Chapter 3

Steve scrubbed a hand over the close-clipped stubble on his chin. Women were confusing. Plain and simple. At least the fire situation was under control.

“So, Smokey the Bear, what was it?” came Laura’s voice from behind him, making him jump.

He turned to face her. “Do you have a new guest staying here?”

She wiped the garden dirt from her ripped jeans. “You mean Diana? Let’s see—about this tall, red hair, pretty thing?”

Steve nodded and held out the damp wedding dress. “That’s her. Don’t give this back unless you’re certain she’s not going to use it to light your basement on fire again.”

“On fire?” Laura’s eyes went wide.

“Told you I smelled something burning.”

Laura hugged the dress to her chest. “That poor woman.”

“Are you sure she’s ... you know, stable?” Steve tapped a finger against his temple.

“She’s fine. I promise. Principal Livingston asked me to let her stay here until the tourist season ends and she can find a long-term rental in town.”

“Principal Livingston?” Steve’s brow furrowed.

“She didn’t tell you?” Laura smiled. “Diana’s the new English teacher.”

The English classrooms were just across the hall from where Steve taught science at Middletown High. So much for a one-time encounter—he’d be seeing a lot more of Diana Snow.

“Don’t worry about her,” Laura said gently. “She’s just having a rough start.”

He shrugged. “Besides my sister, who else do I have to worry about?”

“Steve...” Laura reached a hand toward him, and then let it fall to her side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

No more pity.

That was the problem with living in a small town—everyone knew what had happened to his wife. And ever since, they looked at him with that same tilt of the head, that same sympathetic softness in their voices. Like he was broken. Like he needed patching up.

He didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t want fixing. What he wanted was for people to stop treating him like a fragile piece of glass—like his whole identity had been rewritten by grief.

“The sink’s fixed,” he muttered. “Tell Percy he owes me one.”

He turned and plodded up the back steps.

“Thank you, Steve,” Laura called after him.

“Happy to help.” He gave her a soft smile over his shoulder and gathered his tools from the kitchen table.

He checked his phone. No texts from his sister yet. Still had time to kill. Maybe he’d head over to the school and shoot some hoops.

Clear his head.