My mother planted most of them years ago.
Declan merely watered the garden.
The phone vibrates again.
I snatch it from the cupholder when the road straightens, praying for Kaden.
Unknown number again.
My pulse trips as a new message appears.
We can do this the easy way.
I stare at it long enough for the road to blur, then flip the phone facedown.
“Fantastic. Love choices.”
My voice sounds thinner than I want inside the car, so I clear my throat and focus on the road.
The last sign said WILDWOOD, 7 MILES.
Seven miles to a town of roughly three thousand people tucked so deep into the mountains that I am fairly sure the internet arrives by mule.
I have been there once.
Two years ago, Kaden brought me along for a weekend because he was passing through and decided his twenty-one-year-old sister needed fresh air, mountains, and a firsthand demonstration of what severe sexual frustration felt like.
That last part was Gavin Mercer’s fault.
I met him for one weekend and have remembered his face for two years, which seems unfair.
Especially because Gavin is not pretty.
Pretty suggests softness. Symmetry. A man who has never looked across a room and made a woman forget what she was saying halfway through the word probably.
Gavin is six-foot-four, broad enough to make doorways look decorative, with black hair, silver-gray eyes, scars, dark stubble, and the general energy of a man who could chop wood during a blizzard and somehow make the blizzard apologize.
He spoke maybe forty words to me that entire weekend.
I treasured thirty-seven of them.
The remaining three were, “Careful. It’s hot.”
He was handing me coffee.
I nearly proposed.
My dignity has always been delicate.
Thankfully, none of that matters now because Gavin is gone.
Kaden mentioned months ago that he was taking a long security assignment. I do not know where or for whom, but I know one important thing.
His cabin is empty.
My chest loosens by half an inch.
This is temporary. I stay one night, maybe two, get hold of Kaden, and we figure out what to do.