People began filing into the front room in various stages of readiness, most of them guys—really hot guys, Brooke couldn’t help but notice—half of them pulling on clothes, some shoving on shoes, others giving orders to others. All looked exhausted, and somewhat out of sorts. Having been up all night, they couldn’t be thrilled at having to move out now, but she still expected someone to ask about her, or even acknowledge her, but no one did.

“Mary’s temp is here,” Zach said into the general chaos. “Brooke O’Brien, everyone.”

People gave a quick wave, one or two even quicker smiles, and kept moving. Zach squeezed her shoulder as he headed to the door, once again a simple touch from him giving her a jolt. “See you around, New Hire Number Seven.” And just like that, he was gone.

They were all gone.

Yeah. Definitely still the new kid.

2

BROOKE SPENT that night walking through the three-story Victorian her grandmother had so unexpectedly left her, marveling that it was in her name now. She’d never met Lucille O’Brien, who’d been estranged from her only child, Brooke’s mother, Karen, so it’d been a shock to everyone when Brooke had been contacted by an attorney and given the details of Lucille’s will.

As she’d been warned by the attorney, every room was indeed filled to the brim with…stuff. For Brooke, for whom everything she owned could fit into her car, this accumulation of stuff boggled the mind. All of it would have to go in order to sell the house, but she didn’t know where to start. Her mother had been no help, wanting nothing to do with any of it, not even willing to come West to look.

But Brooke was glad she’d come. If nothing else, being in Santa Rey, experiencing that inexplicably over-the-top attraction to Zach, staying here in the only place her family had any history at all, gave her a sense that she might actually have a shot at things she’d never dared dream about before.

She finally decided to go top to bottom and headed to the attic. There she went to the first pile she came to and found a stack of photo boxes that unexpectedly snagged her by the throat. The way she’d grown up hadn’t allowed for much sentimentality. None of her few belongings included keepsakes like photos. She’d told herself over the years that it didn’t matter. She liked to be sentiment light.