He lets me go immediately, not even looking my way. But I feel the ghost of his touch long afterward, like a phantom, maniacally reminding me that this is my life now, tied to a man who has been my enemy. We aren’t that now. The problem is, I don’t know what we are or how I’m supposed to survive living with him.

It stretches out before me like a long gloomy road. A road I put myself on. Damn it. But I can’t think like that. Because there is a small silver lining. According to the agreement, if Sam returns at any point before the year is over, which she will, then I get paid for the months I’ve worked—rent-free. I am going to take that money, combine it with the money I’ve saved, and start my life again. Start a restaurant. Something all mine.

And yet I can’t shake the heavy feeling of defeat that rests on my shoulders as North drives us back to the house. Maybe Karen got to me more than I’m willing to admit.

Macon sits in the front with North, silent and staring out of the window. North catches my eye in the rearview mirror, and concern tightens the friendly laugh lines around his eyes. Though North doesn’t say a word, somehow Macon senses the direction of North’s gaze. His eyes narrow, and he shoots a glance my way. Whatever conclusion he comes to has his expression going dark. But he sits back in his seat and resumes his brooding out the window. Which is fine by me; I have no desire to talk.

Only I’m not given much of a reprieve. As soon as North drops us at the front of the house and drives off to the garage, Macon pulls me under the shade of a lemon tree. Those yellow fruits, heavy with juice, dangle over his head like golden raindrops as he starts in on me without pause. “Let’s get one thing clear—”

“If this is about not being nice to Karen, I swear to God, Macon, I will nut you where you stand and leave you for dead.”

A protracted laugh escapes him. “I don’t care about Karen; she was being a shit.” He ducks his head so that we’re eye to eye, and there’s a glint in his. “And keep my nuts out of this. They’re entirely innocent bystanders here.”

“They’re attached to you, so I call them fair game.”

His eyes crinkle briefly. “You never played fair, Tot.”

“Stand back, will you? Your hypocrisy is smothering.”

If anything, he moves closer. The scent of lemons mixes with the buttery warmth of his skin. I catch a hint of the mint iced tea he drank at lunch as the deep syrupy roll of his voice touches my ear. “I don’t care what you do on your days off—”