’s mourning my old face. “Goodnight, Petronia. Ti adoro più di quanto ci siano stelle nel cielo.”

“Ti voglio bene, Papa,” I whisper. His love is overwhelming, and I’m not worthy of it. My very existence brings him pain.

Papa gives me a sad smile and shuts the door behind him. I wish I could take away his exhaustion. Not just tonight, but every night. I was only twenty-three when I moved to Los Angeles. Livi and Tommy were still in high school, and Mama and Papa were busy chasing after them. They attended school functions, drove up and down the coast for Tommy’s soccer tournaments, and ran Bella Vita on top of it all. Now, though they’re only in their late fifties, they are slowing down.

Most days, my face is as tired as theirs.

Chapter two

Reed

Anxiety lives constantly on my skin, like the scratching belly of a lizard as it crawls over me. I can never fully shake it, but the view of downtown Portland is peaceful, and the uncomfortable shifting slows. The overcast sky creates a diffused glow over the city. Mist rises in wisps off the river, and patches of fog cast the largest buildings in an eerie veil. I’ve seen something similar, but with the rust-tinge of smoke in the air.

But that was in Los Angeles, and I wouldn’t go back there for a million dollars.

Portland is full of possibilities. Despite a week of exploring the city, I constantly discover something new, and today it’s this incredible view. I snap a picture, then swipe through photos I’ve taken the past few days, wishing I could post them on my social media. I’ve cleared my friends list several times over, but I’m still too paranoid to try it.

All of western Oregon is green, wet, and beautiful, but I’ve been here too long already. Staying in one place means that it’s easier for Kinley to find me.

I sip my coffee, clinging to the almost-serenity of the moment. My hotel room is filled with pleasant, dark wood tones and a deep, muted green accent wall. It’s a relaxing atmosphere, and the bed is surprisingly comfortable. Even the restricted access and location on the fourteenth floor should add to my peace.

But the touch of Kinley’s body against mine creeps out from my memory, and imaginary centipedes follow the paths her hands once took. A shiver ripples down my spine. I want her out of my head. I want to enjoy myself without worrying that she’s following my trail. But I can’t.

There’s a high-pitched buzz in my ears before everything is muffled. It’s not external—it’s the start of a panic attack. In a desperate bid to ward it off, I call my sister.

“Reed! How’s it going?” Amanda’s smile is evident through the phone. It’s familiar, warm, and it clears the cotton from my ears. “How was Yellowstone?”

“Gorgeous,” I croak out. I hope I sound like I have my act together. “I spent three days there, but I barely scratched the surface. I want to go back for longer sometime.”

“Count me out for that. Camping is my nightmare version of a family vacation.”

“I’ll reserve a site for you for Memorial Day,” I joke, settling into the stiff leather armchair. I need the normalcy of our sibling relationship right now, and am willing to force it if need be.

“Don’t you dare,” she growls.

“Too late. I’m booking it right now.”

“Reed,” she warns. “Hey, speaking of booking it, are you almost ready to come home? She hasn’t come around. I think it’s safe now.”

Normal lasted all of one minute. I hate that Amanda won’t let it go. No matter where I go or who I’m with, Kinley is my monster. She lurks in all my shadows to catch me while I’m sleeping.

“I’m going to drive down the coast to see the elephant seals,” I say, hoping to avoid the argument that’s been nonstop since I decided to sell the house.

“There’s a place two streets over from Mom that—”

“I’m not moving back.”

Kinley will always look for me there, and it frustrates the hell out of me that Amanda ignores that just to keep me close. Amanda married Ethan shortly after high school and made a good life for herself in our tiny hometown near Coralville, Iowa. She’s settled there, and that’s great.

But I moved to California chasing a dream. I wanted to write screenplays for movies that would make people experience something profound. Then, to make ends meet, I created Daddy Knight Productions and surrounded myself with those who embraced my brand. Rural Iowa wasn’t exactly progressive enough to accept my empire built in erotic audio.

Now I want to burn DKP to the ground, and I can’t stay in one place for more than a week. Where am I supposed to go from here?

“How are you? Any episodes?” Amanda switches topics, and I’m grateful.

“I’m fine.” It’s a lie. Not even a convincing lie. If I was fine, I wouldn’t have imaginary beetle legs scraping over my skin whenever I lack a distraction. “What did you watch on TV last night? What tabloid gossip popped up on your feed?”

Amanda sighs. “You need to talk about it.”

“Christ, Amanda, let it be.” Before, I was cool and fun. Now I’m a bundle of nerves wrapped up in bitterness. “Rehashing the past does nothing except dredge up memories I’d rather leave behind.”

“Please come home.” Amanda’s voice trembles. “You’re safe with us. I hate not having you near.”

I thought I’d feel better after we went to trial and Kinley’s incarceration was permanent. But that’s not happening. No trial. No prison. No justice. The judicial system made it clear that it’s my job to keep myself and my family safe. Rage burns deep inside me, laid over with a bleak, sucking darkness. “She’s already found me there once. She knows how much I love you.”

Amanda can’t argue with that. “Reed, don’t let her take away your family—your future. The restraining order might not help, but the more Kinley violates it, the more evidence—”

My anger sits a constant simmer, but Kinley’s name has it boiling to the surface. “I had plenty of evidence, and where did that get me? We both know that evidence means fuck all!”

“I know!” she snaps back.

I take a beat to compose myself. “DKP has enough to tide me over for a while longer and then I’ll do…something. I’m figuring it out.”

“I want to help you,” she says. Her words settle some of the hurt inside me. A reminder that I can count on her. Trust her.

“I know. We’ll talk later, okay? Love you.” I barely wait for her to say it back. I hang up the phone, rubbing my temples in hopes it will ward off the headache building there. Any serenity from this morning is ripped to tattered pieces.

I flop onto the bed and flick on the TV in hopes of a better distraction than Amanda was. Voices roll over me—with a laugh track that’s both annoying and comforting—as I scroll through my phone.

I block messages on my socials, and ignore four calls from unknown numbers. My emails are full of job listings for commercial voiceovers and one for an audiobook. I haven’t explored that avenue, but I flag it for later. There are also several emails from my lawyer, all of which I ignore.

A sound notifies me that each of my missed calls is accompanied by a voicemail. I tap the first one and Kinley’s voice grates from the speaker. “Reed, pooki—”

Delete.

“I know you’re mad, but—”

Delete.

“Answer the phone! Fuck you, motherf—”

Delete.

“Daddy, I didn’t mean all that. I miss you—”

Delete.

I’ve changed numbers twice, but nothing keeps her away. I want her out of my head. Uprooting my life, listing my house, finding a new one, and Kinley—it’s all too much stress to handle. Hurt and anger bunch under my skin, and I roll my shoulders back to release some of the knots. The movement causes the black ink along my forearm to shift, grabbing my attention. It’s stark, even against my tan skin.

Bile crawls up the back of my throat. As if summoned, my phone vibrates, and unknown number scrawls across the screen. I answer, my pulse frantic. “Jesus Christ, just stop!”

“Wait—” Kinley says.

I don’t. I hang up and strip off my clothes. It makes no logical sense, but the ghosts of Kinley’s hands linger as though they’re burned into my skin. My phone rings until I shut it off and jump into the shower. I lather the soap in my hands, digging in with my nails, wishing I could scrub her away.

The churning in my stomach subsides as the water sluices over me, hot and loud, overwhelming my senses and bringing me back to the present. My name is Reed Alexander. I’m in a hotel room in Portland. No one knows where I am except Amanda.

When I step out, the panic has subsided enough to let other signals through. I need to drink water, eat a real meal, and get the hell out of here. The caves along the Oregon coast are calling my name. Unlike people, the elephant seals are a distraction that won’t demand anything in return.

Chapter three

Petra

Every day is the same. I don’t know if it’s a Tuesday or Wednesday as I swipe groceries across the scanner. The fluorescent lights at Mulberry’s make my eyes hurt, but my heart hurts more. Because even though I’m tucked behind the register, I’m more like a bug scuttling away from Aunt Carla’s stiletto. She leans across the check stand, effusively praising my sister and her baby, and crushes me underfoot.

“We need more kids in the family,” she complains in Italian. Her dark hair is perfectly coiffed, and her bright red nails match her lipstick. “Aren’t you ready to date again, Petra?”

“I don’t need to date,” I snap. My fingers brush against my necklace, and the metal is comforting against my skin.

Aunt Carla must notice my icy tone, because she changes topics. “Something is different. Did you dye your hair lighter?”

I bag her items while she punches in her phone number for rewards. “Same brown as always.”

She hums and touches my hair as if she thinks I should. “Come to Rosary tomorrow. We’d love to see you there.”

Rosary is a weekly hour of prayer that Mama and Carla attend without fail. I can’t bring myself to attend Sunday Mass, much less pray the rosary. It’s been years since I’ve gone. God and I don’t talk anymore.

I shrug, and Carla’s face falls in disappointment. I make my excuse in Italian, hoping it will ease the offense. “Maybe next week. Your total is $97.32, Zia Carla.”

She forces a smile that warns I’ll be the subject of a group chat before she even gets in the car. “See you for Sunday dinner, then.”

She believes I’m thirty-three and heartbroken, slinking back to my den to lick my wounds. She’s only half-right. I hate living here. I got out once, but I never published, never married. Though I lived in Los Angeles for nine years, I’m so far removed that it might’ve been a dream.

I’m doomed to a slow demise in Swift River, Oregon, single until I die, when I’ll be buried next to the rest of my family in the local cemetery.

I take my lunch break with a deli sandwich in the break room with my notebook. It’s a tangle of scribbles, with outlines for past, present, and future books. I note improvements for my current storyline in the margins while I eat. I’m restless, wishing for my laptop so I can add the changes to my chapters.

If I could spend all day in my imagination, with the comfort of a sound machine in my ears, I could tolerate living in Swift River. Maybe.

My phone pings, the sound of a rare, fresh email in my inbox. A spark zings through me, peeling away at the dull varnish of the world until a shinier one peeks through.

Daddy Knight Productions: New upload available. Be my good girl. Click here to listen.

Eagerly, I tuck in an earbud, volume on low, to preview what the scenario will be. Knight’s voice rumbles into my ear, warm and deep. The familiarity of it surrounds me as I close my eyes.

“Hey babe, how was your day?” Knight is a special performer. His recordings are intimate, like he’s talking directly to me, not a faceless listener. Each word is measured, every syllable a caress, and the audio quality is impeccable. “It was rough? I’m sorry to hear that. Wow, you are tense. Can I work these knots out for you?”

My tension shifts to build in other places, and anticipation warms my blood. Knight’s sweet and caring audios are always my favorite at this point in my cycle. Post-Period-Petra is a sucker for Sweet-Knight. Different from Ovulating-Petra, who wants Daddy Knight to pin me down and make it rough.

“Hey, Petra?” a voice breaks in.

“Shit!” I swear, jumping out of my seat. I close out of the app with a wince. “I mean—sorry, Ray, you scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” my manager says. His salt and pepper hair shines under the harsh lighting. “I hate to cut your lunch short, but we could use an extra hand.”

I hope Ray can’t see the guilt on my face. “No problem.”

I shove my headphones back into my bag—and the audio out of my head—and weave through the busy aisle to open a register. Tina, who I’ve known since kindergarten, pushes her way through the line. She unwraps a fruit leather from an open box and gives it to her screaming toddler, but he chucks it to the ground and cries harder. Tina looks five seconds from ripping her hair out.

“I should’ve stopped at two,” she grumbles. She’ll deny it till kingdom come, as she is queen of the PTA, but I hear her. My heart squeezes in my chest, followed by a fierce, throbbing ache. She’s having a rough day, but some people would give anything to struggle through these moments. I force a smile, and she forces one right back.

After the initial rush, the space between customers stretches until I’m left with my own loathing thoughts and broken heart. I pull out my second notebook—a smaller one for notes, squiggles, and poems. It’s my version of a diary, and I scrawl toward the bottom:

Losing a limb might be easier to recover from. I say that because I haven’t lost a limb, and those who have must think otherwise. Is there a bigger word for this grief than brokenhearted?

I write it all out—the spiraling thoughts brought on by Tina’s frustrated phrase. The ink bears my burden, lessening the heaviness of the chains around my heart. I hold the last of the ache at bay by turning my focus back to the fictional kingdom and creatures of Galin. Stories play out in front of me as Dragons and pixies take over the store, leaping over carts, stealing candy, and battling in the ice cream aisle. A hobbling old gnome with a wrinkled mushroom umbrella ambles down the conveyor belt, humming a tune while she walks.

But then a guy smashes her with his basket, and I blink back into this world in shock. I stuff down my gasp, pasting on a customer service face instead. He didn’t want to hurt my gnome, so I don’t hold it against him. “Find everything you were looking for?”

He gives me a halfhearted smile of his own. “Do you carry eel sauce?” His golden eyes hold the heat of Santa Monica pier on a summer day. They complement his toffee-brown hair, and a fine layer of stubble highlights his strong chin and the tall bridge of his nose. But his eyes are somber, and the rough shadows beneath them hint at a lack of sleep—the way mine do.

“No. I’d try Pear Life on Fourth Street. It’s a small market, but it’s your best bet.”

“Thanks.” He lets out a short, deep chuckle. “Pear Life.”

“What?” I ask, distracted by the way his husky voice settles deliciously in my ears.

“You know, Pear Life, like Fairlife milk?” He’s not flirting when he half-smiles and his faraway eyes find mine, but my stomach flutters anyway. His shadows fade as he focuses on me, and a tingling sensation spreads over my skin. Like stretching my legs after being cramped in the same position for a long time.

Like I’m coming alive.

“I’m not from Oregon,” he continues, “but I’m assuming it’s a national brand.”

Maybe it’s because I was interrupted at lunch and my brain can’t wait for the next Daddy Knight scene, but his attention is intoxicating. His voice is sex personified. It melts across my skin like the honey of his eyes—sweet, warm, and soothing. All of my recent orgasms were simultaneous with a voice like his, whispering, “Come for me.”

My nipples tighten under my shirt at the idea of this attractive man murmuring those words in my ear. I slap a hand over my mouth, too emphatically in my panic, and his face slowly changes. His eyes brighten and crinkle at the edges.

“Are you okay?” The corner of his mouth quirks up, revealing a dimple that weakens my knees.

“Fine,” I assure him, not at all fine. The heat creeping up my neck is half hormonal, half anxious. The lights in the store no longer wash everything out. He’s warm and inviting, without a hint of gray.

“Do I know you?” He leans against the conveyor belt in a casual, effortless way that makes my toes curl. Closer up, the cleft from his dimple is twice as cute.

This is my chance to break out of the cycle, to flirt with a guy that I haven’t known since kindergarten. Instead, a hysterical laugh builds in my throat. “No, definitely not. Have you been to Swift River before?”

“My first time,” the man says, his knuckles rapping against the conveyor. His voice isn’t as deep as Knight’s, but the comparison has me considering all sorts of things I shouldn’t while I’m working. Heat creeps into my cheeks when he glances down at my figure. I can’t tell if he’s acting normal and I’m reading into this, or if he’s checking me out.

“I hope you’re having a pleasant visit.” My smile is real, and it hurts from disuse. I’m going to be written up for drooling over my customer.

“It’s improving. I didn’t get your name—” He leans in until his fingers brush my collar, and he tugs a section of hair behind my shoulder. It feathers across my neck, and hopefully he can’t see the shiver that races through me. “—Petra,” he says, glancing at my nametag. He pulls his hand back, giving me space, but his smirk tugs up higher to one side.

“Hi.” I’m stupidly breathless. I can’t remember what bra I’m wearing today, but I hope it has a thick lining.

“It’s nice to meet you, Petra.” It might be my imagination, but his voice gets deeper with every sentence. Rougher. Sexier. My brain mixes it with Daddy Knight’s, and my overly-vivid imagination takes over. In my brightly colored mind, the stranger’s large hands slip from my shoulders down to my waist, pulling me onto the conveyor belt and underneath him.

I press my lips together, worried I’m transparent. In my head, his voice is throaty in my ear and he throws my shirt to the floor. “Do you need a bag today?” I ask, as the version of him in my imagination places warm kisses across my neck to my shoulder. Opening my mouth is the wrong move, and I duck behind the counter to hide my face as a wave of embarrassed giggles pours out.

“Petra?” He leans over the counter, dimple out in full force. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yep, fine!” I bite my lip to hold in my smile and keep my eyes down as I scan the last item. “Your total is $34.58.”

All of him shifts until he grows taller, more confident. Something slips over his face, a gleam of something hot but also… I can’t put my finger on it. “Are all the clerks here as bubbly as you?”

I should say something flirty, but I’m out of practice and I’ve forgotten how. “All of them.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” He digs his wallet out with a pondering hum. My traitor body responds to the sound as it travels through me like the rumbling tremor of an earthquake. Gripping the counter, I cross my legs as discreetly as I can. His eyes follow me from head to toe as he swipes his card, and he chuckles. “Can I fuck you in the breakroom, Petra? I’ll make it good for you.”

I blink away the hallucination as my face heats. “Sorry, what?”

His dimple deepens as his smile grows. “Are there any good restaurants in town, Petra?”

I shake my head, unwilling to let any more embarrassing sounds out. He leans on the little check writing stand, and his laser focus picks me apart like I’m a series of chains and cogs. Is he enjoying the way I flounder?

“No? Not a single one?”

“Petra!” Ray joins us. “What would your mom say? Forgetting to recommend Bella Vita?”

“Fairlife and Belvita? What world am I in up here?” the stranger asks.

“Best Italian restaurant around, right, Petra?” Ray asks with a wink. “Speaking of, I wouldn’t mind if you brought in your mama’s panna cotta.”

“Sure.” I focus on Ray instead of the piercing brown eyes across from me.

The stranger hums, drawing my attention. “Maybe I’ll try it. Thanks again, Petra,” he says, and my pulse quickens. His bags crinkle as he picks them up, and the sound is deafening while I squirm under Ray’s discerning gaze.

“You’re welcome,” I say, but he’s already halfway to the door.

Holy hell. I haven’t been this turned on by something other than a speakerphone in longer than I can remember. I wait for the prickling heat on my chest to fade and the humiliation of my obvious reaction to pass, but it doesn’t. Ray shoots me another look, eyebrows raised, which I blatantly avoid. “Uh, Mrs. Robertson, do you need help reaching the ice cream?” I call out, scurrying away from Ray’s knowing face.

My cheeks flame periodically during my shift, and my awkwardness makes it a million times worse with each infraction. I’m beyond relieved to put it behind me when I close my register for the day. I reach for my journal, but it’s not there. I huff, crawling under the counter to retrieve it, but it’s not there either. I check the other registers, wondering if I’d switched and left it behind, but don’t find it.

It’s the icing on the cake of an embarrassing, emotional day, and something hot burns in the corners of my eyes.

I don’t bother with the sleeves of my raincoat, holding it over my head as I dart to my blue sedan and dive inside. I crank up the heater, letting waterfall sounds trickle from the speakers. With nothing to distract me, the conversation with the stranger in the market plays on repeat the entire drive to my parents’ house near one of the many unnamed creeks throughout town. Their house is midsized, pretty, and plays on the earthy, green elements that come naturally in Swift River. The only downfall is that I live here.

The loss of my notebook aches, and I pull into the driveway and rest my head in my hands. I allow myself five deep breaths to gather myself together, then pop in a headphone. The gentle ASMR whispers help clear out my brain while I carry my things inside.

I try to see the bright side, because at least I have my Galin notes. If my stories went missing, I would be devastated. Galin usually calls to me like an unread text as soon as I clock out. On ordinary days, I’m dying to get inside and lock myself in my room where my fairy world comes alive. But my diary is gone, and without the outlet for my complicated emotions, Galin seems more childish than usual.

I rummage through my desk for a new notebook. The blank pages dare me to write something different. To write the kind of scenes Daddy Knight comes up with. The words are restless at the tips of my fingers, because it’s easy to imagine the attractive stranger pressing his lips to my skin, or yanking my shirt over my head to take me hard and fast behind the register.

I shake off the notion. It’s embarrassing that I subscribe to erotic audio—no way I’d write it. Mortification mixes with arousal, and it all squirms in my stomach. I shove it into a mental box and write my first scribble:

Today was a mess. Feeling alive was great for about half a second. What followed is a great reminder as to why I’d rather be numb. I end it with a quick little drawing of a bird in flight. Something I wish I could be, just to get away from myself.

With my pity party out of the way, I open my laptop to dive into my fantasy world. As soon as I do, my pixie girl flutters down next to me. “Where is Nonna? Is she okay?” Natalia asks, tears welling in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, piccina,” I tell her, stroking her cheek. “She’s tougher than one little smush and will make a full recovery, but foraging for a new mushroom umbrella for her might help her feel better.”

Chapter four

Petra

When I head to Mulberry’s for my shift on Thursday, I worry my awkwardness will return. However, nothing in Swift River ever changes, and hardly any time passes before I escape into my fairy world. By the time I clock out I can pretend yesterday didn’t happen.

The small part of me that came alive under a honey gaze wilts and dies just as quickly.

Mama and Papa both work at the restaurant tonight, so I don’t bother with dinner. I’m not worth the energy it would take to cook it. I lean against the kitchen island, checking my phone. The link from Daddy Knight Productions still sits at the top of my inbox, waiting for me.

Anticipation pools hotly in my belly while I uncork a bottle of wine and carry my glass upstairs to run the water for the bath. A splash of oil into the water, a few candles, and sips of sweet wine allow me to relax before I turn off the lights.

The shadows smooth over the parts of me I’m less confident about. The stretch marks along the curve of my belly, the softness of my arms and my thighs. Most women in my family have the same sorts of curves. It’s your heritage, Nonna always said. In our family, with thick curves comes thick hair. And you, my bella, are blessed with both. I wrestled with it as a teenager, but now I don’t mind so much.

I sink into the blissfully hot water, relishing the way it melts away the winter chill that clings to my bones. Bubbles fizz all around me as I settle in with my wine and tap the link in my email:

Daddy Knight Productions—Rough Day

With my volume set to the lowest level, I place my phone on the shelf and slip beneath the foam.

“Hey, babe, how was your day?” Knight’s voice rumbles through the speakers like distant thunder. Powerful, but not intimidating. “It was rough? I’m sorry to hear that.”

I’ve always pictured Knight with blue eyes and dirty blond hair. Thor-ish, with enough muscles to carry me off to a happily ever after. But tonight, honey-brown eyes and barely-there scruff sneak into my imagination. The man at work wasn’t soft and caring, like this scene, but he was real.

I shake my head and refocus on Knight. His large hands glide over my skin. “Wow, you are tense. Can I work these knots out for you? Is that too hard?”

“It’s nice.” I tilt my head back to trail my hands over my collar, wishing they were larger.

His smooth voice is cashmere down my spine. “We’ll massage it better, hm? Have you had enough water?”

I sip my wine. “Not even close,” I admit. Knight’s gentle kiss brushes my ear as I cup my breast.

“I’m proud of you for doing what you can. Have I told you how much I love your neck?” His kisses pepper my skin, some quick and playful, others slow and purposeful. I slide further under the water and smooth my hands over my thighs. Four days without an orgasm was too long. “What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll make whatever you’re craving.”

“What if I’m craving you?”

“Oh? That sounds delicious. Not as delicious as you, but you already knew that.” A smile sneaks out as I close my eyes and let the fantasy play over me. Knight kisses his way across my shoulders, and each crisp sound leaves me wanting more. “I brought you some water. Can you drink the whole thing for me?” I sip my wine at the reminder, and his subsequent moan has my hips rocking. “I love to watch you swallow.”

“I don’t need a long buildup today,” I admit. It’s embarrassing why I’m ready—I’ve been coiled tight since yesterday.

“Let me help you unwind. Lay back for me.” The soft suction of his mouth has my toes curling. His teeth scrape against my skin. In the candlelight, my fingers lengthen into his and slide between my legs. Even underwater, there is a slick arousal that’s synonymous with Knight. He moans, a quiet agony that pulls behind my navel, as if he can draw me close. There’s an unmistakable noise as his finger slides inside. “Fuck, babe. So wet for me.”

“Always,” I admit, curling my fingers, wishing they were his. The sounds of his tongue dipping in and swirling over my clit are obscene. His voice is exactly what I need. Each sound, groan, harsh breath, and slippery, smacking kiss takes me higher.

“I have endless favorites when it comes to you, but tasting you…I’ll never get enough. Are you getting close for me?” I nod, breathless. The bathwater laps against the sides of the tub as I yank one hand back up to my breast, tugging at my nipple the way I wish he could. He chuckles. “My good girl.”

I throw my head back, and my hips rock against my fingers. His moans vibrate through me as he sucks on my clit.

“You’re beautiful, just like that. So pretty with my mouth on you. Will you come for me?”

“Yes,” I sigh, my fingers moving faster.

“That’s my good girl.” His voice is rough as he palms his cock while he’s on his knees for me. The rush of it is incredible. “Now. Let go. Come for me.”

His demand pushes me over the edge. My vision goes dark as my whole body tightens up, hand locked between my thighs as they squeeze. I hold my breath until I’m dizzy in the blackness, and pleasure rolls through me while my lungs strain. My back arches, exposing my breasts to the chill, and the cold makes me shudder. My head is empty and light, but my body is heavy as I sink back into the bath. I sigh, deliciously warm and pliant. “Knight, you always know what to say.”

“I love watching you. I’ve been dreaming about your perfect little pussy coming on my tongue all day.”

Oh God. He says pussy in the same crushed velvet way that the stranger in the market said Petra, and now I can’t unlink the two in my mind. The recording continues, but I’m not paying attention. Could it have been Daddy Knight in my checkout line? What if he’d known—when I was laughing my ass off because my arousal had ramped up a thousand percent—that I’d imagined Knight?

I clutch my wine in a desperate attempt to hold on to my sanity. The stranger from yesterday was the closest I’ve been to an attractive man in a long time, and there was an entire conveyor belt between us. Obviously, my dry spell is as parched as the wafers at church, and is making me delusional. There’s no way Daddy Knight would step foot in Swift River.

“Lay with me for a while, and then I’ll go make that dinner you’re craving.” As the recording continues, I push away the memory of flirting gone wrong. Knight’s blue eyes call me back in. The water lacks the heat of a lover’s touch, but it’s better than nothing. “You know my other favorite? Being here with you.”

I nod as I brush my thumb over my lips, aching for a real kiss. “Me too.”

I lay in the bath for a long while as I sip my wine, wishing—as I always do—for more.

After the bath cools, I pull on my sweats and snag a bowl of cereal from the kitchen. I bring it with me to my ancient desk and search the document on my laptop for the last line I’d written.

I’m at the heart of the story now—the conflict with the dragon king looming over my pixie and her friends. She squints her eyes in determination as she looks up, up, up at the snow-covered mountain where the dragon hoards his treasure. She’s minuscule next to the cliffs, less than half the height of the dragon’s long fangs. My fingers fly over the keys as I let my pixie’s voice drown out my own.

I forget to exist when I’m writing. I’m nothing more than a conduit for the story pulsing through my neurons and forcing itself out of my fingertips.

Life is better in Galin. There’s no room for my failures, my past, or my thoroughly shredded heart. My grief grows with every anniversary of that horrible day. I don’t cry, but it festers beneath my skin until the pain of it is all I know. Until it’s normal. My head is too full with it—it drives me insane.

But in Galin there are endless possibilities, rainbows, and second chances. I disappear, and my pixie lives her vibrant life—the way it should be. If only one of us could exist at a time, I wish it could be her.

“Yo, I’m home!” Tommy yells up the stairs, breaking my concentration.

I yell right back, “You’re on your own for dinner!”

“Aw, man,” Tommy whines. His steps are heavy on the stairs before he slumps against my doorframe. Though Livi is his twin, the resemblance between us is strong. Tommy and I both share Papa’s mouth, and Ma’s nose and curly hair. “Petronia, why you gotta do me like that? And cereal is not dinner.”

I push my bowl further away, but it’s too late to hide it. I’ve forgotten how to be the independent person my father raised. Unable to manage daily responsibilities. Lack of executive function and basic will to survive.

“It’s enough for me,” I argue, flicking a glance back at my laptop. It’s too late; the fairy world is already retreating back into a haze of darkness, leaving the brightest colors behind.

Tommy’s whole body changes. A frown pulls at his mouth as he leans against my desk, seemingly taller and older. “I’m not the bad guy here. You’ve got to get past this shit with Nate. You’re living half a life. Pushing us all away. It’s not healthy.”

It comes out of left field. Like the rest of the family, Tommy ignores the burden I carry around. My long-standing depression is the constant elephant in the room.

But his face doesn’t belong to the Tommy who fights with me over the last muffin or makes jokes at the wrong time. This is the Tommy who became a paramedic to help people, and is studying to become a surgeon to help more. I am the embodiment of disappointment when this Tommy comes out, and I prickle under his attention. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I snapped.”

“Troni, you’re not fine.” I must look awful if he’s bringing out my childhood nickname. “This breakup is killing you. Our parents are old school. Ma thinks if she makes enough pasta it’ll fill the hole in your heart. Pops wants you to be happy, but not so happy that you’ll leave again. Neither of them will help you the way a therapist or some antidepressants can. If it’s about insurance—”

I shake my head. My half-life has nothing to do with missing my ex. I’ve been suffering for years, but I was too far away for the family to see that my pain never eased. No wonder Nate dumped me. “I’m fine.”

“It’s been almost six months. When will you admit that you’re not moving forward?”

“Leave it, Tommaso!” I snap. “Why are you even home?”

“I started my shift early.” Tommy sighs. “You need protein, not cornflakes. I’m making chicken. Get your ass downstairs in ten minutes.”

I wince. Tommy can be an annoying, overeager puppy, but hurting him hurts me too. I reach out to grab his wrist before he walks away. “I’m doing the best I can, okay?”

He squeezes my hand, but really he’s squeezing my heart. It’s rare to see his soft side.

“What happened today?” I ask. “You seem…out of sorts.”

He shrugs, but a muscle ticks in his jaw. “Responded to a call. Thirty-year-old woman. Her mother was there. She pushed her daughter not to take antidepressants because she didn’t believe in them.” Tommy wipes his face on his arm. “We got there too late.”

Tommy hates hugs, but we both need one. I stand up to wrap my arms around him—my little brother who is stronger than me. “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t be too late for you,” Tommy whispers against my hair. “I don’t want to come home to find you that way.”

I squeeze him tight, guilt eating through my chest. I need to do better by him. “You’re not going to. If it gets that bad, I’ll tell you.”

Tommy snorts. “Will you? You’re as stubborn as the rest of us. You stayed with that asshole longer than you should have, and I’m convinced you stuck it out solely to evade my, ‘I told you so.’”

“Hey!” I play at shoving him away, trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t carry that around. I stayed for my own reasons.”

“What could’ve possibly been worth staying?” he asks, bewildered. There’s so much about my time away that he’d never understand. I ignore the question.

“Come on—I’ll keep you from burning the chicken.”

“I’m not gonna burn the chicken,” he grumbles, pushing my shoulder.

“Oh please, Ma cooks every meal for her baby. When’s the last time you made dinner?” I ask, eager to switch subjects. He thunders down the stairs, and I’m competitive enough that I chase after him.

“You know I lived on my own for two years, right?” he asks, bolting down the hallway toward the kitchen.

I touch the refrigerator a half-second after him, the same finish line from when we were kids. Guess I wasn’t the only one racing. “Then why are you still such a Mama’s boy?”

“Because she loves it,” Tommy shoots back. “You have the same thing with Pops.”

“Whatever.” I can’t deny it. Tommy is named after him, but Papa and I are the closest. Silla’s barely a full year older than me, but Livi and Tommy are twins. The seven-year gap between us as kids was a line in the sand—they got more time with Ma, while Silla and I got more time with Papa. I didn’t mind the tradeoff.

Dinner with Tommy is strange, as our schedules hardly ever overlap. We sit at the island, since the table is too big for two, and manage some sense of normalcy by ribbing each other throughout the meal.

“What’s happening on the girlfriend front?” I ask, though it makes me just as bad as Zia Carla.

Tommy brushes me off. “I’m not ready to commit. Things are good right now.”

“How many girls do you have on rotation?”

“Three.” Tommy grins, and I cuff him on the back of his head. “Jesus! They know the deal. Nothing serious.”

“Do they know about each other?” Tommy’s eye twitches. “Ach, Tommaso! You can’t do that to them!”

“God, you sound exactly like Ma,” he complains. “They know we’re not exclusive.”

“For one of the smartest guys out there, you don’t use your brain. Stop thinking with your dick and pick one,” I demand. “Even if it’s not serious. Can you imagine what Mama would say if you got three girls pregnant at the same time?”

Tommy’s face turns white. “I’m smarter than that. No glove, no love.”

“And if that fails?” I give him a pointed look. “It happens more often than they say.”

“Can’t let me have any fun, can you?” He groans and shoves a hand through his black curls. “I’ll text Annamaria and Crystal and break it off.”

“Good. You knew exactly who you were going to choose, which means you should’ve done this a long time ago. Don’t do it again. Got it?”

Tommy at least has enough conscience to grimace. “Are you trying to prove you’re older, after what I said upstairs?”

“If you’re being an asshole you’re going to get called out, no matter how old you are.”

“Understood.” Tommy salutes me as he puts his dish in the sink in an attempt to shut the conversation down. He allowed me to do that earlier, so I offer him the same compassion. Tommy is already bounding up the stairs before I see that he left all the dishes for me.

“Tommaso,” I grumble. “You’re lucky I love you.”

After the kitchen is clean, I crawl into bed and turn on the ambient noise of a thunderstorm. Hours pass while I toss and turn.

Each time I close my eyes, I see the man in the grocery store: his amber eyes, his grin, his laugh.

“I just need to get him out of my head.” I drag my laptop into bed and open a new document. It’s easy to imagine him walking back into Mulberry’s to drag me into the alley and have his wicked way with me. I grin, shrugging off the difficulties of the day, and type well into the morning hours.

Chapter five

Reed

I drive to the coast, but don’t take in much of the scenery. I’m still envisioning Petra’s laughing, kaleidoscopic eyes. The guilt of my actions sits, hot and heavy, like molten lead in my stomach. My gaze flicks over to the passenger seat for the thousandth time, where Petra’s notebook still hides inside the brown, paper grocery bag. I’ve been staring at that thing for two days, praying it would magically go away. It hasn’t.

Jesus. Two minutes with her and I forgot all my rules. I forgot myself. She was laughing and embarrassed, and I slipped on the Daddy Knight mask to watch her squirm even more. Flirting with her came as natural as breathing. For a moment, I didn’t loathe the character I’d created, the company I’d built on it, and the face of it that I’d become.

But then panic hit right before I left. Petra recognized me. What if those handful of minutes led to the same fucked up shit Kinley put me through? When I saw the paper with the quick scribble, Vivid imagination, or mental illness? Who knows? I snatched it without thinking. I slipped it into the bag while Petra was distracted, and was gone before she realized what I’d done.

Judging by her reaction, I’m 90 percent sure she subscribes to DKP, not the boyfriend audios I put on YouTube. Quiet women crave the kinkiest scenes: bullying, stepdads, degradation. Stuff I never considered until I built up my fanbase and took requests.

It immediately put her in the dangerous category. What if she’s a stalker? What if she’s unhinged? What if she writes fantasies about meeting DK and claiming him for herself? If she does, reading her diary would be justified. But if I stole an innocent woman’s notebook filled with important things, what does that say about me? What if it’s her monthly budget? What if there’s a note about a doctor’s appointment that she’ll miss? A love letter? A photograph she treasures? What if my paranoia got the best of me?

I hate both options, so I steadfastly ignore the notebook that haunts my every thought.

I stop on a farm road where the sheep are close to the fence, and pop open the back hatch to sit and watch them while I eat lunch. They bleat at first, but quickly forget about me. The rustling of grass and the lambs frolicking in the pasture eases the prickling along my skin. I scrub at my sleeve as if I can make the sensation go away completely, but it’s fruitless. Eventually it will drive me to madness.

My phone rings, forcing me back into the present, and the itching overwhelms me. “Mom,” I greet, but my irritability is obvious. I grimace, wishing I’d started this off better. “Hi, how are you?”

“Fine,” she says, but she’s snippy. “I was trying to get my update straight from you instead of via Amanda.”

“I’ve been meaning to call, but I’ve been—”

“Really busy?” Her sarcasm is as dry as sawdust and goes down just as harshly. Mom and I aren’t great communicators. Dad’s drinking problem destroyed her, and I became her child protector. I hide things—Daddy Knight Productions, that I loathe coming home, and most of what happened with Kinley—half because she can’t handle it, and half because I’m uncomfortable sharing.

We’re far from perfect, but love doesn’t require perfection.

“I don’t want it to be a chore,” she sighs. “Maybe send me a recording? Your favorite one of the day? Something that tells me you’re alive.”

It’s an easier request than a daily phone call. “I can do that. In fact, I’m sitting across from a dozen lambs who think everything is a jungle gym. I’ll send you a video.”

“Sounds like you’re having a good day.”

“Yeah,” I lie. Mom and I don’t talk long, but I do send her a video of the lambs, which gets several text messages in response. My mind circles back to Petra’s journal, and I pull it out as gingerly as I would a ticking bomb. It’s Schrodinger’s notebook, and I wish I could keep it that way. No matter what I read, there’s no winning here.

I flip through the pages, trying to find the scribble I saw in the store.

It’s honestly better in fairyland than here. Vivid imagination, or mental illness? Who knows?

But a passage near the bottom of the page catches my eye:

Is there a bigger word for this grief than brokenhearted? It can’t possibly convey the weight of the dead heart frozen in my chest. It leaves me as numb as if my veins were flooded by melting glaciers. Brokenhearted can’t begin to describe the daily torment that’s become routine and leaves me listless.

For one innocuous phrase to remind me of a future I will never grasp is an infinite and unbearable torture. It wraps around my throat like an iron collar and drags me under arctic waters. My survival reflex should awaken. I should kick and scream and fight against it. But I don’t. I wish it would pull me down. And yet, I continue to exist, bent so far that I can’t break any furth—

I snap the notebook shut, but Petra’s words echo inside me. The lead in my stomach shifts from molten to freezing. Guilt hardens around my ankles like cement and pulls me below the surface of the very same arctic ocean.

Just like her, I hope it drowns me.

I should’ve known better. Should’ve seen her. Petra has small wrinkles between her brows that speak of sadness. Sadness that evidently lives in her like a parasite, eating her from the inside. Sadness that I’d brushed off because of the way she laughed, wry and embarrassed.

My own parasite catches in the light, and I yank my sleeve down over my tattoo. Fuck.

…Am I turning into Kinley? I’m the one unhinged, not Petra. Kinley infected me; burrowed so deep into me that I’m behaving like her. Justifying my actions. Stepping over boundaries that any sane person would respect.

But Kinley isn’t sane, and I might not be either. She fucked it all up for me. I fucked it all up for me, the minute I let Kinley in my bed. Never again. I’ll gladly sleep alone for the rest of my life.

Carrying around this anxiety and resentment is exhausting. I wish I could shed my past like a moth emerging from its cocoon. I want nothing more than to see the world with new eyes and lift my wings to the breeze. I want to watch my fears shrink away to nothing.

But I can’t do that with this hanging over me.

I dial Amanda’s number, but shame burns hot up my neck and into my cheeks, and I hang up. I don’t want to tell anyone. I want to leave this notebook on the side of the road for the lambs to eat, and pretend that I never took it in the first place. But I can’t. My writing is everything to me, and I’ve stolen these words from someone’s soul.

I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. I’m a horrible person. I’d be a worse person if I left Petra’s diary here to rot. Maybe one action doesn’t make a horrible person, but those actions pile up. Can I continue justifying and taking and ruining, until I hate who I am?

Fuck. Fucking Fuck. I hate this. I hate me. I hate everything.

Rage builds up and I want to stomp and yell like a toddler to let it out. My shaking fingers press into the paper. I swallow hard, forcing them to relax. It takes a minute to unclench, and I smooth out the wrinkles my anger left behind. My thumb traces over her words, And yet, I continue to exist. The familiarity of them throbs in my chest. I could’ve written that. Her ink sinks beneath my fingerprint—an invisible tattoo to carry with me. One I’m choosing this time.

I close the book and carefully lower it back into the bag. I can’t take back what I’ve done, but I can give Petra back her words. I can offer her something that Kinley will never give me: an apology. It’s not enough, but maybe I’ll hate myself slightly less.

The number for her store is easy to find online, and I dial it with lumps curdling in my stomach.

“Mulberry’s, this is Ray,” a man answers. Not exactly what I was hoping for. “How can I help you?”

“Could I speak to Petra?”

“She’s not in until noon,” he says. “Can I take a message?”

Don’t you know not to give that kind of information out randomly? I want to reprimand him, but it won’t do any good. “No, I’ll call back.”

But I don’t.

It’s more than a two hour drive to Swift River, and it manages to pass in seconds while also taking entire days. I don’t notice any of the scenery while shame and anxiety build in me. It bounces out of my fingers and legs with rapid motions that do nothing to ease the tension.

I pull up to the mostly empty parking lot and dart through sleeting rain to the front doors. I stop in the doorway, stunned, because Petra is right there, oblivious to my arrival. I’m frozen, searching for some clue to the puzzle she’s become.

Petra is shy and bold. She laughs though she hurts.

She’s a reflection of how jacked up I’ve become. A victim of my rash, panic driven actions.

I swallow my pride, and step forward.

Chapter six

Reed

Petra sits alone in front of the coffee bar and bakery section, sipping a warm drink with a book spread out in front of her. She doesn’t look up as I walk over to the chair across from hers. “Is this seat taken?”

Petra bolts upright in surprise and pulls out an earbud, already blushing. “You’re—hi. Sorry, what?”

Her reaction ups my original guess. I’m ninety-five percent sure she’s a subscriber, though it’s no excuse for what I’ve done. “Can I join you?”

A short, bright laugh escapes her—like a car horn—and she claps a hand over her face. It’s unusual, endearing, and makes me smile. “Yeah.” She shakes her head at herself. “Go ahead.”

I drop into the chair, at a total loss for how to move forward. “What’re you listening to?”

“ASMR,” she says, pulling out the other earbud. “It’s a coping mech—uh, I listen to it a lot.”

“Ah.” I take the plunge. “Mine?”

“What?” she asks too loudly. Her eyes widen, and a new flush creeps up her chest and neck. She breaks into silent giggles and buries her face in her hand. “Oh God, it is you. I didn’t consider it until later when I—oh. If you needed confirmation, I gave the game away.”

When you what? I want to ask. It would be easier to slip on my Daddy Knight mask and flirt with her than to deal with the mess of a human I’ve become. Especially when she makes me forget how much I despise what DKP has become. When you got in the car? When you woke up in the middle of the night? When you listened to my audio? If she reacts this way without anything sexual behind it, I’d love to push her and see what happens. “I didn’t need confirmation.”

Petra’s cheeks darken all over again, and a smile tugs at my mouth despite the guilt I’m shouldering. There’s no trace in her face of the vulnerable, aching words from her diary. “That’s even worse. I can’t believe you knew. You can’t tell anyone. I won’t live it down,” she says, but she’s still laughing.

She’s so goddamn sweet. Could the notebook belong to someone else? I fidget in my seat, rethinking my plan. I don’t want to tell her about the notebook. If it is hers, I don’t want her to feel violated, the way I do. She already thinks of me as Daddy Knight, which makes the mask the easy answer. Maybe if she gets angry with DK, it won’t hurt as much.

Maybe he can take on all my worst traits, and leave Reed good, whole, and untainted.

“Your secret is safe with me,” I reassure her. Multiple secrets. I’ll carry her words to my grave, because I shouldn’t have seen them in the first place. I stall by reaching for the book she’s reading, and slide it across the table to read the title. “Fantasy? Interesting. I’d pinned you for smutty romance.”

“How one-dimensional of you,” she scolds, crossing her arms. “My vagina doesn’t dictate every facet of my life.”

An elderly woman pushing a cart toward the exit pauses behind Petra, and I can’t hide my amusement. “Want to say that a little louder?”

Petra whips around, her dark hair swishing, and swivels back with wide eyes. Some listeners get shy and avoid eye contact, some thank me for boosting their confidence, and others want to see if the sex is as good as the audio. But Petra is something else—affected but laughing about it. Bold but self-conscious. I should feel bad for the ocean of embarrassment she’s wading through, but I don’t.

She makes me smile. When was the last time that happened?

“Oh my God. I’m a walking disaster around you,” she groans. Unfortunately, that makes two of us. “People are going to assume I slept with some guy who was in town for a day—”

I flip to the end of her book, avoiding her eyes. The premise is great, but I want to know the ending before I jump in. “Two days now, technically.”

She leans in to whisper, “And Mrs. Fitzgerald will lecture me about it, as though I’m not a grown-ass woman who can sleep with some hot guy when I want. And then she’ll pray for me!”

Some hot guy? She’s attracted to me—not DK, or my voice.

Surprise flits through me, leaving heat in its wake. The attraction goes both ways. Even before I invaded her privacy, I noticed how gorgeous she is. She’s on the taller side for a woman, and all dark, warm colors and lush curves. With this piece of the puzzle, Petra shifts from passing interest to burgeoning fascination.

I forget all about the notebook. My past ceases to exist, my nerves disappear, and the prickling across my skin quiets. She moves all of it out of focus. I’m mesmerized by her pretty, woodland eyes, full mouth, and the small flecks of brown skin across her collarbone. How far do they travel below the cotton of her shirt?

“The more prayers the merrier, right?” I ask, leaning in until her face is inches away. Her breath hitches, and the vulnerability in her calls to me. A foolish, chaotic part of me wants to close the space between us. To see how she’d react to a single kiss. To pick her apart and discover how all her pieces fit together.

She drops her head into her hands. “It’s not funny.”

My fingers slip under her chin to lift her face. I don’t want her to die of embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Maybe we should talk somewhere else.”

“What?” Her voice is barely a squeak. We’re close enough that her soft perfume tugs at me. Something like cookies—a scent from my childhood that I can’t puzzle out. “I don’t know what you’re expecting, but I don’t know you.”

“What if I want to know you?” I graze her chin with my thumb, and it steadies me. No more tapping or bouncing. She swallows, her eyes so wide that I can see the bits of green and gold clearly among the soft brown.

I have rules: Only trust my family. Don’t let anyone in. Don’t tell anyone who I am. Don’t tell anyone where I am. Don’t stay in one place too long. No social media, and no sleepovers.

Getting to know her breaks three of those.

I’m doubly surprised when she doesn’t push me away, and I force myself to drop my hand. “What is it?” she asks quietly, her eyes raking over my face like I’m an open book.

The truth sits on the tip of my tongue. I stole your notebook because I let my worst fears get the better of me. Because I wanted to see how you tick. Because I needed to know if you were a threat. I read things I shouldn’t have, and then nearly trashed it because I was ashamed.

I pull the small pad from my coat pocket and slide it across the table to her.

And I lie.

“I think this is yours. It was in my grocery bag, so you seemed the most likely candidate.”

“Oh.” Her gaze pierces me, but she doesn’t make a move to take it. “...Did you read it?”

I swiped it with the explicit intention to. I shift under her attention and search for something remotely true. “A little. I realized it was personal, and I stopped.”

She flips to the last page, reminding herself what she wrote. Her body changes as her written words overwhelm her, and the light goes out of her eyes. Damn it. So much for hoping it wasn’t hers. “Thank you for returning it to me.”

Thank you? My stomach sinks like I’ve swallowed a box of rocks. “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have read it. I’m sorry for that, and for the pain you’re going through.”

Her fingers trail over that paragraph. The one that eats at me. “It’s funny,” she murmurs. “I’ve been screaming for so long that I lost my voice. Like pulling a fire alarm too frequently. The whole building is ablaze, but it’s old news. The only person who cares is the occupant.”

That’s the opposite of funny, and the rocks in my stomach multiply. “I care, Petra.”

The corner of her mouth lifts into an unfeeling smile. I recognize it from the last time I was here. It’s her disconnected, customer service smile. The vibrant girl who laughed with me is nowhere to be found. “You have no reason to. Thank you again. Have a nice day.”

“Petra—” I can’t stand it. Reading her words was nothing compared to watching this. I need her to do more than just exist. I reach for her hand, but she moves out of reach. “I stole it. Took it right off your check stand.”

“Okay,” she says, as if I didn’t commit an atrocious invasion of privacy. She’s…vacant.

“I knew you recognized me and I… I suppose I wanted to even the playing field.” It’s the ugliest truth, and I’m hoping it will shock her into motion. But she merely shrugs and tucks one earbud into her ear. A coping mechanism. “Where is your support system? Your family? Are you married?”

She frowns at me, her eyes terribly blank. I glance at her ring finger, but it’s bare. “Why does it matter…Knight?” Her whole face scrunches. “I’m assuming that’s not your real name.”

“Reed,” I supply, breaking rule number three. She cocks her head, still waiting for an answer. My words come out softer than I intended. “I can’t walk away knowing you have no one in your corner.”

She sits back with a huff, and some color comes back to her face. “I have to start my shift.” She scoops up her book and purse and flees to the employee break room.

“Damn it.” I sigh, rubbing at the headache creeping into my temple. I feel worse than before. She thanked me for stealing and prying into her personal life. She went full on robot on me. The pink in her cheeks washed out until she was whiter than the pages of her journal. Is this how she normally is? How does no one notice she’s barely alive?

Kind of like how no one notices I’m barely alive.

I search for a way to salvage the situation, though I’m not sure what there is to save. I’m not trying to make friends: rule number one. But I want to be better than the man who stole her notebook. Therapy is the best move here, and I pull out my phone to schedule an appointment.

Her coworker from the other day steps up and orders a coffee for himself. When he glances over at me, he smiles. “Hey, visitor. You’re still here! How was Bella Vita?”

“I haven’t gone yet.” It’s reckless, and will assuredly blow up in my face, but I walk over to shake his hand. “I’m Reed. I wasn’t intending to stay, but…” I search the registers for any sign of Petra. I have no idea how to explain this.

“Ray.” Ray frowns as he watches Petra emerge and head to a check stand. “Always a woman that derails our plans, isn’t it? I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself. Petra moved home a few months ago—real rough go of it down in California. We’re all protective of her.”

“California?” The coincidence snags my attention.

“Los Angeles. But that’s her story to tell. Should’ve guessed something would come from your conversation the other day. I haven’t seen her laugh that hard in years.”

Years? I force the question down. Is what I saw the other day some miracle? Did my theft ruin it and send her back into darkness? “I was hoping to see her again.”

“She’s off at six,” he offers. He’s trying to be helpful, but if I was stalking Petra, he just made it easy to abduct her. I swallow the lecture sitting on the tip of my tongue.

“Thanks.”

“Treat her right, or we’ll all come after you with pitchforks.”

I’ve already mistreated her, and I’ve known her for all of ten minutes. It’s the world’s worst record. I wish I could promise him something, anything, but I have no clue what I’m doing. I should drive back to Portland, or further on to Seattle. I manage a nod to Ray before I head to the car.

There’s a hotel on the road to the freeway, and my heart stops and stutters at the sight of it. I pull into the empty hotel lot, chewing on my choices. Leaving town with Petra withdrawn and empty leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “What am I doing?” I sigh, tapping my thumbs against the steering wheel. “Just let her be, Reed.”

The rain beats down, and each drop against the windshield is a tick of the clock. My anxiety ticks with it. That’s all it does anymore—tick away as life passes too quickly. I’m constantly in fight-or-flight mode. I’m just existing.

I can’t do this anymore. I have to stop running. I have to stop pretending that I’m okay. I have to put effort into making my life better than it is.

I pull myself together and jog through the rain to the front door.

“Welcome! Checking in?” the receptionist asks with a smile.

“I don’t have a reservation.”

“That’s okay.” She winks at me before her blue eyes do a leisurely once over. She might want a hookup, or could just be appreciating the scenery. Either way, there’s a slimy element to it. “For one night?”

“Yes. I’m passing through.” I pass over my license and credit card, emotionally exhausted. I need a nap and a plan. “If you have one with a kitchenette that would be great. I’m tired of fast food.”

“Sure thing, Reed Alexander,” she reads as she types my name into the system. “I’ll set you up in a corner suite as a complimentary upgrade. My name is Tina, if you need anything during your stay.”

“Thank you.” From all the signs around town, tourism in this area is bustling during both summer and snowy weather, but the sleet coming down outside isn’t inviting for outdoor activities. No wonder the parking lot was bare. Tina helpfully points out nearby restaurants, sightseeing places, and things to do nearby before she hands me my room key.

“Any good Italian food around?” I ask, aiming for nonchalance. If Swift River is anything like Coralville, gossip travels on a breeze. If the receptionist is anything like Ray, she’ll offer up Petra’s social security number before dinner. It’s disturbing what people will give away.

“Bella Vita is the best! It’s only four signals, left on Mulberry, right on Seventh. Mrs. Diamante’s stuffed shells are amazing.”

Petra Diamante. Petra’s name is different, quirky, and oddly charming—like her short, bright laugh. Before she shut down, anyway. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Tina.”

I haul my bags and recording equipment up to the room. My stomach churns over my decision to stay the night. I’m fighting months of instinct that is telling me to run, and for what? I dump everything on the table and sink down onto the striped, cream sofa—dying to call Holly, refusing to call Amanda. Holly wouldn’t answer and Amanda would think I’m insane.

“Why are you putting yourself through this?” Amanda would tell me. “You made a mistake and you owned up to it. Case closed. Come home, where I can be here for you.”

I press my hand to the black ink on my forearm, covering a wound that may never heal. My only visible scar from a night that ruined my life. But I refuse to let Kinley infect me. I refuse to move back to Iowa. To let my paranoia ruin all my interactions, or assume anyone I meet will fuck me over in a monumental way.

I want to do more than exist. I want to live. I just needed Petra’s words to wake me up. To remind me.

Maybe I can return the favor.

Chapter seven

Petra

I spend all afternoon on autopilot. I should be angry with Reed, or embarrassed that he read something incredibly personal. But I’m…empty.

There are short moments when I remember Reed’s voice in my ear, or his fingers on my jaw, and they make the gray of the grocery store less gloomy and more panic-inducing. The memories make my skin tingle. It’s unsettling after being numb for years.

The end of my shift doesn’t come quickly enough. I clock out, tucking my book deep into my bag to protect it from the rain. I’m distracted—searching for my keys as I walk out the doors—and run smack into a hard body.

“Shit!” I exclaim as I dip toward the sidewalk. A steadying arm wraps around my waist, and my face brushes against soft petals as I peel myself away. “Oh no, your flowers—”

“They’re actually yours.” When I glance up, it’s into warm, amber eyes. He’s not Thor, but my stomach still clenches at the sight of him. Reed isn’t much taller than me, but his confidence makes him appear that way, and his square face is undeniably handsome up close. It’s like loving a book character and seeing a film adaptation that’s entirely different, yet somehow even hotter.

“You’re here again? How many groceries do you need?” I ask. He half-smiles until his dimple appears. He steadies me, and when his hand slips from my waist, heat flashes through me. I hope it’s not broadcasted all over my face that I wrote a fantasy of him pressing me against the cold wall of the loading dock last night.

He straightens up and clears his throat before offering me the bouquet. “An apology. Or a reminder that someone cares. Or both of those, plus an additional apology for overstepping further this afternoon.”

His skin has a green tinge to it, as though he’s going to be sick over it. Maybe I should be angry about what he did, but Reed only knows me through my own words. This town treats gossiping as a career and avoiding mention of my depression as a hobby. He’s not taking part in either of those, and it’s refreshing.

The bouquet is gorgeous, and there’s no lasting damage from where my face smashed into it. Blossoms of hydrangea and ranunculus in subtle creams, vivid oranges, yellows, and pinks, remind me of summer sunsets over LA beaches. I take a deep breath, and the soft scent of hydrangeas mixes with the rain. I love them, but I pass them back. “You already apologized. I don’t know why you keep coming back, but I’ve got too much baggage to jump into bed with you because of a bouquet—obviously. It’s nothing against you.”

He smiles, but it’s sad, and refuses to take back the flowers. “I have an entire house full of baggage. I’m not trying to sleep with you, Petra, but my baggage is lighter when I’m with you. You make me forget all about it.”

I snort, but he’s worming his way into my good graces. The tingling sensation is back, reviving dead parts of me. “If you’d told me that this afternoon, rather than scar Mrs. Fitzgerald by discussing my vagina—”

He smiles, and this time it’s more real. “You did that all on your own.”

“Then I might’ve been more receptive to flowers.”

He nods as he stuffs his hands in his coat pockets. “What about now? Too late?”

I size him up. Guaranteed, he’s trying to get in my pants, but I can’t deny that’s flattering. Especially when the ranunculus in my arms bring color to my gray world. “How long are you in town?”

He shrugs a shoulder in a failed attempt at nonchalance. “I wasn’t planning on coming back when I drove through the other day.”

There it is. “I’m going to make this crystal clear. If you’re trying to hook up with me, I’m not doing that.”

He opens his mouth, shuts it, and tries again. “I want to know more about you. That’s all. The woman who listens to my scenes and laughs about being found out. A single adult who still worries about what people will say if she lets loose. A soul who writes like she’s bleeding onto the paper.”

That he’s seen to the heart of me is terrifying. Intriguing. He sends my pulse racing. “I don’t do sex with strangers.”

He nods. “I respect that. How about coffee with strangers?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he says, stepping back. “I can take a hint. Night, Petra.”

I should walk away, but every cell in my body is screaming to go with him. I want to peek behind the curtain. If he’s curious, I’m doubly fascinated. What made him start his brand? How did he come up with his Daddy Knight persona? It’s undeniably a persona—his glimpse of vulnerability showed me that much.

Turning off my brain, I lean into an intuition I haven’t trusted in ages. “Wait. I meant no to coffee. I’m starving, and I’m going to need a glass of wine with this conversation.”

Reed smiles, flashing a hint of a dimple. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

I’m not giving up my getaway car. “Are you staying here in town?” His hotel is less than five minutes away. I swallow my pride. “I’m going back inside for wine and food. I’ll meet you there.”

Reed freezes. “I’m getting mixed signals here, and honestly, I’m not interested in sex with strangers either.”

I laugh, embarrassed as hell, and clutch my flowers in an effort not to cover my face with my hands. “Good. No mixed signals. I’m just not talking about this in public.”

Reed’s eyes crinkle, delighting in my awkwardness. “I don’t mind paying.”

My heart is racing too fast for this to be a good decision, but I stick to it. “Don’t you need time to tidy?”

“I’ve been there all of five hours,” he protests, but he’s already walking backward. “Room 218!”

The group of people entering and exiting all stop and stare at me. I glare at Reed, my cheeks hot. “Seriously?”

He winks—winks, with an audacity I can’t believe—as he crosses the parking lot. I clutch my bouquet awkwardly while half a dozen people stare, then stalk inside to buy two bottles of wine. I might need both.

One bag of groceries later, and I’m climbing the stairs to the second floor of the hotel. I hesitate at the door. What if he’s a serial killer? What if he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer? My brain cycles through a hundred more scenarios, but the heavy bag in my arms decides for me, and I knock.

Reed swings open the door with a smirk that emphasizes his dimple. “Petra.”

Jesus. Two seconds in and I have to fight my blush. “Do you normally greet people solely with their name?”

“No, but yours is fantastic,” he says as I pass him the bag. I try not to gawk at his enormous suite, complete with kitchenette and living room. It’s all beige colors and dark wood—a far cry from my ancient, creaking, water-stained furniture.

“I brought sushi. I don’t know what your favorite is, but thought we could split a few. They have eel sauce at the counter, by the way.” I can’t help the grin that sneaks out when his eyes flit up to mine in surprise. “You should’ve said it was only for one meal.”

His face morphs into a smile full of secrets. “You’re cheeky. I wondered what else was underneath the blush.”

Compliment or not, it warms me from my hair to my toes. I’ve missed being called something playful. “I’m a lot of things.”

“Unexpected things,” Reed notes, as he puts the flowers in water. He opens the boxes of sushi and divides up the rolls while I pour us both a generous glass of wine. I take a gulp to ease the coming interrogation.

“Okay,” I say after a few large sips and bites of sushi. “Lay it on me.”

“What an offer,” Reed’s voice is deep, decadent, and goosebumps run down my arms. “But it’s more polite to let you eat first.”

It’s part of the suave persona, but that’s not who interests me. “C’mon, put Knight away. Do you try to hook up with anyone who recognizes your voice?”

Reed frowns, but smooths it away. “No. But I’ve made some connections that way in the past.”

I don’t doubt that women throw themselves at him. I already know he can give me an orgasm without touching me—his voice is the catalyst.

“I’ll bet,” I choke out. “But I haven’t been with anyone in a while, and I’m not about to break that fast for someone who’s going to compare me to three hundred other women.”

I’ve made a mistake, because his eyes sparkle with challenge. “One: I don’t compare, and two: three hundred women? Really?”

“More? Less?”

He laughs, and the sound of it has my stomach fluttering. “I’m impressed you went that high. What constitutes a while? Don’t you miss it?”

I roll my eyes, abandoning my sushi for more wine. “I get myself off just fine.”

“With my help.” His grin is so smug that I want to wipe it off his face. Preferably with my mouth. But I can’t, and worse, he’s caught me staring.

“They’re my hands!” I protest.

He pushes his plate aside, focused on me—playing with me. This is the part of dating I missed. “No vibrators? How interesting. Sex is a mental game, Petra. Each one of those orgasms was mine.”

Mine.

My mouth drops open in indignation, though my breasts grow heavy and my thighs squeeze together. “You—no! They were mine. I don’t know how to be with a man anymore. You’re just a recording, not a real person.”

Something in his eyes shutters and dulls. He picks up his hardly touched plate and carries it to the counter. “Ouch.”

“Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” he sighs. “You’re right. I’m not myself on those recordings. I’m an actor. It’s the nature of the business that I’m used as an object. At least you don’t assume you know me because you’ve listened to my scenes.”

“Do people do that?” I reach for my glass, but it’s empty.

He laughs without any humor as he leans against the counter. “You have no idea. At least I have some sense of anonymity. Holly, my best—my old friend—is famous in adult films. She’s recognized often, mostly in a good way. Sometimes not.”

As awkward as it is that Reed knows I’ve listened to him, I can’t imagine a world where I’m routinely recognized for my sex face. Am I any better? Focusing only on his job and not on who he is as a person? Writing about him in the middle of the night?

Guilt squirms in my stomach. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with what I was doing. I didn’t consider—”

“Please don’t apologize.” He sighs again, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re not doing anything wrong. It’s a service I offer. You pay me for it. You’re not snooping through my phone—you’re getting a curated experience sent to your email.”

“Oh.” It hits me, and my whole world shifts sideways. “Oh. I’m paying you for sex.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that news? At least you’re paying for it, not pirating it.”

I wince. “I equated it to…buying an audiobook or something.”

He snorts, bringing the wine to the table and pouring us both another large glass, draining the bottle. “An explicitly sexy, updated weekly, the-reader-is-the-star audiobook.”

I’m horrified at how I dehumanized him. In my scene, he had whatever personality I wanted him to. “I objectified you.”

“Not the way some people do. Plus, I stole your journal. We’re more than square.” He frowns, tapping his finger against his glass. “You caught me at a time when this is a sore subject. I wouldn’t have cared a year ago—wouldn’t have given it a second thought. And I would’ve tried to sleep with you the minute you recognized me.”

“I’m sorry, for whatever happened to change that.” I want to ask what’s different, but he avoids my eyes.

“You’re not the person I want an apology from, but thank you anyway. Are you done with dinner?”

Truthfully, I’ve lost my appetite. I help him clear the table and uncork the second bottle of wine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he says as he leads me to the sofa where we take opposite ends. My toes wiggle in protest to be let free, but it would be overly familiar and impolite to take my shoes off. “Opening up to someone who knew about DKP screwed me over last time.”

“Then I’m doubly sorry. Was she—they—” I trip over my words. “Oh, I didn’t consider it would be more than women—”

“Oh, yes, all genders.” His smirk is at my expense, but it’s better than his melancholy. He leans forward, until each inch of him strains to crowd my space. “You had a question?”

“It was too personal.”

His eyes roam over me—evaluating. “I’ll trade you one.”

Chapter eight

Petra

Screw it. I slip my sneakers off to curl up on the sofa. Hugging a stiff pillow to my belly, I consider all the things Reed wants to know. They’re all sex-related, so I’m confident about striking the bargain. He knows the worst parts already.

“Deal,” I agree. The curiosity is eating at me. “Do you sleep with more than women? Was your issue sleeping with a fan of Daddy Knight?”

His gold eyes are piercing as he takes a sip. “That was two.”

I grimace. “One and an extension.”

“My sexual preference is women, but I don’t discriminate against my listeners,” he says, one eyebrow raised high. “There’s enough Daddy Knight to include anyone who wants to listen, and I have several collaborations with other male creators on their platforms. And yes, it was.”

“Then why would you sleep with me?”

“Don’t read anything into it. If you’re not up for it then it’s not happening, and that’s a dead serious promise. Now. My turn.” His eyes glitter in the dim light of the side table. “Why haven’t you had sex in a long time? How long is a long time?”

I should’ve expected that. “That’s two. I was in a long-term relationship and I haven’t dipped my toe back in the water yet.”

“One and an extension,” he says, using my own words against me. “How long?”

I avoid broadcasting how flustered and humiliated I am by the answer. “A couple years.”

Both of Reed’s eyebrows shoot up. “Years, plural? Two? Three?”

I take a huge gulp, desperate for a buzz to offset my humiliation. “Four.”

“What?” Reed asks in total disbelief. “I changed my mind. You need to have sex with me—not for my sake. For yours.”

I snort and pierce him with a glare. “You’re a real ladies’ man, Reed. Know exactly how to get me going.”

“But you’re hot when you’re annoyed.” He winks, back in Daddy Knight territory. I roll my eyes as he sets our empty glasses to the side and folds my hands in his. They’re large and warm, and the just-waking-up sensation is back. “How do I actually get you going? Which scenes are your favorite? Do you listen to them multiple times? In the car? At work?”

“Do you do that? Don’t answer that. I keep it private, thank you.” I glance back down at my tingling hands in wonder. The only men to touch me lately are my family members. I miss this type of connection, no matter how little I know Reed.

I’ve had too much wine.

His agitated finger drums against my hand. “How have you been single for four years? You’re beautiful, kind, soulful. You smell like cookies, you’re hilarious—”

“I smell like what?” I pull away with a laugh. “You’ve known me for an hour, Reed. And I’ve only been single for five months.”

Reed goes entirely still. “You were in a relationship before that?”

“Yes.” I’ve definitely had too much wine, because words spill out when my brain should be holding them back. “I lived in LA with my boyfriend for a long time. An excruciatingly long time.”

“Without sex for four years?” Reed mumbles. His hand moves up my arm, and each stroke is a salve on a web of invisible cuts that’ve been left open for too long. “I can’t imagine you were okay being in a relationship with no intimacy. Not with your sex drive. What made you stay?”

I open my eyes—I don’t remember shutting them—and muster up some fight. “This is way beyond one question. And you know nothing about my sex drive.”

“Don’t I? Your listening habits say otherwise. Did he belittle you for wanting it as much as you did? Insecure men do that when they can’t keep up.” His hand smooths down the length of my arm to my hand, and my eyes want to close again. His voice gets quiet. “I can keep up, Petra. If not with my dick, then with my hands and mouth. I’m a hardworking man in all aspects.”

I tilt my head back, laughing, because his words are filthy, but he says it so sweetly. Similar to his Daddy Knight persona, but decidedly different. Oh no, I won’t be able to listen to those without seeing Reed’s face and comparing Knight to the side of Reed I’m experiencing now. I’m going to have to cancel my subscription.

“I don’t doubt it, but you weren’t going to push the issue, remember? What is your fascination with my sex life?”

He takes a quiet moment to play with my fingers and lace ours together.

“I want you to live vibrantly.” He’s watching our hands, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me, or himself. “Maybe this is fate trying to remind you of what you could have. To remember that sex can be beautiful and fulfilling, despite the past. Because the last person who touched you should never be the person who hurt you.”

His pain is etched into each line of his face. “Reed—”

He shakes his head, throwing off his somber moment, and smiles up at me. “You’re freshly single, you should be out having the best sex of your life, not shut away like a nun.”

“My dad always wanted me to be a nun,” I note, losing track of what I’d wanted to say. My head is filled with helium, but is also extraordinarily heavy. Way too much wine. I’m trashed. “But I doubt nuns drink or listen to erotica twice a week. Ha! I take that back. I’m sure they indulge in communion wine.”

“Petra?” Reed asks. In my silence, his smile grows and grows, accompanying laughing eyes. “Twice a week?”

“Shit.” I drop my head into my free hand.

“It’s routine?” he asks.

Giggles sweep over me in the same moment as mortification, and I shut my eyes against both. “Go away!”

“I can’t, now.” Reed’s voice drips in my ear as he bends close. “I want to know everything. Why those days? What do you do?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“How do you do it? Which one is your favorite?” His question glides down my spine like a lover’s touch, and all of me pebbles at the sensation. I can’t handle it. If I let this continue I’m going to sleep with him, and that’s terrifying.

I rip my hands away—angry at myself—and meet his intense, questioning gaze. “You know what? If it will take away the mystery, fine. It’s any day I have the house to myself, because I had to move back in with my parents. That, in itself, is humiliating. I don’t use vibrators because my mother is a snoop and a bloodhound, so my bed isn’t an option. And my favorite—”

I choke off my words because speaking my fantasies is a lot like undressing in front of him. But Reed’s eyes are bright as he urges me on. He touches the back of his hand against my hot cheek and lets it fall. “You’re pink. Don’t stop there. What makes you tick, baby?”

The endearment does me in. So many nights he’s moaned it in my ear, but it’s different with him next to me. The difference between a cold speaker and his warm breath on my jaw is night and day. Between that and the wine, I can’t keep anything a secret.

The fight drains out of me. “It’s hormonal. Soft and sweet, rough and demanding, it depends on my cycle.”

His fingers are gentle as he leans in and brushes my hair back. “Soft? A sweet boyfriend? Positive affirmations?”

“Yes,” I whisper, and let my eyes shut to protect me from the eager way he’s looking at me.

“And what type of rough, baby? Blindfolded? Bound?” His voice is enthralling, and I ache for him all over. I should leave. I’m beyond tipsy, and each admission only provides more ammunition for him to play with me.

“Yes.”

He hums, fingers sparking fires as they trail down to my collar. “Darker? Pain?”

I shake my head. “Only in a fantasy.”

“Degrading?”

My answer is firm and immediate. “No.”

“Daddy kink?”

I snap my eyes open to glare at him, my face red. “Shut up!”

“That’s a yes.” Reed’s eyes crinkle as he laughs, and his whole face transforms.

My heart runs a marathon beneath my ribs, leaving me hot and breathless. “Oh my God! I’m leaving now.”

Reed strokes a path down my arm and twines our fingers together. “That’s a double yes. It’s okay to admit it. It’s not really my thing anymore, but it’s cute that you’re shy about it. You need someone to take care of you, Petra?”

“You’re a real ass,” I complain, but don’t push him away. How can a voice sound so smooth and rough at the same time? His words play against my skin as deftly as his fingers. “I take care of myself.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with a shrug. “But I’m lonely, and so are you.”

I frown, defensive. “I’m not lonely—”

“Then why are you holding my hands?” he asks. Hands. Plural. At some point, I reached for his second one and linked our fingers together there, too. I panic, my eyes darting up to his, but there’s nothing arrogant in his face this time.

He looks tired. Like me. It’s a sad reminder of real life. “I should go.”

“We’ve both had a lot to drink,” Reed says. “Let me call you a ride.”

“I—” I fumble for words, and my cheeks cool. There’s a gaping hole in my chest at the idea of crawling into my childhood bed. My parents’ house is familiar, and I’m grateful for the safety most days, but not now. Not while I’m sitting next to a man who pokes, prods, and makes me laugh. Someone who doesn’t treat me like I have the malocchio.

Reed plays with me because I can take it.

“When’s the last time you were held as you slept, Petra?” Reed asks, eyes searching my face. He’s not Daddy Knight right now. This is pure Reed, and it’s evident I’m not the only one who’s hurting.

I bite my lip, considering the offer. “A long time. And for you?”

Reed sucks in a sharp breath. “Seems longer than it is.”

My sober self wouldn’t agree to this in a million years. But she’s not here right now, and the loneliness that eats at my heart makes my decision for me. “I don’t want to have sex.”

Reed nods as he tugs me up from the sofa. “Me either.”

I frown at him. “I’m insulted, but I’m not sure why.”

Reed laughs, and the joy of it has me following right behind. I hadn’t paid attention to how much he drank, but evidently we’re both blitzed, because Reed weaves as we walk. “Don’t get me wrong,” he says, turning on the bedroom light and pulling back the sheets. “You have all the right qualities. But what you’re offering right now is sweeter and infinitely more precious. You want to borrow a pair of sweats?”

I hesitate. There’s no reason for me to be shy or scandalized at the sight of the bed—I’m a grown woman—but I’m out of practice. “Could I borrow a shirt, too?”

Reed digs clothes from a suitcase and I bring the bundle into the bathroom with me. His shirt fits tightly across my chest, but I’m too tipsy to worry about it.

“Reed?” I peek out to find him already changed and leaning against the windowsill, watching the rain. It’s strangely domestic, seeing him there. “Can I use the hotel toothbrush?”

“Sure, I brought my own.” He grabs his toothpaste, and my life is upside down as we brush our teeth side by side. I give him privacy when I’m done, ignoring the downturned sheets and searching the closets for spare blankets for the sofa instead. I’m not sure if it’s him, me, or both that I don’t trust.

But Reed doesn’t have any hesitations when he comes back in. He tugs me away from the closet to the bed. “Go ahead, I’ll tuck you in. No sex required.” I open my mouth, but Reed stops my protest with a soft brush of his hand against my cheek. “I want to. Plus, you have a daddy kink. Let me take care of you.”

He laughs at my glare and motions for me to lay down. I’m not graceful, but he sweetly tucks the covers over me. He turns off the light and settles onto his side of the bed.

“Night,” I offer in the silence.

I shouldn’t stay. Laying here awkwardly next to Reed is even more lonely than my childhood bed. I shift uneasily, wishing he’d fall asleep so I can sneak out.

“Petra.” His voice is crushed velvet in the dark. “Can I hold you?”

My heart falters. It’s all my worst fears and deepest wishes rolled into one. When I turn onto my side, Reed’s eyes are leached of color in the dim moonlight, and his face reflects my own. Tired, anxious, hopeful, and terrified.

“Please,” I whisper, and worry it’s too soft for him to hear. The guilt over my earlier objectification of him stabs me. I refuse to use him as a warm body. “Maybe the real question is, can I hold you?”

Something in Reed’s face shatters. Something quiet. Painful. It disappears in a blink, replaced by a soft nod, and I wrap my arms around him. It’s immediately more comfortable, because, though Reed is a stranger, my body reacts like he’s home.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks, his hand stroking up and down my back. His gentle attention melts all my bones. He’s warm and tender—things I’d wished Nate would be.

I nod and smooth my palm over the side of his ribs. “I’ve missed this. Just being close to someone. Not that—I mean—”

“I know what you mean. Because, though it’s only for tonight, it’s…comforting isn’t a big enough word. I didn’t think I’d ever lie with someone again.”

His unexpected confession makes my ribs ache. I only saw a glimpse of his pain. How deep does it go?

“Me either,” I admit in the quiet. Reed tucks his face against my neck and breathes in. “Are you taking hits of cookies?”

“Maybe.” He retreats with a chuckle.

Though I’m tired, I don’t want to miss a minute of this. Reed stays awake too, and our light, uncomplicated conversation is a balm on my lonely heart. “Favorite color?” I ask.

“Yellow.”

“No one’s favorite color is yellow.” I giggle in the dark. “Be real.”

“It’s yellow. And green, too. Yours?”

I wrinkle my nose to keep my smile hidden. “Cream.”

“Aren’t you a witty one?” Reed teases. There’s a smile in his voice.

We talk for hours. By the time Reed falls asleep and dawn turns the sky pink, I’m sober. I slip out of his arms and pad quietly to the bathroom to change into my clothes. Impulsively, I grab the notepad on the desk on my way out.

Reed, I appreciate you not pushing it. If you ever want to change careers, you have the natural talent to be a professional cuddler. Thank you for holding me when I needed it most. When I didn’t even know to ask for it.

Enjoy your trip,

Petra

I gather up my purse and grimace at the two empty bottles of wine. I ache to take the bouquet, but it will prompt too many questions. I leave it behind and creep down the stairs to the lobby, praying no one is watching.

God ignores me—because I’m not a nun—and Tina’s working the front desk. I’ve known her since grade school, and she couldn’t keep her mouth shut then or now. She raises her eyebrows at me with a smirk. “Morning, Petra.”

I hide my guilt and straighten up as I head for the doors. “Tina. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” she croons from behind me.

Well, shit.

Chapter nine

Reed

By the time I wake, the midmorning sun shines through the gap in the curtains, making my head throb. The sheets are cold where Petra warmed them all night, but her scent lingers. I recognize the undertone of orange amongst the sweetness. It’s so familiar, and though the memory is fuzzy it aches to be rediscovered. “Petra?”

I wait, holding my breath, but there’s no rustle of movement in the other room.

I didn’t see her coming. Didn’t see any of last night coming. How did I go from being racked with guilt to aching to hold her? So much for swearing off sleepovers.

She curled into herself at the mention of going home and lost the colorful pink in her cheeks. I couldn’t bear for it to go. It was supposed to be just for her, but she’s what I needed in the dark. For a few hours, I was free.

My stomach protests as I drag myself into the kitchen, searching for water. I blink blearily at a piece of paper next to the flowers she left on the counter. Upon reading it, I swing from bewildered to annoyed. Enjoy my trip? The hell, Petra? She didn’t ask me to call her. Unless I misconstrued everything, she’s interested in me too. Petra is a reminder that not all fans are crazy. There are women who see the difference between who I am and what I do. It was miraculous that I felt safe enough to offer to share my bed. I broke my no sleepovers rule for her, and being brushed aside after being vulnerable irks me beyond reason.

Ridiculously, her dismissal makes her even more appealing. I bring the note to bed with me, deciphering her subtext. When I needed it most. For the second time, her words mirror those inside me. I didn’t know it, but I needed to be held just as much. Sex is a commodity right now, but she’s not buying or selling.

Ignoring all notifications from my social media, I download my old dating apps and change my location to Swift River. I swipe through photos, and I’m both confused and relieved when none of them are Petra.

The urge to turn my night with her into a tangible thing is undeniable. I’ve had zero desire for sex since that God awful day, but Petra’s burning eyes—the sparks that fly when we touch—bring my long months of celibacy to an agonizing point.

I pull out my laptop and start my first erotic script in ages. I expect writing to be slow and painful, but the words pour out of me in a torrent. Instead of a faceless subject, it’s Petra that slowly strips off her clothes. She sits, naked and trembling, at a dinner table.

She’s got a daddy kink? I can work with that.

“You waited for me?” I ask as I walk through the door and set down my bag. “Aren’t you hungry, precious? You should be, since you spent all afternoon cooking for me. My good girl.”

“I enjoy taking care of you.”

I kiss her shoulder, and her little whimper sets my blood simmering. “I don’t see a dessert. Didn’t you make one for me, precious?”

Her doe eyes shine as she frowns. I set her up for this, and she knows it. “I didn’t. I followed your instructions, but I didn’t see a—I’m sorry, sir.”

“Come here. Over my lap.” I sit and spread my legs, anticipating the delicious feeling of her soft curves over them. She lowers herself down, straddling my thigh. Her breasts brush against my chest, and her silky hair tickles my face. “No, precious. You know what I meant. I want your gorgeous ass in the air. Hands behind your back.”

She steadies her hands on my shoulders instead. A smile lights up her eyes, though she keeps it tucked in the corners of her lips as she grinds against mine.

“You want to play it that way?” I threaten, drawing her wrists behind her to put her stunning, full tits on display. “Do you always have to be difficult, baby?”

“Aren’t I your precious?” She smirks, as if she knows I can’t hold on to the roleplay with her. Just like how I can’t hold on to my self-control, or my DK mask. I pull her up, asserting control, and yank her to lay across my lap. Her breasts skim over my aching cock while her toes flex against the tile for balance.

In my hotel room, I slide my hand over my sweats and the firm bulge waiting for attention.

“You are, but I’m going to have to punish you, precious. Do you understand why?” I ask. She shakes her head, and my cock begs me to end the game and slide into the heat of her mouth. “Because you didn’t follow instructions. Two swats for disobedience, one for not bending over, and one for that cheeky little smile you tried to hide.” I pinch her hip, just hard enough that she squeals and laughs. “Now, count.”

I let my palm land on her rounded flesh, relishing the way the slap against her skin positively sings. The echo of it throbs inside me. She flexes and wiggles, searching for more.

“I said count. So disobedient tonight.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” But a giggle sits on the tip of her tongue. I come down harder this time, and her lips part on a moan. “Weren’t you going to punish me, sir?”

Back in my hotel room, I whip off my shirt, imagining the glide of her hair as it brushes my chest.

“Think you can handle everything I give you?”

“I know I can,” she says, but then she dissolves into giggles. She shakes as her forehead drops against my outer thigh. “How do you manage to take this so seriously?”

Alright, maybe she’s not into the scene. Her joy only makes it hotter. I slap her ass and haul her up. “You’re laughing at me, Petra?”

“No, sir,” she says, but it’s false innocence. I set her on the table and spread open her thighs, sinking to my knees. She clutches my shoulders with one hand and presses the other to her mouth, but she can’t hide her gasp.

“Where are your sweet giggles now?” I ask, leaning in for a kiss that’s wickedly delicious. “That’s right, baby, moan for me.”

I can’t take it anymore. I shove my laptop aside, reaching under my waistband to palm my aching cock. It’s easy to imagine her now that I know the sleekness of hair and the scent that clings to her and taunts me to lick it from her skin.

She spilled her secrets last night, and each one heated my blood. When her teeth tested her lower lip, my pulse pounded with the urge to press her into the cushions.

I move faster, squeeze tighter. My cock can’t decide if I want her lips on me, or to bury myself between her generous tits, or sink into her sweet pussy. I settle for her plush mouth, aching for her touch. The fire builds in me as she looks up with those woodland eyes. Her hands reach down to cup her breasts—

Lightning crackles down my spine. My stomach tightens as pleasure flashes through me from scalp to heel in one perfect, hot bolt. My vision fades in and out as my hand pumps frantically and I come in hot spurts.

I groan, sucking down air, as my legs give out. I flop back on the bed, hot, sweaty, and fucking sated. Damn. I don’t remember the last time getting off felt this good. Guess I’m not leaving Swift River today.

I feel less hungover when I drop my clothes on the floor and step into the shower.

Petra. Jesus. If that’s what it feels like just imagining her… Granted, she said no sex with strangers, and I get that. Besides, finding pleasure again is an unexpected gift, and I’m grateful for it.

Unfortunately, my good mood only lasts as long as my shower, because I have a missed call from Amanda after I get dressed.

“Reed,” she says. Not hi, not Ree-Ree, and it sets me on edge.

“What’s wrong?”

“You were right.” Amanda hesitates, quiet. “Kinley came by the house this morning. Manic maybe, or high on something. She lost her mind all over my front porch.”

Lead fills my stomach. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay—we’re all okay, we were at Mom’s. I saw it on the doorbell cam.” Still, her voice wavers.

“Thank God. I’m sorry, Amanda—”

“You didn’t smash my pots. I’m not worried about me—I called the cops and they’re going to keep an eye on the house for a while.” She pauses. “It’s a blemish on her restraining order against me, not you. Are you reporting her when she contacts you?”

I grimace. “No.”

“Reed—”

I wish Kinley would fall off the face of the earth. My hackles raise, and the slithering and scratching across my chest makes me shudder.

“You want me to file a police report daily? They didn’t take me seriously before, and they won’t now.” No matter how much Amanda wants to believe the justice system can help, it can’t. I’m judged for my sex work. Throw in that I’m a male victim with a female abuser, and all the cards are stacked against me. “I’ll send you some money right now, and let me know how much more you need to replace anything. Did she break your windows?”

“Don’t send me money. I’m more worried about what she’ll do since she can’t find you. Where are you, anyway?”

She dodged the question, so I take it as yes. “Swift River—about an hour from Portland.”

Amanda hums. “Small town? Aren’t you against those?”

“Yeah, to live,” I snort. Her bitterness shines through, even a thousand miles away. “It’s fine to visit. I’ll send you money and call Kinley to tell her to lay off.”

“Don’t you dare,” Amanda growls. “She wants that—wants to talk to you. We can handle it. I want you to be safe.”

“Yeah, well, I want you to be safe. Did they arrest her?”

“Couldn’t find her. But they issued a warrant for stalking across state lines and vandalism.”

I nod. “If she shows up again, call 911 right away, and keep an eye on the girls. I’m sending you money right now. I love you.”

“You don’t need to,” Amanda protests, but I hang up anyway. I can’t handle rehashing all of this with her. My family relationships weren’t always strained, but Kinley pushed us to the brink, and now our edges are frayed. I became an anxious friend, brother, son. Behaving like a whole, healthy person became too difficult an act to keep up, so I withdrew from everyone but Amanda.

And now Petra, apparently.

I quickly send Amanda seven hundred, though it’s not enough for what I’ve put her through. In an effort to regain some control, I call Isaac at Westside Real Estate. Kinley wants to trash Amanda’s porch? I’ll even the field. A house for a house.

“Hey, Isaac, how’s the staging going? I know I was wishy-washy for a while there, but I’m firmly set now. I want that house sold as soon as possible.”

“Reed!” he greets. “No problem. I’ve got an open house scheduled for Sunday. In this market, I’m anticipating offers above asking, maybe a cash offer if you want to close fast.”

“I do…but I don’t want to sell to a landlord. I want a family that’s going to live there.”

Isaac laughs. “Always a wildcard, Reed. I’ll be in touch with the first offer. Let me know when you’re ready to buy again. There’s a beautiful house I could hook you up with in San Diego County if you want a change of pace.”

It doesn’t sound terrible. San Diego is beach and sun, more laid back. Maybe I could afford a place with a pool if I chose further inland. “You know what? Yeah. Send me an email with ones at or below asking price for my house.”

“Done deal. I’ll be in touch.” Isaac hangs up, but my mind is still whirling. I can’t wait to be rid of that house and all the memories in it.

The crawling sensation is back, and I want to scratch at my legs until they bleed. The itching lingers the entire time I answer emails and record commercial auditions from inside the closet, surrounded by pillows to muffle the outside noise. It’s all a bid at distraction, but eventually it works.

When the creeping across my skin finally eases up, I create a plan for the afternoon. It’s one thing to be persistent, it’s an entirely different thing to be a stalker. I don’t want Petra to have the anxiety that I do. The best way forward is confident and casual, and when I walk into the grocery store late that afternoon, I’m fairly certain I can pretend to be both.

Her manager spots me first. “Back again?”

“Hoping to see Petra. Is she working?” I ask, and Ray nods toward register four. “Thanks.”

I desperately need electrolytes to combat my hangover, and Petra might too. I snag two bottles and watch her work. In the bright lights, her dark hair has a red tint to it. She’s pulled half of it back, and the sleek, glossy texture is gone. Her curls fall just past her shoulders, much shorter than when it was straight.

It’s not long before she’s alone. There are dark smudges under her eyes as she closes them and rolls her shoulders back. I feel bad having kept her up all night, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

When I enter her line, her eyes catch mine. “I thought you’d be gone by now,” she blurts, then presses her lips tightly together.

“I’m staying another day.”

“Again?” she asks, but I’m not paying attention. Petra’s curls are natural—tight coils in some places and loose in others—causing her hair to ripple in the light. I reach out, unthinking, and tuck a spiral behind her ear before her hypnosis lets me go. She looks up at me, eyes wide. She’s so close that the sweetness of her skin is heady. I retreat, clearing my throat and the curious knot suddenly stuck there.

“I can work remotely when I want to, though it’s harder without a sound booth,” I say, rapping my knuckles on the conveyor belt—an anxious tick that gets away from me. “Turns out, I’m too interested to leave just yet.”

She snorts in disbelief. “I think Swift River is one of the least interesting places in America.”

I smirk as I lean against the register. “Me too.”

A deep blush creeps up her cheeks. “You need to go home, Reed. Wherever that is.”

I don’t have a good answer for that.

“Let me take you out.” It’s a bad idea, a terrible idea, but I don’t take it back. On my last night out with a woman, everything went to hell. But I’m committed to not letting our exes get the best of us. They don’t get to wreck us until we merely exist. “One date to show you that nunnery isn’t the way. That you still have power over your future.”

“My head still hurts from a conversation with you,” she admits with a wry smile. “I wouldn’t survive a date.”

“I won’t attempt to drink as much wine as you this time. C’mon, you can’t stay tucked away. You’re depriving some lonely guy out there from the girl of his dreams.”

She hesitates, and her keen eyes search my face. “Why do you care?”

My fingers tap at my thigh in an effort to stop myself from reaching for her. “You’re a genuinely kind person, and those often get taken advantage of and beaten down. They forget how to be compassionate. But you haven’t.”

“You’re kind, too.”

I shift under her attention. “Withhold judgment until you’ve known me longer.”

She sighs. “I’ve been wined and dined. I’m not missing out on anything.”

She’s a terrible liar. “You know that’s not true—I can see it in your face. A night of free food with no expectations. Where’s the downside?”

“You definitely have expectations.”

“I don’t,” I reassure her, ducking my head until she has no choice but to meet my gaze. “I enjoy teasing you—I love how easy it is to be around you—and I want to explore what you’re searching for in my scenes. But I don’t expect a damn thing from your body tonight.”

She swallows hard but doesn’t look away. “Okay. But if we go to a restaurant everyone and their mom will know I’m on a date.”

I grin. Now that Petra’s agreed to the teasing, I don’t have to stop. “Cat’s out of the bag. I got your manager’s help yesterday, Chelsea’s at the flower shop, and that other clerk, Becca? She pried it out of me when she saw me hanging around outside with flowers last night.”

“Tina, too.” Petra huffs. “Fine, the whole town knows already. But I’m not off until eight.”

I chuckle as I pay for the drinks. My total could be a thousand dollars and I wouldn’t care. “Then I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“I won’t be dressed nicely. I only have my work clothes. Again.”

I shrug, but only take one of the bottles Petra holds out to me. “That one is for you. And you’re beautiful no matter what you wear.”

“Thank you.” She frowns at me. “Is the whole night going to be full of this fake charm?”

I throw her a DK worthy wink and walk backward toward the exit. “Wait until you see some real charm.”

Her little sigh is the best thing I’ve heard all day. “Somehow that’s even more terrifying.”

Chapter ten

Petra

The news of my night with Reed takes less than an hour to reach Livi. Tina calls Becca’s older sister, who confirms it with Becca, who calls her cousin, and then everyone knows. Groaning, I take my break to return her message.

“Calling a million times doesn’t make me want to call you back any faster,” I say when she picks up the phone.

“What if it was an emergency?” Livi huffs.

I roll my eyes. “It’s not. I know why you’re calling.”

“Exactly! Why do I have to find out from Jessica that my sister snuck out of a guy’s room this morning?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were wearing your work polo!”

“Alright, those optics aren’t great,” I admit. I can’t tell her about Knight for my own sake, and I don’t want Reed to lose the anonymity he obviously craves. “He’s just…easy to talk to. He doesn’t remember me at ten years old or how I was with Nate. Reed sees me as I am now.”

“That’s sweet, but can we squeal over you getting laid first?”

I frown at my phone. “We didn’t have sex.”

“Don’t lie. I’m happy for you! You should get laid all the time.”

Oh God. This is why I didn’t want anyone to know.

“Chelsea told me he bought you flowers,” Livi plows on. “You’re going on a date tonight?”

Less than a minute of talking to Livi and my headache is worse than it’s been all day. “He brought me flowers yesterday, which wasn’t a date. It was a conversation.”

“A conversation that lasted until dawn? Also, Chelsea said today. He got you flowers two days in a row?” Livi didn’t sound overjoyed. In fact, she grumbled under her breath while she typed out a text message to her husband. “Darin, Petra got flowers two days in a row—”

“Livi.”

Livi steamrolls me as she continues typing. “And I bore twins for you, so where are my flowers? Twice the flowers!”

“Seriously? The man dotes on you.”

“He knows I’m joking,” she scoffs. “Tell me about tonight. Where are you going? What are you wearing?”

“I’m in my uniform, because it’s not a date.”

Livi groans. “I’m coming over there as soon as Darin gets home. I’ll bring clothes, a makeup bag, lingerie—”

I shut that down. “I don’t need lingerie.”

“You can’t stop trying. You’re not ancient, no matter how determined you are to believe that.”

The criticism stings. “I have to get back to work. Do what you want.”

“Wait,” Livi sounds contrite. “I’m excited for you! Nate ruined your perception of what a relationship is supposed to be. I want you to get another chance—even if it means you get all the flowers.”

As blunt as Livi is, I know she means it. “You know Darin is buying you four bouquets as we speak, right?”

“Part of his charm. Did you hear anything else I said?” I don’t answer, and Livi sighs in defeat. “Can I at least bring you another shirt?”

“I’m not off until eight,” I warn.

Livi pushes right back. “You’ll be off at seven-thirty after I call Ray.”

I don’t doubt it. “Bye.”

Livi means well, but she’s a loud, unapologetic princess, and she’s used to getting her way. Livi is still Mama’s favorite girl. It might cause friction, as with all families, but beneath all that—deep, deep below the surface—Livi’s got my back, and I’ve got hers. Which is why I let her bring me another shirt. Plus, who wants to go to dinner in a polo?

But Livi can’t keep her mouth shut, and my phone dings half an hour later.

You’re going on a date? That’s awesome! I’m proud of you for getting back out there. I’m sure he’s great, but I wouldn’t be opposed to you sending his info. I need to vet him.

I laugh. Silla’s always been the most open-minded of us, but even she’d be surprised by how Reed makes a living. Then again, she knew me better than anyone back when I was too wild. She’d understand his appeal.

Not a date. Never trust intel from Livi.

I also know that you like to downplay things.

It’s NOT A DATE. I don’t even know him. He’s…I don’t know.

C’mon, spill to your big sis.

He’s genuinely nice. And he pulls me out of my head. I say stuff before I even think about it and it’s just like…deep, personal stuff laid out there for him to see. It might’ve been the wine, too, but I’ve been drunk around guys before and it doesn’t usually go that direction.

Getting out of your head is exactly what you need, Troni. If it doesn’t go anywhere, I’m still proud of you. He might be a stranger, but he’s already having an effect.

Oh please. You’re not even here to notice.

Yeah? Look at how much you’ve texted me.

I scroll up through our conversations. For months, all Silla got were one line responses, followed by mounds of unanswered texts. She kept reaching out, but I never met her halfway.

I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better.

Livi waltzes through the door at quarter past seven. Her long, brown waves shimmer in the fluorescent lights as she finds Ray, and he escorts her to my register. “You’ve got a date? Go, put yourself together,” Ray urges.

I wince at that, and Livi guides me to the break room with a grimace. “Alright, I have to ask: when’s the last time you plucked your eyebrows?”

I rub one self-consciously. “It’s been a while,” I admit. There are tweezers on aisle fourteen, and I consider pilfering some.

“I know you said not to…” Livi shoves a bag into my arms as we enter the breakroom. “But I brought all the necessities. Outfit choices, makeup bag, tweezers, deodorant. The works.”

I’m afraid to open the bag. I’m afraid to see Reed tonight. I’m afraid of the possibilities.

I imagine Nate standing in front of me. Bored. Disinterested. “No one cares how you look,” he’d say. “Go in your pajamas for all I care.” Except that wasn’t what he expressed to our friends. Instead of helping me through my depression, Nate threw me under the bus. When I uncovered all the lies he told about me, I was humiliated.

“You’re making me nervous, Livi,” I admit. “I don’t want to be nervous. This is Reed, who is a total stranger and only here for the night, so it doesn’t matter. And it’s not a date.”

Livi looks at me, really looks, and her face softens. “If you say it’s nothing, then it’s nothing. But if we were going to dinner together, you’d change. Let’s pretend that’s what you’re doing. Okay?”

I’d never considered asking Livi for advice, but she’s not terrible at it. Silla’s always been my go-to person, but we’ve grown distant since we both moved away. “Since when did you and Tommy get to be so grown up?”

“I have three kids—I hope that I’ve grown. You should go with the red; you’re beautiful in red. Or black with a sheer neckline?” Livi offers a handful of choices, and they’re all my favorites. She combed my closet with a familiarity I hadn’t expected. “If you didn’t sleep with him, what’s the real story?”

I frown, swiping on some concealer. “I went over, we had too much wine, I stayed until I sobered up. Nothing happened—not a single kiss.” Reed’s warm body pressed against the length of mine soothed a wound I hadn’t known was still bleeding. There’s something magic about it, so I keep our hours of cuddling to myself.

“Seriously?” Livi is unimpressed. “Chelsea said he’s cute. What’s the holdup?”

“Does everyone have an opinion on this?”

“Would you rather I was apathetic? C’mon, Petra! When’s the last time you went on a date? When’s the last time you were kissed?” I open my mouth to answer, but Livi cuts me off. “The way you wanted to be kissed. Kissed like—like you’re the love of his life.”

Never.

There’s a stinging beneath my ribs, so I deflect. “I don’t want to know this much about you and Darin.”

“Petra.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Livi bristles. “Well, at least let me do your eyeshadow.”

“I want to keep it simple.” Together, we’re a pair of porcupines.

“I’ve known you my whole life. I know how you do your makeup!” Livi yells, stomping her foot. “Let me do this for you!”

Underneath her frustration is a sweetness that I’m not used to. I was a shell of myself, dead inside, until Reed walked in. I’m still prickly, climbing out of a long emotional hibernation, but Livi genuinely wants to help. “Okay.”

After Livi’s done with my face, I glare at her over the bra and underwear choices and retreat to the bathroom. I’m tempted to keep my plain pair on just to annoy her, but I need all the confidence I can find to keep up with Reed. I draw the line at the lacy, sheer underwear, and change into a slightly more modest pair.

Livi rifles through the tote when I get back from the bathroom and scoffs when she finds the lacy pair. She folds them up and sticks them in the zippered pouch of my purse. “Seriously? Be bold! Better to have them and not need them, than to need them and not have them,” she chirps. It’s one of Papa’s favorite idioms, and I hate that she’s applying it to sexy underwear, of all things.

It’s close to eight before I’m done being Livi’s project. Not much can be done about my hair without a straightener, but the rest came together. “Thanks for your help, Liv.”

I bundle up the bags, but Livi tugs them out of my hands. “I’ll take them. You don’t want to carry around more than a purse. It’s not sexy.”

I laugh as we walk out into the cold. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Hey, I’m the one who had twins at twenty-one,” she jokes. “I’m an expert at sexy.”

I stop dead, jerking out of her hold. The world grays out, and I swear there’s a knife in my chest where my heart used to be because it hurts. It hurts.

Livi reaches for me. “Troni, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry—”

“Stop talking.”

She does, thank God, though her lip quivers.

My head, however, is far from silent. The pain is a slap across the face, and I remember why I don’t date. Why I don’t sleep with anyone.

My hand flies to my necklace, and I crumple under the crushing grief of her name.

My Natalia.

Chapter eleven

Reed

A short run works the last dregs of the wine out of my system. I’ve barely stepped out of the shower when my phone rings with an LA number that might be my realtor’s office. “Isaac? What’s up?”

“Reed!” A bright voice exclaims. “How are you?”

I frown. “Sorry, who is this?”

The woman loses some of her excitement. “Oh. Um, it’s Colleen. We used to get together sometimes on Saturdays. At Raspberry Zebra?”

Raspberry Zebra? The bar? I don’t remember dating anyone named Colleen. But then it clicks. Colleen. One of Kinley’s club friends. The back of my neck prickles as if a thousand needles tap at the surface of it.

“Kinley told me about what happened,” she says. “She’s sorry, Reed, and she wants a chance to work it out.”

I’m not doing this. “I’ve made it abundantly clear that she needs to stay away from me. Have a nice day.”

“Wait!” Colleen exclaims. “She—”

Adrenaline floods my system until I’m seeing red. “If I never see or speak to her again, I will live a full and happy life. Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong. She threatened my sister with a knife, did she tell you that? You need to understand—Kinley doesn’t give a flying fuck about anyone but herself. The minute you don’t do as you’re told, she will tear your life apart. Get out while you can, and find some new friends.”

With shaking hands, I hang up and block Colleen’s number. I don’t know how she got mine, but Amanda is right, Kinley isn’t giving up. Maybe I should report each infraction to the police. I still can’t believe she got a fucking plea deal.

I fight the urge to chuck my phone across the room. Instead, I power it down and shove it in a drawer, wishing I could disconnect from Kinley that easily. In the silence, I spiral. What the hell am I still doing in Swift River? I don’t even have Petra’s number to cancel our plans.

She spent years in a horrible relationship. If I bailed on her tonight, would she recover? Would I? I pop in my headphones and play a recording I took in Yellowstone to block the thoughts. Between the nature sounds and deep diving into reviews on local restaurants, I’m able to pull myself together. As the evening draws closer, I force myself to dress in a button-down and spritz of cologne.

That I’ll be picking Petra up from work highlights how little I know about her—not even where she lives. I know her first and last name, and that her parents own Belvita. I can’t trust her. I shouldn’t trust her. I’d leave and never look back, except for the words in a notebook I wasn’t meant to see.

I smooth my hands over the sheets, tidying the bed. The soft impression from Petra’s head is still visible on her pillow. She asked to hold me last night. She made me laugh. She saw me, not Knight. The deafening buzzing of bees crawling up my chest settles down to a whisper. This small dose of peace is what motivates me to pick up my order from the flower shop before they close.

It’s five minutes till eight when I arrive at Mulberry’s, but Petra is already outside, scowling at a woman who fluffs Petra’s curls. Petra doesn’t see me as I walk up, too intent on the woman in front of her. “Will you stop, Livi?” she grumbles.

“Only if you admit that it’s a date!” the woman argues.

This is why I didn’t bail. She’s not my past, she’s Petra. Firmly rooted in knowing this isn’t going anywhere and enjoying the moment anyway. She’s a kindred spirit, and we both need to see that possibilities still exist for us. Maybe if I chase her shadows away, I can chase away my own.

My skin settles over my bones—calm, quiet, and warm—as I take her in.

“Isn’t it?” I interrupt. It’s hard to keep up my wounded facade when she looks up, stricken. I offer her the bundle of anemones and ranunculus that Chelsea hooked me up with, but Petra blinks at me, leaving me out to dry.

“It’s…not.” She doesn’t sound sure, and I let her off the hook.

“It’s not,” I affirm. Except now I’m not sure. She’s got makeup on that has her eyes sparkling under thick lashes, and the blush across her cheeks is reminiscent of when I embarrass her. But there’s something in her face—like she’s not far from tears—that’s unsettling. “But the rules are that you have to pretend. From this moment until we say goodnight, it’s a real date. Otherwise we lose the purpose.”

“Which is?” The other woman cuts in. She resembles Petra, from the high bridge of her nose to the slope of her eyes.

I smile briefly at her, but my words are for Petra. I reach over to pluck a stray hair from her jacket and pin Petra’s eyes with mine. “To remember there’s more in front of you than behind you. You’re beautiful, Petra. This isn’t your uniform.”

Petra rolls her eyes, but at least her sadness is retreating. She takes the bouquet, tracing the petals of one of the flowers before she speaks. “Everyone knows about last night, and half the town got involved to make me pretty. Including my sister. Roses are too cliche?”

“You’re just as pretty at two in the morning,” I say, and Petra flushes. “Roses are elegant, but I’m not a fan of the scent. Are they your favorite?”

She shrugs. “I like variety.” Her sister mouths something that I don’t catch, and Petra glares. Livi is a key into her past, her personality, her foil, and I want the chance to learn more. “Livi, this is Reed.”

Livi dispenses with the niceties. “Hi Reed. Rule one: don’t break her heart or I’ll key your car. My husband is a Deputy Sheriff, so good luck getting him to arrest me. Rule two: what Petra says goes. No getting handsy without permission or I’ll do more than key your car. Rule three: If she kisses you, please rock her world, because she hasn’t been kissed in—”

Petra plants her free hand right in Livi’s face. “That’s enough talking,” she says as she grabs me by the elbow and pulls me across the pavement. “Night, Livi!”

“I’ll tell Papa not to wait up!” Livi shouts. Petra lets go to wave her middle finger high in the air without turning back.

“Don’t stop walking,” Petra commands, “or I’ll end up kicking Livi’s ass halfway to Boston and have to go on the run from Darin.”

The mental image is fantastic and pulls me out of any lingering indecision. Thirty seconds alone with her and I’m settling into myself. “What, are you secretly CIA?”

“Unofficial black belt,” she says. I can’t pin down if she’s lying.

“Unofficial? Can’t wait to hear that story.” I stop Petra next to my silver SUV, stepping in close to reach around her for the door handle. My body lights up when her ample curves press against me. My imagination didn’t do her justice. I stroke her hot cheek with my knuckle. “I like my paint intact, so I won’t initiate anything. But if you decide to kiss me, I have no problem with following Livi’s third rule.”

Petra’s lips part on an inhale that echoes in my bones. Her mouth is glossy, and it’s only as I’m wondering how she’d taste that I realize I’m staring. She’s almost feverish compared to the cold night air at my back, and every warm inch of her heats up my blood.

She pushes weakly against me. “Noted. Dinner?”

If she thinks she can dissolve what’s happening between us with two words, she’s wrong. I wrap a curl around my finger, and her hands tighten on my jacket. “How come you didn’t wear your hair this way yesterday?”

She gives me a wry smile. “Mia Thermopolis? Miss Frizzle? Toula Portokalos? Any of those ring a bell? Curls—real, frizzy, unorganized curls—have never been Vogue. But I didn’t have time to straighten my hair this morning.”

Because you were in my bed. The thought is heady, possessive, and I’m running hot as I release her hair to brush my fingers down her neck. “Your curls are stunning.”

“Thank you.” Her chest brushes against mine with every heavy breath. My finger catches on something gold around her neck.

“Who is Natalia? Another sister?” I ask, running my finger over the name on her necklace.

Her body locks up as she closes her hand over the metal. “Please don’t ask.”

I get that. Tonight is an escape for both of us, and it’s working. All my second guessing and overthinking is gone. She gets me out of my head without any effort at all. So I retreat into my own space and open the door for her. “Dinner, then? I’m guessing Belvita is out?”

She appears relieved to move on. “Absolutely. Livi is an appetizer of my family’s chaos.”

“Now I definitely want to go.” But I shut her door, climb in the driver’s side, and list three I found on Yelp.

Petra scrunches her nose. “Those are all…nice. Really nice.”

“That was the point.”

“Isn’t it better to be practical?” she asks. “If I’m going to date someone for real, that won’t be my life.”

“Why not?” I frown at her. “Your future boyfriend can’t take you to nice places?”

“Ha! No.” The corners of her eyes crinkle, as if the idea is ridiculous. She expects the bare minimum.

“I despise your ex.”

She lets out an amused snort. “He’s not worth the energy. I’ve always wanted to go to The Riverfront, but we need a reservation.”

I grin as I put the car in gear. “We’ve got one, but I need to cancel the other two.” Her wide, disbelieving eyes make me want to dote on her further. I lift her hand to brush a soft kiss over her knuckles. “Your standards are remarkably low, Petra. I’m determined to raise them.”

She rolls her eyes at me as she refolds her hands in her lap. “Only because you’re not worried about having to keep up those standards later.”

I laugh, because my other option is to reconsider exactly what my intentions are here. “If you need to tell yourself that so you can pretend you don’t want to kiss me, go right ahead.”

“That’s not—” Her face reddens under her blush, far more vibrant and glowing than the powder on her skin. I grin as I reach over and touch the back of my hand to her cheek. It’s hot.

“You haven’t contemplated kissing Knight?”

She tugs my hand down. “Knight’s not real, and he’s not you. I have to cancel my subscription, though.”

“What? Why?”

Petra shrugs. “How am I supposed to listen now? I’m not going to use you. It was different when it was just a fantasy.”

I’ve never dated anyone who offered to cancel out of deference to me. A rush of something pleasant and velvety strokes my skin. It’s comforting—I don’t remember the last time I experienced it.

I hate Livi’s rules. I want nothing more than to kiss Petra with the same care and affection she’s unknowingly given me. In one heart-pounding moment, the world shifts and Petra becomes the scariest thing in it. Because I want this to be a real date.

“You don’t have to cancel.” If anything, Petra is the one person I want to share myself with.

Petra laughs, unaware of my revelation. “Are you that hard up for money that losing my subscription will be detrimental to your lifestyle?”

I force a chuckle, steadying my shaky hands on the wheel. “Cheeky, cheeky, Petra.”

“You like it.” She looks away, but her smile is reflected in the side mirror.

“I do.”

Chapter twelve

Petra

The Riverfront is beautiful—far beyond what I’m used to. Bella Vita is nice, and has similar white linens and elegant silverware, but The Riverfront spared no expense on decor and flooring. It’s too dark to see the river through the wall of windows, but there are fairy lights strung through the trees outside. Nate would rather have gone to a bar or club than a beautiful restaurant, but it’s obvious that my ex and Reed are opposites in a million areas.

Reed isn’t easy to be around. His salacious attitude flusters me with zero effort, and he delights in my discomfort. But he’s also the easiest person to be around. He doesn’t pity me or consider me fragile, doesn’t judge me for my…recreational habits. He leaves me embarrassed, happy, tense, relaxed, and enthralled, all at the same time.

“You pick the wine,” Reed suggests once we’re seated. “You know your way around them better than I do.”

In my family, wine says a lot about a person. “What do you normally prefer?”

“Water, sometimes coffee, or hot tea for my voice.”

Shocked is an understatement. “You don’t drink?”

Reed shrugs, his face earnest in the soft light. “My dad is an alcoholic and I was scared I would be, too. I’m not.” His smirk sends butterflies careening through my belly. “You drank me under the table last night. But it put me off habitual drinking. I’ve found being sober is a thousand times better than being drunk.”

Yet another way Nate and Reed differ. I’m horrified that Reed drank with me last night when he usually avoids it. “I’m not an alcoholic, and dinner without wine isn’t going to kill me. Though, red wine is a family secret for eternal youth so I’m not swearing it off altogether.”

Reed’s dimple winks as he laughs and lifts my hand to brush his mouth over my knuckles. I try not to sway, dizzied by his intensity. “Noted. Thank you for your consideration.”

I tug my hand back to clear my brain. “Was it hard with your dad? Or is that too intrusive a question?”

“I ask plenty of intrusive questions,” Reed says with a Cheshire cat smile, as if he’s remembering all my answers. “It was rough. But my dad is seven years sober and happily remarried, which is better for the whole family. He’s still distant, but it’s better than it was.”

I can’t imagine. Church, Sunday dinners, holidays, they’re all a huge part of how the Diamantes come together. Divorcing and adding more spouses into the family would breed more chaos and tear us apart. Maybe Nate and I never married because I knew it might invite that exact brand of pandemonium. “I’m sure that was hard on you.”

Reed nods. “It took a long time to understand. Longer to accept it. I worry that I’m too much like him.”

“If you are, then you have his best traits, not his worst.” We order water and dinner, making idle chit chat as we go. I’m enjoying it, but it’s almost too comfortable. He hasn’t prodded me at all. “No sex questions tonight?”

His grin is full of trouble. “I was trying to lure you into a false sense of security. I heard you lived in LA? I was over in North Hollywood.”

“I was in Studio City. Nate—” I stop and swallow my words with a grimace. “Sorry. Not supposed to talk about my ex on a date.”

Reed frowns. “He’s the story ready to burst out of you. You’ve stuffed it down so far that you might explode with it.”

It’s a close guess, except the real story buried deep is Natalia. Heart aching, I touch her name against my collar. “Your growing list of talents should also include psychic.”

Reed snorts. “You could go into rubber manufacturing with all the deflection you’ve got going on.”

He always knows how to lighten the mood. “Did you make a physics joke? Reed, are you secretly brilliant?”

“No secret about it. So, Nate?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“A relationship I clung to long after its expiration date.”

His eyebrows climb higher. “You don’t enjoy opening up.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Me either…But I do with you,” he notes, a soft frown pulling at his features. “Alright, I’ll come back to the ex situation later. Tell me something else. Are your names Italian? Petra and Livi?”

“Not exactly,” I hedge. “My mom is American born Italian, but she was into ancient Roman names. Livi, Silla, and I all got them, but my brother inherited my dad’s name. He gets to go by Tommy, like a normal person.”

“And you’re not normal?”

I roll my eyes. “How many Petras do you know?”

His answering chuckle infuses my veins with lava and leaves me lightheaded. “Fair point. I didn’t know Petra was a Roman name.”

I’m distracted by the way his hands catch the light. How can anyone have such attractive hands? “We don’t go by our full names. I mean, Tommaso is par for the course, Livia’s is passable, but Petronia and Drusilla? Ma could’ve used a second opinion on those.”

“Petronia?”

It shocks me back into the present. I don’t tell people my full name. “How do you keep getting me to do that?”

“It’s another talent. Fun name, Petronia.” He rolls the word around in his mouth, murmuring and whispering as if he’s tasting it. My name is brand new. Reborn. No one has said it the way he does. “Good plosives. Petronia. Perfect. As unique as you, Petronia.”

Jesus Christ. How does he make my name sound sensuous? It slips over my shoulder and slides down my spine like silk. I must have swallowed a bag of jalapeños by accident, because I need someone to pour a glass of water on me. I need Reed to stop saying my name before I leap across the table and down his throat.

“Petra is fine,” I croak.

“Petra, then.” His mouth quirks up at the corner, like he knows that his voice is stretching out across the table to stroke the length of my neck. The power he wields has me at a huge disadvantage. “So why don’t you want to sleep with me, if you’re not hung up on Nate?”

I bite my cheek, and the pain brings some clarity. “I don’t even know your last name.”

Reed leans forward with a smile that brings out his dimple. “Reed Alexander. Not as cool as Petronia Diamante. That’s a hell of a name. A world-changing name. Tell me you didn’t consider giving that up for Nate. What’s his?”

“Fitz.” I squint at him. “Is this where you say Petra Alexander sounds better?”

“Of course it does.” Reed smirks at me. “But let’s be honest, Reed Diamante is the clear winner here. Full of flair. I wouldn’t need a stage name. Tell me, Petronia, what’s your real issue with us sleeping together?”

My toes curl at the use of my full name. I try my best to ignore it and search for a reason he’d accept. “I can’t imagine a scenario where I’ll be comfortable getting back into it after this long.”

He smiles like he’s chewing on a secret. “I can. Speaking of imagining—you said you can’t touch yourself in bed. Where do you go?”

I wince, but there are hardly any layers between us anymore. Reed is determined to know all my secrets, but Natalia isn’t one I’m willing to divulge. Distracting him with shallow answers like these is worth the awkwardness. “The bath.”

“Oh?” This is how Reed must feel in my transparent moments, because his eyes flicker down my body and he swallows hard. When his eyes lock with mine, they’re not simply honey; they’re a mix of gold and brown, ethereal in their intensity. My blush comes on in full force.

“The water helps cut the rest of the world out so I don’t have to think about it,” I explain, trying to distract from the stifling air between us. “ASMR, but for my skin.”

“You mentioned that before, ASMR.”

At least the technical side is less embarrassing. “It’s one of the things that sets your work apart. I can find a thousand audios that call me a good girl or whisper goodnight, but you’re so detailed. Is that the wrong word? The brush of fingers on skin or running through hair? The rustle of fabric, the—” I slam my mouth shut, flushing red all over.

“Yes?” Reed encourages with a smirk. His voice is soft and deep, keeping the topic for our ears only. “All the other noises, Petra? Kissing? Heavy breaths? The glide of slick skin?”

My name on his lips is better than kisses down my neck. I can’t breathe. I wish I was back in my bath to cool the fire within me. “You’re not allowed to use my weaknesses against me.”

“I want to use all your weaknesses for you,” he murmurs, voice husky. “Not pushing, though.”

“Oh yeah, definitely not.” My sarcasm is thick. “Drop Knight’s act. Tell me about Reed, real Reed, who’s happy for his divorced parents.”

His surprise flits across his face before he hides it away. “I’m originally from Iowa—my family still lives there.” He laughs at my shock. “I know, sometimes a ‘warsh’ comes out instead of ‘wash,’ but I adopted the LA accent well. Somehow you know about puppy chow up here—I bought some in your bakery section—which was my favorite snack back home. I missed it while living in California. What?”

I’m smiling too much. He’s not who I’d expected him to be. “I’m enjoying listening. Tell me more. What part of LA are you in now?”

Reed winces. “I’m moving out of the city.”

“What? Why? I can’t imagine leaving—I loved it there.”

He frowns. “Is life in Swift River that bad?”

“Yes,” I blurt. “I would go back to LA in a heartbeat, if I could.”

His fingers brush over the back of my hand. “I understand. I refuse to move back home. I haven’t decided where I’m landing yet, but it won’t be Los Angeles.”

His expression tells me not to push. “Is your whole family in Iowa?”

I’m happy to see Reed relax in his chair. “My mom and my sister, Amanda, are near Coralville. Amanda is firmly rooted, married with two kids, but my brother Grant is in Chicago, enjoying the bachelor life.”

“As are you?”

His eyes dance as he leans forward with a smirk. “Darling Petra, are you interested?”

Darling Petra. I can’t handle it. I fight the clench in my stomach. “I’m just assuming, since you’re interested in my…habits.”

His voice drops low, melting in my ear and down my chest with a lover’s touch. “For someone who listens to my audios, you sure shy away from the word pussy, baby.”

My body spasms at the word, the endearment, the soft yet firm edge to his voice. My hand jerks across the tablecloth, and my fork goes flying.

“Reed!” I hiss. He’s been winding me up all night, desire curling deep into my bones. I’ve let the game go on too long. I want his words to wash over me—pound into me like a waterfall—until I come apart, dripping with them.

Reed’s laughing, yes, but there’s something under the surface. “Oh, damn.” The fire in his stare scorches me.

“What?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

“Nothing.” He signals a passing waitress to ask for a new fork, and he drops the subject of sex altogether. Time passes while the lava in my veins reduces to a simmer, and I’m able to get myself under control. Mostly.

Because then Reed talks about his nieces, who he spoils rotten, and I nearly melt through my chair.

Chapter thirteen

Petra

By the time we’re finished with dinner, Reed is an entirely different person. He’s surprisingly normal. I tried to reconcile eel-sauce-guy with Daddy Knight, but Reed is both and neither. He’s a doting uncle, steadfast brother, and nature conservation enthusiast. He insists on paying the check, and when we walk to his car, I’m in a great mood.

“Why did you move to LA in the first place?” I ask.

“The Hollywood dream. To write screenplays.”

I’m surprised, though writing was the reason I’d moved, too. “Makes sense. I suppose that’s what you do now.”

“Oh, please, I’m much more. Writer, actor, director, producer, foley artist—you know what that is?” He winks at me. “All those sounds you enjoy?”

My face heats. “Shut up.”

“I do it all. Commercial voice overs, too. I’m popular with insurance companies, pharmaceuticals, and macho cleaning supplies.”

I laugh, because I have no idea what constitutes a macho cleaning supply. “And all that makes you happy?”

We stop next to the passenger door, but Reed doesn’t move to open it. The moonlight siphons all the color from him and his stubble catches the light, turning him into a hero from an old black-and-white film. “It did. I enjoyed DKP. It was creative, freeing, and allowed me to live my ideal lifestyle, with time to pursue side projects.”

“Was?”

Reed sighs, running a hand through his hair. “My ex wasn’t who I thought. She was a fan, and everything she did to get close to me was a calculated lie.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Suddenly, it’s imperative he knows that’s not the case. “I promise, I’m not—”

“I know. Trust me, I know. I can tell you about my sister and not stress out too much because, if anything, I’m stalking you.” He shakes his head, a shadow lurking in his eyes. “Kinley didn’t take the breakup well. The restraining order doesn’t—can’t conceivably—keep Kinley from being a patron. Knowing she’s listening taints the whole thing for me.”

“Restraining order?” Holy shit. “Why do you keep going?”

“The new uploads are all part of past recording batches. I’ve got one more and then I’m shutting DKP down. I’d be flaying myself open with each new scene if I tried to make more. It will become an archive for a while. Passive income. And then I might remove them altogether.”

“That makes a lot of sense. I’m sorry she ruined a passion for you. Maybe closing it will allow you to rediscover one of your other loves.”

“Maybe. I didn’t think I wanted to write again, but…” His mouth tips up to one side. “You’ve been a muse. I wrote this morning. The first time in months.”

A scene for a scene—I wrote about him and he wrote about me. Knowing it’s mutual has my heart pounding fast, and my rapid breaths brush our chests together. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” He pushes my hair away from my collar with a smirk that leaves me trembling.

I’m shivering from the cold, and the frogs are an intense chorus all around us, but it doesn’t matter. Standing next to Reed is like curling up in front of a fireplace: welcoming and desperately needed after being caught out in the snow. He tugs me into his chest and I wrap my arms around him. Touching him is natural. Easy.

“You’re an amazing woman, Petra. Tonight was supposed to help you live, but you remind me that I can too. That I have value beyond DKP.”

He’s anything but inconsequential. He woke me up. He brought sunshine back into my life. “Your value has nothing to do with your job, Reed Alexander.”

Reed squeezes and lets go. “Can I repay you?”

“Oh please, I owe you. I didn’t need to see the bill to know how expensive dinner was.”

Reed shakes his head. “For my newfound hope. I have an idea: a limited sexual experience to help you explore that side again. Before you protest, it doesn’t involve sex or seeing you naked.”

A thousand scenarios flit through my head that make me dizzy. “There’s a lot we could do without you seeing me naked.”

Reed smirks at me with that damn dimple. “Is that an offer?”

“No!” I push him away so he can’t notice the way he heats my skin.

“Just consider it. You already listen to my voice, which makes it easy. You get in the bath and relax, the way you always do, but this time it’s me you’re listening to. Real life me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“C’mon, Petronia.” His soft caress of my name throws me. “It’s harmless. Pretend you’re listening to a recording.”

“But you would hear me.”

“I would.” His nod is serious. “You’d be dipping your toe into the water. Literally.”

I clear my throat, searching for logic. “That’s a terrible pun. I—we can’t. I live with my parents—”

“I have a bathtub,” he says, and I freeze. He grows taller, as if my pause boosts his confidence. “I’ll be outside of it. Just talking.”

My breath comes out in clouds, but under my clothes I’m as hot as August in Los Angeles. His hand glides up my neck to my jaw, jostling Natalia’s name as he goes. It cuts through the haze obscuring my reasoning. I remember his rule about pretending. “No. Goodnight. Not-a-date is over, Reed. Take me back to my car.”

There’s a flash of pain across his face that I don’t understand, but Reed shrugs and opens my door. “Of course. Forget I brought it up.”

Once I settle into my seat, my brain overloads. I’m quiet for a couple blocks as I consider what I want. What if I can move past the awkward? Attraction isn’t a problem, and we’d win awards for chemistry. Reed already knows more about my sexual preferences than Nate did. But Livi messed me up with the kissing questions. I miss being kissed more than anything. More than sex.

I want to be kissed as though I’m the most important person in the world. I’m not that for Reed, but he blurs the world out of focus. He’s white noise, but in a person. Comfort. Safety.

“Okay,” I rasp.

“Okay, what?”

“Take me to your hotel.” If he protests, I’ll overthink this. “Are you taking back your offer?”

Reed grins at me. “No way.”

“Are you going to attempt to convince me to have sex with you?”

“I mean, oral sex. But auditory-oral not oral-oral,” he teases. His dimple is extra deep with joy.

I burst out laughing. “God, tonight would be completely different if I weren’t an audiophile. Alright, let’s test your idea.”

Reed reaches over to lace our hands together. “It’ll work—your fork mishap at dinner has me convinced. And while you might be an audiophile, you definitely have an aural fetish.” I flush, and Reed brings our hands up to kiss my knuckles. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Petra. I do too.”

I fight to keep my nerves at bay as we walk through the lobby to his room, hand in hand.

“I don’t have wine,” he says as he unlocks the door, “but I do have puppy chow.”

He’s not laying it on thick, and it’s a relief. “You know what? That sounds great.”

He puts my flowers in water and then passes me a bag of puppy chow, grabbing a handful of the sugary cereal snack for himself. “Not the same as home,” he notes. “But close.”

My anxiety turns the treat into ash in my mouth. “Maybe this isn’t—”

“You’re in control here,” he affirms. “But if you want to semi-break your fast, this is the best way. Pretend it’s my voice on a speaker.”

“It is your voice,” I grumble. “And that’s the problem.”

Reed is gentle as he touches my hair. “We can call it a night, Pet. I can take you to your car, or we can go get ice cream—”

I’m not listening. Pet. Not like a dog, or a servant. A version of my name, so imbued with affection that makes my heart flutter. “Just…wait to come in until the curtain’s closed.”

He hesitates, then leads me to the bathroom. “Knock on the wall when you’re settled?”

“Sure.” And before I can change my mind again, Reed turns on the water, steps out, and closes the door behind him. “You’re insane!” I hiss to my reflection, but I pull my top over my head.

I can’t pretend it’s one of his audios. It’s him and it’s me, and my body will be in that bathtub while his will be one swath of fabric away.

I fold my clothes carefully, but it doesn’t calm my nerves. After a moment’s indecision, I unclasp my necklace and secure Natalia’s name snugly into the pocket of my jeans. When I step into the full tub, the heat of it creeps up my leg and burns away some of my embarrassment. With a shaky hand, I pull the white curtain closed.

Reed is going to walk in that door. Not a recording that will get me off and then cease to exist. A man. Am I ready for that?

I touch my lips, desperately missing the human connection that sex is supposed to provide. Though there will be a curtain between us, I won’t be alone. I get to push away the loneliness without actually having sex.

It’s the best option Reed could’ve offered, and he doesn’t even know why.

I raise my hand and rap my knuckles twice against the wall.

Chapter fourteen

Reed

It takes a hundred years—a thousand—as cloth rustles behind the bathroom door. A million years, while I’m stretched taut as a bowstring. I try not to picture her under her clothes—plush and sweet, with hips that would fit perfectly in my hands.

Pull it together, Reed. I pinch myself to keep my brain from wandering off, fucking Petra without me. Dinner opened a door that I wasn’t ready for, and I want her more than I thought I was capable of anymore. But this bath isn’t for me.

Well, it’s a little for me, because I get to drown in each noise she makes. We both have an aural kink, but the boundaries are hers. At least she’s used to my voice. God, how many times has she come while listening to me? A surge of power, greater than any aphrodisiac, has me hard as granite.

My thought is interrupted by two soft knocks. I take a deep breath, allow myself one insufficient pass over the fly of my jeans, and crack open the door. “Everything okay?”

There’s a long exhale, full of nerves, before she clears her throat. “Come in.”

I nudge the door open, closing it behind me to keep in the steam. It’s sweltering inside, and I wish I could strip down and join her, but she’s nervous as a doe. She’d bound off into another state if I did.

“It’s just me.” I set my phone on the counter with the flashlight on and shut off the overhead light in hopes it will ease her nerves. Her shadow stays quiet when I close the lid of the toilet and sit down. “You’re still in control, Petra. Breathe.”

“I don’t know how. I’ve never been in control. And Nate wasn’t receptive to…listening.”

Her tone sets me on edge. “In what way? Did he make you do things you didn’t want?”

“No. Yes. Sort of. Then I became adamant about condom use and we hardly had sex at all.”

What the hell? I fight my urge to rip the curtain back and demand answers. All my muscles clench with the effort to stay where I am, and the curtain stays closed. Her most basic boundary.

“It sounds like an unequal relationship,” I grit out, and Petra snorts. I file the information away for later. I’ll beat her ex to a pulp later. Right now, I want to heal all of Petra’s bruises. “What did you want that he wasn’t receptive to?”

Her pause is heavy. “Toward the end, even wanting a kiss annoyed him.”

If I ever meet Nate Fitz, he’s toast. “Kissing you is a privilege. I’m sorry he made you think otherwise.”

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she whispers. There’s a small splash of movement behind the curtain, and the shadow of her hand comes up to her face. She’s crying. This was an awful idea. I’m dying to pick her up, carry her to bed, and replace her sadness with bliss.

“Let’s come at this from another angle.” I slide to the floor to sit against the bathtub, hoping that taking her out of my view will help me focus.

“Reed?”

I’ve miscalculated, because the heat at my back and Petra’s voice in my ear distract me in new ways. But if she’s not ready to take charge, I will. “Lay back for me. How do you set the mood at home?”

“Oh no,” she groans. But then she giggles quietly, and the water ripples around her while she shakes. Her chagrined reaction is familiar now. She’ll move past it, if given time.

We have plenty of time.

“I’m curious. Tell me, Pet.”

Sure enough, her giggles slow into sighs that drift across the back of my neck. “I light candles and add bubbles. Have a glass of wine.”

“What kind?”

“Whatever we have. We stock some pricey wines for Bella Vita, but drink the best of the cheaper ones at home.” She relaxes while she speaks, and the water ripples as she slips lower.

“Do you drink it beforehand, or in the bath?”

“Both. And I save a little for…after.”

Something primal in me perks up. “After what?” I ask. She squirms. “I need you to use your words, Pet. I only have words to give you, and you’ll need to do the same.” At my firm tone, she sucks in a sharp breath.

The water shifts behind me. Is she pressing her thighs together? This was a terrible idea because, though I can’t see her, her smallest moves are amplified. Deafening.

“After I come.”

I wish I could see her to check if I’m pushing too hard. I want to push harder. Want to see if my doe thrives under pressure. “Good job, baby.”

“Oh.” She sighs, and water splashes against the side of the tub. She’s torturing me.

“There she is,” I murmur, letting my voice drop down. “What’s your favorite nickname? Baby? Kitten? Sweetest? Darling?”

There’s a loaded pause, but I wait her out. “Anything is fine.”

“The foundation of trust here is honesty, Petronia. I’m trusting you to be honest with me. To tell me your favorites and what your limits are. I’ll ask again: what do you want me to call you? Am I going the wrong direction? Do you want to be my filthy little slut instead?”

“Baby is nice. Darling is…” she clears her throat. “I like when you call me Pet.”

I swallow my moan as my cock swells. She wants me to talk to her, not someone interchangeable. Kinley always preferred DK, and I was nothing more than an afterthought. But it’s just Petra and Reed in this bathroom. I can’t tell if she’s caught in my trap or I’m caught in hers. She could do anything now and I’d still be putty at her feet.

“I appreciate your words, Pet. Keep using them and you’ll be rewarded. Now, lay back.” There’s a ripple of air as she does, without question. “Do you want an imaginary scene, or do you want me to tell you what to do?”

Her voice is shaky. “Your choice, Reed.”

Her surrender sends electricity down my spine. It’s hot, powerful, and dangerous. I want to ground her to this moment with me. “Lift your foot, flex and point your toes. How does the air feel?”

The water drips as she obeys. “Not freezing, but the water is much warmer.”

“Switch,” I command.

“But I—”

“No arguing.” I have to hide my smile. “Foot on the tap, Pet. Is your hair up or down?”

“Up. Would you prefer it down, sir?” she asks. Maybe she is a natural submissive, but we need to move at a pace she can handle.

“How considerate. Hair up is fine. Breathe deeply with me. With the pads of your fingers, massage around your hairline and your temples. Move down your cheeks, your jaw. Easy little circles.” I follow my own commands with one hand to provide me the feedback I need to guide her. She sighs as water drips into the bath from her fingers, wrists, or elbows. It destroys me that I can’t tell from where. “What a deep sigh, baby. Feeling tense?”

Her hair brushes against the porcelain as she nods. “Yes. But in a better way than before.”

“I appreciate your honesty. Brush your fingers over your lips. You have a beautiful mouth: full, but not overly so. Bring your hands down your neck, to the line of your throat. It’s softer there.”

“How do you know that?” she asks, but I don’t answer. I want her focused on herself.

“Any man would be lucky to kiss the curve of your neck.”

She lets out a sound of protest. Fuck. Any allusion to her past will pull her out of the moment.

“Cup the water in your hand. Pour it over your collarbones, your chest.” There’s a trickle of water accompanied by a sharp inhale, and I have her again. “Slide your palms up to your breasts. Do you play with them to orgasm?”

She makes a sound that has my blood pumping. “Sometimes, but sometimes I forget about them. Is that normal?”

Little doe, so forthcoming now. “Simply personal preference. Cup them in your hands and squeeze gently, slowly.”

“But what do you do? Do you focus on your nipples when you…”

I chuckle, because I knew she wouldn’t blindly go along with a scene. “When I what?”

“When you touch yourself.”

“Brush your thumbs over your nipples, Pet.” I wait for her breathless moan before I answer. “Not often. A long warm up is almost never necessary.”

“Do you enjoy it when women do? Touch yours, I mean.” She giggles then, and the water shakes around her. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Me either. I’m fucking dying to replace her hands with mine. “Yes. Touched, licked, and bitten. You?”

The water splashes and she moans. “Not sure about the biting.”

“Are you skipping ahead?” I scold.

“No,” she grumbles. “I always want to.”

A wide grin spreads across my face. “Oh?”

“I—” The water moves again and she lets out a hiss through her teeth. I can guess what the sensation is.

“Is that good? When the water shifts across your clit? Your leg must be getting cold. Switch.”

She does, the water shifting and trickling as she gasps. “Fuck.”

The sound goes directly to my cock. I’m hot from the steam, wound tight from her noises. My dick is begging for attention, but I rein it in. “That’s right. You’re open, wet, and wanting. Does it get you hot knowing that if I ripped open this curtain you’d be completely exposed to me?”

“You wouldn’t,” she says, but I know her sounds now. She’s not frightened. She’s exhilarated. She blazes through my cells until I can’t remember my own name.

“I won’t, because that’s your boundary. Doesn’t change how much it turns you on, Pet. You want it and won’t let yourself have it.” I don’t give her the chance to deny it. “Walk me through what you enjoy.”

She swallows. “I press harder, and I use my whole palm because it makes my hand feel bigger.”

“Like mine?”

“Like yours.” Her breathless tone puts each muscle in my body on high alert. “Sometimes I run my hands down to my knees and shift back up my thighs, to tease.”

“Do it.” The order comes out too harsh. I’m reaching the edge of my control, and I yank it back. “Show me, Petra. And switch out your feet on the tap.”

“You can’t even see me,” she protests, but the water is already rippling and moving around her. “Thank you, sir. I was getting cold.”

I want her on edge, not uncomfortable. “Should we add hot water?”

“I’m fine for now.”

“Tell me when that changes. Are you touching your thighs?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” All her sirs are piling on top of each other, winding me up until I want to unleash myself on her. Or, at the very least, pull out my dick and stroke it to her, naked and waiting on the other side of this flimsy cotton.

“Fuck.” My quiet hiss slips out. Petra whimpers in response, and my heart speeds up faster than if I had a triple shot of espresso. All my words come out in a rush. “You like hearing how you affect me? You might wish your hands were mine, but so do I. Palm your pussy—only the outside. Feel how warm and soft you are.”

Petra makes a sound of protest. “Our foundation is honesty. Don’t blur this into a scene, Reed. That’s not what you chose.”

“I left DK at the door, Pet. There’s no one here but me.” Her sharp inhale has my world blurring out of focus. I glue my eyes to the cabinet across from me. If I let them shut, even a fraction, I’ll picture her in front of me. “Spread yourself open, feel the water against your clit.”

“What does that mean?” she asks. Water laps the sides of the tub with each roll of her hips.

It means you make sex safe again, and it’s the most delicious, intoxicating thing I didn’t know I needed. I curl my hands into fists so they won’t reach for her. My cock is uncomfortable against my zipper, but I don’t trust myself to adjust it.

“If you let me, I would scoop you out of that bath and worship you. I’d tell you how gorgeous you are as I lick every inch of your skin. None of it would be a scene, just Reed and Petra. Use your other hand, baby, stroke yourself.”

“You’d change your mind if you saw me,” she mumbles, and it shatters me.

“You’re stunning. Is it some age thing? I’m thirty-one. I don’t want a teenager, I want a woman.” She’s back in her head, and I drag her out. “Feel how slick you are, even in the water. Tease your clit, Pet.”

“I’m older than you. I have stretch marks. I’m too soft.” Her shame is tangible, but she’s breathing heavily, headed toward the edge. I’m determined to guide her through.

“By what? A few years at most.” I scoff. “I fucking love your curves, and I have scars too. You think I’m not aching to touch you? Taste you? Rock your hips into it. Is softer or harder better for you? Do you come this way, or with your fingers inside?”

She doesn’t answer as the water laps and splashes against her. Envisioning it beading on her fleck-marked skin makes my mouth water. She gasps, and I reel her in.

“What’s your favorite part of those audios? When I slide my fingers into you? When I lick your sweet pussy? When I fuck you so hard that it rips the sounds right out of you?”

“All of it!” Her needy cry makes me ache. I grip my knees and let my eyes slip closed, craving her.

“Slide one finger inside, baby. You’re silky soft. Press your palm against your clit and grind down. Are you getting close for me?”

Her moans are an easy answer. “Yes. You really don’t care?”

I slide my hand over my zipper, aching fiercely. “I couldn’t resist you, flushed and beautiful. Add another finger, Pet. Don’t stop. What do you picture when you get close?”

“Whatever you tell me to, sir.” Her response is instant. Reflexive. Habitual.

I’m on my knees before I know I’ve moved, my fist braced against the wall next to her head as I struggle for air. “Do you talk to me? When you listen to all those scenes, do you imagine silently, or do you talk back?”

She breathes heavily on the other side of the curtain, and I know, I know, the answer. It makes me shake, on the verge of something frantic.

“Say it, Petra.”

“I do.” She moans, and the low vibration of it rings through me. “Touch me, Reed. Please.”

“What?” I push away my imagination to refocus on Petra’s needs.

“Never mind.”

My heart pounds fast as I consider the options. I could ruin it all with one question—or I could open a door to an experience I’ll never forget. “Can I touch you, Pet? It’s your boundary, you get to choose.” She’s hazy through the curtain, head tilted back, and her sharp inhale sends heat flaring through me. I grip the wall to steady myself.

“Yes.” Her shadow nods. “Open it.”

She doesn’t need to tell me twice. I scrounge for some semblance of control. Though I don’t rip the curtain down to the floor, I yank it back faster than I should.

She’s beautiful, eyes closed, with the tight peak of her breast between her fingers. Her other hand is pressed between her legs, and—fuck—her lips are reddened with arousal, begging to be kissed.

I want the taste of her in my mouth, the silk of her around my fingers, the heat of her on my cock. No, no, not that one. This is about her. “You’re gorgeous, Petra.”

She laughs as though she doesn’t believe it. “Are you going to stare all day or touch me?”

I gently stroke her cheek. Part of me worries she’s an illusion. If I press too hard it will shatter. “Don’t deprive me. I love looking at you.”

When she opens her Bambi eyes, they’re luminous. “Please touch me. I want you to.”

I lose all my words. Every. Single. One. I nod, leaning forward. Her shoulder is smooth and supple, her breast full and heavy, and the curve of her hip is perfect. I trail my hand back up in wonder.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says, hand rocking between her thighs. “Make me come.”

“You’re on the edge?” I ask, cupping her breast and swiping a thumb over her taut nipple. She nods.

“Please, Reed.” Her hips swish in the water. It’s too much to bear—her desperate words, her pleading eyes. With a groan, I dip down to kiss down her neck and chest. I pull her nipple into my mouth and flick my tongue across it until Petra moans. “Please, sir.”

I grin against her skin. “I want to take my time.”

“There’s got to be a trade. Your hand for mine?” I shake my head and her eyes widen in disbelief. “Blow job, then? No one says no to that.”

I’m tempted to take the offer, but I’ll be damned if her first experience after being mistreated relies on tit-for-tat. “I do. I want my hands on you for more than two minutes. Nothing you offer could be better.”

“You could do it in two minutes?”

I grin up at her. “Is that a challenge?”

Her hand moves faster over her clit. Stubborn woman, she’s not going to wait for me. But then she bites her lip, eyes blazing. “I’ll let you give me a second one,” she says in a rush. “I’m almost there. Let me come now and take it slow for the next.”

This woman is an absolute genius. For her, I’m a billboard: easily read and easily bought. “Done. Arms around my neck, baby.” I slide my arm under her, pressing her against me, my face in her neck. Her mouthwatering scent coats my tongue in something sweet. I push her hand away, flicking my fingers over her clit with practiced speed.

“Oh God,” she moans in my ear, toes curling against the porcelain. “Yes—please, Reed.”

Who am I to deny her when she begs so prettily? I clutch her back to pull her closer. “I get another?”

“Yes,” she pants in my ear. Her fingers knead my shoulders. I have only seconds to make this bargain.

“On the bed. Slowly.”

“Fine!”

I smile against her neck. “My hands all over you.”

“Don’t play with me! You said two minutes,” she complains between moans. “I’m right there. Don’t stop! And don’t slow down.”

I slow down immediately, trying to gain as much ground as I can. This is the condition I’m desperate for. “My mouth all over you.”

“Shut up and make me come, Reed!” She growls, angry and desperate.

I laugh into her skin, nipping her throat. “Don’t let go.”

I slide two fingers inside her on the next stroke and she arches into me, pressing her breasts to my chest and soaking my shirt. I use the heel of my hand to tease her clit with each upward, curling thrust, and her fingers dig into my back.

“Do you come when you’re told?” She moans, shuddering, and I take that as a yes. I growl a demand in her ear as I stroke my fingers inside of her. “Your orgasm is mine, baby. Focus on that. I need to feel you. Give it to me, Pet. Come. Now.”

Petra tenses up, squeezing me tightly, and falls apart in my arms. She’s quiet, but I relish the way she trembles, her barely audible gasp, and each twitch of her hands in my shirt. She traps my wrist in a death grip between her thighs as her hips roll, sending waves throughout the tub.

When she finally calms, she relaxes in my arms. “Good, Pet?” She nods against my shoulder. “You’re amazing. I can’t wait for next time, when we do it my way. Hold tight to me.”

I position my hand under her knees and pray for grace as I stand with her in my arms, and water streams to the floor. Petra opens the bathroom door for us, gasping when cool air rushes in. Her pretty nipples tighten further into dense, dark peaks, and I stumble over the threshold before tearing my eyes away.

I’m so screwed. No matter what I bargained for, it won’t be enough.

Chapter fifteen

Petra

Reed sets off sparks in all the best places, and I’m still trembling when we reach the bed. “Reed, that lift was swoon worthy, but can you get me a towel?”

Reed chuckles and sets me down. “I wanted to dry you off with my mouth.”

“Oh. Was that a term of the agreement?” I can’t remember. My brain is still giddy and jumbled. I was desperate for an orgasm and would have agreed to anything.

“Gray area.” His dimple deepens, smug and amused. “You told me to shut up and get you off.”

“I did?” I laugh alongside him. I don’t know if it’s Reed or the orgasm, but I’m relaxed. Carefree. “You’re soaked! I’m cold just looking at you.”

Reed whips off his shirt as he walks away, and the wet splatter of it hitting the bathroom floor echoes. He produces a towel for each of us, and I clutch it, stock-still, as Reed pulls off the rest of his clothes.

“Reed!” I squeak, eyes wide.

“It’s fair, since I’ve seen you naked.” He pulls out a pair of sweatpants as I swallow the overwhelming urge to lick my way down his spine. He was attractive before, but his clothes hid the gorgeous, stocky build he has underneath.

“Do you play a sport? Football? Rugby?” I wonder as I drink him in.

“Rugby,” he says with a laugh, and doesn’t bother with a shirt. “But just on a rec team. I haven’t played in a year. How’d you guess?”

I can’t exactly admit to my social media feeding me videos of juicy rugby players with glutes that look just like his. “Do you miss it?”

“Nice deflection, rubber girl.” I’ve been too busy staring at his ass to dry myself off, and he notices, judging by the smirk climbing up one side of his face. God, that dimple. “Enjoy what you see, baby?”

Chagrined, I laugh at myself while he wraps me in a towel and pulls me into his arms.

“Are you happy?” he asks, cupping my warm face. “Or having another nervous giggle fit?”

My face flames further. “Both. I haven’t done this in a while. Don’t expect experience or confidence from me, okay?”

He pulls back to search my face. “What are you talking about?”

“Your blow job.”

He frowns. “That wasn’t the bargain. I want my hands on you a second time.”

Jesus. Who needs a heater with this man around? But his hard length against my hip is impossible to ignore. “I thought you’d need—”

“What I need isn’t your responsibility to handle, especially if you’re stressed about it.” My bruised ego must show on my face, because his voice softens. “You let me in, Pet. You let me see you, touch you, and from what you’ve told me, that was a leap forward for you. I meant it when I said I’m not trying to sleep with you. Am I open to it? Abso-fucking-lutely. But I don’t want it if you’re apprehensive.”

His words make sense, but the rejection stings. “I want to repay you.”

“I appreciate that.” Reed rubs my back over the towel. “But sex isn’t a transaction—at least, you’re a great reminder that it shouldn’t be. I don’t want you to be hesitant to try something because you’re expected to reciprocate.”

It’s the opposite of what all prior sexual encounters required of me. My family and church youth groups refused to talk about sex, except that it was forbidden outside of marriage. It left me unprepared for the pressures of relationships. Teenage boys, college guys: both had wild appetites that I’d been ill-equipped to deny.

Reed tugs me firmly against his chest. “You have power here. Everything is your choice.” I’m still wet, dripping water down his bare chest, but he doesn’t complain. His skin on my skin calms my nerves.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No, I’m sorry. If I pushed too hard—”

“You didn’t. I wouldn’t take it back for anything.” I place a tender kiss on his jaw. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure was yours and mine,” he teases. He swipes his thumb across my cheek, and a flash of black near his inner elbow catches my attention. His tattoo is a rectangular, grayscale painting that extends halfway to his wrist—a mountain range lined with trees under a crescent moon and stars.

“What’s this?”

Reed stiffens until he could rival a statue. “It’s nothing.”

I brush my fingers over the ink, marveling at the texture. I expected bumps, but it’s only soft, smooth skin. “You don’t have to tell me. I understand tattoos can be private and personal.”

“They should be.” He lets out a shaky breath. “It’s a rough story, but the tattoo artist mostly chose it for me. The darkest hour before dawn.”

I can relate. “At least you have hope.” He snorts bitterly, and the sound is unlike him. “The stars? Points of light in the dark, helping you guide your way until dawn? Maybe I’m way off base.” I pull back, but Reed grabs my hand and holds my palm over the scene. His eyes shut tight, as if my touch hurts.

“Don’t let go. Give me a minute.”

Oh shit. This tattoo definitely isn’t nothing. It’s unmistakable that this playful, teasing, frustrating, beautiful man has been hurt by something enormous. I trace my thumb over the ink. “Everyone deserves hope, Reed.”

Reed nods. “Including you. Your life isn’t over because some asshole hurt you.”

“He isn’t what hurt me, not really,” I admit. Somehow, Reed snuck past all my walls. I shut my mouth tight, unprepared to give him more.

Reed doesn’t push. He lets go of my hand to cup my jaw, and the ache inside me begins anew. “Will you stay? Just for the company?” he asks.

“My parents—”

“Know you’re a grown adult.” He’s got me there, however—despite contrary evidence—I’m positive Papa pretends I’m a virgin.

But one night with Reed has made me greedy for another. I break away to kiss his tattoo, and Reed presses his hand over it. An irrational part of me imagines he’s pushing my kiss under his skin. “I’ll stay.”

He smiles as his hands slip over my shoulders, down my sides. One orgasm and he’s touching me as though we’ve been lovers for ages. “Want to sleep naked or borrow something? I’m in favor of one, but your choice.”

I should be sated, but my breasts don’t get the memo. They tighten into hard points that I’m sure he notices. I rest my forehead against his shoulder, blushing. “We’ll compromise.”

“We will?”

I nod, stepping away to dry off. “When you’re done watching the show, can you bring me a shirt and my purse?”

“That might be a while.” He smirks, and has to duck when I chuck my towel at him in response. Reed takes it with him while he fetches my bag. When he brings it and a clean shirt, his blazing eyes travel the length of me, and I forget to be nervous. In a moment of bold confidence, I hold his gaze and slip his shirt over my head. It smells amazing, and Reed lifts my hair out from under the collar before I can.

“You wearing my clothes is so sexy.” He tips my chin up with a finger to brush a kiss to my cheek. “What’s with the purse?”

I pull the underwear from a zippered pocket and slip them on. “Livi was hoping something much saucier was going to happen.”

His smile is dangerous. “It doesn’t get much saucier than that bath. How are you feeling? You should drink water, Pet. I’ll get ice—”

“I’ll go.” I search through my purse for my coin bag. “I saw a vending machine down the hall and I’d kill for chocolate. Want anything?”

Reed shakes his head. “I don’t want you to get dressed again. Compromise?” he asks, pulling a bathrobe from the closet. At my nod, he wraps it around me and ties the sash.

“You don’t want anything? I’ve got a million quarters.”

“Surprise me,” he challenges.

I give into my earlier urge and lick a stripe across his pec, punctuating it with a gentle bite. “Surprised?”

He reaches for me, but I run for the door. I snatch up my purse and the ice bucket while he laughs loudly and lets me escape. In the hall, I lean back against the closed door and let my smile out, ear to ear. I’d forgotten what it was like to have wings.

It’s magical.

The ice and vending machines are on opposite ends of the hall, so I spend twice as long walking around indecently. I bite my lip, debating my candy selection, but mentally, I’m still half in Reed’s bath. The things he said were proof that reality can exceed fantasy. He only had his hands on me for a few minutes, but nothing else might ever measure up.

Countless quarters later, I head back to the room where Reed opens the door at my knock. He’s bright-cheeked, pupils huge. Did he get himself off? It makes total sense that he’d need to relieve the pressure, but I’m strangely rattled by it—and turned on. My brain moves at warp speed as I picture him stroking his cock. What did he imagine? How does he like to be touched?

“Petra? You okay?”

“Fine!” I chirp, holding my terrible giggles at bay. They come out at the worst moments. “I’ve got ice and chocolate, and I’m willing to share both.”

Reed produces two glasses for us and we lean against the counter together. I pass Reed a stick from my chocolate bar, and we both smile. Tonight was impulsive, reckless, utterly unlike me. And amazing.

The second I pop the last bite in my mouth, Reed scoops me up and carries me into the bedroom. “C’mon, let’s get warm.” Reed throws the robe onto a nearby chair and we climb under the covers together.

He’s shirtless, and the sprinkling of hair all over him is intoxicating as I coil into him. He’s not the only one with hair, and I’m mortified when he runs his hands over my upper thighs. “I wasn’t planning on a date tonight,” I confess. “Much less getting naked with someone.”

He laughs and strokes my legs. “It’s soft. A little bit of fur for someone as lovely and skittish as a deer.”

“That’s so much worse,” I groan. But it isn’t, because no matter how on edge Reed puts me, he’s also the net at the bottom of the cliff.

Reed smiles as he cups my cheek. “Pet, you’re glowing.”

I flush further under his attention. “You’re not supposed to point out when someone is glowy,” I chide, but he just laughs and pulls me closer.

We talk for hours about nothing while our hands trace patterns over skin and fingers tangle in hair: our childhoods, our favorite shows, things our mothers do to drive us nuts.

“My mom calls me Petronia almost exclusively,” I complain, “and she tries to use my dad against me until I do whatever she wants.”

“I get that. My mom gave me an hour-long guilt trip over Skype one Christmas. She set her tablet on the sofa and kept saying ‘Oh, Reed would love that if he were here.’ But she refused to actually talk to me.”

“That’s awful!”

He shrugs. “It was mostly funny. A way to get me out of a bad mood and help me feel included. If I hung up, she called me right back.”

With each word, we grow closer. Occasionally, I think Reed might kiss me, but he doesn’t. His lips sizzle against my neck, shoulders, and wrists.

I’m too tired to fight sleep this time. When the dawn comes, it does so quietly, with Reed and I tangled together beneath the sheets.

Chapter sixteen

Petra

The golden ray of morning light through the gap in the curtains signals that it’s time to go. Saying goodbye when Reed hits the road will only be awkward. There’s no need to get emotional or wax poetic, even if talking with him is as easy as if I’ve known him my whole life.

I sneak out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom. After I wash my hands and replace Reed’s sleep shirt with my blouse, there’s a knock on the door. Reed doesn’t wait for an answer before he opens it. He leans against the door jamb, eyes raking over my half-dressed form. “Are you going to make a habit of leaving while I’m asleep?”

“Yes.” I reach for my pants, but Reed tugs them out of my hands.

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your figure in clothes, but your bare legs are fantastic.” I blush as he pulls me in close, smoothing his palms down my thighs. “Are you running out on me to meet another man?”

“What?”

He laughs, the creases from his eyes blending with the creases from his pillowcase. He makes the most ridiculous things attractive. “I meant Jesus. It’s Sunday, and your dad wanted you to be a nun. Are you headed to church?” It shouldn’t warm me all over that he listened—and remembered—but it does. “I’ve gotten out of the habit, but I grew up a nice Baptist boy and say my fair share of prayers. I’d go with you, if you wanted.”

I shake my head, digesting this new piece of Reed. The more I know, the less his puzzle pieces fit together—as if I’m forcing them together on a tabletop when he’s a sphere. “You’re a better Christian than me. I’m not going to Mass. I’ve been angry with God for a long time.”

“I see.” Reed wraps his arms around my waist, pressing us together. He’s deliciously warm from sleep. “Sounds like you’re still a believer, so what did he do to deserve the cold shoulder?”

Reed. Always pushing. Digging into my soul like a tweezer to discover what’s infecting me. “That’s between me and him.”

Reed hums, raking his fingers through my mess of hair. “I’ll leave it be. But just because you’re not talking to him doesn’t mean he’s stopped caring for you, Pet.” I don’t respond. Can’t respond, without delving into secrets I can’t handle. In the pause, his gaze burns into me, soft, hard, and hot all at once. The air grows heavy between us until I’m breathless. “And just because you push me away doesn’t mean I’ll do the same. But I’ll let you finish dressing.”

He unwinds from me, and his absence leaves me cold. I quietly retake my space, leaving our intimate moments in the dark where they belong. Once I dress, I see five texts from Livi, all asking about my not-date that turned into more of a date-date, considering how quickly he got me naked.

I text her back a quick, harmless lie.

Stayed the night. Nothing happened. I’ll text you later.

Liar! Call me!

I ignore her, gathering my things together. Reed stops me with a wide, gentle palm on my arm. “Do you want to get coffee?”

It’s an offer to end this thing between us on better terms, and I take it. “Sure.”

Tina is at the counter as we leave and, though we’re not holding hands, my cheeks heat. No doubt she’ll tell Becca and set the PTA’s tongues wagging.

“Now that your curiosity is sated—” I broach, fiddling with my latte at The Cornerhouse Cafe. “Where are you headed next?”

Reed shakes his head. “It’s far from sated. I’m staying in Swift River a little longer. I have yet to collect my side of the bargain, remember?”

I swallow hard at the memory of his rasp in my ear, my hands all over you. He lit a fire last night that still smoldered inside me. “You could claim it now and save yourself an extra hotel stay?”

“I love that offer,” Reed chuckles, “but I’ve got plans. When are you off work?”

I should lie, but the truth wins out. “I don’t have to work today.”

“What? Pet, we could be in bed right now. Cuddling naked, preferably.”

Sign me up, my body declares, but I shut it down. “I have a real life. I have to—”

“If you could do whatever you want today, what would you do?”

My answer is immediate, but I don’t want to share. I take a sip, stalling. “Laundry.”

Reed pins me with a look. “Petra.”

“It has to be done.”

“Petra.”

“Clean the kitchen. Visit Livi and the kids.”

He grins. “Done. Let’s go.”

“What?”

His raised eyebrow practically laughs at me. “We’re going to visit Livi. Should we bring a hostess gift? Maybe something extra special as thanks for the lace.”

My face goes up in flames. If Reed and Livi goad each other, I’ll be left in a pile of mortified ashes. “I’d go to the coast—if it was just me. It’s almost an hour to the beach, but I’d spend all day there. Writing, breathing in the salt. I’d watch the sunset and come home.”

Reed’s eyes search mine. “Writing?”

Shit. “Like my notebook.”

Reed frowns at me. “You’re not a great liar, which I appreciate. Why didn’t you mention this over dinner? What do you write? Is that what you were doing in LA?”

Because you created your own company and I never published. “Mostly middle grade fiction. But I got sidetracked after…stuff. Ended up working for a nonprofit that advocates for patients with high medical bills. Then I moved back here.”

I wish I could read him as easily as he reads me, but his expression is one I don’t understand. “Was advocacy something you wanted to do, or did you fall into it?”

I shrug, hiding the knots in my stomach. “I had some intense hospital bills. I fought them and then…it felt right to use what I learned to help other people.”

Reed smiles, but his face is full of shadows as he reaches across the table to stroke his thumb over my knuckles. “You’re pretty incredible. Can I ask? Was it an accident? Cancer?”

“No.” My fingers itch to touch my necklace. “A procedure that insurance didn’t want to cover.”

Reed frowns, but doesn’t push. “Didn’t want to stay in the advocacy field when you moved here?”

“Not a lot of options.”

“Portland is only an hour away—”

I can’t handle his pity. It’s my own fault I ended up back in Swift River. “Right now, I need to get back on my feet.”

Reed wants to say more, but he presses his lips together and takes in the mist dampening the sidewalk. “When’s your next day off?”

“Tuesday.”

“Okay.” He stands up from the table and offers his hand. “Day after next, we’re going to the coast, but today is my day. Do you want fresh clothes from your place?”

He’s making plans? I flounder while Reed tugs me up from the table. “What are we doing?”

“Something outside. Yes or no on the clothes?” he asks.

I’m so thrown by the suggestion he’ll still be here that I’m not listening. “Uh, yes?”

“Great,” Reed says. “We’ll go to your place first. Can I convince you to pack an overnight bag?”

That brings me to a screeching halt. “Hold on, you can’t come to the house. My parents will—”

“Already know? From Livi?”

I choke off my answer because he’s right. Livi can’t keep her mouth shut. I shift my panic mode into proactive. “If you’re serious, we need rules: One, I can’t handle my parents’ inquisition first thing in the morning. Two, no discussing my sex life or listening habits with my family. Three, you can’t become best friends with Livi.”

“Jealous?” he asks, grinning.

“Ha! I don’t want to die of embarrassment.”

Reed squeezes my hand. “Let’s do something just you and me first. I won’t bring up our sex life, and Livi and I will be good—but not best—friends.”

My brain, however, gets caught on three words. “Our sex life?”

He chuckles, and a heat pools in my belly. “I think it’s very intertwined.”

“Okay,” I squeak, considering how right he is.

Reed tugs me toward the car. “Perfect. Thought you’d fight me on that.”

“Fight you on what?” He opens the door for me and I sit, dazed, still processing our sex life. The rest of his conditions are hazy. “Wait!”

Reed shuts the door and climbs into the driver’s seat, smiling, light brown hair glistening with mist in the morning sun just peeking through the clouds. “Already agreed, baby. Nothing you can do about it now.”

I glare, thoroughly confused as to what he roped me into. “How do you keep doing that?”

He tucks a wayward curl behind my ear, his smile fading. “Are you actually upset? I enjoy teasing you, but I don’t want to push. Show me the limit and I’ll stick to it.”

His fingers against my ear make me dizzy. He must notice, because he pulls his hand away, allowing me to focus. “Talking to my parents about sex is a limit.”

He nods solemnly. “Noted.”

“With Livi—this is my family, Reed. You’ll leave and—” I’ll be left here. I can’t finish because there are ridiculous tears welling up. I desperately want to go back to LA, where I didn’t share a bathroom with my brother, or sleep in the same bed as when I was twelve. “I have consequences here, and you don’t.”

“I understand,” he says, cupping my jaw. “But I genuinely like you. When I leave, we can still be friends.”

My laugh is watery. “People don’t get naked and stay friends.”

“Why not? We could visit LA together—simply for the food—and regain some of your independence.”

God, I miss my independence the most. “LA has such good street food.”

“That’s why I said it. It’s going to be okay, Petronia.” His thumb traces over my cheek. “Just saying, we could avoid the be-all, end-all goodbye.”

I scrounge up a smile, pushing away the waterworks. “We’ll see.”

“Do you want to end the game?” The concern on his face is bittersweet.

Truth is, I enjoy this game. I crave Reed’s hands on me and the way he makes me blush. I was a dead plant until he gave me some water and tugged me toward the sunlight. But I can’t find the right words to tell him that, so I shake my head.

He presses a soft kiss to my jaw and draws back. It blurs the lines between the intimacy of last night and the space between us this morning. “Me either,” he says. A confession. “Okay. My day. Are you hungry?”

I shrug, wiping my face to make sure no tears leaked out. “I had coffee cake.”

“Yeah, and? Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” he says with a laugh. “Let’s go to breakfast.”

At Imelda’s Diner, the post-church crowd watches us over their plates. That’s Diamante’s girl, I imagine them muttering. Tom will be so disappointed. No one says anything, though Big Billy’s overlarge, white mustache twitches when he glances our way.

“Petra, you alright?” Reed asks.

I dig deep for conviction. I don’t want the town, or my own doubt, to ruin this for me. I’m not comfortable going against the grain. Except for my move to LA, every choice I’ve made in life was to appease the people closest to me.

But Reed is mine. My choice. My joy. Screw the fallout. People already know, so I might as well make the most of it. I nudge his foot with mine, eliciting a smile and a nudge in response.

“Cheeky woman. I’m caught between the Swift Omelet and the Marionberry French Toast.”

“Get both and split?”

“You’re reading my mind,” Reed says, and warmth spreads over my sternum.

He’s not staying. Enjoy this for what it’s worth, and that’s it, I remind myself. And with Reed’s help, I avoid overthinking. When we talk, awkward pauses are laugh-worthy, jokes have the best punchlines, and anything too somber is quickly brightened. And then, of course, there’s all the sex talk.

“Porn?” Reed asks, very matter of fact.

I glance at Big Billy, cheeks hot. “Jesus, Reed, could you keep it down?”

“Sorry.” Reed leans forward, wiggling his eyebrows dramatically as he whispers, “Porn?”

I roll my eyes at his complete lack of subtlety. “Before the audios, yes. Now…not so much.”

Reed’s chest puffs like a proud rooster. “Doesn’t do it for you anymore?”

“Get over yourself!” I laugh.

“You never told me which scene is your favorite.”

I have many, all which fill a different need. I can’t go with one of the boyfriend-style ones, because the last thing I want is for Reed to assume I expect more. His most ridiculous comes to mind. “Santa’s Big Present.”

Reed’s mouth drops open. “Seriously? I—you—” It’s the first time Reed flounders, and my giggles roll out of me as I slump down in my seat. “Extra Cheeky!”

“Aren’t you proud of all your episodes?”

He rolls his eyes. “Both Santa and Pirate Captain were written by my friend Holly as punishment for bets that I lost. Pirate wasn’t your favorite, right?”

I break out into a fresh wave of giggles. “No! Your accent was terrible!”

“My accent was amazing. He had to sound drunk.”

I’m still laughing when his hand grasps the back of my neck and pulls me forward. My giggles fade in breathless anticipation, because I’ve fantasized about this type of forcefulness.

His eyes blaze, and I know his kiss is going to consume me.

But then his eyes clear and, with a gentle stroke of his thumb down my neck, he lets go. I deflate, anticipation replaced by disappointment. Is he avoiding kissing me because he knows it’s too intimate? Maybe he thinks I’ll get too attached, the way his ex was. But Reed speaks before I can reassure him that I don’t expect anything from him.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. But we need to detour at the hotel.”

I convince him to let me pick up the tab—after all, he’s living in hotels and I don’t pay rent. We’re in Reed’s room all of five minutes as he packs a backpack and insists I switch into one of his shirts. We stop by the counter on our way out and Reed asks Tina to extend his stay another night.

“Sure thing,” she says brightly, but between typing, Tina raises a hostile eyebrow at me. Reed notices.

“Yes, actually,” he interrupts Tina’s pointed stare. “She is that good. Fucking phenomenal. Have a nice day.”

I’m so surprised, my snorting laugh doesn’t come out until he’s guided me through the front doors. “Reed!”

“What?” He opens the hatch of his SUV, a smug smile plastered across his face. “Your hard limit is family. Is she family?”

“No.”

“Then it’s within the rules. Are you mad?” he asks. I shake my head, still giggling, as he sets his bag in the hatch. Grinning, he pulls me into his arms and presses us tightly together. “She’s watching us.”

Reed’s hands smooth down my back until he has a firm handful of my ass, and squeezes. My knees buckle, and I muffle my moan against his shoulder. Maybe he’s putting on a show, but Tina is the last thing on my mind as I twine my arms greedily around him. His kisses down my neck send my head spinning. Reed excels at this—touching me in ways I didn’t know I wanted. His scruffy jaw against the tender skin of my collarbone makes me shiver.

“Cold, Pet?” I manage to shake my head. “You want more?” I nod, lips tingling in anticipation, but his kisses travel away from my mouth and across my collarbone. One of his hands brushes over my breast, and I can’t tell if the needy sound that comes out is mine, his, or both of ours. He’s hard against me, and it’s a relief to know he’s affected too.

He swears as he breaks away. “Better get moving or I’ll drag you inside and claim my bargain.”

I swallow my protests, climbing into the passenger seat before they can burst out.

Before I beg for Reed to do just that.

Chapter seventeen

Reed

Petra is intoxicating. I’m too busy focusing on not staring at her—or reaching for her, or pulling over on the side of the road to kiss her—to concentrate properly. By the time we arrive at the trail, my shoulders are tight.

“The waterfall loop?” Petra asks.

“Have you been? I want to record some audio while we’re here, and it’s finally stopped raining.” I grab my bag out of the back. I didn’t bring much, but my Zumie goes everywhere with me. It’s my favorite on-the-go binaural recorder.

Petra raises an eyebrow at me. “Good thing I’m wearing Converse. You know this trail is steep, right?”

“Good. I’ll record your panting—not much different from your sounds last night,” I tease, pulling her into me.

It’s the first time either of us has broached the topic. After that series of touches in the parking lot, I’m done allowing her any distance. I nip her neck, drunk off the scent of her skin.

“What I wouldn’t give to have recorded those, Pet. To hear my name a strung-out moan in my ear.” She shivers, and I love it. Keeping her on edge is my new favorite pastime. She’s got me there without trying, and her soft moans are going to haunt my dreams. “Was last night out of the ordinary, or are you not a screamer?”

Her swallow is loud in my ear. “I don’t scream. Ever.”

My blood rushes south so quickly that it makes me dizzy. “You shouldn’t say that.”

She manages a small snort of derision, but her pupils are blown. “We’ve said far worse.”

“True,” I say, holding tight to the remnants of my self-control. “But that was practically a challenge.”

“Oh.” When my implication registers, she drops her head to my chest. My heart pounds fiercely under my jacket, so hard she must feel it.

“Let’s go hiking, before I maul you like a bear.” I offer her my hand, struggling not to lay her down in the backseat instead.

“No wonder you’re a bachelor if that’s your best pickup line.” She’s fronting; her breath hitches each time I pull her close. I tug her onward—against my deepest desires—because she needs to know there’s more to dating than never leaving the bed.

“You love my pickup lines,” I shoot back, and she laughs as we walk up the path.

Petra is patient with me as I frequently stop along the trail to record the babble of a brook or call of a bird. Oregon is so beautifully green. Everything is wet—the soil nearly black with moisture—and covered in a verdant groundcover that’s reminiscent of an enchanted forest.

The nearby stream provides an undercurrent to the snap of old twigs and pine needles. The wind whistles through empty branches of trees still waiting for spring, and its high, mournful cry makes me inexplicably sad.

This is why I chose audio as my medium. I have a love for these sounds I can’t describe, but with Petra I don’t have to. She pauses when I do, cocking her head in an attempt to decipher which sound I’m isolating.

I record Petra’s gentle, crunching footsteps with my phone and text it to Mom as my favorite sound of the day.

Occasionally a soft smile will cross Petra’s face as she tracks things that aren’t there. Her eyes flit from the base of a tree to a high branch, though I can’t spot an animal. “What do you see?”

“Oh. It’s nothing.” A blush creeps up her cheeks. “I have a vivid imagination.”

“If you were writing, what story would you imagine here?”

Her eyes light up as she takes in the trees around us, and points to a space beneath a tangle of roots. “This is the house of the Bobbity family, obviously. Little Ian Bobbity is the youngest, and a troublemaker of a bunny. He never comes home in time for dinner.”

“Obviously. And this?” I point toward a deep hole carved out from the bank of a small creek. “Who lives there?”

She shakes her head playfully. “No one. It’s a training arena for the Trouncing Toads. They’re the most elite squad there is and are sworn to protect the realm.”

“Trouncing Toads? I love it. So, when do I get to read about Ian Bobbity?”

Petra just shrugs. “I’d have to write it first.” She gives me a small tour of her imagination whenever I point out gnarled branches or oddly shaped rocks. The stories flow from her, fully formed, like she’s not making them up but rather peeking beyond a veil that’s opaque to me.

Through her, I fall more in love with the land. My lungs fill with clean air, the knots in my stomach loosens, and my heart slows to a comfortable rhythm. Petra’s eyes catch mine as she points out a fairy ring, and the woods are reflected there in her green, gold, and brown—and I can almost see the same steadiness inside her.

We’re almost to the first waterfall when my phone interrupts our peace.

Caller Unknown. A chill sweeps over me as I silence it. The needling sensation creeps in, and when we stop in front of the rushing fall and Kinley calls a third time, I turn my phone off completely.

“You okay?” Petra asks, her hands fidgeting. “I can turn back, give you some privacy.”

Her consideration melts the ice crusting over my skin. “No. That’s not the problem. It’s…the person I was telling you about.”

“Need me to kick her ass?”

I laugh, but when I turn to her, she’s dead serious. “You don’t need to get hurt on my account, but thank you.”

“Way to stick me in a box,” she scoffs. “Unofficial black belt, remember? My other sister, Silla, was dedicated to martial arts. I was her practice partner, whether I wanted to be or not. Violence doesn’t solve everything, but this woman can’t seem to take a hint.” I flinch at how close Petra is to the truth.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Petra sits on a nearby bench, silently waiting me out, and I sink down next to her with a sigh.

“Kinley wasn’t all bad. I loved her in the beginning, or maybe I loved who she pretended to be. But things disintegrated. She grew obsessive. She wanted private recordings, and then I couldn’t discuss DKP with anyone without her next to me. Eventually, I couldn’t make eye contact with a woman without Kinley going off on me. She wanted me to stop working so she didn’t have to share me. Kinley never understood that DK isn’t real.”

Petra’s eyes are big enough to swallow me whole, and it makes the rest of my words come easier.

“By the time I saw who she was under all the pretty lies, she had a hold on my whole life. My identity, my secrets, my family—she’d armed herself with an arsenal of information when I wanted to remain anonymous. It was nearly impossible to dig myself out of that situation. Sometimes it was so overwhelming that I wondered if it was worth it to try.”

Shock blooms over Petra’s face. “She was going to dox you?”

I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated. Kinley is unpredictable at best, malicious at worst. “That’s the least she’d do. Has done. She brought hell to earth for me.”

Petra laces our hands together on my knee, soothing me until the electric current running over my skin is no longer scratchy. It hums with a familiar sound—a lullaby. It mixes with her scent—so familiar that the full memory sits just outside my reach. All I have are glimpses of sunlight through trees, bells ringing, and something sweet and hot melting on my tongue. Even so, it warms the last of the chill that Kinley’s calls brought on.

“I’m so sorry,” Petra says. Her eyes reflect the quiet of the forest, earnest and beautiful. “You’re a kind person, and I can’t imagine what it’s like to have someone betray you that way. Plus, share you? You’re so…you. It’s obvious when you slip on the mask, and I can’t believe after knowing you longer, she didn’t get that.”

“She ignored it.” It’s a reminder I desperately need so I don’t lose myself in Petra. She’s a listener, which means DK already has her more than I ever will. “Kinley preferred him over me. I have too many flaws in real life.”

Petra shakes her head. “We all have flaws—her more than anyone. Our flaws make us unique. Human. You’re a beautiful human.” She reaches for me, tugging my face back to hers. She smooths her thumb over my jaw in a comforting pattern that makes me want to burrow into her. “The pretend version could never live up to the real you. She mistreated you—didn’t deserve you.”

Her words are a balm. Through the entire battle, court, lawyers, and police, no one told me outright that I didn’t deserve it.

“My tattoo is because of her,” I confess, but the rest of the words stick in my throat. They won’t move past the knot of pain. Petra climbs onto my lap, wrapping herself around me. Her warmth is soft and comforting.

“You don’t just deserve dawn,” she murmurs, her thumb stroking my cheek. “You deserve sunny afternoons, with the heat of day warming your skin. You deserve vibrant sunsets that make your heart blaze in their reflection. You deserve hot summer nights under a full moon that makes the world shine silver and keeps any shadows at bay. You’ll get them, Reed. All of them. There is so much more than the time we spend in the dark.”

I can’t hold her gaze. My fingers tangle in her soft curls, and the light plays and swirls with each curve. “Maybe.”

Petra’s hand catches mine, holding it against her neck. “It will still hurt horribly sometimes, but not constantly,” she assures me.

There’s a pang in my chest at her words, because whatever she went through, she knows my grief. Once again, she and I are mirrors, but I don’t want her to embody the words in her notebook. I want her safe and happy.

“She’s the reason you’re moving?” Petra asks, far too observant. I nod, measuring how much truth to give her, but she doesn’t prod. “That makes sense. It’s hard to live in a place that acts as a cage.”

“Yeah, it is.” I hope she knows that I mean the same for her. She doesn’t say anything else. She lets go of my hand and settles against my chest. She strokes my arms, my back, and I do the same, until Kinley’s hands aren’t imprinted on my body anymore. Petra’s are there instead, soothing my old wounds. The last two nights with her have been more effective than a hundred hot showers.

After a while, Petra climbs off my lap and reaches out her hand as an olive branch. “Want to keep going?”

I nod. There’s a strange tightening in my stomach as we walk, hands intertwined. I prod her with questions until we arrive at the second waterfall, where Petra perches on a nearby rock. Her face is as tranquil as our quiet, smiling moments between midnight and dawn. Once I get the recordings I want, I join her, offering the puppy chow mix from my bag.

“Every time I eat this, I’m going to remember your bathtub,” Petra notes, blushing.

“That makes me unreasonably happy.”

Petra’s eyes crinkle as she pushes my arm in response, but I’m solid and not going anywhere. “I’ve listened to the recordings so often, but it’s better when it’s real,” she admits, tilting back to look at the top of the waterfall. I nod, captivated by her voice—it beats any recording.

She shies away when I turn on my phone to take a selfie of us, but I’m at peace, and that’s worth documenting. “Come on, Pet. Let me remember Swift River, and one moment of happiness in front of a waterfall. Unless you want me to take a less socially shareable photo of bliss?” I waggle my eyebrows at her until she laughs, bright and full.

“Fine, then.” She settles in against my shoulder, gorgeous and serene. I grin at the photo before I get up to snap more photos of the falls. I quietly sneak one of Petra perched on the rock. She’s a siren, with her chestnut hair and the glacier blue water and deep green ferns behind her.

It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.

I break another rule, and switch to my private account to post them on my story with a simple caption. Not shown: the discovery of Trouncing Toads and Ian Bobbity. It’s a simple, temporary banner that will show up again in a year—a reminder of a moment when the bruises I carried began to heal. When there was magic beyond the veil.

One moment where we are both brilliantly alive.

Chapter eighteen

Reed

We make the full loop hand in hand. Since the clouds keep the sun from shifting noticeably across the sky, it’s later than I expected when we get back in the car. “Should you call your sister and tell her you’re alive?” I ask, turning on the heater.

Her cheeks darken. “I texted her this morning.”

“Maybe I want to say hi, too.”

Petra groans but taps Livi’s name on her screen. “This will be fun.”

Livi answers with a squeal. “Sis, your text was BS. You don’t answer me until the morning and ‘nothing happened?’ You better give me the low down because I’m betting Reed knows how to get it done! God, the ass on that man—”

“Livi,” Petra interrupts, cheeks pink. “Reed’s here and you’re on speaker.”

Livi’s delighted laugh makes Petra blush harder. I take her hand and press a kiss to her palm as Livi barrels on. “Okay, Reed, you give me the deets because Petra’s shy as a church mouse—”

I’m not messing with Petra’s limit. “Nothing happened.”

Livi puzzles over that. “I’m mad that you’re not telling me, but happy that you’re an honorable guy. It’s an annoying place to be.”

“Anyway,” Petra cuts in, her gaze fixed on our linked fingers. “Just saying hi and letting you know I’m fine. Bye!”

“Wait!” Livi yells, and Petra’s thumb hovers over the screen. “Are you bringing Reed to dinner?”

“Oh, jeez, Sunday dinner,” Petra grimaces. “Wanna go? You’ll be grilled, my mom will overstuff you, Zia Carla will be toasted, and Livi… Well, you’ve met Livi.”

“Hey!” Livi interrupts, offended.

I want to know how Petra ticks, but I’m not willing to overstep. I tap the mute button. “Only you and me here, Petra. Do you want me to go?”

“Don’t set a standard that a future date can’t live up to?”

A smirk pulls at my mouth. “That does wonders for my ego.”

Petra laughs, and she leans up to place a warm, chaste kiss on my cheek. “See? Say stuff like that and we’ll be fine.”

I want to reassure her with a real kiss. Now that I’ve heard more about Livi, what I thought was a hard rule might’ve been a simple suggestion. The more I’m around Petra, the more I like her. How did this go from attraction to craving her company? A quick fuck might’ve gotten that out of my system, but this—this building affection? That’s much harder to brush off.

“Livi?” Petra asks, unaware of my ongoing emotional crisis. “Yeah, okay, we’re coming to dinner. I’m giving you the same rules I gave Reed. No talking about sex—”

“What?” Livi exclaims. “Oh, I knew you two—”

“—and you and Reed can’t gang up on me.”

“That’s half the fun!” Livi protests. “All those times you and Silla used to gang up—”

Petra scoffs. “I was twelve, and you were annoying—”

“Well, you were bossy—”

“And we’re done. See you tonight,” I interrupt, reaching over to end the call. “Was that a preview of dinner?”

“You wanted to come. Wait until you see us all together.” Her eyes glimmer, as if she’s enjoying my discomfort. I adore this side of her—the side that teases as much as I do. “Want to back out?”

I’ve got her chin in my hand before I know I’m moving. “Not a chance,” I taunt, inches from her lips. My body is screaming at me to close the distance. Screaming at her to close it for me. This is her boundary. Her permission to give. She doesn’t, though. It rips me apart to skim the edge of her lips, but I turn my face to the side and kiss the corner near her mouth instead. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

It takes the strength of ten men better than myself, but I manage to pull back. Petra’s hands tremble in her lap, and doubt creeps in.

“Apparently my own stalker tendencies come out around you,” I say. A joke and atonement in one. “Sure it’s okay if I go?”

“I’m sure. But maybe show up in your pajamas to set the bar exceptionally low.”

I nudge her shoulder. “And mess up my chances in the process? No way.”

“C’mon, Reed, it’ll leave a nice-sized opening when you leave.” She’s teasing again, eyes brightening, but I hate what she’s saying—which is ridiculous. I wanted her to experience real passion, not audios alone in her bathtub. For her to consider dating again.

But now, the idea of another man taking her out makes my stomach turn. Fuck me.

“Not supposed to talk about your next date to your current date,” I tease.

Petra laughs. “You’re not supposed to ask about porn over breakfast. We’re not very conventional, you and I.”

I relish the sound of that—her we and you and I. “In my field, you can talk about porn any time. And not always in a sexy way.”

Petra rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure you were asking about it in a sexy way. Can you drop me off at my car? I need to shower and change.”

“You could shower with me.” I sweeten the offer with a squeeze of her thigh.

“You already got me in your tub once. Not happening again.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” I tease, but head for the grocery store, anyway. “Gonna pick me up or text me your address?”

“I’ll text you. Let me see your phone?” I turn it on and unlock it for her. Her eyebrows lift at the notifications for fifteen new voicemails, but she doesn’t ask about them. She calls herself to save my number and hands it back. It pings shortly thereafter, lighting up the screen with her name and address.

Petra Diamante. Her name echoes through me, lighting up parts of me that had long been dormant. It’s only after the screen darkens that I realize what happened.

I handed her my unlocked phone without hesitation. Kinley would’ve snooped, would’ve dug surreptitiously through my text messages or my photos. Petra didn’t bother. She didn’t spend time dissecting my home screen or scrolling my apps, which would’ve been doubly awkward since I downloaded all those dating ones, trying to find her. I pull into the bustling parking lot, and reach for her hand.

“Petra, I—” But the words die on my tongue. How do you thank someone for not being another person? For not repeating the past? For pure decency? “Thanks for inviting me to dinner. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Petra rolls her eyes. “No you won’t. But leave me out of it, please. I can’t bear to smash my dad’s hopes of becoming a nun and tell him I belong in Gomorrah on the same day.”

I haven’t heard a Bible reference in ages, and the surprise of it makes me laugh. I squeeze her thigh as reassurance. “That’s pretty far-reaching for listening to sexy audio. I mean, God and I are cool, and I’m the one recording it. What time should I come over?”

She rolls her eyes at me, but she’s radiantly happy. “Six-thirty? Dinner at seven-ish.”

“Done,” I declare. I can’t wait.

“That’s actually Diamante time for possibly seven-thirty or eight,” Petra admits. She smiles, and it’s so sweet that I don’t want to let her go. “See you then.”

“See you soon, Pet.” I tilt her head up to kiss her cheek. She smiles at me before she climbs out, and her hips sway with every step across the parking lot. It’s my turn to admire her ass, and I bite my lip to hold in my grin. How the hell did this woman squirm her way under my skin in mere days? I’m in deep trouble. Petra unlocks her car and drives away before I absently dial Amanda’s number.

“Hi Reed,” Amanda answers right away. “I can’t believe you sent me money. It was way too much, and when you get back, I’m using it to take us all out to dinner. Where are you now?”

I stop cold. Oh shit, what am I doing calling Amanda? I can’t tell her about Petra. I wish I could call Holly; she’d know exactly what to say. “Uh, I’m still in Swift River.”

“Reed,” she sighs. “You have to come home sometime. Or at least be around people. My friend Jenny lives in San Francisco, I’ll check if you can crash on her couch—”

“I need flower information,” I blurt out. Amanda’s pause is filled with all sorts of things on my end. Dread, humiliation, and a sinking in my gut while I anticipate her reaction.

It’s not a warm one. “For what? Did you meet someone in the middle of nowhere? You can’t honestly—what are you—”

I close my eyes, wishing I could restart this whole conversation and talk about something boring instead. “It’s nothing serious, okay? I’ve only known her for a few days.”

“Then what are you doing?”

I don’t know. I can’t bring myself to say the words. “Having fun. Don’t I deserve some fun?”

“You swore off dating forever and now you’re buying flowers for someone in a tiny town a bajillion miles away. How is that not a big deal?” I don’t answer, and Amanda sighs. “I want you to be happy. If you came back and fell in love with Coralville again, it would be healing.”

She means it. Amanda only wants the best for me. Our unwavering support for each other is what makes our relationship strong. But I need her to move past her wants and hear me. “Amanda, the woman I’m buying flowers for is healing me in ways that town never could.”

“That sounds pretty serious.” Amanda makes a noise, half-scoff, half-sob. “I guess we better pick out some great flowers while I resign myself to booking flights to Swift River twice a year.”

There’s the support I wanted. “You can fly on my dime, if that helps.”

“It does,” she lets out a shaky, watery laugh. “I see first class in my future. For the girls, too.”

This is a welcome reprieve from her persistent Team Iowa, and I appreciate it. “Absolutely. First class in a forty passenger plane ought to be interesting. You might even get two bags of peanuts. Alright, what do you know about Italian culture?”

“Me, or the internet?” she asks, but at least it holds her tears at bay. “How Italian is she? Does she speak it? Is she Catholic?”

“Very. Her father wishes she’d become a nun.”

“Oh man, hope they don’t find out what you do for a living,” Amanda says with a snort. Hurt that zips through me at her words, but she barrels on. “Alright, we’ve got sunflowers for good intentions and happiness. Calla lilies for goodwill. Definitely no chrysanthemum, it’s a death flower. Peonies for love and marriage, if you’re seriously romancing her.”

“Sunflowers it is. Last thing I want to do is tell her mother I want to marry her,” I say, warding off Amanda’s imminent line of questioning.

“Her mother?” Amanda yells, incredulous. “You’re meeting her family? You’re a big, fat liar, Reed, because that’s beyond serious!”

Damn. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“You can lie to yourself all you want, but not to me. I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she warns. I’m afraid to answer, for fear of digging myself a deeper hole.

“At least if I screw up too badly I can move on,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“Can you?” Amanda asks dryly.

I don’t know. “Support me, okay? Tell me that Kinley isn’t going to be the last romantic experience I have. Tell me my love life doesn’t have to end as a horror story.”

After a long pause, Amanda’s voice is soft and apologetic. “Of course it doesn’t. Alright, go with the sunflowers. Get an odd number—even is bad luck. And wear a button-down. Always better to be too formal than too casual.”

I know she’s pushing past what she actually wants to say, but I don’t want to overthink this any more than I already am. “Thank you.”

“Whatever,” she grumbles. “First class plane tickets twice a year.”

It should worry me that it makes me smile, but I’m too happy to bother. “I’ll remember.”

When we hang up, a new type of energy bounces through me. I need feedback from someone that’s not Amanda. My last message to Grant was over a month ago, but there’s no one else who might understand.

Hey. What if I told you I found someone that just…fuck, dude. Do you believe in love at first sight?

Hasn’t happened to me. You telling me it’s real?

Not sure. Is that insane?

So what if it is? You’ve always known how to make shit happen, Reed. Who cares if it’s love right now or not? If you want her, go for her. No one can tell you what you want except you.

Thanks, Grant. Come to Easter this year, okay? Mom misses you. We all do.

I close out my messages and dial Chelsea’s flower shop for the third day in a row. My brother has always been a man of few words, but he’s right. I don’t need to overanalyze this. I’m positive that tonight won’t be the last that I’m eager to spend with Petronia Diamante.

Chapter nineteen

Petra

I spend the drive home manifesting some luck that I’ll be able to sneak in quietly or, at least, that my family will politely ignore my absence. Of course, then they wouldn’t be my family.

“Petronia!” Ma yells, right as I walk in the door. Her East Coast accent is out in full force today—not a good sign. “Why did we hear from Livi this morning that you were out on a date from which you didn’t come home? Papa was worried sick!”

I hold in my eye roll. They obviously weren’t worried if they didn’t know I was gone until Livi called.

“Good daughters call,” Papa interjects with a stern face. His one line causes an avalanche of guilt quicker than any of Ma’s tirades. I can’t handle the weight of it, and throw Livi under the bus.

“Sorry, Papa. I knew Livi did, so I didn’t take the time to. I should’ve.”

“You should’ve,” he agrees, but sighs as I wrap him in a hug. All the fight goes out of him, and Ma must see it.

“Tommaso!” she yells, brandishing a chef’s knife. I let go of him and back out of her range. “Is that all you gotta say?”

“Anita,” Papa says, with raised hands and a hopeless tilt of his head. “She’s a grown woman. She apologized. What do you want me to do?”

“Me?” Mama shouts, exasperated. “Really? You were the one pacing and shouting—rilin’ me up all day—saying, she’ll always be my baby. Suddenly she’s a grown woman, says sorry, and that’s enough for you?”

“Anita,” Papa pleads, and I back cautiously toward the hallway. Though their argument is about me, it’s a chance for them to needle each other. They love to do it and pretend they don’t.

“Hold it right there, Petronia!” Mama yells, waving the knife in my direction between chops of potato. “You’re not getting away that easily. Who is he? Who are his parents? What does he do? Where did you go? Were you being safe?”

“I—”

“Trick question! You weren’t being safe because you didn’t call your parents to tell us where you were!”

Though the knife is intimidating, her accent is extra thick in her agitation, and I have to purse my lips to hold in my laugh. “Sorry, Mama.”

“You think it’s funny?” She drops the potatoes in a pot and adjusts the temperature as she stirs it, but her focus is all on me.

“No, Mama. But can you hold all the other questions for later? I invited Reed to dinner.”

“What?” Ma screeches. “And you don’t tell me so I can prepare enough food?”

She always makes enough dinner to feed an army. I’m in the line of fire, though, and I transfer the heat to Livi. “Sorry, Mama, Livi was supposed to tell you. But I’m telling you now, and I can help cook, I just need to shower and change. Reed and I went hiking.”

“Hiking?” Mama’s eyes meet Papa’s in a silent conversation I don’t understand. “Is he really named after a stupid weed, or did you make that up?”

She has no room to talk after naming me Petronia. “His name is Reed, and he’s nice, and hasn’t had a home cooked meal in weeks.”

“I guess we can’t let the man go hungry,” Mama huffs, waving a wooden spoon, but her eyes soften. She gestures for me, and when I come closer, she pulls me into a tentative hug. “Hiking, really? What hold does this guy have over you?”

I laugh, though it’s watery. I can’t remember the last time Ma hugged me out of something that wasn’t pity. It’s not the reaction I was expecting. I relax into her hug, but then her spoon comes down hard on my ass.

“And that is for not calling! You might be sixty-five one day and suppose you’re old enough not to call, but you would be wrong! Understand?”

I nod, rubbing the sore spot on my butt. “Understood.”

“Good. Go shower. You don’t need to help me—spend the time making yourself pretty. No man falls in love over a hike.”

I pull a face at her. “Can we not bring up love around Reed? That’s not us.”

“You’re always beautiful, my Petra,” Papa chimes in too late.

“Oh,” Mama grumbles and smacks me again with the spoon, but not nearly as hard. “He’s meeting your family, Petra. Don’t be dense. Shower, now!”

“Yes, ma’am,” I mumble, but hurry out of the kitchen before she can use the spoon again. I turn on the water and undress in a daze. Ma has a lot of ridiculous notions, but Reed wanting to meet my family is odd. It’s got to be a game of make Petra wish she were anywhere else.

The more I can laugh about it, the better it will be. It’s one night. Nothing is going to fall apart.

My phone dings with a new text from Silla.

Reed is coming to family dinner?!

Not my idea, but yes.

No heads up? I’d have come!

What about Josie’s PTO?

Are you kidding? This is going to be epic. Josie would’ve been left behind! Lol.

Nice, Silly. Great way to treat your wife.

Did you prep him? I’d pay to see this.

Stop making me nervous, you jerk! If it’s not fine, he’s a stranger and I won’t see him again, anyway.

Suuuuuurrrrreeee. I’ll ask Livi for the full play-by-play after.

I shower and shave without allowing myself to consider why. I also refuse to let Mama’s words haunt me as I put on nice underwear and a blouse that dips between my breasts and highlights my complexion. And I certainly don’t contemplate impressing Reed while I swipe on mascara, blush, and a light lip-stain that’s hopefully not too noticeable.

I’m debating on whether I have time to straighten my hair when Tommy raps loudly on the bathroom door. “Forgot to tell you your boyfriend’s here!”

“Forgot? For how long?” I ask, yanking open the door with zero grace and running down the stairs. “And he’s not my boyfriend!”

When I get downstairs, Reed is in the kitchen talking quietly with Papa, while Mama and Aunt Carla sip wine next to a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers and greenery. It brightens up the room, making the kitchen joyful and cozy instead of the muted brown and beige it usually is.

The whole room is a scene out of someone else’s life. Reed is handsome and charming. Undeniably, uniquely Reed. He’s freshly shaven, in black pants and crisp, white shirt, with sleeves that are casually but expertly rolled up to his elbows. The stark white deepens his tan and brightens his amber eyes. My heart stumbles and picks up speed.

It’s hard to avoid comparing him to Nate. Nate didn’t make a bad impression—he was boyishly charming, though immature. The true difference? Nate didn’t spark this need in me. This heart racing, kiss-or-be-kissed magnetic force between us. At least on my part.

When Reed glances up at me, I forget to breathe. The corner of his mouth pulls up, dimple and all. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. He sobers when Papa murmurs something in his ear, and then he’s walking toward me with such soft affection that I nearly melt. Before I do, Reed leans in close to kiss my cheek. He’s wearing a woodsy aftershave that makes my knees weak.

“You’re gorgeous, Petra.” His praise is honey and velvet in my ear. “I can’t wait to see how stunning you are when I make you blush. Want to time me?”

I flick his shoulder, and he has the nerve to chuckle.

“Petronia!” Mama scolds. “Don’t hit dinner guests.”

Tommy laughs as he walks past us and picks up something from Ma’s cutting board. She slaps his wrist so fast that it drops back down before he can bite it. “Hey!” Tommy protests. “Don’t hit dinner guests!”

“You still live in my house, baby boy. You are not a guest.”

Reed watches their exchange with avid interest. “You didn’t mention your mother is from the East Coast.”

“New York and Boston,” I admit, and he laughs. “What?”

“Thank God you don’t live there. You’d be the shyest girl in Boston.”

“I’m not shy,” I protest, frowning.

His half-smile is soft as his knuckles stroke down my arm. “No, you’re not.”

I want to ask what that means, but the front door bursts open. Livi spills in with a baby on her hip, husband and twins in tow. “Reed!” she yells—God, Livi is loud—and pulls him into a hug as if they’ve been friends for years. “You owe me details.”

“Standing right here,” I interrupt. Livi releases him to hug me, but I dodge her and pluck Hailey from her hip. “Hi, sweet girl! How’s my little Hailes?”

“I’m chopped liver,” Livi grumbles and kisses my cheek. “Nice makeup, Petra.” I steadfastly avoid her gaze, glad I can dote on Hailey as a distraction.

“Hi Darin,” I greet Livi’s husband with a smile. “Darin, this is my…friend. Reed. And these little gremlins are Antonio and Lilly.” Tony and Lilly both roll their eyes at me and run to Papa, who pulls lollipops out of his pocket and exchanges them for a handful of kisses.

“Tommaso!” Mama yells, as if this is new behavior. “You’re going to spoil their dinner!”

“They know to save them for later,” he reassures her, giving Tony and Lilly a wink. “Anita, why don’t I keep the kids busy before dinner? We’ll go for a walk, right kids?”

“Right!” they agree, but they giggle and unwrap their candy before they even open the front door.

Reed shakes with laughter beside me, amused by our routines. Though it seems innocuous when Darin joins Tommy at the bar, I know better. Mama, Livi, and Aunt Carla take up residence near the stove, and their hushed conversations mean they’re all waiting for the inquisition to start.

“Your family is hilarious. And you’re a charmer, Hailey,” Reed tells her, giving her his finger to grab onto. She grins at him with a wide mouth and only four teeth. My traitorous heart melts in my chest.

“It’s not cool for you to be handsome, funny, and good with babies,” I grumble. “Go make an ass of yourself right now.”

Reed steps closer to me and wraps his arm around my waist so naturally that it appears as if he’s simply showering attention on Hailey. “Putting you in a baby-making mood, Pet?” he murmurs. Though his eyes aren’t on me, his grin is smug.

Hurt sweeps through me, and my necklace is heavy against my skin. But as it passes, it’s easy to imagine what a baby with Reed might look like. Our child might have his beautiful, honey eyes and my curls. My heart pounds faster.

“Is breeding one of your favorite DKP scenes?” he asks in a low voice, his lips brushing against my ear.

I clear my throat and try to get my head back on straight. “Asked for an ass and received one. That’ll do it.”

Reed’s dimple peeks out as touches my hot cheek and glances at his watch. “Six minutes.”

My jaw drops open, but as soon as I recover, I take a leaf out of Mama’s book and swat his shoulder. “Go away! Be useful or be grilled! Either way, don’t come to me for help.” I shove him toward the piranhas, and he has the audacity to laugh as he goes.

Livi bites first. “So, Reed. How long are you in town?”

Reed raises an eyebrow at me, but he’s on his own. He settles in on the barstool next to Darin’s. “Not sure. Playing it by ear.”

“Ah, and you get a lot of vacation time for that type of thing, or are you between jobs?”

“Livi, offer our guest a drink,” Mama scolds. Livi pours Reed a glass of water before Ma asks again, feigning disinterest, “Are you on vacation up here?”

Reed smothers a grin, but his eyes twinkle. “I run my own company, and luckily I can work remotely.”

“Your own company?” Ma repeats with a pointed stare at me. “That’s a real man,” she mouths to me, though everyone can see. My face has to be tomato red, because Reed glances at me and chokes back laughter.

“What do you do? Where do you live?” Mama asks.

“I’m in sound engineering, and I do some voice acting. I was in Los Angeles, but I’m moving, once I decide where to land.”

“Oh?” Aunt Carla raises her brows at me before sending Reed a winning smile. “Is Swift River in the running?”

“With this hospitality, absolutely,” he says, and all eyes shift to me. “But most likely somewhere bigger. San Diego, maybe.”

I breathe a small sigh of relief. Reed visiting here is messing with my libido, emotions, reputation, and family. Him moving here would upend my life.

Chapter twenty

Petra

The entire family pelts Reed with questions, each less subtle than the one before. Reed answers them all with poise, until even I’m convinced that he’s a charming middle-class boy from a Christian family in Iowa who loves kids and sound engineering.

He sounds…perfect. Or maybe someone else’s perfect. It’s a watered-down version of the Reed I know, and guilt twists in my chest. I shouldn’t have pressed my issues with my family on him. I pass Hailey over to Darin and grab his hand, tugging him up from his seat.

“I’m going to show Reed the yard,” I announce, not giving anyone room to object. He follows me through the glass doors to the back porch, where we’re mostly hidden from view. We blend into the dark, but the warm, yellow light from the living room caresses his face.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“No, I did. I shouldn’t set limits. DKP is your company. I don’t want you to be someone else. You deserve to be comfortable and supported for the whole, wonderful person you are.”

Reed wraps his arms around me and roughly pulls me into his chest. “Petra.” He sighs into my neck, as though he hurts. His hand sneaks under my blouse to cradle my back, and I wait for him to say something else, anything, but he’s quiet for a full minute.

“My parents don’t know the extent of it either,” he admits. “My siblings do, but I can’t bring myself to have that conversation with my mom. I’m not ashamed, and she might get it, but it’s easier to show her my YouTube where I play a PG-13 pretend boyfriend for lonely girls.”

“You’re much more than that,” I protest, locking eyes with him, determined to impress the enormity of the truth on him. “I had an awful relationship with my body until I listened to you. I wasn’t merely self-conscious, Reed. I hated myself. Every stretch mark, every inch of skin, every stupid, fucking ovarian follicle. You changed something in me, until I could see myself in a mirror and not mind, or touch myself and find pleasure in it. You did that for me and who knows how many other women.”

Reed’s fingers are gentle on my jaw as his thumb smooths over my mouth. “What am I gonna do with you, Petronia Diamante?”

My only anchor to this moment is the soft swipe of his finger on my lip. The ache is back, and I’m desperate for Reed’s mouth on mine. “What do you want to do with me?”

“Anything you’ll let me. Will you leave with me tonight? Let me collect my side of the deal?” When he leans back, his serious eyes search my face for an answer. For once, he doesn’t have to wait.

“Yes. But this time I’m bringing my own pajamas.”

Reed smirks. “Pack as if you’re Livi.”

“Reed! I could change my answer,” I scold. He laughs a deep, belly laugh that warms me all over.

“But you won’t.” He shrugs and takes my hand to walk back inside.

“You’re such a cocky ass,” I complain.

“This is a whole new side of you,” he declares, amused. “I like it. So, when do I get to see your room?”

“Never,” I snort. “It’s still decorated half seventeen-year-old, half thirty-three-year-old. I was hoping I wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter. Six months in, and I’m still here.”

“You need to give yourself a hell of a lot longer than six months to get back on your feet. You’re starting from scratch?”

“Basically.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Reed says. He opens his mouth as though he wants to say something else, but the moment passes. “When do we get to bash Nate? I’m counting on it as a bonding experience.”

For once, the memory of Nate doesn’t make me sad. “You can get Livi and Tommy on board for that.”

“Perfect.” He winks at me, and we’re back in sync. When we walk through the doorway, hand in hand, it’s the first time I’ve felt like a true adult in Mama’s kitchen.

“Mrs. Diamante, that smells fantastic,” Reed praises, and Mama’s cheeks darken.

“Call me Anita. But flattery will get you large portions.”

“Anita,” Darin interrupts. “Did you cut your hair? It’s lovely.”

Ma laughs and brandishes a spoon in Darin’s direction. “See? Darin wants double.”

Surprisingly, Aunt Carla and Mama take a break from the intense questions, and Reed gets sucked into conversation with Tommy and Darin. Mama forces me to keep an eye on the sauce, eavesdropping when Livi sidles up to me with a smirk.

“Give me the dirt, P!” Livi demands. “Was he fantastic? Better than Nate?”

I roll my eyes as Mama purses her lips until her mouth turns white. “I wouldn’t know—we stayed up all night talking. Then we hiked the waterfall loop, and I came here. That’s it.”

“It’s no fun unless you kiss and tell,” Livi grumbles.

My forced smile feels like a frown. “We haven’t kissed.”

“Seriously? What? But you—dinner—and family! Weren’t you kissing on the porch?”

“Talking.”

“Damn it!” Livi swears. She passes a twenty-dollar bill over to Tommy, who sends a wink my way.

“And you think you know Petra better,” Tommy says with a grin. “I live with her. She’s practically asexual.”

Reed snorts, and it is the loudest thing in the room. His eyes meet mine over a room of frozen bodies. I can’t hide the blush creeping across my face, and I collapse into laughter. “Good thing I took back the limit,” I complain halfheartedly, and Reed smiles.

Tommy stares at me too, with a softness I don’t expect. “I forgot what your real laugh sounds like.” But then he makes a face. “Gross,” he declares, and slides the bill back over to Livi.

“Without kissing?” Livi asks incredulously.

“No kissing?!” Aunt Carla throws her hands up in the air. “What is happening with young people nowadays? I swear to God, Anita, I’m never going to have grandchildren if Marco doesn’t figure out—”

I leave the pot for Aunt Carla to stir while she rants to Mama about her chances of being a grandmother, and drape myself over Reed’s back to kiss his jaw.

“That’s the only kind,” I reassure Livi, but it’s Mama who breathes a small sigh of relief. I stuff down how much that prickles.

Livi reluctantly slides the money back over to Tommy. Reed steals it from the counter, deftly reaching behind him to tuck it in the front pocket of my jeans. He squeezes the back of my thigh in support before he lets go. The move in itself is a declaration of how familiar Reed is with my body, and my cheeks burn hotter than before. He doesn’t let me retreat, linking our hands together across his chest.

“It’s what my sister would’ve done if my brother and I bet on her. Fair’s fair, right, Petra?” He turns his head to kiss my cheek without waiting for an answer.

“See?” Tommy shrugs, though he makes a face as though he swallowed a frog. “Easy answer to the question we’ve all been dancing around.”

It’s true. Reed and I go from hardly touching to quietly reaching for each other. I help set the table, and when I walk past the kitchen island, Reed brushes against me. My hand, my thigh, my back, my arm. Every touch turns me into a puddle.

Papa comes back with Antonio and Lilly—who are suspiciously sticky with more candy than a single lollipop—and he watches Reed and I with an expression I can’t place. As the others set the table, he tugs me away to choose a bottle of wine.

“Stellina. I’m not Mama. I want to know. Do you want something serious? Are you ready for it?”

He’s never been this blunt before. “It’s not serious, Papa. Reed is just…It sounds ridiculous because I’ve known him for all of five minutes, but he’s a great person. He only knows who I am now, at this point in my life, instead of who I was.”

“Who you were before was just as wonderful.” Papa frowns, and his words needle my chest until I want to cry. I pull him in for a hug, and his strong arms crush me.

“Thank you,” I choke out.

“He makes you smile—the way you used to. It’s beautiful on you.” Papa kisses my cheek with watery eyes. “I guess I’ll play nice. For now. He hurts you and I’ll kill him.”

Papa couldn’t hurt a mouse, but I nod solemnly anyway. He plucks a bottle from the wine fridge and proceeds to drag us all into a conversation about soccer. Reed knows nothing about the sport, favoring American football. He sits with them at the table, but watches me instead. His eyes are a warm weight on my skin.

“Seriously,” Livi mutters as she passes me a stack of plates for the table. “That ass is a work of art.”

“Stop objectifying him!” I hiss, swatting her arm. I sneak a glance at his thick thighs. “He played rugby.”

I whisper it, but our kitchen acoustics are the worst. Reed must hear me, because he chuckles. His hand grazes the back of my thigh as I set the table, and molten heat spreads everywhere from his touch.

By the time we’re all seated and dishing up at the table with Reed on my left, Tommy decides to open his big mouth on my other side. “Reed’s an easy step up from Nate, that’s for sure.”

I don’t bother yelling before I slap the back of Tommy’s head. “Stop talking.”

“What, this discussion is inevitable. Want us to have it in front of you or behind you?” Tommy asks. He’s not wrong, and part of me appreciates his consideration.

Reed leans forward to lock eyes with Tommy. “Nate was a piece of work who didn’t respect your sister or her wishes. It’s a disappointingly low bar to clear.”

Tommy’s eyebrows creep up his forehead, but that’s nothing compared to the shock registering across all the faces at the table. “Troni told you?”

“Troni?” Reed’s amusement is palpable. “I love that, Petronia. You have the best nicknames.”

My face flames. He’s about to call me Pet in front of my entire family, and it will turn me on anyway. I groan and drop my fork to bury my face in my hands.

Reed tucks me into his chest with a laugh, because he’s perfect. Well, not really. He’s got issues and a stalker, and he loves to drive me insane. But he’s perfectly imperfect. I need to pull myself together and remember that he’s not a long-term investment.

“I’m proud of you,” Tommy says as I straighten up in my chair. His sincerity is a silent bond between us. Heart-to-hearts with Tommy, Livi giving me a makeover. Who’d have believed we were so disconnected a week ago?

“You solidified your place here,” Tommy tells Reed. But then he wrecks the moment. “It’s good to have someone else see it. I mean, Jesus, I thought the guy was mostly fine. He blindsided us all when he forced Petra to—”

I blanch.

“Tommaso!” Papa barks out. My stalwart defender. There’s a vague horror creeping across my face.

“Shut up,” Livi hisses to Tommy. “Ready to discuss your love life? Becca said she saw you kissing Annamaria last week. And Jasmin Chen the day after.”

“Tommaso!” Mama yells, and gestures for me to hit the back of Tommy’s head on her behalf. I’m more than happy to do it. Hard. “Ach, we taught you better than that!” she shrieks.

I sink into myself as they all lay into Tommy. Reed smooths a gentle hand over my thigh, brows furrowed in concern. “Want to clue me in?”

I force a smile. “Later. Enjoying the chaos of the Diamante family? At least the food is good.”

The concern is written across his face, but he squeezes my thigh in reassurance. “It’s delicious. You okay?”

“I’m fine. You wouldn’t believe it, but this is my best appearance at a family dinner in years.”

He squeezes again—I’m not fooling anyone—but doesn’t press it. “Glad I could help, then. Any chance there’s panna cotta in my future?”

I’m grateful for him and his willingness to adapt. I link our hands together under the table, soaking up his warmth. “I’d say the odds are high.”

The conversation twists and turns until Tommy and my predicaments are both forgotten. When we’re all suitably stuffed full of dinner and dessert—the last glass of wine nearly finished, conversation slow and relaxed—Reed looks at me.

“Ready?” There’s fire simmering in his eyes, and it spreads into a low, curling heat in my belly.

“I need to pack a bag. Be right back.”

I dart up the stairs and pick out clothes as if I’m Livi. The sheer underwear and bra get thrown in, plus toiletries and clothes for tomorrow. I bite my lip at the top of the stairs, tempted to duck into Tommy’s room for a condom. There’s no telling what else I might unearth in my search, though, so I don’t.

I drop my bag at the door and rejoin Reed in the dining room. Reed makes all the proper compliments and excuses for leaving. Darin takes the opportunity, trying to slip out directly after us, and bundles up the kids.

“Night, Mama, Papa,” I say, kissing both their frowning faces.

“Petronia!” Mama hisses and yanks me out of the room by the elbow, Reed and Papa right behind us. “Did you forget that your bed is here?”

“No.” This is the moment of no return, and I have to be careful with how I handle it. “Mama, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Maybe.” My gaze flies to Reed’s, and he shrugs. “You owe me a day on the coast on Tuesday.”

“I might be back tomorrow.”

“Do you see Tommy having girls sleep over?” Mama glares at me, and the double standard from Tommy’s three girl dilemma is unfair. “Trick question, because nice girls don’t sleep over. Don’t make the same mistake you made with Nate. Don’t—you know! Almost nine years and no wedding, Petronia!”

Her hiss rises to a yell, and I flinch. I can’t help it. I know exactly what she refuses to acknowledge. Grief sweeps through me, and I wrap my arms around my belly for comfort. I failed with Nate. I wasted years trying to make right something that was out of my control. A new numbness settles over me, and Reed wraps an arm around my waist while Mama’s lips tighten in contrition.

“Better no wedding than a brutal divorce,” Reed says, voice hard. Mama is forced to let go as Reed glues me to his side. “I’m not Nate. And Petra is not who she was when she was with him. I treasure my new friendship with her, Mr. and Mrs. Diamante, and she and I know exactly where we stand.”

“Stellina,” Papa begs.

He pulls at my heart. If only I’d become a nun for him. Instead, I’m the opposite. His unmarried but definitely not asexual daughter.

“I’ll be careful. Goodnight, Papa. Ti voglio bene.” I reach for his hand, squeeze, and let go. Reed’s arm is solid around me as he guides me to his car.

I don’t look back.

Chapter twenty-one

Petra

I shiver in the cold night air, but Papa’s concerned face lingers in my mind.

“Petra, come back to me.” Reed tilts my chin up until his face replaces Papa’s heartbroken one. “Don’t shut down.”

“I’m okay.”

“You sure about this?” Reed asks as I open the car door. “I don’t want to push you to come with me. I lost my temper there.”

I drop the bag on the seat but don’t get in. “That’s you losing your temper? You’re zero percent Italian. This is…difficult, but regaining my independence is healthy.”

He searches my face and nods. “What was Tommy talking about? What happened with Nate?”

Icy wind blows down my neck, forcing a shiver. “Not tonight.”

Reed cradles my jaw, his touch slow and soothing. “Sometimes we have to reopen the wound and get the gunk out in order to heal.”

“Sometimes, but not tonight,” I protest. In a bid at distraction, I move Reed’s hands to my thighs, guiding them up under my jacket and blouse. His palms are rough against my waist. “You have a bargain to call in.”

“I know what you’re doing,” he says as he brushes the lace band of my bra. “I’m going to let you do it, because I want you to tremble under my hands, but we’ll circle back to this.”

“Or we could jump to the trembling part and forget about the rest.”

“Stubborn woman.” He brushes our noses together and releases me with a wry smile. We climb into the car, and he doesn’t give me a chance to retreat into my shell. “I didn’t get a chance to properly enjoy that blouse in front of your family. Unzip your coat, Pet, and tug down your neckline.”

My shaking fingers follow his direction. His eyes follow the length of my neck down past the shadowy curve between my breasts. “Enjoy what you see, baby?” I ask, mimicking his words from last night.

He cracks a smile, but tugs sharply on my hem, until my breasts are one deep breath from toppling out. “I want every inch of you in my mouth before the sun rises.”

“Is that a pickup line?” I’m not blushing or giggling now. I’m taking what I want, without doubt or shame.

“It’s a promise,” he says. He lays his palm on my thigh, fingers draped so they’re warmed between my legs, and I can’t breathe from the want of it. He might enjoy my fur, but I’m suddenly grateful I had the foresight to shave my legs.

I’m on edge as we park in the lot. My courage lasts me all the way through the lobby, but when he closes the door to his room behind us, my courage remains outside. “Reed? I don’t know how to do this. The bath was an easy warm up—I was nervous getting in, but you made it so…effortless. And you weren’t staring at me.”

“Difficult not to stare at you,” Reed says, removing my coat to drape it over a chair. “You can’t hide how beautiful you are, not even when you try.”

“Oh please, you wouldn’t have glanced at me twice in line at Mulberry’s if I hadn’t reacted that way.”

Reed frowns. “I wasn’t looking at anyone, Pet. But I’m glad I saw you.”

My heart swells, and I stuff it back into its box. “I wasn’t looking at anyone either.”

“I know,” he says, and pulls me in close with a groan. “God, you smell sweet. Is it perfume? Soap?”

“A mix, and oil, too—the cold dries out my skin.”

“Makes me crave you,” he confesses, and my pulse flutters under the press of lips to my neck. “Can I kiss you here? Kiss you everywhere?”

His hand dips to my neckline and toys with the fabric, but my necklace shifts across my throat, pulling me out of the moment. I shake my head, reaching up to unclasp it. “Not here. Take me to bed.”

Reed watches me tuck my necklace in the pocket of my coat. He wants to ask again—the question is written all over his face. When I don’t offer any information, he guides me to the bedroom and turns on the lamp. The door shuts, closing it off from the rest of the suite. The room is instantly cozier, but when Reed’s fingers brush my sides and lift my blouse over my head, my nerves make themselves known.

“Fair is fair,” I say, voice wavering. “My shirt for yours.”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, but unbuttons his shirt. “Alright, but I’m not wearing a sexy bra.”

I giggle as I reach behind me to undo the hooks, but Reed’s hands find mine first.

“Wait. I want to do it, please.” He abandons his task to trace his hands all over the lace I’ve left bare, as I push his shirt over his shoulders. His lips form a path from my cheek to my collarbone to my breasts. I squirm as he unhooks the lace, drops it to the floor, and feathers kisses across my skin.

“I need this to go faster,” I complain, holding him to me.

Reed laughs—smug, arrogant, and wonderful—and unfastens the buttons on my jeans to tug them down my legs. I lose my balance, falling back on the bed, and Reed lands on top of me.

“Sorry!” I squeal through giggles.

Reed chuckles as he gets to his feet. “We’re both still wearing shoes, and those should’ve been the first to go.”

Awkwardness hits home.

I don’t know how to do this. Nate didn’t want me after the first couple years. What if Reed wants an idealized version of what sex could be between us, but the reality is awful? Suddenly, the things Nate didn’t appreciate hang heavily over me. The sprinkle of hair on my toes, my stretch marks, the scar on my stomach, my marks. There are brown flecks, like splatters of paint, all over me, and I wish I could scrub them off.

Reed kneels at my feet and tugs off my shoes and pants. His shirt and shoes hit the floor before he sees my face. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s… You’re a master at this and I—I don’t remember how to flirt. I want this to be easy, Reed. I want to forget who I am and just enjoy being with you here, in this moment. But I can’t.”

Reed smiles, his eyes luminous and earnest in the warm light of the bedside lamp. His hands are warm where they spread over the tops of my thighs. “If you haven’t flirted with me yet then I’ll be helpless when you do.”

I’m afraid that if I laugh, I’ll sob, so I don’t do either. This must unnerve Reed, because he shifts to rub his hands up and down my arms as if I’m cold.

“I don’t want you to forget who you are. I quite like Petronia Diamante,” he says, and frowns at my answering snort. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

“As well as I can trust someone I’ve known for a few days.” It’s the hard truth. Reed won’t harm me, but he pushes me out of my comfort zone and he’s not familiar with my limits.

Reed’s lips press together as he searches my face. “I need you to trust a little more. I promise I only want to make you feel good.”

Reed crawls onto the bed to gather the giant pillows. He stacks two on top of each other and reaches for me, guiding me down until my head is cradled in their softness. I drown in his honey eyes, hypnotized, while he kneels beside me, holds my chin, and swipes a thumb repeatedly over my mouth. I forget I’m nearly naked. Forget to giggle. Forget to be awkward.

“Eventually, you’re gonna let me kiss you.” His voice is rough, pleading and demanding all at once. Heart pounding, my lips part to ask for one, but he breaks away to grab another pillow. “You want this to be easy, darling?”

He strips the pillowcase off and folds the fabric neatly until it’s a long, narrow stretch of cloth. I nod, and my blood heats as he leans over me to kiss my cheek.

“Then I’ll make it easy. Lift your head and close your eyes.” I move instantly, because of course I trust Reed. He places the cloth over my eyes as a blindfold, tucking it under my head so that I can take it off if needed. “Forget everything else. It’s you and my voice—”

I frown. “I don’t want to use you.”

His hand trails up my neck to my mouth. In the darkness of the blindfold, he leaves tingles everywhere he touches. I’m hyper aware of the rough pad of his finger as he plays over my lower lip. “Do you still know it’s me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want it to be me, in this room, right now?”

The blindfold takes the pressure off. I can feel his eyes on me, but I’m not busy reading him, or judging my own body. “If Thor showed up, I’d kick him out.”

He chuckles, fingers leaving fire in their wake down my neck, across my ribs. “Cheeky, cheeky. God, your smile is gorgeous. What about Knight? Would you rather have him here?”

“You think I’d be more connected to a fake scene?” I reach for some part of him and give a gentle squeeze. “You braved my family over dinner, have an unhealthy obsession with puppy chow, and delight in embarrassing me at work. No one else compares.”

I can’t tell what Reed’s sharp inhale means, but it makes my toes curl in anticipation. In the safety of the dark, my nerves disappear.

“Dangerous woman,” he murmurs. “What are your boundaries? What can’t I touch? Kiss? Can I take my time as I eat you out, baby?”

My blood beats, hot and heavy, like a bass drum. “Shit. I can’t believe you say things like that.”

“I’m not shy,” he notes with a laugh. “Boundaries, Petra. Yes until no, or no until yes?”

There aren’t any, I want to say. I also want to tell him not to go down on me. Nate didn’t enjoy it, and he made me hate it. But Reed isn’t Nate, and I hold back my misgivings. “For this moment, I’m yours to touch, Reed.”

“And you said you don’t flirt. Touch,” he repeats, like that in itself is a boundary line. “With my mouth, too?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He takes his time learning me. I wouldn’t have thought blinding myself would help, but it grounds me. My only points of connection with the world are the soft pillows under my head, the sheet against my back—

And Reed.

Reed’s mouth, unhurried on my skin. Reed’s hair, tickling me with each brush. His wide palm that strokes, soothes, and arouses me. He builds me up slowly, his body hot along my side as he maps every dip and curve he can reach. All of it unhurried and accompanied by soft words in my ear.

“I love this little mark here, Pet.” He chuckles as he caresses the side of my breast. “And this one here, at your waist.”

“Sure, moles are very sexy.”

He nips my shoulder, scolding me. “I wasn’t finished. You have several of them, and it makes me want to play connect the dots with you.”

“Pretty sure there’s a pen on the desk,” I offer dryly.

“Not the medium I was thinking of.” Reed’s deep chuckle makes all my cells tingle. My breath hitches as I imagine him over me, claiming me with his release, smearing it across my skin from mark to mark. The idea is sexy. Reed pauses with his hand on me. “No smart retort?”

I swallow. “No.”

“Fuck.”

He’s pressed against me, hard and throbbing. It gives me a rush of power, of confidence. “What? Do you enjoy it when I’m the one talking, Reed?”

“I love it.” Reed’s jaw brushes the side of my breast, forcing a moan from me.

“What else? Do you enjoy being blindfolded?” I ask, and Reed’s hands press more firmly—with purpose.

“Doesn’t everyone?” He smiles against my skin as he moves down and licks up the length of my ribs.

I finally let myself be an active participant. My fingers find Reed in the dark, sliding up his naked back to tangle in his hair. “Tell me your favorite.”

“You first,” he says.

“Okay. But some of my wants are theoretical. I haven’t—” My words cut out as Reed licks a hot stripe up the slope of my breast, stopping short of my nipple. He blows softly, and I moan as the cool air rushes over me. My fingers fist in his hair, urging him to do it again. “Haven’t done them in real life.”

“Can you give me an example? I’m obsessed with your tits, Pet. Addicted.” He brushes his lips over my nipple, and it clicks. With each of my words, he moves faster, presses harder. He wants more.

I’m not the only audiophile in the room.

He wants my sounds as much as I need his. It’s intoxicating, knowing I can affect him that way. I’m so drunk on it that I dive in headfirst. “There’s much I’ve only imagined. I’ve never experienced breath play with a partner, but I’ll bet it’s mind-blowing.”

Reed’s lips part around my nipple and my toes curl. The slide of his tongue against my skin, the audible pop of suction—both send me spiraling.

“What about it appeals to you?” he rasps out, and one of my hands leaves his hair to trace his shoulders.

“The surrender. Not worrying about breathing unless I’m told to. And the…I don’t know how to describe it. The white noise of it? Until everything comes rushing back in.”

Reed moans, fingers flexing against my hip as he leans over to kiss my other breast. “How do you know that if you haven’t done it?”

My cheeks heat, and I’m glad I can’t see his reaction. “I can hold my own breath. Plus, we’ve established that I have hands and use them.”

He groans, and his teeth press into my tender skin. “What else?”

The bite has me seeing stars, or maybe it’s the way his audible pleasure wraps around me. His moans wash over me in hot waves. “We’re trading,” I protest.

Even blindfolded, I can tell Reed is smiling. “Alright. I enjoy this pace—and slow, sleepy wake-up sex. I’d love to touch you while you’re still asleep and ease you out of dreams with my face between your legs.”

“I’ve never had that.” I gasp as he tests his teeth on my nipple, and take that to mean it’s my turn to share. “I’ve fantasized about being fingered in public. Maybe fucked in public? Not sure—that’s why it’s theoretical.” It comes out too stiffly. I’m not used to this, and it shows.

But Reed nods, his lips trailing down my sternum. His voice is deeper than before. “You want the rush, but don’t want to be caught. That’s why it’s hotter in a fantasy. My fantasy would have you in something sheer while we’re out. Seeing your hard little nipples through your shirt, your dress? Drives me wild.”

“You do have a thing for my breasts.” I shudder when he dips his tongue into my navel, and he chuckles. “I don’t know if I could do that here. But someplace else? Maybe.”

He breaks away and starts again at my knee, kissing up the inside of my thigh. His stubble catches against my sensitive flesh, and my grip on his shoulder flexes and falters. “Fantasies don’t always need to become reality. But if you wanted to, I’d jump at the chance. The subtlety of it kills me. Like right now. You might not be screaming, but you’re rocking your hips—shifting the sheet underneath you—and I’m dying to taste you.”

My misgivings surge forward. “I’m not sure I can orgasm that way—”

Reed nips at my inner thigh and makes me jerk. “Whether you can or can’t doesn’t change that I want to do it. Don’t miss out on the fun parts by hunting down an orgasm.”

I move the conversation away to distract from the butterflies in my stomach. “I enjoy blow jobs—it’s fun by itself, but the real pleasure? Knowing I did that. Knowing that orgasm is mine. Like you said—when you claimed my orgasm was yours.”

“Your orgasms are mine.” Reed’s fingers slide up my inner thigh, staking his claim. “Your last one and however many more you’ll let me have—they’re mine. I’ll take everything you offer.”

Chapter twenty-two

Petra

Reed is gentle as he slides off the bed and takes the last of my lace with him. His footsteps retreat, and there’s a faint metallic thud before he comes back to me, his breath warm on my thigh.

“I miss your fur,” he laments, and I blush.

“You’ve been writing too many werewolf scenes.” He licks the length of my inner thigh with a chuckle, but doesn’t deny it. When he presses his wide palm between my legs, the slide between us is slick. “Reed? How do I make this as hot for you as you do for me?”

“Keep being yourself. I enjoy your hands on me. I love when you talk to me. Each gasp, each moan, each crinkle of the sheet as you move? They’re the symphony of pleasure, and your words are the melody.”

“Where did you come from? No one understands like you.”

Each word from him is deep and measured. “Why do you think I created DKP? There was a gap in the market for what I wanted, and I realized there must be others like us.”

I gasp as Reed’s tongue slips over me. He catches softly on my clit and tugs upward, and the pleasure that was building in my stomach erupts everywhere at once. It surges out from my core to the tips of my nails in a hot tidal wave. I moan as my legs close around Reed’s shoulders without my consent, and my fingers spasm in his hair. “Reed. Oh my God.”

“Those sounds, Pet, those make this incredible for me. And your skin, and your smile, and the way you’re soft and juicy as a peach in my mouth.”

The heat of him sears into me, the faint stubble of his jaw grazes the crease of my thigh and sends my toes curling. His mouth, oh, his mouth, moves against me in a way I can’t compare.

My brain melts with each of his syllables. “You don’t realize the hold you have on me. You’re gorgeous, all swollen and glistening, baby. So ready for me. What’s sexy is how much you want this. Tell me you want this.”

His gravelly words are my undoing. What tenses inside me isn’t an orgasm, but it’s just as good. I’m both drunk and stunningly sober. I’m breathless, on the edge, but also falling and flying under his attention. “I want this. It’s better than I imagined. And I imagined, Reed. With you behind the curtain, it was hard not to. I imagined your mouth on me in the bath, the water a pale substitute for your lips. That was nothing compared to now. God, you sound obscene—”

“You love it.” Before I can agree, his hands shift and spread me open, and I’m desperate to be filled. He holds me exposed to the cool air, but doesn’t do anything about it. Instead, he directs his tongue back to my clit, and I’m left clutching at his hair as spasms ripple through me.

“Oh! Why would you—?”

He chuckles. “Would I what? Talk to me.”

“I want—I need—” Reed hooks his thumbs inside me, stretching me further, and I stumble over the words. I don’t know how to ask for what I want.

“You enjoy being exposed this way? Feel incomplete? What do you want in your empty pussy? My tongue? My fingers? My cock?”

I whimper, lost—a fish out of water. I don’t have the words for this the way he does. “I don’t know.” Reed laps his tongue against my entrance and I cry out. “That, totally that!”

“You’re skipping ahead, Pet. Give me your words.”

“Reed,” I growl as I tug his hair. “You’re playing at the wrong moment.”

His laugh vibrates through me. “I fucking love when you’re annoyed with me. Riling you up in bed is just as fun as out of it.”

I’m on edge, so it’s not endearing. “We’ll see how you like it when you’re about thirty seconds from coming and I let you hang out there for a while!”

“Is that a threat or an offer? Either way, you can count me in,” he counters. I frown, but Reed’s hand comes up to cover my lips. His thumb is slippery against my chin and the indecency of it makes me ache. “Rhetorical question. Focus on you, baby.”

It’s hard to focus on anything other than Reed’s skin against mine, on the way he licks pussy as though it’s his calling. On the wet noises mixing with his deep groans, my moans, and our heavy breathing.

Time blurs in the dark. It’s dizzying, having him as my only anchor. He works me up with laser focus, and my hips rock harder into him as I grip his hair in a bid for more. My muscles tense and relax, begging for a release that’s just beyond my reach.

“Reed,” I complain, “it’s not skipping ahead anymore. Please.”

Reed nods between my legs and I nearly sob with relief. He pulls back, fingers slipping over my clit, and his voice is deep and rasping. “Take off the blindfold.”

I throw it to the floor, and the lamplight floods my eyes. Reed doesn’t give me a moment to reorient myself.

His mouth is back on me, his hands spread me open, and then it’s his tongue and fingers that spear me. I moan, arching against him, my hands fisting in his hair as he finds a rhythm that propels me onto the edge. I tense, lifting off the bed, and catch his honey eyes with mine.

“It’s you and me here. Your orgasm is mine. I want it on my tongue. Come for me, Pet.” His eyes are filled with fire, and they never leave mine as he leans forward and sucks my clit. It’s a command I’m all too willing to follow. Waves of pleasure wash through me, small at first, building as Reed licks and never stops. And I fall, clutching onto him, crying out his name.

Reed. Reed. Reed.

My tether. My only tie to earth as I float up into some other space. A place where there is only warmth and Reed and how good he feels against me.

Time passes, but Reed is still placing kisses on my inner thigh when I finally have enough strength to open my eyes. The fire in his is banked—a playful dance instead of a raging inferno. “Hey, baby, how are you feeling?”

“Mmm. You?” Honestly, I’m still dizzy. I’ve had orgasms before, but none of them were like that.

“Peachy.” Reed winks at me and rests his chin lightly on my belly. His hands tickle as he traces patterns up the outsides of my thighs. “Happy to do it again anytime.” Reed smiles as he extricates himself from between my legs and lays alongside me. His palm travels the length of me, and his glossy mouth against my collarbone is salacious.

I protest, trapping his wandering fingers and lacing them with mine. “I’m too sensitive to keep going. Don’t you want something in return?”

Reed shrugs and nips at the side of my breast. “I made my bargain, and I don’t regret it. Seeing you come was transcendent. I wouldn’t trade it for a blow job any day. Though I need to go take care of myself at some point.”

I grin as something shifts in me, clearing a space that’s not dark or lonely. I turn on my side to face Reed, and he wastes no time in pulling me tight against him.

“Reed?” I’m glad he’s left the light on, because his gold eyes are bright and kind. His eyes were the first thing I noticed in the market. The part of him that spoke to me. They’re just as warm now, but less somber, and I imagine some of the sadness in my own has dissipated too. “Thank you.”

I lean forward and brush our lips together.

And the world explodes into color.

Chapter twenty-three

Reed

Petra’s lips are soft and full. I’m not dreaming, because she’s still there when I open my eyes. She retreats quietly—my skittish doe again. I cup the back of her neck to draw her closer, and it ignites something inside her.

She throws herself into the kiss, and I love every moment of it. The slide, the nip, the push and pull of us finding a rhythm and moving together. She’s tasting herself on my lips, and damn if that doesn’t fan the fucking flames. She’s slick against the material of my pants as she slides her leg over mine and rocks into me.

“Petra,” I groan against her lips. Now that I’ve kissed her, I want to do it forever, but the pressure of her motions is nearly painful. “You can’t do that right now. Any other time and I’d love it, but—”

She nods, but kisses me again and again. She’s starving for them, and it makes me ache. “How do you feel about connect the dots now?”

All of me throbs so hard that I can’t breathe. “Not funny.”

“Not a joke,” she says, nipping my jaw. “Here, or in the shower?”

Her orgasm left her voice raspy, sultry, and I’m powerless to say no. But this is supposed to be about her. “You don’t have to—”

“Here, then,” she decides for me. Her hand dips below my waistband, and I suck in a harsh breath as her fingers wrap around my cock. She’s flushed, her swollen lips begging for more.

I oblige, and she melts against me with each kiss until I need to bury myself inside her. Now. She breaks away with a pained sound, even though it’s me hanging out on the edge.

“I want to kiss you, but I want to see you. I need more eyes and more lips,” she complains. I crack a smirk, which she shuts down with a squeeze that makes me see stars. I shudder against her as pleasure rockets through me. So damn good. “Don’t say it. You haven’t been an ass in an hour, and we’re going to keep it that way.”

She doesn’t realize that if that’s her response it’s more incentive than deterrent. “So bossy, Pet. Where’s that giggling girl now?”

“She’s remembering what possibilities feel like.” There’s a new confidence in her that’s beautiful to see.

“I’m proud of you,” I say against her mouth, but don’t let the kiss linger. I force her hand away so I can stand. I strip down and sit against the headboard, guiding her to straddle my legs. She frowns at me, but doesn’t shy away. “Not sex,” I explain. “Giving you more eyes and more lips. And more dots.”

She nods and settles over me. She takes my cock in her hand and moans, as though she’s the one about to get off on this and not me.

“You’re so beautiful, Reed. Help me,” she begs, guiding my hand between her thighs as she leans in for another kiss. I’ve never been called beautiful before, but from her lips it’s whispered as a compliment and a prayer.

I waste no time, because I’m not going to last long and want her to come with me. When I flick against her clit and dive into her with two fingers, she gasps against my mouth, drawing my breath into her lungs.

It’s the best sound I’ve ever fucking heard.

Her satin palm explores the length of me, and it’s effortless to imagine sinking inside her tight, dripping, little pussy. My blood pounds in my ears. I need her as close to the edge as I am.

I’ve got a terrible angle, but I thrust my fingers into her with a speed that hopefully makes up for my lack of grace. Instead of seeking her own orgasm, she retreats. She pulls my hand away from her so that we’re both gripping my cock, her release slicking the way for us. Her gaze focuses on the rhythm of our hands, and she licks her lip as if she’s imagining the taste of us together.

“I love the way it shines,” she says with a breathy little sigh. I don’t even know if it was meant for me, but fuck, her words bounce around inside my brain, flipping on switches I didn’t know were there. My skin buzzes again, but this time in anticipation. In celebration.

I guide her rhythm, and she catches on fast. She squeezes right where I’m most sensitive, and lightning crackles across my skin. Everything draws up tight, clenching so hard I can’t find my breath. “Jesus, baby.”

“Only me here,” she quips. “No communion wine, but I think I’m drunk on you. Or I’d like to be. Do you like it when women swallow, or do you like to see it first?” Petra bites her lip as she watches my cock slip through her fist. “It’s a shame I already promised you my chest.”

Her eagerness will be the death of me.

I yank her forward to kiss her. I’m too rough, fast, and needy. I drink from her lips, my fingers digging into the swell of her ass and grinding her against my thigh. I can’t slow down for her. I need this, need her, more than anything. “I like it all, you vixen. Your tits, your ass, your throat. Wherever you want it, consider this a blanket consent.”

She nods against my mouth and swipes a thumb over the head of my cock, over the sensitive ridge underneath. “Keep your promise,” she demands. “I want to be just as glossy as you.”

Jesus. I know exactly what she means—I don’t have enough eyes or lips. I can’t stop kissing her, but I need to watch. Petra leans back until I have no choice in the matter. She smirks, pride and lust glinting in her doe eyes, and damn it, it’s so sexy on her. I help her squeeze and release. She’s fucking fluttering where I need it the most.

My heart slams against my ribs in warning before heat races down my spine, searing everything in its path.

“Paint me,” she murmurs, and it’s my undoing. My release comes in a surging ribbon of tension and release. It’s a solar flare that floods my system from head to heel. My eyes drift shut, but I force them open as I come in spurts across her breasts, her stomach, her hip. I gloss over creamy skin and dark freckles that fade from view as I coat them.

I’m still spiraling when she takes one finger and smears it across her skin.

“Fucking, fuck, Petra, stop—don’t stop—fuck.”

My head pounds, on the verge of exploding, and I clutch her shoulders for balance. I press my forehead to her neck to catch my breath while she eases me back down from the high.

“Pet.”

Eyes closed tight, I breathe in the cardamom, orange, vanilla, and sex on her skin. I muster my strength and press her back to lie on the bed, because hell if I’m going to miss this opportunity. She’s perfect, splayed out beneath me. Smiling, eyes bright, lips red and tender, chest covered.

“Paint me. Jesus, Petra. Just as glossy? Where did that come from? That was more obscene than anything I’ve said in my goddamn life.”

She’s put the idea in my head, and I can’t fight the urge to spread it from mark to mark. There are sixteen from between her breasts down to her hip, and even more above and below. I make sure to hit each one, and her giggles start up again as she shakes under my hand.

“I’ve heard you say much worse. Having fun?” She shakes harder as she belly laughs, and it breaks my concentration. I don’t care that we’re hot and sweaty and she’s sticky. I press us together and capture her mouth again, gentler than before.

“Shouldn’t have been so rough with you, baby.” I lay my apology at her mouth with kisses. “Not for your first experience.”

She smiles as she runs her hands through my hair. “First in a while, Reed. I don’t mind rough. You asked me my favorites? Sometimes it’s Comfort, talking, kissing and lingering touches. But sometimes,” her voice softens to a husky murmur in my ear. “Sometimes it’s Surrender, when I’m flipped on my stomach and taken hard, for your pleasure and not mine. Your hand between my shoulder blades, pushing me down into the sheets. So that little bit of rough you gave me? I took it as a promise.”

Fuuuuuck. Everything outside of her is just noise. My hands tighten in her hair. I kiss her again, hungry for her, wishing I could devour this moment. I’m quickly losing control. “My hand over your shoulder,” I demand against her lips. “Not your spine. Safer that way.”

“I’m open to change.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.” She groans. “No. Maybe.”

“That’s a no, then, Pet.” Though I want her, I grip tightly to my control and slow us down. We lay together, kissing and stroking until the stickiness between us becomes uncomfortable.

Petra must read my mind, because she pushes me away. “Can we make out in the shower?”

I nod as I stand up and tug her to follow. “That totally counts as flirting.”

She laughs as I turn on the water. “I’m not sure you’ve ever been flirted with, if that’s your definition.”

“Maybe it’s your version of flirting that’s my favorite,” I tease, stepping into the tub and pulling her in to kiss her under the spray. She’s soft everywhere, and I want to do this for hours.

Days.

Weeks.

We share a bar of soap, learning each other’s bodies. Her hands are everywhere—slick, teasing, and warm. Though I want her again, I refuse to push her. Instead, we dry off and climb naked under the covers.

I wrap her in my arms, and though we talk, we also trade kisses. Short, long, gentle, harsh, fast, slow—all sorts of kisses that leave us both wanting. If we were dating, I’d turn it into more.

We’re not, and she’s unsure, so I suffer quietly until she’s drifting off. When she’s more full of silence than words, I turn off the light.

“Reed?” Her tone is wary in the dark. “Don’t—I’m not on the pill, so if you—in the middle of the night—”

I squeeze her in reassurance. “I’m not going to do anything without your awake consent, Pet. Promise.”

“Thank you.” She relaxes and rests her head against my chest, her breath already slowing.

But I’m wide awake and far from aroused. Why does it sound like someone’s done that to her before? My skin crawls as my own experience bubbles to the surface. I tuck her tighter against me—as if her warmth can offset the sudden chill—and trail my hands over her back. Each of Petra’s curves is soft and sweet, a reminder of where I am and who I’m with. The orange and spice and me on her skin is grounding, and it brings me out of the shadows and back into the present.

Back to Petra and the things she left unsaid.

Chapter twenty-four

Petra

Waking up naked in Reed’s bed should be awkward, because what happens at night doesn’t always translate into the light of day. But Reed and I are twisted together, and the skin-to-skin contact is delicious. I’m afraid to destroy the moment, so I lay still, hardly breathing, and soak in as much as I can. Reed’s face in the morning light is beautiful, the stubble just filling in across his jaw.

“You’re staring at me, Pet. It’s creepy,” Reed mumbles. His eyes open to a slit before he grins and hooks his fingers around the back of my neck to pull me in and press our lips together. There’s a light airiness in my chest that’s unfamiliar, but welcome.

“You’ve always been the creepy one, baby,” I tease when we break apart.

Reed frowns at me. “You’re baby. Sir? Yes. Reed? Definitely.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

“You cheeky little brat,” he growls as he rolls me under him and kisses his way down my neck. His hands are everywhere—my thighs, my hips, my breasts—making all of me tingle as I giggle. His stubble scratches across my skin as he licks a trail between two of my freckle-type moles.

If I’m a brat, you’re a cocky dick. “What are you going to do about it, spavaldo?”

“Does that mean tall, dark, and handsome?”

“It means someone who is really sexy,” I lie.

“Spavaldo,” he repeats, sounding it out. It takes everything in me to hold back my laughter. “Better than boss any day. When do you have to go to work?”

I groan. The last thing I want to do right now is go to work, but real life awaits. “Two. Is your checkout time ten or eleven?”

“I’m staying one more day.”

I pin him with a look. “Reed.”

“What?” he asks, smirking. “Have you had enough?”

I haven’t, and it’s unsettling. Every moment he’s here makes me want him to stay longer. “Eventually you’re going to lose interest and go home.”

His fingers dance along my side. “I haven’t yet.”

Logically, we need to have this conversation; emotionally, I’m already too attached. “I’m not running you out of town. Do what you want. But I’m not having sex with you no matter how long you stay. If that’s what you’re waiting for, you can head out now.”

“I’m not here for sex,” he says, shaking his head. “Though I’m not turning it down if the offer is ever on the table.”

“Shouldn’t you be searching for someplace to live?” I scoff.

“Are you angry I’m not sticking around?” Reed rolls off me, settling on his side, but his eyes pierce me. “No. You’re jealous. You wish you were leaving?”

I don’t bother hiding it. “Absolutely. LA has food, museums, sunshine, beaches, amusement parks. Did I already mention all the food? Everything I could possibly dream of was within thirty miles. Sometimes that translated to two hours in traffic, but—”

Reed bursts out laughing. “I forgot how long you lived there. How’d you and Nate end up down in California?”

“I met Nate on campus—University of Southern California.”

Reed’s face is a picture of shock. “Sorry. I assumed you moved there with him. What an asshole presumption. Of course you didn’t follow a man. Petra Diamante, force to be reckoned with.” He kisses me softly, apologetically. He’s right. Back then I was stronger, fiercer, independent. I wish I could go back to who I used to be.

“I did a few years at a junior college here, tried to rack up as many credits as I could to save money, but I wanted to attend university there. Transferred to USC, moved to Los Angeles…Met Nate.”

His hand slides down to wrap around my thigh. “Headstrong Petra. I love it. Why LA?”

I’m careful to keep my shrug casual, uncaring. “I knew I wanted something different. Bigger. And I found it. Fell in love with the city and all its possibilities. Dropped out the following summer.”

He frowns, gripping my thigh tighter. “What? You worked and pushed and got accepted to USC only to drop out? I don’t buy it.”

I can’t handle his closeness. I slip out of Reed’s arms and into the living room. Snagging my pajamas out of my bag, I yank on sweatpants and a shirt. I can’t stand being away from Natalia, and dig my necklace out of my coat pocket. My hands shake as I lift it, but then Reed is there, in his own sweats, and steadies my hands with his.

“Petra?” Reed tenderly tugs the chain from my hands and clasps it for me. He smooths her name flat against my skin, warming the metal. “Will you tell me about her?”

I’ve learned the hard way that if you can’t look someone in the eye, their pity is a thousand times worse. So I pin his gaze with mine, as emotionless as I can make it. “I got pregnant after a series of frat parties full of alcohol and bad decisions. I dropped out, moved in with Nate, and the rest is history.”

His palm rests over her name while his eyes search for answers I’m not ready to give. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I snap, yanking myself away. He always makes me feel and say shit I’d rather keep to myself. “Fuck, Reed. Obviously I don’t have a child. Put the pieces together.”

Reed doesn’t let me go anywhere. He lifts my chin, eyes boring into mine. “But you’re still her mother. You always will be.”

I swallow around the knot in my throat. No one has ever said that to me before. Even in my own family, no one understands how much I love her. How she’ll always be a part of my life and my family.

Reed’s thumb touches my trembling lip. “I can’t imagine what you went through. That’s an immeasurable loss, Pet.”

My lungs contract around the rest of it. The months of dreams and possibilities. The terrifying, frantic rush to the hospital. The infection that set in. The hours of fever-ridden labor, already knowing she was gone. I grit my teeth against the grief clawing at my chest and jerk away, searching my bag to give me something to do.

“It was a late miscarriage. Just over twenty-five weeks. I’m not sure what broke my parents’ heart more: being unmarried and pregnant so young, or losing their first grandchild.” It’s supposed to be a joke, gallows humor, but Reed doesn’t laugh.

His face goes white as a sheet. “Jesus, Petra. And my joke yesterday—”

“Whatever. Men being sweet with babies is hot.”

Reed pulls me in for a hug that breaks me more than if he’d left me alone. “Stop being rubber for a second and hear me. That’s awful. I’m sorry you went through it.”

“It was my own stupid fault for not being on the pill.” Reed’s hands freeze on my back, and guilt sweeps through me for spilling all this to him. Burdening him. “It was a long time ago, anyway. It’s fine.”

He doubles down, pressing us together, shoulder to toe, and he tucks my face into his neck. His hands stroke my hair and down my back. “Don’t lie. Not to me. Just shut up and let me hold you, Petra.”

I gasp out a half-laugh, half-sob. “You’re bossy.”

“I’m normally a switch.” His fingers tighten across my back. “But I’m holding you until you let yourself breathe. You don’t have to shut down to survive.”

I’m not ready for this. I thought I wasn’t ready to have a man see me, touch me, be physical with me. In reality, I wasn’t ready for the emotional side.

Everything I’ve pushed down stings in my lungs, but Reed holds me closer when I don’t reply. I slowly give in, softening in his steady arms, winding mine around to clutch at his shoulders.

“I don’t understand. Why stay with Nate after all that? If you were unhappy?” He rubs my back as I search through my memories. My past feels as though I’ve unleashed a spool of yarn all over the floor and can’t find the end.

“Our parents pushed us to move in together right after I learned I was pregnant. They also pushed us to get married, but planning a wedding was a lot. I was hormonal, moving, stressing over a budget, and Nate and I hardly knew each other. It wasn’t great timing, dropping out was a bitter pill, but I knew it would be worth it. We were happy about the baby. There was something like fate about it—the way people get smashed together in romantic comedies and then find out that they’re perfect for each other. Even her name was fate. I named her after my nonna, and Nate loved having her carry a version of his name. But then everything went wrong. After she—the baby—”

“Natalia,” Reed murmurs. It’s the first time anyone’s said her name aloud in more than seven years.

Natalia. Natalia. Natalia.

My hands fist in Reed’s shirt. “Her foot was smaller than the pad of my thumb. I didn’t want to let go, but they made me. Then my insurance didn’t want to cover the hospital stay, and we had to pay for her burial. I had her brought here, next to my grandparents. I needed someone to be with her.”

My voice cracks, and Reed is there, scooping me up into his arms and carrying me to the couch to cradle me in his lap.

“Just cry, baby, it’s okay.”

I shake my head. My ribs ache with the effort of holding myself together. “It destroyed me, Reed. I didn’t want to try for another, but Nate did. That’s what Tommy is angry about. After a while, Nate had enough. He tried to convince me it would make me happy, but I wasn’t ready.”

Reed’s hand is soft on my back, rubbing warm, soothing circles that ground me into this moment. It’s the only reason I get the words out without dropping into the past.

“I didn’t know what he was doing, and it took longer than he’d hoped. Hid my birth control, said he used a condom but he didn’t. Little things, until he got what he wanted. He was happy, but I was drowning. I couldn’t eat. I could hardly get out of bed. I miscarried again at sixteen weeks. After that, trying again would’ve destroyed me.”

Reed makes a pained sound—a twin to the grief sitting in my chest. “Pet—”

“We weren’t married, but I stuck it out for eight years. The way good, Catholic wives are supposed to. Until Nate couldn’t pretend anymore. He took over the apartment, and I couldn’t afford LA without rent control.” Nate isn’t a steady presence in my head, but saying it aloud makes the pain of his betrayal fresh and bold. “I thought he loved me, but maybe I was wrong.”

Reed presses his lips to my hair. “Sometimes love is fleeting. Sometimes grief changes us to need different people than before. But sticking with someone who makes you miserable doesn’t make God love you more, Pet. Just like listening to DKP doesn’t make God love you less. You deserve happiness,” Reed says softly, brushing a stray tear from my cheek. The rest has dripped down his naked chest, and I wipe up the trail, horrified. Reed stills my hands with his. “You take everything with a smile—you even laugh when you’re uncomfortable or upset. But I wish you’d let yourself cry. Really cry. You need it.”

I laugh incredulously as I dry my face with the hem of my shirt. “I don’t cry, and I definitely don’t smile.” But when I search through the past few days, that’s all I’ve been doing. It’s an uncomfortable realization, and I don’t want to consider why I’ve been smiling so often. I push away all the things I don’t want to see and try to find something normal to grasp onto. “Where are we getting breakfast?”

Reed frowns at me. “Rubbery-Petra, that’s all the feelings I get?”

I laugh, but it’s gritty and raw. “That’s more than anyone else has gotten, so take it and be grateful.”

Reed threads his fingers through my hair, and his eyes are red-rimmed when they capture mine. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. Thank you for sharing this with me when you hate being vulnerable. I wish I could give Natalia back to you—take away your pain.” I shrug, feigning composure, and he pulls me in for another squeeze. “You’re as prickly as your legs, Pet.”

“My legs aren’t prickly yet, are they?” I slide my hands down my thighs, but my pajamas are in the way.

“No.” He smiles, though it’s nearly as haunted as mine, and picks me up. He carries me into the bedroom and throws me on the bed. He settles next to me, stroking my side. “Not yet, at least.”

“Tontolino.” I shoot him a glare, but Reed just smiles, a more real one this time.

“If that’s all the feelings you can handle, will waffles help?” he asks. I nod, but Reed doesn’t let me get up. He strokes my necklace with reverence, and it’s strange, but I don’t mind him touching her name. “Why don’t you let yourself cry?”

“It still kills me sometimes—but now there are hours or days where it doesn’t crush me. If I cry, I’ll drown.”

Reed catches my eyes with honey ones. “Is there a chance that, by holding it all in, you’re drowning anyway?”

I bite my lip, considering his point. “I’m trying not to. I bought my necklace as a reminder, so I could carry her with me, always. My family…we don’t talk about her. But wearing her name means she’s not forgotten. Writing helps, too. Natalia is the pixie in my stories: a whole, healthy little being, full of fire and fun. I write the type of fairytale I’d want her to have growing up. One that says you can be tiny and powerful, that warriors can be kind, that sadness doesn’t last forever. It’s fantasy for grade school children, but that’s not the heart of the story.”

Reed nods. “The heart is Natalia.”

His thumbs sweep across my cheeks and he places soft, quiet kisses against my lips. When he pulls back, his cheeks are wet with my tears.

“I’ll help you publish it. Thousands of children will read it and see themselves in her. Natalia will live in them, Petra, in little pieces of their hearts.”

He means it, and the earnestness in his eyes breaks me.

Grief overwhelms me in a blizzard, whiting out everything around me except for the howls of despair clawing at my lungs. I cling to him, longing for her. Recalling the horror of that night. All those hours when I wished they would sedate me.

I sob against Reed’s chest while he says things I can’t understand, stroking my hair. It’s all noise except for Reed’s skin against mine, as he holds me the way I wish I could hold Natalia. A long time passes before I pull myself together and am able to choke back my tears into harsh breaths. As I do, Reed’s words come into focus.

“I’m sorry you suffered through that alone, Pet. I can’t change the past, but I want to ease your heartbreak. I’ll help you tell your story. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. Cry as much as you need. Hold on to me. I have you. I won’t let you drown.”

Chapter twenty-five

Reed

Petra’s heaving sobs subside into shuddering gasps, and then into quiet tears. She looks up at me with red eyes, but the second she opens her mouth, I cut her off. “Don’t apologize. Please. I know you, Petra. This was hard for you, and I’m grateful you let me in.”

Her voice is raspy from crying. “You’ve known me for a week, Reed. You don’t know me.”

I can’t take it personally. She’s pushing me away, trying to get mental space since I won’t give her physical. If I let her pull back too far, she’ll put up more walls to keep me out.

A secret for a secret. She was vulnerable with me, she deserves that much in return. “My tattoo is a coverup. It used to be an interlocking KH. Kinley’s initials,” I confess. Petra grimaces, as if that was the bad part. “She spiked my drink one night and found an unethical tattoo artist to do it. She never wanted me to forget who I belonged to. Maybe it’s only been a week, but now you know me.”

“She what?” Petra gasps, horror written all over her face.

Oh, no. The last thing I wanted to do was make her feel worse. “No, never mind, forget I—”

“You’re not hers.” She reaches for my black-inked forearm to hold it to her cheek, a fierce fire building in her eyes. “You don’t belong to anyone, Reed. She—I don’t have any words for how awful she is.”

She has no idea. Waking up to it, among other things, scarred me for life. When I let Petra sleep in my bed the first time, it was a leap of faith she had no idea I took. I’ve broken all my rules for her.

“I’m serious, Reed. If she gets within the same city limits as you, I will end her.”

Funny, that’s exactly how I feel about Nate Fitz.

“You turned your tattoo into something beautiful,” she says, her tear dripping onto my arm. “You will be seen, loved, and embraced for all you are. You’re shaking off the darkness, Reed. You don’t want me to shut down? I’ve seen you do it, too. But your light is powerful. Its radiance shines on the lackluster world around us and sets it ablaze. I’ve seen it in action. Your dawn will burn the shadows away. I believe it with all my heart.”

I’m going to fall apart if she keeps looking at me like that. “You’re a more poetic writer than I am. I’m jealous.”

“I can’t imagine there’s much to wax poetic about when you’re writing from the point of view of a naughty stepbrother,” she jokes. Her fingers are gentle as they smooth over my skin, transferring heat to the tattoo that leaves me cold with every glance. “Don’t change the subject, tesoro mio. It’s okay to show your scars. I know how much they can hurt.”

I don’t know what that means, but the tender way she says it soothes me. “I know you do. That’s why I told you. Come on, let’s get waffles.”

“Who’s prickly now?” Petra mumbles, but presses her lips to the ink. Her kiss sinks beneath the surface and spreads, like a balm, across my arm. Her eyes are so open, so kind, as she kisses me tenderly. “Someday, when you might want to share the whole story, I’ll be here to listen.”

We’re both emotional and raw as we dress in relative quiet, but I don’t let her get too far away. I graze her arm, her back, nudging her shoulder with mine as we brush our teeth and she wrangles her hair into a bun. When she’s ready to go, I give her a quiet, lingering kiss. “Petra? Tell me you’ll come back tonight. I want you here. No strings attached, no expectations.”

She hesitates, biting her lip. “I’m going to hold you to that ‘no expectations’ thing.”

It stings that she doesn’t trust me. “I wouldn’t pressure you, especially now. I won’t cross your boundary, no matter how good we’d be together—and we would be phenomenal.” I tuck away a stray bit of curl that has already slipped loose over her ear. She’s still gorgeous this way, quiet and reserved. “I want to kiss you and laugh with you. I like who I am with you.”

“Me too,” she admits. When I reach out my hand, she takes it, and we head out to the car still linked together. It takes coaxing and a stack of waffles, but eventually we shake off the gloom and get back to a steady place. “You know, you could narrate books. If you’re keeping a running list of new career paths.”

“I’d narrate yours,” I offer. She looks up, and her eyes mist again when she understands I’m serious. “When you’re ready to share, I’d love to read it.”

When I drop her off in front of the grocery store, I’m not ready to let her go. “I’ll pick you up at six, and I’ll take you out unless you’d rather eat in. I can cook anything in the frozen section that requires being heated up in a pan.”

She laughs, and it’s beautiful to see some of her radiance come back. “Let’s go out, my treat,” she says. “You’ve already extended your stay by a week. I don’t know where all your hotel money comes from, but apparently my twelve dollars a month does a lot for you.”

“Some people patronize my higher tiers, you’re just cheap,” I tease with a wink.

“Reed!” she scolds, but she’s laughing again, and it’s worth it. “For that, dinner is on you.”

“I don’t mind that at all.” Our lips meet in a final kiss that I wish could last for hours. “See you soon, Pet.”

“Can’t wait.”

It’s hard to drive away without knowing I’ve fixed Petra’s situation. Not that there’s anything to fix. What happened was a long time ago, though her grief is still palpable. I’m reeling over her past, and I don’t even understand it. The closest I’ve gotten to a pregnant woman is Amanda.

I turned my phone off so it wouldn’t be a nuisance during dinner with Petra’s family, so the barrage of notifications as it boots up is overwhelming. There are hundreds of social media comments and messages, emails, and dozens of voicemails from my least favorite person. I can’t deal with the enormity of it right now, and I don’t try to. I clear them all and tap Amanda’s name.

“Ree-ree,” she answers. “How did meeting the mystery girl’s mom go? You never told me her name. She’s the girl from your story yesterday, right? She’s pretty. Not exactly who I was expecting you to go for, but—”

I’m going to get the full sister treatment if I let her gain momentum, and I head her off with the question that’s really bothering me. “How far along is twenty-five weeks? I mean, mathematically it’s more than half, but you used to do all those fruit pictures. What fruit is that?”

“Reed. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Kinley’s not preg—”

“No! God, no. It’s Petra. The woman I met here in Swift River. She had a miscarriage. I can’t—I just need to know what that means.”

“No,” Amanda gasps. “Oh. Reed.”

My heart plummets to my feet. “How far is it?”

“It’s unfathomable.” I can tell Amanda is holding back tears. “Nearly her third trimester. It destroyed me when I had one at eight weeks, between the girls. This is…Reed, half of the babies born at twenty-five weeks grow up to be healthy adults.”

All the words stick in my throat. I hate that Petra—beautiful, tenacious, giggling Petra—was shattered by this. All those times I watched her sink into herself.

“You better not be playing with this girl,” Amanda threatens, “or I’ll disown you.”

Petra was a shy, bold, hysterical girl at our first meeting, but she’s a woman with a past and wounds that run deep. Scars that I might be tearing open simply by being here.

“I can’t stay away from her. I can’t stop thinking about her. And you, only hearing that one thing about her, knowing what she endured but is still kind and wonderful, should know why I can’t.”

Amanda has her mom-tone front and center. “Reed, she’s not a puppy you found and need to take care of. You’re not being rational. How long have you known this woman?”

“Five days.”

“That’s not the foundation of a relationship.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask, defensive. “I’m not saying I’m in love with her. I barely know her.” That’s a lie. After hours of conversation, I know her better than anyone. But that also sounds insane. “Just wanting to spend more time with her? That’s not crazy at all.”

I don’t confess the rest of it. That I love having Petra in my arms. I love how her eyes blink shut as she gets tired, and her first smile of the morning. I love the way she blushes or laughs when she’s uncomfortable. The way she puts up with my shit with a good sense of humor instead of knocking me on my ass, as she should. Her insatiable hunger, even with her scars, to learn and experience everything she’s missed.

“It’s idiotic as hell,” Amanda retorts.

“How long before you knew you wanted to be with Ethan?”

There’s a long pause, after which Amanda sounds resigned. “From our first date. Does she know about what you do?”

I wince. This is going to be a hard sell to the family. “She’s a subscriber.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“She’s not Kinley.” My tone leaves no room for argument. “I’ve pursued her every step of the way. I stole her diary the day we met! All those red flags I should’ve recognized with Kinley? They’re me this time.”

“You what?” Amanda yells. It’s the reaction I should’ve gotten from Petra. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I know, okay? I’m not good enough for her, but I’m trying to be. Doesn’t that count for anything? That I want to be a better person for her?”

“Reed.” Amanda sighs. “You are a good person.”

“I wasn’t. I wasn’t making my own decisions. I was running and reacting. But Petra? I’m choosing her.” The words aren’t enough. I want Amanda to know her the way I know her. “Petra laughs when she’s nervous, but tells me when I overstep. She’s a horrible liar. She loves reading fantasy and writes it, too. Her head’s too full, all the time, and she tries to drown out the noise because she hasn’t learned how to listen to herself. Trust herself. She needs me in her corner, and she’s always in mine.”

“It’s been less than a week!”

I bulldoze over her. “She loves to argue with her sister, has a deep relationship with her dad, and has a brother who cuts through the crap. And honestly, her mom scares the hell out of me. But they welcomed me in. I never met any of Kinley’s family. But Petra…she has a messed up ex and a miscarriage that haunts her to this day. She’s not perfect, and her life hasn’t been either. She’s handled all of that and is still kind—to a fault. Petra is headstrong and beautiful, and knowing how much pain she hides below the surface only amplifies those traits.”

Amanda is quiet.

“You told me, that day in LA, that my life wasn’t going to end there. And it didn’t. But choosing Petra is me finally living again.”

“You’re not allowed to use my words against me like that,” Amanda grumbles. “Alright. So you might be falling in love with this woman. Petra. What are you going to do about it?”

The burden of my feelings lessens. I might be crazy, but at least Amanda understands. “Isn’t that the fucking question? I mean, I’m selling the house in LA, but she loves it there.”

Amanda chokes. “You’re not planning to move there together? You wanted out. Reed, it’s only been days!”

“Of course not,” I lie. I hadn’t planned on it. But now that she’s put the idea in my head…maybe there’s somewhere Petra and I could both be happy in the future. “I don’t want to live there, and she wouldn’t want to live here if I stayed.”

“You’re already contemplating the long term. Can’t you just date her and worry about the rest later? What if you get bored in a couple months?”

I laugh before I can hold it in. It’s not a question for me. Maybe I’m not in love with her yet, but I’ve never been surer about connecting with someone.

“Be reasonable,” Amanda scolds. “You’re jumping into the deep end right after you drowned! You need to learn and not repeat the past.”

My hackles rise, unreasonably defensive. I don’t care if she’s right; I want her on my side. “Sure. Pretend you weren’t planning your wedding after your second date.”

“I was nineteen and in nowhere, Iowa!” she yells. “Of course I was! You’re a grown-ass man with your own thriving business.”

“I’m closing DKP.”

“Jesus Christ!” she yells. “Because of a girl you’ve known for a week? Sorry, honey, Mommy’s okay.”

“No. It’s nothing to do with Petra. She wants me to love whatever I do.” The rest of my words gouge like broken glass in my throat. “But I know Kinley takes whatever new audio there is and makes it about her. She’s warped enough to let it feed her fantasy. Do you know what that’s like? To have someone stalk you and assault you, and then be able to fantasize and fetishize you because of your work?”

There’s a long pause. Amanda hiccups, a sign she’s holding back tears, and guilt sears through my chest. “You’re right,” she whispers. “You have so many incredible talents, and you built DKP from the ground up. You know how to do it again. I know you can.”

“I’ve got options, but I have decisions to make.” And Petra’s a big one. “I know I’m crazy, Manda.”

“Love is crazy,” Amanda grudgingly admits. “And makes us do crazy things. But I want to meet her before you do anything too stupid.”

“Too late for that,” I joke, hoping it lightens her mood. It doesn’t work.

“Come home. Just for a little while. To remember that you have a whole bunch of people here who love you. You don’t need a woman to be complete. Okay?”

It’s not a terrible idea. I miss Amanda, the kids, and Mom. It would be healthier for Petra and I than just diving in headfirst. If nothing else, we’d see how our instant chemistry adjusts to change and distance. “I can do that. Will you pick me up from the airport? I’ll leave my car here.”

“Sure you’ll go back?”

I’m glad Amanda can’t see my smirk. Just because I’m giving Petra and I space to grow doesn’t mean I’m reconsidering. “I might want to live out here. Portland is a hell of a lot cheaper than Los Angeles. I’ll book a flight and text you the info. Love you, Amanda.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up, and when I check my email, there are several from Isaac. There are multiple offers waiting for me, including a cash offer that makes my eyebrows climb up my forehead. He’s either a beyond-fantastic realtor, or it’s truly a seller’s market. There’s a clock ticking down to a decision, and I hope I’m making the right one.

“Hey, Isaac,” I say once he answers his phone. “Is that number for real?”

“Reed! Yep. It’s a couple with new money. The wife invented some software a few years ago, and now they’re ready for the next step. House, kids, the works.”

I blow out a harsh breath. “That’s a lot of money.”

“Should we accept it?” he asks.

“Yes.” The word comes barreling out. I’ve wanted to say it for months. I won’t have to step foot there again, and Kinley won’t know where to find me. I roll my shoulders back, lighter than before.

“Done!” Isaac says, enthusiastic. His commission is going to be a hefty chunk of change. “Now, let’s talk about buying. I sent some listings for San Diego, San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, Chicago. How’re those going? Finding anything?”

I sigh. “They’re all fine, but I don’t know what I want anymore. I need a bedroom and an office for recording, but do I want guestrooms? Do I want Portland or San Diego? Do I want to live there for a year, or five, or ten?”

Do I want a beautiful kitchen in which Petra and I fumble our way through dinner together? A shower that’s perfect for pinning her to the wall under the spray? It’s too early to factor Petra in, but how could I not?

“Does it have to be either/or?” Isaac asks. “This offer is twice as much as a bigger house in the suburbs of Portland. You could easily buy a place there, and that house I know you love on Citrus. Whichever way life goes, you’ll have a place to stay while renting the other to pay the mortgage.”

He’s right. I love the house in San Diego County. I love its bright, hacienda style, with high ceilings and extra rooms for a studio, guests, or kids. The huge outdoor area surrounds a pool with crystal blue water where we could have family barbecues. I could have both, a back-up plan, and a passive income. “That’s genius.”

“That’s why you have me,” Isaac jokes. “That house on Citrus is going to go fast. If I were you I’d put an offer in ASAP. I’ll send you all the paperwork for the sale. Congratulations, Reed. You’re starting a new chapter. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Isaac.”

I hang up, send off a quick email, and make plans for dinner. Now it’s about more than just showing Petra possibilities. I want her to want to be with me.

Chapter twenty-six

Petra

The hotel phone rings early in the morning, and Reed reaches over me to answer and hang up. “What’s happening?”

“Beach day,” Reed answers with a yawn. We’re both groggy from staying up late after dinner. Reed didn’t push my boundaries. Instead, he showered me with waves of affection that had my heart melting before we ordered dessert. Just as I was reminding myself that falling in love is not on the agenda, Reed mentioned he was leaving for Iowa.

It was just as effective as dumping cold water over my head. We drove back to the hotel after dinner and climbed under the covers together. Our hands and kisses wandered, but we kept it from going further. If we’d had sex, the shock of going right back to my old life would be unbearable. At least knowing our time is limited gave me a chance to memorize what it’s like to sleep in his arms.

When he leaves, it will be me and Natalia again. The way it always was.

“You were serious about the beach?”

“Absolutely,” Reed says, stretching and rolling over me to nuzzle my neck. “Supposed to be sunny between noon and four out there today.”

“Reed.” I hold his face so he can’t avoid me. “It’s an hour each way. This is not something you do with someone you’re never going to see again.”

“Do you make all the rules now? I want to do this with you. Why wouldn’t we make this memory?”

It’s holding my heart in my hands to say it. “Because it will hurt.”

Reed skips over my confession like it’s nothing. As though he expected it. “I’m going to wish for a good, long while that we lived in the same city. But I trust that we’re adults and we can handle some separation, and our memories will be worth it. What do you say?”

You’re leaving tomorrow. I repeat the mantra to guard my heart. But having this memory, a fun, romantic, not-sexual memory, with Reed? “Okay.”

“You work at three tomorrow, right?” he asks, and I nod. “Good. Pack your overnight bag. We can stop at your house for fresh clothes on the way. Can we take your car?”

I blink up at him, and Reed arches an eyebrow, waiting for me to argue with him. “Sure.”

“Okay then.” He grins and pulls me in for a short, fierce kiss that leaves me giddy. We roll out of bed to get ready and pack up. I don’t bother doing anything with my hair because the ocean air will only make it curlier and frizzier.

His phone rings repeatedly, but a different number scrawls across the screen each time. He doesn’t bother blocking each one—it wouldn’t do any good. Another voicemail notification sounds, and Reed’s face falls as he sinks to the bed. He was full of optimism this morning, and even though he looks healthy and beautiful, the shadows are creeping back into his face.

“Kinley, right?” I ask. “Is this more than usual?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure what triggered her, but this is… She gets like this when she’s manic. It’s a sign that she’s off her meds and unwell.”

I nod, settling my hands on his tense shoulders. “It sounds like you really cared about her, to know her signs and patterns.”

“She’s the worst person on earth, and I wish I’d never met her.” Reed’s shoulder lifts in a somber shrug. “But she wasn’t always like this. She was in therapy, getting her life together and processing some awful stuff. Things that no one should be subjected to. If she…well, she could’ve been a different person without all that.”

“Do you miss that part of her?”

Reed snorts. “Fuck no. She made her choices and burned every goddamn bridge she could. I never want to see her again, whether she gets help again or not.”

“Can I put it on airplane mode?” I brush his hair back and gently tug the phone from his hand. “We don’t need cell service. Spend the day with me, tesoro. Forget the past. Forget the future. Forget how much we hurt. One more day together.”

He nods, pulling me down to his lap to kiss me softly. I switch on airplane mode and drop the phone to the bed so I can wrap my arms around him. He squeezes me and buries his face in my neck. “I want all your days,” he mumbles.

My heart trips and cracks, and it’s good that he’s leaving, or my brain would’ve run away with wishful thinking. I squeeze back, pulling him to stand up with me. “The beach is my healing space. Maybe it can be for you, too.”

Reed smiles at me, small but sweet, and finishes packing his bags. I text Livi while Reed has a long conversation with Tina at the counter, and I order us a rideshare to my parents’ house.

No one is home when we arrive, and Reed bounds up the stairs before I can hold him back. He walks the perimeter of my bedroom, where Silla’s and my things are pasted all over the walls. Silla’s black belt certification is front and center, and he chuckles. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

I roll my eyes, throwing my laundry in the bin. “I’m scrappier than I seem.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Reed says, and goes back to picking his way through my things.

“Wouldn’t you rather rifle through my underwear drawer?”

“I’ve seen your underwear.” He shoots me a smirk that sends heat rolling through me. “I want to know your history.”

I shove the last items in my bag. “You stole my notebook. Was that not enough history?”

“I’m sorry I did that, but I’m not sorry that I got to know you because of it.”

He’s had too much of me for all of one week, and I can’t handle sharing more.

“You’ve learned enough.” I press him against the wall, stepping into his space to bury my fingers in his hair. With a confidence I’ve lacked in the past, I pull his mouth to mine. It’s a hungry kiss, but when Reed tries to take over, I push him harder against the wall.

“Pet,” he groans against my lips.

Power rushes through me. I want to kneel for him and wrench more moans from his throat. “You really are a switch.”

“I really am.” His hands are rough as he grips my hips. “Do it again.”

I comply eagerly, fisting my hand in his hair and using the other to pin his shoulder to the wall. I hold him there, leaning forward to nip his throat before taking his mouth for my own. He moans again when my fingers flex against his scalp, and his ragged breath sends fire through me. I dig my teeth in to tug at his lip and soothe the bite with my tongue.

“Feel good, Reed?” I’m breathless from the adrenaline coursing through me.

Reed’s eyes burn hot, and his hand comes down to squeeze my ass. “Could be even better. I didn’t get to wake you up with my mouth, baby. Will you let me now?”

I’m tempted. So. Tempted. But I swallow my needs. “You had plans for today, remember?”

“Pretty sure I can move things around to fit this in.” Reed grins, and it breaks the spell.

“Food and beach,” I remind him.

Reed nods, but his eyes burn. “I’m going to relive that all day.”

I fight my blush as I retreat. “So will I.” He brushes his knuckles across my hot cheek with a chuckle. I take his hand and tug him down the stairs, leaving a note for my parents on the way out. “You know there’s nothing to do there, right? It’s rocky and freezing cold—”

Reed cuts off my argument. “Why do you enjoy going, Pet?”

“The waves, the whales, the sunset. Sitting on the cliffs and baking in the sun.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Reed says, pressing me into the side of the car. His quick kiss leaves me dazed. “And make out while we do it. Don’t pretend to be opposed.”

I’m not opposed in the slightest. I shut my mouth and climb into the driver’s seat.

Reed makes the coast fun. We traipse along the tidepools as if we’re in grade school, poking sea anemones and watching the crabs. Clouds come and go, but it doesn’t bother us either way. Reed brings out his mic periodically, pinpointing the sounds he loves.

He belongs here, on the beach, the wind whipping through his hair and the sun on his skin. I’ve never seen the sky as blue as when he’s in front of it, or the ocean such a stunning mix of navy and turquoise. When he kisses me, salt spray on his lips, wet sand under our toes, I might be dreaming. Real life isn’t this vivid.

Eventually, we grab takeaway from a local deli and head to the bluffs. Reed spreads out our towels next to a group of boulders and guides me down into his lap. He kisses me, fresh salt on his mouth, and I give into my own craving for him. He kisses me thoroughly. Not just my mouth, cheeks, or jaw, but other rarer places. My hair, my wrists. He pulls my jacket and shirt aside to kiss down my throat.

“That’s what it is.” His golden, sunlit eyes sparkle as he looks up at me. “You smell like hot cross buns. Orange, cardamom, vanilla, and sweetness. I ate as many as I could over Easter break every year when I was a kid. Even during the worst years, my dad and I would drive to the bakery first thing in the morning for a box of them. We’d each devour one, piping hot, before we even got home.”

His tongue sweeps over my breasts as I moan, my fingers tight in his hair. “That’s the weirdest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Reed laughs before testing his teeth against my nipple. “How about I’m not sure if I want to fuck you, devour you, or both? Does that top it?” He sucks, and I arch against him.

“Reed. I can’t have sex with you in public, and this is making me want to. I mean, I can’t have sex with you at all.”

He nods, but the glint in his eye says he can’t get enough. “We won’t. I promise. But I want my mouth on you.”

I argue, but he distracts me. His lips move over me, his hands working me up to a frenzy. He uses his voice just as well as his body. His rough demands fill me with heat, joy, and a fierce ache that he drums into me with each word. His fingers wrap around my neck and squeeze lightly, until I’m dizzy with it.

I dissolve, right there on the bluffs, under his attention. It’s only when I’ve come back from bliss that he zips up my coat, kissing me again. He shifts to lean against the rock beside me, and pulls the sandwiches out of his backpack, as though a midday orgasm is a perfectly normal occurrence. “Last day, Pet. Tell me everything.”

“I can’t fit everything into a couple of hours.” Especially when I’m still dazed.

“Tell me about the sister I didn’t meet. Or your grandparents. Or what you would do if you won the lottery.”

I laugh as I unwrap my sandwich, heart aching for the man beside me. The afternoon sun is bright in his cheeks, and he’s completely at ease. The crash of waves is the perfect white noise for us, blocking out the world—the way Reed does when he touches me. “I want to know things, too. About Grant, and your mom, and the screenplays you’ve written.”

Reed grins at me. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know, Petronia Diamante. You first.”

“Well, Silla and I are the closest, believe it or not. She was a prankster growing up, and we all called her Silly Silla. When she came out in high school, it only made our bond stronger.”

We talk as the sun moves across the sky, then pack up and walk down the shoreline. Miraculously, the fog doesn’t roll in, and Reed wraps his arms around me as the sky shifts into the colors of the bouquet Reed first gave me. It deepens into a brilliant orange and flares crimson.

One perfect moment I’ll remember forever.

Chapter twenty-seven

Reed

As the sun dips below the horizon, the wind picks up, clear and cold. Petra shivers beneath her heavy jacket. “I don’t want you to freeze,” I say, lacing our fingers together to keep her hand warm as we walk to the car.

It’s a long trek to Portland, so I offer to drive. I crank up the heat until she strips off her coat and blouse, revealing a thin camisole that clings to her and is both distracting and delectable. She takes over the radio, and her taste is all over the place. Eighties music, nineties, rock, pop, metal, folk, hip-hop. There’s no rhyme or reason to why she loves the songs she does.

We drive through the city, her unblinking eyes soaking it all in, and park on a side street. “What are we doing now?”

“Bringing LA to you. C’mon.” I wait until she’s bundled up again and lead her from the car, tucking her tight to my side to ward off the cold until we get to a group of food carts.

“Street food?” Her eyes are big, beautiful, and happy. We try everything, sharing basket after basket of cuisine from different parts of the world. She doesn’t seem to notice the cold, and she does a happy wiggle after each bite. “This is the best date I’ve ever been on. Not that—I didn’t mean it was a date.”

“Darling Petra, it’s a date. Does it beat The Riverfront?”

Petra shrugs. “That was beautiful, Reed, but I don’t need fancy very often. This kind of experience, though? It’s my favorite.”

I steal the bite out of her hand to keep irrational words from jumping out of my mouth. She laughs and pushes me away, but then offers me the next bite as well. Once we’ve tasted everything, we drive across town and park in the garage of a tall building. Petra shoots me a look as I gather our bags and walk through an opulent lobby filled with glass doors and glittering chandeliers.

“This is one of those really fancy things,” Petra mutters as we step into the elevator. I laugh, and she smacks my shoulder. When we step out into the hallway, I locate our door and punch the code into the keypad.

“I’ll note the frequency, then. Welcome to our home for the night.”

Petra steps through the door as if there’s a monster lurking inside. The whole apartment is white and wood—modern and sleek, but warm. She carefully winds around the furniture in the living room, headed straight for the floor to ceiling windows.

“Wow.” The view is stunning, with two bridges crossing the water and the lights of the city spread out below us. She tears her gaze away from the view. “You did this for me?”

I shrug. “It’s not where you want to be, but it’s still a taste of big city life.”

“I was in a rundown one bedroom apartment in a not-great complex. This is amazing, tesoro, but I would be happy with you anywhere. Is it a full apartment?”

“Two-bedroom. Want to go pick out your favorite?”

“Whichever has this view,” she admits. She heads for the bedrooms while I hang up her jacket. I find her in one of them, sitting on a chaise in front of the window. I sink down beside her and she leans into me with a happy sigh. “I don’t want to know how much this cost for the night.”

“Does it matter? It’s research for me, too. I might want to live in a place like this in the future.” I’m free here, not only with Petra, but away from the hustle of LA. The green, the rivers, the clouds. All of it breathes new life into me, the way she does.

“You’d want to live in an apartment in Portland?” she asks.

I avoid her gaze, trying not to consider her as part of the deal. “I love the community here. This view is spectacular, but I’d prefer a house.”

Petra nods her agreement. “Especially if you want kids in the future. Not that you do—I meant—whatever you want from your life is what you should go with. You know what I mean.”

I watch her silhouette as her hand comes up to fiddle with her necklace. It’s important to be honest but careful with her here. “I love kids. I love my nieces. But…”

“But what?” she asks. “You’re the best parts of your dad, Reed. All the joy of hot cross buns without the addiction. You won’t repeat history.”

I’m not as confident as she is. She didn’t watch my family fall apart under the weight of Dad’s decisions. I still her restless hand and weave our fingers together. “I won’t do it on my own. If my partner wants them, I’m on board. If she isn’t into it, then I don’t need kids to have a complete, happy life.”

“I’m terrified of trying again,” she admits quietly. “Genetic testing will make it less risky, but I desperately want kids and I’m terrified of being pregnant.”

I bite back promises I’m not ready to keep. “When you’re with the right person, or you feel safe again, it’ll happen for you. You don’t have to get pregnant to have kids, Petra.”

She nods and lets go to smooth her necklace down. “I should hop in the shower. I’ve got sand in too many places.” My rubber-girl, always deflecting her feelings. But she hasn’t shut down or withdrawn, and I’m proud of her.

“Oh? Am I not invited?” I ask. She grins. Mission accomplished.

“I should’ve made my invitation clearer,” she notes. She squeals as I heft her into my arms and carry her to the bathroom. Our shower takes a while, because I can’t stop kissing her long enough for her to wash her hair or anything else.

When we get out, I’m determined to make the most of the time we have left. “The night is young. Where do you want to go?” I ask as I tug on clean clothes. “Dancing, movies, escape room, roller derby?”

Petra scrunches the water from her wet hair. She’s in trousers and a blouse that shows off the swell of her hip. Her thighs are invitingly soft and sweet. “What do you want?”

“I asked you, Pet. Dream big. What did you enjoy doing in LA?”

“Eating, mostly,” she says, laughing. “And quirky little places. Innocuous strip mall restaurants that are worth twelve Michelin Stars, hidden bars, magic themed coffee shops, storybook cat cafés. There was always something weird going on, and I loved that.”

“According to my research, there is a Wonderland Speakeasy nearby. There’s a mermaid themed café, too, but I think they’re closed already. There’s also a three story brewery and arcade, a wishing tree, a vegan strip club—”

“For lesbians?” she asks, eyes creased in delight. “Because there’s no meat allowed! Oh, I wish Silla was here for that one! I’ll have to text it to her.”

The joy written all over her face is magnetic, and when I kiss her, we’re both smiling. I brush her hair back to kiss below her ear and down her neck. “I wish I could record every moment with you.”

I didn’t mean for her to hear it, but she does.

“I don’t mind if you want to set the mic out for a minute,” she offers.

I shrug, but my chest throbs with the unfairness of it all. Kinley robbed me of a lot of things, but my distance from DKP is a continuous theft. “I haven’t been able to do any audio of myself. Hence the nature recordings.”

“I’m sorry. I hate that she took away your joy.” Her fingers stroke the back of my neck in a soothing rhythm that makes my eyes fall shut. I’m safe, so safe with her, and let down my guard.

“Would you try it with me? Some simple noises, kisses down your neck?”

She tenses in my arms. My skittish deer; I’m going to frighten her away. “Would you publish it?”

“No. Only for me, Pet.”

She takes a deep breath, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Okay.”

Chapter twenty-eight

Reed

When I switch on the mic, Petra shifts in place, nervous. “Will my breathing sound weird?”

“Your breathing is extraordinarily sexy.” I settle back onto the chaise by the window and tug her into my lap. I love when she’s close enough that the patterns of green stand out in her woodland eyes. I trail my hands up her back to tap the side of her neck. “Can I kiss you here?”

“Yes.” Her eyes flutter shut. I press kisses to her skin—some light, some lingering, all scrumptious. Her body softens under my attention, but she’s extremely quiet. I can almost hear her heartbeat.

“You can make noise. It won’t sound strange, but it helps me know what you enjoy. Like when I tongue your clit—” I pause as her arms pebble, hair standing on end. “Goosebumps? Darling Petra, I want to climb into your brain and discover which words ensnare you. Should I tell you I want to lick your sweet pussy, or eat you out like a five star meal?”

“Reed,” she whispers. It’s all she gives. Whispers, murmurs, whines. She’s not loud, even when she orgasms. She shifts in my lap, searching for friction.

This is easier than I thought, because getting her out of her head is getting me out of mine. “Which one? Enlighten me.”

She pushes my hand under the hem of her shirt. “I don’t know.”

It’s not enough. I want to unravel her and unearth her desires. I want to drown her in pleasure—ruin her for anyone that isn’t me.

I want to submerge myself in her soul.

“Is it the out that does it for you? Leaving you empty for more? Knowing I need to spread you open and devour you until you shake? I want the messy, slick sounds of your need for me running down my chin while I suck your clit.”

She shivers, but I can’t tell which part of it affected her. It’s beautiful but frustrating. I pinch the peak of her breast and she rocks against my thighs.

“I wish I could feel you clench around me,” I growl. “My own lie detector test.”

She presses her forehead to mine, searching my face. “If you have a condom, I’d go for it.”

“What?” My hearing goes fuzzy as all my blood rushes to my cock. I tug my hand out from under her blouse in a search for rational thought, because she firmly stated sex was off the table. “I need you to be clear, because lines are blurring and I’m not thinking straight.”

“Explicitly clear?” she asks and grips my waist to steady her shaking hands. “Don’t fuck me, Reed. Use me to warm your cock. Say obscene things and feel the way they affect me. Our version of truth or dare. Torture me by keeping still inside me while your words make me ache. Deny me again and again as I beg, because being on the edge with you is as good as any orgasm, tesoro. That’s what I mean.”

Her strengthening conviction sets my heart racing. It’s a miracle that we’re recording, because I want to play that back every day for my entire life. She might appear uncertain, but all this is buried inside her.

She’s a pro.

I clutch her hips to help her grind down, need roaring through me. Her answering moan has my blood running hot. “You’re gonna give me a run for my money. Those were a lot of unexpected words from your pretty mouth.”

When she looks at me, she’s a deer on shaky legs again, though she shouldn’t doubt herself now. “Too forceful? Too upfront?”

“Absolutely not,” I say. “You’re a walking dream. But we can’t. If I get inside you, there’s no way we’re not fucking, baby. That’s not how this works. I won’t stop, and you won’t want me to.”

Her whimper, brimming with longing, rips me apart. Her logic and desire are heading in opposite directions and, through her, so are mine. After a moment of wild indecision, something in her settles into place.

“You’re a self-professed switch,” she says. “Let me tie your hands. If we have sex, it will be on me. My boundary, my responsibility, my willpower.”

Damn. Nate might’ve tried taming her into Bambi, but she’s always been a wolf. It’s hard to submit when I’ve been powerless for the better part of a year, but it’s also incredibly hot to watch her embrace her sensuality. It’s enough that, for the first time since Kinley drugged me, I consider surrender.

I clasp our hands together, contemplating the ground rules, expectations, and aftercare. I don’t have enough clarity or patience to teach her. Not when I need her so fiercely that it blankets everything else.

“If we do this, I’m going to beg to fuck you—” I choke off my words, because Petra’s eyes glint. She wants me begging, and that’s fucking hot. “Ignore me. If I need to stop, I’ll say Bambi. That means we both take a breath and a break.”

Amusement tugs at her mouth. “Bambi is your safe word?”

“What do you know about safe words?”

She laughs, embarrassed. “Christian Grey was a cultural phenomenon, and you know I have an appetite. Pretty sure every woman over thirty knows what a safe word is.”

An appetite. Fuck me. I’m too keyed-up already, and we’re still wearing all our clothes. “I don’t know how the hell I’m going to hold still and talk dirty to you when you make me crazy.”

Petra lets go of my hands to slip hers under my shirt. Her fingers are gentle as she maps my body. She tugs until I lift my arms, and my shirt lands on the floor.

She leans in close, her breath warm across my neck. “Having your voice in my ear, saying all the things I’ve ever wanted to hear, while you’re holding us back? It’s the fantasy I didn’t know I wanted. Ride the edge with me, Reed.”

Her quiet demand sucks all the air from my lungs and replaces it with need. Pure, unadulterated need. “Pet,” I laugh, undone, “you’re the best damn flirt I’ve ever met.”

I fist my hands in her hair and kiss her. It’s harsh, invasive, and demanding. I have thirty seconds of control left before I submit to her, and I’m going to use it. When I yank her closer, my hands grasping each curve and swell of her, she arches against me.

“You’re not a good switch,” she notes, breathless. I place rough, sucking kisses down her neck. I can’t let up, no matter how much I try.

“You can’t untie me while we do this,” I warn. “I won’t be able to hold back. See how little control I have with you?”

She moans, and her hips rock in my lap. “We need to skip ahead, because you definitely would’ve felt how much that turns me on.”

I imagine it, and my reasoning frays at the edges. “Let me undress you. Warm you up first.”

“Who said we’re doing this naked?” she teases. She’s blossomed from the shy woman in my bathtub only days ago, and her joy is infectious.

“You want this or you don’t, baby.” I yank her blouse and bra out of the way to nip at her breast. It’s a bluff. I’ll concede practically anything. Hell, I agreed to be tied up and endure brutal edging for her. But if my hands are going to be bound, I want my mouth to have as much access as possible.

“Fine, agreed.” She moans as I flick my tongue against her hardened bud. I retreat reluctantly, pulling her shirt over her head. She’s haughty as she squints at me and pulls her bra back into place.

“You’re the one skipping ahead, tesoro. Take off your pants and grab a condom,” she orders, heading for the bathroom. I’ve underestimated her wolf, and her confidence has my blood running hot.

“And for a tie?” I ask. She emerges with the sashes from the bathrobes and holds them up. They’ll work well enough. “You’ll only need one. I’ll show you how.”

“Pretty sure I need both for my plan.” A blush creeps up her cheeks. “Are you going to get undressed? Turn off the mic?”

I wonder how far I can push. I stall for time as I unbutton my pants, and she watches me so intently that I might have a chance. “Can I leave it on for you and me? I won’t use any of it.”

She bites her lip; I want to tug it into my mouth instead. “That’s a lot to ask of me.”

“It is,” I agree, pulling her to me, palming her ass. My fingers dig in too deep, desperate to dominate. “So is asking me to submit to you.”

“You’re still going to be in charge.” The ties brush the length of my back when she wraps her arms around my neck. “More than ever, probably. But, alright. Mic stays on, for you and me only. And if I listen to it and want you to delete it, you will.”

“Yes, mistress,” I tease. She shivers, her hard nipples begging for attention through the thin fabric covering them. I’m dying to taste them. “I might be a switch, but this is hard for me, Pet. Give me two minutes of control first?”

She laughs, and it lights up her whole face. “What, am I going to time you?”

I toss her onto the bed, and she’s still giggling as I pin her hands above her head, pressing her into the mattress with a kiss. I give her my full weight, and she wraps her legs around my waist, moaning, as I grind into her. My teeth scrape over her lip as she deepens the kiss, and her gasp destroys me.

My self-control leaps out the goddamn window.

I use the ties she’s gripping to bind her wrists together without her noticing. She’s at my mercy, and that drives me to the edge of sanity. I use one hand to push her bra beneath her breasts, grazing my palms over her tender peaks and navigating her ribs, hips, collarbone, neck.

I never let up from her mouth as I tug her pants and underwear down her thighs. When I break away to pull them off completely, she whimpers.

She makes me insatiable, unhinged, indomitable.

I tower over her at the end of the bed and effortlessly flip her onto her stomach. With a quick jerk of her hips, I’ve got her on her knees. “Up on your elbows,” I demand. She scrambles to obey, despite her binding.

“Reed?” She sounds unsure, but my fingers part her and slide home. She’s dripping for me.

“Just my hand, Pet. I know your limit. We’re not going to fuck.”

Her long, low moan eats me up inside, and my fuse burns up. I’m barely hanging on to my humanity as I pump my fingers into her— slower at first, before fucking them into her hard and fast. Her thighs tremble, and she’s chanting my name in a whisper that whips me into a frenzy.

“Please,” she begs, but I don’t know her enough to know what she needs. It shreds me, and I’m helpless as she pushes her hips back to meet me. “Please.”

Surrender. That’s one of her favorites. I curl my hand over her shoulder and press her down into the mattress. Her elbows slide out in front of her, her bound hands curling over the top of her head. On the next retreat, I pull out and deliver a swat to her ass. Not anything heavy, but enough to release some of the hurricane inside me. I don’t give her a moment to recover before I’m two fingers deep in her, and her soft, high-pitched cry is everything.

“Need me to stop?” I pray she doesn’t. I don’t know if I can.

It’s my power I’m taking back, something I didn’t know I needed until now.

“Don’t you dare.” It’s all the permission I need. I grind against her clit with each thrust, and she moans. I give her two sharper swats and press her further into bed. Her knuckles whiten as she grips her hair. “Fuck, Reed!”

It’s the same reprimand as the bath; a sign that she’s right on the edge.

I wish I could fuck her—to stretch her deeper, the way she needs me to—or that I had a vibrator, because one touch and she’d unravel. The only tools I have are my words.

“Going to burn this view into my brain. You’re gorgeous.” I grip her tighter. “Your ass is glowing, and you’re so wet that it’s running down your thighs. I’ve made a mess of you. I can’t wait for you to sit on my face and grind your pretty clit against my lips while I lick you clean.”

“Reed,” she begs. “I need—I don’t—”

“I have what you need. I am what you need. You don’t need to decide a goddamn thing. You just have to take it.” I swat her twice more, harder this time, but her moan tells me it was the right move. “Take it, baby.”

Petra nods against the comforter, and her submission is complete and intoxicating. Pleasure sweeps through me like an orgasm when she moans. “Yes, sir. Please.”

She cries out when I leave her empty and wanting. I slide off the end of the bed and drop to my knees. I grip her thighs, pulling her backward, and don’t give her any time to adjust before I suck her clit into my mouth.

She’s chanting softly again, higher pitched than before. “Reed, oh! Fuck.”

“Pet.” I grip her hips and pull her more firmly against my mouth. “This is only the beginning.”

Her toes curl against my sides, and her squeal is the loudest she’s ever given me. I soothe her shaking thighs with my hands and flick my tongue against her. Her words dissolve as I pull out every trick I’ve got.

I’m riding a new kind of high. The need to possess her from the inside out shoves my rational brain off a cliff. I’m drowning in power, in pleasure, in an insatiable hunger. Need her to think of me, and only me, when she touches herself. Need her to take everything I give her and ask for more. I need her to ask for me—Reed—the way she always does.

I devour her as she rocks her hips against me. When Petra is there, on the very edge, I land a broad slap right on her gorgeous pussy, soothe the sting with my mouth, and she comes.

She shakes, locking her ankles behind my back as she tightens and releases, my name spilling from her lips. When I wring out the last of it, I push down on her hips, sliding her forward so she can lay flat across the bed.

Petra is still trembling when I climb up next to her, smoothing my hands over her damp shoulders. My heart drums in my ears, urging me on. Faster. Relentless. I need her mouth, her hand, or this view of her stunning ass that I’m going to paint.

I reach under my waistband, seeking relief, when I notice her bound wrists are hidden under her chest.

Stupid, stupid, Reed. I didn’t give her any warning—or a safe word—didn’t test my knots to see if they were too tight, didn’t check in with her during the scene. I threw her in the deep end and asked her to swim. I took it too far, too fast. Like always with her.

It breaks the spell, and I blink out of the haze. “Petra? You okay? Turn over and I’ll untie you.”

“I’m fine,” she gets out. “I’m beyond fine. Holy shit, Reed.”

“Are your hands tingling?” I’m worried for more than that. I was too rough with her. Again.

She shakes her head and lets out a disbelieving laugh. “No. Just give me a second. For the record, though, that was longer than two minutes. And you’re an awful switch.”

Chapter twenty-nine

Reed

If she needs a second, I’ll give her a thousand. I unhook her bra from where it’s twisted around her waist and work out the knots in her back. She’s not used to holding that position, and she’ll undoubtedly be sore tomorrow.

“You didn’t call time on me,” I tease, soothing the sting from my serious lapse in reasoning. I was invincible, on top of the world in a way I’d never truly appreciated. Now that I know what it’s like to have my sexual identity stripped from me, her obedience is even more exhilarating. But Petra’s got her own scars and trauma, and I need to help her work through this to keep her afloat. “God, Pet, having you surrender to me? Talk about a fantasy I didn’t know I needed. How’s your ass?”

She wiggles, testing it, and I want to take a bite. “It’s fine. It didn’t hurt more than in the second it happened. Even then, it didn’t hurt-hurt. Does that make sense?” She turns her head to blink up at me. “I’m sober-drunk.”

I lay down beside her, nuzzling her cheek, kissing her softly. It’s the first of a hundred apologies I’ll make for thoroughly losing myself in her. “I’m sober-drunk around you every minute. What rational thinking? What self-control? I have neither when I’m with you. I didn’t even ask for your safe word, baby.”

“I would’ve used Bambi. Bambi,” she chuckles, and then her whole body shakes with them.

It’s an almost-silent laughter that goes hand in hand with her in these vulnerable moments. She’s actively working through her coping mechanism, though, even when she buries her face in her hands and laughs.

“Jesus, Reed. That was the opposite of me taking responsibility.”

My smile slides off my face, and I rub a gentle hand down her spine, determined to give her some level of aftercare. “I know. I’m sorry, Pet. Do you regret it?”

“No,” she giggles into the mattress.

When she lifts her face again, she’s blushing. Beautiful. Vibrant.

“No,” she repeats more seriously. The smirk that pulls at the corner of her mouth is all feminine satisfaction. She’s riding high from her orgasm. “I should’ve known you don’t concede that easily. My insistence was ridiculous anyway, we definitely would’ve had sex. Zero percent chance we would’ve held back.”

I knew that, but to hear her say it has me throbbing. I swallow against the renewed sense of need and try not to let it show as I comb her hair away from her face. “I’m still sorry. It was my first time letting go in a while, and there were some things that caught me off guard. New things to discuss in therapy.”

“Therapy is good. But you didn’t hurt me, Reed. You asked if I wanted you to stop. If I’d said yes, I guarantee you would’ve. I’m glad you didn’t, though. That was incredible.” Her eyes are winter shifting into spring—the first freshly green leaves among the dark, frozen soil—warming after a long winter chill. She brushes her nose against mine, and we meet in a slow kiss that has ashes flaring into wildfires. My hands roam everywhere, mapping the softness of her skin. She gifts me with a slow, sly smile. “You don’t have to suffer in silence.”

“I’m fine,” I say. It’s only a half-lie. I need to make sure she’s not going to bolt once the shock wears off. “Want a blanket? Let me untie you.” Petra shakes her head, leaving me to figure out what she needs. “I can run a bath, or put on some white noise and spoon you. Let me be what you need, Pet.”

“Aftercare applies to both parties, Reed. What about what you need?” Petra turns on her side, the peak of her breast tight and dark, and it takes all my effort to direct my gaze to her face. Her smile widens. “Help me up?”

“Of course,” I say, reaching for her bindings.

She frowns. “Leave it. That’s not what I said. Help me up.”

My brain moves sluggishly as I get to my feet and help her stand. I pull her close by her forearms and check her hands anyway. Her color is fine, and I can slide two fingers under the tie. Not bad for heat-of-the-moment.

Petra tilts her face up, soft and serene. “I told you I’m fine.”

“Just checking,” I say. She’s undeniably hot: rosy-cheeked, lips swollen, wrists bound. I tuck the straps of her bra under the bindings and over her hands so it falls to the floor.

She laughs. “One hell of a magic trick.”

I brush her hair behind her shoulder, her skin soft and dewy. “What’s going on in there? Let me in your head, Pet.”

“Don’t worry, I’m about to make it clear.” Petra grins and pushes my chest with her bound hands. I stumble back, catching myself on the chaise next to the window. “Sit.”

I see where she’s going with this, and I’m lightheaded. “You don’t have to—” It’s a halfhearted protest. My dick is completely on board.

“Sit,” she demands, pushing at my chest again. I drop like a stone onto the seat, and Petra laughs. Her head back tilts back with it, lengthening the column of her neck. She’s more exquisite than I imagined as she braces her hands on my shoulder to sink to her knees. She’s not shy or giggling, though joy still lingers in the brightness of her eyes. She’s confident, determined, amused. It’s an even headier combination.

“You’re a vision.” I stroke her cheek, and she closes her eyes and leans into it.

“You wanted me tied up, Reed, and I am. You want to be dominant? Do it.”

Jesus. Want and responsibility tear me apart. I shake my head, and when she opens her mouth to protest, I smother it with a kiss. I lose my composure as I dive into her mouth. She pulls at my waistband and wraps her hands around my cock, freeing it from the stifling material. I hold on to the back of her neck so I can kiss her as long as I want, and she moans into my mouth.

“Oh,” I groan, wanting that vibration everywhere. Needing more eyes, lips, and hands. I never have enough of them when I’m with her. When I withdraw, her chest heaves, and her lips are red and full. “Tell me you want it.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “I want it.”

“Explicitly, Petra.”

She swallows, but when she speaks, her voice is husky. “I want to make you feel the way I do. You don’t just get me off, Reed. You cherish me. I want you to feel that. I want you to know it with your cock in my mouth. I want you to picture me when you close your eyes, tesoro mio. I want you to come down my throat. I want your orgasm to belong to me, the way mine belongs to you.”

It’s painful how hard I throb at that. My aural kink mixed with her voice is going to kill me.

“I forgot. I keep forgetting and I don’t know why. Come here, Reed.”

She beckons me in, and between me bending low and her stretching up to my ear, her bare skin presses against mine and sets off fireworks across my body. Petra kisses my jaw, my ear, and then her bound hands nestle my cock between her tits.

“You’re the only man to make me come with his mouth,” she murmurs, feathering her lips across my shoulder. “To make me orgasm when I’m told to. The only man I’ve wanted to talk dirty with, Reed. Your fantasy? I’d do it. I wished I was wearing something sheer on the beach when you unzipped my coat, tesoro. Do you think anyone paid attention to us on the bluffs? I would’ve. Your eyes shined with my nipple in your mouth and your hand around my neck. I loved it, but this time I want you to choke me with something else.”

“Oh my God,” I groan, gripping the seat of the chaise for dear life. The combination of her silken skin and her soft words in my ear send my system into overload. Each syllable is sex—my name is pure sin. Her words pour over me, hot as lava, seeping through my pores and filling me like an empty vessel until I’m drowning in liquid fire.

“Take them off, Reed,” she demands. She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m naked within a second, and her gaze drips, lingers, and warms my skin like hot wax. She might be kneeling with her wrists tied, but I’m completely at her mercy. “Rugby is so underrated,” she mutters.

“Have you ever watched a game?” I ask. She smiles as she shakes her head, then drops away to lick a hot stripe from root to tip, swirling her tongue over the head of my cock before repeating the motion. Her eyes glimmer as she sucks me down, and my hands dive into her hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Pet.”

She retreats, laughing. “Is this how you felt earlier, when I couldn’t think of anything but you? You make me feel invincible. Powerful.”

“You have immense power over me.” I hope she hears it down to her soul. Her smile falters, becomes something soft and warm before she blinks it away and replaces it with one that is positively feline. She reaches between her thighs, and her hand comes up shiny and wet as she wraps it around my cock. I moan as she coats it, working me through her fists until I roll my hips into her touch. “Your cum kink is gonna kill me, Petra.”

“Do I have one?” She grins and lifts back onto her knees and tucks my cock between the warmth of her tits. I play with her nipples, squeezing her tighter around me. She’s so soft. “You said you were obsessed with my breasts, Reed. Hope you don’t mind me using that to my advantage.”

She’s thoroughly enjoying herself. I refuse to blink, determined to commit this moment to memory. “Do you hear me complaining?”

“I think you want to hear me. Right, Reed?”

She keeps saying my name, knowing it drives me wild. The tight, wet slide of our skin is electrifying.

“It’s your turn to confess your favorites. Did you like the crack of your hand on my skin? My voice in your ear? The way I moaned for you? That one does me in, Reed—hearing how desperate you are for me.”

I let her set the pace and run my fingers through her hair, amused, bewildered, utterly captivated. “Jesus. You’re the switch.”

“Am I?” Her eyes widen. “I just love knowing that you want me.”

“You’re the only person I’ve wanted like this, Pet.” I pin her ribs with my knees to hold her there, tilting her head back to devour her. I delve deep into her mouth, my need to dominate her simmering under the surface. When I retreat, she nips her way down my throat and across my chest.

“Does your slow, sleepy scenario include the other way around?” she asks, uncertain again. “If I spent an hour on my knees for you, is that fantasy material?”

I laugh in disbelief. “Is that fantasy material? Petra, you left fantasy in the dust twenty minutes ago.”

“Good,” she says, smirking. She rocks back on her heels and her mouth is everywhere, from my jaw to my thighs. I don’t know what’s hotter, the heat of her, the silk of her lips on my skin, the sound of her sucking like I’m the best thing she’s tasted. It’s torture, because I want each slippery, profane sound, but I also want to bury myself inside her.

I clench my fist around my last shreds of control as she moves over me. Her edging is brutal, and she shows no sign of tiring.

“Petra,” I groan, and her eyes meet mine with a fire in them that makes me throb. I want her tongue playing over my cock, I want her tits, I want her mouth. I want, I want, I want.

“I know,” she sighs against my skin, and I believe her.

I need this to go on forever—I’m worried that I’m going to come in the next ten seconds. “I need to fuck your mouth, baby.”

She moans. “I need it, too.”

I cup her jaw in my hand and guide her down, sliding my cock deep into her throat—not teasing this time, but in earnest. My heart leaps, hammering against my ribs, and sweat drips down my cheek as I hold myself back.

She swallows, tight around my cock, holding me as long as I need before I pull her off and do it again. “That’s it. Look at me, Pet,” I encourage, fucking her mouth deeper, faster. She chokes, eyes tearing up, but doesn’t retreat. If anything, she doubles down, gagging. “Let up if you need to, darling.”

“No,” she protests between panting breaths. Her hands tremble against my thighs. “I trust you. I want you as deep as I can.”

God. Her breath play fascination sends me spiraling. I don’t trust myself with her hair, so I explore her back, splaying my fingers wide over her spine. She moans, pulling me in deeper, and the vibration is everything. Time slows as she looks up at me and works her pretty lips over my cock. She’s not shy as retreats, just to tease me, using her tongue and her fist to drive me insane.

I’m fucking desperate for her, and need builds inside me relentlessly, like a spring coiled too tight. I can’t catch my breath. My muscles bunch, heat radiating through them like a warning bell. “Can you take more?”

Petra nods and opens for me as I slide as far down her throat as possible. There are wet drops on her lashes and her face is flushed. Her eyes crease, like she’d smile if she could. She’s so goddamn sexy.

“If you want to tap out, Pet,” I warn, “now’s the time.”

She swallows around me, and that’s all it takes. The dam of want, need, and fiery desire breaks open, flooding my senses. I come with a groan, spilling down her throat, with Petra’s eyes locked on mine the whole time. She holds onto my sides as she gulps it down, and fuck, she makes me shake.

“God, Petra,” I gasp, and let my head fall back as the world spins. She pulls back to finish swallowing, clutching my thighs for balance as she catches her breath.

“How’s that for tapping out?” Petra huffs a gentle laugh against my skin, placing kisses everywhere she can reach. She’s shivering, but proud. She deserves to be.

“Cheeky woman.” I’m still out of breath when I yank her up off her knees and onto my lap. She loops her bound hands over my head to snuggle closer while I swipe my thumb over her swollen lower lip and massage her jaw. Though she doesn’t show it, she has to be sore. Meanwhile, I’m fantastic. The spinning slowly dissolves into a familiar lightness that makes me sleepy. The only reason my eyes stay open is because I know I’ve only got a limited amount of time left to look at her before I board my plane. If I ever thought I’d be able to walk away from Petra, I was delusional.

I hide my fierce grin in the curve of her neck. “How are you feeling?”

“Me?” she asks. “Your orgasm was mine. I had you breathless and moaning because you wanted me. You might resemble a king on your throne, but right now I feel like a queen.”

Because she is. I cover her with a thousand kisses, craving her skin against mine for as long as possible. Her wrists are pink when I untie her, and I brush my lips to the marks over and over in both apology and reverence.

Petra lifts my head. “I wouldn’t change a thing, tesoro.”

I nod, and when the worry dissipates, pride takes its place. This brave woman, giggling and uneasy just a week ago, sensual and self-assured in my arms. “You amaze me. But next time we’re setting limits and ground rules before I lose my ability to reason. Shower?”

She nods and climbs off my lap. I turn off the mic before I scoop her up and carry her to the bathroom. Her mouth drops open. “Oh my God, I forgot we were recording.”

“I can’t wait to listen to it. I should’ve had the mic on my lap during that audiogasmic scene,” I lament. “I hope it caught your whisper. I’ll play that back every night of my life.”

“Shut up,” Petra laughs, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t know I’m dead serious.

I step into the shower with her, and we kiss under the spray, our hands roaming. When we towel off, her ass is still rosy.

“It’s beyond hot,” I admit, rubbing lotion into her pink skin. “My marks on you. It’s a heady thing.”

“Yeah,” she says, squeezing my arm. “It is.”

When we slide under the covers, naked and tangled together, Petra’s exhausted. She tries to stay awake to talk, but with a few strokes of my fingers over her cheek, her eyes flutter shut.

“Pet?” I ask, when she’s on the edge of sleep. “What does tesoro mio mean?”

“My treasure. My darling,” she mumbles.

She doesn’t wake further, though my heart skips several beats and pounds louder than waves crashing in my ears. I press a tender kiss to her hair as my plan solidifies. I belong here. In Portland. With Petra.

I hold her for a while longer, then grab my laptop and sneak to the living room.

Portland, Portland, Portland.

The city is a lighthouse, beckoning me home.

Chapter thirty

Petra

When I wake, Reed is watching me, his eyes shimmering gold in the morning sun. “Do you like dim sum?” he asks, brushing my hair away from my face. “My flight isn’t until after noon.”

“Oh!” In the haze of last night, I forgot he was leaving. “How are we going to get your car here?”

“Tina’s taking care of it. Dim sum? I researched the best one.”

“You did?” It’s so Reed that I smile, brushing our noses together, which he turns into a deliciously warm, molasses-slow series of kisses. We don’t get out of bed for a long while.

It’s mid-morning before we park at a strip mall with a mom and pop dumpling counter. The place is very Los Angeles: the brown, waxed to-go boxes, the vinegar bar, the smell of pan-fried pork dumplings. It pulls on a heartstring that unravels, right there in line, until I bite my trembling lip to hold myself together. I’m a mess, on the verge of tears because of food, by the time we order. Reed simply holds me until they subside.

We claim a nearby booth, sharing four different types of dumplings, and I wish this moment would last forever. Reed’s face is light and happy, no more shadows, and my stupid heart tumbles over itself. “Reed? This week was amazing. I didn’t realize how much I’d sunk into my shell. I hope you know how special you are. If I hurt later, this was worth it.”

His sweet kiss spreads warmth down to my toes. “Each moment with you is better than the last, Petronia Diamante.”

We walk the mall, prolonging our time together, but eventually Reed leads me back to the car, climbs into the driver’s seat, and drives to a parking lot at PDX. The sounds of traffic and the planes overhead are a heavy reminder that this is the end. My heart sinks, though I yell at it for being unreasonable.

I help Reed gather his bags from my trunk and push my unruly hair back, searching for a way to keep this from being awkward. “Well, have good flight, and a good life, and a—”

“Petra,” he says.

I avoid his eyes. “—good afterlife, I guess.”

“Petra.”

“Not that,” I fumble. “I mean, I’m sure it will be a good one. You’re a good person. A great person. I didn’t mean to make this about death. Please be careful flying.”

“Pet, stop.” Reed reaches for my anxiously twisting hands. “You don’t have to find all the right words. It sucks. Me leaving, you living in Swift River. It’s okay for us to say that sucks.”

I blow out a frustrated breath, trying to hold my ridiculous heart in one piece. “Please, we knew this was nothing.”

“Don’t lie,” Reed says, brushing my hair back. “You put me back in the driver’s seat of my own life. You reminded me that I’m more than a voice, fantasy, or object. You gave back something that was stolen from me. Don’t tell me that was nothing.”

I nod, humbled, and lift our hands to press a kiss to his knuckles before letting go. “Okay.”

Reed stares at me expectantly. “This is the part where you tell me I changed your life.”

“Reed!” I push him away, but he pulls me in for a hug, laughing.

“It’s alright, my prickly, tarty girl. I already know.”

It’s easier to say it against his neck. “I told you things I’ve never told anyone. I let you see the darkest parts of me. No, it wasn’t nothing.”

“I loved every minute of it. Speaking of—” Reed clears his throat and pulls away to tug a flash drive from his pocket. “This is for you.”

The recording we made together. I don’t know if I’ll ever listen to it. Maybe years from now, when I can’t remember it as clearly. Right now it would be too painful. I pocket the drive, clenching my fist to avoid rubbing at the ache in my chest. I knew we were temporary fun, but it smarts.

Words pile up behind my lips. I’ll treasure our time together. I’ll miss you. I don’t know that anyone will not-fuck me the way you did. All of them sound desperate. I force a smile. “I’m not sorry I made you work for every bit of it.”

Reed laughs—God, he has the best laugh—and cups my face in his hands to kiss me again. “I’m not either. But this isn’t a final goodbye. I’ll call you. And I’ll ask around and see who might be able to get your book to an agent.”

“If you want.” There’s a numbness creeping over me. Before he walked into the grocery store I was fairly sure I was dead inside, but I was just sleeping. I’m ready to go back to sleep until the pain heals over.

Reed frowns at me, cupping my cheek. “Petra. Don’t shut down. We’re going to stay friends. I’m going to call you, you’re going to answer, we’re going to have hot as fuck phone sex—”

“Reed!” I hiss, but he grins.

“Don’t deny it. Our chemistry? Done deal.” Reed wraps his arms around me until we’re nose to nose. “Promise me you’ll do more than exist. That you’ll answer when I call. Promise you’re not going to leave me on read.”

“I do that to everyone. I’m horrible at texting back.” He’s unimpressed, but I don’t budge. He’ll move on soon enough, and my promises won’t matter. I swallow my pride. “Kiss me goodbye?”

His eyes soften as he traces his thumb over my lips. He kisses me slowly, thoroughly, and I commit each touch and sound to memory. I bury my fingers in his soft hair, trace the shape of his ear, cradle his stubbly jaw in my hand—a tactile impression of him. “Goodbye, Petra.”

“Goodbye, Reed,” I whisper and let go.

He heads down the terminal walkway, but I can’t watch him go. I dart to the car and bury my face in my hands. I work through it, blinking back hot tears and sucking in deep breaths, and consider how to move forward.

If I go back home, the memory of his lips will fade, replaced with my parents bickering. Reed is the most passionate experience I’ve ever had, and—fleeting or not—I want to preserve it. I want to remember, ten years from now, how it felt to be wanted and adored by him.

A quick glance in my rearview mirror confirms that he’s gone.

Good.

I call in sick and drive back to the coast. I blush as I park along the rocky shoreline, remembering what we did yesterday. The things he said, the way he touched me. Petra Diamante, practically topless on the coastal cliffs, saying things I never dreamed I’d find the courage to admit. He unlocked something in me that I hope to affirm on my own. That sex doesn’t have to be scary. That I don’t have to be demure or perfect.

Reed gave me the template of what right is supposed to feel like. I owe him everything for that. It’s easy to imagine him on the sand: laughing, teasing me, his soft voice in my ear. Losing Reed’s companionship hurts more than losing the incredible almost-sex between us.

As I watch the gulls, I imagine it could be more.

That my life could be as beautiful and full of wonder as this moment. That it could be vibrant all the time, rather than only in my memories. Reed would call, and I would visit. We would spend sunny afternoons together with the warmth on our faces, and hold each other in the middle of the night.

The magic of the sunset, as it spreads out from gold, to pink, to fiery red over the ocean, makes it seem within reach.

Then I exhale, and let the dream flutter away on the wind.

Chapter thirty-one

Petra

MARCH

Days pass, as boring as before. While Reed was here, Swift River blossomed, full of life and color. In his absence, there’s only my nosy family and long days at the grocery store. I fall into my old routine, minus the DKP audios. I cancel my subscription, unwilling to replace the real, warm, funny Reed with a fantasy in my head.

It used to be that my imagination would fly straight to Galin whenever I had spare time. While I still love it there, more of my free moments are stuck on Reed. What did he have for breakfast? What is he recording today? What geographic wonder is he exploring, and is there anyone sitting next to him? Does anyone tell him how beautiful he looks when draped in sunshine? I miss his arms around me, his smug smile, his midnight confessions.

When the ache hits, I pull up the photo he sent of us in front of the waterfall. There aren’t shadows in either of our faces there. I want to tell him about my day, or ask him about his. I want to make up imaginary lands with him and watch his dimple appear when he laughs. But he doesn’t call.

Livi calls repeatedly, but I send each one to voicemail. I’m not ready to hear how I should’ve handled things.

Papa sits with me late at night, after Bella Vita closes. We don’t speak about Reed or Natalia, but instead Papa slips quietly into Italian and shares his childhood memories while living in Parma.

He’s a good storyteller, and I soak up the moments we have together. But my chest aches, even in his company. No amount of antacids, family remedies, or late night stories makes it fade.

Swift River, as a whole, is taking the gossip seriously. I’ve always been sweet Petra, kind Petra, heartbroken Petra, poor-thing Petra. Now I’m slutty Petra. They assumed a lot about me and Nate—that I wasn’t enough for Nate to stay. I wasn’t, but Reed taught me that Nate also wasn’t enough for me.

So I let people think some guy blazed through town and I ended up in his bed quicker than dandruff. I stay silent, saving all the best parts of Reed for myself. The occasional woman leans over the conveyor belt and says, “Good for you, honey,” and I smile back unabashedly. No more shame.

Family dinner comes and goes, and I force myself not to retreat to the corner. Tommy pours me a glass of wine, and we huddle together on the sofa and take turns making Hailey laugh. “Did you ever call Annamaria?” I ask quietly, so no one else can hear.

Tommy shifts under the weight of my stare. “Yes. I’m dating Jasmin. Only Jasmin.”

“I’m proud of you,” I say, and Tommy meets my smile with his own.

Livi must tell the group chat that Reed flew home, because Silla texts me the next morning.

Hey, Troni. Haven’t heard from you. How are you holding up?

I’m fine

Yeah, you sound super fine. Talk to me.

I switch my phone to silent and tread back into Galin, where the pretty pastels and bright, sunny afternoons chase away my gloom. My writing method shifts in a monumental way. Instead of living vicariously through Natalia, she and I work together. I appreciate her journey instead, watching her learn and grow.

I dive into my earliest installations, editing them with a practiced eye compared to when I’d written them. Something foreign moves through me, and I can’t place it. Optimism, determination, ambition? None of those words quite fit.

I’m pondering it as I get ready for work, but my phone chimes with a text from Reed, and all my thoughts derail.

Hey Pet. Call me after your shift?

It’s been six days, but his words still linger in my ear. It’s not fair, not fair, because text should be a layer of defense against him and his voice that makes me melt, but it’s not. I wasn’t delusional enough to assume he’d call me when he landed, but the week apart confirmed my suspicions. Naked people don’t stay friends, and I’m not about to be his booty call.

I don’t text back.

Instead, I send my first four installments of Natalia’s series to a local print shop. It’s my first time printing any of my work, and anxiety builds in my stomach. What if I see it and hate it? But with Reed gone, I need something tangible. A dream that’s within reach. I need to hold hope in my hands.

Zia Carla corners me at the register—I swear she shops for gossip, not groceries. “Will you come to Rosary tomorrow, Petra? Maybe reconnecting with God will bring you clarity. Help you find your path.”

I bristle, but I’m saved from answering when an unfamiliar blonde rushes up to the register. “Sorry, but someone’s alarm is going off in the parking lot!”

Perfect timing. Maybe God does remember me.

I smile at Carla before I turn to the girl. She’s striking, with light blue eyes and a lithe figure I haven’t had since I was eight. “What kind of car?”

“A white one?” she guesses with a smile, and I laugh.

“Hey, Ray?” I call over to him. “Could you help Carla to her car and also check out the car alarm that’s going off in the parking lot? I’ll broadcast it.”

“Sure thing. Carla, how’re your boys?” Ray takes her arm and walks her to the doors.

“Sorry,” the girl says, grabbing a soda and a candy bar. “I’m not observant. I can barely remember my own.” She shrugs before turning and taking a selfie right in the checkout aisle. Her wide smile is contagious, and I scan her items with a laugh.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I’m not either. Most days, my yellow scrape is the only beacon I need. Do you want a bag?”

“That’s okay. I’m only getting something because I have to use your bathroom—the gas station was just—no.” She grimaces. “I’m trying to hit some waterfalls in the area on my drive south.”

“Monty’s not known for his cleanliness,” I admit. “Have you gone up to the waterfall loop? I was there the other day. They’re running fast from the recent rain. Only if you have someone with you, though. It’s not a great idea to hike alone.”

She blinks her huge, blue eyes at me. “Who do you usually go with?”

I press against my sternum and the rough pang that vibrates there. “Oh. I had a friend but…it’s just me for now. My brother might be up for it.” I take a moment to consider the truth of it. Tommy’s pretty athletic, and we’re growing closer every day.

“Wish I had a brother to hang out with. I’m just passing through, but who knows? Maybe I’ll be back sooner than later.” She smiles as she passes me a bill, and squints to read my nametag. “Thanks for the tip, though, Petra. I’m sure you get this all the time, but you have beautiful eyes.”

“Oh, thank you. Nothing like yours, though. You’re gorgeous.” I’m sad that she’s not sticking around. Reed only knew me from what I decided to share. I’d love to have other friends like that. People I connect with, not because of proximity, but because of a shared camaraderie. I hand her the change and her receipt with a smile. “I hope you have a great trip wherever you’re headed. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks. You too.” She smiles at me and heads for the bathroom.

The afternoon drags. Each tick of the clock is one minute closer to holding the kingdom of Galin in my hand. I can’t wait to run to the print shop to pick it up. But the store grows busier, and Ray finds me a half hour before my shift is over. “Nancy called in sick. Could you stay an extra couple of hours? Maybe you want to make some up from calling out last week?”

Guilt sits in my stomach. I wasn’t sick, and Nancy covered my entire shift for me while I was at the beach. “Yeah, no problem. I can stay until a replacement comes in.” Ray squeezes my arm in relief.

But by the time I finish my shift, the print shop is closed. I swallow my disappointment as I walk to the car. I squint at it from several spaces away, where something glints in red on my window. I grit my teeth at the bright lipstick streaks that spell out whore. The judgment in this town is unreal.

I turn, though I know the culprit is long gone, and slump against the side. “Maybe I just wanted some dick!” I huff. “How terrible would that be?”

Better than half-falling in love with some guy in a week.

At least Reed would be proud that I said something about wanting dick in a public parking lot. I laugh, and there’s a warmth in my chest that has me aching to text him. He takes away the power of the lipstick on the window, and I grin as the sanitizing wipes in my glove compartment smear it beyond recognition.

I manage to hold on to my blasé attitude through the night and into Sunday morning. There’s no follow up text from Reed, and hurt mixes with relief. I knew it wouldn’t take much to get him to lose interest, and dangling unrealistic possibilities in front of me would only prevent me from moving on.

I don’t go to Rosary, but I do spend the day away from my laptop. I leave my headphones at home and follow a small hiking path to a nearby waterfall, embracing the fresh air. Reed’s voice echoes in my head, pointing out forest features that send my imagination soaring.

I want to tell him about the Marionberry fairies, or the Walloping Woodpeckers who are the service detail to their Queen. I lean against a tree, typing out the whole story to him of the queen’s thwarted assassination attempt by the cruel leader of the scrub jays.

I swallow the thump in my throat and delete the block of text, stuffing the phone in my pocket.

After I regroup with an iced coffee, I head to the print shop, where Georgie Faulk is working behind the counter. “Petra!” he greets me with a smile.

“Georgie.” I smile right back. At seventeen, Georgie still has a round face that hasn’t matured as fast as the rest of him. He’s tall and stocky, with a mischievous but sweet smile that makes his face cherubic. “I heard Darin had to pick you up.”

His cheeks darken and he throws me a sheepish grin. “Yeah. Apparently senior pranks have a legal limit.”

“What did you do? Don’t tell me the rest of them hung you out to dry?”

“We might’ve let a bunch of goats and pigs loose on campus over in Herinsford. They ate…everything. Bushes, grass down to the root, banners, posters.” He bites back a smile, not sorry about messing with our rival school. “Their football field was covered in shit.”

“Georgie!” I reprimand, but we both laugh. “Well? What’s your punishment?”

“Community service. We borrowed Big Billy’s animals, so we all have to help out on the farm.” I imagine Big Billy’s mustache twitched in approval when he found out how his ‘borrowed’ animals had been used. “I, uh, hope you don’t mind, Petra. I kind of saw what you were working on. I won’t say anything, but it’s pretty cool. Something my little sis would like.”

“Thanks.” Warmth builds inside me. Maybe she would like it. Maybe Natalia could make a difference—could be loved by someone more than just me. I smile at him as he hands me a paper bag with my spiral-bound copy heavy inside. “See you around, Georgie.”

I wait until I’m in the car before I unwrap it.

Tales of Galin: Natalia’s Pixie Power by Petronia Diamante.

Before Reed, I never would’ve dreamed of using my full name, but it feels right. A world-changing name, Reed said, though he’s the one who changed my world. I brush my fingers over the title.

Natalia, Natalia, Natalia. Her name doesn’t shatter me. Finally, I have a memory of her that’s more than grief, heartbreak, or bitter dreams. This is my love for her in ink.

The weight of it hits me. I’ve done something incredible. I took an idea and made it real. I finished it, unlike how I never finished school, or got married, or raised Natalia. Not all my dreams are outside my grasp. Not anymore.

The tears climb up my throat before I can check them, and Reed’s voice fills my ears. Just cry, baby.

And I do. I bury my head in my hands and sob. The sunlight bakes into me as tears pour out. Each one is a drop of grief, depression, anger, fear—all the emotions that held me hostage and tied me down over the last nine years. Each breaks the hold they had on me.

I want to share this with Reed. He knows what it means to create. Knows the terrifying and thrilling knowledge that it will be in someone else’s hands. That my words will live outside of me. I glance to my side, expecting to see my best friend joined at my hip, but there’s just an empty space. That’s what he is. A sexy best friend, definitely, but someone who saw me, called me out on my lies. Held me.

I hope he felt seen, understood, and valued, too.

But Reed is a world away. In a pathetic and desperate effort to be closer to him, I get a waffle from Imelda’s Diner and nibble on it in my car while I reread Natalia’s story. Galin is as vibrant as ever: Natalia’s little woodland village, her pastel mini unicorn, even the way I imagined she’d look at eight years old. All of it is vivid in my mind.

It’s a short read for an adult, perfect for the ten-year-old bracket, and packed full of adventure. The obstacles are huge for little Natalia, but she and her friends use kindness with a warrior’s ferocity to overcome them.

More changes need to be made, but since I have a large number of installments written, I can weave bigger arcs throughout the series. Its flaws don’t diminish its beauty. These winged pages will carry Natalia’s name into the future, instead of whispered quietly through tears in the dark.

Hope fills the place inside of me that was cold and empty. I curl up on the seat, with my book tucked to my chest, and fall asleep in full sun—warm and whole, all on my own.

When I wake, the sun sits low on the horizon. I park in the street, surprised to see so many cars in front of my parents’ home. I arm myself with my manuscript, but hesitate on the porch. My family might hate it. Worse than that, they might not want to remember Natalia, or understand what she means to me. I hide it in my tote to share later, when I’m ready. If I’m ever ready.

Laughter spills out the front door, and I steel myself in the hallway.

“Troni!” a voice squeals. I’m engulfed in a tight hug, and Silla’s smiling face presses to mine. She’s emphasized her tight curls with a short haircut that makes her appear even more mischievous than before. We could’ve passed for twins as children, but now we’re complete opposites, from hair to clothing to confidence.

“Silla.” I clutch her shoulders and blink back fresh tears.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me.” Silla laughs weakly, and I nod against her.

“I’m ecstatic. What are you doing here? It’s not Sunday! Where’s Josie?”

“She had to work. But Livi and I decided it was time for a visit. It doesn’t have to be Sunday to have family dinner, you know? I’m staying tonight, and I’ll head back to Seattle tomorrow.”

Silla drove four hours to be with me.

“Thank you,” I say, pulling her in for another hug. Second to Reed, it’s her I want to share Natalia with. But before she can let go, everyone barrels into us with hugs, as though we’ve all been apart too long. Maybe we have been—me disconnected by my grief, Silla by distance, Tommy by secrets.

As one big Diamante family, we take a collective inhale. Everything fits into place, though there are gaps around the edges—Reed and Josie—and those passed on: Nonno, Nonna, Zio David, Natalia. But the links around me are strong. I shouldn’t have neglected them when all they wanted was to help carry my burdens.

Like a dam, I burst open, all my feelings pouring out into their arms. “I’m sorry.” I sob through tears that blind me. “I cut myself off. I forgot how to lean on you. I lost myself. I’m so sorry I forgot how to be part of this family.”

“No need to say you’re sorry, stellina,” Papa says, rubbing my back.

Mama squeezes my shoulder. “The words you’re looking for are, ‘I love you.’”

It’s been too long since we’ve said it.

“I love you,” I say, and then Livi does, and then it echoes all around me. There are murmurs over and over, like the Rite of Peace at church. Even Antonio and Lilly’s little voices join in, giggling, unsure of exactly what we’re doing. Our chorus merges into one, and love moves through us like magic.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Sunday Mass comes to us, and church lives in our kitchen.

Chapter thirty-two

Petra

When we wipe away our tears, I clutch Livi to me. Our behavior as children isn’t a valid reason to keep shutting her out. She’s right here, showing an interest in my life, wanting me to be happy, bringing Silla home. I’ve done her a disservice by pushing her away. “Thank you.”

“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for the silent treatment,” Livi warns. Even with Hailey on her hip, she’s freakishly strong as she drags Silla and me into the living room. She shoos everyone else out, but Tommy lingers. “Girl time! Go away.”

“Let him in, Liv,” I say, taking the baby. “He’s as much of a gossip as you.”

Livi huffs, but lets it go. “Alright, what happened with Reed?”

“He was visiting, he went home. End of story.”

“Hey, I want auntie time,” Silla says, stealing Hailey. “I missed it all. Livi says Reed was head over heels for you. How long was he here?”

“A week,” I snorted. “Livi’s fantasizing. You can’t fall in love with someone that fast.”

Silla shrugs, eyes on Hailey. “I was in love with Josie by the end of our first date. I mean, I didn’t say it that fast, but I knew.”

“Reed went back to his life. I’m back to mine. It’s all good. No heartbreak,” I pin Livi with a glare, “and no life-changing revelations.”

I pause, considering that, and Livi spots it. “Liar,” she says.

She’s right. I need to let them in. “Gimme a sec.”

“That’s fine,” Silla coos as I stand up. “Just gonna wait here with the cutest baby in the whole world.”

I can hear Tommy’s dry tone as I walk down the hall. “Have you told Josie you’re desperate for a baby?”

“I’m not desperate,” Silla retorts. “We’re fine without. I’m getting my baby fix now. What about you, dating multiple girls?”

“Hey, I’m down to one,” he protests. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only one with issues.

I collect my manuscript with trepidation. There will be no going back from this, no pretending that this part of me has faded. I sink into the sofa next to Silla, but her hands are full, whereas Tommy is perched on the coffee table right in front of me. I pass it to him first.

“What is it?” Livi asks, but I don’t answer. I play with Hailey’s hand so I don’t have to watch Tommy’s reactions while he reads the first few pages.

“You wrote this?” Tommy asks. His face is filled with a wonder I’ve only seen a few times—once when the twins were born. “You don’t talk about her at all. I never thought—”

“What is happening?” Livi snatches the book from him. Her eager gaze melts into one of heartbreak, and I have to turn away. I don’t need Livi’s high emotions clawing their way into my chest and becoming my own.

What I’m not prepared for is Tommy leaning forward to take my hand. “Troni.” It reminds me of the last time we were vulnerable with each other. When he couldn’t save a woman and worried I’d end up the same. “Why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t about Nate?”

I squeeze Tommy’s hand and he squeezes right back. “It was, a little.”

“You’re going to keep writing, yeah? Publish it?” he asks. Livi trades Silla, a baby for a manuscript, and tears course down Livi’s face as she tucks Hailey in close. Livi, who struggled carrying twins, knows the fear of losing them.

“I started writing it a long time ago. This is one through four. Of twenty-two.”

“Twenty-two?” Tommy’s eyebrows sit high. “You’ve been sitting on this for a twenty-two book span?”

I nod. Silla tucks the pages between us as she pulls me into her chest. Livi drops into the cushions on my other side, Tommy leans in, and then it’s a big ball of us. All the Diamante kids, constantly divided, now congealed around each other more firmly than a clump of cold noodles.

I didn’t need Reed to see me, or fill the void in my life. I needed this. My siblings and their unending love and support.

We sit in the quiet for a minute, but then everyone’s got something to say. “I’m proud of you,” Tommy starts. “But here me out: Natalia’s fox friend should be named after me.”

“Lilly’s going to want to read them all,” Livi adds. “Natalia’s adventures are totally her speed.”

“How did you picture Natalia?” Silla asks, pulling out her phone. “Do you want to add illustrations? One of my good friends in Seattle is an illustrator, and she does art for books all the time. Let me pull up her profile.”

Our usual silence is filled in with praise, suggestions, and jokes. It’s foreign for us to talk about Natalia without crying. For us to say her name with joy. For her to be a light, not a shadow on our happiness. I can finally breathe, and the grief I’ve carried lightens with each one.

Natalia, Natalia, Natalia. Her name is a salvation.

“I’d love illustrations,” I say. “But I don’t know that anything will come of this.”

“Are you kidding?” Livi asks. She’s got the book in her hands again, flipping avidly through the chapters. “You have to publish!”

“Nothing about this to the parents yet, okay? It’s a lot in one night.”

They all agree, and it’s Silla’s laugh in my ear that makes it all perfect. “Keeping secrets like we’re kids again. Did we fool Ma with the missing marshmallows?”

“Not in a million years, Silly.” Silla and I share a grin identical to when we were middle schoolers. When we join the others for dinner, we’re the band of thieves we were twenty years ago, except now Livi and Tommy are on our team.

“Hey, Liv,” I ask, as we head to the kitchen. “Would you go to Rosary with me sometime? I can’t handle Mama and Carla on my own.”

Livi quickly masks her surprise with a smile and a squeeze on my arm. “Absolutely. Whenever you’re ready. And when you’re ready to share your story, Mama will love it. You know she and Zia attend every Rosary for Natalia, right?” I suck down a gasp, but there is no lie in Livi’s eyes. My heart balloons in my chest.

Mama and I were never close, but I should’ve known.

Everyone finds a seat but me. I quietly refill Mama’s glass of wine, kissing her cheek as I set it beside her plate. She squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back. Though we say nothing, it’s more than enough.

The next morning, Silla and I creep down the stairs to surprise Mama and Papa with breakfast.

“So, about Reed,” Silla says as she cracks eggs over a large bowl. “How far off is Livi?”

“Far, but not outer space far. I like him, Silly. He’s funny, kind, mischievous, a little dirty.” My mouth quirks up at that. “A lot dirty. You’d get a kick out of him.”

Silla pushes my arm, laughing. “Petra! Even in your wild years, you were always quiet about sex. Did he pull you out of your shell? Is he amazing in bed?”

“He…Okay, no judgment? He’s an erotic voice actor. When I met Reed, his voice was so sexy, and I’d just been listening to one of his scenes so—”

Silla’s jaw is on the floor. “You listen to naughty stories. You went out with a naughty storyteller. You. Petronia.”

“No judgment, remember?”

“Oh, I’m not judging! My friend Giselle is a cam girl—you do you. But you, Good Girl Petra, don’t do that.” She barks out a laugh. “Apparently you do! Get it, girl!”

I grin and smack her shoulder. “Shut up. Anyway, I didn’t hide it well. He assumed I recognized him and then we spent time together. I got to know him, and it got messy. Not externally, but internally. I do miss him.”

Silla frowns. “He’s an asshole if he made you think you had something together and then he ditched.”

“He texted me the other day, but I didn’t respond.” I wanted to. So bad. My fingers locked up around my phone when I deleted my text to him, begging me to reconsider.

“What?” Silla’s brown eyes are round in her face. “You like him, he likes you, he wants to continue talking and you don’t call? Have I taught you nothing?”

I roll my eyes at her, but my heart picks up speed, jumping on Silla’s train. “It wouldn’t work, anyway. He doesn’t know if he’s moving to San Diego or Iowa or who knows where. Long distance always fails.”

Silla grabs my shoulders. “Troni, planes exist for a reason. You’re not paying rent, you don’t go out, you’re obviously not spending your money on clothes—can I please take you shopping? You’re squirreling your money away. Use it to see him, or use it to move wherever you want. Make it happen. Whether it works with Reed or not, you’ll be where you want to be.”

“It’s expensive.”

Silla raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re defensive.”

“Okay, Reed,” I mock.

“Oh, he saw you under all the layers. No wonder you’re running.” Silla nods, determination pulling over her features. “Call him this afternoon, or I’m doing it for you.”

I bite my lip in hesitation, but I miss him like crazy. “I have to work.”

“Call. Him.”

“I’ll consider it.” Silla narrows her eyes, but lets me go so I can pour the eggs into a hot pan. I love having her here. I didn’t realize that the distance between us was brutal until I got her back. “Sill, what if I moved to Seattle?”

“Seriously? I’d love to have you close by! You could stay with me and Josie for a while, or Giselle, since you’re cool with her work. You could do that on the side, you know, if you wanted to earn extra,” she says with a wink.

I roll my eyes. “No one wants to see a cam girl over thirty.”

“Uh, people love that. And your whole girl-next-door thing? Super hot.”

“Pass. If I were to do anything, it would be like Reed. Audio appeals to me.”

Silla hums. “You’re an auralist. Not super uncommon, though most people don’t lean into it that far. I’m proud of you. You were always Papa’s good girl who went to church and pretended sex didn’t exist outside of your bed. Just talking to me about this? It’s a whole new Petra. You aren’t hiding either side of you, and I love that.”

Something settles in my chest at her words. Though I look the same, I feel different. More confident.

“Seattle’s less than four hours away,” she notes. “Portland is an hour. You can find big city life up here, too. It’s not Los Angeles or bust, you know? You could have it all. Us and the life you want.”

“We need to see each other more often,” I sigh, wrapping my arms around her. The bubble of hope swelling in my chest is terrifying. More terrifying than growing old alone in my parents’ house—or worse, me and Tommy growing old here together.

When Silla leaves after breakfast, I wait for life to return to normal. I wait for the hope in my chest to fizzle out. For the spark of new life to fade to ash. For the varnish over my reality to yellow and brown, and wipe the color from my world.

But it doesn’t.

Reed texts again.

Do you still spend nights in the tub with me? Call me. Please.

But I can’t bring myself to do it. I edit Natalia’s story, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for Reed to move on.

I dream of a studio in Portland with barely enough space to write, and a window looking out over the bustling, wet street. A wall full of ideas and illustrations for Natalia’s series, and new friends that come over and eat delicious food.

At night, tucked in the corner of the dream, is a hope beyond hope.

The impossible version of my dream turns the studio into a three-bedroom house. Ours, my office, and Reed’s sound booth. We would drive each other crazy—both working from home—but the dream doesn’t care. We’d find happiness together when Reed works through story ideas with me, or when he pulls me into his sound booth for recordings that make me blush.

Our families would visit, filling up our kitchen with laughter. We’d come home for occasional Sunday dinners, or drive up to Seattle. We’d fly to see his sister and his family, and we’d eat puppy chow together on a park bench in Iowa.

That dream is cradled in the dark of my heart. It’s a mushroom, growing steadily despite my lack of optimism. Flourishing, despite the toxic stuff I’ve buried deep down.

Until I want nothing more than for it to be real.

Chapter thirty-three

Reed

Amanda’s house constantly looks like a tornado has blown through it. She cleans every day, sometimes twice a day, but her kids are no match for her. Brooke and Janie tear down the hallway, chasing after each other, when I lunge forward and swoop them both up in my arms. They squeal and giggle, and we all collapse in a heap on the floor.

“You’re great with them,” Amanda notes as I bury Janie under another round of tickles. “How about you play mom today? I’ll go get a massage.”

“Wait, stop!” Janie yells amongst her giggles, and I let her up. “Brooke took my tablet because hers ran out of battery!”

I pull a face at Amanda. “Nope. Sounds like a you problem.” I know my boundaries as a fun uncle. If I want to keep my fantastic relationship with Amanda, parenting is not my turf.

I squeeze past Amanda and into the guest room, letting her discipline her kids in peace. I slump to the floor with my laptop, checking my phone for the millionth time. There are hundreds of notifications, but none of them bear her name.

Nine days since I left Portland, and Petra hasn’t texted me back. Hasn’t called. The recording should’ve gotten an instant reaction, but it didn’t, and I’m trying not to push.

I held off on texting for as long as I could, but it’s a daily struggle to grant her space. I pushed her boundaries before, and it was exactly what she needed.

Maybe she needs time, which is what I should be taking. It’s hard to do when I don’t want to miss a moment with her. I’m ready for months to have gone by with her by my side. Ready for people to get off my back about whether it will last.

If she’s as broken up about this as me right now, it’s gonna last.

I shoot off a quick text, aiming for flirtation, but desperation clings on at the end.

Got a brand new bag of puppy chow this morning, and I’m thinking of you. Call me. Text me. Beep me. I’m not picky.

“Have you thought about putting on some daytime clothes?” Amanda grimaces from the doorway. “You know, I love having you here, Reed…”

“Sounds like a ‘but’ coming.”

“But I let you retreat into your moping cave for long enough.” She sinks down to the floor next to me with a coffee as a peace offering. “If she’s not responding, then maybe the sparks weren’t there on her side.”

I considered that, or whether the thumb drive scared her off. But doubt only creeps within the shadows of her absence. “She’s scared of getting hurt. If you’d seen her before me—seen the way she came alive over a few days. With a little care, she bloomed.”

“Well, you’re not blooming, you’re brooding. How’s therapy going?”

I shrug. “We’re working through some important things. He thinks Petra was a great catalyst for me to get my act together. I’m done running, Amanda.”

“That’s amazing. But she can’t be the only reason you’re moving forward,” Amanda retorts. I grimace, and she places a warm hand on my arm. “Just…work on your own life. Then, if you still want Petra, I’ll be on board.”

“They don’t go hand in hand,” I argue. “I’m still going to want her.”

“Prove it to me. Go for a walk in town, book a gig. Find a place to live. Something.”

I bite my tongue. Amanda has no idea that I’ve already put an offer in on the house in San Diego, without any intent to leave Petra behind. Amanda also has no idea that I’ve been staying up until four in the morning to work. I’ve been recording radio commercials for prescription medications and narrating a young adult fantasy novel. I hadn’t seriously considered narration before Petra, but it’s a blast. I can’t record anything here during the day with all the fighting, stomping, and giggling going on, or I would immerse myself in it.

“I’m working on housing.” A half truth. “I definitely need a studio again.”

“You need to decide where you want to be. And don’t factor Petra into the equation.” I open my mouth, ready to spill the beans, but one of the girls cries out in the other room. Amanda sighs, pats my arm, and heaves herself off the floor. “Any chance you’d take one or both of the girls with you?”

“Dibs on Janie,” I declare, but the question reminds me of Petra and the baby she lost. Natalia would be eight by now, and judging by the entire Diamante family, she’d look just like her mother. The image sends a pang through me, though she wasn’t my child to lose.

I search through the Portland listings again. Each time I’ve combed through them, the ones in my budget are too cold, tiny, or outdated. But today, buried near the bottom of a page, is a new listing for a comfortably sized house. It’s light and whimsical. A few bedrooms, a large dining space, a modest backyard, and huge windows overlooking the river. It’s got a small-town feel, but is only fifteen minutes from the heart of the city, and it’s a steal.

It’s meant for me. For us.

I dial the number on the listing, heart pounding. I’ve never moved on anything this fast in my life. “Hi, I’m Reed Alexander, calling about the house on Rosewood Court. Is it still available? Are there any offers being considered yet? Perfect. Yes, I’m interested. My realtor will be in touch shortly about an inspection and next steps. Great, thanks.”

I hang up, and the ball of nervous energy I’ve been carrying around spreads throughout my system. I’m buzzing, but with exhilaration. I’ll have a new home, in a city that calls to me. I’ll start fresh there. I’ll make new friends, and fly Amanda out twice a year, like I promised. And if everything goes the way I want it to, I’ll take Petra out on as many dates as she needs for her to see what I do—that we would be incredible together.

I call Isaac and explain how I want to move forward. He puts together a letter of interest, contingent on an inspection and a rental period until escrow closes.

It’s the last puzzle piece sliding into place. My sluggishness from being bogged down with uncertainty and indecision floats away and disappears. I shower and emerge from my ‘moping cave,’ as a new person.

“Done with hibernation?” Amanda asks as I settle in next to her and the kids on the sofa. Janie’s head bounces to the song in the movie they’re watching, and my heart melts.

“Yeah. I made a choice.”

“Good.” Amanda smiles and ruffles my hair. “Time to make another one. You haven’t spent any time with Mom since you got back.”

“I know.” I call Mom, who immediately declares we’re going to lunch, just the two of us. An hour later, I park in front of a brightly painted display window of the diner, and she’s waiting for me.

“Reed,” she greets, opening her arms wide, dark blue eyes sparkling. Her short, honey-blonde hair catches the light as she moves. “You look good. Healthy.”

“Hi, Mom.” I squeeze her and kiss the top of her head. She smells the same as she always has, like home and warmth. The Pie Chart was our favorite spot to spend time together while she and Dad were going through their divorce. She always wanted us to feel special, and if that meant a slice of cherry pie at the end of a long day, she made it happen. “You do too. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been right here this whole time,” she reminds me as we slide into a bright red booth. The place is clean, but retro, and is exactly the same as when I was ten.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been by, Mom—”

She pins me with a look. “Amanda told me you’re too busy being lovesick over a stranger to leave the house.”

I wince, sipping my water to stall her interrogation. “Petra is only a stranger when you measure by time.”

Mom rubs her forehead like she’s got a headache coming on. “That’s usually how people measure relationships. Time.”

“Maybe they shouldn’t. Nine years living with someone who doesn’t understand you and it’s considered a long-term relationship? Or a person you thought you knew drags you through absolute hell, yet we should get engaged because it’s been several months? What kind of measurements are those?”

Mom has the decency to wince. “Normal ones. Reed, I know how headstrong you can be, and how sensitive you are. But your examples are not the norm. You don’t know this woman. Sometimes fierce connections burn hot and fast, leaving nothing but ash.”

I hold back my argument, because I won’t walk away from the woman who brought me back to myself. Who makes me laugh, sends my pulse racing, and has forest eyes that shine each time she looks at me.

Romeo and Juliet couldn’t get over each other either. They met, married, and died in less than a week. I used to think that was shit, but now it’s easy to see how they could get swept up and behave irrationally. Even Titanic took place over four days, and the movie was hailed as the greatest love in a century.

“Maybe,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean Petra and I can’t date. Take it slow.”

“Of course, no one is saying that.” Mom smiles, relief spreading over her face. It lightens stress lines around her mouth. Little wrinkles that my choices put there. “Taking it slow is perfect. Now, what about the rest of it? Move in with me for a while. You can stay in your old room, get back on your feet, and save up again.”

“Actually, you’re the first to know—I put together an offer on a house in Portland. It’s a ridiculously low price.”

“You what? I—you—Reed. Couldn’t you move somewhere closer?” Mom sits back, white with surprise. “What happened to taking it slow?”

“Petra and I can take it slow better when I’m only an hour away. Plus, it’s a nonstop flight from Des Moines,” I offer with a wink. “Less than four hours.”

Mom sighs, her eyes flitting across the table like she’s arguing with herself.

“Honestly, I thought you were going to yell at me,” I admit, and Mom glares at me. I give her an apologetic version of a smile, trying not to poke the bear. “Want to tell me why you’re not?”

“I should. I want to. In fact, I want you to take back the offer on the house and live with me. I want you to stop pining over a woman you knew for a few days.” She leans forward and pokes me firmly in the shoulder with one, bony finger. “I want you to get a job where women don’t assume they know you because you’re a voice on the internet!”

“Mom—”

She deflates, pinching her nose. “But most of all, I want you to be happy. And that means putting all my wants for you aside and letting you choose your own life.”

“Wow, Mom…” It’s not remotely what I expected. “Is that years of family and marriage counseling talking?”

“Be grateful I had it,” she warns, “or this would be an entirely different conversation. What is it about Portland, Reed? Please tell me it’s more than Petra.”

“It is. I promise. It’s got the hustle and pocket neighborhoods of LA, plus all the charm of a weird, little community. It’s art and being outdoors. Knowing your neighbors. I don’t know that I would’ve considered the city before I visited, but I would’ve missed out.”

“It sounds nice. Maybe you could rent there for a while? Try it out?”

I nod. “Exactly. Renting the house until escrow closes is a contingency on my offer.”

“Oh, Reed. I wish I drank,” she mutters. “Could you at least do a background check on her?”

While I know where she’s coming from, it sits in my gut like a foul-tasting brick. “Let’s see if Petra even texts me back and go from there.”

Mom sits up tall, slamming her open palm on the table with a harsh thwack. “You bought a house for a girl who isn’t talking to you? Forget it, Reed, I’m yelling! What the hell are you thinking—”

“This should be good news for you,” I say with a grin. “It means I’m not doing it for a woman.”

“You’re going to give me a heart attack, Reed Josiah Alexander!”

I sink into my seat as the other patrons shoot us concerned looks.

She doesn’t mean it, not really. I’ve overloaded her—given her too much truth at once. I should’ve dipped my toe into the water, kept the house a secret. Jumping in headfirst with Petra has me jumping in headfirst with everyone else, but it emphasizes the difference.

Petra jumped with me.

“What happened to letting me choose my happiness?” I ask.

Mom is quiet for a full minute. “You convinced Amanda that Petra is different. I guess that’s going to have to be enough for me. You always knew what you wanted, Reed, and you worked hard to get it. Moved to California, started your own company. If you know you want to be in Portland, I’m not going to stop you. If you’re falling in love with Petra, I can’t stop you.”

Her lip quivers, and I reach for her hand in reassurance. “If it makes you feel better, I can’t stop me, either.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head with a laugh that breaks my heart, because she doesn’t find any of this funny. “Just be safe, please. Keep your eyes open to her faults instead of blinding yourself to them.”

“I can do that. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice, Mom. I won’t ever put us all in danger like that again. I promise.” Mom and I have weathered worse storms together, and I need her support. I wouldn’t have made it through autumn without her and Amanda by my side. “But I don’t know that I can slow down for you.”

Mom laughs again, wiping at her tears. “I don’t know why I asked—you don’t have a slow bone in your body.”

Chapter thirty-four

Petra

The first, rare day in Swift River that hints at spring fills me with joy. The dew and cloud layer both burn off, and I lay on the driveway, letting the heat of the concrete seep into my sweatshirt. When I get up and go to work, the lingering sunshine fortifies me against Tina’s side-eye and Ray’s insistence that I should try dating again.

I want to date less than ever. The new, sluttier Petra gets hit on at work all the time. It’s not fun and flirty. It’s annoying. Further proof that the attention Reed showered on me wasn’t what connected us. It’s that it was him. No one else evokes the same response.

Almost three weeks since Reed left, and the aching inside me still gnaws at my chest, growing worse each day. Each morning, I wake up and reread his texts. I wish I’d responded, but if Reed has moved on to something more fun, I’ll have missed my chance. That would hurt worse than not knowing, so I keep my words to myself.

I grab a coffee from the counter after my shift, intending to take advantage of the quiet house tonight to stay up late and edit. I take a sweet, toffee flavored sip as I walk to my car. It’s just as my seatbelt clicks into place that my phone rings.

Reed’s name flashes across the screen.

It’s now or never. Keep dreaming, or go for what I want. What I want is to not be heartbroken. What I want is my mushroom of a dream. What I want is Reed.

I’m pathetically breathless when I answer. “Hi.”

“Darling Petra, how was your day?”

“Fine?” He’s so casual, like this isn’t the first time he’s called. I’m completely baffled by it, and say the first thing that comes to mind. “I had an eighty-four-year-old woman from church congratulate me for sleeping with you as I bagged her tomatoes. How was yours?”

Reed laughs and my heart squeezes. The sound soothes all the parts of me that were too prickly in his absence. The gnawing ache behind my ribs settles. “Oh, cheeky, unexpected Petra. How come you didn’t call me? Didn’t return any of my texts? Be honest, did I come on too strong with the drive?”

“What? You drive just fine.”

“Petra.” He’s definitely frowning. “Did you open the thumb drive?”

“Oh. No.” It’s sitting on my nightstand, and haunts me each time I glance at it. “I figured it was the recording of us.”

“And you decided you didn’t want to listen? Wow, this call is not going the direction I wanted it to. Will you do it tonight?” His voice switches from anticipatory to arrogant. “Is it a bath night?”

“Reed!” I scold, but he laughs. It won’t be enough. I don’t want the emptiness I’d experienced when I’d listened to him in the bath—lips tingling, chest aching for the closeness sex should bring. I want intimacy with Reed, not a voice in my ear.

“The way you screech my name, Pet, there’s nothing better.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh yes, what a sexy sound.” My cheeks are hot. I need to get him off the subject. “How’s…wherever you are?”

“Still in Iowa. I was imposing on my sister, but we all needed a break. I’m in a hotel, temporarily, and moving into my new house soon.”

“You bought a house?” I don’t know why it stings so much. It’s his life and he can move wherever he wants. I was a weeklong fling, and I’d known that from the start. But my dream withers and dies in my chest. “That’s great.”

Reed hums. “I want to tell you all about it, but later. I don’t want you to miss your bath-time relief.”

“It’s off my schedule. I canceled my DKP membership.”

“You did?” He sounds surprised. I don’t know why, when I’d told him that was my intention on our first date.

I stutter, flustered. “It’s not personal—you know I love what you do, but Knight’s not real, and not as cool as you.”

“He’s not?”

It pains me that this is news to him. “He’s all over the place. A bully one day, a sweetheart the next, sometimes caring, sometimes punishing. I never know what I’m gonna get with him.”

Reed doesn’t laugh. “How do you know what you’re going to get with me?”

“You’re flirty and cocky, yes, but you’re also caring and quiet. You love thoroughly, genuinely—it’s easy to see when you talk about your family. You might have a lot of masks at your disposal, but at the end of the day you’re going to hold me and tease me. You’re going to take betting money from my siblings and stick it in my pocket. Right?”

“Pet,” Reed makes my name sound like a swear. “I knew you were incredible the minute I met you. Listen to the drive. Call me tonight, or while you’re in the bath. I’m sure you know my preference.”

“And if I don’t want to talk after?” Listening to us together might break me.

“You will. Talk to you soon,” Reed says, but it sounds more like a dirty promise. He hangs up before I can argue with him.

My heart races as I speed home, and my hands shake as I pour my wine. I sip it as I climb the stairs, and then it’s me versus the drive on my nightstand.

I’m afraid. What if I miss him so much that I’ll cry? Please, God, don’t let me cry.

I plug it in to see a text file that says Reed Me First, and I laugh. What a fool.

Dear Pet,

There are a few things on this drive. One is our recording together, but I made another. Don’t be mad. This is the only copy. I didn’t even keep one for me. I just want you to know what you sound like when you truly let go. And the other? You said Knight couldn’t compare, so I’ve given you something I’ve never wanted to give anyone before. Me. Just me. Hope these brighten up your bath time ;) Anytime you want a repeat experience, you have my number. Call it.

Yours,

Reed

Sure enough, there were three audio files. This One First, Hottest Session Ever, and Blindfolded Secrets. My blood thunders in my ears, and I nearly shut the laptop on itself and throw away the drive. But too much of me, all of me, wants to know what he intended. I download it to my phone, put in my headphones, and sink into Reed’s voice.

“Hey, baby.” He sounds like he’s smiling, and my lips pull up too. “I could give you a scene, but I’d much rather talk to you. Just Reed and Petra. You okay with that?”

I blink back fierce tears. His gentle tone cracks open whatever dam held them at bay the last few weeks. “Yes,” I whisper, wiping my face.

“I thought so. Did you have a good day today, Pet? How long did it take for you to break down that last wall and call me? An hour? Five? A full day? If you haven’t called me yet, you better stop and do that now. Or, if you’re not already in, run a bath and then call me. Otherwise I’ll assume you wanted me for my rugby body, when we both know my teasing is your favorite part.”

“Is not.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Reed chuckles. “There’s no one to lie to but yourself. Who else is going to get you to send your fork flying across the room at the mention of pussy?”

I shake my head, both smiling and embarrassed. “Let it go, Reed.”

“What I wouldn’t give to see you blush right now, Pet. Your eyes brighten when you do. I’m gonna bet you haven’t paused this to call me. Are you in the bath yet? If you’re not, go get in. I can only keep this tame for so long. Go. I mean it.”

So bossy. There’s no reason why I should do what he says—but I want to. I’m not going to play this game on his terms, though. I pause it, bringing my wine to the bathroom. I pace myself as I add bubbles, light candles, and turn off the overhead light.

Getting in the bath now, like you said, sir.

I’m feeling cheeky enough to send him a picture of my setup.

Who’s teasing who, now? I think your camera was facing the wrong way baby ;)

I laugh as I slip my shirt over my head. There’s an intense happiness that comes from interacting with Reed, and no one else.

No way, not happening.

That’s fine, I have you committed to memory.

Liar.

You have twenty-six spots from your left collar down to your right thigh, not counting your heart-shaped birthmark or your scar near your hip. What’s your scar from, anyway?

I’m torn between wonder and disbelief. I turn to the mirror and count them; something I haven’t done before. He has me memorized. My cheeks heat—all of me heats—until my blood simmers with anticipation.

Creepy on the marks. I had my appendix out.

I was aiming for smitten. C’mon Pet, I relive connect the dots with you constantly. How could I not have them memorized? Are you in the bath yet?

You have an unhealthy obsession with me taking a bath.

Get in and press play, baby.

“I can’t believe you consider yourself a switch,” I mutter. I settle into the hot water, phone and wine in hand. I set my volume to the lowest setting and hit play.

“There’s my girl. Having you in my bathtub will always be a highlight of my life. I’ve never wanted someone that intensely before.”

“Me either,” I confess, though I don’t have the wealth of experience that he does. I hadn’t craved Nate that way, or any of my previous boyfriends.

“I’m speechless just thinking about it. You are overwhelmingly, exquisitely beautiful, Petra.” There’s a sigh, a brush, like Reed’s fingers snag on fabric. I can only imagine, but my imagination is a wide place, and the idea of Reed touching himself while imagining me is heady. “Even before I opened that curtain, I was riding the edge. You have no idea. Every splash, every giggle, every moan—they all had me aching for you.”

It’s as personal and all encompassing as when he’d blindfolded me, with only his voice spurring me on. I sigh as I cup my heavy breasts, wishing my hands were rougher. Wishing they were Reed’s. “It’s harder now that I know what you feel like. It’s not enough anymore.”

“Do you ache for me? Brush your hand over your mouth. Can you still feel me there?” Each swipe and nip and tug of our mouths playing together—finding each other—lingers on my lips. “Because I can. Your kisses are imprinted on me. I was dying to kiss you before we hiked to the falls, Petra. It was agonizing.”

“I wish you had.” It’s hard to admit, but at least he can’t hear me. “I wish I’d taken advantage of every moment—kissed you at every opportunity.”

“It still is. Even now, you’re asleep in the other room and I want to wake you up to kiss you again.” What? He recorded this while I was there. In his bed. How did I not hear him? “I’m an idiot right now for leaving, and for not dragging you with me, in case you’re wondering.”

“It wouldn’t have worked out,” I admit, both to myself and to him. But sadness sweeps through me, knocking arousal out of its way. My heart throbs, the aching worse than ever.

“I have some stuff to work out, therapy to go to. I have to get myself together and be a better man.”

“You’re already amazing.” I want to reassure him, but hot tears bubble up, and I can’t blink them back. This is the exact kind of goodbye I didn’t want.

“I know the distance will be good for us, but I can’t leave with this open-ended. I bought a plane ticket to come back in a month. Pick me up in Portland?”

“What?” I sit up so fast that I splash water everywhere. I go to rewind, but the track is already stopped. That’s it. The end.

I dial his number without thought or hesitation. He picks up right away, but I don’t let him say a word. “Are you serious?”

“I knew you’d call right away!” Reed says, triumphant. “I’m completely serious. Deadly serious. I’ve already pushed my flight back twice because you refused to call me.”

“You did?”

“I’m getting on a plane to see you in seventeen days.”

I’m speechless. My heart trips over itself in surprise before warming up with attraction and tenderness, my blood boils with anger, and my stupid tears are salty where they run over my lips. “Why? Why would you do that? What if I’m going on vacation?”

“Petra.” Reed laughs like the spavaldo he is. “Are you going on vacation?”

“I could’ve been.”

“Then I would’ve changed my dates again. You know, this also isn’t the call I planned. Twice in a row—you always keep me guessing.” There’s a long moment of quiet, and then Reed’s voice sounds less sure. “Do you want to see me again?”

He bought a house somewhere. We’ll have to do long distance, have to stick it out through heartache and missing each other. Can I handle that? I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and whatever I say will push me off one side or the other. I’m not prepared for the fall. “What am I to you, Reed?”

“What do you want to be?”

The fizz of the bubbles around my ears is deafening. Every loud beat of my heart is yelling at me. Make a choice. Make a choice. Make a fucking choice.

I want to be yours. “I want to see you again.”

“Good, because I want to date you.”

The grin that takes over my face is ridiculous and makes my cheeks hurt. “And the distance?”

Reed snorts. “Screw the distance. What do you say?”

I jump in headfirst. “I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

Reed makes a pleased sound that strikes me right in the heart. It pierces through all my armor and lights me up. I close my eyes, but the whole bathroom seems to glow.

“Feel how happy we are?” he asks, as though he can see inside me. “Next time you want to delay gratification, remember this, okay? I’ve been on pins and needles for weeks.”

“I didn’t know if we were better left in a bubble. If distance would diminish things.”

Reed hums. “It didn’t for me. You?”

“Not in the slightest. I think of you all the time.”

“So do I.” His admission warms me to my toes. “Now that that’s settled, and you’re in your bath, want your scene?”

I frown. “The recording ended.”

“It was never going to be a recording, baby,” Reed teases. I can practically see his grin. “Put me on speakerphone.”

It’s his authoritative tone that sends a hot shiver from my hair to my toes, and I obey. I set the phone on a ledge and slide further under the water. “And what will you do?”

There’s a muffled noise as he switches to speakerphone as well. “Don’t play shy. This isn’t solely for you this time. That okay?”

I can’t find my words. “Yeah. Yes. That’s really hot, actually. Did you get yourself off that night? When I left your room to get ice?”

“Yes.” The quick zip of metallic teeth in the background leaves me breathless. “You could tell? How’d that make you feel?”

I can’t breathe—I’ve forgotten how. “It’s intoxicating. I wish I could’ve been there. Watching you come lights fire in my blood, tesoro.”

His thick groan sends my pulse racing. “I could know you for fifty years and still never guess what’s about to come out of your mouth.”

I’m an entirely different person as I open my mouth and words fall out. “You could always stuff it full if you wanted to avoid a surprise.”

Reed moans. Full. On. Moans. “I’m about to get on a plane right now if you keep that up. You enjoy seeing me lose control.”

He’s not wrong. I’m desperate to see him on the edge again—to hear him struggling to hold back. It makes me bold. “You unraveled is sexier than anything I’ve ever seen. The day you tied me up? You looked regal as you held my jaw and slid your cock in my mouth. The only reason I didn’t fall to my knees for you is because I was already there.”

“Jesus. Ever considered going into audios? You were born for it. I know a guy who’d want nothing more than to record you all afternoon.”

My dream creeps in from the shadows. My hope of a three-bedroom house with an office and a sound booth. “We’re pretty far apart for that.”

“We don’t have to be. My new house is in Portland.”

The bath drops out from under me and I’m falling—dizzy, scared, waiting for the crash at the bottom. But I’m also exhilarated. Hopeful. “Are you joking?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he says, and I’m struck speechless. “Don’t start objections that we both know are defenses. Tell me I’m wrong, Pet. Tell me that you don’t see potential for us, and I’ll let you go.”

“Don’t let me go,” I say, before my brain can filter my words. It’s hard not to jump at the opportunity. “Did you actually enjoy it there? I don’t want you to go somewhere just because—”

“I was fond of it before I met you. I love the rain, the quirk of the city, the amazing food. I really loved the price point. And the cherry on top is proximity to a fantastic woman, if you’re okay with it.”

“If I’m okay with it? Reed, I—God, I—” I trip over three irrational words that nearly burst out of my mouth. “I’m more than okay with it.”

Reed’s voice grows tender on the other end of the line. “Thought so. I can’t wait to see you.”

My dark-hearted mushroom of a dream creeps out into a ray of sunshine beaming in my chest. It grows rapidly, filling me with an optimism I’m unfamiliar with. I could have everything—my family, my book, Reed. It’s all within reach. “Me too. I’ve missed you, tesoro.”

“Darling Petra, I’ve missed you too. Now, I want our scene, and then I want to lay with you and hear about everything you’ve been up to since I left. Lean back, and put your hands on your knees, baby. From now until I say otherwise, those hands are mine. Mine to do with as I please, and there will be no skipping ahead.”

My breath catches as fire burns down my throat and coils in my belly. “Yes, sir. Under one condition—your hands are mine.”

Chapter thirty-five

Reed

APRIL

I’m counting down the days until I land in Portland. If I needed any further proof that I want to be there, the extra time in Coralville provides it. This place chafes the same way it did when I was a teenager.

When I announce that Daddy Knight Productions is switching to archive only, a surprising number of fans come out of the woodwork to support me and my new ventures. It’s a happy shift, for the most part. Except Kinley becomes relentless. She calls nonstop, hounds me however she can, bombards me on social media until I suspend the DKP account entirely.

When I go to Portland, I’m changing my number again and starting fresh with Petra.

The only thing that has kept me sane over the last two weeks are the hours I spend on the phone with her. We talk nearly every morning, after work, and before bed. Each conversation leaves me longing for more. Each step she takes to move forward makes me proud, and pushes me to do the same.

With each phone call, I fall more in love with her. When she hangs up, I ache to call her again. If I could, I’d spend all day with her voice in my ear.

She was pulling away—I could feel her stretching away from me and taking my heart with her. But my cheeky Pet merely needed a tug to snap right back to me. She’s my rubber band, and no way in hell am I letting her pull away again. I’m addicted to her laugh, her sigh, her mischievous smile, her hands on my skin.

But Petra is at work, and I promised Amanda a family lunch today. I bring a pack with my recording equipment, hoping to get some giggles out of the girls. The world constantly surprises me, and not having my mic is like being naked—unprepared.

I offer to pick Mom up and drive her to lunch. Her cheerfully blue front door is so her, and leaves me wondering what Petra might choose. Cream can’t possibly be her real favorite color.

Mom greets me with a hug and a smile. Her inquisition lasts the entire car ride to the park. Apparently, she gave up trying to get me to slow down and is now light-speed ahead. “When is your storage pod arriving at the house? How is the neighborhood? What’s the crime rate? Is this a starter house, or will you be there for a while? What does Petra do? What are her parents like? Does she want babies? Do you have a guest room?”

I miss when she was reprimanding me.

I dodge as many questions as I can, but when we get to the park, I practically leap out of the car to give Amanda a hand. “How’re my girls?” I ask, swinging Brooke into my arms before I lean in to plead with Amanda. “Save me!”

Amanda laughs and pulls Mom in for a hug. “Did he show you pictures of the house?” Amanda asks, spurring Mom on. “It’s beautiful, though it needs some work.”

“I want to see,” Mom says, picking up Janie. “Don’t you want to see, Janie?”

“I want to see!” she yells. Sighing, I pull out my phone and scroll through photos of the new house. Janie gets bored fast, and would rather join Brooke on the slides. “She’s pretty,” Janie comments as I swipe out of my photos so Mom can put her down. My home screen is the photo of Petra and I in front of the waterfall.

“Is that her?” Mom asks, pulling my phone closer. “Do you have more? She has beautiful eyes.”

I’ve never seen prettier eyes than Petra’s, but if we scroll through all my photos she’s going to see Petra’s silky, bare spine exposed above crisp, white sheets. When Mom prods me for more, I pull a face at Amanda.

“Mom, we need a selfie!” Amanda says, pulling Mom away. Thank God.

I take the opportunity to stick my phone in my recording bag and lock it in my car. It’s the only way to avoid hours of them swiping through my phone, and at least with my recorder in hand I can still soak up these moments.

“I want one with all three of us, too. Get in here, Reed! Oh, I love it. I’m going to tag Grant, too, and shame him for never visiting.” Amanda cackles. “Going to eat your favorite BLT without you, jerk. #CoralvilleisbetterthanChicago.”

I roll my eyes at Amanda, and Mom and I walk to the play structure to look after Brooke and Janie. They don’t need us as they race across the equipment with several other kids. It’s not until Mom and I settle on a nearby bench that she pesters me again. “Send me the photo of you and Petra at the falls, Reed. You look so happy. I love seeing you so at peace.”

“I will later,” I promise. “I left it in the car. Better to be present with you guys than on my phone.”

“New concept for you. Is that what Petra is like?” Amanda asks, eyebrows raised.

I envision her, bent over a book, or daydreaming, or constantly needing headphones. But within a few days, she dropped most of that, coming alive in the real world—experiencing people, nature, intimacy. “Not at first, but yes. Absolutely.”

Amanda hums, watching the girls play. “I’ll give her a chance.”

“That’s all I’m asking for,” I say. Mom squeezes my knee, and I wish Grant was here to make us complete.

The girls don’t let us sit for long. They want a dragon to chase them, a war horse to ride on, and a wicked stepmother to lock them away. Their imaginations are immense, and they use us as their cast of characters. It’s Petra’s world too, and I’m getting my first real glimpse inside it. No wonder she wants to write middle grade fiction—there are no rules. Anything goes, and strangely, the darker the better.

After playing for a while, the girls get cranky and hungry. “Should we go to Bluebells to get root beer floats?” I offer.

“Yes!” The girls shout, and pull us eagerly down the street. I smile, hand in hand with Janie while the sunshine breaks through the clouds. The moment is even more precious since I’ll be leaving them in a few days.

“You’ll sit next to me, right, Ree-Ree?” Janie asks, eyes big and pleading in her little face.

“Of course. No place I’d rather be.” I set out my microphone on the table, and lunch is raucous, full of chaos, laughter, and fun. It’s rare that Mom joins in this much, and I embrace it.

I need to remember to visit more often. Petra will fit right in, the way I did with her family. It would be easy to blend them together—even the girls playing with Antonio and Lilly.

My imagination skips ten steps ahead. I’d dragged my feet in all my other relationships, debating whether they warranted lifelong commitment. With Petra, there’s no hesitation.

“I don’t know what your life plans are anymore, but you’d make an incredible father, Reed,” Mom says after I help Janie finish the maze on her paper menu.

I purse my lips. “I’m not as confident. But if Petra’s heart is set on babies, I’ll need to step up.”

Mom’s eyebrows shoot up. “I didn’t necessarily mean with Petra. You’re really set on her, aren’t you?”

I’m lucky that Mom’s begun to warm to the idea of Petra. Hearing about our daily conversations has eased some of her fear. I needed her support more than I realized, and having it is a comfort. “More than anything.”

“Then I want to meet her soon. Don’t keep her to yourself.” Mom squeezes my arm. “You’re not your dad, you know. You won’t have the relationship with your children that he has with you.”

“Petra said something similar.”

Mom nods. “Sounds like you don’t believe either of us. I know him, Reed. I loved him. I need you to remember that there is so much of him that I fell in love with, and all those good parts are in you. All my good parts are in you too. Dad made poor choices, and you watched him like a What Not to Do guide. If that’s what’s worrying you, don’t. You have a beautiful heart, and you will raise your child to have a beautiful heart as well.”

I avoid her eyes as a ball of something hot sits in my throat and blocks all my words. Janie’s sweet face is flushed as she reaches eagerly for a root beer float that’s way too big for her little hands.

What would it be like for her to be mine? Or a little girl with curly, chocolate brown hair and long eyelashes? A little boy, with a mischievous smile and dark freckle marks across his skin?

I’d want either of them. Both of them. Or, if that’s not possible, the baby could look completely different—pale and blonde, or deep skin and tight curls, or espresso eyes and blue-black hair—and I’d be happy with that. I think Petra would too.

The lump in my throat eases. “I’m glad we had you to steady us all those years. I know it was difficult.”

Mom places her hand over mine, quiet in the midst of all the noise around us. “I’m sorry we put you through it. We set you up for your relationship with Kinley. Your father didn’t abuse me, but I tolerated mistreatment and forgave wrongs. I should’ve stood up for us. I trained you to accept behavior that is unacceptable.”

I sit back, a cold wave washing over me. “No, Mom, that wasn’t—you didn’t do anything wrong. You can’t blame yourself for Kinley.”

“Are you saying you don’t blame yourself either?” Mom asks. “Or do you hate yourself for letting her in without knowing what she would wrought on us?”

I don’t have to answer to confirm it. I brought Kinley into our lives—I exposed the whole family to her crazy. She nearly stabbed Amanda. She’s the mistake that I can’t seem to leave in the past.

“If you say it’s not my fault,” Mom says, “then you also need to understand that it’s not yours.” Mom pats my hand before turning her attention to Brooke. Janie pulls on my sleeve, trying to show me something on her coloring page.

I smile and join in, but my brain is preoccupied. Do we all feel this way? Responsible for choices that weren’t ours to make? I’m still considering it as we walk back to the park to run off the girls’ sugar rush.

“Push me on the swing, Uncle Reed!” Brooke demands, laughing, and the girls race across the grass. There is a group of people standing together as their children play—two uniformed officers among them.

Mom wastes no time squeezing herself in the thick of it. “What happened?”

“A series of break-ins along the block,” an officer answers. I don’t know how we missed it, because when I focus beyond the group, it’s evident. A smash and grab, affecting several cars. My heart sinks as I walk toward Amanda’s car, anticipating the worst. Sure enough, two windows are smashed, Amanda’s bag is gone. When I go to my rental, my bag is gone too.

My phone. Recordings with Petra, photos with Holly, texts with Grant when my life fell apart. My passwords and account logins. They’re all gone. I slam my fist into the side of the car, but it doesn’t help.

“Reed?” Amanda asks. “Oh, crap, this is awful. And the girls’ tablets are gone. I gotta call Ethan. Thank God we all have our wallets.”

I nod. “You should call your insurance company. Damn it, my phone. I can’t call anyone. I don’t even know Petra’s number.”

Amanda purses her lips, already calling Ethan. “Is it backed up to the cloud? They’ll download it all and put it on your new phone.”

“What a nightmare.” I’m already resigning myself to five hours at the store to replace my phone. When they say it’s less than two hours, they’re lying. Amanda’s right, though, and I can get most of that information back. On top of that, my laptop is still in my hotel room, safe and sound.

My rental car is a complete afterthought, but the windows on it are smashed, too. “We’re going to need copies of the police report,” I mention to Amanda, who is quickly breaking into tears while on the phone with Ethan. “This is not how I envisioned my afternoon going.”

An officer joins us to take photos and add our information to their report. “Any luck finding the stolen items?” Amanda asks. “I can track the girls’ tablets.”

“Definitely try it,” the officer says, “but all the electronics from the other vehicles have been wiped. They moved fast.”

It’s disheartening, for sure. I could try to ping it from my laptop, but the chances are, it’s gone. Thank God for the cloud. It’s a long time before all the police forms are filled out and insurance is called. Ethan takes everyone back to Amanda’s house, except me. I drive the forty minutes to exchange my rental car and buy a new phone—which does, in fact, take forever.

When I get back in the car, it’s dark out. I’m both exhausted and immensely relieved to have my phone back in my hands. I send a quick text to update Mom and Amanda and then call the person I want to talk to most. She doesn’t answer, but when I try her again, she picks up.

“Hey, Pet, how was your day? Better than mine, I hope… Pet?”

But what she says makes my whole world blur out of focus and drop out from underneath me.

“What?” I ask, stunned. My stomach goes into freefall, and bile rises in my throat.

Chapter thirty-six

Petra

I’m exhausted after covering Nancy’s ungodly opening shift, and my bed is calling my name, but the world of Galin is, too. I’ve spent the last month meticulously editing and rewriting my first two books. It’s a completely different process from writing a first draft, and I find myself sorely missing that last year of schooling. Maybe Papa was right, and I should go back to finish my degree.

I sleepily research how long my college credits are good for and if they’re transferable to Lewis and Clark or Portland State University, when my email pings.

Oh. My. God. Three weeks. It’s only been three weeks of sending out letters to agents and I already have my first request to view my manuscript. Sometimes it takes months, years for an answer. It’s a million times faster than I expected, and for the first time, I wish I’d done this sooner.

There’s one person I want to share this with, but Reed doesn’t even know I started looking for agents. I wanted to tell him in person, but I can’t wait four more days. My heart races as it rings, and all my words pour out as soon as he picks up.

“Hi. I miss you, I woke up missing you, but I need to tell you something before we get distracted and off topic.” I plow on before he can even say hello. “When you left, I needed to—”

“Sorry, who is this?” a voice that’s not Reed’s asks. I blink, confused, as I obviously hit the wrong name. But my screen shows Reed’s, bright and clear.

“Uh, is Reed there?”

There’s a pause before the woman answers. “How do you know my husband?”

“No, sorry. Reed Alexander.”

“And I’m asking what the hell you’re doing calling him,” she answers, tone frosty.

The ice of it sinks into my clothes, my skin, my bones. My smile drops right off my face as my brain overloads with information that doesn’t compute. “No. What? No,” I blurt out, unthinking. “He just bought a house to be close to me.”

“That asshole,” she swears. “Portland is because of you? Look, we’re getting back together and this thing between you is over. I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s so not Reed. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve known him. Nothing about him screams cheating asshole, especially not with his history. He’s too sensitive to be a liar. Too tender to have made up his wounds. And I stupidly love him enough that I’m not easily swayed.

“Kinley?” It’s a shot in the dark, but she’s the only one I can imagine overstepping this many boundaries. Brazenly lying to get her way.

There’s a sharp inhale before she speaks, triumphant. “He talks about me? I knew it.”

My stomach sinks. I could lie, and worsen the situation, or feed her delusions. She’s completely unstable. She drugged him, tattooed him. Is there a line she wouldn’t cross? Panic climbs up my throat like I’ve swallowed a hive of bees. “Where is he, Kinley?”

“He’s right here, playing with Brooke and Janie.”

He wouldn’t bring his nieces around her. Not ever. “I want to talk to him.”

Kinley shuts me down. “It’s over. He loves me. Don’t call anymore.”

I can’t let her hang up. This phone number is my only tie to Reed, and without it, I lose him. “Where is he, Kinley? Put him on the phone or I’ll call the cops.”

“And tell them what? You don’t know where we are. Is it hard to believe you’re not special? You’re nothing. Just his little pet,” she hisses, and hangs up. Thirty seconds later, I get a text from Reed. It’s a woman’s hand covering the left side of her driver’s license with a diamond ring sitting prettily on her finger. It’s a California ID, with her name clearly printed across the top.

Kinley Alexander.

A memory sweeps through me. Is this where you say Petra Alexander sounds better? I’d asked, and he’d gazed at me with such warmth. But she stole Reed’s last name before I even had a chance to claim it.

Enough proof for you? He’s mine.

Mine. She tattooed her initials on him to prove it. What else will she do? She wouldn’t kill him. Would she?

Ice slides down my spine, and I sprint to Tommy’s room. My sweet, strong, smart brother, who might know where to go from here. “Tommy!” I knock, but don’t wait for him to answer before I throw the door open. He’s still sleeping after his night shift. “I need your help.”

“What?” Tommy blinks groggily. “Wha’s going on?”

It pours out of me. Reed’s company, his stalker, buying a house in Portland and wanting to date me, the phone call with Kinley. “What do I do? How do I help him?”

“Can you call his family? Do you have any of their numbers?”

“Of course not! It’s been like seven weeks! I don’t have his email or socials or anything.”

Tommy groans, exasperated. “Seriously? This guy could’ve been anyone—”

“But he wasn’t!” I snap. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I have no other way to get hold of him.”

“Have you called Darin? Maybe he can pull some records, ping Reed’s location or something.”

I grab his face and plant a kiss on his rough cheek. “Genius, Tommy! Sorry I woke you.”

“Hang on, I’m involved now,” Tommy protests as he throws on a sweatshirt. I follow him down the stairs and into the kitchen as he dials Darin’s number. “Let’s do some sleuthing.”

When Tommy explains it all, Darin is sympathetic, but straightlaced. “I can’t put a BOLO out because you have a feeling,” Darin chides. “It’s an abuse of power.”

“Oh yeah, because that never happens,” Tommy grumbles. It’s an ongoing argument between them, but I cut them off before we can get sidetracked.

“Can I file a missing person’s report or a wellness check or something?”

“Sure. Do you know where to send someone?” Darin asks. “He’s not living in a permanent residence, right?”

“Right.” My heart squeezes. I’m helpless here. “What can I do?”

“I hate it, but,” Darren says, “you have to sit tight and call him again later. There’s nothing more you or I can do at the moment.”

“Alright. Thanks, Darin.” It’s not the answer I wanted, and it’s got to be written all over me.

“C’mon,” Tommy sighs. “I’m starving, and you probably didn’t eat breakfast.” He pulls heaps of ingredients from the fridge and leads us in a conversation about trivial things. He’s trying to get me out of my head.

It doesn’t work. My answers are short as my brain runs through a million different scenarios. I don’t understand Kinley’s goal, which makes her wildly unpredictable. I’m left wringing my hands.

Once I’ve eaten a satisfactory portion of a meatball sandwich, he switches gears. “Look, I know I’m not ‘one of the girls,’ but I care. How are you holding up?”

“What, because the first guy I see possibilities with is either actually married, hurt, kidnapped, or dead, and all I can do is sit here? I’m doing great.” The sarcasm isn’t even layered—it’s spread thicker than cream cheese icing on my Happy Heartbreak Cake.

Tommy frowns at me. “How into him are you? If this happened when you first met Nate, would you have stuck around?”

I’m too agitated to think about it. “I don’t know. By this point in my relationship with Nate, I was pregnant. I didn’t get a chance to know whether I wanted to be with him.” When I glance up, Tommy’s face is bone white. The truth comes rushing out. “I knew him all of ten minutes and slept with him at a frat party, Tommy! We hadn’t even been on a date. We kept hooking up at parties, and then I got pregnant! ‘Good Girl Petra.’ Ugh. How could I tell Mama and Papa the truth?”

Tommy’s face shifts slowly to toad green. “So you let us all assume you were in love? That you were happy to have a baby?”

“I was happy. I wanted her. I hoped Nate and I could make it work.” I swallow my pride. “But…no. I wouldn’t have been with him had Natalia not been part of the equation.”

Tommy swears and reaches for my hand. “Troni. I’m sorry you thought you had to keep that from me.”

I shrug, but his words soothe a deep wound. “You were a teenager. You couldn’t have done anything, anyway. It’s okay.”

“I’m not a teenager now,” he declares. “What do you want to do, Petra?”

I don’t answer Tommy, dialing Reed on speakerphone. It only rings twice before Kinley answers. “If he wanted to talk, he would. Stop calling.”

“Never. You think you love him, Kinley, but you don’t know him, or understand him. If you have to resort to this to get his attention, that’s not love.”

“You don’t know him,” she growls. “Did you know that he records all his conquests for me? Your little scene was the perfect addition to our collection.”

All the blood drains from my face. I take her off speakerphone, and her voice grates in my ear.

“Didn’t think he’d share, Pet?” she taunts. “You’re a terrible lie detector.” Her words are daggers that slice into my skin.

Reed and I were vulnerable with each other. It was supposed to be just for us. If he hadn’t meant it, my heart would break. And if she’d stolen it from us, I’d crumple into a ball and never emerge. Either way, my night with Reed is tainted, and shame sits, hot and sour, in my belly. The burn of tears creeps up my throat. I can’t get words out without crying, so I hold them in.

“Now you know,” Kinley declares, triumphant, and the line disconnects.

“Troni,” Tommy says, but I avoid his eyes. I wait for his scolding. For his judgment and condescension. But Tommy pulls me into his arms and strokes my hair while the storm inside of me comes flooding out, soaking his shirt with my tears.

It’s a while before I pull myself together.

“Got it all out?” Tommy asks. When I nod, he squeezes me tight. “Good, because I’m gonna kill whichever one of them is the bigger asshole in this equation, and I’ll need you to lie for me.”

“Tommy!” I reprimand, but half of me is happy to climb aboard his boat. Pain turns to scorn and anger in my chest until I’m boiling from it. If Kinley was here, I wouldn’t need Tommy to step in; I’d kick her ass myself.

“Don’t worry, between you and Darin I should be fine,” Tommy insists.

“You’re not going to berate me for—? You know.” Tommy must assume the worst. I wince, hating that I have to say it at all. “There’s no video—only audio.”

Tommy sighs, scrubbing his face. “I didn’t want to know that, but at least it’s better. I was trying to figure out how to search all the sites to see if I need to take it down, without actually seeing anything.”

My heart squeezes. Tommy might be an immature asshole sometimes, but he’s also a great person. A great brother. “I love you, you know?”

Tommy squeezes my shoulder, a hard smile pulling at one side of his mouth. “I love you, too. I’d do anything for you.”

“I know. But let’s not put ‘go to prison’ on that list, okay? I don’t—” I don’t believe that Reed would do that to me. It doesn’t sit right.

“Let’s go to Livi’s.” Tommy says, grabbing my coat from the hall. “She’ll know what to do better than me.”

“You’re doing a great job,” I say, squeezing his arm. “You don’t need Livi to rescue you.”

“Maybe not, but nothing resuscitates you more than holding Hailey does.” My EMT. He can’t hit me with a physical defibrillator, so he’s bringing me to an emotional one.

It works. I break down as soon as Livi opens the door. Tommy must’ve texted her, because she thrusts Hailey into my arms and settles us on the couch, rubbing my back. Tommy helps her catch up on all the things I kept to myself.

“No wonder he snorted at Tommy’s asexual comment. I was cheated out of that twenty.”

“Stop betting on me,” I protest. She rolls her eyes, but by the time we get to my phone call with Kinley, she bristles as if she wants to call Darin or hunt down Kinley herself.

“I want to watch a movie,” Antonio interrupts with a pouty frown. “With popcorn. Please?”

“Of course, Tony. It’ll keep them distracted,” Livi mutters to me. She puts on a movie they’ve seen a dozen times, but they settle in excitedly with bowls of popcorn. Hailey giggles and practices pulling herself up to standing on the furniture. Lilly snuggles into my side and spends the entire movie explaining what is about to happen or what she wishes would happen instead. Her little voice counterbalances all the scenarios happening in my mind. Everything from Reed moving on, being hurt, drugged, or worse. It tears at me like a howling wind, a despair that cuts like sharp ice through my chest.

By the time the movie is over, Hailey is down for a nap and Tommy is bored out of his mind. He calls out of work, determined to support me, but he isn’t great at sitting still. He and the twins make funny faces and tell jokes in an attempt to make me laugh. Our stomachs growl, and Livi orders takeout for dinner.

It’s all so…normal. My heart is sore and fear still skitters through all my muscles, but the rest of the world keeps moving.

After several hours, my phone rings, and Reed’s name appears on the screen. I panic. “What do I do? I can’t talk to her again.”

“Put me on,” Livi growls. “Whether it’s her or Reed, I’ll tear them a new one.”

I don’t doubt it. In my indecision, I let it go to voicemail. When it begins again, my heart jumps into my throat, and I head to the guest room to answer it.

“Hey, Pet,” Reed says. He’s not in hysterics. Why is he calm? “How was your day? Better than mine, I hope.”

All my words stick to the roof of my mouth. In the back of my mind, I’d worried he was dead.

The relief of hearing his voice is quickly overshadowed by a tsunami of anger that rushes forward and pulls me under in a wave of heat that licks through my veins. Why call me now? Where were you? Why don’t you sound hurt?

He’s fine.

Which only leaves room for the explanation I’ve steadfastly ignored.

“Pet?” he asks again.

And I word-vomit all over him. “Is Kinley your wife?”

Chapter thirty-seven

Reed

“What?” I’m stunned speechless. I don’t know how to start this conversation.

Her voice wobbles. “I understand it’s gotta be chaotic and difficult, but Jesus, Reed. You didn’t think that’s something I deserve to know?”

“She’s not. It’s complicated.”

“Meaning she’s your ex-wife, or it’s complicated? Because those are two very different answers. Why wouldn’t you mention that?”

Because it makes my blood curdle. “We had one week together. I need time to—”

“I slept in your bed. I told you about Natalia,” she says, sucking in a harsh breath. She’s trying not to cry, and I hate it. Hate that I’m the one who upset her. “I cracked my chest open for you. Where were you today? Why do you sound okay while I feel violated, Reed?”

I should’ve gotten this response last month when I took her privacy and her words by stealing her diary. But we’ve moved past that. I can’t figure out what happened to change us so drastically from our sweet whispers on the phone last night to the terror gripping my chest now. “I didn’t mean to hide anything from you. I needed more time. How did you—where is this coming from?”

There’s a ding as a text comes through, and when I check, it’s from Petra. It’s a photo: Kinley’s hand wearing that cursed fucking ring.

Anxiety and dread both settle heavy in my stomach, anchoring it to the floor. “Kinley found out about you? Did she threaten you?”

Petra’s voice goes completely flat. “She texted me. From your number.”

I scroll up, but the texts aren’t there. “Fuck. Goddamn it. My phone was stolen today—there was a break in at the park. It never crossed my mind that it could be Kinley. It seemed random.”

“At the park. And she didn’t hurt you? You’re okay?”

I sigh in relief at the affection creeping back into her voice. She’s a stark contrast to my past and the constant blow ups, arguments, and miscommunication that came before her. “I’m okay. I was at lunch with Amanda and left my bag in the car. She broke into a dozen cars…Fuck, probably because I was in a rental and she couldn’t target me. Petra, I had no idea it was her.”

“Doesn’t change that she has your last name!” The hurt in Petra’s voice shreds me. “Honesty, Reed. That’s what we built this on, remember?”

“What?” But then I see it. Kinley Alexander, in bold print. Bile climbs up my throat, and I reach for the one thing she might understand. “Bambi. Please. Bambi. I need us both to take a breath.”

Petra gulps down her tears, and I take a moment to compose myself, hands shaking.

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you, and I hate that I have to say it over the phone,” I choke out. Petra is quiet, but doesn’t argue. “The night I was tattooed, I also ended up with a marriage certificate. I had plenty of evidence against Kinley, and it was all legally scrubbed, like it never happened. She is not and has never been my—” The word burns in the back of my mouth.

“Oh my God.” Petra gasps. “I never imagined—I was scared and angry, but I—Tesoro mio. I shouldn’t have considered her story for a minute. I’m sorry. I don’t know how you survived her.”

My skin crawls with the reminder of the past. I want it gone. I want Petra here with me. “The same way you did. You’re not the only one who came alive over the course of a week, Pet.”

“That day in Mulberry’s, I never would’ve guessed we were both injured birds,” she murmurs. “How did she get her name changed? Isn’t there a rule that your stalker can’t change their name to yours?”

There’s a numbness creeping up my arms, the warning signs of an oncoming panic attack. I rest my head against the steering wheel to take deep breaths. “I don’t know. She missed her parole check last month and trashed my sister’s porch. When Amanda reported it they didn’t say anything about a name change.”

There is a long pause. Petra sniffles, while I focus on deep breaths to keep myself together. “You don’t sound okay,” Petra says.

“I’m not.” I huff out a laugh that’s not funny. “You don’t either.”

“I’m getting better. I thought—can I just…have Amanda’s number or something? Is that okay? I had no way to talk to you or anyone around you.”

“Of course.” It’s an easy request. While I don’t want Kinley anywhere near Amanda, I want Petra fully integrated into my life. “I’m texting it now, and my Mom’s. Grant’s number, too. We don’t talk much, but I want you to have as many points of contact as possible, baby. I won’t let this happen again.”

“You can’t control her, Reed. But thank you for explaining.”

I’m too far away to hug her. To hold her and tell her what she means to me and that all of this is a smokescreen for Kinley to get her way. I want to wrap myself around her and explain the full truth of that night and how it still haunts me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her when I was there. I should’ve.”

“What do we do about her?” Petra asks. We. We’re still we. “Kinley is there, and she knows about us. She—oh God—Reed, she listened to our recording in Portland.”

“It was on my phone. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It kills me that she listened to my scenes, much less—” I open the car door and vomit root beer all over the asphalt.

“Reed, I’m so sorry. I wish I were there. You’re not in this alone anymore. You have me, and my siblings. Darin can help. We’ll get through this together.”

My hands shake so hard that I can barely hold on to my phone. “No, I’m glad you’re not here. I don’t want her anywhere near you.”

“Can she get to you?”

“No. I’m in a hotel, but—damn it. Amanda. My mom. She knows where they are.”

“Protect your family,” Petra says. “We’ll talk later.”

I hesitate to hang up. I don’t want to cause her any more pain. I’m in freefall over Kinley listening to one of the most amazing, transformative experiences of my life. My stomach turns, and I swallow hard so I don’t puke again.

“I want to be with you, Pet, but I have to check on my family before I can go.”

“I’d do the same,” Petra says, but her voice is hoarse. “Take care of them, but keep in touch, okay? I’m still worried. If you decide to fly out, I’ll pick you up in Portland—just give me a date and time.”

I don’t say it, but I’m worried too. “I’m going to be there as soon as possible.”

It’s the wrong time to add in words of affection we’ve never said, but I want to. Petra and I are both quiet for a moment. She’s wrestling with something and I’m falling apart. I wish we could crawl under the sheets together and block out the world, the way we did before.

“I wish I could’ve protected you from her, Petra.” Grief sweeps through me, ice cold and burning. “I didn’t want her to stain your life. She’s determined to destroy all my relationships, but I hoped that by starting over in Oregon, she wouldn’t follow. If I could turn back time and prevent her from hurting you, I—”

“Don’t.” Petra cuts short my apology. “I choose you anyway. You don’t have to walk alone because her darkness might touch the people around you. You deserve the light, Reed.”

She believes it, but I don’t. I see a million ways to mess this up further, but none to make it better. “I’ll see you soon, Pet. I promise.”

I hang up and immediately call Amanda. As it rings, I shift the car into drive and speed for the freeway. “It was Kinley at the park,” I say as soon as she picks up the phone. “Lock the doors, call Mom, and have her come over. I don’t know what Kinley’s planning—”

“What? How do you know?”

“She called Petra—” An unknown number lights up my screen. “I think this is her. I gotta answer.”

“Wait, don’t—”

I ignore her, switching calls. “Hello?”

“Hello?” Kinley asks, surprised.

Her shy act throws me off. “You stole my phone.”

“It was time for an upgrade.” She laughs. “Now you have the newest model. Isn’t that better, Pooki?”

It’s all a game to her. Months of rage builds hot in my stomach.

She ruined my dream house back in LA. She drove a wedge between me and Amanda. Threatened her with a knife. Annihilated my friendship with Holly. Tattooed me and ripped me apart. I laid down and took all of it. But not this. Not Petra.

“Why the fuck do you have my last name?”

She giggles, but it’s saccharine and fake. “Knew that would get your attention. I earned your name, Daddy. Divorce won’t make it go away.”

She’s lost her grip on reality, fixated on a guy I’d only pretended to be. I grip the steering wheel as my vision blurs, and red bleeds in from the edges. “It wasn’t a fucking divorce. It was never real. You can’t play with someone like they’re a doll and call it real life.”

“You’re only mad that I spilled our little secret. I wouldn’t have, if you’d called your phone. Tracked it, even. I was waiting for you. You’re so sexy in those jeans, Daddy. Are they new?”

Horror wells up inside me. It’s like I’m naked again, waking up in a foreign bed, with Kinley beside me. The scent of her rose perfume fills the car and my stomach churns. I’m gonna be sick again.

“You would’ve gotten your phone back. We could’ve had a nice steak dinner,” she continues, planning her fucked up date.

“How did you find me?”

“That’s not nice,” Kinley growls. “Makes it sound like I’m hunting you. You shouldn’t post where you are if you don’t want anyone to know.”

Amanda. Damn it. “Is that how you knew to call Petra? From my story?”

“She called me first. I can’t believe you had her in your bed, you dick. You’re mine.”

“I’m hers.”

“Fuck you,” she spits out. “You can pretend we aren’t endgame. You can lie and hide from the truth, but we both know deep down that we’re meant to be.”

“You are the vilest mistake I ever made,” I grit out. “We will never be anything.”

“Daddy, how could you say that to me?” She’s on the verge of tears, but she’s also an excellent actress. “We were good together. Don’t you remember the night on the balcony? When I crawled under the table—”

If I wasn’t driving, I’d slam my fist through a wall. “You don’t understand that ignoring my boundaries didn’t make it sexy or fun. I was in the middle of dinner with Holly!”

“Holly,” she snarls. “She’s such a—”

“Holly is a thousand times the person you are.”

“She wanted you, Daddy. C’mon, you think she just wanted to be friends? But she learned the only vacancy for a woman in your life has been filled. Your new little pet will too.”

I go clammy all over. “What will it take to get you to go away? Money? Therapy? A recording purely for you?” I hate myself, even as I offer it. “Name your price.”

“My price is you,” Kinley says, voice cold and harsh. “I’m not going to step back so you can replace me with Petra. No way.”

I hate how Petra’s name sounds in Kinley’s voice. She’s desecrating an altar—destroying something precious and holy. “Leave Petra alone. She stays out of this or, I swear to God, you will regret it.”

“I finally found your button, Reed,” Kinley notes, amused. “Wonder what will happen when I push it.”

“Don’t you fucki—” Three beeps cuts me off. Kinley hung up.

Not if. When. I don’t know how she found Petra, or how much she knows, but it’s imperative I get her out of Swift River.

I call Amanda back with a rundown as I pack up all my things and head for the airport. “I’ll sleep there and see if I can get a standby in the morning.”

“I’ll hold down the fort here. Please be safe, Reed,” Amanda begs.

“I will. I’m sorry to leave you like this, Manda. Love you.”

“I love you too. Text me constantly.”

I call Petra from the terminal and explain my plan for the night. I worry that telling her what Kinley said will scare her, so I keep it to myself. Kinley has pushed a lot of buttons before, and my cities burned in the wake of her fire. She’s never been this determined before.

Though Petra promises to be safe, it does nothing to allay my fears.

Chapter thirty-eight

Petra

I can’t sleep. It’s still dark outside as I tear my bagel into miniscule pieces, exhausted but jittery. I keep thinking I’m going to get a message that Kinley’s done something awful. As if breaking into a half-dozen cars wasn’t drastic enough. My phone buzzes, and my heart catches in my throat.

Standby flight boarding in five minutes. Pick me up? I can’t wait to see you.

I’m still reeling over the hours I thought Reed was in danger. I need his face, his voice, his touch, to assure me he’s okay.

I’ll be there.

Now tell me you miss me.

A smile creeps over my face, and my ball of nerves loosens.

I’ll tell you when you get here.

It’s meant to be a joke, but he doesn’t text back right away, and I frown at my shredded bagel. Maybe he’s like me: unsteady and needing reassurance. I start to send him a new message, but a voice note comes through first.

“I’ll say it, then. I miss you, Petronia Diamante.” The bustle of airport noises fills the background. “I should’ve stayed there. I let Amanda sway me into believing that time apart might be good—take the pressure off, or clear our heads—but mine didn’t need clearing. So when I say that I can’t wait to see you again, I mean it with all that I am.”

Oh, Reed. Though we talk for hours every day, a voice note is different from a phone call. I’m not busy processing it, waiting for my turn to speak. I can absorb it and listen to him over and over again, and I treasure it.

I’m tender as I record my own. “Time apart was good. I needed to let my family back in. To stand on my feet and lean on their shoulders. Now I don’t need a savior. I appreciate you for you, and not how you bring me to life. And I do miss you, tesoro mio.”

I knew you did, Pet. On the runway now. See you soon.

Something tugs at me, and I call Livi. I don’t bother with a hello. “I’m in love with Reed. I know it hasn’t been long and it’s all uncertain, but it feels right—”

“Then it is. He lights you up, Troni. I’m glad you’re letting yourself see it. But if he brings you more pain than happiness, I will kill him.”

I wrinkle my nose, defensive. “What was he supposed to do, Liv? Not let his phone get stolen?”

She mirrors my sass. “Maybe keep it in his pocket like a normal person?”

I roll my eyes, but there’s a new warmth in my chest. Until recently, I wouldn’t have considered calling Livi at all. I would’ve relied on Silla, or not called anyone. “Thank you for being there yesterday. I love you.”

“Love you.” There’s a loud cry in the background and Livi swears. “I have to go. Call me later. And tell Reed that if Kinley comes around, we’ll show her some Diamante fire.”

“If I ever meet her, she’s getting my foot in her face. Love you, bye.” It’s not an exaggeration. I’m not a proponent of women fighting, especially over a guy, but I will protect Reed, no questions asked. The same way I’d protect Livi, or Tommy, or Hailey.

I edit my book to kill time, and make it through several chapters before Papa comes down the stairs. “What are you doing up early?” he asks.

“Couldn’t sleep. Something happened with a friend. I’m going to pick him up at the airport soon. Want breakfast before I go?”

“Please. Frittata with tomatoes?” Papa asks, switching the conversation to Italian. I nod and gather the ingredients as Papa watches me like only a father can. It’s not until I’m cracking eggs into a bowl that I shoot him a look. He raises his eyebrows back at me. “Are you picking up a friend? Or Reed? They’re not the same.”

“Reed is a friend,” I say. Papa shakes his head, as if I’m hopeless. “Papa—”

“Stellina.” Papa heaves a sigh and sinks onto the barstool as if he’s suddenly thirty years older. “You’re trying to protect me, but I knew you loved him when you rushed down the stairs at Sunday dinner. You smiled so brightly that La Madonna could have appeared in our kitchen and I wouldn’t have noticed.”

My cheeks flush. “I—”

“And I knew he loved you the moment after.”

His words suck all the air out of the room. “Shouldn’t you be warning me away?”

“When did you decide you loved Nate?” Papa asks.

It’s a shock to hear his name. Papa hasn’t forgiven Nate for my second pregnancy. When I told Papa I was carrying again, I cried in anguish. Instead of the happiness of a new opportunity, I dreaded what could come next. And after I lost the baby, I faded into a ghost. Papa watched it all, knowing there was nothing he could do. Nothing I’d let him do.

Did I love Nate? Our relationship was born out of turmoil. He said it first, after I found out I was pregnant with Natalia, and I just…said it back. “I don’t know.”

Papa nods, quietly fiddling with his wedding ring as I cover the frittata. “I knew after our third date that Anita was the only woman I wanted to spend my life with. Sometimes love strikes fast and hard, Petra. I learned to embrace it when it does.”

“I thought you wanted me to be a nun.”

Papa shakes his head. “I want you to be happy.”

I grimace as guilt pierces my belly. “I’m happy here with you.”

Papa stands up and pulls me into his arms, kissing my hair. “I’m older than you, and will be cold before you. I love having you close, I’ll always want you close, but I want you to be loved after I’m gone.”

I blink back hot tears. “Don’t talk like you’re ninety. You’re not even sixty yet.”

Papa laughs into my hair as he squeezes me. “I’m not dying anytime soon! I’m giving my blessing. Don’t make me take it back.”

He didn’t give his blessing before. It would’ve come eventually, maybe at a wedding shower or when Natalia was born. But neither of those happened. “Ti voglio bene, Papa.”

“And I love you, principessa.” He lets go of me so I can check the frittata and plate it for him. When we sit and chat together, it’s easier than before. Papa makes me laugh, and it clears up the darkness in his own face. I wasted so much time heartbroken, when I could’ve had all this. A family who loves me, a…Reed, who makes me happy, a prospective career that I never dreamed I’d have another chance at.

I clear the dishes as a way to broach the topic without having to face Papa. “I’m going to stay the night with Reed. Will you tell Mama where I am when she wakes up?”

Papa chokes on his eggs. It’s a big ask. “Of course, I’ll handle it.”

“Love you doubly.” I kiss his whiskery cheek and squeeze him in the biggest hug I can manage. I give him a smile before I grab my bag. I’ll be back soon, I nearly say, but the words won’t come out. This is the start of something new, and we both know it. So I bite my lip and close the door behind me.

I circle the terminals at the airport, anticipation fluttering in my chest. My heart beats his name, as if he’s in my body. Reed. Reed. Reed. He’s inevitable.

He steps onto the sidewalk, his messy brown hair glinting in the sun, and my heart stops beating entirely. I pull up to the curb, and I’m not sure who runs to who, because it’s an instant before we’re inches away.

His hand cups my jaw, and his eyes are soft. “You’re here.”

“And you’re here.”

Reed takes my hand and puts it on his chest. “You’re here.” Electricity courses through us. We form a circuit together, his thumb on my cheek, my fingers over his fast beating heart. I’m speechless in the face of Reed’s soft, honey eyes and half-smile. It’s like he’s never seen me before, or like he might never see me again.

I can’t breathe when Reed’s lips touch mine, sweet and slow. I had plenty of air before and was barely surviving, but I’m vibrantly alive with Reed. Oxygen be damned.

I wrap my arms around him, kissing him with everything I want to say. I’m sorry I didn’t call for weeks. I don’t know why I thought this thing between us would fizzle out. I’m sorry I held back when you were in Swift River. I’m ready to jump if you are. Jump with me.

“Reed,” I whisper.

He ducks his face into my neck, his hands tight around my waist. “I missed you every minute.”

Before I can spill everything weighing on my heart, a traffic officer blows his whistle at us with a get moving motion. I help Reed load his bags into the back, and when we climb into the car and pull out into traffic, his palm is warm against mine. His fingers stroke my skin as if reassuring himself that we’re together.

“Do you want to get something to eat?”

“Want to see my new house?” Reed smiles, and it brightens his whole, worried face. “I’m renting it until we close. They dropped my pod off the other day and moved in the big furniture. Told you I was serious when it comes to you.”

He kisses my knuckles, and my little mushroom of a dream springs up from its place in the dirt.

I follow his directions until we park on a quiet, residential street that’s mostly older homes. Some are renovated and others have wear and tear, but Reed points out one that’s a sweet shade of creamy yellow, with a porch across the entire front and a storage pod in the driveway. The yard is overgrown, and the trees and bushes are bare and leggy. Once they are pruned and bud out, they’ll be beautiful.

“Do you like it?” Reed asks, but I can’t read him.

“It’s charming. But what do you think? Worth the buy?”

“Pet.” He brushes our lips together and leaves me aching for more. “It was worth the buy just to be near you.”

We walk up the path, hand in hand. Reed leads me to the side door, where he enters a code on a lockbox. It opens, revealing a set of brass keys. Reed shoots me a grin that sends tingling warmth down my arms, and unlocks the door.

A mud room/laundry room combo opens into a large kitchen and dining space. There is a small formal room in the front half, but the back half is made up of a bathroom and living room with huge windows that overlook the backyard and the river beyond. The whole place has a light, airy feeling, with wood floors and high ceilings. The movers placed furniture haphazardly in some of the rooms—a dining table, sofa, loveseat, and desk.

“So?” I prompt.

“I love it.” He grins at me, happier each passing minute. “Could you see yourself spending time here? Date nights? Dinners?”

“Breakfasts?” I joke.

His eyes crinkle as he pulls me in close. “So many breakfasts.”

He lifts my chin, kissing me as if we’ve got all the time in the world. Everything fades except for the tingle against his lips, the taste of him, the smell of soap that clings to him. His teeth slowly, confidently, press into my lip before his tongue swipes over the indentation, and I’m lost. His hand is hot as he slides it under my blouse and across my back, pressing us tightly together.

I haven’t been kissed like this in years.

Millenia.

Eons.

Ever.

It’s a kiss that starts wars. Ends wars. A kiss Shakespeare wrote about before it happened. Reed kisses me until my heart stops and is replaced with his own, because obviously I’m his.

I’ve always been his, since the moment the suns collided and scattered stardust across the universe.

I love you, Reed. It comes out as a sigh, thank God, because I’m not foolish enough to tell someone I love them after seven weeks of knowing them. But when Reed pulls back, his eyes dark and insatiable, it has to be written all over my face. He groans, and we meld together once again.

What feels like hours later, his phone vibrates in the pocket that’s pressed against my hip, and we break apart. “Do you need to get that?”

“No. Ignore it.”

“Kinley?” I ask. He nods and hands me his phone. The entire screen is filled with missed calls. “Ninety-two?”

He swipes to another screen. “Nearly two hundred texts.”

I wince. “Time for a new number?”

“Yes. I was waiting until we could do it together. I didn’t want to lose my bridge to you. I’ve changed it twice, since the whole…” Reed gestures at his tattoo, and I smooth my hand over it, marking my territory, erasing her from his skin. “It helped, but then she got my new number from someone and the cycle started all over again.”

“That’s awful. And the restraining order doesn’t stop her from contacting you?”

Reed grimaces. “She doesn’t care. I can only send so many cease and desist letters, or call the police. They’re not exactly sympathetic. If our genders were reversed it might be a different story.”

I don’t know how to comfort him, because he’s not wrong. I watch as he screenshots the missed call log, visual voicemails, and the text messages, and sends them all to his attorney. “What do they do when she violates the order?”

“She’s fined. She pays it and keeps going. She threatened Amanda with a knife once—convinced the police she was just hysterical and didn’t mean it. She’ll probably have to hurt me for anyone to take her seriously.”

I wince and wrap him up in my arms. “If she does, I’ll kick her ass, and then I’ll be the one going to jail.”

“I’ll send you commissary money.” Reed smiles, and it lessens the weight of the moment. He presses a kiss to my cheek and laces our hands together. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the full story with Kinley. It’s not a fun one,” he admits with an awful laugh, and I follow him to the sofa.

He pulls off the moving blanket, and the couch is soft, squishy, and perfect as we sit together. “If you’re not up to it—”

“No. You deserve to know. No secrets, Petra. Not between us. Right?”

I nod. “No secrets.”

“I told you she was in therapy when we met. It’s not an excuse, but she had a fucked up childhood, and her teen years weren’t any better. She developed a hypersexual disorder—among other issues. She acted on her triggers, sometimes with strangers or with people any normal person would stay away from. Kinley was kicked out after her mom found Kinley in bed with her mom’s boyfriend, though the boyfriends had been the root of the problem for years.”

Jesus. No one should have to live through that. “God, that’s awful. I mean, I still hate her, but…”

Reed’s lips quirk up in a wry imitation of a smile. “Exactly. She didn’t…she never knew what it was like to be loved the way we do. Our families aren’t perfect, but—”

“I don’t know what I’d do without them,” I admitted.

Reed nodded. “She was finally making progress in therapy, but she discovered erotic audio, and it shifted her fixation to me. She messaged me about how I’d helped her. She was a normal, chatty fan. We met up in person eventually, and she was fun. No red flags. Or maybe I missed them because we didn’t do a lot of talking.”

Ouch. So much for three hundred women. I’m competing with one woman with a hyped up libido.

“It’s hard to keep up with a girl like that, which was an ego boost, so I ignored a lot. But she ran into an issue with her insurance. She stopped taking her meds, then stopped going to therapy, and she lost touch with reality. She was jealous, possessive, and had major mood swings. She wanted Knight to be real, not me.”

“Then she missed out on the best parts of you.”

Reed half-smiles as he kisses my knuckles in response. “She moved in, bits and pieces at a time, so small I didn’t even notice it happening. She isolated me, and depression set in. I missed my friends, my family. Kinley didn’t care, as long as she could drag me out to clubs or show me off like a handbag. We took ecstasy while we were out one night and I was…more enthusiastic about sex. After that, she wanted me to take it all the time.”

That shocks me more than anything else. “You don’t drink, but you were okay with ecstasy?”

Reed breathes a heavy sigh, squeezing my hand. “You know me better than she ever did. I wasn’t okay with it. I was suicidal. I didn’t want to require drugs to like my life. When I took a break to see my family, Kinley followed me to Iowa. She was worried they would convince me to break up with her, which they did. Kinley threatened to kill my sister, and I was done. Called the police. Went back to LA, changed the locks, and went no contact.”

His voice is full of pain, and I know that’s not the end of the story. “I can’t imagine that went over well.”

Reed nods. “Understatement. She showed up on a set where my best friend was working and caused a scene. She got Holly fired and spray-painted her car. The police got involved, and Holly and I were both granted a protection order. But then, she—” Reed shakes his head. He’s ghost white.

He rubs his hand over his forearm where the mountain range is, and my stomach drops. “You don’t have to—”

“Holly had an awards show in Vegas, and I went with her for support. Kinley snuck into an afterparty and slipped me ecstasy. I didn’t even know she was there. I woke up next to her, with only that fucking KH on my arm and a wedding ring. Sometimes I thank God I can’t remember much from that night. Other times it’s the worst thing in the world.”

I push my tears away, because it’s not about me. I can’t imagine the psychotic break it takes to do that to someone. But then my heart shatters like glass at Reed’s feet. “Oh, Reed. She assaulted you.”

Reed’s jaw clenches tight, and pain flashes through his eyes. “Good luck getting her to see it that way.”

I want to pull him into my chest, but I don’t know how he’ll handle being touched in the middle of these memories. “Doesn’t matter how she sees it. It’s the truth.”

He shakes his head, pressing on. “Her lawyer made a pretty convincing argument with the DA. A man—worse, a man who makes a living selling sex—doesn’t make a great victim. She said that I abused her. Even with the restraining order in place, the drug test, everything. She took a plea deal and barely did any time at all.”

“No! Seriously? How is that possible? Aren’t there minimums for sexual assault? Stalking?”

“The system is complicated, messed up, and geared toward women with male abusers.” Reed’s jaw clenches, and his anger tears me apart. “I couldn’t stand being in the same city as her. Drove to Iowa first, then across half the country, and ended up in Swift River.” He gives me a half-smile. Hurt and hope all in one.

“I’m glad you did,” I say, reaching out a hand. He takes it, and I squeeze, pouring all my warmth, affection, and safety into him.

“Me too.”

I don’t have the right words like Reed does. “I wish I could’ve met you through better circumstances,” I say, squeezing again, “and avoided you going through all that pain.”

Reed brushes his thumb over my cheek with a tenderness that gets to me. “We both went through plenty of pain to get here, Pet. It was still worth it,” he says, and then he’s in my arms, face against my neck. I rub soothing circles everywhere I can as he shudders against me, holding me tight. My words come from somewhere deep down, bubbling up like a spring.

“I’m not going to let her near you again, Reed. You have me. And all the Diamantes, too. You haven’t met Silla yet, but she’s the black belt, and we’ll be like your personal ninja turtles.” It’s a relief to feel Reed jolt with a small, wry laugh. “We’re all in your corner. We won’t let you do this alone. You’re stuck with me until you say otherwise.”

Reed huffs a laugh, and nods against my shoulder. “Remind me to tell you later what I’m thinking about.”

I stroke his soft hair, and he melts into me. “You could tell me now.”

He shakes his head. “Later.”

“Thank you for telling me, Reed. For being honest and vulnerable, for sharing when I’m sure it’s not easy. I know you haven’t been taken seriously, but I hear you. Believe you. We’ve got Darin on our side, too. Maybe he can help us make a case against her.”

“Us?”

“Us. You are incredibly tough and unbelievably brave, tesoro mio. You’re going to have a life where you don’t have to worry about her, with someone who sees you and loves you for all that you are. Who is happy to share you, because you have infinite love to give to the world. I’ll make it happen—whether we’re together or not. I see you, Reed. You see my scars and I see yours, and I will do all I can to help you heal them.”

“Pet—” He chokes on my name as I rub my hand over his back. Reed presses us together until there is no space between us. Each breath is shared. Every brush of lashes, tense muscle, heartbeat—they muddle together until I can’t tell what’s mine or his. “I’d endure it all again just to meet you.”

Chapter thirty-nine

Petra

After tears turn into affectionate whispers and chaste kisses, we manage to pull ourselves together.

Reed and I grab our things from the car and take a tour of the upstairs to drop them off in the master bedroom. We spend the afternoon unpacking. Each box is a peek into Reed’s life as we move things into the house. His furniture is more about comfort than aesthetic, and since most of the heavy lifting is already done, we’re able to get most of the boxes stacked up in various rooms.

Reed orders takeout while we unbox his vinyl record collection, and when it arrives, he puts on his favorite, and tugs me into the kitchen. Once I’m stuffed, Reed pulls me to him, and we sway to the music in the sunshine. “I’m so glad you’re here, Pet.”

I close my eyes and hide my smile against his shoulder. After a few more songs, I let him go. “We should probably keep unpacking. I swear I saw some baby albums in a box in the living room that are calling my name.”

“I saw some boxes that definitely need to be moved up to the bedroom,” Reed counters with a smirk. His hand comes down playfully on my ass, and I squeal. “Come help me.”

I roll my eyes at him and head to the storage pod to grab another set of boxes to bring inside. Reed groans, but follows.

“You know, we can change anything you want, Petra,” he notes as we bring the boxes inside. “If you don’t like the—”

He’s skipping steps, and I halt in the entryway, blushing. “I’m sleeping on a twin bed, with a desk older than I am. I have no room to talk when it comes to decor. It’s your house. You should decorate it the way you like.”

He brushes against my back as he moves past me, toward the stairs. “My house for now,” he murmurs, with a barely there feather of his lips against my cheek. It sends tingles everywhere. I must blush harder, because Reed chuckles, slow and deep, and heads to the second floor.

I lean against the wall, giggling, my knees weak.

“Bonus points for the house,” Reed calls from the bedroom. “Your laugh echoes beautifully up the stairs.”

I grin and squeeze my eyes shut, an overwhelming joy sweeping through me. I don’t care what anyone says about speed, timing, or realistic expectations. I’ve never been this happy with someone.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, still grinning, and put it on speakerphone as I unpack a box in the kitchen. “Hi Livi.”

“Hey. Tommy’s here too. We want an update. How’s your man?”

“Your man?” Reed asks as he sneaks up behind me. “I like the sound of that.”

“Gross,” Tommy groans.

“They encourage each other,” I complain to Tommy. “At least now you have to listen, too.”

“What’s the story with crazy pants?” Livi asks.

“That one’s accurate too,” Reed mutters with a grimace. “She won’t stop calling, but she can’t find us here.”

“Troni, send me the address?” Tommy asks.

“Sure.” Tommy is overprotective but with Kinley this upset, we’re better safe than sorry. I pull up my text messages. “Sending it to you right now. I’m going to stay here tonight, and then I’ll check in with you guys in the morning.”

“Okay. Glad you and your family are safe, Reed. Take care of my sister,” Livi warns.

“I promise,” Reed answers. I glance over my shoulder at his serious tone, and he brushes our noses together before pressing a soft, warm kiss to my mouth.

Electricity rushes from my lips to my toes, and I break away to end the call. “Love you guys. Bye.”

“Love you,” they chorus, and then the house is quiet.

“A promise is a big deal, you know,” I tease, trying to keep it light. My heart is revving out of control.

“It’s an easy promise to make.” Reed turns me around to pin my hips to the counter. He rakes his hands through my hair, his eyes fiercely gold. “Ask me what I was thinking about earlier, Pet.”

I can’t. I have no air left. It’s all been scorched by the way he looks at me. “What?”

“I was reliving the first night you slept over, when you asked if you could hold me. And when you said you’d cancel your DKP subscription. Your voice on the other side of that shower curtain when you asked for me. Not Knight. You always saw me. Just me. I knew before dinner at The Riverfront that I wanted to date you. I knew in your kitchen that I was in danger of falling in love with you. And I knew—after you told me about Natalia—that my heart was in your hands. That I would choose you, each day, for the rest of my life.”

I suck in a breath, hands searching for him without me asking them to. My palms spread wide over his chest, and he’s warm under my fingers.

“Your dad said something to me before dinner, when you walked in. He said, ‘God speaks in my heart. I trust her to you.’ And he was right. Not about you being my property,” he smirks, “but because when you’re happy, I’m happy. When you’re heartbroken, so am I. And when you’re annoyed, well, usually I’m laughing, but you laugh when I’m annoyed, too. It doesn’t matter if I’d met you in Los Angeles, or Swift River, or Indonesia. I’d recognize your soul anywhere.”

I can’t find my breath. “What does my soul look like?”

“Mine.” He leans in and his lips touch mine—a key slipping into a lock, laying me bare to him. There are no more secrets, and what we’re left with is each other.

The past shatters like glass that softens into sand, because it can’t hurt us now. Not when he fits against me like we were made for each other.

Mine. It goes both ways. We’re mirror images, and he’s mine, too. I open my mouth to tell him, but then he deepens the kiss and the words fly out of my head, replaced by more, please, everything.

His hands change, from soft and tender to hot and demanding. He pulls my shirt off, right there in the kitchen, and then he’s moving me backward, toward the hall. It takes too long. I lace our hands together and we run up the stairs, laughing. He leads me into the bedroom and kisses me with the afternoon sun pouring through the window and heating up my skin.

He yanks his shirt up until he’s skin all over, and it’s been too long since I’ve had full access like this. “Aren’t you going to shut the door?” I protest with a gasp. He wraps his arms around me. With a quick pinch, my bra loosens, and I let it drop to the floor.

“Why? It’s our house, darling.” He punctuates it with a kiss to my shoulder that leaves me breathless. “No need to hide.”

Our house. My brain runs away with the phrase, no matter how ridiculous it is. I kiss everywhere I can reach while he unbuttons my jeans, and I’m frantic as I pull them off. His hands set fires across my skin as he cups my breasts. He teases my nipples to hard points that ache, leaving me breathless and needy.

He kneels, kissing his way up my thighs, and smirks. “You could’ve told me you wanted this earlier, you know,” he teases, stroking the damp fabric of my sheer underwear before tugging them down my legs.

“Well, I want it now.” I tug him back up. “I can’t wait anymore. I want all of you. Just like this. I started birth control the day after I listened to the thumb drive.”

Reed’s pupils widen, and his swallow echoes in the empty room. “Always unexpected, Pet,” he notes, guiding me down to the bed. His hand stretches across my chest, forcing me to lay back, and swipes a thumb over my nipple. “I can only imagine how big that decision was for you. Thank you for trusting me. But I want you soaked and trembling first.”

His shoulders fit between my thighs, spreading me open, and I’m lost to the warmth of his mouth. The sunlight bakes into my skin as he devours me. I melt under his attention, and my hands thread through his hair to hold him to me. “Right there,” I plead. “Oh, tesoro, don’t change a thing.”

He chuckles, but does as he’s told. The smirk he gives me with only his honey eyes while he strokes, nips, and swirls, sends me higher. I squeeze my legs around him as the need builds in me. My thighs shake as he sucks my clit back into his mouth, and I surrender. Reality disintegrates until nothing exists except for me and Reed and the places we touch.

When the darkness recedes to the edge of my vision, Reed climbs over to kiss me, long, slick, and deep. The slide of his lips is sinful, and I shudder.

“I want you in every room of this house, Pet. All this time apart has had me dreaming about all the ways I’m going to have you.”

The air burns in my lungs as I suck it down. “Oh? Have you been writing scenes?”

Reed’s dimple winks at me as he smirks. “More like writing a playbook, baby.”

“Oh? And what if I’ve been writing my own?” I undo his pants, and he’s hot and firm in my fist. “I have so many new fantasies.”

But Reed shakes his head as his hands map my curves. “Later. I want you, Pet. In a dozen ways, I want you. But right now I want to bury myself inside you and convince you that it should be you and me from here on out.”

There’s something building in my chest, reaching the highest peak of the swell before riding the crash of it. Though I’m wrapped around him and can’t get any closer, my heart aches for him beneath my ribs. I throw my leg over his, burrowing into him. “I don’t need convincing, tesoro.”

My hands unclench and explore, undressing him, memorizing him. There are a thousand places I love to touch that elicit a thousand soft sounds. He slides inside me with a groan that vibrates through my whole body. My eyes slip closed as I clutch his shoulders and adjust to the way we fit together. He’s hot and firm, stretching me in all the right ways.

“No. Look at me, Pet.” When I open my eyes, his are tender and amber and perfect. Neither of us says it, but it courses between us. Three words I struggle not to say. They seem too good to be true for our short time together, broken hearts, and jagged scars.

I love you. I love you. I love you. All of me trembles with the effort of holding them back. “You know,” I whisper.

“Darling Petra,” he murmurs, eyes molten. “I know.”

He kisses me again and fire licks through my blood. He retreats, then slides back in slowly, carefully, slicking the way for us, and it’s so good that my nails dig into his back. He takes the next thrust harder, deeper, and I arch against him. “We should’ve been doing this for weeks,” I lament.

“Live with me in Portland and we can do this all the time.”

“Not content with visits?” I tease, but he hits a spot that has me crying out.

“Never.” All his careful exploration goes out the window. He sucks at my lips, my neck, my breasts, sliding deeper with each thrust. The friction of him drives me crazy, and my legs shake with it. He winds me up until I can’t see, breathe, or think of anything but Reed.

Reed. Reed. Reed.

We heal our scars together. We belong together.

My eyes shut, but the sunshine bathes us, dazzles us, chases away our shadows. I’m moaning, pleading, as he swipes his thumb over my clit. He does it again and again until I cry out. “Ti amo, Reed!”

“You can’t hide it from me in Italian,” Reed growls, and kisses me again. “One more, my love. Take it from me.”

I clutch onto him for dear life as I arch against him. I’m on the edge, but it moves father and father away from me. Reed’s thumb moves faster, presses harder, as he kisses his way up my neck.

“You don’t need to hide it. You don’t need to run. I’m not going anywhere, because I’m so in love with you, Pet.” Reed’s lips brush my ear with his words. They slip inside me, smooth as silk, warm and sweet as melted chocolate, as vibrant as bouquets and coastal sunsets.

All around us, the sunlight explodes into a shower of gold. It drifts through me, filling me up, coiling me tight. I whimper as he lays claim to my mouth. I’m dizzy and out of breath as he kisses me over and over.

He pulls back just enough to let me breathe, and I fall over the edge. With a moan that echoes in my bones, Reed follows.

All I know is Reed. He’s a warmth that seeps through my pores until I’m baking in it. I didn’t realize how deep the chill went before now. Reed’s skin is just as hot from the sun and exertion. He rolls off me and we lay together, savoring all the places we touch.

“I’ve never felt this before,” I confide after I’ve caught my breath. “My heart is walking around in your body. It’s yours, Reed. All of me is yours.”

“And all of me is yours, love.” He leans in to kiss me slowly, softly—a kiss full of promises that fuels the fire banked in me. “When you’re ready to go again, let me know. I wasn’t joking. I’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks, and I have so many ideas.”

I shiver at the possibilities. “Does that mean there’s a chance I could be tied up again tonight? Because that really did a lot for me.”

“Fuck yes, there is. Amongst about a thousand other things I’ve got lined up for us. You’d better pencil me in for a couple decades while we work through them all. I love your whispers, but someday I’m going to make your screams echo throughout our house, Pet.” He reaches for me with a smug smile and bright eyes, but I slip from the bed before he can pin me beneath him. “Hey, hey, come back. I’m not done holding you.”

“I want to show you something.” I dig my manuscript out of my bag, and Reed blinks at me when I crawl next to him and place it in his hands.

He touches the first page with such reverence that it makes me cry. I brush the tear away, determined to hold it together. He delves in, turning page after page without saying anything. He doesn’t need to. His face says it all. He laughs, frowns, turns the pages faster when the conflict comes up. He makes it all the way to the end of the first book before he looks up.

“You’re amazing. You get a sneak peek inside my head with some of those audios, but this—seeing inside your beautiful mind, Petronia? The world you created, the characters you filled with love, the thought you put into every page. It’s stunning.”

Tears pour down my face, quicker with each word. He leans in to catch them, wiping them away with lips and thumbs.

“I’ve read a lot of books to my nieces, and none of them have conflicts like this. You’ve taken a genre that can be trivial and imbued real hardship in it, in a way that kids will understand. Do you know how many kids need that? Need something to connect to when they are full of big feelings that adults tend to minimize? It’s a gift.”

“I already had sex with you, you don’t have to flatter me,” I say with an uncomfortable laugh.

Reed is having none of it, though. He takes my face in his hands to kiss me softly. “If I didn’t know you, I’d say the same thing. I can’t wait to see where this new path takes you, because I have no doubt that it will be extraordinary. I’d be honored to record it for you.”

“You’re a charmer.”

He grins. “If I’m so charming, then how long before I can convince you to move in with me?”

I close my eyes as he kisses me from forehead to shoulder, basking in the warm affection of it. “Mmmm. Four months? Three months. Two months.”

His lips curl into a smile. “What if I tell you there’s a huge, copper soaking tub in the backyard with its own solar water heater?”

He’s got to be joking. “One month.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he says, and kisses me again. “We can use it together when the jasmine vines bloom. Will you read the next one to me, Pet?”

“Really?”

Reed nods as he gathers me in his arms. “Your voice is my favorite sound in the world.”

“Yours is mine.” I brush our noses together before I lay in his arms and flip to the next book. “Natalia smiled up at the lavender sky as she and Eda trotted across the meadow. It was the first day of spring, and all of Galin was gathering together to celebrate.”

Chapter forty

Reed

The only thing better than falling asleep next to Petra is waking up to her. I’m groggy, exhausted after the multiple rounds we had yesterday and last night. Fuck, she was beautiful draped over the kitchen counter after our midnight snack. We’ve already used the shower once, but as soon as she’s awake enough, I’m determined to make enough of a mess that we’ll need it again.

It’s fate that my first time walking through the door was with her. She was radiant from the moment we crossed that threshold together, and the whole place is infused with her. Our first conversation in this house was difficult, but once we put that all aside, it already felt like home.

Petra’s eyes brightened while we unpacked, her body curving and brushing against mine with each reach and sidestep. Her hip fit under my palm like it was made to be there, and the curve of her neck was the perfect place to rest my jaw. When she laughed, her curls swung around her face as if they had a mind of their own, framing her green-flecked eyes and long lashes.

There’s rustling on the other side of the room, and a warm body slips under the sheet. Heat flares in my chest, and I smile as I reach for her. “I love having you here, Petra. I can’t wait for this to be routine.”

I wrap my arm around her waist, eager to pull her close. But her hip isn’t soft and round under my fingers.

The light, floral scent of my nightmares is back.

Roses.

“The hell?” I shove against a naked spine, suddenly awake. “Kinley?”

“I love that you know my body in the dark.” Her voice is husky, and a shiver runs down my spine. I jump out of bed, yanking my pants on as quickly as I can.

“Get out! You—I can’t even—” Sleep is a distant memory as adrenaline floods my veins. All of me hums on a frequency too intense to manage, as though I’m about to jump out of a plane. I’m two seconds from throwing up all over the floor. “How did you find me?”

Kinley prowls across the sheets like a tiger. “Good morning, Daddy,” she purrs.

Bile crawls up my throat. Those three words have haunted me ever since I woke up to them in Vegas. “Don’t fucking touch me. Jesus. You’re here, again, because no one matters but you and what you want!”

Kinley’s jaw ticks, her whole face stony, but she pulls her hand back. “Calling yourself a victim doesn’t change that we couldn’t have slept together if you weren’t turned on.” She traces a finger around her breasts, pouting, but she has zero appeal. I chuck a blanket at her to cover her up. “You’re just embarrassed because you said you didn’t want me. I went to jail, Reed. All because you couldn’t put your pride aside and admit you changed your mind!”

She balls up the blanket and throws it on the floor.

“I don’t want you. Now or ever.”

Her jaw clenches, and her slate blue eyes flash like sharp steel. “Do you know what I’ve been through for you? I forgave you for calling the police. I had your back! And then I get released and you ghost me? You should be on your knees begging for my forgiveness.”

I’m reliving my worst nightmare. “You’re not the victim here!”

“We need to move past this and get back together already!” She screams, then takes a beat, composes herself. “Daddy, let me show you. Let me help you remember how good it was.”

Kinley reaches for me, pressing our bodies together. I shove her away, but the invisible scales and talons are back and shredding at my skin. I’m desperate to peel it off. Rage courses through me, white hot, and my yell booms across the early morning air. “Get out!”

“Pooki, remember what it was like. Our memories are all around you.” She climbs off the bed and trails a hand over the dresser. “My lingerie in this drawer. My—”

My nails bite into the palm of my hand as my fist clenches. “You have ten seconds to put on your clothes, or I’m throwing you out the front door naked.”

“Pooki—”

I’m shaking. “Ten.”

“But—”

My skin crawls. “Nine.”

“Fine.” Her lip trembles as she slips her shirt on. The gray light signaling the dawn creeps in through the window, making her red-rimmed eyes shifty. Kinley is a coyote: sly, digging for scraps, yelping like a victim to lure city dogs into her trap. But it’s all an act.

“Eight.”

She yanks on her pants with a snarl. “Shut up, Reed, I’m going!”

“Seven. Six. Five.” I shove her hoodie and bag at her and march her down the stairs, flinging open the front door.

“Daddy?” Kinley is shivering in the cold morning air. Tears are tracking down her face and her sweatshirt is balled in her arms. “Please don’t do this. Remember how much you love me—”

She grabs my arm, but I pry her off. She’s delusional. Anything less than perfect clarity will leave her thinking we can work through this. “I don’t. I—”

I stop at the sight of the moving pod in the driveway, finally emerging from my nightmare and into the present. Shock whips through me, quickly followed by ice in my veins. Dread.

“Where is Petra?”

She stands up straighter, a glint in her eye. “How badly do you want to know?”

I don’t rise to the bait. “Where the fuck is she?”

Kinley smiles. A coyote. “Afraid we’ll be best friends? Too late!” She unlocks her phone to show me a selfie of her and Petra together in Mulberry’s. They’re both smiling. What the hell has she been up to? “Afraid I’ll take her from you? I can lick pussy with the best of them, you know.”

“You have three seconds to tell me.”

Kinley rolls her eyes and drops her phone back in her bag. “Maybe you’re obsessed with her now, but she’ll become old news. You can only listen to a recording so many times before it loses its power. Before you crave something real.”

“If you hurt her, I’ll—”

“Oh, Reed.” Kinley sighs and pulls a handgun from her purse, aiming it right at my chest. I freeze, and everything goes hazy. “You always force me into Plan B.”

Oh. Well, fuck.

I’d always said she’d have to hurt me for anyone to understand, but Jesus, she’s going to skip right over that. Her ice blue gaze is sad but determined, and her hand is steady. She’s not just my monster, but her own. I escaped her for a little while, but she can’t run from herself.

“Kin.” Kinley shakes her head, like she knows what I’m going to say. Her lip trembles, and I know there’s still something good inside her. There has to be. I barely scratched the surface of who Petra is. I’m not giving up our future together that easily. “You don’t want to do this.”

“I really don’t.” Kinley blinks up at me, and a tear slips down her cheek. For once, I believe it’s real. “Everything is fractured.”

“I know. This isn’t you. Give me the gun, Kin. Let me get you some help.” I stretch out my hand, and the movement shocks her out of her thoughts.

“You still love me,” she says, blinking back her tears. She settles into herself, closing the distance between us with a watery smile. “I knew you did.”

Fuck. She’s in the middle of a crisis, completely out of touch. There’s a reason why Kinley prefers a father figure. I shift, imagining I’m talking to someone fragile, like Janie. “No, Kinley. I want to help you. You’re feeling fractured? We need to get you to a doctor.”

Kinley shakes her head. “I need a different medicine. I want to work this out the way we always did. I’d hoped a little sex this morning would remind you how good we are, but you like to play hard to get, Daddy. It’s frustrating, but so hot.” The gun never wavers as she bats her eyelashes at me.

“That’s not an option. Let’s talk about other ways forward.”

She shrugs, as if holding me hostage isn’t a psychotic move. “No. Now we do it my way. Kitchen, Reed. Go. If you’re not going to be my Daddy today, then be my good boy,” she croons.

I’m not going anywhere. I have to trust that she wants me alive more than dead, but she’s lost touch with reality, and I can’t rule it out entirely. And if she’d consider hurting me… Fresh panic claws at my ribs. “Tell me where Petra is, Kin. Please. Just tell me if she’s okay.”

“I’ll tell you, for a kiss.” Kinley pulls at the waistband of my pants, and I jerk back, out of her reach. It’s only after a half-dozen steps of this that I realize she’s backed me into the kitchen like she wanted. “She’s fine. Went somewhere ten minutes ago. What an idiot. She left the door unlocked.”

Because Petra doesn’t have a key. It’s around here somewhere, in a pile of discarded clothing, or maybe in the couch cushions. It doesn’t matter. I send a quick prayer of thanks to God for keeping Petra safe. Now I need him to keep her from coming back. “How did you find the house?”

“The address was in your emails. I knew as soon as you boarded a plane that this is where you’d go. It’s super cute.” Any trace of tears is gone. She keeps the gun on me as she opens the cupboards where Petra has already put things away. “I wish we didn’t have to leave it behind. Oh, you kept my My Little Pony plates from when I was little.”

It’s Janie’s favorite show, and I’d bought them for when Janie and Brooke visited, but I’d give Kinley anything to go away. “That’s right, take anything you want. Dishes, the sofa, records. They’re yours. Let me call you a car. I’ll pack them up for you.”

Kinley laughs. “Reed, where we go, we go together. I just have a couple loose ends to tie up before we leave.”

She can’t mean Petra. My palms sweat, and my pulse pounds in my ears. “I changed my mind. Let’s go now. Where are we headed?”

Kinley shakes her head, keeping her eyes on me even as she rifles through a drawer. “Oh, Reed. I can’t have you longing to come back. I saw your call log. Seven hours on the phone with her the other day? I wasn’t prepared for that trash to sneak out so early, or I would’ve killed her then.”

I search her face, but she’s serious. She hasn’t dropped the gun a fraction of an inch.

“But that’s okay,” she says with a girlish smile. I recognize it from each time we fought and I gave in until she got her way. “We’ll do it when she gets back, and you’ll finally see that I’m the only one for you. No matter what you do, or where you go, you’ll always be mine.”

Chapter forty-one

Petra

I rush down the street, arms filled with coffee and donuts, hoping the brisk pace will help warm me up. My app made it seem like a short walk, but city blocks are a lot longer here than in Swift River. I round the corner to Rosewood Court, and Reed’s pretty, sunny house beckons me in.

God, I love that man. I thought sex would be scary after all this time, but with Reed it’s effortless. No uneasiness or second guessing. He drowns out my insecurities with kisses and words that make my toes curl. I glance at the fresh, pink mark around my wrist, and heat pools in my belly. I’d ducked out because my stomach was growling and there was no food in the kitchen, but maybe we can have more sex first and donuts second.

But as I get closer, the front door is partially opened. Surely I didn’t leave it that way? I’m quiet as I make my way up the walk, weighing my apprehension and paranoia. Maybe it’s a quirk of the house, and the front door doesn’t latch properly without the lock.

“If you leave now, no one has to know,” Reed says from somewhere inside, and I hesitate on the porch. “You say you have my back? Ok. I’ll cover yours. No police, no jail.”

Jail?

Kinley. My blood turns to ice. I set my shoulders back outside the front door, steeling myself for the catfight I’ll need to put up. I promised Reed I’d protect him, and if he can’t get her to stop, I will.

“But you have to stop waving that thing around,” Reed continues. “The minute the gun goes off, that’s all out the window. You’ll be looking at years in prison.”

A gun? Panic steals my breath, and I struggle to remember what to do. We’ve talked about this at work, how robberies aren’t worth our lives, and we should comply and let them go. But this isn’t a burglary, and I have no idea what to do.

“I wish we could bring some of this with us,” Kinley says. Her voice is nothing like it was on the phone. It’s soft, pouty, girlish, and strangely familiar. “I got you these scotch glasses for your birthday, remember? Remember how, two glasses in, I stripped off my panties and—”

“I remember you forced me to drink.”

“Don’t be such a prude,” she chides, opening a drawer. “C’mon, Daddy, bring out your bad side. DK would tell me I’m being naughty. He’d tie me up and punish me right here.”

“You’re sick, Kin. When’s the last time you took your meds?”

“Be careful who you call names. You’re not the one with the gun,” she warns. “I don’t need meds. I’m better now, remember? Used to be that anyone in a club bathroom could get me off. Now it’s only you. We’re meant to be.”

“People who are meant to be don’t have to hold each other at gunpoint.”

“If you don’t like my behavior, you should do something about it,” she taunts. “Remember when you threatened to fuck me with a baseball bat after softball practice if I didn’t stop being such a tease? Where’s that daddy? Be rough with me! Love me!”

“I never—Christ, Kinley, come back to earth! Look at me. Look at my face. That’s not me. I’m not him. You don’t even like who I am, remember? I’m boring.”

I remember that episode. He’d started taking requests from his highest tier patrons, and someone chose a bullying, authoritarian scene with a coach.

Kinley can’t tell them apart. If she’s this out of it, there’s no limit to what she might do. I can’t lose him. Not this beautiful man who deserves sunny afternoons. I promised he’d get them.

Please, God, please don’t let him die. You didn’t listen to me with Natalia, but please listen now. I’ll go to church. I’ll be a better person.

“I…” She pauses, as if God answered my prayer and let her sanity leak in. But then she smashes my hope with a sledgehammer. “You’re lying. I listened to some of the recording you made with her. It took me out of it each time you said her name, but you’re still that guy. I want what she has! I’ll make you love me. Even if I have to break you to do it.”

“You didn’t want it to go like this. Let’s make a different plan,” Reed offers.

I carefully put my phone on silent and set breakfast down by the door. I breathe through my panic and send a group text to Tommy and Darin with shaky fingers.

Kinley is here and has a gun. Tommy has the address. Call 911.

Tommy responds in seconds.

What? Where are you? Is anyone hurt?

Not yet. She’s in the kitchen. Front door open. Hurry.

“I have a great plan,” Kinley growls. “That’s why I got my new ID and passport.”

“What good will that do you?” Reed asks, as my phone buzzes with more texts from Tommy.

Stay hidden if you can, keep her calm if you can’t.

Love you Troni

“Because, Daddy, after Petra is dead, you and I are crossing to Canada as man and wife. From there, we’re getting on a plane to Ecuador. Tropical life, it’ll be great.”

Something slams inside the house. “Touch Petra and I’ll—”

“Don’t test me!” Her shrill scream echoes through the house. “Take another step and I’ll shoot.”

It’s escalating too fast to wait for the cops. I search for a makeshift weapon, scrambling like an idiot. Jesus Christ, who am I kidding, trying to take on a woman with a gun? I choke back a laugh, because I shouldn’t swear only minutes after bargaining with God to save Reed’s life.

But then Mama’s words come back to me from Natalia’s burial. “Faith isn’t about what you offer in return. Faith is believing with your whole heart, and trusting that God has a plan you will never understand. You can’t pray for your plan. You must pray for His.”

As much as I hated her advice back then, it rings truer now. What would my life be like if I still had Natalia? Would I have gone back to writing? Would I be this close to my siblings, to my parents? Would I have met Reed, or spent the rest of my life unhappily tied to Nate? I’ll never stop missing her, but I will also never understand why it happened the way it did.

I trust in your plan. I grab a foot-tall garden statue that the previous owners must’ve left behind. I have faith in my blindness, for I cannot understand. My hands steady, my heart rate slows, and I creep through the front door. They’re around the corner, in the kitchen, and a quick peek confirms that Kinley has her back to me.

“I’m trying to play nice,” Kinley says frostily. The sound of a gun cocking echoes through the room. “But now you’re just insulting. Test me and see what happens. If I can’t have you, no one can.”

With a deep breath and a chest full of faith, I dart forward, raising the statue to hit Kinley with it. She’s faster, though, and spins around once she hears my footsteps.

I freeze. I’ve met her. She’s the cute, bubbly blonde from the grocery store. The one I’d wished could be a friend.

She smiles like a shark as she raises the gun, and Reed launches at her from behind, sending them both across the room. They fall to the floor with a thud. She tries to get away, but Reed yanks her back.

The crack of a gunshot rings in the empty kitchen. It’s deafening. Reed groans, hand gripping his leg, and I scream.

“No! I’m sorry, I…” Kinley gets to her feet, pale faced and wide eyed. She turns to me and lifts the gun in my face, merely a foot away. “You did this!”

My heart pounds, adrenaline pushing me to make the stupidest decision possible. I bring the statue down on her forearm, forcing the gun down and away from us while another shot goes off. Heat blazes through my arm.

I let go of the statue and twist the gun up and to the side as the concrete statue slams down on her foot. She screams and curls forward, dropping the gun.

I lunge for it, but Kinley grabs me. Her nails rake across my cheek and catch the corner of my mouth, but I’m blind to the pain.

I aim for all the places Silla ingrained into my memory, but Kinley is scrappy. She punches back equally fast. There’s an unhinged rage fueling her, but I’m getting tired. When she gets to her knees to run, I make a desperate call.

I shove her face to the side, striking her upper neck, cutting up under her jaw with my elbow, just like Silla taught me. Kinley’s teeth clatter together, and pain radiates down my forearm.

Three of my fingers go numb, but I ignore it as she collapses to the floor. I flip her onto her stomach and pull her wrists behind her back. Kinley squirms underneath me, but I grab the roots of her hair with a strength that surprises me.

“Reed!” I call out. I can’t look away from Kinley. “Please be alive. Please, please, please.”

“I’m here,” Reed says, but it’s faint through the buzzing in my head.

“I should beat the hell out of you,” I growl in Kinley’s ear. “You have no human decency. You will never understand that you’re not good enough for him, and I’ll make sure you never touch him again. It’s done, Kinley.”

“Petra.” I finally let myself look. Reed’s lip is bleeding, his forearms bloody with fingernail tracks, and more blood dribbles out from where his hand is pressed to his leg. He tries to crawl toward me, wincing, but can’t move far. His hand is gentle when he stretches out to squeeze my ankle. “You did beat the hell out of her. I can’t believe you ran in here like that. Actually, I can. Baby, you okay?”

I’m shaking, my face hurts, and there is blood trickling into my eye. “I don’t know.”

Something hard hits my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. Reed’s hand slips from my ankle. My head slams against the floor, and the rest of my body follows. Sharp pain radiates up my spine, and it stuns me. My heart thuds, heavy and thick in my chest. It’s never been so loud before. It drums louder, faster. Like a countdown. It multiplies until it’s more like thundering footfalls.

Kinley’s forearm presses down on my throat while she raises the gun in her good hand. “Move and I kill her!”

“Please,” Reed begs, face ashen. He’s leached of all the beautiful color he brought into my life. “Please don’t do this. I’ll give you anything you want. You want Ecuador? Let’s go. Right now. Come on.” He reaches a hand toward her, pulling her focus away from me.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” she says with a giggle, and the barrel of the gun presses hard against my temple. “But I was just kidding, Daddy.”

Time stretches. I find Reed’s eyes with mine. His jaw tightens, no sign of his dimple. God, I miss his dimple. I love you. I don’t have enough air to get the words out.

I close my eyes, picturing sunlight and waffles. Reed’s laugh, Silla’s hugs, Tommy’s smile, Livi’s playful glare, Mama’s humming over the stove, Papa’s gentle touch as he brushes my hair back, and little Natalia. My baby.

When I open them again, Kinley’s smile disappears. “She was always going to die today.”

“No!” Reed shouts, lunging for her. The drumming quickens into a stampede of horses in my ear. The gun goes off with two pops, loud as the crack of lightning, and my ears ring and go silent. The sunlight I picture behind my eyes is doused to black.

But there is no blinding light to take its place. There’s no one waiting for me, or welcoming me home. I’m stuck here. A ghost.

Is this what I get for turning my back on God? I should’ve done things differently. Should’ve left Nate years ago. Told my family I loved them every day. Jumped in headfirst with Reed. Published my books—whether they did well or not. I should’ve done it all for me. How could I ask anyone to love me when I hadn’t loved myself?

At least there’s no pain. Kinley’s heavy weight still pins down my side. Any second now, I’ll rise out of my body to see my blood spread across the floor in the house that Reed and I were going to call home.

Tears well in my eyes, and it’s so stupid that ghosts can cry, because death was supposed to bring peace.

“Petra!” Reed’s voice barely registers. The volume of the whole world has been turned down, but his voice is shredded as he yanks my body away from Kinley’s and cups my face. He turns my head to search the wound, and I wish I could tell him not to.

Great, heaving sobs bubble to the surface. It’s not fair. I wanted a whole life with Reed. All this time fighting it—terrified of what would happen if I let him in—what was it all for? I wasted weeks of sunshine with him.

“Pet?” Reed’s hands are everywhere, and he pulls me up to sit and cradles me to his chest. “You’re okay, love. You’re okay.”

He smells like I remember. Warm and comforting, and a little like me, which makes sense after the night we had. I reach up behind him to clasp his bare, cold shoulders, desperate to be close to him.

Wait. What?

Through my fuzzy hearing, there are loud thumps like footsteps, and voices all around me. I peel myself away, and there are uniformed officers talking to each other nearby. I search for where Reed pulled Kinley off me, but there are two people in the way. Reed puts a palm against my cheek and turns my gaze back to him.

“Don’t look,” he says. “Trust me.”

“I—she—am I not dead?”

Reed’s face is gray. “That’s not funny.”

I can’t control the way tears push up to the surface and claw at me. “It was a real question.”

“Oh, baby.” He pulls me in tighter. “You’re not. Thank God. Thank you, thank you, thank you, God. I don’t even know how the police are here, but I’ve never been so grateful. I thought I was going to lose you, but you’re not going anywhere and neither am I. I’ve got you, Pet.”

Tommy. They’re here because of Tommy and Darin. I owe them my life.

“GSW to the leg,” a voice breaks in, close to my ear, and Reed hisses out a sound of pain. A hand squeezes and prods my arm. “A graze here, too. Upper arm. You’ll need to let go of her,” the voice says, and Reed holds me tighter. “Sir, I need to see how serious your wound is.”

“Reed,” I protest hoarsely. “Let me go. You got shot.”

“So did you,” he counters, but loosens his hold. “What is this?” Reed snorts a shocked laugh. He’s still pale as he nudges the statue with his good leg. It’s a pixie sitting on a mushroom. “Only you could rescue me with a fairy, Pet.”

“I didn’t plan it that way,” I admit, hysteria building in my throat. With the shock wearing off, the world comes back into focus. My arm burns, as does my forehead. There’s a lot of talking, both in the room and over the radio, but I can’t make sense of any of it. A group of people rush a gurney out of the room. “Kinley?”

“The police intervened,” an EMT says. Intervened. Such a bland word for something immense. I’m shaking as I let go of him. The fingers in my left hand are still numb. I can’t tell if I broke my arm when I hit her. It doesn’t matter.

I soak up the sight of Reed’s golden eyes and strong jaw. The EMT pulls us apart to lay Reed down and apply pressure to his thigh. He says something that sounds like it’s underwater.

“How bad is it? Are you dying? Are you in pain?” I ask, crawling to kneel above his head.

Reed shakes his in disbelief. “Pet, you almost died. Yell at me. Hit me. Please.” He cups my jaw in his hand, stroking my cheek with the same reverence he traced the pages of my book. “You’re incredibly beautiful upside down.”

“So are you. You’re going to be okay, Reed. We’re going to be okay.” He nods, and I press our foreheads together, breathing him in while I come back into my body. Everything hurts. My muscles are tight and my face throbs. Reed has to be in agony. I press my hand to Reed’s chest, and his heartbeat echoes under my palm.

It’s the only thing that matters. He’s safe. Safe to see another dawn.

The officer pulls me away so the medics can get Reed onto a gurney. He reaches for my hand as they guide us toward the ambulance. We’re separated in the emergency department, and I’m given medication for the pain. It numbs me, and I fade in and out of time while they take my clothes, my DNA, and photos of my wounds before and after they’ve been cleaned out.

A scan shows that the nerve damage from my uppercut should heal in a few days to weeks, and the police come into my room to take a statement. I’m exhausted when it’s over, but all I want is to see Reed.

“Petra! Petra!” Livi is so loud that her screams are impossible to miss. There’s a low conversation and then she comes bursting in with Tommy. “Oh my God, Troni, I thought you died!” she sobs, throwing herself over me. “Darin heard over the scanner—”

“Livi.” Tommy warns her, and Livi presses her lips shut. Tommy looks me over, assessing where I’m bandaged. “We got some conflicting reports. You were shot? How’s your pain level?”

“Barely a graze, Dr. Diamante,” I tease, but I can’t manage a smile. I’m too busy memorizing both of their faces. “I’m worried about Reed. I didn’t—there was so much happening. I don’t know how he is.”

“Darin is asking about him right now,” Livi assures me. “Can I get you anything? Water? Wine? After a morning like yours, I’d want some wine.”

“Jesus, Liv.” Tommy wipes a hand over his face. “She’s probably on a narcotic. No wine.”

“Well I need wine,” she mutters. She folds her fingers around mine, and Tommy takes my other hand. “What happened? Tell us everything.”

I grimace, because the cops wouldn’t share anything with me. “I don’t know much. I went out for donuts, and when I came back Kinley was in the kitchen with a gun.”

“It’s not a game of Clue,” Livi chides.

“Troni’s in shock. Give her a break. She’s going to need time.”

“We heard—” Livi swallows. “They said there was a female in critical condition on the scanner. We had no way to know whether that was you.”

Critical condition. My heart rate monitor beeps faster as the terror from the kitchen comes back full force. If that officer hadn’t taken the shot, I wouldn’t be here right now. Was Kinley’s pretend love worth all of our pain? Worth her stress and anxiety, living a crazed life in pursuit of something that didn’t exist?

Livi purses her lips against the tears that trickle down her face. “Silla is on her way, and I left the kids with Mama. They’ll drive over later.”

“I’m sorry I scared you all.” I squeeze Livi’s hand, and the ice in my veins thaws. “I wouldn’t be here without you, Tommy. Thank you.”

Tommy takes my other hand, wiping his face on his shoulder. “I’ve never prayed as much as I did today.”

“Me too,” I admit. It’s a good reminder, and I close my eyes and send my prayer out into the universe.

Thank you for sending Reed when I didn’t know I needed him. For saving him. For giving me another chance at happiness. I know now what it means for me to walk with faith. It was never about church and rituals. It was about family, love, compassion, and forgiveness. I promise to walk in those places, and think of you while I do.

Chapter forty-two

Reed

I’m fucking exhausted. The lights are too bright, and I’ve been injected, prodded, and stitched for who knows how long. No matter how many times I ask for her, no one will let me see Petra.

It’s only after the officer finishes taking my statement that he’ll entertain my questions. “What’s going to happen to Kinley?”

The officer shakes his head. “She succumbed to her injuries shortly after arriving at the hospital. A volunteer will come by before you’re discharged with some information about counseling. There are free services to help you make it through this difficult time.”

Gone. She’s gone.

A ball sits in the back of my throat, and I can’t swallow it down. The small part of my heart that once loved her—or the idea of her—cracks. I know something in her cried real tears. She was fractured long before she met me, and her obsession made her just as unhappy as the rest of us. If she’d stuck with a treatment plan, she might’ve lived a full, beautiful life.

But my fist clenches by my side as the rest of it hits. The bigger part of me, the one I’m not proud of, is angry. Angry that she hurt me. That she would’ve killed Petra. That Kinley had to die for this chapter to be over. That she couldn’t just let it go, for all of our sakes.

She’ll never understand the way I drowned, the way her mistreatment crawled over my skin. I will never get an apology, and it will be on me to figure out how to live without it. All of it sits heavy in my stomach.

The officer pauses on his way out. “I read your whole file. The system failed you—we failed you—when you should’ve been taken seriously. I’d like to say that it would’ve been different if it had all happened here, but… I’m sorry it had to come to this to get any meaningful intervention. I hope it helps that you don’t need to keep running.”

Grief, relief, guilt, and the remnants of overwhelming fear claw at my throat. “Please tell the nurse I want to see Petra.”

The officer nods, and he’s only gone for a few minutes before there is a quiet knock on my door. A nurse finally leads Petra into the room, dressed in a hospital gown that matches my own.

“Oh, Pet.” I suck in a harsh breath at her injuries. “What hurts?” There are heavy bruises blooming across her face. There are small cuts from her jaw to her hairline, and a jagged one at the corner of her mouth. It’s hard to tell what else is wrong under her loose gown. But she’s alive, and she’s never looked more beautiful.

“I’m okay. How’s your leg?” She bites her lip as she pulls up a chair close to the bed and reaches for my hand. “They wouldn’t tell me anything about your condition.”

Fuck that. I pull her in beside me. She shifts her weight away from me, but I tug her closer. “Come back. It’s my other leg, and I need to feel you more than I need to stay still.”

I touch her everywhere I can, needing to make sure she’s whole. She’s just as soft as she was under my hands last night. Twelve hours ago she was giggling under the sheets with me. How did we get from there to here so quickly? For a brief, terrifying moment, I thought one night of possibilities was all we’d get.

She flinches when I brush her wrist, and my chest constricts. “I’m so sorry. I promised to protect you—”

Petra finally gives up the distance between us and curls into me. She presses a gentle finger to my lips. “We protect each other, amato. That’s how families work.”

“Are we family now?”

She nods, brushing our noses together, and something hot builds behind my sternum and in my eyes. “It’s amazing how clear things got for me today. I’m done holding back, Reed. I sure hope you’re okay with that, because you have a whole clan of Diamantes out in the hall who are worried sick about you. Mama is feeding the entire nursing staff as we speak.”

She’s trying to make me feel better, and I wish she wouldn’t. “Don’t they hate me for getting you involved? Because I do,” I choke out, clutching her tighter. I’m going to glue her to my side. “You were so brave, but I was fucking terrified that you—”

“So was I,” she admits. “But I didn’t. And you didn’t. I’m sure we could both use a hefty dose of therapy after this. Just be here with me, tesoro. Breathe with me. That’s enough.”

“You and me,” I promise. Our kiss is soft and quiet. It’s our first since my heart stopped when Kinley pressed a gun to Petra’s head, and is our most precious. I wrap my arms around her, unwilling to let her go for a second.

When I pull back, a glint of red catches my eye. Her hair still has blood in it, and my terror surges forward like a tidal wave of ice. “She’s gone, Petra. She’ll never hurt you again.”

“Hey. She’ll never hurt you again.” She strokes the back of my neck—a touch I relish. Each moment with her is sacred. “Are you…okay? She was a huge part of your life.”

Petra knows me better than anyone, but that she guesses at my turmoil is a testament to just how well. I struggle to find the right words. There’s a storm growing inside of me that defies description.

“I met her, you know,” Petra says, biting her lip. “For about five minutes. I didn’t know who she was, but she was charismatic and sweet. When she left, I wished we could’ve been friends.” Petra frowns. “…And I think she might’ve vandalized my car. But what I mean is, I saw a glimpse of something beautiful. Maybe it was fake, or maybe there was good in her. What happened between you is complicated, and your feelings about it are going to be complicated, too. I understand that. It’s okay to be heartbroken, Reed.”

“We failed her. Not you, I mean, but…she didn’t have to be this. This never should have happened.” I blink back tears I can’t even begin to understand. “I think I’ll need to double my therapy sessions. But I’m also counting my blessings today, and I’m so blessed to look at you, Pet.”

Petra blushes and half-laughs in disbelief. “My face feels like I went through a car wash where all the spinning parts are made of bricks. I’m sure I look lovely.”

I kiss her nose, her jaw, her mouth. Bruised and bloody parts of her that showcase her strength, her determination. Her love for me. The pink across her cheeks means she’s not waxy on our kitchen floor.

“There is no one as lovely, Petronia Diamante. I’m going to make you blush every single day of your life. And I don’t want to wait. I love you. I want you to move in—” My request goes sour, and I close my mouth against the taste.

Petra frowns, stroking my jaw. Each touch settles me back into the present. “What is it?”

“I should back out of the house.”

Petra hums, stroking my hand. “Take your time deciding that. You love that house. If you don’t want to live there, then don’t. But I don’t want Kinley to take any more joy from you. If you still want it, we could have a priest bless it? Father Bobby would do it. He’s close with the family.”

The suggestion is so far out of left field that it’s practically outer space. “I thought you weren’t talking to God?”

“We’re back on speaking terms,” she says, linking our fingers together. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you.”

“I loved dancing in the kitchen with you.” I wish we could turn back the clock to yesterday afternoon, surrounded by sun and laughter. “As much as I loved christening that bedroom. Would you hate it there now?”

“My favorite part of that house is you.” Her beautiful, soft, Bambi eyes meet mine. She smiles, and it disperses some of the gloom. “We can always cleanse it our own way, you know? Make out on every surface we can?”

I don’t know what I did to deserve her, or how I found her when I wasn’t looking, but I’m incredibly lucky that this woman is in my corner. “Maybe let’s lay some holy water down first, then cleanse it our way,” I compromise. “Just to be safe.”

She lets out a quiet laugh that speaks to her own exhaustion. “That’s a good plan.”

There are dark circles under her eyes that I trace with my thumb, and flashes from this morning hit me in a fresh punch to the gut. “I want all new furniture. Dishes. Art. Everything. I want to start over with you, Pet. Will you pick them out with me?”

“Of course I will. What else do you need? Has someone called your siblings? Your mom?”

“The hospital did. Grant is already on a plane.” I’m as surprised by that as anyone. “Everyone else is flying in tomorrow, and I should be discharged before then. The bullet only got the edge of my thigh. Nine stitches, though, and a lot of blood.”

She covers her face with her hand, but it doesn’t disguise the sob that escapes. I tuck her tightly to my chest, and her tears slide, wet and cool, down my neck. “We’re so lucky.”

“You’re the only woman in the world who would call us lucky.” My wry laugh belies the terror still racing through me. I let go of my steadfast control, allowing our complicated emotions to pour out between us. “You saved my life today.”

“We’re even. You saved mine a month ago. I wasn’t living when you walked into Mulberry’s.”

“What if I want to spend the rest of ours together? What if I want to build not just a home, but a life and a family with you? Not…” I lift her chin, searching her gaze. “I know this isn’t the right time. I don’t have a ring, and emotions are high, but this isn’t adrenaline. I always knew I’d ask you sooner or later, but I’m not waiting. I’m in this, Pet. I want to love you, in joy and grief, for as long as you’ll let me.”

“For as long as you’ll let me,” she promises.

Her hands dive into my hair as I catch her mouth for my own. I press the softest kisses there, careful not to hurt her, wishing I could cover her with them and heal every inch of her.

“My parents bribed the church because they wanted Silla and Josie to get married with a full, Catholic Mass,” she blurts when we break apart. Her eyes widen, and she presses her lips together so tightly that they turn white. “I don’t know why I said that.”

The clouds shift outside the window, and a ray of golden, afternoon light breaks through the clouds, brightening the room. It brings color to her lips and darkens the freckles peeking out across her collar. Her cheeks flush a deeper pink, and brush the warm skin with my thumb. Day one, accomplished. I smile. “Yeah, but I do.”

Chapter forty-three

Reed

The following weeks are a confusing mix of emotions. Despite Petra’s optimism, I can’t bear going back to the house on Rosewood Court. Tommy and Darin gather our most important belongings from the house while Petra and I wait to be released from the hospital.

Grant bursts into my hospital room just as I'm being cleared to leave, and hugs me so hard I can't breathe. We stay at the hotel in Swift River for a few days, and watching him and Petra become fast friends fills a need in me that I hadn’t been aware of.

When he flies back to Chicago, the Diamantes insist that I move into their guest bedroom to recover. Anita, Tommaso, and Tommy wholeheartedly embrace my clumsy entrance to their life. Anita discovers I’m terrible in the kitchen, and becomes determined to teach me the basics of cooking. She’s kind, but intimidating. The days that Tommaso cooks lunch become my favorite time to learn. His instruction is quiet, patient, and I quickly understand why he and Petra are so close. 

But it’s Petra’s presence that cuts through the majority of my grief and guilt, replacing the worst parts with new memories. She sneaks down the hall to climb into my bed while everyone is asleep, and we cling to each other in the dark, guiding each other out of occasional nightmares. I wrap her in my arms before we drift off, needing her close. Not once does she slip out without waking me.

We both attend therapy regularly. It’s amazing to watch Petra adjust to the new insights and coping mechanisms. The weight of losing Natalia visibly lightens as she works through it. She wakes in my bed with contentment—that is, before she sneaks back to her room—and throws herself into editing her books, adjusting storylines with a new perspective. She still peeks beyond the veil in a way I’m not sure I ever will, but her yearning to live in that world instead of ours no longer shadows her face.

Sundays become the most interesting day of the week: filled with gossip, food, and games with the children. I watch Petra with the kids—the way she lights up around them, showering them with affection—and something takes root inside me. I thought I saw a future with her before, but then the blank page of possibilities is written in with routine, quiet moments: Her smile at the first sip of coffee in the morning, her playful smirk as she takes a bite of whatever dish I attempt to cook, her sigh as she climbs into my lap after work, goes boneless, and tells me about her day.

Little moments that ink themselves across my heart, until I love her more than I ever thought possible.

We’re quiet in bed one morning, tangled up together under the overcast sunrise, when the words I’ve been holding back bubble up and out of me. “Pet, I don’t think I can move into the Rosewood house.”

I expected her to be surprised, but she just nods against my chest. “What’ll you do? Sell it? Rent it?”

I can’t tell her the full, ugly truth. That selling it would feel like defeat, like I was losing another future, another dream. Like it meant I was giving up on sunny afternoons and dancing in the kitchen with Petra. “Can’t imagine it will sell for much right now, considering what happened. At least renting it out would pay the mortgage.”

“That’s true. I’ll support whatever makes you happy, Reed.”

I press a kiss to her head. I’m not sure what I want. The only constant in my life right now is how I want to build it with her, but I haven’t figured out the specifics of what that looks like.

“Speaking of support…” Petra starts, then trails off, burying her face in my neck. She whispers so quietly I can barely hear her. 

“What, baby?”

“I’ve been talking to Dr. Taylor, and I think I want—would it hurt you if I—” 

Her voice cracks, and so does my heart. I wait for her to continue, but she’s quiet. I stroke the crease between her brows with my thumb, smoothing out the wrinkle. “You can tell me anything, Pet. I will always listen first, react later. You’re safe with me.”

She sits up, and pours out of her in a quiet rush. “I want to start a website for Kinley. I mean, not for her exactly, but…I was a patient advocate for years, Reed. I fought denials, medical bills, and red tape. And I can’t help but wonder, what if she’d been able to stay on her meds? What if she continued with therapy? You said it yourself—she had no support system. What about other people like her? Other children facing abuse? Who is advocating for them? Even with how much I love my family, what would my life have been like if I’d been referred to therapy after Natalia?”

I’m stunned into silence.

Petra’s hand curls over my chest, and my heart beats faster against her fingers. “I want to use what I know to help others. But I don’t want to keep bringing up the past if you’re trying to put it behind you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

I tuck a frizzy curl behind her ear as something swirls inside me. “I can tell you’ve put a lot of thought into this. Including how it might affect us.”

“I’ll always consider you,” she says, reaching for my hand to link our fingers together. She gives me time, and I use it to search my feelings. Kinley was my monster, and now she’s my ghost. I don’t know if I’ll ever put her behind me, but if this could keep others from experiencing what we did…

There’s an ache in my chest as I recall my initial conversations with Kinley. The way she was full of joy, proud of herself for getting her life together. She had a rough childhood and even more difficult introduction to adulthood, but she was rising above it. 

And then that morning in Portland flashes through me: Kinley crying by the front door, not able to control herself. She hurt just as much as we did.

I have to clear my throat to unstick the words. “I think it’s a good idea. If you want to lead it, I’ll support you however I can. I don’t know anything about patient advocacy, but I built DKP, so I can help with website design, business models, marketing, and outreach. Whatever you need.”

“And if I just need you to hold me and tell me it’s all going to be okay and I can do this?”

I tug her down until she’s pressed along the length of my body. My hand spreads wide over her back, as if I could meld us together through sheer force of will. “It’s going to be okay, Pet. You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and I know you can do anything you put your heart into.”

Petra lifts my arm to kiss my tattoo. “I want to call it Stars to Dawn. A place to guide people through the darkest parts of their life and find help.”

Something hot pierces my chest, and I close my eyes against the wave of emotion. I hold her firmly against me, breathing in the sweetness of her skin. “It’s perfect, Petra.”

Two months after the incident, the house on Citrus goes through escrow, and Petra and I fly to California to furnish it. It’s fun, starting fresh with Petra, picking out paint colors and furniture, swimming in the backyard pool, cooking for each other.

It’s also a break from the bickering and banging around that the Diamantes like to fill their days with. While there’s music, dancing, and laughter, there are also periods of silence when we’re both consumed by projects, writing, or work. Quiet can be hard to come by at the Diamante house, and Petra soaks up every minute of it. 

On the last night of our weeklong trip, we curl up on the sofa together after dinner, and a different kind of grief builds inside me. 

“You want to stay, don’t you?” Petra asks, lacing our fingers together.

I’m either transparent, or Petra knows me remarkably well. I squeeze her hand. “It was just a perfect vacation.”

“And what if I want to stay?” she asks, her woodland eyes large in the evening light. “What if I wanted to just…quit my job, write books, and build up Stars to Dawn?”

It’s not the response I’d expected. Being with her here, on our own, has me aching for that future with her. “That would mean living so far away from your family.”

“I know. I don’t know that I’ll want to stay here forever. Just…I like having a home here with you. I’ve got savings for now, and we can figure out the rest. If you want to.”

I glance around the living room that Petra and I painted and decorated. We poured so much of ourselves into it, and our personalities harmonize in every corner. I love that the space is filled with her. The whole house radiates safety, warmth, and love—filled to the brim with only good memories. “Yes. I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to pull you away from everyone. But if you want to stay for a month, or a year, or whatever, yes. I want to be wherever you are.”

She frowns. “But you like it here? Not just because I do?”

I bring our hands up to brush a kiss over her knuckles, and she smiles. “I love it here.”

SEPTEMBER

When I slide open the glass door of our hacienda-style home, the late summer heat is intense, baking into my skin the moment I step into the sun. It’s ten in the morning and already on its way to one hundred degrees. I take three large strides before I dive into the pool, letting the water wash over me in soothing waves. When I resurface, I glance back at the open door. Petra leans against the frame, smiling.

“Do you think you’ll ever take up rugby again?” she asks. Her bathing suit dips drastically between her breasts and clings to the generous curve of her hips. My eyes trace over every inch of her as my blood heats. Her swimsuit during our daily, post-breakfast swims is among the top five perks of living here. 

“Is that your way of saying I need to work out?” I joke.

She shakes her head. “You’re perfect. If anything, it’s my way of saying I love watching your body move. But also, if it was something you loved, you should take it up again. You know, fill your cup from other parts of your life too. Build out your social support system.”

“Come here,” I beckon, and she runs on her tiptoes across the hot pavement to the stairs. She yelps as she splashes down the steps into waist-deep water. I meet her there, pulling her close and kissing her full mouth. “You’re so sexy when you talk therapy to me.”

She smiles up at me, eyes shining. “You think everything I do is sexy.”

“That’s true, and I have very discerning taste.” I grin, leaning forward to kiss my way down her throat.

“Reed,” she sighs, tilting her head back so I can kiss my way down the exposed strip of skin between her breasts. “Daily check-in first.”

Despite her protest, her hands sift through my hair, holding me to her. I smile against the swell of her breast, pressing one last kiss before pulling away. These conversations were once suggested by my therapist, but have become an integral part of our healing and communication. Inspired by her baths, we wait to do our check-ins until we get in the pool. The water is calming—like it insulates us from the world. It allows us to bring up topics that might otherwise be painful or overwhelming. “Alright. No nightmares for me.”

“Me either,” she confirms. “Is this our longest stretch without one?”

“I think so,” I note, counting back through the weeks. I smirk at her. “In fact, I had a fantastic dream last night where you—”

Petra grins as she clamps her hand over my mouth. “No derailing us with sexy talk. I appreciate you making breakfast this morning; Ma would be proud to see how your frittata skills are coming along.”

“I may or may not have texted your mom a photo when I plated it,” I admit, once Petra releases my mouth. 

Something sweet sings through my veins as her eyes crease with delight. “That’s going to be all over the group chat this afternoon. Tommy will be jealous.”

I shrug, but there’s an undercurrent of pride. I love my relationships with Petra’s family. “Tommy has opportunities to cook for her every day. It’s not my fault that he doesn’t take them.”

“Spavaldo.” She laughs as she splashes me, so I corral her hands and drape them over my shoulders. She doesn’t even bother looking guilty, and her hands roam greedily from my shoulders down my back. “I’m feeling pretty confident about my goals for the day, but I’m craving chocolate, so I’m going to go to the store later. I might spring for a sweet treat, and you’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

“Count me in for errands and treats. I need to set aside at least five hours for recording narration today, but I can be flexible with them.”

Petra nods. “I’ll write before lunch, and set aside the afternoon for Stars to Dawn meetings. I want to start a social media awareness campaign about the availability of emergency refills for mental health meds at the emergency room. I’d also love to add more counselors so we can have them around the clock via online chat.”

“You’re incredible,” I murmur, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her mouth. “I love your generous heart. You’re growing S2D so quickly.”

Petra shrugs, still unsure how to accept praise. “I’m just doing what I can.”

“Do you feel like you’re getting enough time to write? Where is the submission process for Galin at?”

“I mean, I’d always like more time to write, but S2D has been busy, and I like that too. Only a couple manuscript requests, but I know that publishing takes time. What about you? Do you like your new script?”

“It’s awesome,” I admit. “This one is an adult fantasy, really complex and out of my comfort zone, but I like the way it’s pushing me.”

Her eyes are greener in the reflection of the water, dazzling and bright. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of us.” I pull her up until her legs wrap around me, and wade deeper into the pool. The water ripples around our shoulders, just the right temperature to counteract the scorching sun. I close my eyes, stroking the soft skin of her legs, committing this moment to memory. “Do you think it gets better than this, Pet? I think we might have peaked. Hit max happiness already.”

“Is maximum happiness a thing?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at me. “This is the happiest I’ve ever been, but there’s still so much work to be done.”

I hum my agreement. “You’re right. We need to build a fence over here so I can enjoy peeling this wet bathing suit off you every single morning. I want to take you right here in the water, and then again on the deck. Unless you want to go for it anyway.” I tug on the material at the back of her neck, as if to untie it. “Has your exhibition kink expanded to include letting the neighbors watch, Pet? Could be fun for us and them.”

“Reed!” she reprimands, smacking my chest. I let go of the tie at her back to brush my knuckles over her cheek instead. Her skin is hot under my hand, her cheeks pink, and I grin. With one blush, I’ve already met my most important goal of the day.

Epilogue

Reed Diamante

DECEMBER, THE FOLLOWING YEAR

Petra’s laugh echoes through the kitchen as she, Amanda, and Livi hover around the stove. They all get along as if they’ve been best friends since kindergarten. Whenever Amanda flies out, it warms my heart to see them all together. I smile at Petra over the mass of people crammed into our home.

This house was meant to be overstuffed, and the joy of having both our families here for Christmas makes up for the lack of space. It’s odd to have everyone together, since I see Pet’s family more consistently than my own, but we settle into old connections like they’ve never been broken. That’s what it was like with Pet, the day we met. As if we’d been connected all along and simply forgot.

Our place on Rosewood Court is nearly unrecognizable. Holy water, fresh paint, new furniture, refinished floor, even the months of renting it out after the incident—all of it separated that life from this. With family and new memories, we’ve made this house our home. Even the illustrations from Petra’s book are a point of pride from where they hang in the living room.

My eyes catch hers, and she gives me a slow, secret smile. My fingers tap restlessly against my glass, searching for an outlet for all my anxious energy. The reality is, there’s no outlet until Petra says so. We came into the night with two plans, but ultimately it’s her call, and I’ll follow her lead.

I make the rounds: laughing with Mom, hugging Anita, stealing Hailey from Darin to swing her around until she giggles. She runs to Janie as soon as I put her down, and they tear through the house, shrieking with laughter. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Darling Petra,” I greet as I sidle up to her and wrap an arm around her waist. She’s soft and warm, and her brown and green eyes swallow me whole. She blooms more vibrantly each day, especially now. I trace the length of her spine, and heat ignites in her gaze. I wish I had time to pull her into our room for a few minutes. From her expression, she does, too. She’s been insatiable lately, and I’m more than happy to climb aboard that ship.

“How are you doing?” I ask, pushing my need for her aside. “Should you take a break? I can finish dinner.”

Petra kisses me with red, smiling lips. “I love you, but no. You make a fantastic breakfast, amato, but I’ve got this. I’m doing great. You can start putting the sides on the table, but this one needs a few more minutes.”

“Alright. Tell me if you need to sit.” I settle in close to get both arms around her waist, and give her a comforting squeeze. Petra smells like oranges and hot cross buns where I kiss her neck. Her top is loose and flowing, and I use the coverage to sneak my hand under. I stroke two of my favorite marks and trace a heart around them. “Wish we were at your parents’ house so I could secret you away for ten minutes, love.”

“Spavaldo,” she chides, a blush spreading across her beautiful cheeks. It sparks an idea that has me itching to set up the microphone for us tomorrow. I laugh, placing a kiss below her ear before I pull back. I rope Tommy and Grant into helping me, and we fill the tables—multiple, to fit us all—with food, while people find their chairs.

Mom smiles at me from the counter, where she pours a diet soda into a glass. “Petra looks especially lovely tonight,” she notes.

I struggle against the giant grin begging to be released. “She does, doesn’t she?”

Mom smiles as she pulls me in and squeezes me tight. “Oh, I knew it! I love you both so much!”

“Not a word,” I plead as I let her go. She nods, but she’s still smiling too widely as she walks away.

I tug Holly toward the stove with a raised brow. “Is it just me, or am I seeing sparks between you and Tommy?”

Holly laughs, and it’s good to see her face bright and carefree again. I wouldn’t have had the courage to reach out to her without Petra’s influence—one of the million things I love about my wife and her big heart. “He’s a player, that Diamante. Grant, though…” Holly sends me a wink. “You could’ve introduced us years ago.”

Sure enough, Grant is watching her. I smile as I top off her wine. “He couldn’t have handled you back then. Be gentle with him. He’s still my brother.”

“I make no promises. Maybe we could both ‘accidentally’ stay at your house in San Diego on the same weekend,” she suggests with a wink. Holly sashays toward Silla, but Grant intercepts her first.

Petra giggles from behind me as she hands me the last dish. When I turn to her, she’s glowing. I was wrong about maximum happiness. It’s like our capacity for it grows every single day. I know it will for the rest of our lives. “Matchmaking, Reed?”

I chuckle. “Blame your family’s influence. All those nosy Diamantes.”

“Hey,” she protests. “You’re a Diamante too!”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I tip her chin up for a soft kiss that sweeps through me in waves of gentle warmth. I lead her to the table, take the seat beside hers, and search her face for a signal.

Which toast are we about to give? We’ve rehearsed both.

“Papa brought the expensive wine,” Livi says. She reaches between us to set two glasses down. “Try this one. A vintage ‘78. It’s delicious.”

“Thanks, Livi,” Petra says, meticulously unfolding her napkin to place it on her lap.

Livi raises her brows expectantly. “Aren’t you going to try it?”

Petra’s gaze slides over to mine—a silent plea for help. “Not right now, Liv, but thanks.”

Anita’s eyes spark with recognition across the table. “Aspetta! ” she shouts. “Are you pregnant?”

Everyone quiets, eyes on Petra, who folds over, giggling, and buries her face in my shoulder. In these moments, she’s still the blushing girl from the grocery store. The one who dissolved into laughter behind the register, and in her parents’ kitchen before Sunday dinner, and in a hotel bathtub.

“I guess it’s no longer a secret,” she admits, breathless. I’m smiling ear to ear as I pull Petra’s chair closer and cradle her against me. Her and our little one, nearly five months along—healthy and perfect at the last checkup. I love seeing her this way, happy with our choice to try for a baby.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Livi exclaims, anger and excitement both lighting up her eyes. She gently kisses Petra’s cheek before turning to squeeze anyone within reach. There are loud squeals, congratulations, and questions. The reactions from our family are comical, but they fill our home with love and support. The kids are yelling, glasses clink around the table, Anita is crying, and Petra is still shaking with laughter.

To anyone else, our kitchen is a cacophony of noise. Our family is a flock of birds, all screeching in different patterns and rhythms until it builds to a deafening circus. It’s perfect in its imperfections. I hold Petra close as I pull out my phone, set it on the table, and hit record.

“Ti amo, il mio raggio di sole,” I whisper, kissing her hair.

“I love you too, Reed.” Her doe eyes catch mine, glistening, the way they always do when I manage some Italian for her. Her love lives in the corners of her mouth, in the wrinkles of her eyes, and the blush in her cheeks.

She trusted me to support her through a leap of faith, and months of uncertainty, to a new dawn. I tilt her chin up for a quick, soft kiss. Her joy spreads through me, and warmth floods my chest.

And though it’s the middle of winter, her love still shines brighter than a summer afternoon.

Bonus

I couldn't have done this without the support of a million people—including you. Yes, you. Thank you so much for taking a chance on my debut, for reading to the end, for embracing Reed and Petra and their journey.

Want to know exactly how Petra got her midday orgasm on the bluffs? Sign up for my newsletter at emeriehart.com for the download link to the sexy bonus scene.

While my upcoming series will explore another messy, imperfect family, this isn't the last we'll be hearing from the Diamantes. Check www.emeriehart.com for release dates and cover news.

Follow me for more bonus scenes, freebies, and upcoming novels on Instagram and Threads @emerie.hart

Acknowledgements

To my mom, who has always been my biggest fan, I love you like crazy—always have, always will. Please don't ever read this book. My entire, amazing family, who blindly accept each other and our passions to follow our dreams, I love you more than you will ever know. All eight of my siblings, who are beyond supportive and encouraging. My nieces and nephews, some who share the same dreams and love of reading. I hope this is your sign that dreams do come true. (Also you better not be reading this until you're at least 25.)

Auntie Karen Lee, who passed away before I could share this with you. I'd like to think you sit behind me while I write, cackling at these open door scenes. I wish we could sit and talk Outlander together. Anita's East Coast accent rings with your voice. We were all so blessed to be graced with your love and presence, and you will always be magic to me.

The gaps around the links of our family—my grandparents and my dad among them—that shaped me, believed in me, and taught me so many random things that will inevitably make it into dozens of books.

My BFF of multiple decades. Vickie, you are the most incredible person I could ask for by my side. When I spiral and don't answer the phone for months, you understand why. When we see each other, it's like it's only been five minutes since our last meetup. Because I knew you, I have been changed for good.

My amazing writer friends who beta read, gave thoughtful and necessary critiques, encouraged me to dig deeper, and sprinted with me on so many sleepless nights! I love you all so much! Ronnie, I couldn't have done this without you. Abbi, Mikaela, Alexa, Yaz—you have been my absolute rocks. Any time I needed accountability, a pair of eyes, or just to cry my heart out, you were there without fail. I am so blessed to have found you, am lucky to know you, and am still stunned I get to call you my friends.

Georgia, Sophia, Angela, Molly, and Isabel—you made Discord my home on the internet, embracing the chaos and encouraging me with every step. I wouldn't have finished this without you. Laura Mothersill, who has been my fellow champion for writing nontoxic leading men. Evie Champagne, who miraculously found me early in my writing and has been my biggest Instagram supporter from day one. You're an amazing person, incredibly talented, and I love watching you bloom on your own artistic path. Germaine, for never doubting for a moment that the two of us have the power to change the world, build empires, and get it done.

Carolina Soares, @carolemellow who illustrated the cover for me before this book was even finished. I'm profoundly honored to have your incredible art as part of this journey. You brought Petra and Reed to life for me, and seeing them was one of the main reasons I never gave up on their story.

Emma Jane at EJL Editing, who helped Reed realize his full journey, and erased at least half of the redundant words in this book (sorry there are still so many left!)

Hydrated Baritone, who graciously read for me and allowed me a glimpse behind the mic. Reed's story is better because of your insight.

Melanie Dickey, Diane Siegal, and Andy Heidemann, who encouraged my love of reading and symbolism. I bet you never thought I'd use it like this! Andy Philpot, Elizabeth Stuart, and Rick Robinson, who taught me how to be a better storyteller.

Valerie Rochelle, for that moment in class that formed the climax of this whole book. Who'd have thought that me sobbing my heart out would be such a useful experience?

If I missed anyone, please know that I love you so much and my brain sucks at compiling this.

It wasn't my childhood dream to become an author. I flitted from interest to interest and hobby to hobby, so I don't know where I'd be or what I'd be doing with my free time, if not for a writing group that had me signing up before I knew what I was doing. That moment that set this all in motion, and I knew from my first chapter that this is where I was meant to be all along. I'm so grateful for that group and all the support from my fellow writers online that helped me see this through.

Lastly, my BB, my other half, my kindred spirit. You'll never know how to read, and yet you still sit by my computer screen for days and make sure I stop to feed and water us both. Meow meow meow. Ti adoro più di quanto ci siano stelle nel cielo.

With all my love,

Em

Italian Translations

Bella Vita — Good/Beautiful Life

(Also the name of the Diamante family restaurant)

Calcio — Soccer

Malocchio — Evil eye

Scemo — dummy/idiot

Principessas — Princesses

Scontroso — Grumpy

Piccina — Little one

Stellina — Little star (affectionately)

Sognare con la testa tra le nuvole, stellina? — Dreaming with your head in the clouds, my little star?

Ti adoro più di quanto ci siano stelle nel cielo. — I adore you more than there are stars in the sky.

Ti voglio bene — I love you (as said to family)

Vino — Wine

Spavaldo — Arrogant/Cocky

Tontolino — Ass

Mio tesoro — My treasure (used commonly as darling or sweetheart)

La Madonna — The Virgin Mary

Mio amato — My love (used between lovers, spouses, and soulmates)

Ti amo, il mio raggio di sole — I love you, my sunshine

Full Content Warnings

Current Issues:

Death, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Stalking, Violence,

Gun Violence

Mentions of (not necessarily the MCs):

Sex Addiction/Compulsive Sexual Behavior Disorder

Domestic Abuse

Sexual Assault

Alcoholism & Drug Use

Suicide & Suicidal Ideation

Forced Pregnancy

Miscarriage & Infant Loss

For me, mental health is a constant struggle between hoping for the future, and dreading it. I'm not a doctor, and this isn't medical advice, but if you're in the USA, there are resources that can help.

Dial 988 for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

1-833-TLC-MAMA for the Maternal Mental Health Hotline

1-866-488-7386 for The Trevor Project LGBTQIA+ Hotline.

If no one has told you today, you are worth taking care of yourself, and there is always hope for another dawn.