Chapter One

“I’m sorry. We need someone more…viral.” The casting director’s voice boomed through the cramped audition space. “Next!”

Mandy Reynolds mumbled her thanks to the panel and yanked the glitter-encrusted antennae off her head, along with several long strands of blond hair. Her first real audition back in her hometown and she couldn’t book a stupid hand sanitizer commercial—even dressed as a jumbo-size germ. She’d worn the costume, thinking it might help make her more memorable to the directors, in a good way. Guess she’d been wrong.

Disappointment burned alongside the grief in her chest as she made her way toward the exit, but she did her best to stay positive. She came by her optimism naturally, courtesy of her mother.

Think positive. Better things are just around the corner.

Today, though, the words brought a fresh sting of tears to Mandy’s eyes instead of hope to her heart. Her mom had passed a month prior, after a vicious battle with cancer, and things were still getting settled with the estate. That was the whole reason she was back in Heavenly Falls, to make sure her mother’s final wishes were carried out. After her mom’s valiant fight against a deadly disease, the least Mandy could do was keep her chin up after blowing an audition. If she didn’t get this job it was because it wasn’t meant for her. Yes, she needed the money, but there would be another way.

Please let there be another way.

Problem was, she’d been staying with her half sister, Gina, for the past four weeks and worried about wearing out her welcome. Gina hadn’t said anything, but Mandy didn’t like to stay in one place too long. Too confining. Too risky.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her duffel bag, and she pulled it out to find a reminder of her next appointment—a tour of the house on the rental property she’d inherited from her mother. Well, half of it, anyway. The other half her mom had bequeathed to a man Mandy hadn’t seen in thirteen years. A guy who’d once made her quake with lust in her Chuck Taylors. A real-life Prince Charming who’d whisk her away to happily ever after.

She’d been wrong about that, too.

Fingers trembling, she clicked off the phone. Was this the break she needed? Mom must’ve intended for her to sell it for the cash, right? That’s the only thing she could figure, since Mandy’s traveling lifestyle wasn’t exactly conducive to home ownership. The thing she couldn’t understand, though, was why her mother had gotten Alex involved. As far as Mandy knew, her mom hadn’t had any contact with him since divorcing his father over a decade prior. It made no sense, but then neither did her mom’s serial marriages. Each man had seemed like a good fit for her mother and been kind and generous, but it had never been enough, apparently.

The irony wasn’t lost on Mandy. She loved her mom and missed her terribly, but she wasn’t like her. Not that way, at least. She moved around because of her work. She didn’t like to get involved too deeply with anyone, because long-distance relationships were difficult. It had nothing to do with her nomadic childhood.

Dull numbness spread outward from her core as she ran outside into the gray autumn rain and made a beeline for an Uber idling near the curb. Clambering into the backseat, her bulky costume made the fit precarious. “Eight-two-five West Concord Lane, please.”

Minutes later, Mandy climbed out onto the rain-slicked pavement on the outskirts of town. Mr. Pickett, her mother’s attorney, stood there sharing an umbrella with a taller man.

Alex. Her ex-stepbrother. Still gorgeous as ever, darn him.

Mandy forced her attention to the Victorian-style house behind them. Not a total disaster, but not exactly Architectural Digest material, either. The exterior paint on the gingerbread trim was peeling, and the wraparound porch sagged in one corner. Overall, in need of TLC, but habitable.

“Nice outfit,” Alex said, looking at her like she was an alien from Planet Nimrod. “What are you? A mutant ninja cockroach?”

“I had an audition and didn’t have time to change before coming here.” She looked down at her homemade costume then back up at the two men, battling her urge to scurry away like a crab avoiding the stewpot. She ignored Alex and held out her hand to Mr. Pickett. “Thanks for showing us around today.”

“My pleasure.” The attorney shook her hand while Alex turned away, dismissing her the same way he had all those years ago. She’d spent the year their parents had been married thinking the sun rose and fell because of him, and he’d seen her as nothing more than a nuisance. At least that’s how it had felt back then. Now, she was a grown woman and refused to let him shove her aside. Too much depended on her being able to get her mother’s affairs in order, and fast—her future, her career, her need to put this place behind her and move on.

“Let’s get started then, shall we?” Mr. Pickett led them to the porch.

Alex followed first and Mandy trailed behind them, studying her ex-stepbrother more closely. He was still quarterback handsome, with his black hair and chiseled features, his dark blue T-shirt and faded jeans clinging to his muscled bod. As they moved toward the house, though, she noticed a limp.

Huh. That was new.

Her pulse sped a bit and she opened her mouth to ask Alex how he’d hurt himself, but then Mr. Pickett unlocked the front door and gestured them inside, putting her questions on the back burner. Not that it was any of her business, but she was an actress. Studying people was research. That’s the excuse she was going with, anyway.

“The house is livable,” the attorney said, closing the door behind them. “But in need of some updates.”

Mandy stepped around Alex and got her first peek at the interior. Much like the outside, it was well-worn and pretty basic. White walls, white ceiling, hardwood floors that needed a fresh buff. From the layer of dust and cobwebs, it looked like the place hadn’t been occupied in a while. “No renters right now?”

“No, ma’am,” Mr. Pickett said. “The last tenants moved out last year.”

Her duffel bag slipped from her shoulder and plopped onto the floor at her feet, sending a small cloud of dust billowing. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. Mandy wasn’t a fan of cleaning, but she’d kill for a mop right about now. This place would take more work to get it ready to sell than she’d first thought. Her hopes for a quick turnaround plummeted along with her heart, landing somewhere near her toes.

I’m trying to think positive, Mom. I’m really trying.

Alex stepped in beside her, the heat of his body at odds with the goose bumps on her chilly arms.

Mr. Pickett cleared his throat, then smiled politely as he switched on the lights. “Believe it or not, the house is listed on the national historic registry. With a little work, I think it would bring a tidy sum if you decide to sell.”

“Who said anything about selling?” Alex inspected a piece of painted trim nearby, scraping off a chip with his nail. “This looks like mahogany. And I’d bet good money that plaster scrollwork on the ceiling is hand carved.”

Mandy squinted up at the ceiling again and wondered how he could tell. His dad owned a construction company, so maybe Alex had some secret Spidey senses about building stuff. Not that it mattered. They wouldn’t be keeping this place. “I can’t maintain a house like this.”

“I can,” Alex said, following Mr. Pickett past a huge staircase with a carved banister and into a second room with more high ceilings and more designs in the plaster. Sure, it was pretty enough, but it did nothing to stop the rising itch inside her. The longer she stood in this place, the more it felt like a trap. Her pulse kicked up another notch and her chest ached—not with grief this time, but with fear. Fear that she’d get stuck in Heavenly Falls and never get to Hollywood. That was her dream—big lights, big city, big movie roles.

She took a deep breath and forced her tight shoulders to relax. Alex needed to see it was better to sell. That was all. Convincing people to believe what she wanted them to was what she did for a living. Shouldn’t be that hard, right?

“How old is the house?” Alex asked the attorney, his words tinged with awe.

“The original blueprints from the county recorder’s office say it was designed by Samuel and Joseph Cather Newsom in 1896.”

“Seriously? This is a Newsom design?” Alex said at the same time Mandy said, “Wow, bound to be tons of problems with a house that old.”

“It’s a treasure.” A muscle ticked near Alex’s set jaw.

“It’s a money pit.” Mandy threw her hands up. “C’mon. You can’t seriously be thinking of keeping this place.”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.” He stepped closer, chest out and chin raised. “You don’t have to be involved. I’ll handle all the remodeling. And you can continue dressing up like bugs or germs or whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing.”

Cheeks burning and throat raw, she swallowed hard and clenched her hands at her sides. “What I’m supposed to be doing is honoring my mother’s wishes and putting her estate to rest. And I’ve got as much stake in this place as you do, Alex Noonan, and I won’t let you push me aside again.” She stepped forward, jabbing her index finger toward him. “And, for the record, I’m an actress. A good one. I have a theater degree and everything. You don’t like me being here any more than I do, but we’re stuck in this together until we take care of this house, one way or another. Until then, I’m not going anywhere. Got it?”

He crossed his arms, his full lips forming a hard smile. “I’m not selling.”

“Then I guess we’re at an impasse.” Mandy mirrored his defiant posture. She wasn’t giving in, either. The proceeds from selling this house meant a big shot at stardom, a new chance at freedom, a chance to honor her mother’s final wishes. No way would she give in to demands without a fight.

Mr. Pickett stood off to the side, fidgeting, as they faced off, gazes locked. Several long moments passed before Alex finally looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “What if I buy you out?”

“You have the cash to do that?” She raised a brow at him. Back in the day, his family had money, but she had no idea what his current status was financially.

Alex cursed under his breath and shook his head, his big shoulders slumping. “Not yet.”

He limped over to check out the fireplace mantel, and she released her pent-up breath. When he’d mentioned buying out her half, a lightbulb had lit in her head, only to be quickly extinguished. She glanced over at the attorney, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. She knew the feeling. “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other for a while.”

Alex looked at her again, his dark eyes dull. “Guess so.”

Mr. Pickett jumped into the conversation again. “Shall we continue the tour?”

They went down a wide hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. Again, it was serviceable but outdated and also needed a good scrub. Lime green painted cabinets hung on the walls and mismatched appliances dotted the room. In one corner sat a well-worn butcher block table with two chairs. Large windows graced the area above the sink, overlooking a fenced-in yard with a rose trellis. Early October meant the blooms were in decline, but Mandy imagined it would be pretty in the spring.

Beside her, Alex shuffled his feet then winced and rubbed his left thigh. Mandy couldn’t resist asking, “What happened to your leg?”

“Accident,” he grumbled, digging the toe of his boot into the black and white tiled floor.

“Working for your dad?”

“No.” He turned away, swallowing hard. “For the IRS. As an investigator.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “I thought you planned to work for your dad after college.”

“Well, I didn’t.” His sharp tone snapped through the quiet kitchen, and her heart flopped. He hurried after the attorney back out into the hall, saying over his shoulder, “Doesn’t matter. It’s all over now.”

Uh-huh.

Small talk might not be her specialty, but Mandy was fluent in avoidance.

They toured a master bedroom with an attached bath then ended up back in the foyer. “There are more rooms on the second floor, but they haven’t been used in some time. The third floor and attic are storage,” Mr. Pickett said. “Any questions?”

“I’d still like to peek upstairs, if that’s okay.” She wanted a full picture of what she was in for with the place, however bad. Mandy grabbed ahold of the banister. “Be right back.”

“Wait. I’m going, too.” Alex moved toward the stairs, his limp more pronounced now. “Just be patient.”

“Patience is my middle name.” She tried for humor and failed miserably, if his skeptical look was any indication. She’d thought maybe touring this place would take her mind off her grief, but she felt more drained than ever. Fatigue swelled inside her like a bruise as she followed Alex up the stairs, babbling to fill the awkward silence. “Actually, that’s not true. My middle name’s Prudence, after my maternal grandmother, but I don’t spread that information around.”

“I can see why. My condolences.”

He’d quoted her favorite movie, The Breakfast Club. The reminder brought another blast from the past to her tired brain—sitting with Alex and his siblings watching 80s teen rom-coms on repeat until they’d memorized all the lines. Alex had always made her special popcorn topped with Parmesan cheese and split Cherry Cokes with her. So sweet. Warm nostalgia took the edge off her irritation with him. Those had been good times.

Alex glanced back at her, his expression softer. “What was your audition for earlier?”

She snorted, glad for something to talk about besides the house situation. “Hand sanitizer.” Mandy gestured toward her costume. “The casting director said I wasn’t ‘viral’ enough.”

They reached the upper landing and Alex turned to her with a small smile. One that highlighted those dimples in his cheeks. He’d been Mr. Popular when she’d been a kid, the guy all the other guys wanted to be and all the girls wanted to be with. He was different now, though. Everything was different.

Sadness scratched the back of her throat and she focused on the muted sunlight filtering in through the dusty windows.

“If it’s any consolation, I think you look plenty contagious,” he said, his frown returning. “Are you crying?”

“What? No.” Annoyed with herself, Mandy swiped the back of her hand under her nose. “Dust.”

“Sure.” He didn’t sound convinced, but they went in opposite directions before finally meeting up again at the top of the stairs. Given Alex’s weird attachment to this place, and his lack of cash to buy her out, she needed a place to stay besides Gina’s couch until she could get out of town. The first floor wasn’t bad and the second just needed a good cleaning. Since her own savings account was basically zilch at the moment, maybe living here in the short term was the most viable option.

Think positive. Better things are just around the corner.

Her fingers twitched at the thought of commitment, but determination steeled her spine. She could do this. She would do this. For her mother.

Get this place into shape, then get moving again.

Mandy wiped her damp palm on her striped tights, saying as much for herself as for him, “Fine.”

“Fine what?” Alex tilted his head to the side.

“Fine, we both stay here and renovate this place before we decide how to proceed.”

“Together?” The look on his face wavered between astonishment and apprehension before he gave a resigned sigh and said in a flat tone, “Fine.”

They went back downstairs where Mr. Pickett waited by the front door. He handed them both a key to the house then withdrew an envelope from his pocket and gave it to Mandy. “Your mother asked that I deliver this today.”

“What is it?” She reached for it with shaky fingers.

“No idea.”

Mandy stared down at her name scrawled in her mother’s handwriting on the outside of the envelope, heaviness settling over her once more.

The attorney started out the door, saying over his shoulder, “Good luck to you both.”

…

Later that afternoon, Alex sat at the battered table in the kitchen, trying to figure out exactly when he’d lost control of his orderly world. No. That wasn’t true. He knew exactly when it had started—Maureen Reynolds’s death. She’d written to him when he’d been in the hospital after the shooting, giving him a bit of sunshine when he’d needed it most. He’d always liked her, and she’d been one of those people who seemed larger than life—immortal and undefeatable—so her passing had rocked him harder than he’d expected. Of course, the fact he’d lost his own mom to cancer when he’d been fifteen didn’t help, either.

His fingertips tingled as he held his key to this place. He was thankful to Maureen—beyond grateful, really. He’d given up the lease on his place in Chicago during his stint in rehab, so inheriting this place had been a godsend. Kept him from imposing on his friends or siblings. Mark and Jack had both been through enough themselves since the shooting, and his older brother Dave and younger sister Nicole were far too busy to have Alex hanging around. Besides, he needed something to do, something to keep him busy.

So, yeah. It was all good.

Except for the part where he and Mandy would be living here together.

An analytical guy by nature, Alex liked things cut-and-dried. Clear. Concise. Sensible.

And this situation with Mandy was anything but. His anxiety bit at his heels every chance it got these days, making him moody and suspicious and far too fond of being alone.

Scowling, he rubbed his sore leg and tried to concentrate on his list again. They needed lots of stuff to get this place move-in ready, first and foremost cleaning supplies. Next, he wanted to tackle renovating the kitchen and bathrooms, then maybe work on the woodwork and plaster, restoring them both to their former glory. There were also the floors, which needed a good buffing, and the walls, which needed fresh paint. Finally, the HVAC system in the house. With winter coming soon, he wanted to make sure the old boiler was replaced. In fact, he’d already called a guy to come out and look at it this afternoon.

He set his pen aside and scrubbed a hand over his face, his mind wandering back to his earlier encounter with Mandy. He’d missed her at the funeral, with all the people and his need to avoid the crowds, so today had been the first time he’d seen her in over a decade.

Back in the day, she’d been a starry-eyed teenager, mooning over him when he’d been home on college break. Now she was twenty-eight and a professional actress. She was prettier than he remembered. More confident, too. She hadn’t backed down an inch, and he respected that, even if he didn’t like the fact she wanted to sell the place.

He considered this his home now, and he planned to keep it that way. Planned to restore the place to its former glory and prove once and for all he was capable of getting by on his own, without help from his dad or anyone else. He didn’t need his father’s money or his judgment or crap opinions where his anxiety and PTSD were concerned.

List done, he got on his laptop and checked his savings account. The sum there had gone down steadily due to his extended hotel stay here in town, but he’d still socked away enough to live on and pay for the new boiler as well as start the renovations. Not enough to buy Mandy out, but he’d get there. It might take longer than he wanted, but he’d get there.

Once this house was done, then maybe he’d start freelancing. He’d minored in architecture at Northwestern, after all, and he missed working. Home remodeling was all the rage these days, too, and this place would start a nice portfolio of his work. Building and restoring things was his first love, and he could run his business from home, which would help him manage his anxiety. In fact, he’d already picked a room upstairs for his office. The corner one with the big windows. Lots of natural light.

Mandy went back to her sister’s house shortly after Mr. Pickett had left, so Alex had the place to himself for now. He’d considered staying here tonight, but his storage pod wouldn’t be delivered until tomorrow, so it was one more night in a hotel for him.

After checking his watch, he got up and made his way down the hall toward the foyer. The HVAC guy should arrive soon, and he wanted to be ready. Along the way, he stopped to admire the battered wainscoting in the hall, still covered by layers of paint and stain from the previous tenants. Still, he saw beyond it to the gems beneath, just waiting to be uncovered.

At the front windows, he peeked outside. It wasn’t quite five yet, but dusk had already started to settle. A box truck pulled up near the curb and a squat man wearing a gray knit skullcap headed for the porch. Alex answered before the bell rang.

The man extended his hand, his accent straight out of the Bronx. “How you doin’? Skip Marshall, QR Contracting.”

Alex led the guy down the hallway toward the basement door. “I checked the boiler and looks like it was installed within the last twenty years, though the house is much older.”

“You know somethin’ ’bout HVAC?”

“I grew up around construction.”

“Any relation to those bigwigs up in Chicago?” Skip followed Alex down the wooden stairs to the unfinished basement.

His chest tightened at the reminder of his father, and Alex ignored the question. “I’m thinking of upgrading to forced hot water with multi-zone capability. Want to keep the current radiators, though, to cut some expense.”

“Sure, sure.” Skip pulled out a small notepad. “Cut expenses. Yep.”

“No sacrificing quality, though.”

“Understood.” Skip yanked out a tape measure, and Alex crossed his arms and watched the man work.

“You said you’ll get a discount on the new boiler if you order it direct?” he asked.

“Yep.” Skip looked around the space then stared up at the wooden joists. “I’ll get you a good deal, no problem. Those oak?”

“Solid.”

They went back upstairs, and Skip thumped Alex on the shoulder. He tensed under the unwelcome contact. “Okay, buddy. Got a pretty good idea what needs to be done. I’ll write you up an estimate and email it this afternoon. Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

Alex stood in the front parlor after the guy left, an air of possibility swirling around him. He’d been here less than a day, yet he already felt connected to this place. Like it was a new beginning. Like if he could rehab this house, then maybe—just maybe—there was a chance he might be able to fix the damage to his life, too.

He’d turned to head back toward the kitchen then halted as a car backfired outside. Loud noises were his kryptonite. Before he could shake it off, his pulse tripped and his throat constricted. Just like that he was back in front of the courthouse, lying face down on the pavement as the bullets flew. He placed his hand on the fireplace mantel for support, his knees tingling and his temples throbbing.

Not gunfire. Not bullets.

He repeated the words over and over again in his head, but the stress and panic blasted through his composure like shrapnel.

Bile rose hot in his throat, and his face blazed.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Alex focused on the ceiling’s wedding cake plaster design until the shadows receded and his equilibrium returned. Inhaling was painful but he sucked in oxygen anyway to keep calm. The trembling took longer to stop, probably because of his unfamiliar surroundings, but eventually his limbs steadied.

He returned to the kitchen for a glass of water then sat at the table again. The sun set. The air grew colder. An hour passed without him noticing, until a knock on the front door jarred him from his daze.

“Hey Lex,” his friends called. “Ride’s here.”

He went back to the foyer to let Mark and Jack inside.

“So, this is the place, huh?” Mark stepped across the threshold first, looking around. With his hipster glasses and geektastic wardrobe, he’d always reminded Alex of Taye Diggs. “Wow. This is… Wow.”

Alex knew BS when he heard it and shook his head. “It needs some work, but I’m ready.”

“Yeah?” Jack moved in beside Mark with a low whistle. At six-four and two-hundred-eighty pounds, he looked more like a linebacker than a tax man. “I can help, too, if you want.”

“I appreciate the offer.” Alex shut the door. “Let me just do a quick walkthrough of the house and make sure everything’s locked up and turned off, then we can go. I’ll give you guys a full tour later.”

“No problem,” Mark called from downstairs as Alex headed to the second floor.

After checking the place and grabbing his coat, Alex locked up the place for the night then followed his friends to Jack’s old Chevy pickup parked at the curb, cramming onto the bench seat beside Mark.

As they nosed out into traffic, Alex peered back at his new home one more time. His mind flashed back to Mandy—playing games with her and his siblings during the holidays when they’d been younger, her bright smile when he’d let her win at trivia. They’d gotten along fine back then, so why did things have to be so difficult now? It wasn’t just his anxiety. It was the fact she wanted to sell the house out from under him.

Friday night meant groups of town locals clustered on the sidewalks, heading to neighborhood pubs to kick off their weekend. Heavenly Falls hadn’t changed much since he’d lived here before college. Small-town feel, small-town issues. Vacant manufacturing plants, lots of strip malls, a downtown desperate to rebuild and rebrand. Before the shooting, he’d visited once or twice for work, but he’d never imagined he’d call this place home again.

Of course, he’d never imagined having his future obliterated by one fateful shot, either.

Jack swerved up to the front of the hotel a few minutes later. “You need me to pick you up in the morning?”

“Nah. It’s Saturday. Sleep in. I’ll take the hotel shuttle back to the house. I could use your help at the house in the afternoon, though, if you’re free.” Alex climbed out, careful to keep his weight on his good leg. “They’re delivering my things tomorrow.”

“You got it,” Jack said, smiling.

“Sorry, but I can’t make it,” Mark said as he scooted over to fill Alex’s vacant seat. “Pulling overtime in the city for a new case. I’ll see you on Sunday, though.”

“Great. Thanks again guys.”

The truck pulled away, and Alex watched the red glow of the taillights disappear into the darkness. With a sigh, he went inside, scanning the area for any suspicious-looking people. Being out in the open made him feel vulnerable. When he’d been a criminal investigator for the IRS, he’d jokingly called himself an Avenger of the tax world.

Alex wasn’t feeling so heroic these days.

He headed to the elevators, his senses hyper-alert. The bell dinged and the doors opened. People boarded, including a couple with a stroller. Coos from their baby filled the tight confines. Alex shuffled his feet, restlessness buzzing inside him.

They arrived at the second floor, and Alex bolted the few short paces to his handicapped-accessible room. He hadn’t requested any special accommodations and hated the stupid blue sign outside his door, but the front desk had seen his limp and stuck him in here anyway. Exhausted, he took a long shower then climbed between the sheets, pulling the duvet up to his chin.

In a few more hours, he could get back to the house, start working on the renovations, create a new home and a new life and a new future on his own terms.