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He could wake up to Hannah every morning, text her stupid memes in the middle of the day to make her laugh, kiss her at night until neither one of them could think about anything but each other.

The quiet of his small apartment in Portland, the nights spent with only Kodiak and the low hum of the refrigerator for company, seemed to echo suddenly in his head.

Not lonely, he reminded himself. He was not lonely. He was solitary. There was a difference.

He had done exactly what he’d set out to do with his life after his father was murdered and his mother shot.

He had worked hard, focused only on the job. He had put away dangerous people and he had helped victims find some measure of justice.

Those things mattered.

He wouldn’t rewrite his life, even if he could. But sitting at Hannah’s table, with two cute kids giggling over a weird-shaped crouton and his grandfather telling stories about the quirky residents of his retirement community, Wes couldn’t quite shake the sense that maybe what he had always told himself he wanted wasn’t quite enough anymore.

Chapter 12

This was the strangest dinner Hannah had experienced in a long time.

As she carried out a plate of shortbread cookies for dessert, she listened to the easy chatter between Stanley and the kids.

Riley was explaining, in great detail, the plot of Home Alone, which they had been watching before guests arrived, and Carter was chiming in with all the parts that involved tarantulas and slipping on ice.

On the other side of the table, Wes sat quietly, broad shoulders filling his chair, looking formidable and entirely out of place as he sipped from the glass of red wine she had dredged up from the back of the pantry. It had been a gift from one of her clients last Christmas, and she was ninety percent sure it hadn’t cost much more than the garlic bread they had supplied.

He didn’t seem to mind.

What was he doing here? Not just here in her house. What was he doing in Shelter Springs at all?

He had said he’d come back to spend time with his family over the holidays while he couldn’t work, but she sensed something more simmering under the surface. Something restless and sharp that had nothing to do with a knife wound and everything to do with the shadows in his eyes.

Wes Kenner had ghosts; that much was obvious. What had he seen? What ugly realities lived behind that steady gaze now? How did a man carry that much darkness and still show up for his grandfather and his sister and his brain-injured mother?

“Can I help clean up?” he asked abruptly, setting down his fork.

“Not necessary. The kids and I can do it.”

“We can help,” Stanley added. “You think I’m afraid of a few dishes?”

Wes nodded once, pushed back from the table and started stacking plates without waiting for permission.

Of course he did.

She followed him into the kitchen, wishing suddenly that the cozy room was bigger somehow.

“Sounds like you’re doing a good thing with this concert,” he said, rinsing the dishes and setting them in the sink like he’d done it in her kitchen a hundred times before.

“I’ve been doing it for years,” she said. “People seem to enjoy it. We’re always packed. Everybody loves listening to the different performances.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

She wanted to tell him no. She had no desire whatsoever to drag him into her life further. On the other hand, she truly was short volunteers this year and the man was offering. She would be so busy the night of the concert that she likely wouldn’t even know he was there.

Even as she thought it, she knew it for a lie. She would know exactly where he was every moment, the same way she always seemed to sense his presence whenever he was around. It was maddening, this pull toward him that never seemed to fade, no matter how much time passed or how firmly she reminded herself of all the reasons to keep her distance.

The smart thing would be to politely decline, to maintain the careful boundaries she had worked so hard to build. But there was a part of her, something deep inside she didn’t want to acknowledge, that craved these moments with him.

She hesitated, then plunged ahead before she could talk herself out of it. “Actually, if you’re going to be in town through Christmas, I could use an extra pair of hands. I try to have a small team outside to take tickets, help people park and assist residents in and out of cars, especially if there’s snow.”

If he was surprised at the request, he didn’t show it. “Sure,” he said after a beat. “I can do that. Tell me when and where.”