Olive huddled as low as she could on the porch swing, not daring to slide all the way down—she was desperate to stay out of sight of the white picket fence at the front. “What on earth are you doing?” Gram asked. “Playing invisible! You can’t see me at all—I’m not even here—” “I’d beg to differ,” a familiar male voice cut in. That voice hit her like a punch, yanking up every bright, warm memory from her youth’s best days… and every agonizing one from the worst. She cringed and forced her gaze up. Noah stood there, looking way too put-together for someone she’d once blamed for ruining her entire life. His eyes narrowed to slits, jaw set in a hard line, every muscle along his face tight with tension. “Olive Porter,” he said flat, no warmth, no emotion. That only made her angrier—annoyance piling on top of raw irritation. Truth was… he’d never ruined her life. She was the one who’d messed his up. “Lovely to see you again,” Gram greeted warmly. “Haven’t seen you back in town in ages.” Noah flashed his practiced, charming grin. “Adele, you look as great as ever.” Like every other woman he crossed paths with, Gram fell for his rugged, effortless charm, beaming bright. “You’re such a smooth talker, aren’t you.” She glanced at Olive. “Is your Matt half this sweet?” First off, Noah never had an ounce of soft sweetness in him—sharp, quick with jokes, thrillingly dangerous, yes. Sweet? No way. Second, why had she ever thought a fake boyfriend was a good idea? Why couldn’t she just admit she didn’t need a man to complete her life? She really didn’t, not one bit. Hindsight was a total cruel curse. “Matt’s way gentler and sweeter than you’ll ever be.” Noah just shot her a smug, taunting smirk, the infuriating man. “I need to talk to you alone.” Olive grabbed another cookie from the tray. “I’m busy right now.” But he’d already wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her gently to her feet, leading her away with that uneven, strained limp. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through her chest at the sight of his limp. Stupid, traitorous heart. She must have made a tiny, involuntary sound, because he glanced back over his shoulder, caught the pained flicker on her face, and his own expression hardened. “Feeling sorry for me suddenly?” “Not even a little.” She bit down hard into the cookie she’d clutched mid-escape.
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