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Puck’s broad frame, bent over his bike in the cold, greeted her every evening as she strode up the walkway to her house. Every evening, she passed him without acknowledging his presence and slammed the front door. After checking a few times, she’d eventually swing the door open and walk back inside. He’d amble into the house, pull off his gloves and leave them on a little side table by the door, shrug off his jacket, and hang it up in her closet. Then he’d join her for dinner.
He’d attempt to start a conversation, but she wasn’t having it. She may be too softhearted to leave him in the miserable cold, but she wasn’t about to go belly-up and take the chance of him gutting her again. Or wheedling his way into her heart like he did at Duchess County.
Over the following days, they settle
