Now I had none of that.

This was me starting anew.

This was me creating a new me.

I didn’t think Mickey wanted to hear any of this and he’d already been kind enough to come over and intervene when Conrad was shouting at me, so I decided not to ask him to help me unpack boxes and hang pictures.

“I’m good,” I told him.

He clearly didn’t believe me and he didn’t hide the fact he didn’t. It was not only written on his face but right there in his eyes.

He wasn’t wrong.

I kept silent and didn’t amend my statement. That was part of me keeping myself to me. Being a nice guy who would intervene when a man was shouting at a woman, he didn’t need the mess I’d made of my life to touch his in any way. And I was going to see that didn’t happen.

“You do, you know where I live,” he replied.

I nodded. “Thanks. That’s very kind.”

And again I got his grin. Seeing it, feeling it, I wondered how it would affect me if he actually smiled.

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Amelia,” he said quietly.

I forced my lips to smile. “Thanks, Mickey.”

When I said that, he gave me more. His eyes warmed and that did things to me I’d never experienced. I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the genuineness I saw there. The friendliness that was just real and nothing else.

Whatever it was, it did a number on me and I wanted to crawl into it, into him, burrowing deep, wrapping myself in that warmth and doing it so tight it would seep into my bones and force out the cold that lay in my marrow since I was able to understand how to feel.

He lifted a hand in a casual way and dropped it. “See you around.”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice strange, husky, like I was about to start crying. “Yeah. See you around.”

He studied me for another second before he did a short nod, turned and walked down my front walk that was also jagged, inlaid here and there with interesting pieces of glass, edged in a thick line of travertine.

I stood and took in the way he walked, how comfortable he was with his bulky frame. I also fully took in his clothing.

He was a firefighter.

That was not surprising.

Then it struck me that I was standing in my doorway watching him, and if he caught me, what that might say, so I quickly jumped back and closed the door.

I turned to my living room.

Upon arriving in Magdalene the day before, I’d picked up the keys and the garage door openers and done the first walk-through of my house.

I’d been thrilled to find that it was even better than the pictures. It was a newish build by the award-winning Scottish architect, Prentice Cameron. I knew his work because he’d designed a home in La Jolla that I’d loved so much when I saw it, I’d done something I’d never done before. I’d looked it up and then researched him on the Internet. When I did, I’d found all of his designs were breathtaking.