I tilt my head, studying her. “Notice what? That you’re back? Or that you’re hiding in my barn, looking like you’ve got something to run from?”
Her gaze flicks to the open barn door, then back to me. “I didn’t mean to . . . attract attention.”
“Well, congrats. You failed.” I take a step closer. “People might not have noticed you sneaking around, but they’ll notice lights in the house.”
She shifts, standing slowly, like she’s deciding whether to argue or make a break for it. “I wasn’t planning on being noticed.”
Her voice is stronger now, but there’s an edge to it, something raw and unguarded. Up close, I can see the exhaustion carved into her face, the way her shoulders pull inward, like she’s bracing for an impact that hasn’t come yet.
“Yeah?” I arch a brow. “Well, you’re doing a lousy job of being invisible.” I ask, keeping my tone gentle, “What are you so afraid of?”
Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think she won’t answer. But then she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “It’s complicated.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Complicated enough to hide in a barn in the middle of the night?”
That earns me a faint smile. “I was looking around. After all these years, it still doesn’t feel safe, you know?”
“Is that why you left?”
“You still ask a lot of questions,” she says, letting out a long breath and sliding the knife into her pocket. Her gaze flicks to mine.
“I ask a lot of questions?” I repeat, confused but trying not to let it show. It’s the way she says it, like she knows me. Then again, in this town, everyone knows the Timberbridge brothers. We have . . . a reputation.
“I remember you,” she says after a pause. “From high school. You looked a lot younger, but everyone talked about how smart you were. And hot.” Her cheeks flush as the words slip out, and she quickly looks away. “I mean, it’s not like I wanted to date you or anything.”
“You didn’t want to date me?” I say, clutching my chest with exaggerated hurt, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Well, that sucks because I would’ve dated you.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement there, almost hidden beneath the guarded look she wears like a shield.
I take a moment to look at her. Really look at her. Her cheekbones are high and defined, giving her an elegant, almost regal profile, though softened by the warm undertone of her light tan skin. Her nose is small, with a subtle upturn at the tip that gives her a hint of defiance, like someone who doesn’t back down easily. And her mouth—her lips are full, with a natural curve that’s almost teasing, even when she’s trying to hold a straight face.
The dark auburn hair brushing her shoulders, those wide brown eyes that dart between wary and determined . . . there’s something about her. She’s petite, barely reaching my shoulder. This is a woman I would’ve given the time of day if she had approached me back in high school.
And it’s not like I’m offended, but of course I have to ask. “Why not? I would’ve dated you,” I add, my voice dipping slightly, just enough to make it a playful challenge.
Her lips press together, and for a second, I wonder if she’s going to bite back—or just walk away.
“No, really, tell me why not?”
“I was a freshman. You actually tutored me in biology,” she says matter-of-factly.
Okay, now I’m confused. I know this girl and didn’t try to date her? I dated . . . well, I’m not proud of my dating record from back in the day. Then again, I wouldn’t have given the time of the day to a freshman. Too young, and probably too innocent for me. Though I really have to ask: “Who are you?”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the barn feels smaller, the space between us shrinking. There’s something in her gaze—a mix of fear and relief, like she’s been holding her breath for years and is only now letting it out. “Nysa Calloway.”
The name is familiar, but Nysa Calloway was . . . well, definitely very different back then.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “All of you—Timberbridge brothers—left.”
“Neither did I,” I admit, glancing toward the open barn door, the dark night stretching endlessly beyond it. My plan was to be gone for the rest of my life. “But here we are not. And if you need anything . . .” I trail off, unsure how to finish.
She nods, her expression unreadable. “Thanks.”
“Come on,” I say instead, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s get you back to the house.” I pull out my phone to check the baby monitor. Maddie is still fast asleep. “It’s too cold to stay out here.”
She hesitates but eventually nods, following me out of the barn and into the quiet night. The air is cool and crisp, no longer biting. I glance back at her as we walk, her face illuminated by the pale glow of the moonlight.
Her features catch me off guard—the strength in her jawline, the determination in her eyes, and the way her lips press together like she’s holding back something. There’s a fragility about her, but not the kind that breaks easily. It’s the kind that survives, that bends and bends but doesn’t snap. And it makes me feel . . . protective, even though I have no idea why she’s here—or what she’s been through.
