I managed to find the still-warm coffee pot and a clean-ish mug. Between that and the plain toast I snagged and heated inside an ancient—albeit mostly clean—toaster, I was fed and ready for my interview.

  I made it all the way to the front door before I remembered my lack of transportation.

  “Shit.”

  I did not have time for this. Or energy. Or patience. Or—why was I here? Sure, I’d given up my apartment already and my job at the firm where I’d worked since graduation, but I could go home to Hartford. After Dad’s funeral, I’d announced my decision to start my own firm. Mom had immediately offered my old room, but I’d turned her down, not wanting all the reminders of him. Now I was rethinking that option. At least she had a car that worked.

  Besides, I didn’t need all these complications. I could put my plans for my own firm on hold for now and just concentrate on one foot in front of the other. One sensible, reliably-transported foot—

  “You going somewhere?”

  I jumped and coffee sloshed along the edges of my mug.

  Casey stood in the kitchen doorway looking way too at ease in his low-slung jeans and ratty T-shirt. I bit back a smile when I spotted the giant hole in the fabric. “You’re breaking rule number one,” I said.

  Casey looked down at his clothes and then back up to me. “No way, shirt, pants, socks even. I’m covered.”

  My lips twitched. “I can see your entire left rib cage.”

  He smirked. “Not my fault that you’re looking.”

  I pretended not to hear him. Or notice his cocky smile. Or the way his eyes just begged me to give in to his shameless flirting and banter right back again. Were all country boys this transparent? Or hot? I wasn’t much for teasing or flirting but Casey made it so easy …

  Instead, I took a long sip of the coffee. I’d had worse. “I was going somewhere. Now I’m not.”

  “Wow, the shirt worked better than I thought.” Casey’s brows lifted suggestively, and my belly jumped.

  “Not even close. No wheels. And bad timing too. I’m supposed to meet Summer about that job.”

  Casey hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Heritage Plantation is just through the trees in the back.”

  “I’m meeting her at the site. Up on the hill,” I said, using his same vague description from last night.

  “Right. Well.” He flicked something shiny and metal into the air. I barely managed to snag it and cup it in my palm. Keys. “You can take the truck. But if you crash it, you owe me fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Fifty thousand?” My eyes bulged. The coffee in my mug threatened to spill over. “But it’s not worth that much.”

  “Maybe to you. She means the world to me.”

  “I don’t have fifty thousand,” I argued.

  He shrugged. “Fifty grand or a date. Your choice. Drive careful.” He turned and sauntered down the hall.

  It wasn’t worth the time or oxygen to argue. I took the keys.

  Casey’s truck motored up the hill with quiet diligence. It wasn’t going to win any speed races, but it ran. More than I could say for my Nissan across town. I was grateful for the gesture on his part, not that I would admit that to him. I had a feeling a simple “thank you” to a guy like Casey was the same as an invitation.

  Maybe I could wash the truck in exchange. Something that showed my gratitude without having to actually utter the words.

  A date, he’d said…

  Not happening. No matter how yummy that strip of exposed flesh had looked underneath the sad fabric of that ratty shirt. I wondered if it’d already been ripped or if he’d done it on purpose just to egg me on. Either way, it’d worked. I couldn’t stop thinking about the tanned planes of his smooth abs. And to make matters worse, the cab of his truck smelled like him. Engine grease and gasoline and underneath it all an earthy musk that was hard to expel once it invaded the senses. It was sexy in a rough-and-tumble kind of way. I never would’ve expected it to attract me in the first place.

  I tended to go for clean-cut guys. Bookish, smart, ambitious. White collar stuff. Anything that remotely resembled down-home, farm-types were off the radar faster than a stealth plane. It was too risky. Too close to home. I owed it to my parents, to myself, to end up with someone better. To be someone better.

  When I was a kid, Mom had always insisted growing up in a small town hadn’t held her back. “I’d met your father,” she’d pointed out. “And he’s a country boy. What’s not to love?” She’d laugh then and I’d laugh with her, but inside, I’d always made a mental note about how she left out the part that her life didn’t really start until she’d moved to the city. Opportunities, growth, a happy family—all of that had come after leaving a town like this one behind.

  I didn’t intend to get caught up here, no matter how much I felt drawn to Casey Luck.

  Following Summer’s emailed directions, I pulled into the grass and parked the truck next to the powder-blue pickup I recognized as Ford’s. The cab was empty so I grabbed my sketchbook and portfolio and headed down the worn path I recognized from the pictures Summer had sent. It led through a small outcropping of pine and oak. The leaves were bright green and small, still new-looking from a late spring, although the morning air already had a thick, summery layer of humidity to it. Without some rain soon, those leaves didn’t stand a chance. Then again, rain wouldn’t be great for business.

  I made it through the trees and, when I emerged on the other side, I stopped short and stared. The email had said the path led to a grassy knoll that extended a couple hundred feet before dropping into a gentle cliffside on one end. That part was right. The camper, like Casey had mentioned, was tucked near the trees, an eyesore compared to the purity of nature.

  Still, it didn’t detract from the breathtaking view below and around it. I’d seen pictures of the space via email a few weeks back but the images hadn’t revealed the stunning view that surrounded the build site.

  To the right were mountains, gentle and rolling from one tree-covered hillside to another. I scanned left and watched as the trees gave way to reveal grass and then farmland. Empty fields, either currently unused or too early to be planted in. Rich dirt that left the scent of earth in the air even way up here where the wind caught and carried everything to you in a single smell.

  As soon as I’d soaked up the scenery, I turned back to the site. My mind raced ahead to images of structure, foundations, positioning—which way was sunrise?—columns and antebellum accents and—

  “Oh, good, you made it,” a friendly female voice interrupted my daydreaming and mental planning. I blinked and found Summer headed my way across the grassy yard from the camper. Shorts and boots and honey-brown hair flying free in the wind, Summer Stafford looked completely … belonging. It was a comfortable thought. A pleasant image. And for the first time, a small-towner didn’t put my back up.

  “Miss Stafford.” I stuck my hand out, switching to professional mode automatically.

  Summer scrunched her nose. “I’m not that much older than you. Just Summer or it’s weird.”

  I laughed. “Got it. Then it’s just Jordan for me.”

  Summer smiled and we shook.

  “Is Ford here?” I asked, nodding at the camper behind me.

  “He’ll be here later. Dad called him down to the house for some new seed-strain idea. They’ll be wrapped up in the greenhouse for hours,” she said with a good-natured eye-roll. “Thanks for meeting me. Did you make it up here okay?”

  “Casey let me borrow his truck. And I found it just fine with your directions.”

  Summer nodded, an apologetic smile already forming on her lips. “So you decided to take the room then? I wondered if I’d hear from you last night.”

  “I…” I hesitated for a second, unsure how much to admit. Summer was close to Casey and I didn’t want to overstep. But she’d clearly been in on Frank’s little trick and knew I’d been pushed blindly into the whole thing.

  I settled for vague but honest. My specialty. “I‘m taking it one day at a time. But for now, I’m taking the room.”

  “Always a good strategy where Casey’s concerned,” she agreed. “I know Casey can be … a bit much sometimes. Glad to see you can handle him.”

  “I don’t plan on handling him at all,” I said, snapping the words out before I knew it. I realized belatedly, I’d taken it way further than she’d meant it. But then it was too late. The comment was out there.

  “Of course,” Summer said, nodding and giving me a look that made me feel guilty for a crime I’d yet to commit. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about not telling you. I’ve learned to trust Frank and honestly, to stay out of it when he decides to pull something like this. I hope it doesn’t ruin things between us or the project.”

  My shoulders relaxed and I shook my head. “I appreciate it. I was surprised but it worked out. I have a place to stay and Casey has some extra income. I just … I’ve been a little unbalanced lately. A lot of personal changes and my manners—and temper—are a little off. This project has been a great distraction.” I smiled brightly, knowing full well my eyes were brimming with moisture.

  Summer, to her credit, ignored it all and smiled back. “Well, let’s talk about this project then, shall we?”

  I grabbed onto the subject change like a lifeline and ran with it. “Sure, I’d love to show you some sketches I did just based on our emails and the measurements you sent. Now that I’ve seen the space, I can make some changes to enhance your property and positioning but here’s the basic idea.” I held up my sketchbook and the printed schematics I’d brought and Summer leaned in to take a closer look.

  For the next hour, Summer and I went back and forth on my sketches and ideas and mapping out a clear plan for design and the timeline of work to follow. Any grief or lingering stress I’d brought with me fell away and I became absorbed in describing my vision and fielding Summer’s questions.

  This was my element. Nothing else could touch me here.

  The sun rose higher and by the time we’d finished my brow and back were lined with sweat. I swiped at my forehead and Summer smiled. “Come on, I’ve got water in the truck.”

  We made our way back down the wooded path just as a third pick-up rolled to a stop beside Summer’s. Ford and an older man got out of the cab and came around.

  “You made it. Jordan, I hear you met Ford yesterday,” Summer said, making the introductions as she handed me a water. She paused to plant a quick kiss on her fiancé’s cheek. When she pulled back, they lingered a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, and I found myself touched in by their obvious connection. “And this is my dad. Dean Stafford, owner of Heritage Plantation.”

  Dean Stafford stepped forward, his weathered face an older and more masculine version of Summer’s. The resemblance between them was undeniable.

  “Pleasure, Mr. Stafford,” I said, shaking his outstretched hand. He smiled back at me with the same friendliness his daughter exuded.

  “Pleasure’s mine,” he said. “I hear you’re a genius with design. Summer can’t stop talking about your ideas.”

  “Genius might be a little strong,” I said, shifting under the praise.

  “I don’t know,” Ford said, slipping an arm around Summer’s waist. “If you’ve found a way to put up with Casey, maybe you’re smarter than the rest of us.”

  Summer laughed and Dean shot me a smile that twinkled all the way into his eyes. I tried to match it but averted my gaze. I did not want to talk about Casey, but I couldn’t exactly tell them to back off, not when the man carrying the purse strings was staring straight at me.

  Thankfully, Mr. Stafford seemed to understand I didn’t want to talk about it. “Well, I know my vote doesn’t count for near as much as Summer’s, but I’d like to have a look at the house I’m funding. Let’s have a look at those plans, shall we?”

  I shot him a grateful smile and stepped up. “Sure, I think you’ll really like some of the ideas Summer came up with earlier.”

  Ford lowered the tailgate on the truck and I spread the sketches out for everyone to see. Within moments, any apprehension or self-consciousness faded. Summer’s lit expression matched my own excitement as we laid out our grand plans for the men. I could practically feel Dad nodding over my shoulder in approval as I described my vision. And I knew, deep down inside me, this house was going to be the best thing I’d ever designed.

  By late afternoon, the sun’s rays slanted sideways through the budding leaves and narrow branches at our backs. Summer’s honey highlights caught a sharp glint, framing her face like a halo.

  “Thanks again for today,” she said and my smile spread at the sight of her anticipation—enough to match my own.

  The men had left an hour ago, leaving us girls to continue brainstorming and daydreaming about the finished product. Summer was particularly excited about my idea for a porch swing—which made me like her even more.

  “I’m thrilled to be chosen,” I told her, “and honestly, it’s great to see a client so excited about their project.”

  Summer’s brows dipped. “Isn’t everyone excited to design their own place?”

  “You would think but no,” I said with a shrug. “And not even just the commercial builders I’ve dealt with but some private owners too. Strange, right? Spend all that time and money and be so blasé about it, but that’s New England money, I guess.”

  Summer nodded knowingly. “My mom used to have these country club friends when I was younger. Really ... aloof, I guess you’d called it. It’s like the more money they had, the less emotion they were capable of showing. Everything was ‘acceptable,’” she finished in a nasally voice.

  We laughed and Summer reached for my arm, squeezing it. “I’m glad you came out. And I really am sorry about the thing with Casey. If you don’t like it there, you can always come stay with me and my dad. We have plenty of room at the farm.”

  “I’m fine at Casey’s,” I assured her. And because I could sense her about to ask something more, I pressed on, bringing it back to the work she’d hired me for. “And I’m looking forward to getting started on all of this. I really love the designs you’ve chosen for your house.”

  “Thanks. Me too. Ford thinks it’s ostentatious, but then he wants to live in a greenhouse so … I’m glad someone gets it.”

  “Definitely,” I said. “Well, I better get going. It’s getting late.”

  “Sure.” Summer reached for her handle and turned back. “Oh, wait. We’re doing dinner tonight at the Plantation. Everyone’s invited, staff and families. You’re welcome to come too if you’re free. Meet a few faces.”

  My chest tightened at the thought of all the questions that were sure to accompany a roomful of strangers. “I think I’m all booked up but thanks for the offer.”

  “You have plans tonight?” Summer asked, clearly surprised.

  “Are you kidding? After the day we put in, a bubble bath and a glass of wine are calling my name.”

  Summer smiled but her brows dipped in concern. “Fair enough. But if you change your mind, you should stop by. I think you’d have fun. The staff is pretty entertaining when you get them all together.”

  Her genuine smile and obvious affection for these people she’d grown up with tugged at me. My chest ached for Gavin, for my dad, for someone familiar to share an evening with. But I shook my head. Familiarity, friendship; these were not the real reasons I was here. And just like that, my own elation at being hired was eclipsed by the familiar aching loneliness. Dad. He was the reason I was here. I’d lost him, and in his absence I’d agreed to meet the two people I hated most in the world.

  Suddenly, going to dinner with Summer and her friends was the last thing I wanted. “I’m sure they are. I just don’t think that’s the kind of fun I’m looking for tonight.”

  Summer softened and I caught a glimpse of sympathy before it disappeared. I hadn’t told her anything about me and already she felt sorry. Pity was the last thing I wanted right now. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

  That was the problem. In a town like this one, someone always knew where you were. Right now, all I wanted to do was hide.

  Chapter Eight

  Casey

  My trigger-happy finger scrolled channels while I pretended to consider my on-screen options. Instead, I was considering my off-screen options with the concentration of a bomb tech. I was supposed to have been down at the farmhouse half an hour ago for dinner. Instead, I was inventing reasons to stay put on my couch.

  Music—light indie rock from what I could hear over the television—leaked out from behind Jordan’s closed bedroom door. So did the damn scent of her—that bubble bath earlier almost killed me. She was driving me crazy. Was this what it was like living with a female? Damn feminine smells lingering about all the time?

  She’d been here all of forty-eight hours and already my head was spinning. I’d never been in close quarters like this with a girl before—not for this long and not with one I wasn’t sleeping with. Everywhere I looked, she’d already left a mark. Shoes by the door, a jacket thrown over the kitchen chair, an open wine bottle on the coffee table along with the receipt from the corner mart detailing the bubble bath she’d purchased—I’d never let any girl leave more than a toothbrush so this was definitely a huge step.

  I tried to recall exactly what I’d been thinking—other than getting laid without leaving my own house—but I came up empty. My knee bounced along in time to my nerves. I clicked through another channel.

  In Jordan’s room, something heavy landed with a thud and I scooted to the edge of the couch and waited. Silence.

  “You all right?” I called.

  Nothing.

  I clicked the TV off and went to Jordan’s door, hesitating. We hadn’t exactly laid out any ground rules for privacy—other than Jordan’s one rule about keeping clothes on. Which I intended to break at some point. Why did I feel like a creeper just for standing here then?