1. On the radio “She Will Be Loved” by Maroon 5

CHAPTER 1

ON THE RADIO: “SHE WILL BE LOVED” BY MAROON 5

“No way,” Damien whispers as he pulls up to the address on Old Route 16.

He’s lived in this area all his life and never has to look at a map, but it hadn’t occurred to him that the address he’d scribbled down in his date book would bring him to this house—the one you can’t see from the road. The one with the sleek metal gate flanked by stone pillars and old-growth trees. Like something out of a James Bond flick.

He’s been passing this spot his whole life, wondering what was hidden beyond the gated entrance. And now he’s about to find out.

Maybe. If he can actually get in.

He gets out of his Jeep Grand Cherokee and contemplates the gate, which is striking in its simplicity. It’s bracketed by pillars that are part of a larger stone wall that encircles the property, exuding a sense of time-tested strength and privacy. The gate itself is made of heavy, dark metal with clean lines and a no-nonsense design.

It takes him a minute to find the keypad camouflaged in the black metal. He doesn’t know the code, but beneath the number pad is a single red button. He presses it.

“Yes?” says an older woman’s voice almost immediately.

“I’m the taxi driver,” Damien says, clearing his throat. “Picking up Mr. Michael Overland. ”

There’s no response. But a moment later, he hears the sound of a bolt retracting, and the gates begin to smoothly glide inward.

He hops back into the Jeep and eases it between the pillars. Ahead lies a steep, curving gravel road, swallowed up by looming maple trees. As he begins his ascent, he notices in the rearview mirror that the gates are slowly closing.

Okay, that’s a little creepy. Hopefully The Overlands aren’t hiding a meth lab up here. Damien is a fan of Breaking Bad , but he doesn’t want to live it.

Following the drive around a curve, he isn’t quite prepared for the way the treeline falls away, revealing a vast, grassy hilltop and a sprawling contemporary home, all impressive timbers and stone angles.

“Holy crap,” he whispers under his breath. Maybe he should have washed the car this morning. He’s hoping the Overlands will become repeat customers.

He slows to a crawl, taking in the property, which is arguably even more impressive than the house. He can see half of Vermont from up here. It’s a good thing it’s not his job to mow this place. Even on a tractor, it would take all day. Weeding the garden must be another massive project. Lavender and daylilies bloom from some of the longest flower beds he’s ever seen.

The house—or is it a mansion?—sits at the crest of a circular drive, so he pulls right up to the front door. He cuts the engine and hops out, wondering if Mr. Overland has a lot of luggage, and whether he’s supposed to ring the bell beside those imposing oaken doors and offer to help.

Before he can decide what to do, the front door swings open to reveal a middle-aged white woman in a maid’s uniform—like the kind you see on Masterpiece Theatre. She hefts a huge, wheeled suitcase out the door.

Damien hurries over to take it from her. “I can get that, ma’am,” he says.

“Margie!” cries a female voice from inside the house. “You don’t have to lift that. I got it.”

Damien looks up when a young woman steps outside, and then he almost trips over his own feet. She’s tall, with long, sun-kissed hair that falls just right, framing her face like she's stepped out of a summer love song. Her eyes are a striking shade of blue—pale with a darker ring around the iris.

She’s just…perfect. Like, movie star flawless, except for a spray of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. The freckles give her beauty a down-to-earth quality. They make her seem real.

And now she’s staring at him, too, while he grips the suitcase and forgets why he’s here at all.

Eventually, the woman in the uniform clears her throat. “I want a proper goodbye,” she says.

The girl turns with a laugh and holds out her arms. “Bye, Margie. Thank you for everything .”

“Be well, my precious. I want pics of that dorm room, or I’m not sending cookies.”

“Okay!” She laughs again.

Damien recovers himself, opens the back of the Jeep, and hefts her suitcase inside. It probably weighs more than Ms. Overland, but he doesn’t care. Maybe she’ll notice how strong he is.

He closes the back hatch and waits patiently while the two women finish their goodbyes. When the house’s door finally closes, the beautiful blonde approaches the Jeep.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Damien. You don’t look like Michael Overland.”

It’s a struggle not to inspect her cleavage. In a tank top and a cardigan, she’s not even trying, and she's stunning.

“Everyone says that,” she announces. “But my parents named me Michael to toughen me up.”

Oh shit . “They…wow,” he stammers. “Um, I’m sorry.”

She tosses her hair. “Gullible much? I’m just kidding.” Then she smiles, and his stomach does some kind of swooshing thing. “Michael is my father. I thought he’d be here to say goodbye.” She looks at her watch. “He said he’d probably be back in time.”

Probably? That’s a little harsh.

“We can wait a minute,” he says, leaning against the car. She looks a little anxious. “And you still didn’t tell me your name.”

“Yeah, it’s…” She frowns.

“Tricky question?” he prods, because it would be a crying shame if he didn’t get this girl’s name. “If you’re headed to college right now, I’m a little worried for your GPA.”

She laughs suddenly, and the sound reverberates in his chest. It’s a little wild and unbridled. “Okay, okay. Sorry. But I’ve been thinking about this all day. This is my first year of college, and I’ve been Nicky my whole life. But maybe it’s time to introduce myself with my real name. Nicolette.”

“Nicolette,” he says slowly. “I don’t know any other Nicolettes. But I know other Nickys.”

“It’s different, yeah. That’s a plus, don’t you think?”

“Sure. But if you want to ease into it, you could start with Nicole and work your way up.”

She lets out a playful snort. “I suppose I could. It’s a family name. My grandfather was Nicholas Overland.”

“Does it have an interesting meaning? And I ask this as someone whose name literally means demon.”

“Does it?” Her smile brightens even further. “Maybe I should change my name to Damien, because that’s pretty cool. Nicholas is two Greek words pushed together, and it means victorious people.”

“Huh,” he says. “A name for an overachiever. And it’s kinda militant—the kind of name they give you if they expect you to conquer the world.”

“That’s what the Overlands are supposed to be, I guess.” She checks the time again. “You know what? Let’s just go. My father wouldn’t want me to miss the plane just because his lunch ran late.”

Damien thinks that’s a little sad. Then again, his own father left town a couple years ago and never came back. So who is he to judge?

“All right. It’s your call. Hop in.” He opens the rear door for her, then seats himself behind the wheel and starts the vehicle.

“The code for the gate is 1980,” she says, scooting toward the right-hand side of the backseat. “But if you pull up close, I can reach it from this side.”

“1980. Your birth year?” he teases, mentally filing away the number, just in case he needs it later. Like if Nicolette comes home from college and invites him over for croquet in front of the mansion. Or, you know, sex .

“1980 is the year my father made Managing Director,” she says with a sniff. “He’s not a very sentimental person.”

“Nice taste in houses, though,” he says as the gate swings open for them. “Did you grow up here? I thought I knew everyone in the county.”

“It’s complicated,” she says. “We have a place in New York City and used to live mostly there. But I spent my summers in Vermont when I was little. And then my mother died when I was about ten, and my father moved us up here. But I went to boarding school in Massachusetts.”

That certainly explains why she never turned up at the high school in Colebury. He definitely would have noticed, even if she’s a year younger than he is. Which she must be, because Damien’s friends departed for college last August. “So where are you flying out to?”

“Raleigh-Durham. I’m starting at, um, Duke.”

“ Sweeeeet ! Great basketball team. I mean, it would be better if they had a hockey team. But I guess you can’t have everything.” He accelerates onto the highway.

She laughs. “I had the same thought. I played hockey in high school.”

“Shut the front door,” he says. “So did I. Were you any good?”

“Not really,” she says with a laugh. “You?”

“Nope!”

They both laugh uproariously—the way you do with someone you’ve known much longer than five minutes. Damien sneaks another look at her in the rearview mirror, and notices that laughter takes her from pretty to blazing hot. There’s a blush across her cheeks and her collarbone.

Christ . He better stop looking in the damn rearview, or they’re going to end up in a ditch.

“My dad went to Duke, too,” she says eventually. “And law school at Harvard. I’m supposed to follow in his footsteps at both places.”

“Supposed to?” he asks, even though it’s none of his business. “What happens if you don’t?”

“I’ll never know,” she says quietly. “Duke is great. But it would have been nice to have a choice. And don’t listen to me—I’m just panicking. I haven’t had to be the new girl for years.”

Damien, keeping his hands at ten and two and absolutely not peering into the rearview mirror again, thinks this over. “I haven’t been the new guy pretty much ever. But I can see why that’s stressful. You’re starting over.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I just have the first-year jitters.”

Damien silently curses Mr. Michael Overland, who couldn’t even be bothered to see his daughter off.

Nicolette must be tired of talking about herself, because she changes the subject. “You’ve always lived in Vermont?”

“Always. Along with my four siblings—three brothers and a sister.”

“Wow!” she says with genuine delight. “Where are you in the pecking order?”

“Second. There’s my older brother Matteo, my younger brother Alec, and the twins—Benny and Zara. You have siblings?”

“Well…” She clears her throat. “Not really. My father is dating a woman who has twins. They’re sixteen, and I hardly know them. My father’s girlfriend hates me, though, and I’m kind of scared that I’ll be getting two awful stepsiblings.”

“That bad, huh?” He risks a glance in the mirror only to find her looking right at him. “Maybe it’s a twins thing. Benny and Zara are a lot to take. And they fight all the time.”

“These two don’t fight. It’s weird. It’s like…they’re too pretentious to fight or do anything normal. And I say this as someone who went to boarding school . Somehow, they have zero personality. It’s like all three of them are doing a lifelong impression of Edith Wharton characters. All manners and no heart.”

Damien hasn’t read Edith Wharton but would rather not admit it. “At least they’re not at Duke. What are you going to study?”

“I’m supposed to be pre-law. So maybe history or poli-sci. But I’m going to take a lot of writing classes, too.”

“What do you want to write?”

“Books.”

“What kind of books?” he pesters. And how are they already on 89? He needs this ride to last for hours .

“YA Horror. I want to write creepy shit that keeps you up all night.”

He feels a tingle on the back of his neck. Because that’s not very far off from his own hobby—sketching a graphic novel about vampires. “Okay, let’s hear it. What book are you working on?”

There’s a brief silence. “I don’t usually tell people. In case it sounds stupid coming out of my mouth.”

“Oh, please. Some of my favorite things are stupid.”

She lets out a nervous laugh. “Fine. It takes place in an old house beside the cemetery. The heroine has just moved there with her family. And her room is haunted…”

Before he knows it, he’s putting on his blinker to exit the highway.

“God, are we there already?” she squeaks. “I’m not ready. What if my roommate is mean? What if they serve steamed cabbage at every meal? What if my dorm room is in a creepy house beside the cemetery?”

“Deep breaths, Nicky Nicole Nicolette. Deep breaths.”

He has her laughing again by the time he pulls up to the airport. This is Burlington, and the airport is tiny, so any door will do, no matter which airline she’s flying. He gets out and removes her giant bag from the back, while she hops from foot to foot nervously.

“How about we take a breath for a second,” he says, leaning against the Jeep. “You want to step inside and check the monitor? Do you know if your flight is on time? I don’t want to strand you here if there’s a problem.”

“Good idea,” she says. “One sec?”

He watches her retreat inside, briefly wondering what it must be like to have her life—flying off to live with strangers and study for four years. He doesn’t think he’s college material, but like she said earlier—it would be nice to have a choice.

She darts back out a moment later. “The flight’s on time. Boarding in an hour.” She puts one hand across her breastbone. “I’ve never been this nervous. I have no chill.”

He smiles at her, because that’s such an easy thing to do. “It’s going to be fine. How long is your flight?”

“Two hours and ten minutes.” She licks her lips. “Do you know any way to become more interesting in, say, two hours and ten minutes?”

He cracks up. Then he puts his hands on her shoulders. “Listen, Nicky Nicolette.”

She smiles suddenly, and he wonders how anyone could have such bright eyes. Does she know they’re beautiful? Or do they just look normal to her, because she’s seen them every day of her life?

“This Duke thing is going to work out fine. Your roommate could turn out to be a bitch, but only if she’s the kind of girl who can’t handle the fact that you’re prettier than her.” Her brilliant eyes widen. “And if your dorm is haunted, it’s probably only by Civil War soldiers. Just smile at them and ask them to move along. It’s. Going. To. Be. Fine.”

Her eyes dip for a moment before returning to his with a new spark in them. “You are really the best, Damien. Thanks for getting me here safely and then talking me off the ledge.”

He drops his hands from her warm shoulders even though he’d rather hold on. “You’re welcome. Want my card? I could pick you up at Christmas.”

“Sure. Of course ,” she says with such enthusiasm that it makes his heart feel lighter.

He digs a card out of his wallet. He designed it himself—it’s a line drawing of the Jeep, with his name and phone number in the middle. “Call me any time,” he says, handing it over.

“Hey, cool card.” She admires it for a moment then tucks it into her purse. “Thanks, uh, again.” She grabs the handle of her big bag.

“You take care,” he says. “I’m going to want an update at Christmastime.”

Her smile is so pretty, it’s almost a gut punch. “Will I need a perfect report card to get a ride home?”

“Hell no. The grades don’t matter, Miss Nicky Nicole. Just try to have a fun time.”

The smile becomes bashful, and then she looks away. “You’re the only person in my life who’d say that to me. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a safe flight.”

She gives him one more devastating smile. And two seconds later she’s gone .

He drives away from the airport feeling oddly bereft.