It made me do exactly what I was supposed to be doing, except I should be writing those things down on paper, or at least typing them into the computer.
“You can do this.” He’d winked and squeezed my hand. “C’mon, K, tell me our story . . .”
More tears filled my eyes until I could barely see the modern cabin in front of me. It was made up of huge floor-to-ceiling windows, had a wraparound deck, and was three stories. I knew the back would have an infinity pool that overlooked the lake and a dock I could sit at the end of.
It also had five bedrooms and three bathrooms.
This was where Noah had wanted to go for our honeymoon, a fact he mentioned when we were daydreaming about our future while waiting for more test results. I thought he was going to propose, thought it was a cute way to test the waters.
But he never did.
When I asked him why not, his smile was so sad my chest felt like someone was pressing a bulldozer against it.
“It’s not fair, K.” He tucked my hair behind my ears and kissed my nose. His face was pale, his lips a bit cracked as he licked them. “I’m not going to steal part of your future. You deserve to get asked by a guy with a clean slate, by a man who loves you more than life. Let me love you through death, let me do my job. Yours is to find someone who will deserve that smile.”
“Noah—”
“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to my lips. “No more tears, I want to look at the cabin again.”
I let out a snort. “More like mansion in the woods. Whoever owns this is clearly loaded and would probably mob us the minute we came into the house or plant cameras somewhere and sell the pictures.”
“Aw, is the little celebrity jealous of the cabin in the woods?” he teased with a wink and then pulled my phone away and kept scrolling. “Remember, don’t focus on negativity.” He paused. “Do me a favor and rent this place someday.”
“I promise.” My lips trembled.
He looked over at me and softly exhaled. “Don’t cry, we all die someday, the only difference is you get more time than I did. Try not to be a jerk and waste it, beautiful.”
“Okay, Noah.” I killed the engine and grabbed my purse. “You win. I’m here. Now what?”
Chapter Three
KEATON
It took me a solid two hours to get everything completely unpacked and into the master bedroom, with its ginormous empty king bed, flat-screen TV, and gorgeous stone-tiled bathroom. It even had a door that led to an outdoor shower. Showering outside while it snowed sounded so sexy and freeing.
And just like that, my little bubble popped.
He would have loved it here.
I was a beach sort of girl, but Noah? He loved the mountains, said they made him feel like there was something bigger in the universe, something majestic. It was why he wanted to honeymoon here in the first place. He’d laughed when I suggested Turks and Caicos.
It was our differences that made our relationship unique. I’d felt like a spoiled brat next to him; he’d brought out a part of me that I hadn’t even realized needed fixing until he pointed it out. I was so consumed with myself, and then, after Noah, consumed with him, with life, with us.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I pulled a gray hoodie over my T-shirt. I was already wearing black skinny jeans to which I added a pair of white snow boots as I tried to cart everything inside the cabin, including groceries. There was supposed to be a huge storm coming in, and I wanted to be prepared, right down to an emergency case of wine and two bottles of whiskey.
Alcohol served two purposes: it kept you warm out on the slopes and could disinfect anything and everything.
First aid and fun!
Though drinking by myself sounded more depressing than fun.
I grabbed a container of ground beef and put it in the sink to thaw while I unloaded the rest of the groceries. The good news was if the blizzard wasn’t horrible, I’d be able to explore first thing in the morning, make some coffee, and maybe, just maybe, get some writing done.
As if conjuring itself into existence, my laptop made a noise alerting me to a text to my phone.
Mom: You safe?
I smiled at the screen. My dad was directing a movie, and my mom took time off so she could be with him. They were in some secret location in London.
Me: Oh good, I still have service.
Mom: Sarcasm? Are you being sarcastic right now?
I burst out laughing at my phone and shook my head as pieces of my honey-blonde hair fell down around my shoulders.
Me: Never.
Mom: Good . . .
Oh, sweet Lord, save me from the ellipsis.
Something sad always followed those three little dots.
It was her version of a but.
I waited.
And waited.
Finally, it came.
Mom: . . . I’m worried about you. You’re just so sad all the time, and I know the news can be relentless. Thank God that whole fiasco with Tennyson Financial happened and finally took the heat off you. Small favors, you know? Just think about it, while you were able to mourn in semi-forced peace, those two boys were throwing punches at a wedding and planning a hostile takeover. Can you imagine?
I sighed, vaguely remembering the scandal. Apparently one of the chief officers was in a coma, his twin took his place at the company, and his then fiancée knew or didn’t know? Regardless, the one woke up, the other apologized, and it was front-page news for a really long time. And after all that, the two brothers even voted out their own father and took over one of the biggest financial corporations in American history.
So naturally, that would take precedence over a Hollywood romance with its sad ending.
After all, nobody was interested in the way Noah and I ended. It wasn’t happy, and people liked the happy ending. They wanted to root for the underdog; they didn’t want him to die a painful death.
It was too realistic. Too close to home.
And people these days needed something that gave them hope, not made them realize how utterly sad life could actually be. The media firestorm happened during our relationship, followed by radio silence until I announced I was writing a book, and then my social media exploded to the point that the attention was almost scary.
Mom: Sorry, I said too much. Are you still there?
Me: Sorry, was just thinking. I’m unpacking, I’ll call tomorrow, I’m safe, I’m fine, send a helicopter if you get worried, hah hah.
Mom: Don’t tempt me.
Me: OMG Mom I’m twenty-four cut me some slack. Don’t send Gene!
Gene Springsteen was a family friend who did a lot of stunt work and was known as Hollywood’s young Chuck Norris. My mom had also been trying to set me up with him since Noah in order to cheer me up. I wasn’t interested in anyone. And I couldn’t imagine feeling anything for someone other than the man I buried.
Mom: Fine. I love you!
Me: I love you too.
I set my phone down and looked around what would be my home for the next month and realized in that moment that I hated the silence. I needed a TV on or something that would make me feel anything but as lonely as my heart reminded me I was.
How was I supposed to write our story? My story with Noah? When all I could focus on was the fact that I was there, living his dream, while he was in the cold hard ground.
Tears welled in my eyes.
“Goodbye is just that, a really good farewell,” he wrote out with a shaky hand on the notepad I’d been forced to give him. His hand dropped the pen and reached for my cheek, then fell away lifeless against the white duvet.
I spent a lot of time watching him sleep wondering if he would wake up again and continue our conversations about death. I had imagined the end would look different, but when Noah died it was as if he realized it was time to go and, like a bird, took flight.
I swiped hot tears from my cheeks and turned toward the large living room windows just in time to see headlights drawing closer to the cabin
through the snow that had started coming down like a freaking blizzard while I took my trip down memory lane.
Headlights?
Out here?
If it was Mom, I was going to kill her.
If it was Mom and Dad, I was going to lose it.
At least it wasn’t a helicopter, which meant I was safe from Gene.
It was too dark to see anything but the headlights and the black of the car. I moved closer. Maybe the owners decided to check up on me? That had to be it.
Then again, no one mentioned that possibility when I put down my deposit.
A cold chill trickled down my spine when I realized how alone I was out here. I had cell service, but it wasn’t like I carried a weapon on me; I was completely defenseless.
I ran back to the kitchen, my eyes darting around for something to grab that wasn’t a mixing bowl or bottle of whiskey. I jerked a serrated steak knife free from the butcher block and turned toward the door. The cabin had an open floor plan for the living room and kitchen. I was at least twenty feet from the door as the sound of a key sliding through metal had my blood chilling even more. Then the knob turned as I hid my knife behind my back and had my free hand on my cell ready to call for help.
The door was shoved open.
I sucked in a sharp breath as a man made his way through carrying an expensive-looking camel-colored leather bag and another smaller suitcase.
His eyes roamed the room and landed on me.
The knife in my hand nearly clattered to the floor as I gaped.
Male. Perfection.
I hadn’t noticed a man, any man, since Noah.
But this man demanded notice.
It was in the air around him, in the way his green calculating eyes took a person in, like he was measuring every single thing about those he encountered and deciding if they were worth his time—all within the span of one blink.
His hair was tousled to the right of his head, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times, and his jaw was so chiseled and his cold cheeks so handsomely ruddy that I almost looked away in embarrassment. Staring longer than a few seconds without speaking was creepy enough.
“Clever,” he said after a long pause, his tone bored, as he dropped his bags on the floor in supreme irritation. “And no, I won’t give you a story, so you better just leave.”
“St-story,” I repeated, trying to figure out if he was sane or not, as I gripped the knife like a lifeline. Ted Bundy was gorgeous too. Remember Ted Bundy! “What do you mean story?” I backed away slowly, waiting for the killer smile, or the comment about my looks that almost always started with “Do you model?” If he was a Ted Bundy, he’d hit on me, right? Make me feel safe?
“You’re with the media?” His right eyebrow arched mockingly. “I mean you look like hell, what did you do? Drive all day just to get the scoop?” I almost argued with him. I looked like hell? He looked like he’d misused a blow dryer, not that it made him look bad, quite the opposite. “I didn’t talk to anyone at the funeral and I’m not going to talk to anyone now. Fucking. Leave.”
His harsh language jolted me and I glared. “I’m not the media, I’m a person, and I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.” Good one. “And I rented the house for one full month and paid ahead, so if anyone’s leaving, it’s you!”
His eyes narrowed into tiny, intimidating slits that told me he wasn’t used to the word no. “Impossible.”
“Possible!” I stood my ground. “I have confirmation and everything. I booked this place ahead of time, unlike you! What? Did the owner feel sorry for you and give you a key so you could run away from the media?”
His face paled.
I instantly felt guilty. I knew firsthand what it was like to feel like a big fish while all the sharks circled and waited for blood.
“Sorry.” I swallowed and looked away from his thunderous expression. “That was uncalled for. Let me start over . . . I’m—”
“Don’t care.” He waved me off and walked toward me until he was nearly towering over my small frame. “I don’t care who you are, you need to leave. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and I’ll pay you back in full if you give me your information.”
“No.” I squinted up at him. “Who the hell do you think you are? I’m not leaving! I booked this place! I need solitude, damn it!” This was not happening!
His scowl deepened. “Exactly.” His grin was taunting, mean, and I didn’t like it. He was beautiful before, but now he just looked cruel. “Solitude does sound nice, that’s why I drove my ass up here. Look, I’ll give you triple what you paid.”
I did the mental math. “Oh, so you’re just going to whip out the trusty old checkbook and give me over a hundred thousand dollars?”
He didn’t even flinch. Who was this guy? “Only a hundred thousand?”
“Huh?”
“Thought they rented it out for more than that these days, around three grand a night seems cheap.”
My jaw dropped. Actually, it was incredibly expensive, but I loved the modern setup and it had a pool and a hot tub and was so close to the water you could throw a rock in it. I tried a new tactic. “Unless I can cash the check now, that’s going to be a no. Why don’t we just call the owner and let them explain since you seem to be having trouble with the concept of ‘already rented out.’” I smiled politely even though on the inside I was seething.
His eyes trained on mine and then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Someone answered immediately. “Yes, I’m going to need a hundred-twenty-thousand-dollar cashier’s check made out to—”
I balled my fists. “Put your phone away!”
“Hold on . . . Your name?”
“Put it away!” I hissed.
He looked genuinely confused.
“I don’t want your money!” I said through gritted teeth. “I want the cabin, all to myself, for thirty days so I can—” I felt the tears then, the tears of sadness, frustration, the tears I refused to shed at the funeral and ever since because it just made it more real and I was afraid if I started I wouldn’t stop. Angry, angry tears. “I don’t need it!”
One fell.
I brushed it away before he could see that he, a perfect stranger, had the ability to make me cry.
“Are you . . . seriously that upset over a cabin?” He laughed at that like I was an idiot. “You know, there’s more to life than pretty things. There’s a big old world out there with hurt and betrayal and humans who like to make others suffer. There’s people dying of cancer, people curing it, people who don’t know where their next fucking meal is coming from, and you’re . . . crying?”
His rage was misdirected.
His fists clenched.
We were at a standstill.
“Don’t pretend to know me,” I whispered hoarsely. “I don’t need your money, and unless you can find me someplace close that looks identical to this one, for the same price, I’m staying. You’re gonna have to find a hotel or something, Mr. Moneybags.”
“Moneybags?” He snorted.
I jerked my head to his suitcase. “Louis Vuitton suitcases, your sweater’s cashmere, your jeans are Dsquared2, shoes Prada, I bet your hair gel costs more than most people’s electric bill, and I’m pretty sure I just smelled a hint of Clive Christian. So yes, Moneybags.”
He took a step toward me, cursed under his breath, and then reached for me just about the same time I held the knife between us and under his chin.
Self-defense and all.
He looked down at the knife, surprise written all over his face. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”
“Sure, I just shove it in and twist, right?” I smirked.
“You’re a crazy person!” He didn’t sound afraid, more impressed than anything.
“You’re the crazy one! Showing up at night, demanding I leave when—”
I let out a little scream as the lights completely went out and found myself dropping the knife and grabbing his arm
like it was the only thing that was going to keep us safe.
He didn’t pull away.
Just dropped a few more curses that told me he’d rather be anywhere than in the dark with me and my knife-wielding.
“I don’t suppose”—I licked my dry lips—“that the owner just forgot to pay the electricity bill?”
“The storm.” His voice sounded deeper in the dark, grittier, and then another whiff of his cologne caught me as he pulled out something, his cell, and dialed another number. “Bridge, yeah, I’m here. Funny, though, someone else is too? At our cabin.”
Oh no, no, no, no.
His cabin?
He was the owner?
Asshat of the year?
“She won’t give me her name but she pointed a knife at my throat, so if I’m in the news again, remember, this is all your fault.”
I scowled as my cheeks heated with embarrassment. “I didn’t try to kill you.”
“Yeah, that’s her.” He completely ignored me. “I’m not answering that. Look, the power just went out, and she booked it for one full month so I need to find a place, but the weather is shit. Have Kelsey find me a place to stay for the next few weeks that isn’t occupied, will you? Either that or find a way to get this interloper the hell out.”
“Still here,” I muttered.
“Still not answering that.”
What was he being asked?
“You’re such a pain in the ass, Bridge. No, damn it. Now go be annoying elsewhere . . . I’m staying the night so you don’t find my frozen body later. Bye.”
He hung up. And turned to face me. The snow and all the floor-to-ceiling windows helped the lighting a bit.
He was too pretty to be so angry. The slant of his eyes was assessing as he looked down at the Italian marble floor then back to me, his full lips pressed into what looked like a judgmental smile. I gulped, waiting for him to say something. I was close enough to feel his body heat; it pulsed in cadence with his anger, and it was all directed at me.
“I’m assuming a girl who knows how to wield a knife knows how to build a fire?”
I gave him a light shrug. “I mean I don’t think I could survive Naked and Afraid, but I could manage a fire.”
Finding Him Page 2