My brow furrows, and I can’t tell if she’s pretending not to care or if she’s really okay with her situation.

  “I can’t imagine anyone not liking you.”

  She bends her leg, putting her foot on the log and resting her cheek on the top of her knee. Her eyes meet mine, and her smile is back. “You’re nice. Your dad’s the sheriff, right?”

  “And his dad before him.”

  Her small nose turns up at the end. “You’re starting tenth grade?” I nod, and she lifts her head. “I’m only in eighth, but maybe we can be friends.”

  I don’t say anything, but my eyes drift to her full lips. I’ve never kissed a girl before, and I’m having all kinds of thoughts about things I’ve never done. I’ve never been on a date, never held a girl’s hand, never seen a girl naked in real life… until now.

  “Don’t you want to be friends?” Her voice is defiant, and I sit up straighter.

  “Uh, sure… I guess.” Do I?

  She stands up quickly, practically jogging in the direction of the forest, and I jump up fast to follow her.

  “Where are you going?” I hop over rocks and sticks wishing I had my shoes.

  She stops and turns so abruptly, we bump into each other, and I grab her arms to keep us both from falling.

  Lifting her arms out of my grip, she shakes her head. “I guess you think you’re too good to be my friend. I guess you’re too awesome to hang out with a middle schooler who doesn’t even have a mom.”

  “I don’t think any of that!” My reply is loud, and I blurt what I was thinking. “I think you’re really pretty, and I was thinking how I might like to kiss you.”

  Her eyes blink wider, then her mouth closes as her brow lowers. “You spied on me naked, and now you want to kiss me? Are you trying to cop a feel?”

  Am I?

  Maybe a little.

  “No! I like talking to you. And listening to you sing, too.”

  She studies me a moment longer, her breath coming in quick pants from running. Before I can think, she steps forward and presses her full lips to mine in a closed-mouth kiss.

  My heart squeezes in my chest, and heat rushes from my stomach to my groin. Her lips are so soft, and her small breasts press against my chest. My teenage dick is at it again, and I’m trying to decide whether to push it down or wrap my arms around her waist and pull her closer.

  Before I can do either, she’s gone, running at top speed to where a bike is parked by the path. She jumps on it and pedals away as fast as she can.

  She leaves me hot all over. The water ripples behind me, and I’m fighting my second boner in less than thirty minutes—both because of the same girl.

  My head is dizzy, and all I can think is one thing: I never want to be friends with Cassidy Dixon. Not ever.

  CHAPTER 1

  ALEX

  PRESENT DAY

  “Hold her, Alex!” Aiden splashes into the ditch where I’m kneeling, wire cutters in hand.

  I’m on my knees clutching a pig the size of a bloodhound, her head scrubbing against my stomach as she struggles to escape, and I lift my chin as he feels around in the dark brown sludge behind the squirming animal.

  “It’s okay, Myrtle. We’ve got you.” The stench sends a hot surge of bile into my throat, and I do my best to keep calm even as she grinds her muddy snout through my dress shirt to my skin.

  “Oh, Myrtle!” Holly Newton, Myrtle’s owner, cries from the sidewalk above us. “My sweet piggy! How did this happen?”

  The panic in her voice is not helping calm the animal, but I exhale slowly, doing my best to hold on.

  Aiden is working fast, his brow furrowed and his jaw set. I imagine as sheriff of our small town he’s used to dealing with this kind of thing.

  As soon as he left the Marines, he came back and took over our late dad’s old job, and it suits his no-nonsense, hands in the dirt, man-of-few-words persona.

  As CEO of Stone Cold distillery, producer of the world-renowned Stone Cold original single barrel bourbon, the best single-batch bourbon since Blanton’s, I prefer cleaner work.

  I spend my days talking to influencers and journalists, carefully crafting fine whiskeys and then helping the people who matter see it’s the best on the market. I don’t wear a suit to work every day, but I don’t mind the days when I do.

  Days like today, unfortunately.

  While my brother is wearing a thick, canvas uniform and heavy boots similar to what we wore in basic training, I’m in Armani and Italian leather loafers—all of which are now ruined.

  How the fuck did I wind up in this ditch covered in mud, bear-hugging a pig?

  I blame myself.

  It’s a lovely summer’s day, and I decided to swing by the courthouse after meeting with our accountant to share the mid-year numbers with Aiden.

  Besides fishing, Pop taught me how he made his special recipe bourbon in the old distillery he inherited from his father. It’s a long, slow process that requires patience and attention to detail, which suits my persona.

  When I left the Navy, I turned Pop’s hobby into a full-time business with our mom, Aiden, and Adam as investors. Stone Cold has had a series of very good years, making us millionaires several times over, and it’s poised to go even higher.

  I’m pretty proud of what we’ve accomplished in such a short time, but as usual, Aiden simply nods and leaves the business side of things to me.

  Our conversation had just drifted to his upcoming wedding, which will be held in our new event space behind the distillery next month, when the call came through that Myrtle, the town’s award-winning pig, had escaped her pen and was running down Main Street in a panic and squealing.

  As Aiden’s sole dispatcher, Holly went into a total meltdown. His one deputy was out of the office—getting Krispy Kreme donuts, no doubt—so without hesitation, my brother grabbed me to help him capture the rogue pig.

  Which brings me here, waist-deep in sewage, clinging to Myrtle, and trying not to imagine what else is swimming around in this sludge with us.

  “Next time you’re coming to me,” I grunt, tightening my hold on the squirming animal.

  My brother’s jaw clenches as he fishes shoulder-deep in the water beneath the pig’s ass. A sharp snap of wire cutting, and he quickly rises, pulling away. “Watch out—she’s loose.”

  Myrtle bucks hard against my grip, and I release her, holding my arms in the air as Aiden shoves her rear to help her climb out of the pit.

  “My poor baby!” Holly drops to her knees and attaches a leash to the pig’s collar. “Are you hurt? Who would do this to you?”

  I rise to my full height, looking down at my ruined clothes while Holly continues talking to her pig like it’s a person and ranting about teenagers and people having no respect for private property.

  “Last year it was my chickens, now this.” Her nose wrinkles with a sniff. “Oh, Myrtle, you need a bath. Is it okay if I take the afternoon off, Sheriff?”

  “Sure.” Aiden holds out his hand to pull me from the muddy trench.

  My leather loafers slip on the wet grass, but I finally make it out.

  “Those were really nice shoes.” He shakes his head, looking down. “Probably not so great for what we just did.”

  “I’m sure chasing pigs is not what the designer had in mind.” I can’t help frowning at the idiotic chain of events, which doesn’t really surprise me for Eureka.

  Aiden wipes his hands down the front of his uniform pants. “This mud smells like ass.”

  “No shit. I’m not getting in my car this way. What are you going to do?”

  “I have an extra uniform and a shower at the courthouse. Here.” He tosses me a set of keys. “Britt’s old loft is empty. You can clean up there. I’m pretty sure I left a pair of sweatpants and a few shirts in the dresser.”

  “Thanks.” I catch the keys to his fiancée’s now-vacant apartment, and we walk together towards the town square where his office is located in the courthouse. We look like we’ve been mud wrestling. “I can’t believe you had me chasing a pig.”

  Aiden exhales a short laugh. “She’s some pig.”

  My eyes narrow, but I can’t resist. “Possibly humble. Not radiant.”

  He grips my shoulder with a chuckle—a response that’s become more frequent since Britt entered his life. Before her, he only smiled at his son. “Walk over when you’re done, and we can finish talking about… whatever you were telling me.”

  Nice. “You mean how well Stone Cold is doing or your pending nuptials?”

  “I prefer the latter.”

  I shake my head. “Can’t do it. I’ve got to pick up Pinky from Mom’s. Looks like I’ll be a little later than usual.”

  Aiden’s son Owen gave my daughter Penelope her nickname when she was a toddler, and it stuck. He said it’s because her strawberry blonde hair is pink. It helps that pink is also her favorite color, and she spends most days wearing or eating something pink or carrying around her stuffed pink piglet.

  Mom never complains if I’m late picking her up after work, but I do my best to be on time. It’s enough that she dedicates her golden years to babysitting my preschool daughter every day. I try not to monopolize her evenings as well.

  “Mom loves her grandkids.” Aiden slaps my shoulder. “I’ll give her a call and let her know you were helping me out.”

  He cuts across the square in the direction of the courthouse, and I push through the glass door of a small storefront. To my left is the entrance to the Star Parlor, Britt’s mother’s tarot-reading studio. In front of me is a flight of stairs leading up to Britt’s old loft.

  I take the steps two at a time and unlock the door using the keys Aiden gave me. The space is empty except for a few remaining pieces of furniture—a queen-sized bed under large windows, a couch in front of a medium-sized flatscreen television, and a dresser against the wall.

  Stripping out of my muddy slacks and dress shirt, I leave everything in a pile outside the bathroom door. I’ll bag it up after I’m clean and decide if it’s even worth trying to salvage.

  I’m relieved to find a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo still in the shower. The shampoo is a flowery, girlish scent, but it’s better than sewage. I switch on the water and step inside, ready to get the funk of ditch water and ditch critters off me.

  I’ve got to move fast if I’m going to pick up my daughter from Mom’s without being too late. The last thing I need is any more surprises today.

  CHAPTER 2

  CASS

  “I think it’s a sign.” Lying on my back on the concrete drive under Britt’s orange Ford step-side, I grunt as I loosen the bolt holding the oil pan in place.

  I’ve been helping my friends with auto maintenance ever since I took a shop class in high school. I was the only girl in the class, and the gym teacher who was stuck teaching thought it was funny. By contrast, I was very serious about being able to take care of my own vehicle in case of emergencies, and he was so impressed, he taught me all the basics. YouTube taught me the rest.

  “They’re all signs.” Britt squats beside the wheel, watching as the oil drains from her dad’s old vehicle she inherited after he died. “They’ve been going up all over town for a year.”

  “But it says, ‘Follow your path.’” I position the bucket so it won’t overflow, getting a splash of oil on my chest before scooting out from under the vehicle and placing my back to the tire. “I’ve got to follow my path.”

  My friend since middle school sits on the concrete beside me, her green eyes bright. “You’ve found something you love?”

  My shoulders drop. “No, but it’s time to get serious. I’m going to be thirty in a few months, and I have no purpose.”

  “Good lord, don’t sail off that cliff. You have purpose.” Britt bumps my shoulder with hers. “We just have to sort through all your eras and find the one that resonates with you the most. The one you keep wanting to go back to.”

  “Oh, sure, Taylor. It’s just that simple.”

  “It’s what I’d do!”

  She’s right, I guess.

  Britt is so positive. Even when she’s twisting her fingers with anxiety—a quirk that happens less and less now that Aiden is around to cover her small hands with his strong ones—she’s able to look at problems as opportunities. I’d like to say it’s because she had a better home life than I did growing up, but her family is even weirder than mine, consisting mostly of magicians and tarot readers and escape artists.

  Maybe it’s because of her job as a forensic photographer. She’s forced to find meaning in terrible situations. I could never do what she does, but it led her to Aiden, the drop-dead gorgeous sheriff of our town.

  Their relationship is enough to make me reconsider my permanent ban on men since Drake Redford announced I’d never get over his conceited ass. He had the nerve to say I’d be just like my mom, alone and aimless by the time I’m thirty.

  I’d said he was jealous I actually had a life, but now that I’m twenty-nine and a half with no direction, no job, and no place to live, I’m getting nervous he might be right.

  “Personally, I thought your pastry chef era was the best. I’m so happy you agreed to make your cinnamon-almond snickerdoodle cake for my wedding. I dreamed about it so long, I had to buy snickerdoodles to dunk in my morning coffee just to kill the cravings.”

  “First, I’m not a chef. I’d have to go to culinary school for that title.” I bend my knee and rest my cheek on it. “Baking’s okay, but it doesn’t spark joy for me.”

  “Marie Kondo knows we can’t have that,” she teases. “What about your preschool dance teacher era?”

  Studying my oil-blackened fingers, I can’t help a smile. “I did love those squishy little baby arms and their sweet little faces when they were working so hard.”

  “They were so cuuute!”

  “My favorite part was when I’d tell them to turn their toes out and they’d turn them in.” I snort a laugh.

  “Remember that one little girl who had her tongue out the whole time?” Britt joins me in giggling.

  “She was so focused! I loved her!” Warmth fills my chest, and I feel like we’re close to what I want. “But baby dance lessons don’t pay enough to sustain a life.”

  The air fizzles out of my happiness balloon, and we both sigh. I glance over to see the oil has finished draining, and I lie back and scoot under her truck as she tilts her head to the side.

  “You’re really good with cars. I’d imagine owning your own garage would support a life.”

  “And go up against Bud?” I laugh loudly as I replace the bolt and unscrew the filter. “That would be a major town scandal, and to be honest, as fun as it is blowing the old guys’ minds with my automotive skills, I’m not really interested in being a grease monkey for the rest of my life.”

  “Rude!” Britt cries, which only makes me laugh more.

  Scooting back out from under the truck, I sit up again. “I’m a lost cause. I only love things that will leave me homeless.”

  “No negative talk!” She holds up a finger. “We’ve only just started our pro-con list. What about hairstylist?”

  “It killed my lower back.”

  “Clean beauty?”

  “Too much mess. Too many products. It took over my life.”

  “Pet groomer?”

  “The last cat with mites cured me of that.”

  “Yick.” Britt shudders. “I’m sure Mom would welcome you back at the Star Parlor. She always said you were a gifted empath.”

  “I made even less money as a psychic than I did as a baby dance teacher, and I don’t know. It made me feel guilty. Was I really helping those people?”

  “I’m sure you made them feel better. At least for that day.”

  My nose crinkles, and I shake my head. “I’ve done a lot of crazy shit through the years, haven’t I?”

  “And of all of them, the only one that makes you light up is working with little kids. Have you considered going back to college and getting certified to teach? You’d make a great kindergarten teacher.”

  Lifting the hood of the truck, I give her a worried glance. “I never went to college to start with.” Turning the fresh carton of oil upright in the reservoir, I sigh. “I’d have to start from the beginning, and if I don’t have enough money for rent, I definitely can’t afford four years of college.”

  Britt crosses her arms, her brow furrowed. “There must be something you could do with little kids right now that doesn’t require all that time and money.”

  I wrap an arm over her shoulders. “You are such a good friend worrying about this with me.”

  “Argh! Don’t ruin my sweater!” She shoves me with her elbow. “You’re covered in oil.”

  “I’m not covered in it!” Looking down, I notice the oil splatters on my overalls and white undershirt. “What can I say? It’s a dirty job.”

  “Head up to my place and shower. The spare key is over the door of the Star Parlor, and I’m pretty sure I left some clothes behind. Heck, you can borrow some of Aiden’s old things if you need to.”

  We’re in the parking lot behind her mother’s tarot reading studio, and I glance up at the loft apartment where Britt lived until she moved in with Aiden and Owen.

  “Smart place to hide a key. I’d never look for it over the wrong door.”

  “It was Mom’s idea.”

  Exhaling a shiver, I shake my head. “It’s not just the money keeping me away from tarot. Every time I see your mom, I can’t stop remembering the infamous afternoon of you and Aiden having sex upstairs. It kept getting louder, and there was nowhere to hide… I’ve never fled a building so fast in my life.”

  Her eyes roll. “Let it go. Ma knows Aiden and I have sex.” We walk slowly to the back entrance. “Hell, with our wedding on the horizon, all anybody wants to know is how soon we’re going to start having babies.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them encouraging you to have sex. For so long they said don’t do it. Now it’s all go go go!”