"Maybe," I took the last sip of my coffee, "but I like it. And it's a space of my own. I won't bother anyone that way."

"I can't abide by that," Charlotte said, shaking her head. "I don't like this idea of you and Gray getting married, but I won't see you living in a dirty, spider-dwelling shack."

I laughed. "Remember when I mentioned Africa? I lived there for a year. I just got back less than a week ago, actually. The spiders here would be shamed by the insects there. I can handle a daddy longlegs or two. And with a bed and some clean linens, it's a step above the mat on the dirt floor I've become accustomed to sleeping on."

"And why were you in Africa?"

Hiding. Escaping. Being banished. "To help a friend build a hospital of a sort." I smiled, the first one that felt really genuine since I'd arrived back in San Francisco. "It will help so many women and children. I'll tell you all about it sometime."

Charlotte patted my hand, that wary look in her eye seeming to have turned down several notches. "I would like that."

**********

An hour later I had swept the bedroom of the cottage with the broom Charlotte had given me, thoroughly cleaned the metal bedframe, and made it up with the mattress Walter had carried over. When Charlotte brought the blankets, she looked around in horror, asked me again to come back with her, and then left as quickly as possible.

I'd tackle the bathroom in the morning. I used the frigid water from the tap to wash my face and brush my teeth. I peeked behind the musty curtain over the shower and cringed when I saw the rusty fixtures, dirt-caked floor, and the thick cobwebs covering the ceiling. Blech.

Being late summer, the evenings were getting just a bit chillier, but I opened the windows wide anyway. The cool breeze wafted inside, carrying the very faint scent of roses and the wisteria covering the cottage, dispelling the smell of dust and oil.

Although it wasn't much to look at, the bed was comfortable, and I climbed under the covers with my phone, sending a quick text to Kimberly. I hadn't filled her in completely on what was going on, but I wanted to wait until after we'd met with Mr. Hartmann, the executor of the trust Gram had left me. I'd spring this on her once everything was official, and no sooner. She'd try to talk me out of it and Kimberly was persuasive. Likely, she'd have me doubting everything I'd already come to terms with. And I couldn't afford that. Literally.

I had four messages. I took a deep breath and hit play on the first one from my father.

Kira. I know you were inside when I was banging on your door, and I know you heard me. I sent James to your apartment with a key, and he said it looked like you had moved out. Call me immediately and tell me what you think you're up to. We need to sit down with Cooper and make sure we're all on the same page. Dammit, Kira, you knew enough not to disappear. I need you at my disposal. Has nothing changed since you left the country? I had hoped . . . just call me.

Click.

Hot tears filled my eyes. I need you at my disposal. Of course you do, Daddy. Because that's what I am to you—disposable. The next two messages were from my father's number, too. I deleted them without listening. Thankfully I'd thought to turn off the tracking on my phone so my father couldn't find my location—it was how he had to have known I was at my apartment packing my suitcases—unless he had spies in the building reporting in to him, which was just as likely.

The final message was from Cooper. I hit play tentatively, biting my lip until I tasted blood. I forced my body to relax.

Hey, Kira <pause> Damn, I hoped I'd come up with something to say once I heard the beep. <deep sigh> Your father told me you were back. Kira, we need to talk. We need to . . . listen, I had hoped you'd answer my call. You never answered any of my letters, but please call me. I missed you so much.

Click.

You missed me? You bastard. Tears poured down my cheeks and I turned my face into my pillow, thinking back to that terrible day, the soul-stealing betrayal, the shock, the humiliation, and finally, only pain.

I eventually fell into a restless sleep, only waking once when I heard a vehicle on the gravel driveway outside the open window of my cottage. I turned over groggily and opened my eyes, but there was too much foliage outside the window to see the driveway beyond. I heard footsteps as the person I assumed to be Grayson, got out of his truck and walked directly to his house. My heavy lids fell closed, and I was back to sleep in moments.

**********

Morning sun shone through the open window, scattering lemony light and causing my dreams to fade like mist. I sat up and stretched. After washing quickly in the frigid water of the bathroom sink and knotting my hair on top of my head, I pulled on a pair of jean shorts and a navy-blue tank top. I'd tackle the shower today and clean myself up before our appointment this afternoon.

The gravel crunched underfoot as I trekked to the main house and knocked at the door. Walter answered with the same remote look on his face he seemed to favor.

"Mr. Hawthorn is in the kitchen eating breakfast," he said formally.

"Thanks, Walter." I smiled and headed toward the kitchen.

Grayson was sitting at the same spot he'd sat at dinner, a wine magazine of some sort in front of him. I took the seat I'd occupied the night before as well—at the other end.

"Good morning!" Charlotte sing-songed.

"Morning," I said, nodding at Grayson.

There were plates of eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns, so I loaded the plate in front of me. After several bites, I looked up to see Grayson watching me eat. When I caught his eye, he seemed momentarily surprised and looked away. "I have a lot of work to do today. What are your plans?" he asked.