Page 2 of The Lilac River

I didn’t know her yet. Not really. I didn’t know that she liked her books worn and her coffee black with too much sugar. I didn’t know that she listened to old love songs like they were secrets meant only for her, or that she cried during animated movies, or that sometimes she got quiet when she was scared because silence felt safer than speaking.

I didn’t know she’d wreck me.

But somehow, I already knew.

Sixteen years old and already done for. Already hers.

And deep down, in a way I didn’t even understand yet, I knew that Lily Jones was going to tear straight through my life like a wildfire in dry grass.

And hell, if I didn’t want her to.

Chapter 1

Coming Home – Keith Urban

Nash

The sunrise was my favorite part of any day. That split second when the sky bled red and gold over the land, before life stormed in again. Sitting on the cedar-scented porch, with the promise of history stretching wide before me, it felt like home.

It smelled like home, too. Earth and woodsmoke, a faint trace of lavender on the morning breeze. Always the lavender.

"Daddy, I'm hungry."

Life stormed in, all right. The little stuff. The important stuff.

I opened my arms. "Morning, munchkin."

Bertie, Roberta officially, Bertie since she turned five, clambered onto my lap, her hair a wild bird's nest against my chin.

"No oatmeal today," she announced.

"Pancakes?" I asked, breathing her in, sunshine, lavender, a hint of childhood magic.

"Even though it's not Sunday?" she gasped.

"I think we can bend the rules."

I shifted her to my hip and pointed at the horizon. "Get ready. Listen closely."

"For the hiss," she whispered back, eyes wide with wonder.

Together, we held our breath, waiting for the soft, imaginary hiss of the sun hitting the earth, a game we’d played since she was three.

"Did you hear it?" I asked.

“Nuh uh.” She shook her head, disappointment in every slumped shoulder. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Maybe tomorrow," I echoed, kissing her nose. “The sun's shy today, so pancake time.”

"Make a lot, Daddy. I heard Uncle Gunner having a pee pee."

Which meant my peace and quiet was officially over. Bertie didn’t count; shewasmy peace. But Gunner? Different story.

"Better double the batter." I placed her on the kitchen table and grabbed a bowl. "Chocolate chip or plain?"

"Plain with chocolate chips and blueberries. And strawberry syrup."

"Chips or syrup, Bertie. Not both."