“I told him he had one chance, only one. If he ever hit me again, we were finished. Not only that, I’d file charges.”

“How long did it take him?”

“Three weeks. By then I’d realized it wasn’t going to work, that I fell for the man I thought he was, not the man he actually was. I’d been freaking Marianne Dashwood, and that was just mortifying.”

He couldn’t help himself, and put a hand over hers. “She turned out just fine.”

“Yeah, it took her a while. Me, too. The man I had married was so damn needy and … just not altogether right. If I spent time outside of work with my mother or a friend, I was taking time from him. If I disagreed about the smallest thing, I was attacking him. Didn’t love him enough. Any time, effort, affection I gave to anything or anyone else was stealing it from him.”

Stupid, she thought again. She’d been incredibly stupid.

“I came home from work, and he went right at me. Verbally first. He even accused me of having an affair with one of the crew—a guy I’d known forever who was happily married with two kids. My mistake was to laugh at that one. Then he went at me physically.”

She paused for a moment, studied the view until she felt settled again, able to finish.

“No backhand this time. The first punch broke my nose, and he was raging, pounding. You can’t think when someone’s beating you like that. You just try to get away, make it stop. Basically, he beat the crap out of me, tearing at my clothes, screaming all the time, and I couldn’t make it stop, I couldn’t get away. At some point we must’ve knocked a lamp over because I got my hand on it and hit him with it, hard enough to stun him. I ran outside. There were neighbors out in their yards, thank God. I just ran screaming for help. I couldn’t even see where I was running. People came over to help me, even when he came charging out of the house, they helped me. Somebody called the cops, and they helped me. Even when he tried to spin it that I’d attacked him—that didn’t fly.

“I filed charges, I filed for divorce, and moved back in with my mother. She was a brick, an absolute brick. He got a really good lawyer, but I had the medical records, the police report, the witness statements. He got three to five.”

“Should’ve been more.”

“Well, really good lawyer. He got out in three. I had a restraining order, but come on.”

“Did he come after you again?”

“He caught me when I got home one night after seeing a movie with some friends. But he got the surprise this time. I’d taken self-defense courses, and martial arts. Kung fu.”

“No shit? Kung fu?”

“Bet your ass. I’d earned my brown belt by then, so he got worse than he gave. Mostly because it caught him off-guard. I called the cops, and they picked him up. He did the full five.”

“Should’ve been more.

“Shoulda-coulda. My mom and I talked about moving when we knew he’d get out, but damn if I wanted that. We had a home, the business, and he had to know if he came after me again, he’d do more than five. But when she died, there wasn’t any point staying. So fresh start.”

She finished the beer. “And that’s my story.”

“Has he bothered you again?”

“I haven’t seen or heard from him. I don’t see how he’d know where I am now, or, after all this time, why he’d come down here to mess with me. So that’s that.”

“You wouldn’t have been his first.”

She tapped a finger toward him. “Smart guy. With a little digging we found out he’d smacked around a couple others. Nothing as violent as my experience, but it was a pattern. Moral of the story is don’t let a good-looking guy with a cool name charm you into marriage. Though it seems like since the actual marriage lasted about three months it shouldn’t really count.”

“You could get it annulled. I happen to know a lawyer who could help you with that.”

“Thought about it, but it doesn’t seem worth the trouble. Finished’s finished.”

Like closing the book, he thought. But he knew it always stayed inside you. Always.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yet another interesting segue. I could be hungry. What have you got?”

“The only thing I’m sure I have is frozen pizza.”

“Pizza is never wrong. And I could probably have the other half of the beer if I had pizza.”

“Let’s eat.”

“I’m going to take my boots off out here, and wash up in your powder room.”

“That works.” He rose as she bent over to deal with her boots. “Kung fu?”

“I’ve got a black belt now. Second degree. I’m ditching the socks, too. They’re sweaty.”

“You’re a really interesting woman, Darby.”

“You’re a good-looking guy with a cool name, so don’t try to charm me into marriage.”

“I’ll refrain.”

He opened the door, and she walked into the house on bare feet. With toenails painted the same dark green as her tat.

Which reminded him.

“What’s the story with the tat?”

“Oh.” She lifted a hand to it. “I got it the day they found Trent guilty. Life goes on, right? My mother liked to say that no matter how bad or good things were at any given moment, it moved along. Life just cycles.”

Now she looked around. “You’ve got more stuff,” she noted.

“Yeah, I’ve been picking up this and that now and again.”

“That is nice.” She pointed to the painting over the fireplace. The lake at sunrise, misty and secret, taking hints of color from the blooming eastern sky.

“Yeah, it caught me. Local artist.”

“It captures the moment. I’d have expected, you being a man, to see a big-screen TV up there.”

“I’ve got that in the great room.”

“It’s looking good, Walker, seriously good. Is it starting to feel like home?” she asked as they walked back to the kitchen.

“It is. Yours?”

“I’m concentrating on the outside work right now. The interior needs a lot of help, but it can wait until winter when work slows down. Or rainy days.”

He pulled a pizza out of the freezer. “Pepperoni okay?”

“Pepperoni’s been okay since the dawn of time.” While he preheated the oven, she slid onto a stool. “I like watching a good-looking guy with a cool name slave over a hot stove.”

“Ha. You should see me create my amazing PB&J.” He got out a beer, a fresh glass, split it with her. “So are you doing the interior work yourself, too?”

“It’s mostly cosmetic. There’s scary wallpaper almost everywhere. So pull it off, no doubt sand the walls, paint. I’ve been picking up some this and that now and again, too. And your kitchen inspired me.”

“It did?”

“Yeah, the glass fronts. My kitchen cabinets are crap. Absolutely crap. Eventually I’ll replace them, but I figured on painting them for now. Then I thought about your glass fronts. I took the doors off instead. I mean, what am I hiding? I painted the rest, got some pretty dishes and glassware. Done. Well, I had to paint the lower cabinets.”