Ash had always marveled at my ability to see things in the raw pieces others couldn’t, how I transformed what would have otherwise been ignored detritus into works of art. He’d called it a gift, boasted about my skills to anyone who’d stand still long enough to listen. For a few months after he’d left, I hadn’t worked on my art at all, and then it had become sporadic at best. I’d start a piece and throw it away only to try again. Things had improved over time, but since Ash’s return, I saw the potential in every piece of wood, and felt the rush of excitement I’d thought might be lost forever. Ash had brought my magic touch back home with him. It was just another reason why I had to make sure he stayed in Newdale, and why Lily had to leave.

I lined up my tools and protective gear, deciding I’d push Ash to start the garage renovation. I’d insist he work slowly, but knowing him, he wouldn’t. Either way, it would keep him close while I was working on my pieces. We’d spend more time together, not to mention the project would be a distraction from Lily’s arrival and, hopefully, her equally swift departure.

I was about to switch on my band saw when I heard a car pull up in the driveway. Lily couldn’t possibly be coming over this early. Maybe it was Keenan, drunk and on the prowl for more trouble. I wouldn’t have put it past either of them, but whichever one it was, I’d had enough. They needed to get out of our lives.

I stomped to the garage door, ready to tell whomever to turn around and leave, but when I got there and pulled it open, my feet rooted themselves to the ground.

It was Lily. She stood in my driveway with another huge, sugar-sweet smile on her tanned face, and Ash was with her. With her. Not upstairs in the house where he was supposed to be. He was in the driveway, staring at Lily, neither of them noticing me behind them, openmouthed and in the doorway. How the fuck had this happened, and when? I’d hidden the car keys in my closet after he’d gone to bed. Besides, my Nissan was still where Ash had dumped it when he’d come home from his late-night escapade.

Transfixed, unable to move, I watched as he whispered something to her. She touched his chest and put her head back, laughing. The intimacy between them. The proximity. The way he stared at her. I knew that look, had seen it a thousand times. First with Celine, and again when he’d been with Kate. Entranced, mesmerized, whatever you wanted to call it, but I knew what it meant. She’d got to him. And he’d let her.