PROLOGUE

Cat

I sit alone on my back porch listening to the rain hitting the metal roof above me. The sound reverberates internally off the shattered pieces of my soul. Physically I’m here, but mentally I’m far away. I feel empty. Life continues to move on around me, like the waves I can see crashing in the distance, yet I feel like I’m standing still. Stuck.

It’s been five weeks since my brother and built-in best friend, Ryan, took his own life. Five weeks since I’ve heard his laugh, seen his smile, felt his warm embrace. Five weeks since I became an only child at age twenty three. My sweet, funny, raucous, protective older brother who was the life of the party and the best friend you could ever ask for decided that being here—with our family and friends—wasn’t worth it anymore. I’ve been trying to make sense of it all in my head, but how can you really? Even if I were to make sense of it, it wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn’t feel less bad. It wouldn’t bring him back. It sounds like I’m mad, I know. And I was for awhile, but now I’m just numb. I’ve let the numbness settle over me like a blanket, like some sort of armor. Because I truly cannot take another heartbreak. I am not ashamed to admit that I’m hanging by a thread right now.

The roar of a boat engine cuts through the sound of the rain as it passes my house. I swear, the people in this beach town have zero fear of storms. My eyes travel down the long dock that juts out over the water from the edge of my property. The long, skinny dock intersects with a larger, square one that has a boat lift attached to it. A boat lift that currently holds my brother’s boat on it. A boat that somehow now belongs to me. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing that I could travel back in time so I could prevent all of this. Prevent Ryan’s death and everything that transpired after. I wish he had talked to me. I wish he had told me how much he was struggling, but he didn’t open up to anyone. I partially blame the fact that our father has never known how to deal with his own emotions, and thought the “manly” thing to do was just brush them under the rug. Sadly, he raised Ryan to be mostly the same. Ryan was open about having PTSD from his time in the military, that part was no secret. He never denied it. He just didn’t get the help he should have, and there aren’t a lot of good veteran programs out there that offer the necessary support. I hate that there’s such a stigma with men and mental health, and I hate that he had to live with those demons so long. I hate everything right now, really.

The first couple of weeks after his death, people were showing up at my house nonstop. Checking in on me, making sure I was eating, sleeping…even showering, sadly. One person in particular stepped up in a way I never expected—my brother’s best friend, Logan. We’ve known each other for years, always spending time together with one degree of separation. That degree of separation being my brother. My protective brother who never wanted his friends even looking twice at me or idling too long. Unfortunately, Logan is the one who found my brother dead. He’s the one that had to break the news to me and my parents. He’s also the one that fought tooth and nail to support Ryan in any way he could to help him manage and work through his PTSD, knowing first-hand how important it is to do that. To not let it all swallow you whole. Logan showed up—just as broken as me—right when I needed him. We went from having never spent any one on one time together to him coming over every single day. We fell into each other in a crumpled mess of grief and the need to have someone else who just got it. It started to feel like as long as he was going through this with me, I would maybe make it out the other side, that maybe the sun would shine again. He made me feel hopeful for the future and he honestly just got me out of my own head, because in those moments all I could think about was the way he tasted, the way his hands felt on me, and the way he was making me feel. It was like he was starving for me. And I would have willingly served myself up on a fucking platter for him. We knew what we were doing was messy, but grief is messy. He made me feel alive again, like I could survive anything. But he must not have felt the same way, because just as I thought something might really come from our time together, just when I thought he felt the same things I was feeling, he bailed. Everything was fine until it just wasn’t. And I still don’t really understand. I don’t know what I did, I don’t know why he would do that to me. Especially when I was already so broken.

All I have left of whatever happened between us are the memories and a string of text messages from the last week that all have the same four words. Four words I’m so sick of hearing from the man I thought cared about me. The man I thought wanted something more with me. The man who was helping me get through this devastating loss and then just up and left.

“I’m so sorry, Wildflower.”

CHAPTER ONE

Cat

two years later

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” I groan.

“Listen, it’s about time you had a little fun. It’s not like you have to marry the guy, Cat.” My best friend, Mallory, says.

Her rich laugh echoes through my bathroom and I roll my eyes at my phone from where it sits face-up on the counter. She can’t see me, but I don’t care, there’s a high chance she still knows I’m rolling my eyes at her.

“Trust me, I won’t be doing that again any time soon.” Or possibly ever.

She snorts out another laugh and the sound is oddly comforting. Mallory Michaels and I have been best friends since we were nine years old. She is the golden retriever to my black cat. Although she’s more of a cat person and I’m much more of a dog person. But with her golden blonde hair and green eyes contrasting my nearly black hair and blue eyes, it feels like the most appropriate description of us. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had and possibly the craziest too, but I can’t imagine life without her. Especially not life the last two years. We’re both twenty five now and easily just as inseparable as we were as children. We even work in adjacent industries—me selling real estate and her being an interior designer. As a realtor, I can use her for staging, and I can also refer her to all of my clients looking for a designer, and she can refer me clients looking to buy or sell. It’s the best when we get to work together on projects, particularly with clients who have a lot of money to blow. We’ve busted our asses since we were twenty to build our businesses to where they are now. You pretty much can’t sell or design a place here in our little beach town without hearing our names or working with somebody on our teams.

“So, are you going to wear those baggy jeans and the black top?” She asks.

“You know me too well. Besides, if I try on anything else at this point, I’m going to be late.”

“I’m sure you look phenomenal. You always do.”

“It’s a miracle I got ready for this date without you, huh?” I tease.

“I know. Totally wish I was there to take pictures of you on your front steps like it’s prom or something.”

Usually Mallory would be by my side for such an important day as this, but she had to work, so we had to settle for a phone call. Why is today so important, you ask? Well, unfortunately for me—and probably the poor guy I’m meeting up with—I’m going on my first date since my divorce. I was totally coerced into this by Mallory and my other best friend, Lana, because they convinced me to create a dating profile one wine-fueled night. Generally when alcohol is involved, bad decisions are made on my part. Dating after divorce is pretty scary, which is why I’ve been avoiding it. Particularly after a divorce from an abusive narcissist. You see, something people don’t talk about enough is how after you’re in a relationship with an abuser—if you’re lucky enough to get out—you’re left with a shell of who you once were. You hardly recognize yourself in the mirror. All traces of self-esteem, confidence, and what made you, you, nearly gone. Not to mention the fact that I no longer trust my “picker” and I grapple with being angry at myself for staying with my ex-husband for so long. All of those things make the idea of stepping out into the dating world again terrifying, but I’m willing to rip the bandaid off and try. If even just to please my concerned best friends.

Mallory chatters on about something as I look at myself in the mirror. My long, dark hair lays in soft waves down to my waist—thank you mom for the good hair—my makeup is light and fresh. Simple. The black tank top I’m wearing contrasts with my pale skin that has yet to see much sunlight this year. This look is basic, but it makes me feel safe. It makes me feel like I’m getting used to simply just being me again. I exit the bathroom and grab my purse and shoes, focusing my attention back on Mallory.

“Anyway, Chuck seems like a good time, based off his Instagram alone. Ooh, should I watch his story so we can see if he’s mentioned anything about tonight?” She sounds a little too excited when she says that last part and I laugh out loud.

“Oh my god, will you get off his page already? Haven’t you stalked him enough?”

“I just need to make sure I know everything about this guy just in case he ends up being a serial killer or something.”

“Well, just remember, if he’s a serial killer, you’re the one who forced me to do this. So I hope you can live with that on your conscience,” I tease. “And also, I’ll totally haunt you.”

“Ooh, kinky.” Just by the very sound of her voice I know the exact goofy face she’s making.

“You’re insane.”

“I know. But Cat, it’s gonna be fine, and it’s gonna be fun. I’ll stalk your location to make sure you get home safe, but you have to keep me posted, too. Where are you going again?”

There’s a long moment of silence before I clear my throat and quietly say, “3rd & 9th.” Part of me prays the sound of my front door clicking shut behind me drowns out my answer, even though I know she’ll truly stalk my location anyway.

“I’m sorry, what?!” Mallory shouts. “You agreed to that?!”

I sigh deeply, waving a hand at the car pulling into my driveway. “Yeah, gee, I dunno, Mallory. Telling some guy I haven’t even met in person that I’ve been avoiding this bar for years because the owner, who by the way is also my dead brother’s best friend, and I had a brief, but intense, fling seemed like a bit much. But now that I think about it, that probably would’ve been a great way to get out of this date. Maybe I-”

“No. You’re going. But yeah, maybe don’t lead with the dead brother and ex stuff.”

“He’s not my ex,” I say quickly. Too quickly.

“Right, right. Anyway, I bet Logan won’t even be there. I hardly ever see him when I go,” she offers, clearly trying to soothe my nerves.

“Ugh, I still can’t believe you go there so often. Traitor.”

I slide into the back seat of my uber and shut the door. The driver, Tony, knows me and I call him directly now when I need a ride because he’s my pal and this is what happens when you and your friends are drunk and befriend everyone. Like I said—alcohol and us equals bad.

“Babe, my clients love that place. All the locals do. Their brunch is so good.”

“I know, I know.”

“You’re going to have a great time, Cat. Just breathe, be yourself, and don’t worry about who else might be there. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

CHAPTER TWO

Cat

I check the time on my phone again—7:10. My date, Chuck, is ten minutes late. Tony dropped me off early because I have social anxiety, duh, so I’ve been waiting for at least twenty minutes. Chuck hasn’t reached out at all about running late so naturally, my anxiety is on the rise. Not only do I not want to be in this bar in particular, but the thought of being stood up in this bar makes me want to tie cinderblocks to my ankles and jump into the ocean.

I’m a little extra on edge thanks to this location and who I may run into, but also I’m rusty. I haven’t even entertained the idea of dating since my divorce six months ago. I keep saying divorce, but unfortunately it’s not legally official yet. My dearest ex-husband, John Banks, refuses to relinquish his last bit of control over me and sign the papers. His delusional, twisted brain thinks there’s a chance I’ll still take him back. Unfortunately for him, all I have to do is look at the scar on my eyebrow to remember why that will never happen. In hindsight, we never should have gotten married. I rushed into a relationship with him when I was reeling over my heartbreak from the very man that owns the stupid bar I’m currently sitting in. It’s not that I want to be single forever, I’m honestly just terrified of men these days. I do want a partner in life, someone to build with, laugh with and love, but the last couple of times I opened myself up to someone it really didn’t turn out too great.

I’ve had a lot of time to take in 3rd & 9th since I got here. I intentionally sat at a table near the back so I could see Chuck approaching, but mostly because there’s an exit to the back parking lot to my left and I can easily make a break for it if I need to. Much to my dismay, though, 3rd & 9th is actually pretty cute. I’ve only seen pictures here and there over the years and read plenty of articles about it in the local paper: Local veteran opens ‘3rd & 9th,’ newest hot spot in Tidehaven. Instant hit. With it being just a couple of blocks from the beach, and close to all the other touristy spots on this street, it would’ve had to have been an absolute dump to fail. It draws college kids, families, your typical boomers that come at the same time almost daily, sports bros, bachelorette parties, you name it. Locals and tourists alike love it. There’s a small stage area for performers, or I guess karaoke (although it’s empty tonight) and tons of surrounding seating. There are televisions all over the place, most broadcasting a sport of some sort, but what makes me smile is the TV that has reruns of Rupaul’s Drag Race playing on it. Season Five is currently on and it happens to be one of my favorites. The decor is pretty clean; lots of wood and back with some accents of dark, dark green. It’s masculine, but in a pretty way if that even makes sense. It’s definitely a more modernized sports bar despite it being at the beach. Honestly, I love the vibes. I’m kind of bummed that after tonight I won’t be back. I’d never admit that though. Avoiding it for two years hasn’t been the easiest in a small-ish place like Tidehaven, but it was important for me and my mental health to stay the fuck away from Logan Wolfe.

Let me tell you the problem with Logan fucking Wolfe.

Logan may be a smart, witty, incredibly, annoyingly good-looking giant of a man, but to me he’s one of the two men that have been the biggest disappointments in my life in the last five years. The man looks like a Slipknot song, but at his core, he’s a Hozier one. With his stupidly attractive dark hair and stupidly attractive green eyes and the fact that he’s four whole inches over six feet. Did I also mention his stupidly attractive muscles and the way he’s beautiful in that rugged, untouchable and slightly scary kind of way? He is 50% of the reason I never want to let a man in again and 100% the reason I didn’t want to come to 3rd & 9th ever. The thought of seeing him here, or the possibility of him watching me get stood up is honestly worse for my ego than anything else. Because I don’t want him to see me rattled ever again. I’ve spent a lot of time healing and letting a lot of stuff go recently, but for some reason I still harbor a lot of resentment towards him.

Fuck, what am I doing here? I can’t risk seeing him. I grab my purse and I’m about to make a fucking run for it when I hear my name in a voice I don’t recognize.

“Cat?”

My cheeks blaze as my eyes meet Chuck’s, who is assessing me with a smirk on his face. He’s better looking in person than in his photos, no shocker there. Men are pathetic at designing their dating profiles. Somebody should seriously make a career out of doing it for them. Chuck has perfectly styled—but in that effortlessly messy kind of way—dirty blonde hair and a tan that high school me would have killed for. It contrasts beautifully with his white button down and khakis. He very much looks the part of your typical finance bro working a 9-5 downtown who enjoys breweries and CrossFit on the weekend with probably some cycling or half marathon running sprinkled in somewhere. On paper and looks-wise, he’s definitely the type of man that I told myself I would stay away from for the rest of my life, but I promised Mallory I would at least go on one date. To my surprise, he also seems to be the exact height he put on his profile - 6’2ish. Which is great, because usually when a guy puts 6’2 he’s really 5’11 with shoes on. And I’m not short, standing at 5’11 myself, so he gets more bonus points for that.

“Chuck! Hey!”

I greet him with an awkward hug and when we pull apart he plants a light kiss on my cheek before he gestures for me to sit. I don’t miss the way his eyes roam over my body as he takes a seat across from me.

“Were you…about to leave?” He eyes the purse still in my hand and raises an eyebrow at me.

“No, no, I’m sorry. Just…” I wave a hand at him. “Just stretching.”

Oh my god, ‘just stretching’? Killing it, Cat. Literally murdering it.

I plop my purse down on the empty space next to me and interlock my fingers on the table between us. He nods slowly as his grin widens and I notice he has one dimple on his left cheek. His smile is alarmingly disarming. “I’m so sorry I was so late. I left my phone at the office when I was rushing out so I couldn’t even let you know I was running behind. And I just feel awful.”

“No worries, I just got here.” I lie, eyeing the sweating glass of water in front of me. “I haven’t even ordered anything yet.”

He gives me a half smile as he checks out the happy hour menu on the table. I have it memorized already because I’ve been here for twenty fucking minutes. We make small talk about work and our day and he apologizes at least three more times for keeping me waiting before our server comes over and we order some drinks—beer for him, rosé for me. I had to fight the happy dance I wanted to do when I saw my favorite wine on the menu, Blush Tide. It’s rare that I’m able to get it anywhere locally.

“So I gotta be honest,” Chuck starts, and my stomach drops. “I definitely thought you might be a catfish.”

I bark out a loud laugh and immediately cover my mouth. I wasn’t expecting him to say that. “Seriously?”

He jerks his head back, giving me a pointed stare. “Uh, yeah. Have you seen you?”

I blush under his flirtatious gaze and bite my lower lip. His eyes trace the movement and it sends a wave of excitement through me. Okay, maybe this dating thing could be fun. Your girl could use some positive male attention. Key word being positive, here.

“Truthfully, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone more attractive in my entire life.”

“Do you use that line on every woman you take out?” I deadpan.

“Only the super, super hot ones.”

He winks and sips from his beer when the server places it on the table in front of him. Luckily, it isn’t Logan. Not that I thought he’d be the one waiting tables or anything, but I’m more than relieved to see this smaller—but also heavily tattooed—man serving us instead.

Chuck isn’t bad. Maybe a little corny, but not bad. It’s gonna kill me to admit this to Mallory, but I’m actually having a good time. Once we ordered some appetizers and got our second drinks, conversation started flowing easily between us. We have talked about everything surface-level you can imagine, but it feels easy and not awkward. And yeah, maybe the wine helped calm any remaining jitters I had. But he clearly seems to be enjoying himself too. And hey, its kind of great he left his phone at work because he hasn’t had the opportunity to rudely doom scroll in front of me once. Which is something my ex-husband did often, while talking to other women online, all the while gaslighting me when I accused him of such. Yeah, so far on date one, Chuck isn’t reminding me of him at all—aside from the whole finance bro aesthetic.

Conversation flows easily between us, and it doesn’t take us long to figure out I’ve actually sold houses to a few of his friends. That doesn’t surprise me at all, considering this area has the feel of a small town even though I guess some people wouldn’t consider it one. And not to sound cocky, but I am great at what I do, so a lot of people choose me for buying or selling their houses. I’m forever grateful for that because thanks to them I was able to become independently successful, and I will never have to depend on a man. I don’t know if I could have left John otherwise.

“Are you a hockey fan?” He asks me as he tips his chin toward the tv mounted on the wall near us.

The Highpine Helhounds are playing right now. They’re the professional hockey team based here in North Carolina. The playoffs are going on right now, the Stanley cup just a couple weeks away. The long answer for him would be, yes, I’m a huge hockey fan, I just don’t watch it as much since my brother passed away because we used to watch every game together. But I give him the easier, safe answer instead, because I don’t exactly feel like talking about Ryan on date one.

“I like it, I just haven’t kept up much this year.” Or last, for that matter. “I’ve helped a few of the guys on the team find houses though. They’re super sweet.”

He perks up at that. “Oh, no shit? Here?”

I finish what’s left in my wine glass and look him in the eyes. “Client confidentiality, Chucky.”

A devious grin splits his face, and there’s that damn dimple again.

“Maybe you can tell me on our second date, then. Let me grab you another one.”

He reaches for my wine glass, making sure to graze my hand lightly with his in the process. My skin heats from the contact and I give him my flirtiest smile in response, but my face drops when my gaze catches on something behind him. No, not something. Someone.

This date has been going so well I had almost forgotten what bar we’re in, but of course reality had to be the bitch that she is and rain on my damn parade. Because that someone headed in this direction? To my table? Oh, why it’s none other than Logan fucking Wolfe.