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  “It’s great. Really big.”

  One side of the island had a quartet of leather stools. Jeremy pulled one out, then circled to the other side. “Have a seat. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

  I kind of wanted to explore, but Jeremy hadn’t offered a tour and wandering around his house without permission was rude. So I sat and leaned forward on my elbows, which got me a good whiff of myself. “Damn,” I said softly.

  “What’s that?” Jeremy asked over the rush of water filling the coffee carafe.

  “Just thinking I should have had you take me to my motel so I could shower. I reek from digging through all that crap yesterday.”

  “You can shower here, if you don’t mind wearing one of my shirts for a bit.”

  I stared at the back of his head, stunned by the casual offer. He measured coffee from a can of Folgers, then added it to the basket filter. A shower sounded wonderful, but we barely knew each other, and he was being incredibly generous. Plus he was cute in his own way. Good-looking, generous, and thoughtful began well, but in my experience, ended with bruises and regret.

  The Martin Palone I met and fell in love with was all of those things, and he never once made me feel anything but loved and protected. Until he convinced me to drop out of school, move in with him off-campus, and work so he could get his master’s. Six weeks into that arrangement was the first time he ever slapped me.

  Jeremy wasn’t Martin, and I couldn’t spend the rest of my life assuming every new friend (yes, friend, because no way was Jeremy gay) would turn into an abusive control freak.

  Jeremy was staring at me from across the island, waiting for my answer. I caught a flicker of something in his eyes that disappeared when I met them. “A shower would be great, thanks,” I said.

  “Cool. The pancakes and coffee will be all ready when you’re done.”

  In the corner of the living room, behind a folding floor screen, was another stairway. This led to the third floor and the bedrooms.

  Jeremy opened the second door on the left—bathroom. “Clean towels are in the closet behind the door,” he said. “My room’s right across the hall. I’ll leave a shirt on the bed for you.”

  “Thanks. Really.”

  He nodded, then flashed me a brilliant smile that made my stomach quiver. “Glad to do it. Everyone needs friends, Cole. Even those of us with secrets.”

  Friends. Right, exactly—wait.

  Those of us with secrets.

  I shut the door, locked it, and wasted no time stripping out of my dirty clothes. I’d re-wear the jeans and socks, but would rather go commando than do dirty underwear. I balled those up inside my undershirt and sweater and left the bundle on the floor by the sink. The hot water felt amazing compared to the hard water at the motel, but I didn’t linger. Showers had become necessary activities, not things done for enjoyment. I lathered up a bar of green soap and scrubbed down every inch, including my hair, rinsed in record time, then shut off the water again.

  Toweling off took no time at all, and then I was dressing. The tight band of worry that had squeezed my heart from the instant I first stripped finally loosened its hold. All three of my disparate therapists had said the fear would go away completely one day, once I’d distanced myself from the bad memories I still associated with showers.

  Therapists are full of that sort of useful advice.

  Jeremy’s room was as neat and tasteful as the downstairs—all creams and navy blues, with not a speck of dust or stray sock anywhere. The neatness of it all impressed me a great deal, made me feel a little bit safer here. Far removed from the hoard at my parents’ house.

  He’d left out a dark green Henley. It fit perfectly, a warm down blanket against my skin, and smelled pleasantly of laundry detergent. I trotted back down to the second floor, energized by the shower and enticed by the scents of coffee and apples.

  Jeremy glanced up from the stove where he’d just flipped a pancake. “You are the fastest bather I’ve ever met. I only just got the batter on the griddle.”

  “It’s fine.” I returned to my stool and sniffed the air while he flipped the other three pancakes. “They smell amazing.”

  “Wait until you taste them. Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  “Black with lots of sugar?”

  I nodded, impressed by his memory.

  He poured coffee into two large black mugs, added several spoonfuls of sugar to one, and then gave it to me while he fixed his own. I blew across the steaming surface of mine, watching him add two packets of sweetener and a generous splash of milk to his mug.

  “I never could stand the taste of milk in coffee,” I said. Random, maybe, but better than silence.

  “Just like most things, it’s an acquired taste.” He buzzed around the kitchen, producing black plates that matched the mugs and simple, three-tined forks, checked the bottom of the pancakes, then plucked a bottle of syrup out of the cupboard.

  My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day, and the need for food made my mouth water. I searched for something else to say while we waited for the pancakes and came up with, “So I guess you’re staying in Franklin for a while?”

  He blinked, momentarily surprised, then nodded. “That’s the plan. It’s a good location for my antiques business. We’re close to several bigger cities as well as the interstate. Plus I like small towns.”

  “Did you grow up in one?”

  “No, actually, I grew up in Portland.”

  “Oregon?”

  “Maine.”

  That explained the faded accent. He checked the pancakes again, declared them finished, then scooped three onto a plate. He handed it to me over the island, then plated the single pancake for himself before sitting down on the stool next to mine.

  “You’re only having one?” I asked.

  “I ate before I headed out this morning, but I know how awkward it feels to eat alone.” His smile was strangely shy but very kind.

  We reached for the syrup at the same time. Our fingers brushed, and a jolt of warmth crept up my arm at the unexpected contact. Jeremy pulled back, eyes widening. I snatched up the syrup without looking at him, unnerved by the reaction. Had he felt something too? What did that mean?

  He isn’t gay. He can’t be gay.

  We ate in an awkward silence anyway. I polished off the pancakes fast, barely tasting the first two in an effort to just get them into my stomach. I savored the third—the cinnamon and grated apple mixed into the delicately fluffy batter.

  “Do you want more?” Jeremy asked.

  Politeness told me to say no. Living close to starvation too many times these last two years helped me not turn down an offer of free food—especially food this good. “Please?”

  “How many?”

  “Two?” I hated that I was making my answers into questions.

  Jeremy didn’t seem to notice. He put his plate and fork into the sink, then turned the heat back up on the griddle.

  “They’re delicious, by the way,” I said.

  “I could tell.” He added margarine to the griddle top, and it sizzled as it melted. “By the way, I’ve got more good news for you.”

  “Oh?”

  After he made two circles of lumpy batter, he said, “Sold some more bikes for you last night. I should have another two hundred dollars for you this afternoon.”

  I nearly fumbled my coffee mug. Two hundred dollars for twisted, rusty metal I’d have never looked at twice. “Seriously?”

  “Of course. I told you, Cole, you’ve got some valuable stuff on your property. I’m not digging around out there just so my shop assistant can earn some overtime pay.”

  It hadn’t really occurred to me that all of the time he was spending at the house was taking him away from his antiques store. “I’m sorry.”

  He gave me a startled look. “For what?”

  “You not being in your shop.”

  “Hell, I’m doing this for the shop. Even if I don’t buy anything from you
directly, or get much for consignment, the commissions will help buy merchandise for my shelves. I told you, this is a win-win for both of us.”

  “You’ve wanted to poke around that property for a long time,” I said, unsure why that particular line of his stuck in my head. Was that it? Jeremy was just being nice to me to keep access to my house and yard?

  Of course that’s all it was. Nothing else.

  Jeremy frowned as he flipped the two pancakes, his dark eyebrows furrowing. He didn’t say anything, though, just watched until my second helping was finished and plated. He washed up the dishes and stored the rest of the batter while I ate, positive I’d done something wrong but not sure what.

  I finished my coffee, then delivered my plate to the sink. Jeremy carefully washed everything, including the coffee pot, and placed it in a drainer to dry. He wiped down the counters where he’d cooked and we’d eaten, precise movements that betrayed a longtime habit. He caught me watching him as he rinsed out the sponge under steaming hot water and tilted his head in silent question.

  “A place for everything, and everything in its place,” I said.

  “Exactly.” He dried his hands on a dishtowel, then turned to face me, his expression mild. “I grew up in a hole, and we had to fight the ants for food. I’d wake up some nights because roaches were crawling across my face. One night my baby sister got one stuck in her ear, and we had to take her to the emergency room.”

  Something dark and angry flashed in his eyes, the first actual negative emotion I’d seen since we met. I hated that I’d somehow made him remember that awful time of his life. “I get it,” I said. “Really, I do.”

  He nodded. “I thought you might.”

  “What’s your sister’s name?”

  “Holly. She died four years ago. Breast cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words seemed hollow and trite, even though I meant them. I was an only child, and I couldn’t imagine the pain of losing a sibling. Pain Jeremy was trying to hide behind a forced smile.

  “Anyway,” he said, “you ready to head back to work?”

  “Not really, but I guess we don’t have a choice.”

  “Just concentrate on the endgame. Money in your pocket and Franklin in your rearview.”

  I liked that image.

  On the way back, we stopped by Johnson’s Garage to order a new battery for my car, which wouldn’t be in until Monday—four whole days. Jeremy insisted it wouldn’t be a problem to give me rides, even though I actively hated the idea. But unless I wanted to beg him for an out-of-the-way trip to the Walmart forty minutes away, I was stuck without my own car for the weekend.

  We spent the rest of the day working at our separate tasks—Jeremy in the sheds and me on the porch. He found my phone at some point, the battery dead. I’d have to charge it at the motel later, which was fine. I had no one to call. Jeremy’s cell, on the other hand, rang quite a few times. Business calls, I hoped quite selfishly. Every penny I got out of this place would help me start over someplace else.

  At dusk, we called it quits. I’d cleared the porch and nearly filled the trash tent beyond its capacity. Jeremy volunteered to call about a dumpster in the morning. I had a feeling we’d need more than one pickup before we were through. I helped him load more bike, motorcycle, and car parts into the van for appraisal. His collection of sellable stuff was impressive, and his pile of recyclables tiny. More than ever, I was grateful for his partnership in this process.

  “Do you have any dinner plans?” he asked once he’d turned onto the road back to town.

  I stared at him from the passenger seat of the van, confused by the question. He was watching the road, not me, so I couldn’t get a good look at his face. I truly had no idea what to say, so I came out with the intelligent response of “Dinner?”

  “Yes, the traditional evening meal. I assume you’re eating it at some point tonight.”

  “I guess.”

  “That’s a start. Assuming you’re eating dinner, and also assuming you’re like me and don’t particularly like to eat alone, I’m asking if you’d like to join me for dinner.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  He wasn’t the only one puzzled by my quick response. I wanted to have dinner with him—maybe too much. He wanted to be friendly, but damn it, I was definitely attracted to him and nothing would come of it, so I had to keep my distance. If I didn’t, I would screw this up completely.

  “I’m exhausted, Jeremy,” I said, hoping to salvage this. “I slept in my car last night, and we worked pretty hard today. I just want to go back to my motel and crash, but thanks for the invite.”

  “It’s an open invitation while we’re working together.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure thing.”

  He dropped me off, then idled in the parking lot until I’d found my key and let myself into my room. The gesture made me smile and my heart flutter. After turning the locks, I put my phone on its charger, stripped out of my dirty jeans and into clean boxers (I needed to hit a Laundromat soon), then flopped down onto my bed.

  I stared at the water-stained ceiling and tried to think about anything except Jeremy—and failed completely. His kind smile invaded my thoughts, as did his warm brown eyes. Allowing a crush to develop was pointless. As soon as this hoard mess was taken care of and everything sold, I was leaving Franklin. Probably even the country. I didn’t need to make friends here.

  And I definitely didn’t need to make friends with someone as likeable and good-humored as Jeremy Collins.

  Did. Not.

  Chapter Five

  JEREMY swung by for me at seven the next morning. I’d already had a pot of motel room coffee and a protein bar, but I gratefully accepted the thermos he handed me. More coffee was never a bad thing. Something was off, though, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. He smiled and asked how I slept, which were normal things. Tension existed between us where none had been before.

  “I can’t stay to work today,” he said when we were halfway to the house. My heart dropped right to my feet. “I need to do some things at the store—”

  “You don’t have to explain.” He didn’t owe me anything. “You have a business and a life that needs your attention.”

  His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “Right. I can still come by and pick you up tonight. Dusk?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Thank you.”

  When he pulled to a stop in the driveway a minute later, I hopped out without further discussion and shut the door before he could try to say anything. He idled there a moment before driving away. I watched the van go, taking my brief burst of morning energy with it. Having Jeremy there made the entire project seem less desperate, the amount of work less daunting. The property felt isolated and eerie without him, and old fears came charging back. Fear of an unknown danger lurking just around the corner, waiting to spring.

  As much as I wanted to put off getting into the house, I’d cleaned up the areas around it, and I’d agreed to let Jeremy root through the exterior sheds and garage first. The house was next. I tore down the strips of police tape, then lifted the entire door out of the way. A thick cloud of musty air settled on the porch and stayed put, with no breeze around to carry it away. Despite the cold morning, I was hot all over. Sweating. The police had carved a path ten feet into the wall of junk that was the living room in order to remove my mother’s body, and the path was mostly there—a good three feet off the actual ground.

  I didn’t go inside. I just snapped open a trash bag, put on my gloves, and started pulling things out. Loose items like magazines, old mail, notions and trinkets went straight into the trash bags. Intact boxes and shopping bags went into stacks on the front porch for later sorting. I worked mindlessly for a while, until the sun had moved closer to the center of the sky, and I soon had no choice but to go beyond the porch.

  I stared at the small dent I’d put in the hoard, and at the massive amount of crap just out of my reach. I’d made it d
own to the floor and the stained green carpet I remembered from my childhood. I used to pretend it was the forest floor, rich and green, and I’d have so many adventures behind the sofa, pretending to be Robin Hood or Tarzan.

  Grief squeezed my chest, and I pushed it away. For the first time in more than two years, I stepped inside my parents’ house. And the cleanup continued.

  Around lunchtime, when my stomach was growling for fuel, a dumpster was dropped off with a promise to return on Monday to haul it off. I signed something, and the driver left as quickly as he’d come. Grateful for a chance to avoid the house for a while, I began the boring task of trekking bag after bag of garbage from the trash tent to the waiting dumpster. Seeing so much disappear into the blue metal container lifted a fraction of the weight that still rested on my shoulders. It felt like actual progress was being made, instead of things simply moved from one place to another.

  Once the trash was done, I took a break to drink the coffee Jeremy had given me. It helped my hunger a bit, and I contemplated another protein bar. The rumble of an unfamiliar car engine alerted me to the visitor before they became visible on the driveway. Blue pickup truck. Heart thundering in my chest, I darted to the porch post where I’d left my keychain and its small can of mace and waited while the pickup parked behind my car.

  The woman who climbed out was definitely not Martin, but that didn’t ease my anxiety, not even when I recognized Bethann, the waitress from the Sow’s Ear. She had a Styrofoam takeout container in one hand, and she didn’t bother hiding her curiosity about the piles of junk strewn all over the property.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, maybe a little gruffer than necessary.

  “You’re Cole Alston, right? I’m Bethann Quinn.”

  Quinn. Her familiarity made sense. I’d gone to school with a girl named Lulu Quinn. They had to be sisters. “Right. We met the other night, sort of.”

  “Sort of.” She came closer, holding the container like a shield. “Anyway, Jeremy called and asked if I could bring some lunch out here for you. Said he couldn’t get away. Sorry it’s after two, but I got my break later than usual.”