“Technically, you are prohibited from removing any trees on the easement until a hearing is scheduled. There’s nothing to do.”

  Sighing, I pinch my nose, trying to stave off the headache threatening to blossom. “And when might that be?”

  “There’s only one session of civil court each month. The next one isn’t until August 10.”

  “That’s a month away,” I exclaim.

  “Correct. The current session started yesterday, but there’s no way you could’ve gotten on the calendar. Those are set weeks in advance. There’s no guarantee we can get this scheduled for August 10.”

  “Teddy,” I say, leaning forward in my chair and gripping the edge of his desk. “I’ve got a general contractor ready to start. He won’t wait that long. He’ll move on to another job. I’ve purchased building materials and paid deposits. This will put me under before I can even get started.”

  “I’m sorry, Tillie. My hands are tied.”

  He doesn’t look sorry at all. He looks like someone who took my money for a quick loan closing and another chunk of change for the rezoning and now doesn’t seem all that interested in helping me.

  My eyes narrow. “Isn’t this something you should’ve foreseen when you helped rezone the property?”

  He blanches, and I swear a sheen of sweat pops out along his upper lip. “I did… I mean, it wasn’t really a consideration because it wasn’t a surety you’d get the rezoning.”

  That makes no sense at all.

  “Stop,” I order him. “You know I only wanted that property if I could put an art studio on it, and only if I could put in a new driveway. We specifically discussed this easement. If this was an issue, you should have told me ahead of time.”

  His voice deepens, trying to lend authority to his words. “Now, Tillie, you know there are no guarantees when it comes to the law. We look at the facts and we assess risks. In this instance—”

  “No,” I growl, shooting up from my chair and slapping my palms on his desk with a resounding crack. He jerks backward in his chair, eyes round with surprise. “You are spouting bullshit right now and trying to talk your way around me. I’m not stupid, Theodore Dupree, and I’m in a bad situation because you didn’t see a potential issue when you told me I could buy this property and rezone. Now I stand to lose not just a lot of money, but my fucking dream. So you’re going to get me on that August 10 calendar, and you’re going to get this injunction removed. You’re going to get the judge to rule in my favor, and I don’t care if you have to prostrate yourself before him and beg, but you’re going to do it. And so help me God, if you don’t, I’m going to sue you for malpractice. Are we clear?”

  Teddy swallows hard and nods silently.

  “Good.” I lower my tone, grab my purse, and sling it over my shoulder. “Now I have to go meet with the GC and do my own begging to get him to work with me on the new time frame.”

  Teddy’s face has paled and his bottom lip trembles slightly. I realize I’ve just scared the shit out of my lawyer. I doubt any attorney, especially one only four years out and trying to make a go of it on his own, wants to hear the word malpractice.

  “Please fix this for me, Teddy. This is my life about to crumble.”

  He nods effusively. “I will get started on the legal research right away. I’ll find a way to make this work for you, Tillie. I promise.”

  After I leave Teddy’s office, I stop by the post office, but there’s nothing but junk mail for me. One piece is an advertisement for a window-coverings company, just the sort of ad I might take a second look at because I’ll need blinds for the new studio to block out harsh light when painting.

  Now it looks as if the studio may never happen, and that thought makes me want to cry.

  I suck it up, though, and head toward the grocery store. I’m on the tail end of completing a watercolor of the Allegheny Reservoir, and I want to finish it this week. Enough groceries to get me through the next four days will ensure that happens.

  I pull into the Shop ’n’ Save lot, pausing to type out a quick list on my phone before going in. The way I’m feeling now, I’ll likely make impulsive food choices that’ll include chocolate in the ingredients.

  Cart chosen, I make my way down the first aisle, grabbing quinoa and chickpeas for a summer salad. Feeling healthy and proud of my decisions, I bypass the pasta aisle—bad carbs are a definite weakness—and grab herbal tea instead.

  I struggle with the next section, and although I try to move past the chips, sadly I turn my cart their way. Potato chips, Doritos, pretzels, salsa. It all calls to me as a means of alleviating the stress I’m under.

  My chin lifts and I walk on, refusing to stop, refusing to reach out.

  It’s the next aisle where I often fail.

  The baked goods section.

  I’ll take just a peek.

  Bad move.

  I make it no more than a quarter of the aisle before grabbing a bag of chocolate chips and opening it right there. Setting it in the front seat of the cart, I nibble at the tiny bits of chocolate heaven while I peruse the boxed cakes.

  Maybe I’ll make a strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting. Fruit’s good for you, right?

  My inner child—the one who was often picked on about her plain looks and weight growing up—tells me this is a bad idea. That eating my feelings is only going to lead to worse feelings.

  I pick up the bag of chocolate chips and eat from it as I scan the cakes, still not committing one way or the other. Maybe if I get my sweet fix in the next few chips, I will find the strength to walk away.

  “Tilden?”

  I freeze, chocolate chip halfway to my mouth, and turn to see Coen standing there. He’s got a basket in one hand and a six-pack of bottled beer in the other.

  Nope. Not talking to him.

  Also, mortified he caught me eating chocolate chips out of the bag.

  I turn quickly, tossing the candy into the cart, and pushing it in the opposite direction of one of the reasons I’m twisted in knots.

  I don’t make it to the end of the aisle before his hand is on my elbow and he’s pulling me to a halt.

  Jerking away, I spin on him. “What do you want?”

  “Just saying hello,” he replies guardedly.

  “Why?” My voice is low but demanding. “We’re not friends.”

  “I didn’t call you Tillie,” he points out, then steps forward. He towers above me, his eyes glittering with knowledge. “But we are something.”

  “We’re not,” I whisper.

  He dips his head. “You let me into your body. That makes us something.”

  I swallow hard, and the chocolate tastes bitter on my tongue. “Merely a one-night stand.”

  “I’ve had you twice.”

  “Fuck buddies,” I counter.

  His lips curve into a knowing smirk. Why does that have to look sexy?

  Lowering his head even more so his mouth is near my ear, he murmurs, “That implies friendship. As you pointed out, we’re not friends. But we are something that we haven’t defined yet. You could let me have you again, and maybe we can figure it out.”

  Lust rages through my body from his words alone. The buttery tone and low rumble of seduction. More than anything, it’s the slight arrogance because he knows he had complete control over me both of those times we were intimate.

  And he knows… he could easily get it again if he tried a little harder.

  Not having it.

  I step back, pushing my cart to give me room. When there’s sufficient distance, I lift my chin to glare at him. “We’re nothing but enemies.”

  “You weren’t upset about the injunction when I was making you come three nights ago. Or before that.”

  He says that in his normal tone, and I whirl to make sure no one is listening and glare back at him. “I’m not allowed to discuss the lawsuit with you.”

  “I don’t want to discuss it with you,” he counters. “Merely pointing out that we can do plenty of other things with our mouths.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I move closer so we’re not overheard. “What’s this game, Coen? You’re an ornery, angry person. You don’t like people as a whole, and by your own words and actions, you’re not a nice man. You’ve made it a mission to seduce me twice, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why. It’s not like you’re trying to bang away my desire to cut down the trees. You’re a professional athlete, undoubtedly rich, and could have your pick of any woman in this town. So please explain this game because nothing about you standing here talking to me makes sense.”

  I’m not sure which of my words hit home, but they do seem to penetrate his confidence. He rubs at his neck as he gazes past me, almost as if he needs to collect his thoughts.

  When his dark eyes come back to me, he says, “It’s true I’m not a nice man. At least I haven’t been for several months. I came to Coudersport to be alone, and I was content with that. Put all of that aside, as well as our dispute over the trees, and the only thing I can tell you with any surety is that I’m attracted to you. I’m not looking at anyone else. Just you. And if you’ve looked in the mirror lately, you’d understand why. You’re beautiful and sexy as fuck and your mouth pisses me off so much, I want to keep it occupied. You want to define what we are? We’re two people who fit well together sexually. Does it have to be anything more than that for the here and now?”

  “So, not fuck buddies, but like… fuck neighbors?” I ask, because that sounds ridiculous.

  He shrugs. “You’re the one keen on labels.”

  Coen’s talking about sex with no strings. Just a mutual meeting of bodies, getting each other off. We don’t talk about the injunction or the fact that he might be destroying my dreams or that he’s pretty much an asshole, except in bed where he’s an incredibly generous and thoughtful lover.

  Christ, this is confusing.

  And I can’t deal with confusing, no matter how tempting he is.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m not interested.”

  It happens so fast, I’m not even sure how he does it, but I’m pressed up against the food shelves. One arm is around my lower back, and his other hand grips my nape.

  Coen kisses me, and not a soft brush of lips. He kisses me hard, and one thing I’ve definitely figured out about this man is that he likes doing this. The entire time we were fucking the other night, his mouth was on me.

  His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into him, my head swimming with confusion, desire hitting me low in the belly as I kiss him back.

  Coen tears free and locks his eyes with mine. “Don’t ever tell me you’re not interested because that would be a lie.”

  I push him away, angry that he made such a vivid point. “My body might want you, but my common sense prevails. And it’s not interested.”

  He studies me a long moment, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip. “I’d like to come over tonight. If you want me to, leave your porch light on.”

  “I don’t. Want you to, that is. The porch light will be off.”

  Coen shrugs. “Any night you want me … turn it on. I won’t make you feel bad about it. I won’t lord it over you. But I will make you feel good about the decision, and you know the truth of that.”

  God, do I know the truth of that.

  I want to argue and tell him he’s wrong, but he’d probably only kiss me again.

  I hold my tongue, and Coen pivots to walk away.

  CHAPTER 14

  Coen

  I’m waiting on the front porch when Gage pulls in. I don’t have chairs out here, but leaning over the front rail is fine by me.

  I’ve always been honest with myself, so I’m paying close attention to how I’m feeling right now. Gage was a teammate in particular I tried to stay away from if I could, because he was the one who always saw the deepest. He’s the one who was never afraid to confront me, and out of everyone, he pushed the hardest for me to pull my head out of my ass.

  The honesty comes into play because I have to admit that I’m actually looking forward to the visit.

  It’s not that I’m lonely, and I’m sure as hell not second-guessing my decision to come here. But I’ve let go of something that was keeping walls in place. Maybe it’s the introspection of not having much to do around here but think. Maybe it’s the distance away from Pittsburgh and the pressures of performance.

  Maybe it’s just time, because don’t they say it heals all wounds?

  Not that mine are healed. I still think about my friends who died on that plane and how close I came to death myself. I still think of Kyle and my lost ability to make things right with him. It’s a mistake I can’t correct, and there’s no stopping the self-loathing when I think about him. And mostly, I feel guilty about not being on that plane and going down with my team.

  The crunch of tires on gravel draws my gaze from the trees to my driveway as Gage pulls in. He grins as he steps out of the car, and I’m off the porch and there to greet him.

  We shake hands. “Looking good, man,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.

  I can’t say I’m feeling good, because that’s not attainable on a consistent basis. But I’ve had my moments.

  Tilden Marshall.

  She’s been a good moment, despite our tree dispute.

  “Loving it out here,” I reply.

  Gage pulls a duffel from the trunk, along with two bottles—one bourbon, one wine. “Housewarming gifts. The wine is from Jenna, and the bourbon from me.”

  “Not sure the wine will get used unless I have company.” I take both bottles, knowing it’s unlikely I’ll have company outside of this visit with Gage. “But these are nice. Thank you, and thank Jenna for me.”

  Gage laughs as he closes the car door.

  “What’s so funny?” I turn and we walk toward the cabin.

  He shakes his head, a knowing smirk on his face. “It’s just this is the first time I’ve actually seen you be polite. Country life agrees with you.”

  I snort but don’t reply. He’s definitely seeing the changes I’ve been feeling.

  Once inside, I give him the grand tour, and he drops his duffel in the guest room. We put the wine in the fridge alongside the beer I bought and the steaks marinating for dinner in a few hours.

  “Feel like a trail run?” I ask him.

  “Dude… this is my summer vacation.”

  “Don’t act as if you don’t work out all summer. You know as well as I do the next season is right around the corner.”

  Gage stares at me thoughtfully. “Is that why you’re staying in shape? For the upcoming season?”

  Something twists inside me. A mixture of abhorrence and longing, and it’s a fucked-up feeling. I don’t let him see how much it affects me, though. “Not at all. I’ve just found I really like running the trails. It’s a challenge, but if you’re not up for it, old man…”

  “Oh, I’m up for it,” he growls, the gauntlet of competition smacking him in the face. “Let’s do it.”

  ♦

  After our run—during which Gage stayed on my heels the entire time—and showers, we crack beers and pull out the steaks to come to room temperature. I’ll start up the grill in a bit.

  We move to the back deck and settle into the Adirondack-style chairs delivered just yesterday. I had to put them together, but it was an easy project.

  They’re facing the back of the property, and my eyes settle on the tree line that separates my lot from Tilden’s.

  “Tell me really how you’re doing out here,” Gage says. I’m not surprised by the request because I know he came here to check on me.

  I consider my answer a moment while scanning my yard. How many times have I wondered if I’ll catch a glimpse of Tilden walking out of the trees?

  Too many to count, and it never happens. She has no reason to walk through there since I’ve effectively put a stop to her plans for now.

  “I love it,” I tell him honestly. “I felt a lot of weight lift off the minute I drove out of Pittsburgh.”

  “I’m glad,” he says, hoisting his bottle toward me. “You needed something that no one else on that team could give you, so while I hate we lost you the last part of the season, I’m beyond happy you found something good.”

  I tap my bottle against his. “Thanks, man.”

  “What’s the social scene around here? Coudersport is a small town.”

  “I pretty much stay home. I’ve been working to clear some of the property, and I do a lot of hiking, some fishing. I’ll head into town for groceries or sometimes I’ll have a beer at this bar called Masha’s. It’s more of a local hangout than touristy. Low-key.”

  “Been recognized?”

  “Oh yeah.” I chuckle at my attempts to stay in disguise when I go out. It’s not working anymore. “Had a few requests for autographs or pictures. Most people give me space, though. It’s not bad. How’s everyone else been?”

  I mean the team. I can’t help my curiosity. I might not have bonded with any of them, but I’m well aware they all wanted the best for me. It’s also a safe subject to talk about because I know Gage has a purpose in being here.

  “We’re headed to Colorado next week. Jett’s proposing to Emory, and Jenna and I will be there as a surprise to her.”

  Jett plays for the Arizona Vengeance, and Emory is Jenna’s sister. “That’s cool. Love that area… spent quite a bit of time skiing out there in the winter.”

  “Baden and Sophie found an old Victorian house, and they’re spending the summer renovating it.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “That sounds horrendous.”

  “Not to Baden.” Gage laughs. “As long as he’s with Sophie, he’s happy. And Stone and Harlow are getting serious. I doubt it’s long before he pops the question.”

  “I’ve actually been in touch with them. Harlow helped me out of that New York arrest, as well as with the purchase of this place from Stone.” I don’t mention that she’s also going to help me with the sale of my condo in Pittsburgh, because that’s a frank admission I’m not going back, and I haven’t had enough beer to cope with Gage’s pitch not to quit. I know it’s coming.