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“Never. But…” He blows out a breath.

“But…?”

“But I’m going through a breakup.” He lifts his broad shoulders. “And this is what I’m supposed to do, I think. I don’t know. It was my first serious relationship in a while, but⁠—”

Going to a bar after a breakup? Proper protocol, but what the hell is he doing here alone? He should have friends to be his wingman. Or something.

I wince and hold up a hand, cutting him off. “It sounds like you’re new to flirting, or maybe a little rusty, so let me give you a tip. When a beautiful woman⁠—”

He snorts. “Let’s be clear, you are talking about yourself, yes?”

“Yes. When a beautiful woman is flirting with you at a bar, you shouldn’t start talking about your ex.”

His glasses fog up around the edges. “You’re flirting with me?”

“Not yet, but I would have if you didn’t change the subject so quickly.”

He looks down, but there’s no hiding that he’s fighting off a smile.

Can I fix my own bad moods? Absolutely not. Nothing can remedy what I’ve become, but I can still make a stranger smile. A stranger who seems like he doesn’t smile all that often, too.

This is where I could ask about his breakup and maybe offer a shoulder to cry on, but my love life has never been the best. Lively? Yes. Humorous? Certainly. Occasionally fun? Sure, but I’m not the type to give advice.

I’m better at distractions, and I have a feeling we both need one.

“Let’s start over,” he says. “I’m Sterling, a graduate student at the University of Maine. Twenty-seven years old. And I’m not really sure why you would want to flirt with me, considering my obvious emotional unavailability⁠—”

He’s cute when he rambles, but I slide off the barstool and slip between his legs. Sterling, if that is his real name, is rendered silent. Wide-eyed. Completely adorable.

“Jesus fuck,” the bartender mutters.

He doesn’t say anything else, likely because I’m sober enough to know exactly what I’m doing. He’s definitely stopped things early when there were times when I wasn’t. Good guy, as far as bartenders go. I’d say he’s a lot like my dad, but there’s one thing they don’t have in common.

The bartender is still breathing.

“I don’t care about your emotional availability.” I tug on the front of Sterling’s shirt. “I’m about to give you the best rebound sex of your life. Are you in?”

“I—I—” He looks at the bartender, as if he’ll have the answer. Sterling’s face is as red as the wine in his glass—really, he’s drinking wine?—but when he looks at me again, there’s steely resolution in his expression. “Yes. I’m in.”

Chapter 1

Sterling

THREE YEARS LATER IN STARBROOK, MAINE

This is my idea of Hell—or at least close to it.

It should be an ordinary Monday, but I turn on the shower, and ice-cold water pours right onto my hand.

“Gods!” I hiss and keep my hand there, waiting for it to warm up.

And waiting.

And waiting.

You would think that, having built this place myself, I would know how to make it work in my favor. But there’s one place I know better, and my dads are expecting me anyway. I throw on a flannel and then my jacket; it’s October in Maine, and there’s no saying whether it will be hot or cold. Best to prepare.

My family home, a five-minute drive away, is always lively, even though my siblings and I have moved out. I beeline upstairs to the shower near my childhood bedroom and finish getting ready for my day. Everything is right where it’s always been. My preferred shampoo is still in the shower. I’ve always suspected that my fathers wouldn’t mind if we moved right back in.