Page 5

MYRA

Holy crap am I tired. I love my job, but some days it can be a lot.

Today was one of those days.

One of the sinks in the spa clogged up. A girl at the front desk called in sick at the last minute. And a client fell down the front steps after getting a massage that was clearly a little too relaxing. Since I’m the manager, I got to deal with all of it.

And I did. Before I left for the day, the sink was fixed, every ringing phone had been answered, and the client who fell was patched up and no worse for wear.

Me, on the other hand… I’m suffering. My feet hurt, my brain is fried, and I’m fucking starving because I skipped my lunch so all the receptionists could take theirs. At least I’m almost home and have a quiet house and a comfortable bed waiting for me.

And—as much as this shouldn’t be important—Simon’s home. For now.

But as I make the final turn, a frown tips my lips. Tate and Piper’s driveway is vacant.

Simon’s been leaving for longer and longer stretches, but his stays are still normally more than a few hours. Plus, he’s supposed to be performing with Christian and Tate this weekend, so it wouldn’t make sense that he’s already gone. But that’s sure how it looks.

As I drive past Piper and Tate’s house, I lean to peer behind it at the spot where Simon normally parks his camper. Their backyard is also empty.

A sigh slides free. “Damn.”

I shouldn’t be disappointed. It’s not like I can offer him what I’m sure he wants.

Unless he’s the unicorn in a herd of horses, Simon most likely wants to settle down.

Find a wife—or at the very least a girlfriend—and build a life together.

After everything I’ve been through, I don’t know that I’ll ever be capable of being either of those things, which sucks.

Witnessing how Christian loves Lydia and Tate loves Piper makes my chest ache. I’ve never had that. Probably never will. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to trust a man or let him close enough to love me. But I could live with that.

What I am struggling with missing out on? Being a mother.

That hope was the only bright spot that ever existed in my adult life, and one of the few that never dimmed.

In hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t get pregnant during my marriage, but part of me can’t help but wish I had.

Then I wouldn’t be alone. I would already have what I really want and maybe my life wouldn’t feel so empty. So pointless.

And I wouldn’t have to face the possibility it might be one more thing I can never have.

Blowing out a breath, hoping it takes all my sadness with it, I steer my car up the side of my house so I can park in the back.

After shutting off the engine of my secondhand sedan, I step out, lifting my eyes to the tree above me.

It’s been dumping leaves for the past week, and somehow still doesn’t seem any closer to being finished.

I eye Piper’s garage with envy, wishing I’d found the time and motivation to build one of my own before the weather turned.

Too freaking late now.

Slamming the door of my car a little harder than I need to, I stalk up the cement steps and let myself in through the back door. Dropping my purse and work bag onto the small counter just inside the door, I flip on the light in the one room that’s actually finished in my house.

It’s all thanks to Christian. I didn’t do anything to make it happen besides take him up on an offer I really couldn’t refuse.

He’d been hired to demo the kitchen of a home with an almost identical footprint to mine, so he basically took the cabinets, counters, and appliances out of it, brought them here, and screwed it all back into place.

It was an insanely kind thing for him to do, but I’m not stupid enough to think the gesture was for me.

When you whittle all the loose bits of excuse and explanation off, it was all about my sister.

Doing something that would make her happy.

He loves her with a ferocity I can’t comprehend.

And never will.

By the time I make it across the room to the fridge, my mood is foul and my attitude is shit.

So I’m feeling pretty normal.

Opening the door, I peruse the lackluster contents lining the shelves. I’ve got an excellent supply of pickles, including carrots and cauliflower. At least eight different types of dipping sauce. And Russian dressing—the superior way to top a salad.

But that’s it.

So I’ll be ordering food. Again.

I’ve got the delivery app open on my phone and I’m headed for the stairs when someone knocks at my front door. My stomach growls on the off chance it could be Felicity bringing me leftovers.

When I open the door, there is someone with an offering of food, but it’s not Felicity.

Simon offers a grin that makes my knees weak. “You said something about buying my way into a house tour with food.” He lifts one of the plates loaded with spaghetti and garlic bread balanced on his upturned palms, the savory rich scent of it making my mouth water. “I came to collect on that offer.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My eyes fall to the delicious looking—and smelling—plate of food he’s holding.

I know men can cook. Christian cooks for Lydia all the time.

Tate does the same for Piper. Heck, Levi feeds almost the whole neighborhood weekly.

But a man has never cooked just for me .

And it’s a little shocking how impactful the gesture is.

“You made me dinner? All by yourself?” I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing at the belittling words. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Simon chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. “I know how you meant it.”

I open my eyes to find him studying me, expression thoughtful.

“You haven’t exactly seen the best the males of our species have to offer.” He lifts the plate higher, as if it wasn’t already tempting enough. “Maybe this can change that just a little.”

I’m not sure that’s possible, but I do know I’m about to inhale that plate full of spaghetti he’s holding out.

“In that case, entry granted.” I step back, watching him pass me before closing the door, sealing Simon into my space.

“I thought you were exaggerating.” He does a slow spin in the middle of my gutted entryway. “But you weren’t, were you?”

“I was not.” I grab one of the plates and pick up the fork stabbed into the pasta. “Hopefully you cook better than I remodel houses.” Twirling up a mouthful, I shovel it in, eyes rolling back as the flavor of rich, meaty sauce explodes on my tongue.

“I wish I could take credit for that sound you just made, but this is one of Levi’s recipes. I just duplicated it.” Simon looks around. “Where do you want to sit?”

I cringe. “The floor?”

An odd expression passes over Simon’s handsome features, but it’s gone so fast I can’t accurately identify it. He almost seemed upset. But I warned him, so if he’s disappointed in my lack of furniture, that’s on him.

“In that case, why don’t we go back to my place?” He flashes me an easy smile, all signs of his earlier weird emotion gone. “It’s nothing fancy, but I do have couches.”

That has my brows rising. “ Couches ? Plural?”

“Couches plural.” Simon opens my front door, holding it for me before following me out onto the porch. When we reach the sidewalk, I scan the neighborhood. “And where is this magical, multiple couch containing camper you possess?”

Simon tips his head toward the vacant building across the street. “Not far.” He steps off the curb, watching as I do the same. “We’re practically neighbors.”

“I think this proximity might qualify as actual, not practical.” I follow down the broken driveway and, sure enough, there’s his camper, parked right behind the dilapidated building.

Simon goes to the large side door, bracing a foot on the steps to open it before dropping back to the ground and holding it wide. “Ladies first.”

Again, I’m caught off guard by how much Simon’s action affects me. I’ve spent the majority of my life being treated like men were above me. That I was less. Less important. Less intelligent. Less capable. Never did I come first.

And in at least one way, I never came at all.

My smile is barely there as I pass him, carefully climbing the metal steps up into the fifth wheel as my brain swirls with the jarring emotions Simon always brings on.

He’s affected me from the beginning. And I let it happen because he was safe.

I could adore him secretly from afar because he was always gone.

There was no fear he’d ever find out, and no fear he’d reciprocate and ask for something I couldn’t give.

Now I’m thinking I should have nipped that in the bud because I’m for sure going to embarrass myself—likely by staring a little too hard or drooling down my face—before the night’s over.

Once I’m inside, my feet slow. The space is way darker than I expected and I can’t see where I’m going. “Umm…”

Simon comes in right behind me, squeezing past me. “Sorry. I forgot I turned the lights off.” He flips a switch and the space illuminates in a soft glow.

And my mouth drops open.

“Holy crap.” I don’t know where to look first. Standing next to the camper earlier when Simon first arrived, it felt big, but I assumed most of that was whatever made up the shell of the thing. I didn’t actually expect it to be big inside. But this thing is huge.

Simon moves past the kitchen—which contains a freaking island — and plops onto one of the two sofas in the living room area. He angles a brow at me. “See? More than one sofa.”

Now that I’m seeing it firsthand, his home having more than one sofa is the least impressive thing about it.

The kitchen is shockingly big, sporting a full-size refrigerator along with a pantry tucked into one corner.

There are pendant lights hanging over the island, and the stove has plenty of room to craft a full meal.

Across from the kitchen is a dining area.

A set of four chairs flank the smooth wood surface, which is again surprisingly big.

Then there’s the living room. In addition to the two couches Simon promised, there’s a large television, end tables, and even what appears to be an electric fireplace.

“I had no clue campers could look like this.” I turn to peer down the darkened hallway behind me. There’s a door immediately on the left and then a small set of stairs. Stairs. In a flipping camper. “This place makes my house look like shit.”

“Just remember, your toilet goes into the sewer. Mine goes into a tank I have to empty.” Simon grins when I turn to face him. “So I’m going to say your house still wins.”

There it is again. Simon easily putting me in the front. Like he doesn’t give a shit whether or not people think he’s superior. The one in charge. In power. In control.

Still clutching my plate, I walk across the laminate flooring before lowering to the opposite end of the sofa Simon’s sitting on. I don’t really know how to deal with what’s happened since he showed up on my doorstep. How to catalog all the information I now have.

Luckily, it doesn’t matter. Simon is probably just being nice to me since we’re the only two single people on the block.

I know what it’s like to hang out with happy couples all the time, and I don’t blame Simon if he’s simply having dinner with me to avoid having what he’s lacking dangled in front of his face.

“You better eat before it gets cold.” Simon tips his eyes, one eye squinting as he reconsiders. “Actually, I don’t think it matters. Cold spaghetti’s pretty damn good too.”

I scoot back a little, trying to look more comfortable than I am, as I twist a spool of pasta onto my fork. I’ve spent months fantasizing about the man who’s now only a few feet away. It’s surreal.

And awkward.

I force myself to relax, leaning back against the plush cushions in an attempt to get at least a little comfortable. “Does that mean you eat a lot of cold spaghetti?”

Simon finishes his mouthful, lips curving into a smile. “The amount of spaghetti I consume on a monthly basis is embarrassing.” He shrugs. “But my job takes a lot of energy, so I can use all the carbs I can get.”

I know a little about Simon. All of it gleaned from random conversations since I’ve made a point not to ask anyone about him. But part of the fantasy was he could be whatever I wanted him to be.

I do know he’s a welder like Shelly’s husband Shaun. One who travels around doing specialized jobs as an independent contractor. But that doesn’t really explain his claim about the energy needs of his profession.

“What exactly do you weld?”

Simon’s eyes move over me for a second before he answers. “I weld underwater.”

I gasp. Loudly.

“ Underwater ?” Why do I feel like I can’t breathe just thinking about that? “Why underwater?”

Again, Simon shrugs. Like his career choice is as uninteresting as it gets.

“I like the water. I know how to weld. It pays really fucking well.” Something in his expression shifts again.

Sort of like it did earlier. But again, it’s too fast for me to identify the difference.

“I was looking for a reason to leave town, and I can make more if I’m willing to travel. ”

“What happens when you want to get married and have kids?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.

I don’t even know why I ask it. Why it matters.

It doesn’t. “I’m sorry. That was really invasive of me.

” I try to backtrack, hoping I haven’t offended him with my probing questions that are probably more about me than him.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Myra.” Proving he’s just as easy-going in real life as he is in my mind, Simon smooths over my blunder like it doesn’t matter. “As far as marriage and kids? They’ve felt out of reach for a long time.”

My fork freezes midair. Halted by feelings that are very similar to mine. I slowly lower the bite I prepared to my plate, drawn into a conversation I didn’t expect to have. “Why do they feel out of reach?”

I hold my breath as I wait for his answer, wondering how close it might be to mine.

If maybe I’m not the only one with dreams that will never become reality because I can’t get out of my own way.