36

Sloane

My house is spotless.

Cleaner than it’s ever been, and while I’m far from the messiest person on the planet, I’m also not a neat freak.

But it’s nice.

It smells nice.

Like pine and s’mores.

Like Davis himself found time to walk through my house, making sure it was put back together right, leaving behind his scent so I’d know he was here.

Or possibly the cleaning crew used Lysol.

Who knows?

“I’ll fix your painting,” Tillie Jean says to me as she and Max escort me through, all of us making sure the house is empty from the attic to the basement and everywhere in between. “I saw pictures of what happened. Or I’ll make you a new one.”

“No rush. And thank you. And seriously, no rush. Not like… cleaning up was a rush.”

The crew Davis hired did, indeed, leave a list of what they suspected to be missing and what was clearly broken so that I can submit it to my insurance company.

Except I don’t need to.

Davis paid to replace almost all of it himself.

Not that he’d tell me that.

But why else would the broken vase that was scattered on my floor a few days ago now be intact with fall flowers in it on my entryway table? Why else would the television that was cracked be brand new? Why else would I have more glasses and plates than I did when I last slept in my house?

Davis did it.

He fixed it for me. He replaced everything he could for me.

No doubt. No question. And if he didn’t do it, he was heavily involved.

“Are you breaking your no-dating rule?” Tillie Jean whispers to me.

I shake my head.

“Are you sure?”

“You can’t date someone without them wanting to date you back.”

“Do you believe him when he says he’ll still show up for your wedding tomorrow?”

“Yes.” I think.

“Will you?”

I half laugh, and it almost turns into a sob. “Yes.”

“Nigel’s been in town a few more times, but Chester’s chased him away every time. He started using the stalking words, and apparently even Nigel’s smart enough to understand you can’t get away with that shit here. You want us to hang out a while?”

“Yes.” I freeze.

That was too fast.

“I mean, not if you have other things to do. And it’s obvious you have a lot to do. Mayor duties just got mayorier for you. Sorry. And you’re welcome. And sorry. Oh my god , what did Cooper put in that coffee?”

“Lack of sleep and adrenaline crash powder.” Tillie Jean hugs me. “We’ll hang out. Look. Max is already using your couch. Oooh , when did you get all of the streaming services? I thought you only had two. Now you can watch ‘In The Weeds’ and get caught up so we can talk about how terrible it is and why people might like it so much.”

I blink at the screen.

And then it gets blurry.

Because I definitely didn’t pay for those.

Which means someone else likely did.

“I hate men,” I whisper to Tillie Jean. Then my eyes fly wide, and I peer around her to Max. “But not you. You’re…fine.”

I wince.

TJ laughs.

Max takes it all in stride with a smile.

He has to, I suppose, if he’s truly happy with Tillie Jean, and I’m sure he is.

You can tell by the way he looks at her.

And he doesn’t go around town telling people all of her little faults that annoy him or the things that he thinks she can do better. He went around town while she was running for mayor telling everyone all the good things she’d do for Shipwreck if she was elected. He brags about her paintings. Every time she does something very Tillie-Jean-ish, he smiles, shakes his head, calls her Trouble Jean , which makes her smile wider, and then he quietly finds a way to help her.

They don’t have a nanny because he’s stay-at-home-dadding with Rosie while TJ’s doing her mayor duties, though Rosie’s hanging out with Grady and Annika and Miles right now.

The last time I was at their house, he was making dinner.

And the Tillie Jean I know today shines brighter than the Tillie Jean I knew when I moved here, which is saying something.

Good men exist.

And I will never have one.

Even if I’ve found the one I’d want if I were willing to take one more chance.

TJ and Max and I watch TV together for a few hours.

Grady and Annika show up with the kids, and we all watch more TV—the kid-friendly kind this round—and eat the pizza they’ve brought from Anchovies, the local Rock-family-owned pizza place.

And eventually, they leave.

And Peggy and I are all alone.

In my house.

“I’m safe here,” I say in the stillness.

The heater kicks on, and I jump.

The fridge kicks on, and I jump again.

I still have the number Davis gave me. I could text him. Ask him if he’d come over. Just once. Just this last time.

Before we get fake-married tomorrow.

Giselle’s officiating.

I’m wearing a pink dress.

Tillie Jean and Annika are re-wearing their bridesmaid dresses from last week’s wedding.

Some of the Bro Code guys might show up.

TJ confirmed that the winery’s ready, and Grady reported that his afternoon baker has all of our wedding cookies ready to go.

And also that he had no intention of putting together a bill for them, but someone left a tip in his tip jar that would’ve covered three times as many cookies.

The three Rock siblings still have to figure out what to say to who about the treasure and the real history of Shipwreck and Sarcasm, but they’ll get there.

Hard to expect them to immediately know what to do after this many years of believing one thing about their heritage, only to be presented with evidence that it’s a two-hundred-plus-year-old lie.

I look around my living room again.

Repeat out loud that I’m safe.

That I can go to bed.

That all is well.

And then I flip the TV back on.

Peggy gives me the stink eye.

And finally, well after midnight, which is entirely too late after the week I’ve had, when I’ve streamed as much of “In The Weeds” as I can stomach for one night—this was a terrible choice, it really was—I make myself turn off the television, then turn off my lights like I always do.

I make myself prep my coffee for morning with an upgraded version of my coffeepot and a fresh, unopened bag of my favorite beans from the Muted Parrot that I find in the kitchen.

I triple-check that the new house alarm is set with the instructions that were left for me. And it’s the same style alarm that Cooper has, and that Max insisted he and Tillie Jean get when they moved back to Shipwreck for his peace of mind, so I had plenty of help before my friends left with fully understanding the whole thing.

I wash my face with a new bottle of face wash and brush my teeth with a new tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush head on my new electric toothbrush.

All laid out for me on my sink by someone who would’ve known I’d want to know they were fresh and new.

And then I flip off the bathroom light. I climb into bed, check the nightstand drawer, find my toy collection basically accounted for, and shut off the lamp.

I pick a vibrator at random in the dark and slip it between my thighs while memory after memory of Davis fills my mind.

Davis kissing my head in his camper when I had a nightmare about Patrick and Nigel.

Davis making popcorn for me.

Davis asking me how I like to touch myself.

Davis taking the lamp from me that I was going to use as a weapon to defend us against Giselle before I knew who she was.

Davis stretching during the treasure hunt at the waterfall, his shirt lifting just enough to show off a strip of tattoos on his lean stomach.

Davis being frustrated.

Davis smiling.

Davis fucking me against the bathroom wall.

Davis kissing me.

I come in a flash of pleasure that’s nowhere near as satisfying as I want it to be.

Just text him, dumbass , I tell myself after I’ve put my vibrator away.

I’m going to sleep , I reply to myself.

Except I don’t.

I lie there.

And I lie there.

And I lie there.

And I stare at the ceiling.

I toss and turn.

I try counting sheep.

I try naming every body part alphabetically.

And I guess I eventually doze off, because eventually, my eyes drift open.

And that’s when I see it.

Them.

Two people.

In my doorway.

Two more goddamn people in my goddamn fucking doorway.

I don’t know if anger or fear drives me.

I don’t know if this is real.

But I lunge for the nightstand drawer, grab the first dildo I can get my hands on, and I throw it at the figures with all my might while I scream at the top of my lungs.