Chapter Three

Stephanie sat in her older sister’s driveway at nine the next morning, scanning the quiet street for anything suspicious over the top of her sunglasses. There were no semi-hidden camera crews parked along the curb, and no one seemed to have followed her from the inn. So why did it feel like a giant claw was trying to squeeze the air right out of her chest?

She exhaled in a huff and mentally scolded herself for being so paranoid, especially this far from the Florida media scene. Paranoia would only exacerbate her anxiety attacks, and if she wanted any chance at landing this job, those had to go. Like, completely.

Her gaze shifted to the dozen or so steps that separated the driveway from the front door, and that claw squeezed a wee bit tighter.

If only I had a little more time…

No. No more time. She’d already wasted six months sitting inside, hiding from the world and licking her wounds. Enough with the scaredy-cat routine—it was time to go back to her roots, be the woman who’d take on the world from dusk to dawn, public opinion be darned.

Too bad her frayed nerves weren’t on the same page with that line of thinking just yet.

Stephanie pushed her sunglasses back into place, tugged her MSU cap lower, and stepped from the car. Her sister’s two-story colonial loomed before her, looking nearly identical to the way it had every other time she’d seen it over the last fifteen years. Sure, the gray on the garage door’s wood trim might be a shade darker now, and there might have been a slightly different arrangement of annuals in the front flowerbeds, but beyond that everything else had stayed the same. A symbol of the consistency Rebecka and Joe had forged in their middle-class family in their middle-class neighborhood.

Stephanie had had consistency once, too. Or at least, she thought she had. But that’d been before “The PGA Kiss”…

“Aunt Fannie! Aunt Fannie! You’re home!”

The first natural smile she’d felt in months tugged at her lips as the curly-haired whirlwind known as Macy appeared at the front door and then tore across the lawn toward her. Stephanie chanced a look left and right but saw no cameras appear as she knelt to receive the little spitfire like a shortstop fielding a low hit.

“Hi, baby doll.” She swept her four-year-old niece up into a bear hug. “Lord, how you’ve grown since the last time I saw you!”

“Are you feeling better, Aunt Fannie?” Macy whispered as she squirmed away. Hugs with that child never lasted long.

“Feeling better?”

Macy nodded. “Mama said your heart was broken and that uncle Liam was…”

“Uncle Liam was what?”

Macy leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “I can’t tell you, or Mama will take away SpongeBob for a whole week.”

Then without warning, Macy shifted and kissed Stephanie’s chest where her heart was. “There, Aunt Fannie. I kissed you all better.”

“Um, thanks, Punkin.” Stephanie rose to her feet and patted the tike’s head.

“Mama says kisses fix everything.”

Yeah, she used to feed me that line all the time, too.

“Where is your mama, anyway?”

“Inside, baking your favorite cooki—” Macy gasped and her eyes grew round as saucers. “Don’t tell, Aunt Fannie. It was supposed to be a ‘sprize.”

Stephanie laughed. “I promise, I won’t tell.”

“Yay!”

Macy grabbed her hand and dragged her forward, away from the rental and what baggage she’d intentionally left in it for a planned overnight mini-trip. Stephanie wished she could leave her mental baggage in the car as well. Too bad it seemed to be permanently engrained in her head these days.

Though the clutter in her mind had stepped aside to make room for more ever since she’d bumped into Miles yesterday. A nice change, as he had consumed her thoughts instead of Liam for most of the drive over here to East Lansing. Reliving fond memories of a more innocent time, when wading in the shallow end of the pond hunting for crawdads with the Masterson boys took priority over nearly everything else. How she and Miles would do the laughing and splashing while Brent did the dirty work.

But Miles hadn’t looked like a boy at all last night, not with that five o’clock shadow and cocky grin. Dang it, why hadn’t he been the one to sweep her off her feet instead of Liam? Then again, Miles would have likely dropped her much sooner than her actual ex had. He was the definition of a playboy.

A chorus of “Hi, Aunt Stephanie” rang out as she followed Macy inside, pushing Miles from her thoughts. Stephanie shook her head at how much her other two nieces had changed since she’d seen them last. Samantha and Emma were dressed in soccer uniforms but still looking rather bleary-eyed for this early on a Saturday. Both were tall for their ages of nine and thirteen, but not too tall for Stephanie to wrap them each in a quick bear hug as well. They placated her then retreated to their rooms with Macy hot on their trails. She watched them go, then turned back to accept a hug from her favorite—and so far, only—brother-in-law, Joe.

“Hey, Steph. How you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Y’all worry too much.”

He threw her a look that said he didn’t believe her, then kissed her forehead. “Want me to beat Liam up for you? Sprain his wrist to knock him out of a few tournaments?”

She chuckled. “As appealing as that may be, I’m going to pass on your offer. Jail doesn’t sound like a good place for you to spend the rest of the summer—the fam would miss you too much.”

“Who says I’d get caught?” Joe waggled his brows.

Stephanie shook her head and laughed. “So, where’s my big, bossy sister?”

“I heard that!”

Stephanie looked toward the kitchen then back to Joe. “I thought a person’s hearing was supposed to get worse as they got older?”

“Pfft,” he said. “This is Becka we’re talking about.”

“Right. I should know better. She was born with mommy ears.”

“Yes,” her sister said as she stepped into view, then crossed the room to pull Stephanie into a tight hug. “You should.”

Stephanie melted into her older sister’s embrace and felt a wave of emotion wash over her. It’d been far too long since she’d come home. Stephanie was the middle child, the “I can do anything you can do but better” one. To break down would have brought an onslaught of questions, ones she wasn’t ready to answer…or even had the answers to. So she’d stayed away. “Hiya, sis.”

“You feel too skinny. Tell me you haven’t stopped eating.”

Stephanie laughed and pulled back. “If anything, I’m eating more than ever. Started exercising again, it’s boosted my metabolism.”

“Exercise? Like what, mall walking?” Joe took a few quick steps to move beyond her reach.

“Funny, big guy. No, like jogging and free weights.”

“Free weights? Oh my God, this is more serious than I thought. Joe, get the cookies. Stat.”

“Both of you, stop.” Stephanie laughed. “I’m just trying some different things lately. Trying to be my own person, yadda yadda yadda.”

“Sounds like someone’s spent some time on a psychiatrist’s couch,” muttered Joe as he sank into his favorite recliner and turned his attention back to ESPN.

“Hush,” his wife chided. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is,” Joe said. “Rip off artists, all of ‘em.”

Rebecka rolled her eyes and took Stephanie by the arm. “Don’t listen to him,” she said as she led Stephanie toward the kitchen. “He goes, he just doesn’t like what they have to say.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. Minor case of PTSD.”

Stephanie slid into her favorite barstool at Rebecka’s kitchen island. “PTSD? When did that start?”

“I don’t know. Christmas-time, maybe? Apparently twenty years of running into burning buildings instead of away from them can do that to a guy.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Rebecka shrugged. “You had enough going on.”

“I’m not a china doll, Becka. You shouldn’t have to go through this on your own.”

“Neither should you.”

Their gazes locked for a moment before Stephanie looked away. “I’m not. Therapy, remember?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t say it in front of Joe, but I’m going to have to call baloney on that.” Rebecka slid a plate of freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies between them. “That redefining yourself line was straight out of a recent Dr. Phil episode.”

“He’s a heck of a lot cheaper than a shrink.” Stephanie ignored the dark look Rebecka threw at her. “Besides, I carved out some time in my trip to come up and spend time with you. And if anyone can make it all better, it’s my big sis. Just, uh, don’t try to heal my heart by kissing my chest like your youngest, all right?”

A look of half-horror, half-shock crossed Rebecka’s face. “Did Macy—” She groaned. “That girl’s going to be the end of me.”

“No worries. Heck, it’s the most action I’ve had in months.”

“Okay, now that was more information than I needed to know.”

Stephanie leveled a knowing look at her sister. “Like that wasn’t going to eventually come up.”

“Pleading the fifth, here. Pleading the fifth.”

Rebecka produced two glasses from the cupboard, then went to the refrigerator to fish out a gallon of milk. Stephanie snatched a cookie from the plate, savored the warmth on her fingers, and then gobbled up half of it in one bite.

“Oooh!” she said, mouth hanging open as she fanned her burning tongue.

Rebecka slid a glass of milk toward her with a scowl, which Stephanie also ignored. She chugged it, the cold instantly soothing the burn. Oh, but she’d scorched her tongue good. Not that she cared—it wasn’t like her tongue had any big plans in the near future.

An image of Miles popped into her mind, and she instantly pushed it away. He was a really good friend once upon a time, that’s all. And the last thing in the world she needed right now was a man, especially of the playboy variety. She slid her empty glass forward for a refill.

“It’s good to see you, you know, finally out and about again,” Becka said. “I was beginning to think you’d planned on hiding at home the rest of your life.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not quiet ready to get up on stage and do a dance routine or anything. Between the plane ride and rental car pickup, this trip has taken its toll on me.”

Her older sister’s voice softened. “You can’t hide from the general population forever, sis.”

“Watch me.”

“Oh, Steph.”

And there it was—the sound of pity in her sister’s voice. She knew it would come out eventually. But knowing and actually hearing it were two entirely different things. Resentment welled in her tightening chest.

Poor Steph, can’t keep a husband. Poor Steph, had to find out the hard way. Poor Steph, her life is over…

But her life wasn’t over, darn it, and she sure as heck didn’t want anyone’s pity. “Look, I’m fine, all rig—”

“Mama?”

Macy came skipping into the kitchen. She’d changed into one of her many dress-up costumes. Cinderella appeared to be her Disney princess of choice today, and in typical Macy style, she’d accessorized with a glittery lavender tiara perched atop her curly red hair and at least a million plastic bracelets adorning each wrist and forearm.

Rebecka’s voice instantly reverted back to loving mother mode. “Yes, sweetheart?”

Macy danced forward to trot in an innocent yet pleading circle around Stephanie. “Can Aunt Fannie come and play with me?”

“Do I have to be Prince Charming and save you from some horrible monster?” Stephanie asked.

Her niece looked at her like she’d just said the sky was red. “No, you’re not a boy. You can be Snow White. Or Ariel!” She reached up and took hold of Stephanie’s hand, then gave it a solid tug toward the hall. “Come on, come on—it’s time to play with me!”

Stephanie grinned. She could use a little time in fairy tale land, since her own had spontaneously combusted. That, and this would be far more fun than the discussion Rebecka was starting to stir up. So she slid out of her seat and threw her sister a shrug. “You heard the princess.”

Rebecka folded both arms across her chest with a smirk. “Fine, we’ll talk more later. We’re leaving for soccer in about an hour, then we’ll come back here for dinner. Joe’s grilling out, and I have plenty of wine on hand to help loosen those lips.”

Oh Lord, not wine. Stephanie had a weakness for the drink, especially a sweet Moscato. And with enough wine came rambling confessions, as her older sister clearly remembered. Though, Stephanie didn’t know which confession might be the most damaging—how difficult it’d been to keep her family at arms’ length while she tried to pull herself out of the divorce darkness, or how Miles had been on her mind since colliding with him yesterday. Scared to speak of either, Stephanie made a mental note to keep her alcohol consumption to a minimum tonight. She was here to relax, to willingly collapse into her family’s safety net, not stress out about the men in her life—past or, well, farther past. And that’s the way it was going to stay.

“You’re evil,” she whispered as an impatient Macy began towing her away.

Rebecka just laughed in an evil, older sister kind of way. “I know.”

…

Miles headed out the door and down his long winding driveway, mentally gearing up for his morning run. Thanks to a string of wicked storms that rolled through last night, the ground before him was covered in downed twigs, monster puddles, and worms. Huge, nasty worms. Perfect for fishing, not so good for traction. Today’s run would no doubt be a messy obstacle course, but a much more serious question remained—would this family outing be one of his last?

Miles had invented the Saturday morning tradition years ago to keep Brent from backsliding into depression after losing his parents in a tragic plane crash. As an added bonus, the outings came in handy many a time to give Miles an excuse for slipping out of his Friday night fling’s bed. Kayla was a runner as well, and when she’d traded Fort Wayne, Indiana for Mount Pleasant earlier this summer, she’d quickly joined in on their weekend runs.

Sure, he could have resented her intrusion on guy time or complained that her strides were far shorter than theirs and often slowed their pace. Instead he’d grown to look forward to their trio time, and not just because Kayla had somehow brought his moody cousin back to life—Miles and Kayla had settled into an easy, sibling-like companionship soon after her appearance at the inn. She’d grown up with a younger brother, one she joked with quite often, and the two were still really close. That meant Kayla had no problem giving Miles grief, and he’d quickly learned to dish it right back.

Just like he used to do with Stephanie.

“Was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it.”

Miles looked up from Wormfest to find Brent beside his mailbox, stretching.

“Uh, yeah, late night. Where’s your other half?”

“Home in bed. Said she pulled a muscle at the inn yesterday, didn’t want to aggravate it.”

A tiny spark of jealousy flared through Miles. He wished someone was waiting in bed for him to return, all cozy and warm under the covers. After the disaster that was his date last night, it wasn’t happening anytime soon. He stepped into a lunge and held it.

“Bummer. Must have been from trying to tame those damned thistles by the porch. I swear we’ll never get rid of those things.”

“Actually, she said she did it in Ruby’s office of all places. No idea what she could have done in there to tweak her back.”

Miles straightened then stretched his other leg. “Right.”

Brent shook his head. “Tell me about this early check-in you logged last night. Kayla was surprised to see your name in the system. Said you usually ring for someone else to do it instead. Which means whoever it was, she must have been quite the looker.” His cousin flashed him a knowing grin.

Usually, Miles would match it with one of his own. Today, he couldn’t do it. Not when the encounter with that particular woman had plagued his every thought since—including while he was out with Amber last night.

He’d really looked forward to dinner with the news reporter, even after being distracted by Freddie’s call and the possibilities with this new job. She was cute, smart, witty… But Stephanie’s reappearance had overshadowed their evening before it’d even begun. The first time he’d accidentally called Amber “Steph” she laughed it off; the second time she threatened to call a cab. And while he promised it was a harmless mistake, Miles had still struggled to keep his attention on Amber.

He scowled and stepped deeper into his stretch, focusing on the burn in his muscles rather than his dating faux pas.

“What, you’re not gonna spill?”

“It was Stephanie.”

“Stephanie?” Brent’s eyes widened. “As in the Stephanie?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t she and Liam—”

“Yes.”

“So, that means she’s…”

Single.

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Brent ran a hand over the back of his neck. “You actually going to man up and ask her out this time?”

“No.”

“What? Are you kidding me? The one who got away shows up here, single for Christ’s sake, and you’re just going to sit back and do nothing?”

“Yep.”

Miles shifted his gaze to the Checkerberry, its sprawling green lawn and pale yellow structure set just across the street from his property. It was good that she was away visiting Becka today. Safer.

Since the moment he realized it was her, something inside had started nagging at him, memories intent to percolate to the surface of his mind. Now he couldn’t get her out of his head. All their time spent together during summer breaks in high school, in grade school, it’d been so…easy. There was never worry that he shouldn’t say this, or that she’d get mad at him if he did that. What he’d had with Stephanie had been, well, similar to what Brent had now with Kayla. Without the romance.

But now, seeing Stephanie here again, he found himself missing the closeness they used to share. And it scared the hell out of him. Because a relationship like Brent and Kayla’s—one ruled blindly by love—couldn’t last. He’d seen it with his parents, had seen it go up in flames for Brent with his first fiancée, Nikki. Even Stephanie hadn’t been able to escape love’s untimely demise with Liam. No, it was best to avoid that crazy, all-consuming stuff because it always seemed to end with someone’s heart getting torn to shreds.

Besides, her life was in Florida. And his? Well, his was up in the air. Now was the time to keep his eyes on the future, not dwell on the past. Or the present. He shifted his gaze back to a smirking Brent who had started making chicken noises.

“Come on, Brent. She’s fresh off a divorce, and I’m”—hopefully moving—“no psychiatrist. She needs time to heal, to rebuild her confidence. Besides, even if I wanted to ask her out, I don’t think she’d say yes. She’s not too happy with me.”

“Can’t say that I blame her for being mad. She put out the effort to keep in touch after the wedding. You didn’t. Though, it was probably best that way.” Brent turned toward the Checkerberry. “But you know, if she didn’t still care about you, she wouldn’t be so mad.”

Miles just shrugged and started for the road. Better to do that than get into a full-blown argument over feelings and emotions on guy time. Or do something even more stupid, like let Brent’s observation put a chink in the armor around Miles’s well-guarded heart.