The New Girl In Town. Brenda Harlen

key is to do what you love,” he told her.

      She nodded, understanding, because there had been a time not so very long ago that she’d done just that. But somewhere along the road that love had faded, too.

      “Isn’t there anything you’re passionate about?” he asked.

      She expected the question to be accompanied by a flirtatious wink or suggestive grin, but his expression was serious, almost intense. As if he really wanted to know, as if he was interested in what mattered to her.

      “This house,” she answered automatically.

      “That’s obvious,” he said. “But what fired your passion before you came to Pinehurst?”

      She shook her head, refusing to look back, to think about everything she’d left behind. “Can we focus on the house right now?”

      “Okay.”

      But the depth of his scrutiny belied his easy response, and she didn’t relax until he’d turned his attention back to his notebook.

      “Where did you want to put your darkroom?” he asked.

      The question made her realize she’d relaxed too soon.

      “I don’t need a darkroom,” she said.

      “There’s plenty of room in the basement,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And it’s certainly dark down there. Or you could convert the laundry room.

      “I designed a home for Warren Crenshaw and his wife, Nancy. They’re both nature photographers—not professionally, but it’s a hobby they share. We put a darkroom right off their bedroom.”

      “I don’t need a darkroom,” she repeated tightly. “I’m not a photographer anymore.”

      “Whether or not you have a camera in your hand, you’re still a photographer. It’s the kind of thing that’s in your blood—like designing houses is in mine.”

      She shook her head, swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I left that part of my life in Manhattan.”

      He hesitated, as if there was something more he wanted to say, but then her cell phone rang.

      “Excuse me,” she said, pushing her chair away from the table.

      She dug the phone out of her purse, connecting the call before it patched through to her voice mail. “Hello.”

      “Where are you?” Scott asked without preamble.

      The unexpected sound of his voice gave her a jolt, and made her heart ache just a little. The question, on the other hand, and the tone, annoyed her. “Why are you calling?”

      “I just wanted to check in, see how you were doing.”

      She walked toward the window, away from where Mason was still seated at the table. “I’m fine.”

      “I’d be more likely to believe that if you were where you said you’d be.”

      “I am in Pinehurst,” she told him.

      “You said you’d be staying with Claire.”

      “Not forever.”

      He sighed. “She told me you were thinking about buying a house.”

      She frowned at that, wondering why her friend would have told Scott anything. But she couldn’t blame Claire because she knew, better than anyone, how charming and persuasive he could be. “And?”

      “Buying a house is a major decision,” he said gently. “And you’ve had a tough year.”

      “Too late.”

      She heard his groan, fought back a smile.

      “It was completely irrational and impulsive,” she admitted. “I saw the sign on the lawn, contacted the agent and made an offer.”

      “Please tell me you at least had a home inspection done.”

      Now she did smile. Reasonable, practical Scott Cowan would never understand the need deep within her heart that had compelled her to buy this house. “A home inspector would have told me it needed a lot of work,” she said, not admitting that she’d been given a copy of the report from an inspection done on the property just a few months earlier. “I already know that.”

      “Christ, Zoe. Have you gone completely off the deep end?”

      “That seems to be the general consensus,” she agreed.

      “Let me contact my lawyers,” he said. “Maybe there’s a way to undo the transaction.”

      “No,” she said quickly.

      “What do you mean ‘no’?”

      She sighed. “I mean, I don’t want it undone. I want this house.”

      “You could be making a very big mistake,” he warned.

      She knew he was right. But she’d spent the better part of her twenty-nine years doing the smart thing, the safe thing—and she’d still been unprepared for the curves that life had thrown her way. Even if buying this house turned out to be a mistake, it would be her mistake.

      “Why should you care?” she challenged. “You walked out on me, remember?”

      “You kicked me out.”

      He was right, she had to admit. But only because she couldn’t continue to live with him the way things had been.

      “Does it matter?” she asked wearily. “The end result is the same.”

      “I’ll always care about you, Zoe.”

      And that might have been enough to hold them together if other obstacles hadn’t got in the way. She rubbed her hand over her chest, trying to assuage an ache she wasn’t sure would ever go away. “Was that the only reason you called?”

      “When’s your next appointment with Dr. Allison?”

      She felt the sting of tears. If he’d been half as concerned about her twelve or even six months ago, what had been left of their relationship might not have fallen apart.

      “I have to go, Scott.”

      Before he could say anything else, she disconnected the call. She heard the telltale scrape of chair legs against the hardwood floor and blinked the moisture from her eyes.

      She felt Mason’s hand on her shoulder, gently but firmly turning her to face him. “Zoe?”

      She didn’t—couldn’t—look at him. She just needed half a minute to pull herself together, to find the cloak of feigned confidence and false courage that she’d learned to wrap around herself so no one would see how shaky and scared she was feeling inside.

      “Who was that on the phone?” he asked.

      She took a deep, steadying breath and prepared to dodge the question. After all, it was none of his business. She hardly knew this man; she certainly didn’t owe him any explanations.

      But when she looked up at him, she realized he wasn’t trying to pry or interfere. He’d asked the question because he knew she was upset, and he was concerned. In the past eighteen months, she’d withdrawn into herself. She’d been let down by people she’d counted on, disappointed by friends who hadn’t been there for her. Except for her almost daily phone calls to Claire, she’d been on her own. She’d learned to rely on herself, to need no one else.

      After only a few days in this small town, she knew that was one of the reasons she’d come here—because she didn’t want to live the rest of her life alone. She wanted—needed—friends to care about and who would care about her.

      So she took what she hoped was the first step in that direction and answered his question honestly.

      “That was my husband.”