“Well,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “The guesthouse is yours for as long as you need it. Don’t burn it down.”
And with that, he turned on his heel, heading back toward his house without waiting for a reply.
I glared after him, every childhood insult and teenage argument flashing through my mind. Some things never changed.
Except Olive shifted again, clutching her Bunny tighter, and my heart squeezed. Maybe this time, they had to.
Chapter 6
Seth
Ihadn’t planned on coming home to find Madison Cole asleep on the guesthouse couch.
Well, technically, she wasn’t asleep. Her daughter was. Madison herself had been wide awake, glaring at me like I’d personally summoned the storm that tore her roof off.
Now it was morning, and from my kitchen window I could see her through the glass window of the guesthouse, movingaround in an oversized T-shirt as if she owned the place. She had dark eyes that didn’t miss a thing, framed by rich dark brown hair that spilled loosely around her shoulders. She was probably cursing me under her breath with every step she took, and for reasons I didn’t care to examine, the thought made my chest tighten.
It’s strange, the things you remember. Not the big moments, not birthdays or graduations or any of the things that end up in photo albums. No, the things that stick out are finer in detail. Like the sound of Madison’s laugh when she used to chase Blair through the yard. Or the way she’d wrinkle her nose when she was trying not to cry.
She was around a lot back then. Too much, if you’d asked me at sixteen. She and Blair had been inseparable. Always whispering, giggling, dragging mud into the house, or sneaking cookies from Mom’s cooling racks in the kitchen. Madison was smaller, quieter, all big brown eyes and cautious smiles. She didn’t talk much at first. Just followed Blair around like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be there.
And maybe that’s why I started teasing her.
Not because I didn’t like her, hell, maybe because I did. But because she looked so out of place, like one strong wind might blow her away. I didn’t know how to handle gentle things back then, still don’t, not really. So I did what I knew. I poked, I teased, I tried to get a reaction.
I’d call her sweetheart just to see her glare at me. Or I’d steal her juice box at lunch when she and Blair ate on the back porch. Every time she stomped her foot or called me a jerk, I felt… lighter. Like I had gotten under her skin.
But there were moments, quiet ones, that stuck with me too.
Like the day Blair had to leave for camp and Madison stayed behind, sitting on the porch steps with her chin in her hands.The air was thick with July heat, and I remember thinking she looked lonely in a way that had nothing to do with being alone.
“Your parents picking you up?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, they’re busy.”
That was all she said. But it was enough to tell me she didn’t expect them to come.
So I sat with her for a while, neither of us talking. And when she started drawing in the dirt with a stick, I nudged her shoulder and said something stupid, something like, “You’re not gonna cry, are you, sweetheart?”
She’d glared at me, eyes bright, but she didn’t cry. She never did. Not once in all the years I’d known her.
And maybe that’s what got me, that quiet kind of strength she had even back then.
It’s been years since I thought about any of that. Years since I’ve seen her face, grown and older now, walking around my guesthouse. But the second she looked at me, all those memories came rushing back.
The porch. The laughter. The girl who never quite fit anywhere, except maybe here, even if neither of us could admit it back then.
Now she’s here, and I can’t stop wondering if the reason I teased her so much wasn’t because she was easy to bother, but because, even as a kid, she made this place, and me, feel accepted. Now, it scares the hell out of me.
This whole idea was a total mess.
I had a team of contractors scattered across Wisteria Creek, trying to assess storm damage on half the businesses downtown, and now I had Madison living on my property. Madison, who could turn a simple ‘good morning’ into a declaration of war.
And little Olive.
The little girl had curled up on my couch last night with that stuffed Bunny clutched in her arms and looked so damn small, ithad knocked the air right out of me. I wasn’t the kind of guy who melted over kids, but there was something about her, something about the way she trusted her mom to make everything safe for her, even when their world was falling apart. That stuck with me.
I poured a cup of coffee, muttering a curse under my breath. This wasn’t going to work.
