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Since none of my job applications had gotten a reply, I might as well enjoy my life in Hopewell. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere soon.

Or so I thought—right until I opened my inbox on Monday morning and found an email from Winston, Baker and Fisk of New York, inviting me to a Zoom interview.

CHAPTER 9

DANNY

By the time I pulled into the driveway of my house on Saturday afternoon, I regretted letting Miller fuck me quite so thoroughly before I left. Not because I hadn’t enjoyed it—it had beenphenomenal—but because I’d had to make the long drive back to Goose Run in my rattling old truck and now my ass was aching, a reminder of how well he’d nailed me with that impressive dick of his. I was pretty sure it was worth it, but still. Next time I went to his place, we were sticking to hand jobs before the drive home.

I smiled at the thought of there being a next time. I still wasn’t sure why someone as smart and sexy and put-together as Miller wanted to hang out with a guy like me, but the important thing was that he’d asked to see me again. It didn’t matter that it was just to hook up. At least I was getting laid.

I spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out with the guys. They didn’t even give me shit for the way I’d bolted out of there on Friday night just to catch some dick, although that was mainly because Grace was there and Wilder wouldn’t tolerate us talking about shit like that while she was around. We all tried our best to behave around her and watch what we said anyway, because one, Grace was cute as hell, and two, Wilder was agiant protective papa bear where his baby girl was concerned. I respected that.

We fired up the grill for dinner and spent a quiet evening chilling with a couple beers and playing catch with Grace in the backyard—Wilder had found time to clear it before her visit after all—before turning in.

I fully intended to sleep in on Sunday morning, but instead I woke up to the rumble of a lawnmower. I grabbed my phone and squinted at the screen and let out a groan. Who the fuck was mowing at six in the morning? I buried my face in the pillow and tried to ignore the noise and go back to sleep, but now I was awake I had to take a leak. I pulled on a pair of shorts and headed for the bathroom, which was spotless. Wilder had caved, just like I’d known he would.

I thought briefly of texting Miller to tell him but shoved down the impulse. Just because we were hooking up, that didn’t mean we werefriends. Miller didn’t give a shit about the state of my bathroom, and he sure as fuck didn’t care at six in the morning.

I took a leak and splashed some water on my face to wake up and emerged to find Cash leaning against his bedroom door with creases from his pillow on his face, like he’d just woken up—which he probably had. He’d worked a late shift last night and hadn’t gotten in until after midnight.

He cocked his head in the direction of the front of the house, one eyebrow raised in silent judgment, and I knew he was pissed. I didn’t blame him. “Yeah, I know. I’m going to talk to him now.”

I shuffled toward the front door, still yawning, and stepped out onto the porch to find Harlan in his front yard with his head down, hunched over the handles of the mower as he pushed it in a straight line. He was wearing his pajamas and a pair of unlaced work boots. His hair was a crazy mess, like he’d just gotten out of bed.

He caught me looking, and his top lip curled in a sneer. I swore it felt like he was trying to set me on fire with the heat of his glare, even though all I was doing was standing on my own front porch.

Well, fuck it. If he wanted to be an asshole neighbor, two could play at that game. I stomped down the steps and over the property line and stood in front of where he was mowing, blocking his path. For a second it looked like he was planning to mow right over me, but he stopped at the last minute, the dying sounds of the engine echoing through the now-silent neighborhood.

“What?” he snapped.

“Hey, Harlan. You wanna hold off the mowing until a respectable hour? Cash worked a late shift last night and he’s trying to sleep, so if you could keep the noise down, we’d really appreciate it.”

Dammit. I’d meant to be demanding, but instead here I was, smiling and spreading my hands in an “aw shucks, what can you do?” gesture and basically apologizing for asking him to be a decent human being. When your grandma had raised you right, that training stuck, apparently—even when dealing with dickheads at the asscrack of dawn.

Harlan’s brows drew together. “It’s a decent hour! And I need to get this mowed. Missed it last week, and now the whole damn yard is a mess.”

I looked around for the mess, but his yard was just as pristine as always. And I knew for a fact he’d mowed last weekend. Huh. Still. I wasn’t gonna argue with him over the state of his lawn. Instead I said, “Six is real early for most folks, Mr. Whittaker.”

He blinked at me like he didn’t quite understand what I’d said, then pursed his lips and said, “Get out of the way, son.” And with that, he started the mower again.

I moved aside before he mowed me down.

Harlan grunted and went back to his mowing, leaving wide, even stripes of lawn in his wake, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he pushed the mower faster than before. I watched him from the safety of my porch, unable to shake the feeling that something was off. That feeling intensified when he didn’t stop mowing once he reached the edge of the mowed area. Instead he swung the mower around and started cutting a wide swath in the overgrown weeds that masqueraded asmyfront lawn. He mowed all the way to the tree stump, maneuvered the mower around it, and worked his way to the back of the property. Then he changed direction and cleared another strip of my lawn before turning the mower off and giving a grunt of satisfaction, hands planted on his hips.

I stared at the area he’d cleared. It was around four feet wide, and part of me wanted to ask what the fuck he was doing on my property. But since he’d already ignored me and low-key threatened me today, I doubted he’d tell me. And technically, he was doing me a favor by mowing, so it wasn’t like I could complain.

It was just weird, was all.

I spentSunday doing laundry and visiting Grandma, and Monday and Tuesday resisting the urge to text Miller. I hadn’t heard anything from him since the weekend even though he’d said he’d call, and I was starting to wonder if he’d changed his mind. I hoped not. He’d been the one to suggest we could do it again, so maybe he was just busy. That was what I told myself anyway.

When Wednesday went by with no word, though, I was starting to worry that he really had ghosted me. So when myphone buzzed just as I was getting into my truck for the drive home and Miller’s name flashed on the screen, I almost dropped my phone in my haste to answer it. My heart fluttered in my chest as I closed the truck door and said, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Miller said. “I thought I’d call and let you know we have the property markers, and the tree is one hundred percent in your yard.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment that he was calling about the case. “That’s good, right?”

“It’s very good,” he said. “From a legal standpoint, it grants you undisputed ownership of the tree, which makes this a slam dunk.”