Chapter ONE

Brynn

Shifting positions, I draw a knit blanket over my limbs, embedding my body in a cocoon of fuzzy warmth while focusing on the man stretched out beside me.

“Why are you so afraid of snakes?” Hayden’s rich voice asks.

“Because snakes strike when you least expect.”

A muscle in his square jaw ticks. “You’ve been bit before?” 

My head dips in affirmation, and I bury the long since faded burn in my memories. “It’s painful.”

“Maybe you should get back out there.”

I blink at the tent’s canvas ceiling. Shadows slither across the seams. “Out there with the snakes?”

His reply is smooth. Soft. “Out in the world.”

“Ahhh, an entirely different conversation. One for another dream.”

Jade eyes glow as his head tilts. “Another dream?”

Hiding my face in my blanket, I scoff. “You think I don’t know I’m dreaming? This isn’t real. This is a memory from the weekend at San Juan Island. You’re not lying here. That would be absurd. You barely know me. You—”

Strong fingers painted with tattoos lift my chin and render me mute. “You should get back out there. Find your life. It’s been two years, and he isn’t coming after you.” My lungs constrict as Hayden’s face blurs.

“He might.”

“Do you want him back?” The softening of his baritone voice rouses my blood.

I clutch the blanket around my chest. Tighter. Warmer. Safer. “I want the life he promised.” Shame coats my admission.

Warm breath washes across my mouth, his lips hovering. “You’ll get bit again.”

My gaze falls to the lines inked into his neck. I want to lick them, to taste his art-covered skin. Would he bite? Is Hayden poisonous, too? I dare to ask, “By him, or by you?”

“By a snake.” His tongue skates across my bottom lip. “Aren’t we all the same?”

My tongue chases after his as he withdraws. “I don’t want to think so, but maybe?” My fingers release their grip on my blanket and seize his neck, holding him still. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe it was my fault.”

“A snake sheds his skin; he doesn’t change his ways.”

“But maybe…”

Hayden’s eyes flare before he strikes. His mouth covering mine, his teeth sinking into the meat of my lip. A sting and copper. “You’ll get bit.”

Heaving upright, I jerk backward, my head knocking the iron headboard in my haste to duck and cover. Two beats pass before I loosen my tightly wound muscles.

“What the hell?” I probe the edge of my throbbing mouth and pull away a stained fingertip. Blood. Drawing my knees to my chest, I regulate my choppy breaths and allow my gaze to wander, confirming my surroundings.

Inhale—I’m in my bedroom.

Exhale—It was a dream.

Inhale—Early morning summer sun peeks around the draperies.

Exhale—It was a nightmare.

Raking my hair from my face, I relax a fraction, my knees dropping sideways while I sink into the covers. What was that? Details dance from my recollection, fading too quickly for digestion. My authentic conversation with Hayden Fox a few weeks ago while camping fusing with my morose thoughts of Preston. Dream Hayden was correct. Preston called off our wedding and abandoned me two years ago. He isn’t coming back. And if he did?

I lick my wounded lip. If he did, nothing would change. Preston hurt me. He left me. He—

“Brynn?” Mom’s soft knock cuts through my thoughts. 

Why is she up and at my door on a Monday morning? My alarm hasn’t even gone off. With uncanny timing, symphonic chimes fill my room.

Scrambling, I tap the off button. “I’m up.”

“You’re waking later than usual.”

Flipping to my stomach, I shove my face into my pillow. “Heaven forbid I sleep in one morning.”

“Brynn?” Rap, rap, rap. “Are you feeling well?” 

 I hold in a groan and fist my pillow, lifting my face so she can hear my reply, “Yes, Mom. I’m fine. I slept in. I need to shower.”

I shower with haste because, yes, I am running late. Hence Mom’s wake-up call. Sleep eluded me last night, and I reset my alarm both times I checked the hour and discovered how late it was. I blame the date. The season. June. Summer. The promise of something beautiful never happening.

“Get back out there. Find your life.”

Find my life? I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman living at home with her parents. Is this not a life? I snort while blasting my wet head with the blow dryer, paying attention to my bangs and the fringe around my face. At this rate, change my age, and you’ll have what’s written on my headstone.

Here lies Brynn Mariel Harris.

This was the only way to force her out of her parents’ home.

“Tad dramatic, Brynn.” I toss my brush in the bathroom drawer and pin my damp hair into an updo. “Dramatic, but possibly true.”

Hair fixed, I cut my make-up routine down to five minutes: tinted moisturizer, concealer for dark circles, a swipe of neutral color on the lids, lips, and cheeks. Done. I study my reflection, searching for any glaring imperfections—other than the fat lip I graciously bestowed upon myself in my sleep—before flicking the light switch off and heading for my closet.

“Find your life.”

Why does that come off as a dig at my living arrangement? Overthinking, I slip on my new black slacks with the bow tie waist and a flirty white top with ruffled cap sleeves. I need flirty today. Light and carefree.

It’s not like I live with Mom and Dad. I mean, I do. I’m under their roof, but I’m on the third floor. The third floor of a decadently remodeled hundred-year-old sprawling farmhouse turned cottage-style mini-mansion. I glance around my bedroom and scoop my heels in one hand. It’s a generous room, so is my luxury bathroom. I slept on the second floor next to Kip growing up, and this space was reserved strictly for guests. I live in the guest space now. A distinguishing difference, right? You may go mental, obsessing over this, Brynn.

Crossing the loft into the one other room on this level—the sitting room, which doubles as my home office—I grab my purse and work tote, loaded down with client files. I have all this private space. Hell, I have a mini-fridge keeping me from traipsing down to the kitchen at all hours. It’s a mini apartment. Only, rent-free, and with my parents sleeping one floor below. What about this situation proclaims I need to find my life?

I descend the staircase. Yes, I should move out—get back out there—I’m not ignorant of the truth. Kip wasn’t home in Seaside Pointe for more than a month before leasing a place in Bay View. I’ve been living here since Preston. Two years. Stupid baby brother. My insecurity is all his fault: his, and dream Hayden’s.

Maybe real Hayden’s, too.

Over the last month, keeping my one moment of weakness with Kip’s best friend from crawling into my dreams has required every ounce of my willpower. The touch of his lips against mine. His firm body pressing me into the cabin’s bed. His tattooed fingers digging into my scalp and tugging my hair.

“No. No. No.” I stop on the second-floor landing and huff.

Why am I allowing some dream manifestation of Hayden to place thoughts in my head? Let alone his opinions of my inferior lifestyle? Yes, we connected on some deeper level. Yes, he is hotter than bacon-wrapped jalapenos. But he’s spent all of four full days with me through the six years he’s been friends with Kip. Hayden Fox doesn’t understand my headspace. I don’t understand my headspace.

Though, none of this matters because those weren’t actual Hayden’s words last night. I glance at the portrait of little Brynn sitting on a bench gracing the hallway and admonish her. “Get it through your head, girl. You were dreaming.”

The floor creaks down the hallway—likely Dad. I move again.

So, I live at home—big deal. After what I went through with Preston, I’d be hard-pressed to find someone who had something to say about my living situation once they knew my story.  

Besides, I’m only twenty-seven. I’m not ancient, far from it.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom’s cheerful morning voice greets me before my feet hit the foyer landing. I swear, she embedded a tracking chip in my ear like a dog when I was a child.

Circling into the kitchen, I throw on my happy facade. “Morning.” I drop my bags and heels beside the table and march toward the coffee pot—priority number one.

“I’m making an omelet. Would you like one?” Mom asks before I’ve poured my creamer into my mug.

Complimentary breakfast—like a Holiday Inn Express. That’s a perk of living at home. “Thanks, but I can’t today. I have a meeting this morning, and I need to run by the office first.”

“You’re running late.”

I keep my head down and stir my coffee. “Mmm-hmmm.”

She doesn’t have to speak for me to recognize her disappointment. Mary Klein Harris has the unique ability to project her feelings at her children without a word. Growing up, Kip and I swore she was psychic or a witch. Or maybe she possesses The Force, like a Jedi? No comments, no dirty looks, no huffing, angry tirades. We just sense the displeasure.

When I give her no explanation for my tardiness, she changes the subject. “Did you talk with Kip last night?”

Nosey questions about her children’s love lives—not a perk of living at home. “You know I didn’t.”

“I don’t know anything. What I know is he had Chloe over for dinner Thursday night and today is Monday. Three days of nothing.”

“Three whole days?” I gasp with exaggeration. “I’m sure a lot is going on over there.”

I’m not privy to every detail, but last week was a series of bombs exploding in Kip’s love life. The week began with Dad’s attempt at derailing Chloe’s business and ended with Mr. Lockwood making his hatred for Kip undeniably known. In the middle of all that, Reid Pruitt exposed my brother’s secret relationship with Chloe. They broke up, Kip hit epic meltdown mode, then they made up. A weekend locked away at his place is well deserved, considering. 

“They’ll be okay,” Mom speaks to the eggs in the frying pan, and I lean my hip against the counter, watching. “He loves her.”

Again, I hum my agreement. Such a curious thing—my baby brother falling in love with the only child of our father’s sworn enemy. The relationship didn’t come as a complete surprise, though. I witnessed his infatuation with Chloe Lockwood from the time we were kids. What surprised me was how quickly they fell when he returned to Seaside Pointe in March after being away for years. How assured he is of his feelings and how willing he is to uproot his life in Tulsa and remain here for the woman he loves.

“A man unashamed.”

I lift my head, not meaning to have said the words out loud, and find Mom’s twin gaze regarding me. Scrutinizing. The crease between her brows deepens. “You look tired. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

“Well, not as good as I felt when I left my bathroom ten minutes ago.” I set my coffee mug down and slip into my heels.

Mom waves the spatula toward me. “You’re always beautiful, my kleiner liebling. You look tired, is all.”

The use of my German nickname, little darling, softens the jagged edges, yet all I offer in return are downcast eyes and a look. A look she deciphers absent of words. This is June. It’s hard. I’ll be okay.  

***

I’m driving into Harris Development’s back parking lot when Kip’s face appears on my cell.

“Finally coming out of your love nest?” I ask when the call connects.

His muffled chuckle reverberates through my sedan. “Not if I can help it.”

“Oh, no.” I frown and pull into my usual parking spot. “You better help it, Kip Harris. You didn’t show at the office all last week, which I forgave, by the way, but no more. Carry your sorry, lovesick behind to work.”

“No can do, sis.” My mouth opens to argue, and Kips tsks. “I already talked with Dad, so don’t bother pulling seniority on me.”

My skull bounces against the headrest. “You suck.”

“I know, one more day, I promise. I’m helping Chloe set up a few things with the new farm.”

“You mean the farm our father practically gifted her?”

“He didn’t give the land to her; she’s buying what should’ve been hers in the first place. You know that.”

I check the time and disconnect the Bluetooth, needing to slip inside and grab my files for my eight o’clock meeting. “Yeah, yeah. That’s still a lot of pressure on a relationship, is it not? Having your livelihood financed by your boyfriend’s family? What if things go south?” Twisting my key in the back door, I push inside, surprised I’m the first one at the office. 

“If things go south? What the hell, Brynn?”

“I’m teasing, geez, chill. Is everything good?” I’m in and out of my office in a flash. “I’ll have you know I had to run interference with Mom all weekend. She was so worried. She seemed to think something was up with James.”

“Yeah, well, she wasn’t wrong.”

I lock the office and lean against my car. Chloe’s dad hating our father makes sense, but his hating Kip? Yes, Kip did juvenile things through the years to perpetuate the rift between our families. Yes, he began a relationship with Chloe, then kept it secret from our parents. But if Chloe loves Kip—a good man—as much as she seems to, how can her father disrespect her decision?

“The man already treated you like crap. What else did he do?”

“It’s not me he’s hurting. Well, not directly. Look, I’ve got to meet Chlo soon, so I’ll explain later. Which brings me to why I called.”

“You mean apart from shoving another day off in my face?” I grumble, picturing Kip’s smug grin on the other end of this call.

“Hayden’s driving up and spending the week at my place.” Hayden. My chest tightens, and Kip continues, “I thought you could come over for dinner? Help me keep Chloe’s spirits up and be the Seaside Point Welcome Committee.”

“Why?” The question eeks from my mouth, and I swear Kip knows how flustered this news makes me. The more important question is, does he know why? Does he know how I essentially told his best friend I wanted to jump in bed with him? Deep breaths. No. He can’t. I’d never hear the end of Kip’s griping if Hayden or Bodhi had spilled what went on during our trip.

I clear my throat and begin again. “Why is Hayden coming up so unexpectedly?”

If he’s caught on to my breathlessness, he ignores it. “He’s done with teaching for the summer, and Chloe needs an extra hand. He offered.”

“That’s…wow, that’s really sweet.” And hot. And irresistible. “I’ll definitely come for dinner.”

Ending our call with an agreement to touch base later on what I should bring, I clench my eyes and release a squeal rivaling teenage Brynn’s 2013 Maroon 5 concert scream. That show killed my voice for three days. Move aside, Adam. There’s a new tatted-up hottie invading my dreams these days.