“Something about living like a monk for the next season to help with his focus.”
Rhett chuckles as he bends over, and I find myself hoping he hurls. The agitation pushes me harder. As I keep going, I feel Summer’s eyes on me.
Assessing. She analyzes things way too damn closely. Sees far too much.
“You smell like tequila,” she says, clearly opting not to pile on with her fiancé.
Once I join Rhett back on the mat, huffing and puffing and wishing I were dead, he turns and grins at me. “I knew you’d never be able to keep your dick in your pants.”
Though they’re meant as a joke, his words sting. They’re also the nudge I need to get motivated, because I want my mentor’s respect. I don’t want to be the butt end of a joke or seen as the child who never grows up. I want to chase my dreams and prove to myself I can do the things I set my mind to.
I don’t want to be the one-night stand who’s used to scratch an itch. I want a woman like Winter Hamilton—beautiful, and smart, and sharp-tongued—to look at me and see a future.
7
Winter
Marina: So you quit your job, left your husband, and now won’t answer my calls?
Winter: Seems like you’ve figured out the gist all on your own.
Marina: Call me back.
Winter: The more I think about it, the less I have to say to you.
Marina: I raised you better than this. Stronger than this. More focused than this.
Winter: I can’t remember a single hug.
Marina: What?
Winter: You never hugged me. Never consoled me.
Marina: That’s what the nanny was for.
“Well, shit. It looks pretty damn good in here.” Sloane has her hands propped on her narrow hips, taking in the small house with a satisfied expression on her face.
My nod feels like a Herculean feat. For the past three weeks, I’ve experienced a whirlwind of emotions and made life-altering decisions. Because I was too bitchy to hang out with joyful people, I spent Christmas alone in a hotel, dreaming about Theo Silva running his rough hands all over my body and trying to recreate the sensation with my own.
Not that I’d ever admit that last part out loud.
But there’s something unforgettable about the way his callouses felt sliding over my skin. The way he touched me like he couldn’t get enough. His palms never stopped exploring me, worshipping me.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. It does. Look good.”
The blonde woman beside me beams with pride and I can’t help but smile back.
It sounds childish, but somehow Sloane has wiggled her way into my life in the past couple of weeks. She’s Rhett’s cousin, and she says she thinks she met me at exactly the right time. She says she needed someone like me in her life, but the thing is . . . I think I’m the one who needed her.
We’ve both faced a lot of upheaval in the short time we’ve known each other. The difference is her upheaval led her to being with her childhood crush—the hockey player who treats her like a goddess—and mine led me to giving Rob divorce papers, quitting my job at the hospital in the city, and moving into a rental house in Chestnut Springs.
Looking at Sloane now, all smiles and messy hair, I suppose it also led me to having a friend.
Possibly my only friend in a life full of acquaintances and co-workers. And that alone makes everything I’ve been through worth it.
“Should we shift the TV a bit? It might catch too much light there during the day.”
I snort and flop down onto the couch behind me. “I work insane hours. I doubt I’ll be watching TV in the daytime.”
“What about days off?” Sloane follows suit, falling into the cushy new couch beside me.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“Or are you going to be too busy hanging out with your cool new neighbor?” She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I can’t help but laugh. She and Jasper live in the bungalow next door. In fact, Jasper owns the entire block, a row of houses on this side and the businesses on the other that face out onto the main drag. Sloane has been carefully restoring each one back to its original glory so they can rent them out.
“Do you think you’ll keep both jobs now that you’ve moved here?”
I shrug and let my head sink into the soft velvety fabric behind me. Except it’s not velvet, it’s microfiber, because rich as Rob might be as a cardiothoracic surgeon, I’m still just a resident.
Velvet taste, microfiber budget. That’s me. Winter Hamilton. And I’m alright with it.
Twenty-eight-year-old almost divorcee. Ex-husband who hates my guts because the only thing he’s better at than fixing hearts is playing the victim. Mother who is all up in my face because misery loves company and she’s chosen to live a miserable life. A dad who is just as fucking awkward around me as he always has been—bless him. And an estranged sister who is feeling less estranged every day.
That’s the bright spot in turning my life upside down. I really doused it all in gasoline, dropped the match, and said, “Fuck it.”
“I quit today. Having to work in the same hospital as both my mom and Rob? No thanks.” I point a finger into my open mouth and make a gagging noise.
And doing that makes me a bit nauseous. A bit light-headed.
Sloane laughs, all light and airy, while I suck in deep breaths, trying to master my roiling stomach. “Good for you.”
I nod and she carries on. “We can always hang the decor tomorrow. I’ll help you unpack more. We can enlist Jasper when he’s back from his road trip. I like the placement of all the furniture though.”
“That sounds good,” I whisper, licking my lips and letting my eyes flutter shut.
“Wanna grab a drink? A snack? Something? Otherwise, I’ll just stay up late working on the other house.”
“You need an HGTV show.” I give her a wan smile, but don’t move. If I sit still and think about the cold air filtering in through my nose, I feel fine.
“Oh my god. I do! That’s the dream.” Her hand slaps on my knee before she sits up, bursting with energy. “Should we go?”
I do simple math in my head, think about number patterns, not hurling the Chinese takeout from earlier all over my new microfiber couch.
“I think I’ll pass.” My voice sounds breathy, and my heart thunders against my sternum. It feels so loud I wonder if Sloane can hear it.
“You okay?” Her fingers pulse on my knee as concern laces her voice.
Twenty-eight minus seven equals twenty-one.
Ovulation.
I turn and peek at her. “Just kinda wiped right now. I think I’ll bail. Crawl into bed.”
Her eyes hold so much concern. Sloane is one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. She’s sweet, but not sickeningly so. Now and then she says something inappropriate and then giggles to herself about it.
I like that about her. She’s relatable.
“You sure?”
Divided by seven equals three.
Cycle starts.
I offer her my most convincing smile, but I’m a terrible actress. I’m quite certain the look I give her is just a scowl with my lips in a slightly upturned shape.
She snorts and pushes to stand. “You look like a serial killer when you do that.” She freezes before spinning back to me with a laugh. “Imagine that! I help this nice doctor girl who I think is a new friend move into the house next to mine. But it turns out she’s a serial killer and is just playing the long game with planning my murder.” She giggles. “Now that would be a good story.”
I rub at my temples. “Sounds like a Catherine Cowles book.”
“What?” Her head quirks.
“Nothing. I’m going to go read in bed.”
Three weeks ago was the Saturday before Christmas.
“Okay. Text me when you’re up and ready to finish this place off in the morning.” Sloane leans down and gives me a breezy kiss on the cheek. “And please don’t murder me tonight.”
I would laugh, but if I open my mouth, I will barf on the microfiber couch. The sales guy told me it wipes up easy. I absently wonder how easily.
The Saturday before Christmas was dinner at Wishing Well Ranch.
Sloane is laughing as she slides on her UGGs and leaves.
She’s happy and carefree, cracking serial killer jokes.
And I’m doing math in my head. Math I’m painfully familiar with because I’ve spent the last two years desperately trying to get pregnant. Tears, positive ovulation strips, negative pregnancy tests, fertility appointments.
Of all the times I’ve obsessively run these numbers in my head, my math was right once. That test was positive once.
It was the highest high. But it ended in loss, and pain, and the lowest low.
Now, my math is right again.
Wishing Well Ranch is where I met Theo Silva.
Winter: Do you have access to the gym? You dance there after hours sometimes, right?
Sloane: Yeah. Sometimes when I can’t sleep. I use the Zumba studio.
Winter: Can I get you to let me in?
Sloane: But it’s 10 p.m.
Winter: Yeah, I know. I just got off work.
Sloane: Am I allowed to ask why you need to go into your sister’s business after hours?
Winter: You can ask, but I won’t tell you.
Sloane: Does it have to do with your murder plot?
Winter: Yes. I’m making you my accessory.
Sloane: New friendship level unlocked! I’ll be out front in five.