Chapter One

I didn’t look back when I left my little apartment in downtown Chicago. To hell with big cities and to hell with all the people in them.

With a satisfying thud, I dropped the last cardboard box on the kitchen counter. Dust particles danced in the late afternoon sunlight, streaming through the small window of my new home.

My new home.

The phrase still felt strange, like shoes that hadn’t been broken in yet. In the city I rented, which meant I had neighbors… noisy neighbors. I had a landlord and someone to take care of things when they broke.

Now, I had a house. It was cozy, but it was a house, and it was all mine. It’s too bad it took a good chunk of my savings just for the down payment.

“Welcome to Birchwood Hollow, Everly,” I announced to the empty house, my voice echoing slightly against the bare walls.

The house wasn’t much — two bedrooms, one bath, a combined kitchen and dining area with a small living room at the front of the house. The wood paneling in every room hadn’t been updated since at least the 1970s, but the whole place was mine. Or at least it would be when I finished paying it off in thirty years.

I shuffled to the couch I’d managed to position against the living room wall earlier today with help from the moving company. My muscles screamed in protest as I flopped down, a cloud of dust rising from the cushions. The six-hour drive from Chicago had been grueling enough without the subsequent unpacking marathon.

“That’s everything, Miss Montana,” the muscular man said as he tapped a knuckle on the door frame.

“Oh!” I said, pushing myself up. I handed him two folded twenties. “Thanks for your help.”

“Very kind of you, ma’am,” he said, tipping an invisible hat. “Have a good rest of your day.”

I pressed my lips into a forced smile. “Thanks, you too.”

I closed the door, watching them start the truck and drive off from the small window at the front of the house. The tires spewed dust and gravel as they sped down the driveway and onto the road that would take them to town or the highway.

From where I stood, I could see the neighbor’s house across the road. It wasn’t in the best condition, with stained siding and all sorts of junk piled up around the property. The windows were dark, and I wasn’t even sure if anyone lived there.

Birchwood Hollow was already a drastic change from Chicago, and I hadn’t done more than drive down the main drag of the small town with a population of not more than 5,000. The nearest big city… St. Paul.

It was so small that the woman at the gas station immediately knew I was the young woman who bought Old Man Harrison’s place. He moved to Florida to enjoy his retirement.

It was also remote enough that my cell service had been spotty since I crossed the state line. But that was perfect. It was exactly what I wanted… to disappear.

My house sat at the edge of town, backing up to the woods that eventually led down to one of the many lakes’ shorelines. From the kitchen window, I could just make out a sliver of blue between the trees. It wasn’t the lakefront view I’d had from my Chicago apartment, but at least it was quiet and I was alone. Far away from assholes.

I kicked off my shoes and stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow I’d start looking for a job. Something simple. Cashiering at the local market, maybe. Or waitressing at the diner I’d passed on my way into town.

Nothing like my old, stressful corporate position. Nothing that would require me to dress up in my business clothes and boss people around. That wasn’t me anymore. That was never me.

I closed my eyes. That’s exactly what I’d come here to escape. Those thoughts. Those memories. That woman I’d become.

I was sick and tired of putting up with all the bullshit, both in business and in my personal life. Especially when it came to men. I was done with men. All men. I hadn’t met one that wasn’t a selfish bastard who wasn’t also controlling and emotionally manipulative.

Exhaustion washed over me like a tide, and I surrendered to it gladly. The boxes and mess would still be there when I woke up.

A persistent ringing dragged me from the depths of sleep. My phone buzzed angrily on the coffee table, bouncing bit by bit toward the edge. Through the window, the light had shifted to early evening.

I fumbled for the phone, squinting at the screen.

“Annie,” I said, sounding out of breath. “Shit, sorry. I meant to call.”

“Everly Rose Montana,” she scolded. “You had me worried sick.”

My brow wrinkled. “Worried about what?”

“I don’t know… that a bear or a wolf ate you or something,” she said, her voice cracking with the fading service.

“There are no bears here,” I said, glancing toward the kitchen as my stomach rumbled.

“The hell there isn’t,” Annie said sharply. “Google it.”

I covered my yawn. “Okay, I will. It’s not like I was napping outside.”

“You probably didn’t even lock your front door,” Annie said, clicking her tongue.

I glanced over at the door, noticing she was right. “I’m fine, Annie.”

“Well, you should have called,” she said, drawing in a breath. “How’s the frozen north? Have you seen any moose yet? Or is it meese? What’s the plural for moose?”

“No meeses yet,” I said with a laugh. “You know I’m really not that far from you. It basically looks the same, but with trees instead of buildings.”

Annie and I had been friends since college, and her energy had always been both comforting and exhausting. We hadn’t worked together in the city, but we’d been in neighboring buildings and had lunch almost every day.

That was the only thing I was going to miss. Well, not just lunch with Annie, but Annie too.

“There was a very judgmental bluejay that watched me from the tree when I was unpacking my car,” I said, narrowing my eyes toward the window.

“Send me pictures of the house,” Annie said, squeaking slightly. “Is it charming? Or is it giving murder cabin vibes? Because I warned you?—”

“It’s perfect,” I said, pacing the creaky floor. “Small, but very quiet.”

There was a pause on the other end. When Annie spoke again, her voice had lost some of its buoyancy.

“I miss you already,” Annie said, sighing. “It’s going to be unbearable here without you.”

“You’ll survive,” I said, moving into the kitchen to gaze out between the trees toward the lake. “Besides, you can visit me anytime.”

“Can I? Really? Because I was thinking maybe in a few weeks?—”

“Annie.”

“I know, I know.” She sighed. “You moved to the middle of nowhere to get away from everything. To clear your head. I get it, I do. But just so you know, I will visit. Eventually. When you’re ready.”

I bit my lip, hesitating. “Thanks for understanding. It’s not like I’m trying to get away from you.”

“I know,” Annie said.

“But I need to unpack and get settled,” I said, turning to face all the boxes. “I promise to send pictures when I get things in order, okay?”

We chatted for a few more minutes… she talked about work, gossip I’d already missed over the last twenty-four hours since I’d left. Then we said our goodbyes.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before. I glanced around at the boxes stacked in every corner, at the mammoth task of unpacking that awaited me.

I wanted to crawl into bed, but I wasn’t even sure which box had my sheets. The walls suddenly seemed to close in.

I needed air.

The backdoor opened onto a small wooden deck overlooking a yard that had seen better days. The grass grew in patchy clumps, interspersed with dandelions, and what I hoped wasn’t poison ivy. At the back of the property was a concrete birdbath, cracked and empty, near an oak tree.

Beyond the neglected yard, the woods beckoned. Tall pines, evergreens, and birch trees stretched in both directions, creating a natural fence line at the edge of my property.

I stepped off the deck, the grass cool against my bare feet. The evening air had a crisp edge to it, carrying the scent of pine and something else — something mineral and maybe slightly fishy that could only be the lake.

At the edge of the tree line, I hesitated. City instincts told me not to wander into unfamiliar woods as dusk approached. But this was my property now. My woods. My escape. It wasn’t like I’d go far.

I walked closer to the trees and discovered what I hadn’t noticed from the house — a narrow dirt path, barely visible among the undergrowth, winding its way into the forest. It was somewhat hard to see with all the foliage, but it had been used enough that nothing grew on the path itself.

“Huh,” I said, glancing back at the house and then up to the sky. “It must just go to the lake.”

Curiosity overcame caution. I followed the trail into the woods, the temperature dropping slightly under the canopy of leaves. The setting sun filtered through in golden shafts, illuminating patches of ferns and wildflowers.

The path curved gently downhill. I filled my lungs with the fresh air, feeling a strange calmness as I walked through nature.

The trail forked unexpectedly, one path continuing downward to the lake, one veering to the left, and the other to the right, deeper into the woods.

I paused at the junction as the light from the sun faded faster. I hadn’t brought my phone, and getting lost in unfamiliar woods on my first night in town wouldn’t be the fresh start I was hoping for.

Before I could choose a path, I heard distant voices. It sounded like a heated discussion. An argument.

My eyes narrowed. “What the hell?”