“I know.” She frowned and dropped her chin. “I mean … I didn’t know, but I believed it in my heart. I knew someone had probably filled your head with reasons it was best to not visit me. And honestly, there were times that I was glad you didn’t see me in that place. But…” she glanced up and forced a smile “…that was all then. This is now. If you don’t want to relive any of that, if you don’t want to share your ‘firsts’ with me, then we don’t have to do that. We can start fresh. Well …” Her eyes rolled dramatically, like I had done to my dad a million times. “We can start fresh when I get back from L.A. I leave in two days.”

Two days.

I had two days before my mom, who was in many ways a stranger to me, left me with the naked fisherman.

* * *

That sound … that echoing siren. I didn’t have to think twice. I knew it was a tornado siren. Just my luck. My first night in Denver, first night with my mom in over five years, and the sirens went off.

“Reese, sweetie, come into the back room with us.” Rory poked her head into my room and shined a flashlight on me.

I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. Taking two steps, I froze. “Oh!” My hands covered my boobs. They weren’t out and about or anything crazy like that. I had on a thin white tank top, no bra. “Jeez, you …”

The naked fisherman (okay, he had shorts on) eyed me and wore a smirk that wasn’t all that comforting. “Yes, me. The basement is the safest place. Utility room. Let’s go.” He held up an actual flashlight, one of those long metal ones.

I guarded my eyes with one hand and snatched the blanket from the bed with my other hand.

“I can’t remember the last time I heard the sirens go off, aside from testing it,” Fisher said, shutting the door to the unfinished utility area.

“We should pray. I can do it.”

My mom and Fisher stared blankly at me while we huddled in a small circle, sitting atop large plastic storage containers like the ones she used to store my old clothes and sentimental things from my childhood. I wondered what happened to those.

“Sure.” Mom smiled. “Can’t hurt. Do you want us to join hands?”

Eyeing the naked fisherman, I shook my head slowly. “We don’t have to.”

“What the heck. If we’re asking God to spare our lives, holding hands might be the best way to show sincerity.” He grabbed my mom’s hand and then mine.

It felt small in his strong, calloused hand. Warm. Unfamiliar. And it jumbled my thoughts. It sent my mind into rewind, replaying him smirking at me, wearing nothing but a low hanging towel.

Abs.

Veiny arms.