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Ruin’s grin widens as she says, “Right. If you think you want to apologize earlier, she’s the chef at the Rustic Spoon. You can catch her there most of the time.”

I nod, smiling as I slowly retreat to my room. I already knew she worked there, but I need to act like it was no big deal.

“Looking forward to our talk tomorrow,” I say, taking the stairs two at a time.

When I reach the landing, I hear Ruin call out, “Sleep well. My number is by your nightstand in case you need anything.”

I step into my room, and the first thing I notice is a king-size bed—thank God. At six-three and two hundred and thirty-five pounds, I need all the space I can get.

Two large windows frame the mountains and gardens. A desk sits off to the side with a notepad bearing the logo of Serene Lookout. There’s also a TV, a recliner, and a mini fridge stocked with water and energy drinks. The bathroom is nice and modern.

It’s quiet. Peaceful. The kind of place designed to help you heal.

And yet, as I sit on the edge of the bed, something stirs in me—restlessness, maybe. Or maybe it’s the way her name still echoesin my mind.

Rain.

I glance toward the window, the sky already beginning to shift into dusk.

Maybe I should go watch the sunset from the rocking chairs on the porch.

Sleep can wait.

Chapter 6

Rain

After I finished cleaning up the kitchen at Serene Lookout, I decided to hit the gym in town. It’s too late for a hike.

Once I change into a pair of leggings and a sports bra inside Minx, I head straight to the gym and climb onto a treadmill. I start with a brisk walk, arms stretching overhead as I draw in a deep breath. Exhaling, I lower them, rolling out the tension in my shoulders.

My body begins to loosen. Ipick up the pace until I’m running.

My mind drifts to the hot guy that I saw twice today. My sister’s patient is fine as hell. Leave it to the universe to taunt me with something—someone—I can’t have.

He’s a professional athlete, I’m sure he has a model girlfriend or a phone full of numbers. He can get any woman, any time. I’m sure of that.

I shake off thoughts of Hotshot and focus on today’s class. It was my first time teaching, and although it went well and the patients seemed engaged, I couldn’t believe how messy the kitchen was at the end. I’m proud I didn’t lose my cool and got through it.

Next time, I'll focus less on the recipe and more on how to run a kitchen—how to chop and cut without making it look like a food fight broke out. I chuckle at the thought. Maybe weshouldhave a food fight at some point. But first, they need to learn kitchen etiquette.

After running seven miles, I start a cooldown program. My body aches in a way that can only be cured with a hot shower.

I make my way to the locker room and start counting my blessings: I have peace, an awesome job, a family who loves me, and my van to catch a glimpse of the stars from anywhere.

Whatelse could I ask for?

A vision of a tall, dark, and handsome Hotshot hockey player sneaks again. Jet-black hair that probably hasn’t been touched by a comb in years but still falls in perfect waves. Dark, big brown eyes. Warm, golden skin. Tall and fit without being bulky. I even caught a glimpse of a gold chain around his neck. I’m not sure why, but there’s something extra sexy about a guy who wears a chain.

Maybe I need to pay more attention to hockey, because if the other guys look likehim…

Damn.

Instead of going home for dinner or eating in the van, I raid Rustic Spoon’s kitchen. The cooks usually take any leftovers with them, but maybe I can whip up something quick.

As I approach the main entrance, I spot someone trying to open the door, even though the neonClosed sign is lit up.

“Excuse me, can I help you?” I say as I get closer. The guy’s now peering through one of the windows.