Chapter One

I’m not a fan of tall, powerfully built men. I know what damage they can do. With their words. And their hands.

I hug my coffee to the center of my chest as I stare out my living room window. A large moving truck is parked in front of the house directly across from me. The unassuming Martinez family, who lived harmlessly in that house for years, moved out two days ago.

Now, giving instructions to the movers, is a broad-shouldered, big man, who looks to be the new owner of the house.

A sick feeling settles in my stomach.

The man has dark blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. I’m not comfortable with beards either. I like to be able to study a face, see what a person’s not telling me, and a beard masks too many tells.

He’s wearing jeans and a thick jacket against a cold February wind. He moves in a way that tells me he’s at ease in his own skin, confident in his decision to label this new place home.

My coffee cools as I watch him decide to pitch in and help the men unload his stuff from the truck. Clearly working up a sweat, he shrugs off his jacket and I notice the hint of a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. My unease builds. If a person can handle a tattoo, they can handle pain. Either receiving it or inflicting it.

“Is that man moving in?” Lisset asks excitedly. “Is he our new neighbor?”

“Looks like it.”

“Can we go say hello?”

“Not right now.”

She falls silent. I suspect my daughter’s eight-year-old lawyerly brain is working the next angle. I stare at her heart-shaped face so like my own, the deep brown hair and dark eyes she inherited from me. My interest stirs as I wait to see what she’ll come up with.

“But it’s rude not to make him feel welcome,” she says after a moment.

I hide a smile. Lisset, in complete contrast to me, is all about hospitality and friendliness. Too much coaching from my mom, whose house has an open door to any resident in our medium-sized town of Brown Oaks who wants to pop in and say hi.

“Another time,” I tell her.

She gives me a look. Lisset knows all too well that in my vocabulary another time is synonymous with never.

“Right now you have to get ready for school. Is your bag all packed?”

“Yup.”

Asking is a formality. Lisset is at that age where she still loves school and takes after me with her organizational skills. She thrives when she’s on top of things. Although she’s still in her pajamas, I have a hunch the clothes she’s planning to wear today are already laid out on the chair in her bedroom.

I’m in my work clothes of dress pants and a loose blouse. My hair barely touches my shoulders, but I’ve tied it back so strands don’t fall into the food. Concealer hides the shadows under my eyes and blush adds a little color to my skin. I’ll slick on pale pink lipstick before I leave to show everyone that Kate Miller is getting on with her life and that she still cares what she looks like. Even though she really, truly doesn’t. Not anymore.

“Did you have breakfast?” I ask Lisset.

She nods. “I had cereal.”

I tap her milk mustache. “Let me guess, you tipped the bowl into your mouth to drink the remains of the milk?”

She gives me a guilty nod. I sigh and wipe the mustache away with my thumb. No point rebuking her. I used to do the same as a child.

Abruptly, Lisset points out the living room window. “Look, Mom. Ms. Jenna is saying hello and making the man feel welcome.”

So she is. Clearly smelling fresh blood, the newly-divorced Jenna is sauntering up the street toward the man, offering him a friendly wave and, with her zipper jacket pulled low, an eyeful of impressive cleavage. She’s carrying a container of baked goods.

“I bet it’s her almond cookies,” Lisset says. “She’s famous for them.”

She’s famous for something else too, but that’s not for Lisset to know.

The man flashes Jenna a warm smile as he accepts the container from her. Her whole face lights up and she touches his arm, engaging him in conversation.

I look away. I can’t judge her. I imagine she’s lonely, and I know that feeling all too well.

“Didn’t you do the same thing, Mom?” Lisset asks. “Take muffins to everyone on the street before you bought our house?”

I absently stroke her hair, which I still need to braid for school. “Yes, I did.”

But my gift had an entirely different purpose from Jenna’s.

Although I’d spent my childhood in Brown Oaks, I moved away twelve years ago when I was nineteen. Four years ago, when my life imploded, I decided to move back home. My grandmother, parents, and sister still lived here, and Lisset needed family around her.

The house I’m living in now was up for sale, but I didn’t know any of the people in the neighborhood. Before I put in an offer, I visited every single house on this street, introducing myself with the polite smile I’ve been manufacturing for years and a gift basket of homemade raspberry muffins. My entry into their homes and their lives. 

In their living rooms, softened by my thoughtfulness and careful compliments, my future neighbors were all too eager to spill details about their spouses and children and the community.

They were charmed. I was informed.

And although you never really know what people are hiding behind their smiles, I was as satisfied as I could be that none of the residents on the street posed any discernible threat. Soon after, I signed the papers, and Lisset and I moved in.

I never visited any of the houses again. Oh, I was always courteous and friendly, because I needed their curious eyes watching our neighborhood, but it stopped there.

My attention is drawn again to the scene outside my living room window. Jenna and the man are still talking. She says something to him, and his head tips back on a full laugh.

My mouth tightens in irritation, which confuses me. I have no reason to be irritated.

“Why don’t you go fill up your water bottle?” I instruct Lisset in what I hope is a bright voice. “And get your snacks for school.”

I’ve already cut up carrot and cucumber sticks and placed them in containers in the fridge. Her cheese and lettuce sandwich is in a ziplock bag. There’s also a snack box in the pantry full of raisin boxes, granola bars, and energy balls she can dig through if she wants anything extra to take to school. Every now and then, I sneak a small treat into the snack box, enjoying Lisset’s surprised squeal when she spots it.

Realizing how abrupt I can be when I’m scared, I scoop her up and hug her tightly. “Love you, Lis.”

“Love you too, Mommy.”

Once Lisset disappears into the kitchen, I call my sister.

Tess answers on the first ring. “Wow, it’s not even eight in the morning. Is this an emergency or do you miss me?”

“Do you know who’s moving into the Martinez house?” I ask, wasting no time on pleasantries. Tess typically has her finger on the pulse of gossip in Brown Oaks and I tend to rely on her for information.

“No,” she answers, effortlessly slotting into our pattern. “It happened very fast. I’m still surprised they moved. I thought they were happy there.”

“They were, but according to them they were made an offer on the house they couldn’t refuse.”

“Interesting.”

“Worrying.”

I thought I’d have more time to investigate who was buying the Martinez house. Tess is right; it all happened so quickly. And now here I am, completely unprepared.

“So you have a new neighbor,” Tess says. “Do you know who they are?”

“So far, I’ve seen only a man with the moving truck.”

“Old or young?”

“He looks around my age.”

“Hmm, early thirties then. Is he single?” she asks, curiosity ringing in her voice.

“No idea.”

“Do you see a woman with him? Children?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she agrees. “They could be arriving later.”

I make a noncommittal sound, worrying my bottom lip. I hope it’s a family moving in, although that’s no guarantee of normality. We’d looked like an idyllic family once. Handsome, successful husband with his adoring wife and beautiful little girl.

“Is the new neighbor attractive?” Tess asks.

I frown. “How is that relevant?”

“It’s totally relevant,” she insists.

My sister is like a matrimonial hunting dog, forever trying to sniff out potential husbands for me. Now that she’s newly married, her determination to hook me up with someone has accelerated.

“Well, is he handsome?” she demands.

“Yes,” I admit reluctantly.

She lets out a pleased gasp. “Look, you know the nickname for your street is Geriatric Lane,” she reminds me. “It’ll be nice to have a younger, handsome person around.”

“Jenna lives here,” I point out. “She’s forty, only nine years older than me.”

Tess groans. “Let me guess, she’s already brought her almond cookies and D cups to your new neighbor.”

“She’s delivering both right now.”

“Figures. Look, are you worried about your new neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want you worried,” she says firmly, and I feel a tug of affection toward her. Tess has this protective streak when it comes to me, which is ironic, considering I’m older than her by nearly two years. “I’ll ask Mevia about him. See what she can dig up.”

“Thank you.”

Mevia is the receptionist Tess used to work with before my sister started her own greeting card company with her two closest friends. Nothing happens in our town without Mevia knowing about it. Everyone simply accepts her disturbing, mafia-like abilities, no questions asked.

“You working today?” Tess asks.

“Yes,” I reply absently. “I have a local photo shoot.”

My job as a freelance food stylist allows me to choose my projects and control my hours. Before my daughter came along, I worked as an assistant food stylist on TV commercials. Few people realize the enormous amount of work that goes into a thirty-second commercial. Even though the hours were longer and the pressure greater, I loved the challenge and craziness of it all. But I haven’t worked on a TV or film project since Lisset was born. Now I opt for print photo shoots mostly. I’m determined not to fail as a mother in the way I failed as a wife.

“For what it’s worth,” Tess says softly, “I’m glad you moved back here.”

“Me too.” It’s partly true. Yes, I moved to Brown Oaks to be closer to family, but I also moved because I didn’t want to run into my past everywhere I turned. What I didn’t bank on, though, were the memories chasing me all the way to another town.

I glance at my watch. It’s time to take Lisset to school. “I have to go. Let me know what Mevia’s able to dig up.”

“Will do.” I end the call with Tess and pull my shoulders back, shoving my new neighbor to a dusty corner at the back of my mind. He’s a problem I’ll deal with later.