Chapter 6

6

The chill in the office was palpable, an icy undercurrent that rose at odds with the rising summer temps. The afternoon sun glinted off a nearby pen on Daegan’s desk as he tried to focus on an urgent email.

Kinsley approached his desk, her voice clipped and businesslike as she handed him a file folder. “I’ve completed everything. That’s the print-out of Mr. Wright’s file that you requested.” Her demeanor was distant, as if she couldn’t wait to be done with the interaction. She had seemed very short with Daegan all day. Had he brought this on by setting a firm boundary last night?

“Ah, definitely some light reading for this weekend.” Daegan’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he held up the heavy file with a coffee-stained ring toward the top.

“Laurel wanted me to tell you that your mother called earlier, but it was during your meeting.” The tension between them hung heavy in the air, but if Kinsley didn’t want to acknowledge it, neither would he.

“I wonder if she needs something or is just checking in.” He paused. “You know how moms can be.”

“I wish I did.” Kinsley’s response was very quiet.

“Are you not close with your mom?” he asked, realizing a second later that he had no right to ask such a question.

“I lost both of my parents to a car accident when I was young.” Her voice was weak, chilled. “I don’t have any memories of them. I’d like to think I do somewhere, but…” Kinsley paused, likely gathering her composure. Her fingers traced the edge of his desk, probably a nervous habit. “I was just too young.”

“I’m sorry, Kins,” Daegan’s voice softened to a whisper and his eyes filled with sympathy.

“I was raised by my maternal aunt and her husband, until he passed from a heart attack too soon. After that, I lost everyone on my dad’s side of the family. I have no cousins. My maternal grandpa had been dead since before I was born, so I never met him.”

Daegan’s heart sunk deeper, guilt choking him up. What could he possibly say? He’d never known what that sort of loss felt like—he’d had a life with his father while he could.

“Aunt Jodie passed away three years ago from an aggressive type of cancer, and then my grandmother passed away a few months ago. I have no family left. It’s just me.” Kinsley’s cool, blue eyes glistened with unshed tears as she shrugged. It seemed forced, practiced. She’d given this speech often.

Daegan wished he hadn’t asked. Consoling people was not his strong suit. “I’m terribly sorry to hear of all the loss you’ve been through, Kins.” Daegan only hoped his voice was reassuring. “We have more in common than you know,” he added, feeling his own grief boil up under the surface—the grief he didn’t dare wish to share with her the night before.

“There are better things to have in common,” Kinsley said, with a small smile that he could see in her eyes.

“Like reading John Grisham books.” Daegan tried to lighten the atmosphere.

Her hands returned to her sides as a grin tugged at her cheeks. “If you have nothing else for me to do, is it okay if I leave a little early? I want to tidy up at home a little more.” Glancing around his monitor, he could see Kinsley nervously playing with the hem of her shirt.

“I don’t see why not. I’m actually about to wrap things up and head out myself.” He sent the email before he could second-guess it. “For once, I’m leaving early,” he murmured under his breath.

“Plans?” Her voice was crisp.

“I just need to make a stop by someone’s home and then go hide away in my own like a hobbit until Monday morning.” Daegan turned back to her with a fake smile, not looking forward to the actual work awaiting him throughout the weekend.

“Ooh, living life on the edge, are we?” Kinsley’s voice was tantalizing, much to Daegan’s delight. It was as if she could push aside those wounds, much like he had learned to do.

Daegan leaned forward across his desk and lowered his voice. “You have no idea. I might even eat a spoonful of ice cream,” he joked, pulling himself back into his chair with a smirk.

The smile that had been tugging at her cheeks neutralized, an abrupt seriousness taking over Kinsley that Daegan couldn’t quite read. “Well, enjoy your weekend and I will see you on Monday.” She turned, walking away in a manner that only seemed to hypnotize him. The clacking of her heels, the sway of her hips as the sunlight hugged her curves…everything in perfect unison.

It only took Daegan ten minutes to give in and close down his office. With the necessary files and paperwork Kinsey had organized in his briefcase, he headed out. He wasn’t heading home, but rather to one of the most important purchasing consultations of his career. Though he didn’t have the paperwork pulled for it yet, he knew the location by heart.

He needed to convince the new owner to make some quick cash and get an accepted offer in writing as fast as he could. Summer and fall were so short here, but if the permits went quick, he could break ground before winter. If he had to pull out a few stops—maybe a little flirting—then he was bound and determined to do whatever it would take to get this house into his hands.

It was a beautiful summer day. Warm, gentle breeze, and a few clouds accenting the sky as he drove through peaceful neighborhoods. Summers here were perfect, autumn was stunning, and winter was picturesque. If he could provide tourists more places to stay and spend their money, Trueport could go from redlining to a gold mine.

As the avenue of those necessary eight homes came into view, Daegan’s hopes turned bittersweet. They were gorgeous homes on generous portions of property, each with its own history dating back a century or two. Some were run-down. Some painted bright colors. One was boarded up. Regardless, these were all homes Daegan had deals set to buy. A couple were already in his possession.

All but one.

But with this one visit, Daegan had faith that that would change.

The home in question slowly came into view. The faded light mauve paint was chipping in places. A crooked white picket fence surrounded the property. A cracked, paved driveway led to a path that ended at the porch, enclosed by a white railing. The lawn appeared freshly cut, although the hedges could do with a good trim, and the overgrown flowers needed a little care.

Daegan eased his car carefully through the narrow posts on either side of the driveway, his fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel. He stared at the chipped paint on the old house for a moment longer than necessary before shutting off the engine. His gait faltered as he stepped out, betraying the confidence he usually carried into every negotiation. Regardless, he was a businessman. A solid one at that. He would get this property turned in his favor, no matter what it took. A little flirting? No problem. A nice dinner at a fancy restaurant to convince this woman that she was better off selling the property? Easy. There were very few things he wouldn’t do to secure this house; a young, new homeowner wasn’t about to stand in his way.

He rang the doorbell, took a step back, and waited. When he felt enough time had passed, he gave the door a few solid knocks and glanced around. Perhaps he had the wrong entrance? These older homes often had a different, modern primary.

Faintly, he heard the creak of the door opening.

“Mr. Westerhouse? What are you doing here?” an all-too-familiar voice questioned. There was no mistaking the alarm in her tone.

Daegan’s gaze snapped back to the doorway in an instant to see Kinsley standing there. This changes everything. It wasn’t often that Daegan found himself at a loss for words. Now? This was one of those rare times that words just didn’t flow.

“Is everything okay?” Kinsley snapped him back to reality. “Didn’t I leave you behind at work?”

“I was hoping to speak to the homeowner.” He smiled. “Are you…” he trailed off, already knowing the answer.

Kinsley’s eyes flicked down as she nodded. “Inherited it from Granny,” she said, her fingers tightening on the edge of the thick wooden door, knuckles whitening.

Right. The grandmother she had mentioned, the last of a long line of tragedies Kinsley was somehow shouldering as if it were only natural to do so.

Pitching this deal was going to be like selling a sunken ship as a luxury yacht.

“I thought you knew,” Kinsley said, trying to fill his silences as she often did. “I mean… You sent the bouquet and all.”

I didn’t put two and two together, he should have said, but he still couldn’t spit it out. Every line was wrong, every pitch he relied on would only insult her. Thomas had never told him the new owner’s name—Daegan should have asked.

“You seem lost or confused.” Kinsley’s voice softened, though she looked off to the side and not at him.

Daegan inhaled deeply and let it out with a sigh. “Kins, can we talk for a minute?”

Kinsley opened the door, her hand resting protectively on the doorknob for just a moment longer than necessary, before stepping aside. She motioned him in with a stiff gesture, her lips pressed into a thin line, as if holding back an unspoken torrent.

As Daegan stepped inside, the scent of pine hit him immediately, a sharp contrast to the sterile, minimalist environment he’d grown accustomed to. The creak of the old floorboards beneath his designer leather shoes made him feel like an intruder in a place where time had settled comfortably. His eyes drifted over the clutter of knickknacks—a quiet reminder that this was not just a house, but a home— Kinsley’s home.

A home he was about to disrupt.

Kinsley closed the squeaky door gently behind him. “What’s the matter?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh. Avoiding her gaze, he instead studied the chipped paint on the door-frame, wishing he could think of what to say to make this easier.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Kinsley, I didn’t expect this, so I am a bit at a loss for words. I can’t use my typical tactics on someone I care about.” Care about. Those were words he didn’t use lightly, and the moment they escaped his mouth, he wanted to curse himself for letting that phrase loose, of all things.

“Well, spit it out because you’re making me nervous,” Kinsley said, walking into a sitting area Daegan presumed to be the living room. She sat on an old red sofa, motioning for him to sit opposite her. The antique coffee table between them held paint swatches.

“To put it succinctly, I came here today to talk to the homeowner so that I could purchase this property.” He sat, the cushion being much softer than he expected. “It’s the only one left I need to purchase on the block. This place is the last house standing between me and the next step in a short-term leasing project to turn the area into a better, more profitable tourist destination for Trueport.” Daegan maintained eye contact for a moment before Kinsley blinked, her gaze darting around the room. “I already own all the acreage behind it.”

She straightened up. “I thought you knew I inherited it. You sent the flowers,” she said. Her voice was edged with accusation, fury laced through each syllable.

It was Daegan’s own fault for not checking the new owner’s name. These offers had been such a breeze for them so far. Perhaps he had become a bit too careless. “I didn’t know until now, Kins.”

Kinsley’s jaw tightened, hands clenching into fists at her sides. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and cutting. “You’re here to buy my family’s house? The one that’s been passed down for generations?” Her fingers tightened on the sofa’s arm, the knuckles turning white as he watched.

Here it comes. “I didn’t know, Kins. I swear,” Daegan said, his voice softening to accommodate the delicate situation. “I just wanted to discuss it. I’m ready to offer six hundred thousand dollars, which is well above the house’s value.” The silence that followed was only broken by the ticking of a clock. “Of course I am open to discussion and willing to consider any other ideas you have or what price you are looking for.”

Kinsley’s eyes wandered over the familiar decorations on the shelves and walls. Daegan couldn’t even begin to imagine all the memories and history that those pieces held. When her gaze finally settled back on him, it was steady. The warmth of nostalgia had been replaced with something much colder, more resolute. For just a moment, it stopped his breath. He already knew the answer before she even spoke. “No, because I’m not selling.” She was angrier than he’d ever seen.

“I’d love to discuss it with you,” Daegan said, but as the words left his mouth, he felt his smile falter at the edges. His fingers fidgeted with his watch, adjusting the leather band, which was already a perfect fit. “Maybe over a business dinner tonight, or this weekend?”

“A business dinner?” She looked disgusted. “No, I’m not selling. Furthermore,” she boasted, “I’m busy this weekend. I am actually just about to head out the door to go to the airport.”

“Oh. Maybe you can get some reading done on the plane.” Daegan really tried his best to change the tone in the air.

“ I’m not going anywhere. I’m playing chauffeur.” Her words were crisp. Daegan was good at recognizing an upset woman; if there was a video next to the definition in the dictionary, it would be of this moment.

He also knew when he was no longer welcome.

“Ah, well, I hope this weekend is a good one for you,” he said as he stood, walking across the creaking floor toward the door. “We can discuss this next week.”

“No, we won’t be discussing this next week because there is nothing more to discuss regarding the ownership of my property, Mr. Westerhouse.” He recognized her tone as one she’d had to use on a phone call the other day. Daegan had overheard it and found her assertiveness sexy as hell. But having it used on him? It hit him like a sledgehammer between the eyes. “This house isn’t just four walls to me. It’s my family, my history. It’s everything I have left.” There was a note of desperation in her voice. “You think money can somehow replace that, but it can’t.”

“I’m not trying to take that away from you, Kins! I didn’t know?—”

“I guess not,” Kinsley cut him off. “But now you do. And the answer’s still no.”

“I’ll see you Monday then,” Daegan said, seeing himself out the front door.

“For work—and only for work. Until then, have a pleasant weekend, Mr. Westerhouse,” she spat.

The door slammed shut behind him with a force that made the porch rattle. A startled stray cat bolted out from beneath the steps, disappearing into the overgrown rosebushes. Daegan stood there for a moment, the sound of her final words echoing in his mind. The warmth of her earlier smiles was long gone, replaced by something cold and unyielding.

He turned slowly, walking back to his car as the summer breeze swept through the avenue. Each house, with its peeling paint and sagging porches, told a story of time and memory. But none hit him harder than the one he’d just left.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Daegan rested his hands on the wheel, staring at the chipped mauve paint of her home in the rearview mirror. “Why did it have to be her?” he muttered, his voice low and defeated. He started the engine, the hum of the car doing little to drown out the tension in his chest. As he pulled away, his mind raced with thoughts he refused to entertain.

Kinsley’s breath caught in her throat. She tried to steady herself, but her hands were trembling, her grip tight on the doorknob. How could he? How could Mr. Westerhouse still ask this of her, after everything she’d told him just this afternoon? Her chest tightened, her breath coming in short bursts as if she’d been struck. Pressing her trembling fingers to her temple, she willed herself to push through the sting of betrayal and think clearly.

Her head rested against the banister as she sank onto the steps. Questions swirled in her mind, each one more painful than the last. Had any of it been real? The coffee, the conversations—had it all been part of his calculated attempt to manipulate her? The thought turned her stomach and made her blood boil.

Sell the house? To him ?

Fury tightened her chest. Never. Not in this life, not in the next. He’d have to rip it from her cold, dead hands. The nerve of that man. He was attempting to rob her of one of the few things she had left of her own family. He’d known how this would hurt her, and he’d walked into her home and tried it anyway.

I’m better off without him. What was she thinking, letting him in on her past? She wasn’t about to sell her family’s memories to this man and she wasn’t about to allow herself to develop any sympathy—or feelings—either.

Feelings.

That’s something she didn’t need. Especially now. She couldn’t risk developing feelings for someone, particularly when everyone else in her past had left her—either through fate or by choice—apart from a couple of friends. As much as Kinsley enjoyed the company of others, she deeply feared growing attached to new people. She knew better. It was far easier to avoid getting hurt if you weren’t connected to others to begin with. She’d only proven herself right.

On top of that, how could she ever find it within herself to open up emotionally to a man again after her high school sweetheart had left her just six months prior? How could she ever trust her heart with another? Especially with her boss. That man, she imagined, couldn’t care less about her mental or emotional wellbeing right now. All he cared about was his company and getting her house.

Only once her eyes were dry and her thoughts were clear did Kinsley grab her keys and head toward the airport. The guest bedrooms were outdated, but her friends didn’t care. They were excited even to hear that a contractor, Tina’s brother Brian, would be dropping by during their stay. Cameron and Brienne had been wanting to visit since she’d arrived, but now Kinsley needed them more than ever.

Within a few hours, they were sitting around Kinsley’s dining table. The wine they selected had a deep, rich aroma. It mingled with the faint hint of rosemary from the roasted chicken that still lingered on their plates. The dining room was warm and cozy, lit by the soft glow of the overhead lamp, but Kinsley felt an unsettling chill seeping into her bones. It was as if the warmth in the room had no power over the frost gathering around her heart.

Kinsley had spent the bulk of the car ride and dinner catching them up on what had just transpired between herself and Daegan Westerhouse. She knew she was talking in circles, but her friends were happy to listen.

After complaining about “that selfish bastard” for the umpteenth time, she noticed something. Her eyes darted between Cameron and Brienne. “Are you two playing a drinking game?”

Her friends kept straight faces. “Why would you think that?” Cameron asked, tucking an auburn curl behind her ear.

“I just feel like whenever I talk about Mr. Westerhouse—” Kinsley started before stopping short, noticing her friends both taking a sip of wine simultaneously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brienne chimed in, her finger delicately tracing the rim of the glass.

“Me neither,” Cameron confirmed before shoving the last of her green beans in her mouth.

“I said Westerhouse and?—”

Her friends took another sip. Despite being caught red-handed, the two of them kept straight faces.

“If I say his name, you sip,” Kinsley hissed.

Brienne leaned back in her chair, swirling her wine with a smirk. “For someone that acts like she hates the man so much, you sure seem obsessed. His name’s been on your lips more than that glass.” Brienne motioned toward Kinsley’s nearly full glass of wine. Her green eyes shot Kinsley a knowing look.

“Just tell him you aren’t selling the house and be done with it,” Cameron said. The chair squeaked as she eased back.

“If you’re going to keep talking about him all night, then we might as well get tipsy to put up with it,” Brienne added before receiving a stern glare from Cameron. “What?” she mouthed to Cameron.

Kinsley wanted to laugh at their antics; she likely would have if she didn’t feel so hollow. The lingering wine tasted bitter on her tongue as her friends’ words sunk in. Could Mr. Westerhouse really get to her enough that he could possibly win this fight?

“For real, Kins,” Brienne said, raising her wine glass, “how many times did you say his name tonight? Ten? Fifteen? If it weren’t for this drinking game, we’d be stone-cold sober.” Her smirk softening, she threw Kinsley a look of pity.

“I think what our lovely Brienne is trying to say,” Cameron shifted her eyes back and forth between them, “is that you just need to say you’re not entertaining his offer and you don’t want to be harassed about it.”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Throw around the word harass and he’ll be sure to take you more seriously.” Brienne nodded, eating her last bite of chicken.

“I told him I don’t want to sell and I’m not going to sell. I said no more discussions about it,” Kinsley replied taking a long swig from her wine glass.

“Don’t let him try to win you over though,” Brienne said in a sing-songy voice. “He seems like he could be a sweet-talker.”

“A womanizer, perhaps,” Cameron added.

“Mr. Westerhouse?” Kinsley asked. The thought of him trying to win her heart to win her home was sickening. What kind of man would have the audacity to try something like that?

Her friends took a sip. Kinsley unashamedly joined them.

“He’s not like that,” Kinsley finished her thought.

“I thought that Oscar guy was great,” Brienne laughed under her breath, “but all he wanted were my playoff tickets. Some guys just use you to get what they want.”

“How do you know he isn’t like that, Kinsley? I’m asking as a genuine question,” Cameron said. “He’ll sweet-talk you. He’ll take you to dinner. Invite you over.”

“Sleep with you,” Brienne interjected. Cameron shot her a quick glance.

“ And then he will win your trust to some extent and you’ll think ‘oh gee, he won’t do me wrong’ and then sell the house to him and get screwed.” Cameron locked eyes with her and wouldn’t break it. Kinsley knew she meant every word she said.

“Maybe quite literally get screwed, too,” Brienne added, the quiet clink of her glass coming to rest on the dining table.

Cameron turned to Brienne. “What is it with you and these pointed comments?” she asked.

“I just got screwed over. Give me a break,” Brienne replied, her words bitter.

Her chest tightened at the thought of it. Was that why he took her for coffee?

“First,” Kinsley began, “I don’t say ‘oh gee.’ Second, I’m not going to trust him enough to do anything like that. Third, I’m going to make sure he understands our relationship is strictly professional and I am not some potential real-estate acquisition.”

“Or more,” Brienne whispered. “You did say he was quite charming.”

There will never be more . Daegan Westerhouse might win often, but not this battle. Kinsley clenched her fists in her lap, digging her nails into her palms. She could keep Daegan at a distance—she had to. But even as the resolve hardened in her chest, a cold sliver of uncertainty curled around her ribs.

That night, doubt was an uninvited guest at the table as they looked through paint samples. It lurked in the shadows, swirling wine in its glass with an infuriating smirk when they discussed her bathroom renovations. All evening she could almost hear its voice, whispering all the ways she might lose—not just the house, but her carefully guarded heart.

Never.

The beautiful weather had changed to match his mood that evening; rain clouds settled overhead and burst. Thunder and lightning were soon to follow. Daegan was not about to admit defeat, but he knew that this would not be easy.

Despite trying to relax that evening, taking in the rain-scented air, Daegan found himself pacing back and forth in his study. When he tried to retire to his bedroom, he simply paced there some more, until he was back to his study again. He tried to read a book, but made it only a few sentences in. There was an attempt to look over the file folder he brought home, but even work couldn’t get his mind off the tears in Kinsley’s eyes today.

Defeat.

Daegan had rarely tasted it before, but tonight it lingered on his tongue as strongly as the sherry in his glass. It left him restless, unsure of his next move—something he hadn’t felt in years.

What was his next step? Should he lay off talking about it for a while? Maybe he could just bring up another, higher-priced offer? Everyone had a price, surely Kinsley did too? This level of sensitivity was new to him, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Anything that got between him and his work was never good.

The office.

How would this affect them? Could he trust Kinsley to continue doing her job, or would she try to sabotage him? If he went to HR first, cut this off now before it got worse, could he ever forgive himself? Kinsley wasn’t doing anything wrong. She’d just inherited the wrong house on the wrong block.

Kinsley , who had just lost her last living relative. The home he needed was now all she had left of her family. A sharp pain twisted inside him, a sick feeling that bordered on guilt. Perhaps he was the selfish bastard his opponents accused him of being.

When he resumed his nightly ritual of pulling out the note from Megan and the printed article, something was different. Anger rose from within him as he held them tightly, but this time it was at himself.

Three years of holding onto the past. Three years of holding onto grief, disappointment, anger, fear, hatred, confusion, doubt, resentment… It was time to let it all go. The dreams. The wishes. The visions of a future with Megan and the children that they had always talked about. The miracle of having a family, the sanctuary of having someone to love and hold and trust. That is what he yearned for.

Security.

Love.

But never again would he let someone fool him.

He couldn’t bear the thought of coming home to find his wife gone. Or, God forbid, my children gone. A chill ran down his spine at the possibility.

Over the past three years, Daegan had come to realize that the signs had been there. Originally, he’d chalked it up to Megan being upset that he’d had to work late, so she would make late-night plans. Constantly. She had pulled away emotionally and physically, but he’d assumed it was hormonal and it would pass. There were times she would hide her phone and disappear into another part of the house to take calls. She’d even leave for a few hours without reason. Her stories didn’t always add up. But Daegan had chosen to see the good in her. He looked past potential flaws because the result meant so much to him. He’d been a fool .

The rain picked up, beating down heavily upon the windows. He pulled the curtains closed, not wanting to see the raindrops trailing down the glass. They were too similar to the tears he felt he could shed. A few slivers of moonlight shone through the gaps in the curtains, the largest among them illuminating his desk. The handle of that drawer shined, as if guiding him to it.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he’d withdrawn the envelope from its resting place and slid the letter and printed article back inside. His fingers lingered on the edges for a few moments. He knew what he had to do, but did he have the strength to do it? To say goodbye to the life he’d thought he wanted? Soon, he’d throw it all away. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be free.

That feeling of empowerment was short-lived as his mind shifted to Kinsley. Who was this “Cameron” she was picking up from the airport? Were they in a relationship? Dating? Were they tangled together in the sheets at this very moment, while he sat in his study mourning a love he’d never truly had?

Who Kinsley was dating or not dating, sleeping with or not sleeping with, was none of his business. She was an adult woman, free to live her own life. It shouldn’t have bothered him at all. And yet, every time he imagined them together, his pulse quickened with a bitterness he hadn’t felt since Megan had left. His fingers clenched the envelope.

I don’t care, he repeated to himself. But each word was only a futile attempt to strangle the truth. If he wanted to save this town, he needed to acquire her house. To do that, Daegan would have to keep his distance, avoid getting emotionally involved. But the tightness in his chest betrayed any hope of that. Kinsley was already more to him than she should be.