“I grew up here.” I wave my hand out toward the house. “I went to college in Alabama and got my master’s in healthcare administration. I moved back here after school and worked for one of the local hospitals, married Matthew a few years later, and then realized I hated my job. So I started painting, which is something I always enjoyed doing, as a more serious hobby. Not just when I was bored, but actually making the time to do it as a part of my daily routine. I sold my first painting five years ago, and a year later, I decided to quit the hospital and started painting full time.”

“You’re an artist?”

“Yes.” I load up a cracker with cheese.

“Have I seen any of your work?”

“Probably not. Most of it is purchased by people who want to hang it in their homes, but there are a few local floral shops and small businesses that have bought from me or sell my pieces.”

“That’s cool.”

“I think so,” I agree, and he smiles. “Where are you from?”

“You don’t think I’m from here?”

“No, you don’t have the typical Southern drawl most people from around here do.”

“I’m from Colorado.”

“Colorado is beautiful. Why did you move to Tennessee?”

“My brothers and my niece all moved out this way, so I followed them,” he explains with a fondness in his tone that makes me smile.

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Three.”

“Your poor mom,” I mutter, swearing I see his muscles get tight. “My mom only has one boy, Jacob, and he’s been a handful since the day he came screaming into this world.”

He doesn’t respond, so I focus on eating. I’m sure there’s a story behind why he suddenly seems tense, but we don’t know each other well enough for me to pry.

After I finish eating, I put my plate aside and start to pick up my wine glass, but the back of my neck begins to tingle, making me pause. Glancing toward the house, I spot Matthew close to the railing, with his eyes pointed in our direction, blatantly ignoring his date, who is clearly talking to him.

“He’s an idiot for bringing her here, when he so obviously wants you back.”

Focusing on Dayton, I find his gaze pointed in the direction I was just looking.

“That’s never happening.” I grab my wine and take a sip while leaning back in the oversized chair. “And I don’t think he actually wants me back. I think it’s just his ego and the fact that he considered me something he owned for a very long time.”

“Owned?” His gaze comes to me.

“As he put it, I was his.”

“Hmmm.”

There’s that hum again.