Exhaustion was a constant companion to my waking moments. The only reason I was able to keep my eyes open was because the picture of Knox and Drake was one I didn’t want to miss. It was the reason I chose the couch over snuggling into bed.

  Watching them together was a dream. A fantasy of a different life had I made better choices.

  Drake had stopped crying and was moments away from sleep. This interlude was nearly over. For my son’s sake, I was grateful. For mine . . .

  It would be difficult to close the door behind Knox when he left.

  A yawn stretched my lips and I waved it off. “Sorry.”

  “Now you’re apologizing for yawning?” He shot me a grin as he passed the couch.

  “My father once scolded me for yawning during a meeting. I apologized then and haven’t stopped since.”

  It was the first time I’d mentioned my father aloud. For over a month, I’d kept my past locked away. I’d dodged questions about my family and the reasons why I’d moved across the country. Sleep deprivation had caused my walls to drop.

  Or maybe it was just Knox. He shared freely. He made me want to do the same.

  “Seriously?” he asked.

  I shrugged.

  “You don’t talk about your family.”

  “I don’t talk about much.”

  “This is true.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Where are your parents?”

  I sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “I figured you’d ask eventually. But I haven’t figured out how to answer that question yet.”

  “It’s a simple question, Memphis.”

  “Then the simple answer is New York.”

  “What’s the complicated answer?”

  “The truth makes my family seem . . . ugly.” As frustrated as I was with them, I didn’t want strangers to think they were bad people. They were who they were. Distant. Self-absorbed. Proud. They were the product of their surroundings and extreme, selfish wealth.

  Once, I hadn’t been all that different. Maybe they were ugly. But their awful actions had been the catalyst to my change. Because of them, I would be a better person. Despite them.

  Knox walked to the door, pausing beside his discarded tennis shoes. “Better let me be the judge.”

  I glanced to the clock on the microwave. “This isn’t really a conversation for two oh seven in the morning.”

  He crossed the room, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch with my son asleep on his chest. “Are they less ugly during the day?”

  “No,” I whispered. “My father never held Drake. You’re the only man to ever carry him in your arms.”

  A crease formed between his eyebrows. “Did he . . .”

  “Die? No. He’s very much alive. My parents, my dad in particular, doesn’t approve of my choices. He sets the tone for our family, and when I refused to do things his way, he disowned me. My mother, my sister and my brother followed suit. Though it doesn’t really matter because I disowned them too.”

  Knox studied my face. “What do you mean, they disowned you?”

  “I worked for my dad. He fired me. I was living in one of their Manhattan townhouses. Drake was four weeks old when his attorney served me my thirty-day eviction notice. My grandparents set up trust funds for each of their grandchildren but required my father be the conservator until we turned thirty. I went in to take out some money so I could move and Dad denied the bank from granting me any withdrawals. He left me with nothing but the money I had in my own bank account and my final paycheck.”

  “Are you fucking serious? Why?”

  “He wants to know who Drake’s father is. I refuse to tell him. I refuse to tell anyone.” There was a hidden warning in my tone, that if Knox asked, I’d deny him an answer. “Dad didn’t like being told that it was none of his business. But there’s a reason why no one knows who Drake’s father is. I plan to keep it that way.”

  Knox leaned forward, his hold on Drake tightening. “Is there something I need to know?”

  “No. He’s gone from my life.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.” I had a signed document to prove it. “My dad thought he’d call my bluff. That if he made my life hard enough, I’d tell him everything he wanted to know. That he could continue to pull my strings and I’d dance as one of his little puppets. I’m twenty-five, not sixteen. My decisions are my own. My secrets are my own.”

  Knox leaned into the couch, shaking his head. “You’re right. I’m not really liking your family at the moment.”

  “My father isn’t used to being told no. He owns a hotel conglomerate. And he runs his family as heavy-handedly as he does his business.”

  “A hotel?” Knox’s eyebrows arched. “Which one?”

  “Ward Hotels.”

  “No shit?” He huffed a laugh. “After culinary school, I worked in San Francisco. The restaurant was in a Ward Hotel.”

  I blinked. “Really?”

  “Small world.”

  “That it is.” And I knew exactly which restaurant he was talking about too.

  I’d been to San Francisco numerous times, always staying at the hotel. Had Knox been the one to cook my meals? It wouldn’t surprise me. It had been a favorite place to eat.

  “I’m named after Dad’s favorite hotel in Memphis. My sister is named Raleigh. My brother is Houston.”

  Knox studied my profile. “Ward Hotels is not a small company.”

  “No, it is not.”

  It was a privately owned multimillion-dollar business. The real estate holdings alone were worth a fortune.

  And I’d traded my thirty-million-dollar trust fund for a fourteen-dollar-per-hour housekeeping job.

  Maybe it had been a reckless decision driven by betrayal. We didn’t have much in Quincy.

  But we were free.

  “You’re cleaning toilets,” Knox said.

  I raised my chin. “There’s nothing wrong with cleaning toilets.”

  “No, there isn’t.” He gave me a small nod. “What did you do before you came here? You worked for Ward?”

  “I was a marketing executive for the company. My brother is being groomed to take over for my father, but my sister and I grew up knowing we’d always have jobs with the company. We were expected to work there. I started the day after I graduated from college.”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  “I have a degree in sociology from Princeton. Not exactly useful, but it was interesting.”

  Knox was silent for a long moment, then he laughed. “Princeton. Why did you choose to work at The Eloise? Why not find something that paid more?”

  “Hotels are what I’ve always known.” And though I probably could have found a cushy resort and worked my way into a general manager position, Dad had required his executives, including his daughters, to sign a ten-year noncompete.

  “It seemed like the easy choice,” I said. “Not that the work is easy. It’s the hardest job I’ve ever had. But with so many other changes, I wanted the familiarity of a hotel. Even if I’ve never cleaned a room in my life.”

  He blinked. “Seriously? You’ve never cleaned before this?”

  “I had a maid,” I admitted. “I watched a lot of videos on YouTube before I started.”

  “Well . . . according to Eloise, you’re doing a hell of a job.”

  “Thank you.” I was glad it was dark so he wouldn’t see me blush. “I won’t be a housekeeper forever, but I was never given the chance to choose my own path. When I’m ready, I’ll find something that pays more. That leans on my education. There aren’t a ton of opportunities in a small town, but I’ll keep my eye out. For now, I like where I’m at.”

  “You could have picked any other town.”

  I shook my head. “I chose Quincy.”

  This town was mine.

  It was hard to explain how I’d become so attached to this place in such a short time. But every time I drove down Main, it felt more and more like home. Every time I went to the grocery store and my favorite cashier—Maxine—complimented me on having such an adorable baby, I felt my heart settle. Every time I walked into The Eloise, I felt like I belonged.

  “My parents would hate it here.” I smiled.

  “Part of its appeal?”

  “At first.” I dropped my gaze to my lap. “I know how all of this sounds. It’s part of the reason why I haven’t told anyone. Poor little rich girl gives up her fortune, moves to Montana, and lives paycheck to paycheck all because she was sick and tired of her father ordering her around.”

  Saying it aloud made me cringe.

  “I didn’t turn my life upside down to spite anyone. I did it for Drake. Because I believe in my heart of hearts, this is a better life. Even if it’s hard. Even if we’re alone.” We’d been alone since the beginning.

  “Would they have made your life miserable in New York?” Knox asked.

  “They would have controlled it. They would have ripped the decisions out of my hands, especially when it came to Drake.” He would have had a nanny and been shipped away to boarding school at age ten. “I don’t want to live by someone else’s rule simply because he pulls the strings with my money.”

  “I can appreciate that. So what happens when you turn thirty? When he’s not in charge of your trust fund?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m not going to hold out hope that the money will be there. I expect my father to find a way to take it himself. Probably buy another hotel in another city.”

  “Can he do that? Is it legal?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “I always have the option to fight. To hire an attorney and go after it. In a few years, maybe I’ll feel differently, but at the moment, I don’t want any part of it. I had enough money saved up to buy my car. Once I get ahead, I’ll see what my options are for buying a house. Right now, it’s more important for me to count on myself than anyone else. My family was supposed to be there for me, but on the first-worst day of my life, they let me down. So I’ve let them go.”

  His forehead furrowed. “You keep track of your worst days?”

  “It’s silly, but yes.”

  “What was the first?”

  I gave him a sad smile. “The day I had Drake. It was also the first-best day of my life.”

  “I get why it was the best day.” He splayed his fingers across Drake’s back. For whatever reason, he didn’t seem ready to put the baby in his crib. Knox simply held him, ensuring that my son slept. “Why was it the first-worst day too?”

  “Because I was alone. My brother and father are cut from the same cloth so I hadn’t expected much from them, but I thought my mom would at least show at the hospital for the birth of her first grandchild. Maybe my sister. But they all ignored my calls and didn’t respond to my texts. I was in labor for seventeen hours.”

  The crying. The pain. The exhaustion.

  That was the day Old Memphis had died. Because she’d realized that the life she’d lived was so shallow that not a single person had come to simply hold her hand. No family. No friends.

  “The epidural didn’t work,” I said. “The doctors finally told me that I had to have an emergency C-section. I woke up a day later after almost dying from a postpartum hemorrhage.”

  “Fuck,” Knox muttered.

  “Drake was healthy. That was all that mattered. We camped in the hospital for a couple of weeks, and when they sent us home, I was already planning an exit from the city. When Dad called to tell me that I had to move out, I simply escalated my departure date.”

  Thankfully, he hadn’t fired me until after Drake was born. Or maybe I’d quit. Considering I’d resigned and he’d fired me during the same phone conversation while I’d been in a hospital bed, I wasn’t exactly sure how Human Resources had processed that one. All I cared about was that my insurance had still been active, so it had covered my medical bills.

  Dad must have thought that after Drake was born, I’d change my mind. That I’d bend to his iron will. Maybe had he shown up at the hospital, I would have.

  “I chose Quincy. I applied at the inn. I bought the Volvo, and after Eloise offered me a job, I started searching for rentals here. When I couldn’t find one after a week of looking . . . well, here I am.”

  “Here you are.” There was something in his voice. A fondness where irritation had once been.

  Knox and I sat on the couch, eyes locked through the dark.

  Now he had my story, or most of it. Some pieces were mine and mine alone. One day, they might be Drake’s but that was a worry for the future.

  There were pieces to my tale I loathed. Parts of the story where I’d failed. But mostly, I was beginning to feel . . . proud.

  Coming to Quincy had been the right decision.

  “You’d better get some sleep.” Knox stood from the couch in one fluid movement, taking Drake to his crib. Knox laid him down, brushing the hair away from his forehead, then stood and walked to the door where I waited to see him out.

  “Thank you.” Like I always apologized when he knocked, I thanked him before he left.

  Knox bent to pull on his shoes, then he stood tall and nodded, reaching for the door’s handle. But he paused before stepping outside and into the night. He turned to me, a tower at over six feet tall. In my bare feet, I was only five four.

  “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

  I opened my mouth but no words came out. He was hugging me again, holding me so tight with those invisible arms that I couldn’t speak.

  Knox lifted his hand to my cheek and tucked an errant lock of hair behind my ear. Just one brush of his fingertips and every nerve ending in my body sparked. My breath hitched.

  “Good night, Memphis.” Then he was gone, closing the door behind him as he retreated to his house.

  A smile ghosted my lips. “Good night, Knox.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  KNOX

  A bird chirped outside and my gaze snapped to the windows for the hundredth time in an hour. The driveway was empty, just like it had been three minutes ago.

  “Gah.” I dragged a hand through my hair and swiped the last T-shirt from the pile of clean clothes on my bed, taking it to the closet for a hanger. Then I carted the empty basket to the laundry room and headed for the kitchen.

  The dishes were done. The fridge stocked. The entire house clean.

  For the first time in months, I’d taken an entire day off. Not a huge feat. The actual accomplishment had been not going into Knuckles on my day off. The restaurant had a tether on my mind and most vacation days, I’d stop to check in. Mothering, according to Skip.

  But today, I hadn’t left my home. I hadn’t even called to see how things were going. Mondays were a quiet day so I doubted there’d be a mad rush, especially at the end of October. Still, my fingers itched to dial the phone simply for the distraction. Simply to take my mind off the clock.

  It was six. Shouldn’t Memphis be home by now? I wasn’t actually sure what time she came home—I was always at the restaurant—but her shift ended at five. Where was she?

  Five days had passed since she’d told me about her family. Five days and five nights without Memphis. The restaurant had been busy over the weekend with a rush of hunters staying at the hotel. Our paths hadn’t crossed. And each night when I’d come home after dark, the lights had been off in the loft. Drake hadn’t woken me up.

  With or without his crying, I’d be going over tonight.

  I just . . . damn it, I missed her. I missed the sweet scent of her perfume. I missed her soft whisper. I missed the way she’d duck her chin to hide a blush.

  I’d find an excuse to visit, even if it was just to stay hello. To let her know that the story she’d shared about her parents hadn’t scared me away. No wonder she’d escaped to Montana.

  What she’d gone through, alone, was unthinkable.

  My family was nothing but supportive—borderline overbearing, but only because they cared. Not in a million years would Mom and Dad treat their daughters the way Memphis had been treated. Not in a million years would they not have held their grandchild.

  Fuck, but she was strong. I respected the hell out of her for walking away. From the money. From the legacy. From the control. I admired her for putting her son’s life first.

  Risky as it was, I had to see her. And hopefully I’d manage to keep from kissing her.

  Because damn, did I want to kiss her. Like I’d almost kissed her the other night.

  Six eleven. Why didn’t I know her schedule? What if she needed help? Who would she call? Did she even have my number?

  The tap of my fingers on the granite counters filled the quiet house. I’d thought I’d miss this. The quiet. The solitude. But I’d had this anxious knot in my gut all day, the place too still. Too empty. Where was she?

  Housework hadn’t helped settle the nerves. Neither had cleaning out the garage. All three stalls were now clean, giving both Memphis and me plenty of space to park once the snow arrived. I hadn’t planned on cooking today. I had plenty of leftovers to pick at.

  But I needed an outlet, anything to get my mind off the empty driveway, so I stalked to the pantry and took out a bag of semolina flour.

  It shouldn’t have taken long to make pasta dough and roll it out. Except every thirty seconds I glanced down the lane, hoping to see a gray Volvo heading my direction. The only thing beyond the glass was a chilly fall day.

  The grasses in the meadows had faded from green to gold. The ponderosa pines were dusted with frost. The mountains in the distance were capped white.

  Fall was my favorite season, and other than a small influx of hunters to the area, there were more familiar faces than not on Main these days. We’d be slow at the hotel until the holidays. This was the time to catch up on some rest.

  But today had been anything but relaxing, and if I was going to feel this way on a day off, well . . . I’d mother Skip until Christmas.

  With the pasta cut and ready, I found a pot and set it to boil. Then I pulled a bundle of baby spinach and mushrooms from the fridge. I was digging for cream to make a simple sauce when, outside, gravel crunched beneath tires.

 

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