THE NEXT MORNING, Evie and I sipped our coffee and grazed on pastries while the morning news droned on in the background. I was relaxed, having slept better last night than I had in years. She was looking at the calendar and apologizing for how heavy the workload was going to be today. We had to turn over nine of the twelve rentable cottages.
“Thank God you’re helping me,” she said. “I’m definitely going to pay you.”
“No, you are not.”
“It’s going to take all day.”
“It’s fine. I have nowhere to be.”
“You don’t need to spend your vacation working every day and not getting paid for it.”
“Evie, it’s fine. I want to do it. I kind of enjoyed yesterday.”
She gave me a weird look. “You need help.”
“That’s exactly what I’m here for.”
She looked sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
I laughed and waved my hand. “I just meant that the work distracts my mind from all the nonsense in my life. It’s nice. And now that I know what the cleaning consists of, I’ll move a little faster.”
Then a familiar sound from the TV stole my attention. I stood up to get a closer look, Evie following. There was Thompson, front and center outside the state building, microphones in his face. I grabbed the remote and turned the volume up.
“. . . taking a little well-deserved sabbatical. Jimmy will be watching out for our city in the meantime. I and the council have placed a lot of trust in Jimmy, and he’s done some great work in our neighboring cities. We’re excited to welcome him to Chicago.”
Then, there was Jimmy standing next to him, where I had never once stood.
“I’m so happy to be serving the Windy City, the Second City. And rest assured, under my watch, it will never need to be a Third City.”
Thompson cringed at his reference to the Great Fire that burned most of the city over a century ago. The kid needed a lesson in tact. This was the guy who was supposed to calm fears and gain trust better than me?
“You a fan of the supers?” Evie asked, and I jumped at her proximity.
“No,” I answered quickly. She stared at me curiously before looking back at the TV.
“He’s cute.”
“He’s too young,” I said without thought.
“Oh, right—you work with the city; you probably know him.”
I grunted. “We’ve met.”
“What happened to the other one, the lady hero they had before?”
“Not sure,” I responded as Thompson presented Jimmy’s short history as something admirable, something that qualified him, when it was anything but.
“I wish we had a real lady super, like the female version of the super in New York. You know, the one who looks like Captain America and Thor’s love child.”
My hackles went up. “You mean like the one we do have.”
“Well, yeah,” she responded, not sensing my ruffled feathers, “but like one who really flaunts it. You know—one we can look up to and emulate. Someone with a little attitude, like a lady Iron Man or something.”
“The Chicago Bird has a record of twenty-seven saves last year alone,” I said.
“Oh my God, is she your friend? Sorry. I just meant that she’s like a ghost hero—you never see or hear from her. She’s got a shitty reputation, wears that terrible mask. Does she even have PR? I don’t know. I mean, what’s she really like?”
I wanted to argue that she was strong and powerful and someone who was all those things Evie said she wished the city had. But I couldn’t, because she was right. The Chicago Bird was a ghost.
“She’s pretty much like she seems,” I mumbled. “Let’s get rolling on these cottages.”
WALKING INTO THE LAST COTTAGE of the day, we both groaned. It was a doozy.
“Well, someone had some fun in here,” I winced. The microwave hung open, obliterated from some kind of food explosion. The sunset painting had spots on it, wine maybe. No dishes had been washed, and the house was so full of sand we could have used a shovel to remove it.
“Ugh. Come on, people,” Evie groaned as we entered.
We got to work, and I got lost in Evie’s voice in the background, as she talked more than she was silent. But I welcomed it. She kept my mind off Chicago, the city council, Jimmy the Jughead, and what kind of trouble he was going to find himself in because he acted before he thought. I hoped that whatever it was, it was nothing that couldn’t be undone.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Birdie,” she said as she removed her head from behind the open microwave door, tossing her rubber gloves into the sink.
I smiled. “I’m not doing the bathroom.”
“I wasn’t going to ask that,” she said.
“Weren’t you?”
“Okay, maybe I was, but I hate doing bathrooms.”
“I did the last eight—this one’s yours.”
She huffed and walked down the hall, spray bottle and rags in hand. “We might just want to burn this one down and start over,” she called from the door, and I laughed.
“Eww, gross! I’m going to need more Clorox!” she continued. “Like six bottles maybe.”
Her head popped out of the bathroom. “I’m actually out. Could you go get some more?”
“Gladly,” I said and set the window cleaner aside.
“It’s in Aiden’s workshop, in the back. It’s that big outbuilding in the trees behind the cottages.”
I’d seen the building. “Okay, be right back.”
I dropped my rags on the end table and walked behind the cottages to the enormous green shed that sat behind a row of skyrocket juniper and birch trees lining the area behind the cottages, hiding the building from the obvious view of the guests.
The oversized door squeaked as I pulled it open and stepped inside, letting it close behind me. Looking around, I saw no cleaning supplies, but something much more interesting.
It was full of furniture—a few tables, chairs, a bed frame. An oversized chair made of exposed knotted wood sat next to where I stood. The natural gaps in the wood were filled with color, giving it the appearance of a deep blue river flowing. It was smooth to the touch and the most beautiful contrast of color and wood I’d ever seen.
My eyes darted all over the shed, trying to find similar styles. There was so much, but from what I could see, nothing was quite like this chair.
I sat down and leaned back. As I ran my hands along the sculpted arms of the chair, the blue dissolving into green at the ends, it was heaven. I closed my eyes, picturing myself sitting in front of Evie’s cottage, an old woman with a book in hand, enjoying the lake breeze and summer sun on my face, all in this perfect chair.
“You break it, you buy it.”
I opened my eyes to find Aiden walking around the corner, coming to stand a few feet away at a nearby table, where he began clamping a piece of wood. I stood up, watching him adjust the vise until the piece was snug.
“Sorry. It looked finished.”
“It is,” he replied without looking my way.
“Did you make it?”
“I did,” he said and moved to the other side of the table, glancing at me before returning his attention to whatever it was he was doing.
“It’s beautiful. Everything in here is amazing. Like really amazing.”
He grunted, clamping the wood from the other side.
“How did you get the color in there? It looks so natural—it reminds me of driftwood,” I said, once again eyeing the lines of the chair.
Aiden stopped what he was doing. “It’s eighteen hundred dollars.”
I jerked my head back to his. “Really? I mean, it certainly looks like it could sell for that much. How long did it take you to make it?”
“A week.”
“It’s perfect,” I whispered as I looked at it once again, getting lost in the lines. “I hope it goes to a good home.”
“Do you need something?” he said, suddenly standing in front of the worktable, closer to me, and bending to pick up a bucket. “Or do you just make a habit of trespassing?”
I stepped back. “Right.” Guess he still hadn’t warmed up to me one bit. “I’m looking for cleaning supplies.”
He turned away without another glance in my direction. “Other side of the shed. Walk around from the outside.”
“Okay. Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on your solitary man time,” I said, not feeling sorry at all. But I wanted to stay here for the summer, and I wouldn’t make it if Aiden continued to look at me with this level of contempt. “Have I done something major to make you dislike me?” I blurted out. “I mean, other than that first encounter.”
He took a rag from his pocket and wiped his face. “I don’t know you well enough to feel any way about you. And I don’t plan on it. You’re Evie’s guest. I’ll stay out of your way; you stay out of mine.”
“I think it’s going to be impossible for us to completely avoid each other,” I said, and he grunted. “How about I’ll try to stay out of your way more than in it, out of your workshop, and in exchange, you try to be a tolerable human being, instead of a tactless tyrant?”
“Excuse me?” he said, finally giving me his full attention.
“You are being an ogre. I don’t believe it’s warranted,” I told him, but then thought back to my own behavior when we first met. “You caught me on a bad day, okay? I was rude, but I’m trying to be nice . . . or at least civil, because I’m staying at your place, even though I am working to pay my way. Maybe just cut me some slack?”
He stared at me, his cheek twitching. I was waiting for him to step up, yell at me, tell me to get lost. But he turned and walked back to his table, and I assumed the conversation was over. I was about to turn and walk away when he said, “Why do I get the feeling that you’ve never been nice?”
My shoulders lifted and fell. “I can be nice.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure you can.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Give it a try and say something nice. Now. Say something nice to me. About me.”
What? That’s weird. “Okay. You have an awesome sister.”
He huffed. “Try again.”
“Your cottages are quite lovely.”
“True. But that’s too easy and not so much about me personally.” He smiled. “You can’t do it, can you?”
“Why do I have to say it? You say something nice to me first. How about you apologize for being so rude before?”
“Fine.” He dusted his hands off on the rag and set it down before rounding the table, coming to stand in front of me. “I’m sorry you took my sister out and got her so drunk she was sick for two days. She’s . . . fragile. If you’re going to spend time with her, you need to leave your bad habits at home. Apology accepted?”
“That wasn’t . . . it wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . . I wasn’t paying attention, okay.” I paused, getting the sense that he really was simply concerned for his sister. I couldn’t totally hate him for that, so I relented. “She’s an adult and can make her own decisions. That said, it won’t happen again on my watch.”
“Good,” he said, waiting for me to leave.
“Something nice about me,” I reminded him, unmoving, my body highly aware of how close he stood.
He nodded, pushing his hands into his jeans as through he needed to contain them. His eyes went dark, his mouth too close to my own as he leaned in. I held my breath and my pulse picked up. There was something about his directness, his lack of tact or propriety, that excited me, made me eager to hear what he’d say next. What I initially took as rude seemed more like complete and total honesty, unpackaged and unfiltered. My job always had me so focused on keeping my mouth shut, on maintaining public niceties. Come to think of it, so had my mother. And so had . . . But I didn’t want to think of them right then. In any case, no one wanted to hear what I had to say, and no one spoke to me honestly. Aiden’s blatancy—his inability to smother his thoughts in false fluff—clearly garnered a reaction from a part of me that hadn’t reacted to much in several years. Aiden Anders was just the right amount of asshole, and I was apparently thrilled by it. My mother would be shocked.
“You have the most gorgeous plumber’s crack I’ve ever seen.”
My jaw went slack, and he laughed. I failed to contain my blush. “Ugh.” I struggled for words, and he was still laughing. “Seriously?”
“What?” He threw his hands out. “That was nice.”
I glowered at him. “Fine. Good. Glad we’re friends now,” I said, before walking out the door, not giving him a chance to respond.
I HADN’T HEARD FROM THOMPSON. Part of me had expected a call with some kind of emergency. Not getting the call was messing with my head. Was I that easily replaceable? Despite settling into a routine with Evie, my unknown future kept me on edge. A part of me wanted to put my mask on and head back to the city, follow Jimmy around like some kind of babysitter. But that was going backward, and I was here to move forward, to find out something about myself that wasn’t wrapped up in being the Chicago Bird. I was here for Birdie, whoever that was anymore.
I leaned back in one of the two Adirondack chairs that adorned every cottage’s front porch, knowing now that they were created in the shop behind the trees.
“Your brother hates me,” I said.
“What?” Evie replied from the chair opposite mine, glass of tea in hand, a bowl of popcorn between us, our stomachs content from the pork tacos we’d whipped up. “No, he doesn’t.”
“I’m pretty sure he prefers I not be here.”
She sat back and took a sip. “Well, Aiden’s always been a bit strange with people.”
“He hates them?”
She laughed. “No. And he doesn’t hate you. He’s just . . . slow to trust. What did he say?”
I thought about our last meeting. “It’s not so much what he says. It’s his general air of superiority, like I’m an irritating fly at his picnic.”
She smiled before her expression turned serious. “Well, Aiden has always been blunt about everything. Mom was always patient about it, but it got him in trouble a lot as a kid, especially in school. He’s not capable of subtlety, and he’s not afraid to say exactly what comes to mind, no matter the topic—kind of like someone else I’ve recently met?”
I raised my brows and pointed at myself in question, and she chuckled. “Also, serious ego on my brother. But he’s not usually so obvious about it.” She scrunched her face. “I think this might be all my fault.”
“How so?”
“The day I met you, I’d asked Aiden to see Doctor Evans with me because he’s over-the-top protective. I left the appointment early so they could talk alone—I waited outside and chatted with that group. I’m assuming Evans discussed with him ways to be protective that weren’t so smothering, or something like that. I’m not sure what all was said between them, but he came out pissed and left me there, and then I found you and proceeded to get very drunk, and well . . .”
So that’s what Aiden was doing with Evans. That’s why he walked out ready for a fight.
What was my excuse?
“What business of it is his, your life?”
She tapped her glass with her fingernails. “He worries.”
“That’s sweet, but it’s still none of his business. You’re an adult.”
“Well, I’m not supposed to drink that much.”
“No one is, Evie. Still doesn’t give him the right—”
“I’m in remission,” she blurted.
I sat up.
“Breast cancer. I was diagnosed a few years ago, and I’ve been in remission a while, but he worries about me and my health.”
“Evie. I’m sorry.”
“Why? Don’t be. The thing is, Birdie, I’m tired of being treated like a cancer patient and a child. I’m better. I want to live a normal life. I’ve been staying home and not putting anything but healthy food in my body. I’m still living like a cancer patient. I feel like you are exactly what I need to get back to living a real life.” She grabbed a handful of popcorn and filled her mouth.
Was I corrupting this sweet woman? “Me?”
“Yeah,” she said, swallowing the popcorn. “Seems to me we are both looking for something. We can help each other.”
The instinct to argue was squashed by the realization that she wasn’t wrong. I needed a life, and maybe with her, for eleven weeks, I could have a semblance of one.
“Why did you kidnap me, anyway?”
She laughed. “I didn’t kidnap you.”
She shook her head like I was ridiculous and took a sip of her tea. “You want to know why I approached you?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t have girlfriends. No friends, really. A long battle with cancer and moving away does that.”
I raised my brow, waiting for more.
“When I saw you, I decided we were going to be friends.”
“Oh my God, you really did kidnap me.” We both smiled. “Shit, Evie. Between the two of us, I thought you were the one that had it all figured out.”
“Ha! Nope, the opposite is true. This is going to be an interesting summer.” She leaned in for more popcorn. She tossed a kernel into her mouth, but it missed her face entirely and fell to the porch floor. “Maybe he likes you.”
“Who?” When it hit me, I guffawed. “Yeah, right.” A man like Aiden would never be interested in someone like me. I knew that from experience, and I was perfectly fine with it.
“Why not? You’re hot and single. He’s hot and single. It makes sense.”
“Have you not been listening to a word I’m saying? He hates me. And we’re not children on the playground.”
She shrugged, tucked her feet under her, and snuggled deeper into her chair. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Oh God, please don’t. The last thing I need is him thinking I complained to you that he was mean. I’ll just make myself scarce.” Or push his buttons for fun.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Please don’t say anything.”
She shrugged. “I think you should meet my ex.”
“What? No!”
After a moment of confusion, she burst out laughing, nearly spilling her tea all over herself. “Not like that—I meant platonically. Like just meet him.”
She was still laughing. “He’d like you. He was always trying to get me to call my girlfriends, but they disappeared when I needed them. Or maybe I pushed them away. Anyway, he’d like you. And we’re still trying to work things out.”
“Why’d you break up?”
“He cheated.”
“And you want him back?”
“Technically, yes, he did cheat. But there’s a lot more to it.”
I gave her a scolding look.
“I mean, if I’m being totally honest, the man withstood more from me than any person should have to. When he finally did cheat, he was heartbroken and told me about it immediately.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “But cancer wreaks havoc on the body and the mind. Especially when you have both your breasts removed at the age of twenty-seven.”
I hated that I glanced at her chest. But she puffed up and beamed. “New boobs. They look good, right? Don’t feel like the old ones, but you can’t have everything, I guess.”
Suddenly, Evie was maybe the strongest person I’d ever met.
“I struggled with the removal,” she continued. “I’d taken being female for granted. Losing my hair, then my breasts, was a blow. I didn’t handle it well. And even though I didn’t cheat, what I did to him was arguably worse. I wanted him for myself but wouldn’t let him have me. I made him feel bad for not loving me when it was me who didn’t love me. I think I knew I was doing it, but I didn’t care. He stayed anyway, was loyal and took care of me, never asking for anything for himself.”
“It was his choice to cheat,” I said.
She shrugged like it wasn’t cut-and-dried. “I wanted out. I was tired of seeing him every day, knowing I was hurting him. I had nothing to give anymore—no job, no body, no sex drive, no joy. I was wallowing. I told him it was over. He left and came back the next morning and confessed what happened.”
“Oh.”
“I was relieved. It let me off the hook a bit. Maybe it wasn’t completely my fault, the death of our relationship. Anyway, that was it.” She shook her head, as though shaking back tears. “In the end, I was the one who pushed him away. I didn’t feel like a woman, didn’t want to be touched. I didn’t hear him when he said I was as beautiful now as ever. That he loved me with or without real breasts.”
“He left, though, so he didn’t really mean it.”
She quirked her head, a brief look of pity crossing her brow. This was her sad story, but she pitied me. “It was me, Birdie, not him. I was trying to come to terms with the new me. I couldn’t see myself as a sexual person anymore, and I projected that onto my husband. I was angry at life, and I made it his fault. There’s only so much rejection a person can take.” She set her empty glass down. “I filed for divorce. Used his mistake as an excuse to end things for real.”
“And then what?”
“Then . . . well, I came here to help my brother and maybe gain a little perspective. I’ve been here ever since.”
“Wow,” I said, unsure what to follow up with.
“It took a lot of time with Doctor Evans to get to where I am now. But I’m comfortable with myself. Truth is, though, I miss him. He hates himself for what happened, and he adores me. But . . .”
“But what?”
“I really miss him. But it’s not fair for me to ask him back if I can’t move forward without baggage, you know?”
“You should call him. Start making new memories. Take the next leap. It may just come naturally.”
“We talk or text every day. He wants to come here. I want him to. I’m just scared it will all fall apart.” Then she smiled mischievously. “I still think my brother likes you.”
“Ugh.” I threw some popcorn at her. “No.”
“He was engaged once, you know.”
“Really?” I didn’t like to think of Aiden engaged. “I mean, I can’t imagine that.”
“He used to have some fancy job in Texas, where we’re from. Still has it, actually. Anyway, that’s where he met her. They were both workaholics and she was exactly how you might expect—nice, smart, beautiful.”
“What happened?”
“She left him.”
“Because he’s a grumpy bastard?” I asked.
She laughed, then her face was serious. “Because he didn’t love her.”
“Oh.”
“Aiden’s always had trouble with relationships. I think he loves more deeply than most, but so far that only extends to family. I’m sure that feels lonely. Maybe that’s what makes him grumpy.”
Maybe the asshole and I did have something in common. “Is that you or him talking?”
Her face wasn’t joking anymore. “He really is the best brother. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. He’s just . . . he gives up on strangers easily, or they give up on him.”
Well, if my past experiences hadn’t sealed my disinterest in Aiden Anders, this little tidbit, he gives up easily, was enough to do it.
“Well, I never!” The words rang out from the reception booth on the other side of Aiden’s cottage. A fiftysomething woman in a beachy dress stalked across the sand, past Aiden’s cabin, and stopped in front of us. “Do you work here?”
“Yes,” Evie said, standing up. “Is there a problem?”
“That man at the reception desk was the brashest, rudest person I’ve ever come across. I’ve half a mind to post our entire exchange online,” she said with a huff. We all looked back to see Aiden exit the reception booth and walk purposefully into his cottage without a glance in our direction.
Before Evie could say anything, the woman continued. “I’m staying in cottage four. I heard that the owner made some of the furniture in the cabins. I asked him . . . ugh. It’s one thing to decline business, but only a brute would insult a potential patron.”
“Tell me what the problem is exactly. Is there something wrong with your cabin furniture?” Evie asked. She stepped into the sun, looking unfazed as she tied her loose blonde hair into a messy bun atop her head.
“Well, no. I popped in to inquire about some work I had in mind for him, and he shut me down. I described exactly what I wanted, and he went into a tirade questioning my taste and my commitment to the environment. I’m on the board of the conservation society,” she declared. “No one is more committed than me.”
“Your request wouldn’t happen to be making some kind of wooden yard gnome?”
She stood up straight. “God, no. I wanted him to make a replica of my Terrance, carved from wood.”
“Terrance?” I asked.
“My Cashmere Lop.”
Evie and I looked at each other for explanation.
“My rabbit,” she clarified with annoyance.
Evie’s hand went to her mouth in a clear attempt to hide her smile. “Ma’am, I do apologize, but Aiden, my brother, has a horrible fear of rabbits—he was attacked by one as a child. Unfortunately, he has an irrational reaction anytime anyone mentions rabbits or bunnies, or any furry woodland creature, really.”
“Oh my. A bunny attacked him, you say?”
Evie nodded. “It was rabid—it escaped from the house a few doors down from ours.”
The woman’s eyes said she was gauging the truth of the story, but she eventually seemed to accept it. “Well, that’s no reason for rudeness. He said I was an abomination to the environment, something about trees being used for function only, and not frivolous decoration. He was quite offensive.”
“I do apologize, ma’am. Do you think, in this instance, we could let this one slide, on account of a young boy nearly being mauled to death by a rabid rabbit?”
This couldn’t be true, but Evie delivered the speech with such poise.
“Would a half-price night at the cottage do the job?”
She huffed. “I’ll consider it, but an apology would go a lot further.”
“I don’t think you want that. He’s a crier, an ugly one.”
Her face twisted in disgust. “Well, I never.” She shook her head and stomped down the sand.
Once out of earshot, Evie looked back to me and tilted her head.
I smiled. “You are so full of shit.”
She shrugged.
“What was that all about?”
“Aiden has an aversion to making what he calls ‘crap’—he only makes functional items. He gets asked weekly to make some kind of lawn ornament or Nativity scene or a bald eagle or something.”
“So?”
“So, he can’t seem to keep his mouth shut about it. He must have gone off on her. Poor woman.”
“Poor Terrance,” I added.
We burst out laughing, and I sat back in my chair as I imagined all the ways I could torture him with this information later on.