Chapter Three

Nina

Inside my house, I lean against the door for a moment, trying to figure out what just happened and why my heart is beating so fast. Then I hear my phone ping in the kitchen.

My phone! I run, tripping over a pile of clothes on the way, then skid across the linoleum I haven't mopped in weeks. There are dishes piled everywhere and open cabinets without a clean dish in them. And there, in the middle of the mess, is my phone.

I unlock it, then click on the text—two of them now—and get to reading.

Brayden: Roses are red, violets are blue, your smile is sweet, and your hair is blue too. I'm not much of a poet, but I do believe in fate, and in beauty and chemistry and all you radiate. See, I'm not much with rhymes or telling you how I feel, but give me a chance to make my appeal—to stay in your life, even as a friend. Because Nina, sweet beauty, I'd hate to see this end.

I smile at his text, then read the one right under it.

Brayden: Please delete that text. Tell me you didn't read it.

I laugh out loud, then text him back.

Nina: Oh, I read it, Tolstoy. And I'm framing this bad boy on my wall in giant font.

He doesn't respond right away, probably because he's still making his way back to wherever he came from before he saved me. But it's fine, because I have work to do.

I race to the bookcase in the living room and kneel to reach the bottom shelf. There, in chronological order, is every single diary I've kept since I was ten years old. Seventeen years of them, to be exact. There were so many times I'd been tempted to throw them away, especially the one from ten years ago. Burn them, even, just so I could forget. But something always stopped me. Maybe it was because these were the true witnesses of my life. The only place I'd ever told the complete truth. The only place where the sins committed against my body were detailed in ways I couldn't even tell my mother. Never even got to tell the police.

I find that journal now and flip it open. It immediately lands on the piece of paper I'd slipped between the pages. My handwriting is rushed, almost like I couldn't get the words down fast enough—as if I was angry and determined.

Because I was.

It had been a weekend at my grandma's house with my cousin, Jordy. She lived out of town, so these rare moments when we could hang out together were very special. It was also full of rituals. The homemade pancakes Nanna Dot placed before us, complete with " magic" syrup. The singing performances for an audience of one, even at seventeen. The late nights talking about fashion, trading gossip about our friends, and swapping stories about boys. So many boys. And snuggling with Nanna on the couch while watching our favorite movie of all time— Practical Magic .

But this weekend was different. It was weeks after the incident. Weeks after my mom advised me to keep things to myself.

"You don't want to embarrass yourself, honey," she'd said. I knew what that meant. She didn't want me to embarrass her . But some part of that still stuck to me.

So I remained silent at Nanna's house, even when she and Jordy both noticed.

"Sing with me," Jordy begged, handing the karaoke mic to me. I watched the words on the TV roll on by, but my voice wouldn't work.

So there was no singing that weekend. No makeup tutorials or clothing swaps. And definitely no talk about boys.

But there were pancakes, and there was Practical Magic . And as we watched the Owens sisters change their cursed witchy fate, I took comfort in the fluffy goodness smothered in spells and syrup.

"I'm manifesting my perfect man," Jordy exclaimed after the movie, leaping up to grab some paper and pens from the kitchen. She gave one to Nanna Dot, who laughed and said she'd settle for someone to rub her feet every night, and that's all.

"Nanna, I'll rub your feet," I said. "You don't need a man."

"Stay right there," Jordy ordered, thrusting a piece of paper at me. "She needs a man, and so do you."

"What about the curse? Won't any man who ends up with us die?" I looked expectantly at Jordy, who only rolled her eyes.

"That's just in the movie, Nina." She pointed at my paper, then got busy on her own, not even giving me an opening to remind her that the lists were make-believe too.

Still, it didn't stop me from playing along, but only to list qualities that were impossible to find in a man, just like Sally Owens.

I was never going to fall in love.

I included a few things that actually mattered to me, just in case something this stupid actually worked. He would make me feel safe. He'd care for animals. He'd listen with his eyes and ears.

But then came the specifics. He'd like country music and have a good singing voice. He'd have deep dimples and hair with curls I could wind my fingers through. He'd have blue eyes with flecks of gold.

I paused, my pen between my lips as I tried to think of a few more things. My grandma was now at the kitchen sink, humming as she washed the syrup from the plates.

"I left my heart, in San Francisco…" she warbled out, singing the same Tony Bennett song she always sang when she was happy. "Sugar, can you pass me that plate," she said, pointing at my dish on the table. I handed it to her, then went back to my list.

He'd have ties to San Francisco where Nanna Dot met Grandpa, he'd like Tony Bennett, and he'd call me Sugar.

Holding the list in my hands now, my mouth drops open. It's Brayden. From the way he saved me to the way he called me Sugar, this list is all about him. I go over each item one by one, just to make sure. Then I go over it again.

It's him. Ten years ago, I made a list about Brayden, and I didn't even know it. I'd even been to his ranch! And tonight, he walked me home to make sure I was safe—and I let him get away. Even though he was the man I'd conjured up all those years ago. Even though I thought he was an impossibility.

And to just prove how impossible he is…this perfect man I conjured up has a girlfriend.

Fuck my life.

"He has a girlfriend?" Maren steals another one of my fries as I slouch in my seat. She and Claire met me for lunch at Coastal Plate. Actually, I'd only invited Maren. But these days, with the planning of Claire's wedding and all, these two are joined at the hip. I couldn't have Maren without Claire. And Claire? I mean she's all right if you like perfect, thin, and blonde. I find her perky perfection a bit annoying, favoring Maren's moodiness any day. But that's just me.

"Yeah, which is just so fitting for a list of a man I can't have, right?"

"I don't know," Claire pipes in, and I roll my eyes in her direction, waiting for her oh so brilliant, not asked for input. She doesn't even notice—or she's ignoring the bored look on my face. "I mean, this list could be about anyone. It doesn't have to be him."

"Shut your mouth," Maren says, then sticks a French fry in her mouth just to prove a point. Claire doesn't get mad, just laughs as she chews the fry. "This list is not just about anyone." Maren grabs the list from my hands then reads from it. "I mean, Tony Bennett? Blue eyes with gold flecks? Calls her Sugar? Fucking San Francisco ? She found all these things to be true about Brayden in the matter of an hour. How can that not be some sort of conjuring magic?"

"Don't tell me you believe in this," Claire laughs.

"How can you not? You work with romance authors every day for your job. Have you not read those stories?"

"Those are fiction." Claire leans back in her chair, as if that proves her point.

"And this is fate," Maren replies, crossing her arms in front of her. "Besides, you can't argue against chemistry, and they obviously have it. Right Nina?"

"I guess." I fiddle with a fry, thinking back to last night. We did, right? "He saved me from those guys, so it's possible I might be seeing things that weren't there. Maybe that's why I felt so safe around him. But…" I pause, thinking back to our walk home, how it felt to walk beside him. The moment we almost kissed. "There was something there. I felt it, and I know he did too. Even though he's taken, he still wanted to keep in contact with me. Just as friends, but still. He even sent me this. "

I pick my phone up off the table, unlock it and open his text from this morning. I push it across the table for both of them to see.

Brayden: Hey there friend. I have a free afternoon today and wondered if you wanted to go horseback riding, just for old time's sake.

"You didn't respond," Maren pointed out, pushing my phone back to me. "Why didn't you tell him hell yes, you want to come over and ride him."

"Ride the horse , Maren," Claire says, laughing.

"Right. The horse." Maren looks at me and winks.

"I can't," I moan, putting the phone back in my purse.

"Because of his girlfriend? That has never stopped you before." Maren arches an eyebrow, then ducks when Claire smacks her on the arm.

"I think that's a healthy boundary," Claire says. "It wouldn't be right."

"It's not about that," I admit. "I have no idea who this girlfriend is, and I don't care. It's never bothered me before because I didn't care about the guy either, but Brayden is different. There's something about him that makes me think I could really fall for him. He's so good and caring, so thoughtful, and I figured all this out in just the time it took for him to walk me home. Also, I'm insanely attracted to him. There's too much at stake if I mess around with him. For one, I could catch deeper feelings and he'll just go back to his girlfriend, or she'll find out and break his heart, and I don't want to see him get hurt."

Maren and Claire are silent for a moment. Then Maren lets out a whoosh of air. "Man, Nina. You really like this guy."

"I know," I moan. "Which is why this is friggen unfair. "

"Oh, I meant to send this to you earlier," Claire says, digging through her bag. "This is weird timing, but I don't want to forget or Ethan will never forgive me." She hands me an envelope with my name on it, and I can already tell it's her wedding invitation. Ethan is my cousin, so of course I'm invited to the wedding. But I can't help finding some humor in the way Claire stresses it's his idea and not hers. She'd never say that out loud, of course, but I find it funny that we tolerate each other only because we're both friends with Maren and I'm related to her fiancé.

I only have two cousins—Ethan on my dad's side and Jordy on my mom's. Jordy and I no longer speak, and she can kiss my ass. But Ethan? He's like a brother. He lived with us for a while when his dad split, so we grew up close, and we're still cool now.

Claire, on the other hand, is boring and perfect, but fine I guess. Not only that, she and Ethan have a kid together—Finn—who's actually pretty awesome for a seven-year-old. Everyone else will be coupled up at this wedding, so I'll probably end up at the kids table with Finn, who I'm sure will be the best company of all.

"Thanks," I say. I open it just because she's watching me, inwardly groaning when I see the "plus one" next to my name. Nope, no plus one. Just lonely old me on a ship full of couples. Because this wedding is taking place on a nighttime cruise in the bay, which should be ultra-romantic for everyone else and hugely awkward for me.

"Sounds fun," I say, slipping the envelope into my purse.

The afternoon passes and I still haven't texted Brayden back. The truth is, I'm afraid. I can't go on a horseback ride with him. I can't do anything with him. I never even should have given him my phone number, because this man does not belong to me. If I open myself to him in any way, I'm going to get hurt.

But when my phone pings again, I can't help but look. Then smile. It's a picture of Brayden completely mugging for a selfie with his horse. I can tell he's leaning over awkwardly to get the horse's face in the photo, and I can see the ocean behind him. Oh man, a beach ride. It's something I always wanted to do when I was taking lessons, but never got to.

Brayden: We missed you on the beach today.

It's obvious he's not taking my silent treatment seriously, and I can't help feeling happy about that. I missed him too. I just can't tell him that.

I'm in foreign territory here. In the past, I would have just invited him over, girlfriend or not. Though, looking around, there's no way anyone is coming over. Ever since Maren moved out, I've kind of let things go around here a little bit. Sitting at my kitchen table, my view is of my grandmother's countertops full of all her fancy dishes with some sort of food crusted on them. I have clothes I washed and then hung to dry hanging in the doorway, even though they've been dry for two weeks now. In the living room, the couch has become an extension of my closet, with piles of clothes taking up every inch of space. I haven't mopped the floors in weeks. Even the garbage is overflowing, though I might be nose blind to the smell.

It's embarrassing, and I'm not really sure what to do about it. Sometimes I get a hair up my ass to clean the place top to bottom; sometimes I get stuck in my feelings, consumed by my loneliness and a pit of grief that won't leave.

I miss having a roommate, but more than that, I miss my Nanna Dot.

It's been five years since she passed. Her arms were wrapped around her own body, as if she were giving herself a hug in those final moments. It brought me peace to think of it that way, even as I sobbed into the 9-1-1 call.

I thought I could handle living on my own, but in just a few weeks, the house became dark and cluttered, unlike the bright cheerfulness that existed when Nanna Dot was here. She used to throw open the curtains and sing a welcome to the day. Her voice was shaky and uneven, but angelic to my ears. I loved hearing Nanna Dot sing because it meant she was happy, and her happiness was infectious.

But when she was gone, the curtains remained closed and the house song-free. Silent, except for the occasional settling creak or sound of passing cars. No one visited. No one called, especially not my mother. It had to do with the will, as Nanna Dot left me everything, including this huge house. But they had to have known I would have taken my grandmother over all of it—because without her, I had no one.

My natural impulse was to hide away in this house forever. I had enough money to live the rest of my life without needing to work. The house was paid off, and my bank account had more figures than I thought I'd ever see in a lifetime. But my mental health was plummeting, so I got a job at Insomniacs because it was the best place I could think of where I'd be around people without having to get close to anyone. I started coloring my hair in bright hues, hoping it would help lighten the darkness in my heart. I got a roommate and endured her constant criticism of how I kept house.

That first roommate was just awful. She only stayed because I hardly charged anything for rent. When she moved out, I was more than happy to see her go. I thought I'd see how it felt to live on my own, maybe organize the house and get my act together, but then my coworker Maren asked if she could take over as my roommate, and I agreed.

And it was great while it lasted. Maren hated the mess too, but she cleaned without shaming me. Even more, she hung out with me. She had her own life and friends, but she still liked my company.

Our living arrangement didn't last long, though. Maren was always slated for bigger and better things. She quit Insomniacs after she started teaching music, got a record deal with a huge producer, and was able to move out. I was happy for her, though selfishly I wanted her to stay here always.

I've been on my own for several months now, and the state of the house is the first sign that I'm slipping back into those dark times. I know I need to do what I can to remain afloat, but it's just so hard. I'm mortified at the way the house looks, but I can't bring myself to do anything about it. Just thinking about someone else walking in here and seeing how I'd singlehandedly ruined the place is more than I can handle.

Brayden: Perhaps my friend here can entice you to join us.

I look at the text Brayden sent, my fingers itching to answer him, even though the best thing I could probably do is block his number. But I wait as the three dots appear under his text. Another photo comes through, this one of the horse he'd been riding on in her stall, and next to her is another horse—a horse I remember.

Meredith.

Nina: That's my horse!

I grin, seeing my old friend on the screen. Every lesson, she was the one I rode. I fell in love with that pumpkin-colored mare. I'd brush her after every lesson, even though there were ranch hands who could unsaddle her and brush her down. But I wanted to spend every moment with that horse, braiding her mane and sticking flowers throughout the weave .

Nina: But how did you know? You weren't at the ranch when I used to ride.

Brayden: I asked the horses, and Meredith whinnied the loudest.

I glare at the way he's messing with me, then touch his name before holding the phone to my ear. He's laughing when he picks up.

"Seriously. How did you know?" I ask.

"I asked my mom," he says, still laughing. "She named off a few of the horses that were used for lessons, and Meredith was one of them. I just had this feeling she was the one, especially since her stall is right next to my horse."

"Sara," I whisper.

"You remember!"

I'm kind of pleased that I remember. It seems like a whole lifetime ago, except that it was the brightest part of my life at a time when everything felt so hard. There is a lot I've blocked out from back then, but the ranch was not one of them. If I close my eyes, I can sometimes remember the way it smelled and how the air felt on my skin there. Different. Healing. Kind of like home.

"I used to sneak both of them cookies from the feed store. Sara was especially fond of them, probably because her owner was too stingy with the sweets."

"Hey, I was away at college. I made up for it plenty every time I came home."

I sensed some regret in his voice. Something unspoken. I remembered the way he looked last night when we talked about that time in our lives.

What happened to you, Brayden?

"I wish I could have met you then," I say, the words slipping out before I can pull them back in. I hear a heavy sigh on his end of the phone, and I close my eyes, just listening to him breathe.

"Me too," he says. "More than you know."

Both of us stay silent after that. I feel like I could crawl out of my skin in this moment, dying to say all the things I wish I could, but mostly just wishing for a chance with him. Wishing I didn't like him so much. Wishing he'd met me first so that he wouldn't be with this other girl.

"So, will you say yes to horseback riding with me, or am I going to have to wear you down?"

Every part of me is screaming yes, except my good sense.

"You know why I can't," I say.

"Because your trainer forgot to teach you how to ride a horse?"

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm an excellent rider. I could probably ride circles around you, even if it's been years since I've been on a horse."

His low laugh vibrates into my ear, and I bite my lip. Fuck, how can a simple sound be so goddamn sexy?

"Guess you're going to have to prove it. Day after tomorrow, meet me at Salt & Sea Ranch. Meredith will be waiting."

I groan into the phone. "You can't do that," I protest. "That's coercion."

"No, that's horseplay."

"Har har." But I'm smiling.

"Come on, Nina," he pleads. "I already told Meredith you were coming, and she got all excited. You don't want to disappoint her, do you?"

I flex my hands, my fingers, my toes—my everything. I am exercising every ounce of control I have, and yet…

"What time?"

"Nine in the morning," he says. "I'll make you breakfast then we'll head out. But we have to be back by noon because I have a tour group coming in.

Then he whoops on his end of the phone, letting loose a wild sound of excitement that leaves me grinning, even if I feel the need to hit the brakes.

"Hold on there, cowboy," I say. "This is strictly for Meredith and has nothing to do with you. Besides, what would your girlfriend say about you going horseback riding with some other woman."

"She'd probably be happy that I found someone who liked riding so I could stop bugging her about coming with me."

The pang of jealousy that rips through me is so unexpected. I have not felt jealousy over a man…ever. I haven't cared about anyone enough to worry about what they do when they're not with me or who they're with. But this…this is different. Knowing that he's asked some other woman to go for horseback rides with him is like death by a thousand cuts. Not just another woman. His girlfriend.

But also, what does that say about her that she doesn't go? Knowing how much this horse ranch means to Brayden, how can he be with someone who isn't even remotely interested in horses?

I'm projecting, of course. I don't know anything about this girl. She might love horses, but just not riding. She could be nice and lovely and make Brayden happy.

Nah, she's a bitch. And she doesn't deserve him.

"Day after tomorrow," I agree. "I'll be there at nine."

That evening, I start cleaning. I even sing as I go, blaring Tony Bennett over the sound system I had talked Nanna Dot into buying years ago.

"I left my heart, in San Francisco…" I croon, pushing the pile of clothes off the couch and into a laundry basket so I can transport it upstairs. The doom piles have diminished dramatically and this house is starting to feel like a home again. Even though the sun set ho urs ago, the house feels brighter somehow. Smells good too, with the lemon essential oil diffusing in the corner and the shine on the just mopped floors.

My phone rings on the coffee table and I glance at it, then groan. My mom's face stares back at me, smiling even though she never smiles at me anymore. I probably should have found a photo of her scowling instead. I pick up the phone, answering it as I switch off the stereo.

"Hello?"

There are only two reasons why my mom calls me nowadays. One is to disguise it as a social call, but then slip in all the ways I fall short as a human. The other is her recent fascination with family dinners. I think one of her friends at the country club mentioned how their family keeps in touch this way, and my mom wanted to pretend that our family was close too. But really, it just became a way for her to tear me down in person.

"Nina, you really need to work on the way you answer the phone. The person on the other end shouldn't be able to tell how tired you are. I don't even know why you're tired, anyway. You don't have a thing to worry about, what with all my mother's money in your bank account."

I pour my coffee while she talks. There's no sense in arguing with her, and honestly, I'm so used to her drivel, I don't even react anymore.

After a few minutes, I finally interject with "Why'd you call?" and then get ready for the lecture on my tone, even as I try to keep my voice light and airy, as she prefers. But she doesn't lecture. No, it's far worse than that.

"Aunt Lil and her family are hosting family dinner tomorrow night, and I'd love if you were here also. It will be a family reunion of sorts, so make sure you're wearing something that fits you and not that godawful skirt you wore the last time."

This is terrible news, and I immediately think of ways to get out of it. I work the early shift tomorrow, so that excuse won't work. But then I remember my car on the other side of town.

"I'd love to, but can't," I say, trying to hide my enthusiasm. "My car broke down last night, so I'm kind of stuck."

"Then buy a new car. Hell, buy ten new cars. Lord knows you can afford it. But I expect you to be here."

"I woke up with a sore throat and a cough this morning," I say, then cough to prove my ailment.

"I'm sure it's just allergies," my mom says. "You'll be fine by tomorrow. We just won't get near you."

Great.

Here's the thing about my Aunt Lil, she is just as bad as my mother. She's different in that she won't say anything to your face, but every comment out of her is this backhanded dig. It might sound kind or thoughtful to the unsuspecting stranger—I know better though.

Uncle Dan is fine, except that he never wants to be there either. He's too busy trying to stay off of Aunt Lil's shit list to actually talk to any of us. I swear he just counts the minutes until they get to leave again. Why, I don't know. Once he leaves, he's alone with Aunt Lil.

And if the whole family is coming, my cousin Jordy is included, and I fucking hate her. We used to be close. We used to spend nearly every weekend together at Nanna Dot's. We were more than cousins. We were like sisters.

But things changed. She stopped coming around. And after Nanna Dot died… It hurts, the way she rejected me. Wouldn't even speak to me. Never even asked for my side of the story as our mothers whispered lies in her ear.

She never even checked on me after the funeral, and that hurts the most .

I hardly see her anymore, but when I do, we barely acknowledge each other. When she looks at me, it's with complete disdain, like she can't believe we have to share the same air space. This from the girl who used to stay up late with me bingeing Friends episodes or giving each other makeovers. That girl is gone, and I guess I've changed too, because I don't want to be around her anymore either.

But now I get to drive two hours north when I can think of a million other things I'd like to do tomorrow. I can think up all the excuses I want, but there will be no getting out of this, so I might as well prepare myself for a torturous evening.

"Can I bring anything?"

"No, we got it covered," my mom says. "Besides, I'm still battling heartburn from the last time you brought those acorn squashes stuffed with sausage."

"It was turkey, Mom, from that cookbook you gave me for Christmas." It was actually pretty good, too, even though it was low-cal.

"Oh, are you using that cookbook? It's supposed to help you with that weight issue you're battling."

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say, hanging up before she can answer, knowing I might pay for that later.

I melt onto the couch, a ball of dread already forming in my belly. I have so many hours between now and the time I have to face my family, and I can already feel a stress ache forming in my neck and a dull pain behind my eyes. Every muscle in my body is clenched just in anticipation of the shit show tomorrow night will be. I don't even try to pretend things will be okay. My whole purpose for being there is to be my family's verbal punching bag.

And still, I'll go.

I stand, look at the full laundry basket on the floor next to the couch, then step over it to trudge up the stairs to my room. After undressing, I'm about to throw my clothes into the chair pile I have growing in the corner of my room when I remember the piece of paper in my jeans pocket. I pull it out, unfold it, then read it.

Likes Tony Bennett. Cares for animals.

"Calls me Sugar," I whisper.

After this dinner from hell, I'll get to ride horses with Brayden on the beach. At least I have that to look forward to.