I also wanted to put some distance between my mother and me. Her disapproval of whatever I did, had done and would do seeped into every interaction we had. Even my care of Dad seemed to irk her, and her own lack of tenderness irked me right back. I had paintings to do, and she hated the smell. Even though their house was huge, there never seemed to be enough room for the two of us.

Hence, my purchase.

Perhaps not the best decision.

Did I mention I had no neighbors? Fifteen years in New York City had made me used to that safety in numbers thing. In the entire time I’d lived there, I’d never once been scared.

But I was kind of scared now. What if Connecticut had a serial killer? What if those giant coyotes that ate cats marked me as a slow runner?

I should get a dog. I would get a dog. I glanced at my watch. Shit. Six o’clock and already dark. Allegedly, my heat was on, but it was cold in here. I did have a fireplace, but Jules told me I’d burn to death if I tried to make a fire.

Maybe I’d go to my parents’ house to sleep. Get the dog tomorrow, preferably a large, vicious, loyal-to-only-me type, and see if Alexander would be back from California and wanted to spend the weekend in scenic Connecticut doing a little house renovation. We’d be a team, like that irritating couple on the house-flipping show that I did indeed watch. Except that we’d be adorable. In fact, maybe we’d get our own show. I knew art and had great taste, and Alexander was rich and photogenic. What else did you need?

The knock on the door made me scream.

“Jesus!” yelled the person. I peeked out the window.

It was Noah.

No baby this time. Just him, looking irritable and beautiful.

“Hi,” I said, opening the door.

He didn’t answer.

“Hello, Noah,” I said, enunciating.

“Your mother sent me.”

I sucked in a breath of cold air. “Why? Is my dad okay?”

“He’s fine. She wanted me to check your house.” I closed my eyes in relief. “But I can go if you want. Which would be my preference.”

“You’re so very sweet, Noah. Come on in. What little heat I have is racing out of here.”

He came in, brushing past me.

Damn. He smelled so good—wood and polyurethane and laundry detergent. “How’s your baby?” I asked.

He deigned to allow half his mouth to twitch in a smile. “He’s great.”

I nodded. “Good. Well. What do you think?”

“Money pit.”