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The drive home is automatic. My house is on the west side of Bloomfield, a small craftsman I bought after my dad died. Two bedrooms, a yard I never use, enough space for one person who doesn't need much.

I park in the driveway and sit there for a minute with the engine ticking as it cools.

I spent seven hours with Lyla today. Seven hours, and all I can think about is when I get to see her again.

This isn't like me. I don't do this.

I keep my distance, keep things simple, don't let people in past the surface. It's easier that way. Safer.

But Lyla looked at me over that table at Mae's and asked if I was happy, and I wanted to tell her the truth. Wanted to tell her things I don't tell anyone.

I get out of the truck and head inside. The house is dark and quiet and exactly as I left it this morning.

I turn on lights, drop my keys on the counter, and stand there in my empty kitchen trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

My phone buzzes. A text from Ethan: Mae says you were at the diner with the woman from this morning. With actual dinner. Sitting down. Talking.

I text back: Your point?

No point. Just noting that you haven't had dinner with anyone who wasn't me or your dad in the six years I've known you.

I'm expanding my social circle.

Is that what we're calling it?

I don't answer. I take a shower, change into sweatpants, and try to find something to eat that doesn't require actual cooking. End up with a sandwich and a beer, eating standing at the counter because sitting at the table alone feels depressing after spending the evening at Mae's with Lyla.

My phone buzzes again. This time it's not Ethan.

Thank you again for today! I had a really good time. :)

It's from Lyla. I stare at the message for longer than I should before typing back.

Me too.

A few seconds later, another text: Get home safe?

Yeah. You locked the doors?

She replies: All of them. Even the windows.

Good.

Goodnight, sheriff.

Goodnight.

I set the phone down and finish my beer, and I'm thinking about tomorrow. About seeing her again. About the way she smiled at me when she got out of the truck. About the fact that I didn't kiss her even though I wanted to.

I'm in trouble. Deep trouble.

And the thing that should scare me is that I don't want to climb back out.

Chapter 3 — Lyla

The cottage feels too quiet after Kieran leaves.

I try to go back to the logo. Sit at the kitchen table with my laptop, pull up the three versions I've been working on, and stare at them until they stop making sense.