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She goes still, and I can practically feel her forcing herself not to ask more questions.

If she did ask, I’d tell her everything.

But in order to tell her everything, I’d have to tell her everything—about all the ways I screwed up that she doesn’t know about, about my choice to live the life I’d lived, and about what really drove me out of Silverwood in the first place.

And the real reason why I’m back.

I don’t have to reach into my pocket to know the list is there. A touchstone that’s kept me grounded over this past year. And it’s all led up to these two weeks.

Two weeks to show everyone in this family and this town that I’m different now.

I just didn’t count on her.

Not like this anyway.

I feel Hattie’s eyes on me. I know what she thinks about me, and I can’t deny that the rumors are true. Over the years, I drank a lot. I blacked out. I got into fights—a lot of fights—and acted like a fool. There were women whose names I don’t remember and mornings full of regret and failures I’d just as soon forget.

I haven’t lived a good life.

The words creep into my mind, a taunt that makes my skin feel hot from the mental spotlight. That sensation of knowing you screwed up and people could find out.

I avoid her eyes. She must be so disappointed in who I became.

The air between us starts to feel heavy, so I finish my coffee and pop the last bite of scone into my mouth. After I swallow it, I ask, “So? Will you let me help?”

Her jaw twitches, almost like she’s trying to find a reason not to, but eventually, she says, “Fine. I’m going to town to get a few things. You can—” she flicks a hand in the air— “carry my bags.”

“Yes ma’am,” I say. “Can’t think of a better way to spend the day.”

She gives me a quick once-over. “Just promise me you’re gonna keep your clothes on?”

I smirk. A joke. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

“Deal.”

Chapter Nine

Hattie

Noble has lived a whole life I know nothing about.

I’d gleaned bits and pieces over the years, and I’d cobbled it all together to create a very specific picture of a man who is maybe a lot more layered than I ever realized.

He’s a bit of a mystery . . . and I never met a mystery I didn’t want to solve.

My curiosity is going to get me into trouble. It’s a nosy gene I only seem to possess when it comes to him. The gene that has me wanting to know more.

Correction. That gene that has me wanting to know everything.

But knowing everything won’t change what he did. Every time I start to feel slightly empathetic, I remember that, and I’m mad all over again.

Because being mad is easier than being understanding. And being mad will keep me from falling for him all over again.

How pathetic. I’m a grown-up. It’s been years. I really need to let this go.

I absently wonder if this is going to be my cross to bear until after the wedding when he leaves. This mental tug-of-war that has my head all twisted in knots.

I pause before I open the door to gather myself.