Come Home to Me. Brenda Novak

beginning; she’d been a lost and lonely outcast who’d made some very poor choices. She might’ve been flattered at how her reception had changed, but she was too worried that she was about to be confronted by Aaron. She didn’t want to speak to him. It made no difference how many times she told herself that he wasn’t the right man for her, that their relationship had been unbalanced and unhealthy; she couldn’t stop longing for his smile, his laugh, his touch.

      Not that the difficulty of getting over him should have come as any surprise. Her whole life had been a series of struggles.

      “Great. I should be open for business in another week.” She had to open soon. She couldn’t go without income for much longer. “See you there.”

      She could feel their eyes on her as she moved away, could tell they were startled she’d brushed them off. But with Aaron in the room...all she wanted to do was melt into the background. Just the sight of his perfectly sculpted face, which was almost too pretty despite the scar he’d gotten in a fight, was enough to drag her to a place of weakness and craving.

      He was like the crack cocaine that’d taken control of her life before. She had to avoid him as avidly as all the other things that had nearly destroyed her.

      It wasn’t until she stepped through the curtain and into the dark storeroom where Angelica Hansen, owner of Turn the Page, received her inventory that Presley relaxed. She’d reached safety, a hidden corner where he’d be unlikely to look for her. Once Aaron left, she’d pay for her book and get out of there.

      But when she turned, intending to peek out at those in the front of the store, she collided with his hard, unyielding chest as he came through the curtain.

      He grabbed her before she could fall over the stack of books at her feet, drawing her up against him. “What are you doing back here?”

      Breaking his hold before the smell or feel of him could erode her resolve, Presley stumbled, which sent the books flying. She was lucky they didn’t trip her as they almost had before. “I...needed room to breathe. It’s so...crowded out there. I thought I’d wait here for a few minutes, until the line was shorter.”

      His eyes narrowed slightly at the way she’d scrambled out of reach so quickly. Or maybe it was her reason for seeking the storeroom that gave him pause. Did he think she was trying to steal Ted’s book?

      Or had he figured out the truth? He’d always been perceptive—too quick-witted for his own good...and hers. He was the sensitive Amos brother, the one who’d taken the loss of his mother and everything that’d happened after her suicide the hardest. But he didn’t comment on the fact that she was still backing away.

      “I heard you moved into the old Mullins place two weeks ago,” he said.

      She had to tilt her head to look into his face. “I did.”

      “Then...where have you been?”

      Was he asking why she hadn’t contacted him? “I’ve been busy.”

      “That means you’re never home?”

      Her stomach muscles tightened again. “You’ve dropped by?”

      “I didn’t bother to knock. I never see a car in the carport.”

      “I don’t have a car anymore.” She’d sold her new Hyundai several months ago so she could get out from under the payments and save enough to be able to lease a studio. She would’ve stayed in Fresno and kept saving to give herself a bigger financial cushion—would’ve opened her studio there, too—but when she found some strange marks on Wyatt, she was afraid his home day-care provider was mistreating him and decided to return to Whiskey Creek. Her sister had offered to help with child care, and once Aaron had told Cheyenne and Dylan he was relocating, going home was finally a possibility.

      He hesitated. “How do you get around without a car?”

      “For the most part, I walk.” Chey’s house was down the street and around the corner from hers. Her studio was two blocks in the other direction, along with the rest of downtown, making it easy to get wherever she needed to go.

      “The exercise has obviously been good for you.”

      She wished that compliment didn’t evoke the pleasure it did. But during the past two years, she’d judged everything by how much he’d like what she was doing, how she was changing herself. She supposed the desire to finally be admired by him was too powerful to overcome. “The owner of the thrift shop where I worked introduced me to yoga. That made the difference, more than anything else.”

      “Flexible and toned.” His teeth flashed in an appreciative smile. “You look better than ever.”

      “Thanks.” There were other things to explain the physical improvements—like her strict eating habits—but she didn’t want to engage him in any more conversation than she already had. He wouldn’t care what she was doing with her life—not after he realized they weren’t going to pick up where they’d left off and fall into bed.

      “How have you been?” he asked. “It’s been a long time.”

      And she’d felt every painstaking minute of it. She couldn’t count how often she’d almost broken down and called him. Only the risk that he might find out he was Wyatt’s father stopped her.

      “Fine.” She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans. “You?”

      “Hangin’ in.”

      He seemed to be faring well. He’d put on a few pounds, nicely filling out his large frame, which he’d needed to do. He’d been muscular but too wiry that last year when they’d been seeing each other. According to Cheyenne and Dylan, he’d also quit using drugs. Now that she had the chance to see him, she believed it.

      “Good,” she said. “I–I’m glad to hear it.” She wished he’d leave it at that, but he didn’t move out of the doorway, and she couldn’t go anywhere while he was blocking her in.

      “I was shocked to hear that you rented the Mullins cottage. That place was a cesspool when they lived there.” He grimaced. “Talk about trashy people.”

      “It’s taken some serious work to make it livable.” She’d rented the two-bedroom because it was cheap and centrally located. Fortunately, where the house was concerned, a little elbow grease could make a big difference. “It’s clean now. I just have a few things still to do.”

      “Like what?”

      “Paint the porch and fix the fence. Plant some flowers out front.”

      He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Flowers?”

      “Anything wrong with flowers?”

      “Sounds like you’re planning to stay for a while.”

      “I am.”

      “You weren’t that domestic when you left.”

      She hadn’t had a child then, but she didn’t want to draw his attention to that, since he didn’t know he was the one who’d made her a mother. “It’s tough to be too focused on everyday concerns when all you care about is getting high.”

      “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He rubbed his jaw. “I take it you’ve changed.”

      “Completely.”

      “I can see that.”

      No, he couldn’t. Not yet. He assumed the changes were superficial, that she’d eventually fall at his feet the way she had before.

      “I would’ve helped you clean up the rental,” he said. “You should’ve called me.”

      She cleared her throat. “It wasn’t necessary. I managed.”

      His eyes became guarded and inscrutable. He was figuring out that the “changes” he’d noticed included an unwillingness to associate with him. “Couldn’t have been easy to get all that done, not with