“There you are,” Ann Marie says from behind us.

  I start to jerk back, but Coen’s not so quick in releasing me. His mouth lingers a little longer, a testament to the fact this man loves to kiss. It’s by far the sexiest thing about him. He loves the act of mating with lips and tongue and teeth.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Ann Marie says, grabbing my arm. “The fireworks are going to start soon, and we want to get on the Ferris wheel to see them.”

  Coen’s hand presses into my lower back as we exit the building but then falls away when we’re outside once again.

  We head to the Ferris wheel and get in line, keeping an eye on the time. It’s tradition to try to be at the top when the fireworks start. If the carny is fun, he’ll stop the ride for a few minutes so we can watch from a spot that’s a little closer to the pyrotechnic brilliance.

  The first boom goes off just as we reach the front of the line. They usually last around twenty minutes, so we’ll at least get to see some of them from the big wheel.

  When it’s finally our turn to step into one of the passenger cars, Coen slides money into the operator’s hand. He doesn’t recognize Coen, but he does recognize green paper.

  “Hundred bucks and you give us a few extra minutes at the top,” Coen says.

  I hear Hank behind us whisper to Erica, “Damn… that’s slick.”

  Looking over my shoulder at my girlfriends, they both give me a look that says, You’d better make good use of that extra time.

  Settling into the seat next to Coen, I don’t ask for an invitation. Before the bar comes down over our laps, I scoot in close to him. To my surprise, his arm lifts and wraps around my shoulders.

  It shouldn’t feel this good, snuggling affectionately next to him. And when his thumb rubs against my shoulder, I should absolutely banish any silly thoughts that maybe we could be more.

  The Ferris wheel starts to turn, and our cart rises and then stops to let the next couple on. Looking over my shoulder and downward, I see Hank and Erica boarding. We rise again and stop, rise and stop, until the wheel is full. When we’re back near the bottom, the operator gives Coen a nod, and we’re off. The wheel makes two full rotations, the entire time Coen and I watching the fireworks in short bursts of three to four explosions. It’s not a very good show, and the display isn’t in sync with the classic rock blaring from the speakers, but it’s beautiful all the same.

  Halfway through the third rotation, the wheel slows and then comes to a grinding halt at the top, our bucket rocking slightly.

  Silently, we watch the fireworks. I half expect Coen to make a move, at least a kiss. And I need him to make the move because in this romantic setting, I’m afraid to. I’m the one who set the boundaries and the expiration date, thus I really can’t make this more than that.

  And let’s face it. I only set those boundaries because I knew that’s what Coen wanted. He’s not looking for a relationship. Quite the contrary, he wants to be left alone for the most part. Since that’s the case, I’m not about to show interest in making this more than what we’ve agreed, so I watch the bursts of red, green, blue, and white light up the night sky.

  “I wish I could stay up here forever,” Coen says, and it startles me. I lean away from him so I can see his face. The reflection of fireworks sparkles in his eyes. Slowly, his head turns toward me. “Away from the world. Untouchable.”

  “But I’m touching you.” My hand reaches out, caresses his cheek before sliding behind his neck. And even though I said I wouldn’t make a move, I can’t help but pull him toward me for a kiss.

  Coen comes easily, and the moment our lips touch, he takes control. His arms wrap around me and he pulls me close, rumbling low in his chest as the kiss deepens.

  He doesn’t let me go until the wheel moves again, lowering us back down to earth. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I think he might say something, but instead he merely presses his lips to my forehead.

  When we’re off the ride, Erica asks, “Rides or games?”

  “Games,” Xander says, then looks right at Ann Marie. “I’m going to win the biggest stuffed teddy bear on the midway.”

  Judging by the smile she gives him, Ann Marie looks like she’s just fallen head over heels.

  “Bet I can win the biggest,” Hank exclaims. “I’m an expert on knocking milk cans over with a baseball.”

  “My hero,” Erica exclaims.

  “I’m a professional athlete,” Coen says, and all heads turn his way. It’s the first time he’s openly mentioned his hockey career. It doesn’t go unnoticed—at least by me—that he uses the present tense. “There’s no doubt I’ll win the biggest stuffed bear.”

  “Oh, it’s on,” Xander says.

  Hank points his finger, swinging it between Xander and Coen. “You two are going down.”

  We spend the next half hour bouncing from game to game, but I’m the one Coen hands a ginormous purple stuffed bear to when all is said and done. The thing is as big as I am, and Coen immediately has to take it back. “I’ll carry it for you.”

  We play a few more games and then hit the funnel cakes. Coen and I share one while the teddy bear sits on top of a picnic table. I can’t help but be a little envious as I watch Hank kiss powdered sugar off the corner of Erica’s mouth, or the way Xander hasn’t let go of Ann Marie’s hand all night. They’re officially a couple now.

  But still, Coen won me a teddy bear and kissed me on the Ferris wheel. It’s a far cry from him threatening to have me arrested.

  We say our goodbyes to everyone right there. Erica and Hank are heading back to the games. He’s not ready to give up trying to win a bigger bear, and while Coen doesn’t give him shit about it, he looks smug. And Xander and Ann Marie want to hit the Ferris wheel again.

  As we near the midway exit—Coen with the big bear slung under one arm—I realize this was probably as perfect an evening as I could’ve had with someone like Coen. I know there’s more to come, as Coen will stay at my house once again tonight, but I think he enjoyed being out in a casual environment with laid-back people.

  Just as we’re about to step through the gates leading into the parking lot, a group of women step into our path. I wish I could say I was surprised to see it’s Cici leading the pack, but I’m not. She’s giggling, as are the others, and I’m guessing they’re drunk. They’re all dressed in tiny shorts, midriff-baring T-shirts or halter tops, and full-blown makeup and styled hair. I doubt one of them has been on a ride, and I’m sure funnel cake would mess up their bony hips.

  God, I’m petty, and I hate myself for it, because that’s my insecurity talking. Funny how I was never really insecure around their presence and taunts until I had Coen’s notice.

  They don’t look at me but instead focus on him. “Hey,” Cici says, her voice a bit slurred but obviously trying for a sexy purr. “We were wondering if you wanted to come back to my house. I’m throwing a party tonight, and everyone will be there.”

  Does she not understand the world doesn’t revolve around her? Doesn’t she get that Coen isn’t interested because twice so far he’s called out her and her friends for being bullies?

  “A party, huh?” he asks. His voice is pleasant and… interested?

  My head whips toward him. Have I misjudged everything? Is a party with pretty, drunk girls a better prospect than sex with me tonight?

  My heart sinks, and I fear our expiration date is upon us.

  “It will be a wild time,” she murmurs seductively, and I feel like I’m going to vomit.

  When Cici steps in closer to him, Coen gives her an appreciative look, starting at her head and going down to her toes before focusing on her face.

  “Cici.” Coen leans toward her, voice rumbling in a way that would make any woman shiver, and her eyes turn hot in response. “If you were the last woman on earth, there’s still no way in hell I could ever tolerate being around you.”

  Oh, damn. That was brutal.

  I even feel slightly bad for her.

  Okay, no, I don’t.

  It takes a moment for it to register that she’s been insulted, her eyes narrowing. She opens her mouth to say something, but my attention is diverted when Coen reaches out and drapes his arm around my shoulders. He escorts me past the women just as Cici screeches in outrage.

  Glancing back, I see her with her arms crossed over her chest defensively while the other girls surround her in commiseration. Sadly, nothing about this exchange will change who she is. She’ll always be a self-centered bully who will never understand how unlikable she is.

  When we’re in Coen’s truck, he turns to me before cranking the engine. “I’m sorry you had to be subjected to that.”

  I shrug, because truly, I’ve never let Cici get to me. I might have been on the dorkier side of things growing up—and maybe even now—but my parents raised me to be confident and embrace my differences. “She doesn’t bother me, Coen.”

  He stares at me and releases a frustrated sigh before starting the truck. “Well, it bothers the fuck out of me.”

  I reach out to touch his arm. “But why? It’s not that big a deal.”

  Head swiveling slowly my way, I note the sadness in his eyes. “It bothers me because that’s exactly the type of woman I would have gone home with not that long ago. I told you I’m not a nice man.”

  “Oh,” I murmur, my hand falling away. I don’t know what to say, and I’m disheartened that someone like Cici would attract him. Or at least used to and perhaps would again.

  Maybe I’m just a novelty.

  But no… he’s in this truck with me. He won a teddy bear for me, held my hand, kissed me on the Ferris wheel.

  My hand goes back to his arm, and his gaze meets mine. “You’re not that man anymore.”

  I see it in his face. The refusal to believe in something different. His steadfast position that he’s not a nice man. It’s naked in his expression, and I understand he’s letting me see it.

  Then it’s gone, replaced by a smile.

  One that’s mischievous. It makes me giddy.

  “Can I stay the night?” he asks.

  “You know you can,” I reply, my words barely a whisper because he takes my breath away.

  CHAPTER 19

  Coen

  I walk into Masha’s, and when I make eye contact with Jake the bartender, I get a chin lift of greeting. It makes me feel like a bona fide local.

  No one fussing over me because I’m Coen Highsmith.

  No one wanting to talk hockey.

  As much anonymity as one could hope for, given the news I generated when I was playing.

  I’m not surprised to see Hank sitting at the short end of the bar, a burger and a Coke in front of him. I know he works a few blocks down at a fly-fishing and hunting outfitter. I really enjoyed talking to him about fishing at the fair the other night, and he promised to take me out sometime to a stream that’s kind of a hidden treasure.

  I make my way over to him, and he smiles as he sees me approach. “There’s the up-and-coming fly-fisherman.”

  “Mind if I join you?” I ask, nodding to the adjacent stool.

  “Free world,” he replies before taking another bite of his burger. Jake approaches and sets a napkin in front of me.

  “I’ll have a Rolling Rock,” I say.

  “Anything to eat?” he asks.

  “Nah… I had a late breakfast.” Only because I slept until mid-morning. And that was only because I was up all night fucking Tillie.

  Christ, she’s become like a drug I can’t get enough of. I’d gone months without any interest in women—the guilt from what I did with Darcy compounding my overall depression after the plane went down—but now I can’t look at Tillie without wanting to touch her.

  Mostly kiss her. I’ve never enjoyed the act of kissing as much as I do with her. A woman’s lips have never felt so soft, and she does this breathy little sigh into my mouth that makes me feel like I’m king of the mountain or some shit.

  Jake returns with my beer and I take a sip. I didn’t really want it, but when you’re in a bar, you should drink something, I guess.

  I’m only here because I’m bored and looking for something to do. Tillie’s painting, and I’ve come to learn that’s a very solitary endeavor.

  I learned that the first night I stayed with her when, after breakfast, she kicked me out so she could work.

  And yeah, I even like that about her. That she needs her private time and she’s not focused on trying to take all mine.

  Although, admittedly, I’d be fine hanging out in the same room with her while she painted. I could read a book or surf my phone.

  Jesus, what’s wrong with me? Dreaming of sitting in a room with Tillie to be near her. I scrub my hands over my face, hoping it will wipe away this obsession.

  “Looks like you got a load on your mind,” Hank says, and I blink at him.

  “Yeah… sorry. Just thinking.”

  “About Tillie?” he guesses before popping a french fry into his mouth.

  I don’t know this guy very well. Only hung with him a bit at the music festival and the fair a few nights ago. I’m generally a private person, even more so after the crash.

  And yet, I find myself answering, “Hard not to think of her.”

  Hank chuckles. “She’s one in a million. They don’t get any more genuine than her.”

  “I think I’ve figured that out.” I take another drink of my beer. “Tillie said you all grew up together.”

  “All of us except Xander. He’s a transplant to the area, but yeah… Erica, Tillie, Ann Marie, and Hayley, all best friends since kindergarten. I’m allowed in the group by virtue of dating Erica.”

  “I’ve heard you make a trusty designated driver.”

  Tillie told me about their pub crawl tradition with Hank carting them around.

  Hank laughs as he wipes his hands with a napkin and pushes his plate back. “Luckily, they don’t do the crawl that often, but they sure are a lot of fun when they’re drunk. You wouldn’t believe the things women talk about when they’re loaded.”

  I grin at the image of a drunk Tillie. “Oh, I can imagine.”

  “Where is she?” he asks.

  “Painting. I’m not allowed to hang around when she’s working.”

  Hank has second thoughts about pushing his plate away and grabs another fry. He swirls it in ketchup. “Tillie’s an incredible artist, and it’s never work to her. Whether she’s painting or teaching, she sort of gets in her own world surrounded by colors and imagination.”

  “Teaching?” I ask. I didn’t know she taught.

  “Yeah… she and her parents set up a weekend arts program at the VFW where they give free lessons to anyone who wants to try their hand. Of course, she does it on her own now that they’ve passed, but it’s really important to her.”

  I knew painting was her passion, but I didn’t know she taught others or that it’s such a significant part of her life. While conversation is easier with Tillie than it’s been with anyone since the crash, we haven’t gone that deep. I think we’re both afraid we might stumble into territory that would cause angry feelings—namely that fucking easement.

  “It’s why she’s building the art studio,” he continues, grabbing another fry. “She used the life insurance money from her parents to buy that property. Started a nonprofit and is going to bring in other artists to visit and offer free lessons.”

  I stare at Hank, unable to formulate a word. Tillie has never mentioned any of this. I thought she was just opening a gallery to sell her work, which again, more power to her.

  But a nonprofit? To give free lessons?

  I shake my head, dispelling the notion that it should make a difference to me.

  It doesn’t.

  It’s still traffic running through my property. It still impedes on my new life.

  Hank picks up his glass and drains the rest of his Coke. Pushing up from the bar, he pulls out his wallet and throws down some cash. “Gotta get back to work. Let me know when you want to go fishing.”

  “Yeah, man… thanks.”

  Hank claps me on the shoulder and leaves me to finish my beer.

  I pull out my phone and check my messages. The first one from Tillie makes me smile. I feel like grilling hamburgers. Want to eat with me tonight?

  We’ve shared a few meals together, even though it’s still only about the sex.

  Mostly about the sex.

  It’s always been at her house, though.

  I text back, Hamburgers it is. I’m in town and will grab stuff. Be at my house at six. Bring your pillow as you’re staying the night.

  Smiling to myself, I read my next message. It’s from my Realtor—my condo listing goes live Monday. She anticipates a fast sale, and I’m going to have to get back there to retrieve the rest of my stuff.

  I have mixed emotions about that. On one hand, I’m glad this is going to be quick and not a lot of work. On the other, it severs my last tie to Pittsburgh. An unexpected flash of regret hits me hard.

  I push it away. No room for doubts.

  Except, a flood of unease sweeps through me. It’s one thing to hole up in a cabin over the summer, but it’s another thing altogether to break the final tie to Pittsburgh.

  It’s just a fucking condo. I didn’t even like it, to be honest, but it was convenient to get to the arena.

  It’s not like the cabin. I’ve come to love that place. The peace and serenity. My own little chipmunk I feed by hand. The shaded trails I can run and now see the sculptures that I helped Tillie anchor along the way.

  I find it amusing that we have this wall between us regarding the easement, but we share the trails. We’ve determined that they most likely crisscross over each other’s property lines or that the boundaries curve in such a way it’s hard to tell who owns what.

  But it’s just not an issue.

  Only the line of trees separating me from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out that it represents a metaphorical wall.