Chapter 2

Iwanted to stay. I wanted to see her open the box.

It’s not much, just a little pendant I saw at a craft fair. Amethyst, because Brittany likes purple. She doesn’t cop to liking any colors, but I’ve noticed the purple things she buys for my niece, Jane. Then there’s her hair ties. They’re always a different shade of purple. It’s a small detail, but I’ve started to notice the small details when it comes to Brittany. The way she always lifts a hand to her hair when she’s nervous, or juts her lower lip out slightly when she’s feeling ornery. Those damn hair ties. The way she can pour a beer without even the slightest bit of foam when Cole’s pours never come out half so good. The way she can cut a man down with just a few words, yours truly included.

The way she smells like lilacs and honey when she comes close enough.

I’ve known her for years, but before the divorce she was off-limits. There to be admired, always, but nothing more. Now, though, a hint of possibility has entered the game. There’ve been a couple of boyfriends since she left Tommy, but no one serious. No one who’s seemed likely to stick around. And so I’ve started noticing her in a new way.

Now, I don’t know how the hell to stop.

“This isn’t going to end well, man,” I mutter to myself. I’m in the living room of my house, kicked back on the couch and watching mindless TV. I’ve been shooting glances out the window for the last hour, because the snow’s started up, and the flakes are fat and thick. I don’t like thinking of Brittany driving home in this mess. Her car’s old and shitty, and it’s been a while since she’s let me service it for free at my auto repair shop.

My phone rings, and I pull it out and check the screen, my pulse kicking up slightly because I can’t help but wonder if it’s her. She’ll be closing down the brewery right around now, so if she was going to call, this would be the time. Did she like the gift? Is she going to ask—

I don’t know what the fuck she’d ask me. I’m probably the one who’d have to do the asking, but my brother Cole has made it pretty damn clear that there are some lines that are not to be crossed. Some women who are not to be seduced. We both know I don’t exactly have the best record on that score. Every relationship I’ve ever had has basically ended before it really got started.

A couple of weeks ago, he noticed me checking out her ass when she was behind the counter of the bar, and he pulled me aside later and gave me a talking-to.

“Brittany’s off limits,” he said, no ifs or ands about it. “Don’t mess around with her, and if you mess with her head, I’ll punch you in yours.”

It’s my brother on the phone, which feels as much like a sign as a smack to the face. Fuck. He wouldn’t like that I gave Brittany a Christmas present, particularly not since it’s a necklace.

That’s the kind of gift you give to a woman you’re interested in.

I am interested in her, but I know better than to make a move. If I fucked things up, she’d be right there every time I stepped into the brewery. I’d have to stop going, which feels inconceivable, because that place is more of a damn home than this one.

This house used to be a home. It used to be full of laughter and bickering and all the shit that goes along with being a family, but my parents died years ago and took all of that with them. Their house should have gone to Cole and Jane, but he wanted to keep living over the brewery, where he had his own ghosts to live beside. His wife, Millie, who wanted to open that brewery more than I did. So, because our eldest brother, Donavan, lives out of state, it fell to me to live here with all the memories, good and bad.

Sighing, I answer the call, “What’s up?”

“Just checking on you,” Cole says. “You’ve seemed…off lately. Jane’s noticed it too.”

Fantastic, now I’m worrying my niece. “No, I’m fine and dandy. Just stopped by the brewery, actually.”

“How’s Brittany holding down the house?”

I see a flash of her, the length of her neck, the slope of her cheek, that maddening ponytail I’d like to set free so I can bury my hands in her hair and grip it.

Clearing my throat, I say, “She’s doing good. I hope you’re giving her time off for the holidays.”

I doubt she’ll want it, but sometimes we need the things we don’t want.

“Of course. You know her, though, she’d probably open on Christmas and make a whole activity of it if I let her. She’s been spending more and more time at the brewery since she left that waste of space.”

Partly because Cole’s been spending less and less time at the brewery over the last couple of months, now that he’s with his new woman, Holly Mayberry. I’m glad to see him happy. He’d spent so long being unhappy it had become a habit. But it feels like I’ve been seeing less of him and Jane too, and I can’t help but miss them.

What else do I have?

My auto shop, sure. This house. My buddies in town. But it feels like something is missing. Like there’s a hollowness at the center. A lack of purpose.

Maybe it’s because it’s harder being in this house around the holidays. There are too many echoes from the past trying to lay claim to the present. If there are ghosts around me, I’m sure they’re dissatisfied. My mother loved Christmas, made a whole month-long fuss about it, and I’m damn sure she’d have gotten on my case for not having a tree in her house.

It makes me feel guilty, the way only the son of a dead parent can. I’m going to Atlanta to spend Christmas with Donavan, though, so I didn’t see any damn point in putting up a tree. I helped Cole and Jane decorate the brewery instead. Still, I have to admit it feels kind of dour in here. Kind of dark. Like the holiday visited every other house in Highland Hills but decided to skip mine.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m doing good, brother. You go have fun with your ladies now.”

“I think you should persuade Don to come here for Christmas instead. Spend it with Holly, Jane, and me. Maybe we could even do it at the house. All of us, together. Mom and Dad would like that.”

I don’t know why, but the suggestion feels like a stab to the gut. It would be nice, in some ways. It’d be what Mom wanted, for sure. But it would also be a reminder of everything we’ve lost. My folks, Jane’s mom…

I’ll never forget getting that call from my brother. Of hearing him tell me in a voice as harsh as sandpaper on skin that his wife, his young, seemingly healthy wife, was dead. My blood went cold, and my hands started shaking so much I almost dropped the phone. I hadn’t heard him cry for years. Watching him go through that, supporting him as best I could, it changed my life.

It broke me, and I still haven’t figured out how to put the pieces together.

Then our parents died too, and those shattered pieces of me got pounded to dust. I haven’t figured out yet if they can be put back together to make something that looks whole.

“We’ll see,” I tell him, and we both know I mean no.

“Okay, man, well—”

The phone beeps, and I pull it away from my face, missing whatever piece of wisdom he had to drop next.

My heart thumps faster, like a rabbit who swallowed speed, when I see it’s Brittany.

“Hey, man, I gotta go,” I say loudly, then switch over the call without waiting for his response. I feel a deep need to talk to her, to hear her voice.

To know if she liked the necklace.

When the call clicks through, I say, “It’s no big deal. Just saw it and thought of you.”

Not true. It kind of is a big deal, but I can’t admit that to myself any more than I can admit that this thing I have for her isn’t going away.

“Logan?” she says, her voice shaky, and my heart starts racing for a different reason.

“Fuck, are you okay? What happened? Did one of those old geezers lose Bingo and put up a fuss?” I’d left because they seemed as mild as a plate of cheese curds, but anything’s possible.

“No, it’s my car. I’m stuck on the side of the road. It’s bad out here.”

The fear in her voice slides under my skin. I curse under my breath, because when I look out the window again, I see it’s already gotten worse. The snow is so thick, it’s on its way to a whiteout.

“I think I need a tow,” she adds.

I’m already grabbing the keys to my truck. “I’ll be right there Brittany. Will the engine turn on?”

“No,” she says in a small voice.

I swear up a blue streak again, because I hate the thought of her stuck in that car, cold and scared. “Wrap yourself up in whatever you’ve got. Send me a pin of your location. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? I’ll be right there.”

I grab a couple of blankets and stuff them into my passenger seat, then drive faster than I probably should on the snowy roads to get to my shop. I shift my shit into the tow truck and get it moving down the road, heading to the location she sent me. She made it only halfway home before her car stalled out. In some ways that’s good—it means I can get to her sooner, but I hate the thought of her being alone out there. Stuck.

It makes me flash to another snowy day.

My parents’ accident was in a blizzard.

I swallow the worry down, telling myself it’s different. She’s safe in her car, or safe enough, and I’ll be there to help her. It’s unlikely that some asshole is going to come along and mess with her while she’s stuck there in the snow. Highly unlikely. The situation is not out of my control.

Her car is already buried under a thin layer of snow by the time I get there and pull over in front of her.

My breathing is shallow as I get out with the blankets, fear wrapping around my heart, because what if…

It’s too soon for her to have gotten hypothermia. Much too soon. Still. She’s tough, but no one’s too tough to be taken down. We all get taken down by something in the end.

When I get to her door, it cracks opens, snow and ice flying, and a relieved breath escapes me. She’s okay. Her ponytail is still cinched back as tightly as ever, not a strand escaping the little purple band, but there’s fear in her eyes, and she’s too pale for my liking. I practically shove the blankets at her, because she’s only got on her too-thin coat. “Get into the truck and wrap yourself up,” I say, sounding gruffer than I intended. It’s just…there’s a thickness in my throat, and my whole body feels like it’s stuck in fight-or-flight mode. What would have happened if I’d missed her call? If I hadn’t been able to make it out here?

She reaches out to touch my arm, and even though I have on a thick work jacket, I feel something at the mere insinuation of her touch. “Thank you, Logan. I know you’re not working.”

I don’t like the way her voice is shaking, whether it’s from fear or cold. “It’s nothing. Of course I came. You know you could have called me in the middle of the night, and I would have fucking come.”

I”m shaken by the tears I see in her big brown eyes, and before I can stop myself, I reach over and touch her cheek. It’s freezing beneath my fingers, and I curse again. “Get into the truck, Brittany. You’re cold as ice. I’m buying you an industrial-sized box of hot hands. And you’re going to let me take this damn car to the shop and fix it.”

“Okay,” she says softly, the fight gone out of her for the moment. I don’t like it, even if it serves my needs right now.

Then her hand moves to her chest, and she pulls something out of her coat. It takes me a second to process that she’s wearing the necklace I gave her. She holds the pendant up, staring me in the eyes, and a sense of longing roils through my entire body, like I’ve swallowed a damn earthquake. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to be thanking me, darling. You need to get warm. I don’t like that you’ve been out here so long.”

She nods once and gets out, walking toward the passenger side of the truck.

Watching her, my only thought is that I have to keep her safe from everything.

Including myself.