“I won’t judge you for your mistakes, Asher. I’m the last person who would do that.”

I intertwine my fingers with hers and squeeze her hand. My heart knots painfully in my chest with something I can’t name. “I did it,” I say. “I’m not some innocent dude being punished for a crime he didn’t commit. I did it.”

“Were you drunk?”

“Yes. Drunk. High.” The silence grows heavy between us as I let the ugliness rise up. I examine it with such detachment now. “You’ve read the reports, I’m sure. I was drunk and out for blood.”

“I haven’t read them.” She shrugs. “I don’t care to. You aren’t that guy, Asher.”

Her confidence shakes me, and I have to swallow back this feeling in my throat I know she wouldn’t like.

“So, probation? What does that mean?”

“For me it meant anger management classes, and weekly drug and alcohol screening.” And a protective order that keeps me from seeing my daughter any time I want.

She blinks. “Wow. That sucks.”

I lift a shoulder. “It beats the alternative.”

“Which was what?”

“A year in prison for aggravated battery.”

“A year?” she says softly. “But you definitely don’t have to serve time, right?”

I shrug. “Assuming I can stay on the right side of the law for another month, sure.” I force a smile. “But that’s why I’m in New Hope and not at my house in the city. Easy enough to stay out of trouble here.”

She snorts. “Depends who you talk to.”

I squeeze her hand.

“What happens if you get in trouble with the law while you’re on probation?”

I take a breath. “I have to serve my year sentence.” And worse, I’d miss a whole year with my daughter.

***

She’s silent the entire drive home. I pull into the driveway of her rental and shut off the ignition.

I want to stay with her tonight. I want to kiss away the memory of Will and any other man who hurt her. I want to take her slowly and softly in her bed. I want to hold her, because—whether she’ll admit it or not—that’s what she needs.

She’s looking out her window, not at me, and the soft tension of unspoken secrets hisses like steam in the silence.

“I have a daughter,” I say into the darkness. “She’s four years old, and smart and amazing, and because her mother is living with the man I assaulted, I can only see her during my one week of visitation a month.”

“A daughter?”

“That’s why I wasn’t around this week,” I explain. “I flew to New York for my week with her.”

“I had no idea.”

I swallow, not entirely sure why I’m sharing all of this. “I want primary custody, but my lawyer said going after that while I’m on probation is asking to lose. So I’m waiting, but she’s my world.”

She’s still not looking at me, but if my having a child scares her away, so be it. Zoe has to come first.

“You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes. I have too. But I believe we’re more than the sum of our mistakes. I didn’t used to. I thought I was a piece of shit. I thought I was nothing.” I take her hand and lightly brush my thumb over the gauze wrapping her wrist. “I used to drink to feel numb, but then I sobered up and a different kind of numbness followed. It was Zoe who made me feel again, and who made me believe I was more than the sum of my mistakes.”

“You’re lucky.” Her voice shakes. I wonder if she’s cried since that day at the river. I wonder if this might be the moment she breaks. What does it say about me that I want her to? I want her to break so I can find her in the pieces, just like she does with her mosaics.

She laughs but it sounds crazed, maniacal, but then she looks out the window and whispers, “Oh, my gosh,” and there’s a smile in her voice.

The streetlight slants in the window, giving me just enough light to make out her changing expression.

“What is it?”

“That’s Krystal’s car.” She slumps down in her seat, and the light catches on her earring, making it flash in the darkness.

I follow her gaze to the red Mini Cooper parked down the block. “Is she visiting you?”

“Not me,” Maggie breathes. “That’s Tyler’s house.”

“Who’s Tyler?”

Maggie chews on her lip, masking her smile. “Tyler was her first love.”

Krystal steps onto the softly lit porch, dressed in a tank and shorts that show off her long legs. She’s quickly joined by a tall man in a dark t-shirt and jeans.

We watch as Tyler cups her jaw in his hands and kisses her softly.

She follows him in the door, and my chest is heavy with the implication of it.

“What will you do?” I ask.

Pulling her eyes from the illuminated scene, she turns to me. “What do you mean?”

“Will you tell him?”

She straightens. “Will and Krystal broke up the night of the housewarming. There’s nothing to tell.”

Will isn’t engaged to her sister anymore, and she’s here with me? “They broke up? For good?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not with him?”

“No.”

I lean across the seat and pull her against me, kissing her hard and hungry, because if she wanted her ex-fiancé back, she could have him. I slip my tongue between her lips and she opens to me, sliding her hands into my hair and kissing me back. Her lips are soft and her tongue hot, and I want so much more.

When we finally separate we’re both breathing hard and the porch down the road is dark.

We get out of the car and hold hands as I walk her to the door.

“You want to come in?” she asks, and the need in her eyes is more than a physical reaction.

I brush my lips across hers. “Go let Lucy out. You’re coming with me tonight.”

Chapter Fifteen

Maggie

“Do you take all your girls here?” I ask Asher. But the humor fizzles out of my voice when I see him spread a blanket on the grass.

He brought me to his house and led me through the backyard and down to the river.

With most men, this wouldn’t make me uncomfortable because knowing what they wanted, knowing where it was going, would give me a sense of control. Not with Asher. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you”—he tilts my chin toward the sky—“to look at these stars.”

So I do. I turn and lean into his chest and look at the New Hope stars. The bright ones. The ones that are so faint they look more like a hint of light than a dedication to it. I find the big dipper. The little dipper. I listen to the soft rushing of the water and feel my shoulders relax and my breathing slow.

The silence stirs between us for a long time, intense with what hasn’t been said, heavy with what I know I can’t say. I wish to be someone else, a woman with an untainted past, a woman who could whisper secrets about her life with no real shame.

Finally, Asher speaks. “I’m not asking anything from you, Maggie. I’m a patient man. I know you’ve been hurt and don’t feel like you have much to give.”

And there it is again. That ache. That burn to explain. And maybe I would. If this were a different world or I were a different person. If I weren’t so very afraid of what it might mean to trust him with the most fragile pieces of myself.

“Normally, I back off when I start to feel something for a woman. But the thing is”—he whispers now—“it’s too late. I’ve already fallen for you.”

My eyes fill with hot tears, and I duck his embrace and put space between us. I tell myself I’m not running away. I’m giving myself some much deserved space from a man who wants more from me than I can give.

I step closer to the river and slip off my shoes. Calm rushes through me at the slight give of the earth beneath my feet. The air is heavy with the smell of river. The scent of fresh water mixes with mildew and slowly decomposing earth. I love the smell, love the promise of it. That everything, no matter what its beginnings, has a purpose and will break down and become a part of something new. A tree limb will become part of the riverbed; a frog will become part of the rich soil that will nourish a baby tree until it grows into a great oak.

I sense Asher before I hear him. His fingers slip into mine before I acknowledge him. His big, solid hand warms my smaller one. I have to fight the temptation to pour all of my troubles out to him, to share my worries with this man.

I pull my hand away.

“I don’t want to scare you away,” he says. “But I’m not the kind of guy who keeps quiet when he feels something. Not anymore.” His voice is soft, soothing. A balm to my frayed nerves.

“I’m just not there, Asher. I don’t fall in love that easily.” And you don’t want the likes of me loving you.

“Not since Will?”

I don’t know how to answer that.

“So many secrets.” He sighs heavily. “Love isn’t a bartering tool. I just wanted to tell you. I don’t expect anything in return. Nothing at all.”

I lean against him in the darkness and wrap my arms around his waist. “I didn’t say I can’t give you anything,” I say, pressing my mouth against his chest, kissing my way down.

He draws in a breath. “The girl may be stingy with her love, but she’s free with her sexual favors.”

I freeze at his words, and he stiffens, seeming to register what he said.

“I’m sorry, Maggie, that was uncalled for.”

A sharp stab of pain—of shame—darts through me.

I look out over the water. “Maybe. But it’s true. But maybe I’m cheap. Easy.”

“Maggie—”

“Don’t. Don’t say it’s not true. Don’t rewrite history to make me feel better about myself.”

His hand settles on my shoulder. “You give your body freely. That may be true. And you may do your damnedest to keep that heart hidden from the rest of the world. But it’s not cold. You’ve got a great big heart, Maggie. So big that it peeks out from that place where you try to hide it.”

A hot tear streaks down my cheek. “How can you believe that?”

He pulls me into his arms, presses my cheek into his chest. “Because I’ve seen it.”

I run my thumb along the faint stubble covering his jaw, and he stares at me, like he’s waiting for me to say something, like he needs me to say something. I lift onto my tiptoes and press my lips to his.

The contact is brief but electric. Does he know how badly I want to let him love me? How badly I wish I could love him in return? Once I believed myself incapable of loving. I thought it my sacrifice, the payment for my sins. But I feel it inside me—transformation. Something that was once so hard bending into something pliable. Something that, like the sandy earth beneath my feet, is flexible, can give a little.

Nervous with possibility, I shiver.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asks, running his hands over my bare arms. “Are you cold?”

I’m perfect. The Indiana heat dances in the night air. I let my cheek find his chest again. “Can we stay for a while?”

“Absolutely.” Then he dips to take my mouth, and this time we linger.

His touch is soft, gentle. He runs his tongue along my lips, and I open under him. He tastes me, moves into my mouth, slants over me. His hands settle on my back, pressing our bodies closer. I feel utterly cherished.

When he breaks the kiss, a small cry slips from my lips. The river rushes by, the crickets sing, occasionally the hoot of an owl joins the melody, and Asher kisses my neck like he was born to do it.

I lace my fingers through his hair and lead him back up until his mouth meets mine again.

Dear God, this man tastes good. Like the warmth he puts in my belly and the spice he inspires lower. And he kisses like a god. His thumbs caress the small of my back until my head spins and my knees weaken.

He pulls away and takes my hand. Wordlessly, he leads me to the blanket and pulls his shirt off over his head.

“What are you—”

Before I can finish, he turns to me and removes my shirt, unbuttons my skirt and slips it from my hips.

I reach for the button on his pants, but he stops my hands, lifting them to the sides as he admires my body in the faint light of the quarter moon. The smartass comment dies on my lips, and I let myself enjoy his admiration. Unclasping my bra, I let it fall away.

His breath rushes out of him, but instead of the cheap thrill of sexual power, more of that insane liquid warmth fills my belly.

His thumb brushes across a hardened nipple before he peels away my panties.

He drops to his knees in front of me and finds me with his fingers, rubbing my cl*tand making me rock unsteadily on my feet.

He replaces his hand with his mouth. The wet flick of his tongue, light at first, then firmer, more insistent. A moan escapes my lips, mingles with the owl calls, and dissipates in the thick, humid air. When I think my knees can no longer hold me up, Asher scoops me into his arms and pulls my na**d body against his bare chest.

At another time, in another place, I might have mocked him for this old-fashioned gesture, but right now—as he slowly lowers me onto the blanket, and I can feel the dampness of the earth seep through it—it’s perfect. It’s exactly what I need.

He discards his shoes and pants, never taking his eyes from me. Never ceasing his exploration of my body with his gaze, he rolls on a condom.

When he lowers onto me, I welcome his weight. I spread my legs so he can settle between them. Eyes locked with mine, he slides into me, and the air leaves my lungs as he fills me. Pleasure stretches its long fingers through me—strokes, caresses, awakens my hardened heart in the hot palm of its hand.