He suddenly felt exhausted, as if he’d spent the entire day fighting an intense battle instead of driving a car. Maybe that was because every day was a battle for him.

Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath. “I’ll have to pay them a visit.”

“That would be nice.” There was a slight pause. “Would you like me to go with you?”

Definitely not. That was something he had to do alone. But it wasn’t going to be easy to face his late wife’s parents. Because they’d wanted her to finish her degree and marry someone else, someone with less baggage and more potential—not a penniless, struggling artist with no plans of going to college—they’d been furious when she’d dropped out and moved to San Francisco to be with him. At the time, he’d been determined to prove that he was the best thing for her. But they’d been right. Had Shiloh remained in school, she’d probably still be alive.

“That’s okay.” He didn’t need his mother complicating what would already be a difficult visit. “I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

By the time Shiloh died, he’d achieved some success in the art world, which had enabled him to build a decent relationship with her parents—decent enough that he felt obligated to see them.

But he almost wished they still hated him. It would make things easier now. “I got it,” he said.

Tia parted the drapes and craned her neck to be able to see the driveway. The Porsche Taycan driven by her new property mate was still parked where it had been since he’d knocked to say he was leaving the key on her doormat.

Damn. She’d been hoping Maxi’s new guest would go out again—for groceries or something—which would give her the opportunity to traipse over to the main house. She had to take care of Kiki. Maxi had said the bird needed daily company. He was afraid his beloved pet would fall into depression without consistent companionship, and Tia was supposed to make sure that didn’t happen.

But she didn’t want to run into the man who was staying there now.

She bit her lip as she tried to decide what to do. Maybe she could slip inside, take care of Kiki and get out without being heard. It wasn’t just her face. She didn’t want to be recognized, didn’t want to field the questions that seeing her would inspire. And she didn’t want him telling anyone she was in town, because then she’d feel like she had in LA: that there were people lurking around, trying to get a photograph they could sell. It made her feel besieged, unable to escape or move about freely.