The yellow wallpaper in the bathroom was peeling from years of steam filling the room, the paint in the living room was chipped and scuffed, and the ceiling in my bedroom had a large water stain in the corner that seemed to get worse every year. The carpet was matted, the furniture older than me, but it was all mine, free of memories and free of obligation.

Once I’d scrubbed the grease and sweat from my skin, I stepped out, wrapping myself in a fluffy yellow towel. Then I began the nightly routine of brushing my teeth and moisturizing my body. I slipped on a nightgown and watched exactly six minutes of the news—just long enough to catch the weather. Then I crawled into my full-sized bed and read something completely and utterly trashy before falling asleep.

Breakfast at the Bucksaw would begin in ten hours, and I would repeat my day like every other day, except for Sundays and the occasional Saturday when Phaedra would insist I find somewhere else to be. Only, the next day would be different. I would have to survive dinner with the interagency oaf, likely listening to how cool axes and tattoos were and being just bitchy enough that he’d steer clear of me until he went home to Estes Park.

A knock on the door startled me, and I leaned up on my elbows, looking around the bedroom as if that would help me hear better.

“Falyn!” Kirby said from the other side of the door. “Gunnar is going to be late! Let me in!”

I groaned as I crawled off the comfy mattress, and I crept out of my room and across the living area to the front door. Just after I rotated the dead bolt, Kirby pushed through the door, still in her apron and holding a to-go cup half full of soda.

“Is it possible to love everything about someone, except for everything about him?” she growled, slamming the door behind her, narrowly missing my face. She sipped on her drink and leaned against the closest thing to the door, the side of my refrigerator. “This is the second time he’s been late this week.”

“Maybe you should stop letting him borrow your car,” I said.

“His truck is in the shop—again.” Kirby’s eyes scanned over my purple cotton nightgown, and she puffed out a laugh. “What a sexy nightie you have, grandma.”

“Shut your face,” I said, taking a few steps to face the large mirror on the wall. It was basically an oversized T-shirt. There was nothing grandma about it.