1

 

Emery Reed placed the engagement ring in her fiancé’s palm and stepped back, the weight of it still burning her skin.

“Seriously?” Trenton stared at her like she’d just slapped him. “You’re really doing this?”

Her heart thudded painfully, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “We agreed. If it didn’t work out, we’d walk away without arguing.”

“We?” He let out a humorless laugh. “You said that. I nodded. There’s a difference.” His voice was tight, jaw clenched. “You have no idea how bad this is going to look. You’re walking away from ten years. Just like that?”

She didn’t answer. What was the point? She’d spent three months trying to make it work. Again. Trying to ignore the app she found on his phone, the late-night messages, the excuses.

Now she was done. Even if it broke her heart.

“You don’t have to worry about seeing me. Or things being awkward,” she told him. “I’m heading home for the summer. To Hartson’s Creek. My mom needs help getting the farm ready to sell.”

It still felt strange saying that. Getting the farm ready to sell.

Her dad had only passed a few months ago. Everything was still raw. For her, for her mom. But the work had to be done, and Emery couldn’t bear to let her mother do it alone.

“You’re going to disappear back there and pretend none of this happened?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. I’m going to try and start over.”

To remember who she used to be, before she twisted herself into knots trying to be the perfect fiancée. The perfect daughter. The perfect everything.

Trenton stared at her, like he couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Can we at least wait until the end of the summer until we tell people we’ve broken up and the engagement is over? Until my parents get back from their cruise. I don’t have time to deal with this now. I have that project. It’s important.” He sounded almost dismissive. Like she was just another item on his to-do-list.

You never have time, she thought. Not for me.

He stepped forward, his voice softening, like he could sense a chink in her armor. “Come on. Let’s keep it quiet until we’ve both processed it. Just for a few months. It’ll be easier for both of us. You know that.”

She knew it would be easier for him, that was for sure. And Trenton always put himself first. It just took her this long to realize it.

Sensing a chink in her armor, he went in for the kill. “Come on, Emery. You owe me this. After all these years.”

She looked at the ring in his hand. The same one he’d given her after college, when the future had felt bright and uncomplicated. When she still believed in him. In them.

And just like always, guilt curled in her chest. Not because she was doing the wrong thing. She knew she wasn’t. But because she was so damn tired of being the one who upset people. The one who caused ripples. And telling everyone now would feel like setting off a bomb.

Especially with her mom still grieving.

Especially in a town where everybody knew everybody.

And especially because Trenton’s family lived there too.

Which meant she’d have to lie. Smile. Pretend, just for a little longer.

So she’d do what she always did.

She’d make it easier. For him, for her mom, for everyone but herself.

“Fine,” she said quietly. “I won’t say anything. Not yet.”

“But it’s over?”

She turned away before he could see the tears brimming in her eyes. “Yes,” she told him, her voice low and ragged. “It’s over.”

 

* * *

 

ONE WEEK LATER

 

There was something bittersweet about standing in an empty classroom after the last bell of the year had rung. Emery gently pulled the final poster from the bulletin board, smoothing it out before placing it on her desk with the others she’d made months ago.

Everything was clean. Quiet. Done.

“Please tell me you’re ready,” Maisie called from the doorway, her tote bag slung over her shoulder, sunglasses pushed into her curls. “Because I’m one silent scream  away from cocktails and freedom.”

Emery glanced over with a tired smile. “I think I’m gonna skip it.”

Maisie frowned. “You’re going to miss the end-of-year celebration? The others are already at O’Hara’s. They’ve got tequila and questionable karaoke. Come on, it’s tradition.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

Maisie walked in and began gathering stacks of cardstock from Emery’s desk, carrying them toward the supply closet. She didn’t even have to ask where they went. After four years of teaching second grade together, and being best friends, Maisie knew Emery’s system by heart.

“And you weren’t in the mood last night either,” she pointed out. “Or the night before that.”

Emery followed her, locking up the cabinet after she’d stacked the last of her things. “Because I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ve got a long drive, and a lot of work waiting for me.”

“You also just ended a ten-year relationship,” Maisie pointed out, her tone gentler now. “You’re allowed to wallow. Or rage. Or scream-sing breakup songs at an Irish bar.”

Emery huffed out a laugh. “I’m too tired to scream-sing. And I don’t feel like wallowing over Trenton.”

Maisie paused, then gave her a look. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning to let you for long. I’m still hoping you’ll come with me to Europe, where you’ll fall in love with a gorgeous Italian who doesn’t own a single dating app.”

“You know I can’t.” Emery’s smile faded. “My mom needs me there to help her. The farm’s too much for her on her own, and with Dad gone...”

Her voice caught. Just a little.

Maisie softened. “I know. I just hate seeing you tied in knots over this. Especially when you’re still wearing that.” She nodded at Emery’s ring finger.

Emery looked down at the diamond that no longer meant anything. “It makes things easier. For now.”

“Easier for who?” Maisie lifted a brow.

“My mom. She’s still grieving. The last thing she needs is to worry about me too.”

Maisie crossed her arms. “I still can’t believe you agreed to this charade.”

Emery couldn’t quite believe it herself. But she’d given her word and she’d stick to it. Even if Trenton never stuck to his. 

Muttering something under her breath that definitely wasn’t school-appropriate, Maisie walked out of the closet.

Emery followed behind, trying not to smile at her friend’s obvious annoyance. “It’s not like I’ll be seeing him,” she pointed out. “He’ll be in Charleston, I’ll be in Hartson’s Creek.”

“But no guy is even going to look at you with a ring on that finger,” Maisie said. 

Rolling her eyes, Emery locked the closet behind her. And there it was, school was out for summer. “I have zero desire to start dating again.”  

“Not even a tiny desire?” Maisie asked, looking disappointed. “Surely there have to be some hot single guys in Hartson’s Creek.”

“Considering I’ve known 95% of the male population there since kindergarten, I think I’ll pass.”

Maisie narrowed her eyes. “So you're telling me you're going to spend your entire summer working on a farm, pretending you're still engaged, and not even making one bad decision?”

“I’m going to be too busy for bad decisions,” Emery said firmly.

Maisie sighed dramatically. “That’s what I was afraid of. Which is why…” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of lined paper. “I made you this.”

Emery took it, raising an eyebrow. “Is this a to-do list?”

“It’s a fuck-you-Trenton list,” Maisie said proudly. “Handcrafted. Emotionally charged. And guaranteed to jumpstart your post-breakup glow-up.”

Emery glanced down at the blue-ink scrawl:

 

 

1. Go skinny dipping 

2. Get a tattoo

3. Get drunk at least once

4. Stay up talking all night

5. Dance on a bar 

6. Ride on the back of a motorcycle

7. Have sex with a man who isn’t your ex

 

“Maisie!” Emery blinked. “I’m not doing these. Especially not number seven.”

“Yes, you are.” Maisie refused to take the list back. “You’ll spend the whole summer meandering around the farm like a sad sack unless someone forces your hand. You need this. You need fun. Make some reckless decisions, you might even enjoy them.”

“I’m not sleeping with a stranger,” Emery said, though she couldn't quite stop the laugh from bubbling out.

Maisie rolled her eyes at her. “Okay. Because I’m such a generous friend,” she said, pulling a pen from her bag, “we’ll revise.” She struck through number seven and wrote beneath it:

 

1. Kiss a man who isn’t your ex.

 

The words made something flutter low in Emery’s stomach. The kind of flutter that reminded her she hadn’t kissed anyone but Trenton in nearly a decade. Hadn’t even thought about it.

Until now. 

“I’m serious, Em.” Maisie’s voice softened again. “You already did the hard part. You left. Now it’s time to remember who you were before all of this. Before him.”

Emery swallowed hard, her throat tight.

Maisie had been through her own heartbreak last year. When her boyfriend moved to Texas and left her behind, she’d cried for a week. Then she’d booked a solo backpacking trip through Europe. That’s where she was headed tomorrow, until school restarted in the fall.

And Emery? She was heading back to a town she’d tried so hard to outgrow. 

But apparently she was going with a list.

“Okay,” she said, folding the paper in half and tucking it into her bag, because she was all out of fight right now. “I’ll do it. I’ll do your damn list.”

Maisie beamed. “That’s my girl.” She pulled Emery into a fierce hug. “Now get out of here and go do something totally irresponsible. Preferably involving tequila.”

Emery smiled against her friend’s shoulder.

She had no idea what the summer would bring, but for the first time in a long while  she wasn’t just bracing herself for survival.

She was heading home to start again.

​

2

 

“Hendrix Hartson, why aren’t you answering your phone?”

Hendrix looked up from the ground where he was repairing an irrigation line that had been leaking for a week, and tried to suppress a smile. His cousin Sabrina was pouting, her brows knitted the same way they used to when she didn’t get her way as a kid.

At twenty-six, his junior by three years, she could just about get away with it.

“I’m busy,” he pointed out, glancing at the water still trickling from the line. The sun was beating down, there was a farm full of animals that needed watering, and if he didn’t fix this pipe soon, there’d be hell to pay.

And also, he didn’t want to answer his calls.

Since he’d come home to Hartson’s Creek a couple of months ago, his phone had become a millstone. Constantly buzzing with texts from his brothers, missed calls from his mom, and naturally, daily Snapchats from Sabrina. Because his cousin was way too cool for a regular message.

“I’ve sent you, like, a dozen Snaps this week,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I even called you last night. And don’t tell me you were busy then. There’s nothing going on around here.”

She huffed and looked around at the expanse of farmland, golden wheat swaying alongside rows of sunlit corn.

“It’s so boring.” She shook her head.

“I’ll check my phone tonight,” he said, even though they both knew he wouldn’t.

“Liar.” She sighed like the weight of the world had landed on her shoulders. “I remember when you used to be fun.”

“When was that? Back in grade school?” he teased.

They’d always bonded over being the youngest in their loud, chaotic families. Her with three older brothers, him with two. At family parties they’d run wild, stuffing their faces with frosting, spiking lemonade with hot sauce. They once tied helium balloons to their Great Aunt Gina’s dog to see if he’d float.

He didn’t. And Aunt Gina had not been amused.

Finally stemming the leak, Hendrix stood, wiping his face with the hem of his dusty t-shirt and feeling the ache in his back.

“What are you doing out here anyway?” he asked.

Sabrina had never cared for farm life. Not like he had. From the moment he was old enough to help muck out stalls, he’d loved the rhythm of it. The animals, the sweat, the sun that soaked into your bones and made you feel like you belonged.

As a kid, it had been the one place he didn’t feel like a screw-up.

And now that he was back, it was the only place people didn’t expect him to be anything other than quiet and useful.

Well, except for Sabrina.

“I came to rescue you from your self-imposed exile,” she said, flicking a glance at his dirt-streaked jeans. “There’s a party Saturday night at Mariah’s house. You remember parties, don’t you? People. Music. Fun. Not smelling like you lost a wrestling match with a horse.”

He smirked. “Didn’t Mariah go to New York to be an actress?”

“That was Victoria. Keep up.” She crossed her arms. “Are you coming or not?”

He opened his mouth, already searching for an excuse. The last thing he needed was to end up in a house full of twentysomethings drinking canned cocktails and live-streaming their bad decisions.

“It’ll be fun,” she coaxed. “Fireworks. Karaoke. Probably someone crying about their ex in the bathroom. It’s basically a tradition.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head, trying – and failing – to look remorseful. “I’ll be working on my place.”

The cottage his uncle had sold him needed everything repairing. Gutters, roofing, plumbing. Same with the neglected patch of farmland it sat on. Working his uncle’s land was a paycheck. But building something of his own?

That was redemption. His future. And it was more important than parties.

“Mariah specifically asked me to invite you,” Sabrina said, narrowing her eyes. “She’s single. You’re single. She makes a mean margarita. That’s practically a Hallmark movie.”

“Sabrina.” His voice was a warning.

“What? I’m just saying, she’ll be wearing a sundress and cowboy boots. Your kryptonite.”

“Fixing irrigation lines and sleeping through the night are my kryptonite,” he told her. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re so boring now. What did they do to you in California?”

He paused, just for a beat, then shoved the wrench back into the toolbox.

“Nothing happened,” he said gruffly. “Maybe I just grew up.”

Sabrina snorted. “Wow. So this is what thirty looks like. Dad jokes and an early bedtime.”

“I’m not thirty.”

“Close enough.” She smirked. “You’ve gone full Hartson. Might as well get cargo shorts and start grilling with unnecessary confidence.”

A reluctant laugh rumbled in his throat.

“Enjoy your irrigation pipe, old man,” she called as she turned to leave. “I’ll go drink tequila and make terrible decisions for both of us.”

He watched her boots kick up dust as she walked away, the swing of her hips saying annoyed, not angry. She’d cool off. She always did.

He’d message her later. Or maybe he’d finally open one of her Snaps.

Sabrina was his favorite cousin, after all. He loved her. But right now, he wasn’t trying to be fun or social or the life of any party.

He was just trying to be good.

 

* * *

 

By the time the sun dipped low over the hills and the last of his tools were packed away, Hendrix’s shirt clung to his back and his throat felt like sandpaper.

He took the long way home, cutting across the fields on his dirt bike. The scent of warm hay and earth clung to the air, carried by the breeze off the creek.

His Uncle Logan was out by the west fence, clipboard in one hand and wire cutters in the other.

Hendrix coasted to a stop and swung off the bike. “Leak’s all fixed. Checked the whole line. There are no more holes.”

His uncle nodded, satisfied. “That section’s been bleeding for days.”

“Not anymore. It’s good to go.”

Logan walked over, his strides easy, steady. He was tall like all the Hartson men, but carried a kind of calm Hendrix hadn’t yet figured out how to fake.

“You heading home?” his uncle asked, looking up at the fading sun. 

“Yeah. Might start on the gutters before it gets dark.” Hendrix slung his gear bag over his shoulder. “Roof’s next.”

“You’re putting in the hours.”

“Trying to make it mine,” Hendrix said simply.

“You already have.” Logan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And Court said to tell you dinner’s on the stove if you want it. Meatloaf and cake.”

“She doesn’t quit.” Courtney was his aunt. Like all his family, she loved to feed him up, despite the fact he was six-foot two and all muscle.

“She’s a Hartson.” His uncle shrugged. “It’s how we love.”

“I’ll swing by and grab some cake tomorrow,” Hendrix promised. 

Logan nodded, then added, “Your mom cornered me at the store this morning. Wanted to know if I’d seen any unfamiliar vehicles at your place.”

Hendrix groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t answer her.”

“I told her if you had a harem, you were doing a damn good job keeping it quiet.”

“She’s never gonna stop.” Hendrix rubbed the back of his neck. “You’d think with Pres and Marley giving her grandkids left and right, she’d have her hands full.”

“She’s a mom,” Logan said simply. “And moms worry.”

“I know. But I’m doing okay.” He paused. “Just… maybe not the way she wants me to be.”

Logan nodded. “That’s still okay. You don’t have to be anything but who you are.”

Hendrix started to reply, but Logan held up a hand.

“Oh, and Alice Reed called.”

Hendrix winced. The farmer’s widow living in the cottage opposite his seemed to enjoy making his life a misery.

“She says your ‘infernal machine’ is giving her hens palpitations.” Logan smirked. “Apparently her daughter’s coming home this week, and she doesn’t want her disturbed.”

That made Hendrix snort. “The woman times my coffee breaks like she’s got a drone on me.”

“She’s got eyes everywhere and zero tolerance for nonsense. And she’s your neighbor now,” Logan pointed out.

“I’ll drop off an apology card. Maybe some earplugs for her daughter.”

Logan laughed. “Just don’t rile her up. You’ve got enough going on.”

With a nod, Hendrix kicked the bike to life. The engine roared as he took off through the pasture, the wind hitting his face and the last light chasing his shadow over the golden fields.

His muscles ached. His hands were raw. But for the first time in months, his head felt a little clearer.

He wasn’t here to stir up trouble.

He just wanted a little peace.

And a chance to start over.

 

 

3

 

 

“All I’m saying is that you look so pretty in a skirt,” Emery’s mom said, folding another dish towel and smoothing it out like it had personally offended her. “Cutoffs just look… messy.”

Emery took a breath. She’d forgotten how traditional her mother could be. Apparently, cut-off denim shorts and a black tank top were a step too far for a proper young woman in Hartson’s Creek.

“I mean, you used to love wearing dresses,” her mom added, without looking up.

“I also used to think crimping my hair was a good idea.” Emery kept her voice light, trying to remember that her mom was grieving. This wasn’t really about shorts. Or even appearances. This was about control. Something her mother hadn’t had for a while now.

The house still felt heavy without her dad. The chair he always sat in was empty. The space he used to fill so loudly and easily felt like a vacuum. Her mom had spent her whole life being a wife, a partner, a helpmate. And now she was a widow with a farm she didn’t know how to run.

Thank god Jed Walker, her dad’s longtime farm manager, had stayed on past retirement to help keep things afloat until the property could be sold.

Emery’s gaze flicked to the engagement ring still glittering on her finger like it had every right to be there.

God, what a mess her life was.

“It’s ninety degrees outside,” she told her mom. “It’s too hot for anything but shorts.”

Her mom sighed. “Maybe the air conditioning needs upgrading. It’s been sluggish since April.”

And there it was. The other elephant in the room.

There was no money for upgrades. 

“You’re selling the place,” Emery reminded her gently. “There’s no point getting a new system installed now.”

“But it’ll sell faster if everything’s new,” her mom said. “Maybe you could ask Trenton what he thinks?”

That name again. Her jaw tensed.

Of course her mom would bring him up. He was the golden boy. The wealthy one. The safe bet. And of course her mom would default to him when it came to anything practical.

“We’ve got it under control,” Emery said, forcing a smile. “Let’s just get everything organized so we can put it on the market.”

She was sitting at the polished dining table, surrounded by stacks of paperwork her father had left behind. Or at least some of it. A lot was missing. And none of it was in order. But she had to make sense of it if she wanted the sale to go through without hiccups.   

Her mom paused her endless glass-polishing, brow furrowing as she watched Emery.

“Is everything okay with you and Trenton?” she asked. “You haven’t said much about him since you’ve been back.”

Emery fought the instinct to flinch. She’d been home for less than twenty-four hours. But of course, in this house, silence meant something was wrong.

“Everything’s fine,” she lied smoothly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I just don’t know if it’s smart for you to be here without him. Don’t you miss him? He can’t be thrilled you’re spending the whole summer away.”

Emery stood and reached for her mother’s hands, threading their fingers together. “He’s okay with it,” she said softly. “He’s been swamped at work. You know how he is. And we both agreed me coming home was the right thing.”

Her mom’s face softened. “He’s such a good man,” she murmured. “Such a catch.” Then her voice brightened. “Imagine. A Reed marrying a Montclair.”

Emery looked down at the ring on her left hand again. It felt heavier by the second.

But she was doing this for her mom. Alice Reed had cried twice already since Emery arrived. Once when she found her dad’s worn boots by the door, and again when she couldn’t find the deed to the back fields.

Her mom needed stability. Hope. And not more heartbreak.

But still, she couldn’t help the growing sense of tightness. As though the walls of this old farmhouse were slowly closing in. The air in here was too still. Too full of memories.

Unlike Emery, her mom had never left this town. She hadn’t gone to college, hadn’t lived anywhere but Hartson’s Creek. She’d been raised on a farm and married a farmer. Her whole world was this land, this house, these routines.

Knowing about Emery’s break up?

It could break her.

And Emery had already broken enough things lately.

“You know what?” she said, releasing her mom’s hands and stepping back. “I’m going to take a walk. The realtor asked for some initial photos. I’ll take a few while the light’s still good.”

“In this heat?” Her mom frowned. “You’ll burn up.”

Maybe she would. But right now, she needed to breathe.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” she promised, grabbing her phone and slipping in her earbuds before her mom could protest.

Outside, the sun hit her like a wall. She squinted toward the nearest field, where Jed was talking with a few of the farmhands. From the way they were herding cattle, it looked like they were rotating pastures.

Jed spotted her and tipped his cap, the sun glinting off his white hair. She smiled and waved back, grateful for his presence.

The Reed farm was just fifty acres now, much smaller than it used to be. Her father had sold off parcels of land over the years whenever money got tight. Most of it now belonged to the Hartsons next door.

But there was still enough land to get lost in.

She followed the dirt path that wound around the cornfield, the green stalks already waist high. In a few months, they’d be golden and ripe for harvest.

She veered toward the small copse of trees at the edge of the property that used to be her childhood escape. When she was little, she used to sneak back here whenever her parents were upset with her. Her mom never liked walking through the woods, and her dad was always too busy with the farm to track her down.

The moment she stepped beneath the canopy, the air turned cooler. Calmer. The sound of bugs and birds replaced the distant hum of farm life.

And there, just beyond the trees, was the pond.

Its surface glinted in the sun, water still and glassy. Fed by a tributary of the Hartson Creek, it had always been her favorite place on the property.

And today, it looked almost… magical.

A breath of wind stirred the surface. Somewhere, a dragonfly zipped across the edge.

And then, unbidden, Maisie’s list floated into her head. That wrinkled piece of paper, still folded in the pocket of her overnight bag.

The first item.

 

1. Go skinny dipping.

 

She stared at the pond, heart thudding like it had something to prove.

She couldn’t. Could she?

For a second she just stood there, thinking about how stupid that list was. Maisie had messaged her yesterday to say she’d arrived safely in London. She’d sent a photograph of herself, sitting in an English pub next to the sparkling River Thames.

I want you to tick one item off your list this week. Or there’ll be trouble. ;)

Damn, she missed her, even if she could be a pain sometimes. It was only a matter of time before Maisie called her to see if she’d done as she asked. 

She glanced around the woods. Jed and the farmhands were busy rotating cattle on the other side of the property. Nobody ever came back here. Not anymore.

She could do this. Just a quick dip. A rebel move. A silent “screw you” to the box she’d spent the last decade squeezing herself into.

Before she could think too hard, she tugged off her sneakers and socks, neatly tucking them aside. Her shorts and tank top followed. Then, standing in just her underwear, she hesitated.

Maybe this was enough. Technically, she could lie and say she did it—

No. If she was doing this, she was doing it right.

With a determined breath, she unhooked her bra, then shimmied out of her panties, folding them on top of the pile.

The water sparkled invitingly in the late afternoon sun. “Just do it,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Because a good girl wouldn’t.

And right now she was trying hard not to be one.

She walked forward, letting the cool water lap at her feet, then her calves and her thighs, until she pushed off and dove beneath the surface. A rush of silence enveloped her, the water soothing against her heated skin as she surfaced, blinking into the dappled light.

She floated for a moment, breath steadying. The ache in her chest loosened.

Was this what peace felt like?

For the first time in months, maybe years, she felt like herself.

At least until a loud bleat shattered the stillness.

“Maa.”

She jerked upright, scanning the opposite bank.

Another bleat. Deeper this time.

And then she saw him. A goat, casually weaving his way through the edge of the woods.

“Oh no.” she squinted. Definitely a billy. Probably feral. He had a smug look about him.

“Hey, cutie,” she called softly, swimming closer to the edge.

The goat blinked at her, unimpressed. Then turned... and headed straight for her clothes.

“No,” she groaned. “No, no, don’t you dare!”

She swam hard toward shore, but it was too late. The goat was already rooting through the pile. With astonishing speed, he snagged her panties and tank top in his mouth – and to her horror, her bra too – and took off like a four-legged bandit.

“Get your mouth off my panties!” she shouted, scrambling out of the pond, slick water trailing down her bare skin.

He paused, looked at her as if considering her request... then bolted.

“Oh, you bad, bad goat!”

She lunged for him, grabbing at her bra, but he yanked it out of reach and darted past her, her clothing flapping like a banner of humiliation between his teeth.

Left with only her shorts, she yanked them on and took off in pursuit, one arm desperately covering her chest. Her bare feet slapped the earth as she chased him along the edge of the trees.

This was not how skinny-dipping was supposed to go.

And then, because things weren’t already mortifying enough, she heard it.

The unmistakable roar of an engine.

She froze as a dirt bike came tearing down the trail beyond the trees, kicking up a cloud of dust. Her eyes widened in horror as the rider veered toward them, and the goat darted in the opposite direction, toward the road.

“Stop, damn you!” she shouted at the billy.

But of course he didn’t. And she couldn’t chase him that way. Not without being seen. And judging by the way the rider slowed, she had already been spotted.

The bike coasted to a stop, engine still idling, dust curling around the tires. And there she was, topless and soaked. Somewhere between dignity and disaster.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” the rider called with a low voice as he swung his leg off the bike.

“Don’t come closer!” she yelled, gripping her chest like her life depended on it.

He didn’t listen.

Of course he didn’t.

The man walked toward her with easy confidence, his dark blond hair buzzed close to his scalp, his T-shirt clinging to muscles that didn’t belong in a town like this. His eyes raked over her, amusement pulling at his lips.

She winced, feeling completely exposed. “You don’t have to stare at me like that.”

He didn’t even blink. “It’s kinda hard not to when a half-naked woman’s running across my field.”

Her stomach dropped. “Your field?” When did her dad sell that? 

Before she could ask him, his eyes lit with recognition. “Wait… I know you. Emery Reed?”

She blinked, realizing exactly who this mountain of a man in front of her was. “Hendrix Hartson?”

Well. Her humiliation was now complete.

He’d been two grades above her in high school, all trouble and smirks and not enough time in class. A blur in her peripheral vision back then. The type she avoided. Too wild. Too everything.

And now he was standing in front of her, hotter than any memory, his lips twitching as he looked her over.

“Can you please stop staring at my chest?” she asked him. 

He arched a brow. “To be fair, it’s pretty hard not to right now.”

His eyes caught hers, and for a moment she couldn’t look away. His gaze was steady, appraising. Like he was trying to figure out what was happening here.

And before she could say another word, he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off.

Holy. Hell.

Tan skin. Sculpted abs. Shoulders that looked like they could carry half the farm.

Her mouth went dry.

He held the shirt out to her. “Take it. I won’t look.”

She grabbed it gratefully, the cotton warm from his skin, and turned away. Pulling it on, she couldn’t help blushing at the way it brushed against her bare skin, or ignore the shiver that followed.

“I’ll get this back to you,” she mumbled, pointing toward the old cottage across the lane. “I assume you own the cottage over there?” She could vaguely remember her mom telling her somebody had moved in. 

He nodded. “I do.”

She swallowed hard. “Thanks for not laughing at me. Too much.”

He shrugged, his eyes dancing. “Give it time. I’m just working up to it.”

They stared at each other for a beat too long. Something flickered between them, something hot and inconvenient. But before she could think on it anymore, he turned to mount his bike. “I should go. Frank has a taste for Victoria’s Secret, apparently.”

“Frank?” she repeated.

“The goat. I inherited him with the place. He’s a jerk.”

She laughed, despite herself. “You’re telling me.”

He kicked the bike into gear, the engine snarling beneath him. “See you around, Emery.”

She watched him ride away, shirtless, dust trailing behind him like a damn movie scene.

Her pulse was still racing. Her body still buzzing.

And her stupid list was burning a hole in her mind.

Taking a deep breath, Emery tugged at the t-shirt he’d given her and turned to walk home. 

That was definitely an interesting way to tick off number one.

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