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  “Mozart! You have Mozart?” My cover is blown. A big fat F for staying calm. Closing my eyes, I shake my head.

  “Let’s try this again because I don’t have all night. Where are you?”

  “My building … uh … your building,” I say.

  “I’ll be there in five. I’m not getting out. I’m not even pulling my vehicle to a complete stop. Hope you have quick hands, Ms. Rodgers.”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  I look at the phone screen. He hung up. The bastard hung up on me after threatening to toss Mozart out the window of his car.

  I sprint up the stairs, grab my bag and Mozart’s travel carrier, lock up, and fly back down the stairwell. The cool evening air steals my breath as I push through the front door of the building, desperate to catch Flint the second he pulls into the parking lot. Within seconds, his fancy black SUV makes the corner. I sprint toward him because, true to his word, he rolls down his window and holds out a brown paper sack.

  No way! He does not have my baby in a sack. As any good mom would do, I run in front of his vehicle, arms flailing. “STOP!”

  He stops, an inch at best from running me over.

  “Are you crazy?” He jumps out, inspecting the less-than-an-inch space between my legs and his bumper.

  I snatch the brown sack from his hand and rescue Mozart, nuzzling my nose into his soft fur.

  Flint shakes his head. “Never mind. I already know the answer.” He makes his way back to the driver’s side.

  “Harry took him?”

  Flint turns, shooting me a “duh” look.

  “Don’t be mad at him. I said he could. We just didn’t discuss when he could take him.”

  “When? You think you needed to discuss with my son when would be a good time to send a rat to my house?”

  Gah! This tall, dark-haired man is so sexy when he’s ruffled up like this. “You’re mad at me. That’s fine. I’ll take the blame as long as you don’t get mad at Harry.”

  After a few indiscernible blinks, he shakes his head. “He took it and he shouldn’t have. He and I will have words about this, but truthfully he didn’t mean to steal him. He’s mildly autistic. In his mind—”

  “He didn’t steal Mozart. I understand.” I grin because I adore Harry. He may struggle with the finer details of social interaction, but he’s my musical soulmate.

  “You do?” Flint narrows his eyes.

  I nod. “I work with a lot of autistic children. I get it. Really. I’m good. Mozart is good. You’re a little miffed, but hey, two out of three ain’t bad.”

  “I’m not miffed.” His jaw works side to side, the opposite of not miffed. “I’m elated. Read your rental contract. The only animals allowed in the building are service animals. You broke your contract. Grounds for eviction. It’s official. Your two weeks start tomorrow. Hope you and your rat have a lovely evening, Ms. Rodgers.”

  I return Mozart to his carrier and set it and my purse on the SUV. My disheveled landlord frowns as I scuff my shoes along the blacktop toward him. “Thank you …” I tug at the collar to his shirt.

  He grunts or groans. I can’t tell which. He stiffens when I get close to him, because I have to get close to him. I button the top button and fix his tie, eliciting another grunt when I get it nice and tight around his neck. “I appreciate you calling me and taking such good care of Mozart.” Mr. Hopkins emanates warmth and spice, maybe a high-end aftershave. I like it a little too much.

  The dark look he gives me makes the cool night feel like hot July. I can’t tell if he wants to devour me with his lips or his teeth. Flint is the fine line between lust and hate. I’m not ready to walk it—yet.

  “I’m going to miss tidying you up, Mr. Hopkins. I like to think of myself as an expert on suits, and I can say with one hundred percent certainty that no man has ever looked this good in a suit.”

  His jaw clenches once and his lips part. I could lift onto my toes and taste them. But seriously, I think he would bite me. “You’re out of line,” he whispers with a deep tone of warning.

  I slide his tie through my fingers, holding just the tip of it for a few seconds before letting it fall back to his chest. “Well, you know what they say—rules are made to be broken and lines are drawn to be crossed.” I step back.

  His gaze follows me—my breasts, my lips—before landing on my eyes. He’s a beautiful, dark man. So dark. Why? I’ll probably never know.

  “See you tomorrow. We’ll start planning my going-away party.” I wink before turning and grabbing my bag and Mozart. “For my party…” I walk toward my car without another glance back “…think about wearing a three-piece suit. I love what you have on today.” I whistle a cat call. “Mmm mmm … but the addition of a vest like you wore the day we met could make my panties fall right off.”

  *

  Flint

  I WATCH HER ass wave goodbye, and I imagine her panties falling right off.

  “You need to get laid,” I grumble, climbing into my seat and slamming the door shut.

  It’s not that I’ve been celibate since I lost Heidi; I just haven’t brought a woman to my house since I got custody of Harrison again. Simon’s dad divorced his cheating wife. I killed Heidi because I was an alcoholic. Maybe in terms of sex, that shouldn’t matter, but it does.

  I hook up with women for one night. Hotels. Their place. But never mine. I don’t introduce them to Harrison. I don’t make any connections beyond the sex. And I don’t have sex that often. It’s only when he’s at a friend’s house, Heidi’s mom’s place, or when my parents come to visit. Yes, I have parents who understand my needs.

  It’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman. Ellen Rodgers traipsing into my life is not good. Ellen Rodgers all but flat out asking me to fuck her is disastrous.

  As if my father knows I need him, his name pops up on my dash screen. I hit the answer button on my steering wheel.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “How’s my boy?”

  “Hard to say. Are you referring to me or Harrison?”

  He chuckles. “Who do you think?”

  “Harrison is fine.”

  “And my other boy?”

  “I’m surviving.”

  “I’ll sugarcoat it when your mom asks.”

  “Good plan. I’m on my way home now. When are you and Mom coming for a visit?”

  “Actually, your mom has a companion ticket that expires soon. She booked us flights in two weeks. That work for you boys?”

  “Sure. Harrison will be thrilled. Well … his version of thrilled.”

  “You going to get out while we’re there?” And by “get out” he means get laid.

  My father played football in college and two years in the NFL before an injury ended his career like it ended mine. He also had a problem with addiction. There’s nothing I can’t say to him. He gets me.

  “I hope so. I told you I rented out the upstairs space to that music teacher. Remember?”

  “Great tits?”

  I chuckle. The Hopkins men have singular thoughts.

  “Yeah.”

  “You think screwing your tenant is a good idea?”

  “No. It’s a terrible idea. Not what I was trying to say.” It is a terrible idea, but an idea nonetheless—an idea that’s stuck in my head where it will die. “She’s irritating. Physically irritating. My neck itches when I’m around her. But she’s the reason I need to get away for a night. I’ve tried to evict her, but she’s using Harrison’s love of music to manipulate me. He’s been playing guitar with her. And today he brought home her pet rat. A pet rat. Who the fuck has a rat for a pet? Ellen Rodgers. That’s who.”

  My dad laughs some more. “She’s under your skin. Maybe screwing your tenant is exactly what you need. Once she realizes you’re a one-night-stand guy, she’ll give you her notice instead of the other way around. Women don’t like facing men who reject them after one night.”

  “Sage advice from the man who married his high school sweetheart and wa
s a virgin on his wedding night.”

  “Hey, I live vicariously through you.”

  “You poor guy.” I grunt a laugh.

  “You know…” his tone turns more serious “…it’s been ten years. I think a decade is long enough. Heidi would want you to move on.”

  “Heidi would want me to burn in Hell for killing her—taking away Harrison’s mother. I think that every fucking time I feel any sort of happiness or pleasure. I gotta go.” I can’t have this conversation. The day may never come that I can have this conversation. A decade … that’s nothing. I killed her. I got away with murder. I should have rotted in a prison cell for the rest of my life.

  “I love you, Flint. Your mom does too. And so does Harrison. And we forgive you.”

  I pull into the garage and shift into Park, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. I don’t deserve forgiveness. I did the unforgivable. I’m here for Harrison. That’s it. Raising him is the debt I owe. I don’t deserve a day past his eighteenth birthday. And he only loves me because he doesn’t know the truth.

  “I’ll see you in two weeks. Message me your flight info, and I’ll make sure there’s someone at the airport if I can’t be there.”

  “Goodnight, Son.”

  I disconnect.

  I make dinner.

  I do laundry.

  I pull weeds in the yard and tend to the garden.

  I stay up late going over my case that goes to court next week.

  And then I wake up and prepare to do it all over again because people like me don’t deserve anything more than monotony.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ellen

  AS A MUSIC enthusiast it would seem natural for hearing to be my most cherished sense. But Beethoven continued to compose, and in some ways hear the music, long after he went deaf. I will forever cherish music and live in awe of the lives that it saves, but I know without a single shred of uncertainty that touch is the one sense I cannot live without. And I know this because I tried for two years to let that need—the feeling that comes only from another human—die. At the most basic level, humans need physical touch to thrive.

  “Will you be available this afternoon?” Dr. Hamilton asks as I grab a coffee from the hospital cafeteria. “I have a patient I’d like you to meet. She’s a rape victim.”

  “I can see her if it’s before two. I’ll be at my office after that.” I frown, dumping sugar into my coffee. “If I still have one. My landlord is trying to evict me.”

  She slips her phone into her lab coat and smirks. “I’ve known you for almost a year. You can charm the pants off a snake. Everyone loves you. How are you getting evicted? Rent issues?”

  I put the lid on my cup and shake my head. “Noise issues.” I smirk over the steam seeping from the hole in my lid. “My landlord didn’t understand what my profession entails.”

  “Sounds like an idiot. You should hire an attorney to fight it. I know a really good one.”

  I laugh. “Funny thing … my landlord is an attorney.”

  “Oh …” She cringes, taking a sip of her coffee. “Well, all the more reason to have your own attorney.”

  “It’s complicated. I’ve been teaching his son to play the guitar. This boy is amazing. I show him something once and he gets it and builds on it without my guidance. He’s gifted—as in really gifted. And I like him and I think he likes me.”

  “So the dad hired you to teach his son guitar lessons, yet he’s evicting you?”

  I shake my head as we step onto the elevator. “I offered to teach him for free—sort of. Sex in a Suit was not happy about it.”

  “Sex in a Suit?” Dr. Hamilton grins.

  Sipping my coffee, I shrug. “Yeah. Sex in a Suit. Tall, dark, and handsome. Every woman’s fantasy. Check. Check. Check. The hot ones are always jerks or gay.”

  “Maybe he’s gay.”

  The doors open to my floor. “His eyes wander too much. He’s not gay, just a jerk.”

  “Bummer. Hey …”

  I turn as she pushes the button to hold open the elevator doors.

  “Did you get my invite to the wine tasting at my house tonight?”

  “Yes. Sorry, I forgot to respond.”

  “No big deal. Just stop by if you can.”

  “Thanks.”

  *

  “GOOD AFTERNOON, AMANDA.” I pop my head in Flint’s office on my way to the elevator.

  “Elle, don’t you look cute.” She grins.

  I glance down at my sheer black leggings, ankle boots, mini skirt, and white boyfriend shirt. “Oh … thanks. I have a wine tasting after work, so I stopped by home on my way here to change into something less boring than my usual pants and sweater.”

  “Pfft … less boring? You always look stylish. I envy how easily you make simple look trendy.”

  “Boy, I have you fooled. But … thanks.”

  The glass wall between Amanda’s desk and Flint’s office reveals an empty desk chair, lights off.

  “Where’s your boss man?”

  “Court. You just missed him.”

  “Lucky me.” I wink.

  “He’s out for the day, so Harrison won’t be coming by either.”

  “Well, that is a true bummer.”

  “Harrison likes you.” Amanda taps the end of her pen against her chin. “You should cultivate that relationship. I don’t think Flint will evict you as long as Harrison is so enamored with you.”

  My nose wrinkles. “I’m not so sure. Did he mention the rat incident?”

  Lines form on her forehead. “No.”

  “I see.” I glance at my watch. “It’s a long story. I’ll share it with you later. I have an appointment soon, but let’s just say my two-weeks’ notice officially started again yesterday.”

  I grin just as Amanda answers the phone, giving me a wave back. A tiny part of me is not only disappointed I won’t see Harrison but Flint too. Over the past weeks, I’ve enjoyed our banter and flirting. Maybe just flirting on my part, but he hasn’t exactly asked me to stop. I think he likes it, but it pisses him off that he does.

  *

  DR. HAMILTON LIVES in an older neighborhood filled with trees and enchanting houses that have been restored over time. It doesn’t feel pretentious, but I have no doubt that these homes nestled off the main road are worth more than my salary could afford.

  “Elle! I’m so glad you made it.” Dr. Hamilton—Abigail—answers the door with a wine glass in one hand, dangly bracelets hanging from her wrist. Her blond hair flows at least fifteen inches down her back. I’ve never seen it down. She always wears it in a tight bun. I think she’s around fifty, but with her hair down, it takes a good ten years off her age.

  “Thank you. I love your home.” I step inside and slip off my coat.

  “It’s almost a century old. Martin has been itching to sell it for years. He’s sick of raking the leaves and mowing the lawn, but I can’t sell it. This is my happy place.”

  “I can see why. Is Martin here or did you kick him out?”

  “Yes. He’s out back with the rest of the men. I’ll introduce you in a bit.”

  A group of three ladies walk up the porch steps behind me.

  Abigail gestures with her hand. “Nothing’s off limits. Feel free to look around. We’ll get started in the great room in about a half hour. Food is in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

  I wander around, falling in love with this house one room at a time. Every bedroom has a large window seat overlooking lush grass beneath full trees raining down autumn leaves. I can imagine curling up with a good book, a fluffy robe, hot drink, and Chopin playing from my vintage turntable.

  After loading a plate full of finger food, I make my way to the terrace.

  “Ellen … Ellen … Ellen …” Dr. Pearce raises his glass of sparkling water and gives me a nod of approval. The old guy has been sober for two decades. He’s by far the most popular pediatrician on staff at the hospital. I’ve consulted more with his patients than any other doctor’s.

>   “Sparkling water at a wine tasting. How drab.” I pop a red grape into my mouth and grin around it.

  He’s very open about his past and pokes fun at himself more than anyone else. I like that there are no eggshells on the ground when he’s around.

  “So drab, as you say.” He winks. “I used to be the life of the party, but now I fear, being the oldest one here, I could be the death of it. However, Miller and Gibson are on call, so they’re enjoying the kiddie drinks as well. I think Martin mixed them up Shirley Temples.”

  “Nothing wrong with a good Shirley Temple. Extra cherries of course.”

  Dr. Pearce steals a cheese cube from my plate. “Girl after my own heart.”

  “I love this house.” I sigh, looking toward the bird feeders near the white fence.

  “Indeed. It’s arguably the best neighborhood in the city. I used to live right over there.” He points toward the slate blue house on the other side of the picket fence.

  “You were neighbors?”

  “Yes, until my wife died. Then it became too much upkeep. Sold it in less than a day. The guy offered to buy it before he even looked at the inside.”

  “Really? That’s crazy.”

  “I thought so too. He saw my wife’s garden—rows and rows of rich black soil—and the greenhouse at the far end of the property. That’s all he needed to see.”

  “A gardener’s dream.” I pop another grape into my mouth.

  “There he is now.”

  I lean to see past the row of bird feeders.

  “Martin says he spends hours out there every night. My wife did too. She thought it was therapeutic. Digging in the dirt seemed to clear her mind. In her words, it grounded her.”

  “I can see that. Music does that for me.” I squint at the backside of the man in dark jeans and a gray long-sleeved shirt rolled up to his elbows, and green gardening gloves.

  He bends down and pulls a few weeds.

  I can’t hide my grin as the man with inky hair turns and tosses the weeds in a white bucket, giving me a partial view of his face. “Mr. Hopkins,” I whisper.

  “Pardon?” Dr. Pearce says.

  I slowly shake my head. “Nothing. I’m going to walk the grounds. I’ll be back.”