“Oh, yeah, right. You’re Dillion’s friend.” He nods once and glances around, eyes narrowing again. “What’re you doing here? Dillion didn’t send you, did she?”

“Uh, nope. I’m just taking care of my grandmother’s will. I’m not sure how long I’ll be, but if you want to wait, I can give you a ride home.”

“I’m okay,” he says quickly. “I got it covered.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Yeah. Thanks, though.” He crutches past me and tosses them down the short flight of stairs, then grabs the railing and hops down after them.

I’m not sure how he’s planning to get home, but I doubt he’s going to crutch back. It’s more than two miles, and half of that is dirt road. He takes out his phone once he’s at the bottom of the stairs, so I assume he’s calling a ride. I leave him to it.

Forty-five minutes later, I leave Bernie’s office with all the papers in order, but no more information on who’s contesting the will, or how much leg they’ll have to stand on.

Both Dillion and Bernie can attest to the fact that while Grammy Bee was definitely eccentric, she was of sound mind when she had the will drafted.

When I get back to the cottage, I sit down and review all the documents again, trying to figure out what exactly is happening and if it’s possible for someone to take this place away from me. I don’t want to lose the last connection I have to Bee. I have far too many great memories tied up in this place and this town, both past and present.

Dillion messages around six, asking if we’re still on for dinner. I’ve completely lost track of time. I fire one back telling her I absolutely want to see her, but we might have to do takeout of some kind. She shows up at my door five minutes later laden with grocery bags.

“Hey!” Her wide smile falters. “Wow, did you get into the sauce last night?”

“Are you telling me I don’t look runway fresh?” I motion to my jogging pants and ratty T-shirt attire. Which incidentally is what I wore to Bernie’s office this afternoon.

She sweeps her thumb gently across my cheek, her gaze moving over my face. “You have circles under your eyes, and it looks like you’ve been trying to rip your hair out. Is everything okay?”

I run my fingers through it, hoping to tame it. “Bernie called today to tell me someone is contesting the will.”

She frowns as she sets the bags on the counter and then turns to me. “What? How can they do that? Hasn’t it already been put into probate?”

“I signed the remaining paperwork today, but none of it has been filed, so technically it’s still contestable.”

She takes my hand and leads me over to the couch, where she pulls me down beside her. “Who would do that? Not Teagan?”

“No. Definitely not Teagan. She’d tell me if she had a problem with the will.” Grammy Bee left my brother and sister each a sealed envelope that had a cashier’s check in it. Teagan said it was fifty grand, and neither she nor my brother seemed upset at the time. I’m sure Teagan invested hers and Bradley spent his, since they didn’t have to wait for probate to cash it.

“I figured that was the case. She doesn’t seem like she’d go behind your back. She adores you. What about your brother?” She shifts and pulls her knee up, her shin resting against the outside of my thigh, and runs her fingers through my hair, maybe trying to tame it, or soothe me.

“Unlikely. That’s a lot of effort, and the only thing he likes to expend that on is golf or meeting women.”

“Right. Okay.” She continues to run her fingers through my hair. “Is there anyone else you can think of? Some distant relative?”

“Nope. None that I know of anyway. I called my dad, and he has no idea. I’m guessing it’s only a matter of time before we find out who.”

“I’m so sorry, Van.” She links the fingers of my free hand with hers. “This is the last thing you need right now. What can I do? How can I help?”

“I don’t know that there’s anything to do. I’ve been through the will so many times my eyes are crossing.”

“What if we go through Bee’s files? We might find something.”

“There’s a whole wall of filing cabinets.” Everything feels overwhelming. My head is spinning, this day having taken an unexpected turn. I don’t know who to trust or believe anymore. That Dillion is here, willing to drop everything and do whatever she can to help, is almost more than I know what to do with.

“I know it’s daunting, but it’ll be easier if we do it together. And if you don’t want to tackle it now, that’s okay too.” She runs her thumb down the back of my neck, as if she’s trying to relieve the tension there. “Whatever you want, Van, I’m here for you. Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t want to lose this place.” And not just because of the memories.

“I know you don’t.” Her smile is soft. “And neither do I. We’ll fight whoever it is. You’re not going to lose more than you already have.”

And it’s right now, in this moment, that I realize there’s more at stake than this cottage and the memories. And it took everything falling apart again, and Dillion being here to help keep me together, for me to see it.

Because in such a short amount of time, I’ve fallen for Dillion. And I don’t want to lose her either.

CHAPTER 22

EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

Dillion

The anxious look on Van’s face shifts to surprise, and then shock, or fear maybe, before it turns hot. And then he’s on me. He cups my cheeks in his wide palms and tips my head back, mouth slanting over mine. I gasp and then moan as his tongue strokes inside. He pulls me to straddle him on a groan, and then we’re frantic hands, tugging and unbuttoning, pulling and pushing. He nearly knocks the lamp off the side table trying to get my shirt off, and I nearly face-plant into his chest when I shove my shorts down my thighs and kick them off. He slides forward, and I climb back into his lap, letting him arrange me how he wants. He kisses his way up my neck, and then our mouths are fused once again.

He fumbles around with his wallet. I grab the condom as soon as he frees it, tear it open, and push him back enough that I can roll it on. And then he’s inside me in one deep thrust that makes my toes curl. His head drops to my shoulder, his back expanding and contracting with deep breaths. “Fuck, I love this feeling,” he mumbles against my throat.

I loop my arms around his neck. We move together, a push and pull, fill and retreat that gains speed and vigor until we’re both panting and sweaty, battling our way to orgasms. I fall first, thankfully, and as soon I start contracting around him, he hisses a triumphant Yessss and pounds his way to his own climax.

It lasts all of fifteen minutes, but my heart is slamming in my chest and I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. He flops back against the cushions, eyes closed, and exhales several long, slow breaths.

“What the heck was that about?”

He cracks a lid, and a sheepish grin tips the corner of his mouth. “Stress relief?”

I snort a laugh, and his eyes crinkle at the corner. “One second we’re talking about the will, and the next we’re naked. Seems like a classic avoidance technique to me.”