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I was so damn nervous. I felt like I was getting a second shot at—I didn’t even know what.

She sent me a “be there in five” text, and I came outside with Hunter and grabbed Chloe from her pen. I crouched in the driveway and looked my dog in the eye. “Okay, buddy. No more messing around, got it? No jumping—hey! Look at me. NO JUMPING. You see how good Chloe is? This is the kind of energy I need you to bring to this situation.”

Hunter leaned over and licked Chloe on the nose, and she made a cute little bleat noise.

“And do your business in the woods. We’ve got a whole forest. You don’t need to do that in front of the garage. Best behavior.”

Hunter didn’t look like he had any idea what I was talking about and started scratching his neck. His collar made a jingling full rotation, and then he stopped and blinked at me. His ear was inside out.

Hunter was a six-year-old retired hunting dog I’d gotten from a rescue. I’d only had him three months. He was a Wirehaired Pointing Griffon. He looked perpetually confused and was the worst listener I’d ever met—which was weird, because the previous owner told the rescue he was fully trained. Hunting dogs were strong-willed by design, but this one…

I eyed him. “Some help you’re gonna be,” I mumbled.

I heard the sound of wheels on gravel and stood. My heart started to pound.

I had a quick second of what-if. What if the chemistry was gone or the attraction didn’t feel the same, or I’d built her up in my head and she wasn’t like I remembered?

And the second I saw her, I knew I hadn’t imagined a thing.

Chapter 8

Alexis

I’d called him. I’d called him, and I was going back down there.

What in the world was I doing?

It was such a spontaneous thing, I didn’t even really think it through. One minute I was standing in my living room, debating what to order from Grubhub for dinner, and the next I was Googling the VFW in Wakan and calling the number.

I had no idea if he’d actually be there. He was. And the second I heard his voice, I knew I was spending the night in a bed that wasn’t my own.

I’d scoured my closet for the right thing to wear. I checked the weather in Wakan. It was sixty today, so I picked jeans, some plaid rain boots that could be hosed off if I stepped in poop again, and a flannel with a white tank top underneath it. I looked exactly like someone trying to look woodsy.

I debated calling Gabby to ask her for help with what to wear, but then I’d have to explain why, and I wasn’t ready for that talk at all.

Daniel was not someone I could introduce to my friends. Ever.

They would never get it. Frankly I barely got it.

My set of friends didn’t know people with tattoos. Or beards. Or goats. Gabby’s husband, Philip, was some big money manager guy, and Jessica’s husband, Marcus, was a hotshot lawyer. Daniel was too young and too different from the men they were used to. He was too different from the men I was used to.

Maybe that was the allure…

There was definitely something very non-demanding about him. I didn’t feel like I had to summon stimulating conversation or dazzle him. And he was so fun. Neil would have never hustled his friends in a bar.

Neil would have been horrified to be in that bar.

I packed some silky sleeping shorts and a matching black tank top. Not too sexy, but definitely not frumpy. I didn’t want to look like I was coming there solely to seduce him—which I totally was—but I also didn’t want to look like I wasn’t making an effort.

I showered, shaved my legs, did my hair and makeup, packed a quick overnight bag, and headed south before I had time to talk myself out of it.

I listened to Lola Simone the whole way down.

I decided, since I couldn’t get to know my new sister-in-law in person, I’d do it through her songs. She had eleven albums, and I started with the first one. It wasn’t really my kind of music. Sort of pop rock. Very early Britney Spears, which I guess made sense, since according to her Wikipedia, Lola was sixteen when she made this. But her lyrics were pretty good.

This time when I drove through the tiny town of Wakan, I looked around. Half the businesses were closed on the sleepy main street. An ice-cream and fudge place, an old-timey photo shop, two boutiques, and half a dozen restaurants had unlit neon open signs and “gone for the season” posters in their windows. The motel I’d seen the other night on the drive in had a “closed for the season” message on the marquee, and the RV park next to it looked abandoned too. But even in the off-season, Wakan was charming.

The town was nestled between a river and bluffs. All the buildings were redbrick with old-fashioned lampposts lining the sidewalks. Almost every shop had a black metal historical landmark plaque, though I was too far away to read the inscriptions. I crept past an antique shop, a bakery, and a pharmacy that looked like it’d been there since the 1800s, with a faded mural of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox painted on the brick side.