A few months was nothing in the grand scheme of things—totally manageable.
We could be civil adults that could talk things out if he did something unreasonable like blend kale at six in the morning.
And if all else failed?
Well… I could always fake a haunting.
CHAPTER 2
Derek
Westwend wasthe kind of town you visited for a long weekend in the summer—or passed through on your way to somewhere with a skyline. It wasn’t exactly the place you moved to in your late twenties.
But sometimes life didn’t care about your five-year plans.
So when your former boss tells you to start fresh by coming back as the new family law attorney at the firm, you pack your shit into bags and go.
My fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the steering wheel, keeping time with the song currently humming through the speakers. Twenty minutes out from Westwend and I was still in the middle of nowhere, Texas. But admittedly, it was abeautifulmiddle of nowhere.
The trees ahead had shifted from scrubby to lush, hugging the edge of the road in a slow descent toward the Cypress River. The spring-fed water ran through Westwend and was the lifeline of the region. I could see flashes of it weaving through the trees—crystal clear and sparkling as the sun danced along the surface.
The sky was a clean, bright blue with clouds so perfectlypuffed they looked fake. It was picturesque. Postcard-worthy. The kind of place people Instagrammed and filtered to death. It looked deceptively pleasant for somewhere currently baking in the Texas heat.
The road dipped, and I eased onto a low bridge that skimmed the top of the river. No railings, just pale stone edges and clear water rushing beneath. This wasn’t my first time making this drive, so I knew I was crossing the unofficial border of where the sprawling Hill Country ended and the small-town clusters began.
In the big cities—Houston, Dallas, Austin—green spaces were carefully curated and squeezed between high-rises. Out here, nature was the main feature. These towns didn’t try to control it, they worked around it. And the wildlife in the area weren’t shy. Deer, rabbits, and the occasional fox all coexisted like they’d signed a non-aggression pact with the locals.
Westwend wasn’t big by any stretch, but it had a steady pulse of tourists that kept the town breathing, almost all of them coming to relax in the river. It was always clear, pale blue, and cold enough to make your bones ache in a good way. Bright-green bass darted through the riverweed, flitting past your ankles like they owned the place.
But the town had character and leaned heavily into the small-town lifestyle. I hadn’t expected much the first time I’d stepped foot there, but I’d been pleasantly surprised. The main strip was a charming mix of boutique shops, cafes, and murals that felt curated but not inauthentic. Like it belonged here—like itcouldn’tbelong anywhere else.
Rolling onto Main Street, I was greeted by rows of antique style buildings lining both sides of the road. Some were painted in cheerful colors, while others held onto their original dark maroon brick. Shop signs swung gently from awnings that stretched over the sidewalks, each marking the small businesses inside.
I couldn’t help the grin that pulled at my lips as I passed the iconic “Mmm, So Good!” mural, the one the tourists always stopped to photograph.
Memories flooded back to me as I continued down the road. I’d first been introduced to Westwend during a summer internship, an opportunity I owed entirely to Brooks Shaffer.
Brooks was a year ahead of me in college, my fraternity brother, and one of the most effortlessly social people I’d ever met. He had this kind of chaotic magnetism, always in motion, always in the middle of something—usually trouble. He partied hard, which drew a variety of different people to him, but he still somehow managed to make you feel like you were his sole focus when he spoke to you. He hadn’t hesitated to connect me with his father when he found out that I was pre-law.
Charles Shaffer—Charlie, as everyone called him—was a successful attorney running a private firm here in Brooks’ hometown. It was a golden opportunity I wasn’t about to squander. He had been incredibly helpful, and even offered to mentor me while I worked on applications.
When I’d spoken with him about an internship during my second year of law school, he’d said in that easy Southern drawl, “It’ll be menial work, and I can’t promise you’ll feel like a real attorney for a while. But I’ll do right by you.”
Despite the firm being located in such a tiny town, I’d jumped at the opportunity.
Charlie had even insisted on putting me up for the summer in their old farm-style home. It was more than generous, and great for my bank account. But more than that, Charlie and his wife, Ellie, turned out to be genuinely kind, welcoming people. I had felt like more than just a guest in their home. Over time, I’d even say we became something like friends.
Brooks would often tell stories about growing up here,about all the trouble he and his twin brother, Bailey, used to get into. Sneaking off to the river for dates and drinking. Running wild through the town like they owned it.
And now… here I was.
Moving in.
Becoming a Westwendian myself.
Just before my internship ended, Charlie had offered me a job at the firm. I’d laughed, assuming he wasn’t serious. We’d both been drinking, and it felt more like a friendly gesture than a formal invitation.
But after I passed my bar exam, I got the call.
