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Campbell perched on the edge of Justin’s desk, rolling his glass between his palms. “I want to be a good man. Everything they weren’t. I want to be, this one time, the man who cares too much. Who cares more . Who tries, maybe too hard, pride be damned.”

“What’s stopping you? Be the good man.”

“I don’t know, but something is. Fear, I guess.” He opened a desk drawer, rooting around for a hidden liquor bottle, a stale pack of cigarettes, something . He’d left his toothpicks at the Rise. “This love thing’s fucking scary.”

Justin’s brow rose—only the one, which had always driven women bananas. All 007-ish. “ Love ? Whoa, color me shocked.”

“Just wait until it bites you, asshole.”

“It did once.” Justin’s smile dimmed. “Longggg time ago. Done with love at eighteen, lucky me.”

“Lainey Prescott, the one who got away. You talked about her for two years straight.” Getting desperate, Campbell yanked the drawer out as far as it would go. “It is helping me, though, to hear you sounding all wistful and tender.”

“The sexy landscaper?”

“Sure, who else?” He came up with a cigar wrapped in blue that said New Baby and brandished it like a trophy. “Light?”

Justin stared down the wine bottle again. “Fire and artwork make a bad combo.”

Campbell threw the useless smoke back in the drawer. “She’s fine to babysit my dog, by the way.”

His cousin glanced over, confusion twisting his features. “Dog? What dog ?”

“She’s babysitting my dog and my kid brother while I’m on a shoot in Atlanta.

Leaving tomorrow for two days. Kid wanted a dog, so now we have Boomer.

Mixed-breed rescue who loves destroying Italian leather.

” He held up a hand. “I’ve tried all kinds of sweet gestures, don’t bother with advice.

Flowers, notes on her windshield, more lights in her damn garden, etcetera, etcetera. The lady is not willing.”

“Campbell True, romantic. Who would have imagined?”

Campbell lay back on the desk and closed his eyes, his head starting to spin. A third bottle of wine had been a horrible idea. “Romance is dead. ”

“You are so not driving home, Photographer Boy.”

Campbell threw an arm over his face to block the slice of light sliding in the front window, drilling straight into his brain. “You drove, you idiot.”

“Huh. You’re right.” With a stretch and a yawn, Justin collapsed into a chair, crossing his ankles atop the corner of the desk Campbell wasn’t occupying. “Well, I ain’t driving either.”

Campbell groaned, cursing the minion already beating a drum inside his skull.

Alcohol wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped.

The impulse to call Fontana gripped him, talons digging deep. But she thought they were wrong for each other, when she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. For so many reasons.

And, damn , did he miss her amazing nipples.

When he came back from Atlanta, he was going to make her listen. Sit her down, tell her he loved her, then fuck her silly.

“Sounds like a plan,” he whispered.

“A great plan,” Justin agreed with a yawn. “Forgot to say, I’ll be best man if you ask nicely.”

“Screw you, Just.”

“Love you, too, bro.”

FONTAN A

“He slept at the gallery? On a desk?” Fontana glanced away from the road for a split second, long enough to catch Jaime’s knowing wink.

In the rearview, Hannah was already covering her mouth to hide a smile.

Rivers Cuomo was singing through her crackling speakers about coming undone, something she could personally relate to.

Maybe Campbell could, too.

He had looked a little wind-swept, on the edge of disheveled—which meant hot, bothered, and sexy—when he dropped Kit and Boomer off that morning. Now she knew why he’d kept his sunglasses on and made such a quick exit.

As if bloodshot eyes and alcohol leeching from his pores could make him anything but more approachable.

More lovable.

Not that she needed any push in his direction. Being near him felt like waging war against a bone-deep gravitational pull.

She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles went white. She had to stop thinking about his eyes, how they deepened to the exact shade of Douglas fir bark when he was vulnerable. It was terrifying that she knew him well enough to spot the shift, let alone act on it.

A flash of affection hit first, followed fast by irritation. Clear evidence she was losing her mind. One moment, Fontana pictured him naked in her bed; the next, she wanted to punch him in the nose.

Did the man know what he was doing to her?

She would love to tell him that his vulnerability pierced her heart more than any silly, ridiculously sweet note he’d left on the Jeep’s filthy windshield. A note now tucked in the drawer of her bedside table, right next to the finger vibrator he liked so much.

She must have read it a thousand times. I miss my Sunday kind of girl . Using Etta James to prove his point was crooked business, indeed .

Ugh , she decided with a frown, love made people stupid .

Too bad, so sad, Fontana — face the hard facts .

She tapped her thumb against the wheel, counting off the reasons she was debating in her head.

One, she was so far from Campbell’s type, it was comical. Nothing Special Jessica was his type—every well-coiffed, jasmine-scented inch of her.

Plus, he was leaving. And he was complicated, with a troubled past. Much like hers.

But he was exactly what she wanted, before she’d even known she was looking.

Handsome to the extreme. Talented beyond measure.

Adorable, when it came right down to it.

Shrewd, with just the right amount of impudence.

And there was a lot going on behind those incredible eyes.

The compulsion to care for him—in a mama-bear, nurturing kind of way—had caught her completely off guard.

In fact, the past month had been one immense, full-of-life adventure. A learning experience. Way, way, way more than just sex.

Although, every moist, gasping, grinding moment had been amazing.

Talk about pressure. Too much to keep a perfectly delightful train on the tracks, no matter how you played it.

She was quitting while she was ahead.

Good plan. She’d get over him.

One day.

Maybe .

“Talk around town is, you’ve ruined him,” Jaime said in his I’m-concerned voice. “But after watching your mind spin for the last two miles, I’m wondering if he’s ruined you.”

“No one’s ruined,” she whispered, clenching the wheel again. The Jeep did a little hop as they bounced over a pothole she hadn’t avoided. “Big boys and girls survive. ”

“Who wants to survive without love when they can survive with love?”

She directed a scowl Jaime’s way she hoped toasted him where he sat. “Like it’s that easy. How’s it going with Dix, huh?”

Jaime flapped his hands and drew a fluttering breath.

“I was waiting for wine to tell you but…we’re moving in together!

Promise and Atlanta, whatever works best until you and Campbell figure out your deal and land in one place.

” He kissed his index finger and brushed it across her cheek.

“So, darling, can you figure out your deal, please? I want my man, but he’s a workaholic, and devoted to your man. ”

“I have no man, Jame. No deal. But I’m so, so happy for you.” And she was. Even if her heart felt a little heavier for it.

“Did you tell him about the lights?” Hannah asked from the cheap seats.

Jaime shifted, sitting up so tall his head nearly brushed the roof. His gaze swept over her, leaving a warning buzz of guilt in its wake. “Lights?”

“And the note. And the flowers.” Hannah cracked a knuckle, a horrible habit Fontana desperately wanted her to break. Crack. Crack. Crack. “Sounds like she’s got a man to me. Whether she wants him or not. The two of them, you should see the goo-goo eyes. Way sad.”

Fontana listened to them debate her love life. How she stared into space at odd times. The bite on the nape of her neck. The sudden fixation with Billie Holiday. The new sheets on her bed.

She swung into the cottage’s drive, never having wanted to dump two occupants out on their nosy asses more. “You stay here. Fix dinner. I’ve got to pick up Kit in about?—”

Shock ripped the air from her lungs. The next few moments would stay with her forever, the last chapter of her and her father’s story. She would make sure of it .

She hit the brakes, snapping Jaime against his seatbelt. “Sweet Jesus, Tana!”

Popping into reverse, she roared back down the drive until they reached the main road, then slammed to a stop.

“Get out. Go to the Rise. Call the police. John Nelson’s car is there if you need it.

Keys on the blue knob in the kitchen. Have Mrs. Kendall, Weston’s mom, pick up Kit and take him to her house. ”

Jaime turned to her, his expression lethal, all sugary sweetness wiped clean. “Was that his car? The Caravelle?” When Fontana didn’t answer fast enough, he slapped the dashboard, making her jump.

Hannah jammed her head between them. “What? Who ?”

“The facility, no cars,” Fontana whispered, her heart bouncing off her ribcage. Her vision blurred with panic, but she wasn’t backing down. “But he always loved Caravelles.”

Jaime grasped her wrist. “I’m not leaving you here with him. No way, darling.”

She shook off his hold. “Hannah’s your only concern, you hear me? I knew he was going to come—someday, somehow—and I’m not letting him think there’s another chance. This ends today. It ends now .”

“Tana—”

“I’ll wait until I see you’ve crossed the field. Sheriff Jackson can be here in minutes.” Before anyone arrived, though, she wanted to give her father his options.

Counsel that could only come from her.

When Jaime didn’t move, she shouted, “ Go !”