“She worries about you, Griff.”

“Tell her I’m fine. Now let’s move the fuck along.”

And that puts an end to the conversation. Thankfully.

I put the finishing touches on the bakery case, Jen preps the coffee and hot water, and Brig tests the fudge—the guy eats everything he sees and sets out to be more of a barnacle than a helper.

From the already bustling streets outside, I’m guessing this is going to be a very long and busy day. My only hope of catching a break—from both the workday and Jen’s concern—is if I’m somehow called in to the station.

Here’s hoping there’s a cat stuck in a tree somewhere.

CHAPTER TWO

REN

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

A heavy sigh escapes me. I keep two hands on the steering wheel, my mom’s worried voice booming through my car’s speaker as I drive down the windy back roads of my new home state.

Maine is a far cry from the arid, dry landscape of Southern California. Instead of tumbleweeds and palm trees lining the road, giant conifers stretch high in the sky, the bottom half of their trunks devoid of branches. Gorgeous scenery is visible through every window of my car, luscious green plants and cute split rail fences separating open fields from the worn-out asphalt of the weary road.

This place is everything I dreamed of and more.

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“And your car works okay? I don’t like that you bought a used car without your father checking it out.”

“Mom, it’s a very reliable car. I promise.”

Usually helicopter moms are only motoring around their kids when they’re young, but not mine. She’s constantly hovering over me, making sure I take my vitamins, eat a healthy, well-balanced diet, and make smart, intelligent decisions without being too hasty. She’s morphed me into an overly anxious person I don’t even recognize, and that’s one of the reasons I need this new start: to separate myself from the worrying she’s constantly projecting onto me. And she became even more overbearing after my car accident. I need the separation, the room to breathe.

I don’t want to be scared anymore.

I want to be independent, free of anxiety.

I want to live.

“But after your accident, you can never be too sure.”

“Mom, that was a year ago. I recovered, and I want to move on. I think it’s time you moved on too.” Please, for the love of God, move on.

The sound of my newish car bumping down the road fills the silence while I wait for her to say something. In my mind, I can envision the consternation marring her features, worry set in the wrinkle between her eyes.

“We almost lost you, Ren.”

And just like that, at the sound of her worried voice, my annoyance transforms into understanding.

“I know, Mom, and I know it was really scary for you and Dad, but I’m okay. This move is important to me. I want to show myself I can do this, live past the accident. I’m ready to start this new chapter in my life.” Far away from the constant hustle and bustle of Los Angeles.

A year ago, as I was coming home from work, a car that was being chased down by the police rear-ended mine on the freeway, launching me into the car in front of me and causing a seven-car pileup, along with a punctured lung, broken ribs, and a head injury that almost cost me my life. It was a long road to recovery, but now that I’m just about back to 100 percent, I’m ready to put the past behind me and start living my new life.

I need this new start more than anything. A fresh, clean slate, someplace new where I can gain confidence on my own and, once again, take on this crazy world by myself.

“But why did you have to take a job so far away?”

“We went over this, Mom.” I let out another long sigh. “I wanted a small town, a place I could connect with, a place where I can slow down and really enjoy life. Of all the schools where I applied, Port Snow gave me the best offer, and it’s a picturesque town, exactly what I was looking for.”

“It’s across the country.”

“Well aware, Mother.”

“Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you ‘Mother’ me.” The playfulness in her voice tells me she’s starting to let up a bit.

“I know this is hard, but try to be excited for me. And it’s not like you won’t see me in a month or two when you and Dad drive the rest of my things across the country.”

My dad refused to let me drive a moving truck all the way from California, since driving trucks is what he does for a living. He offered to make it a road trip with my mom when we found out I had to report to a school meeting in late summer—before either of them could make the trip. So I flew into Portland, Maine, got my seminew car, and started making the drive up north to Port Snow, so I can get settled before the meeting. Clearly, I’m an only child. Not many parents would offer to drive your belongings across the country while you fly. Too bad it won’t be until the fall when Dad has time off.

Luckily, the cottage I rented is fully furnished, so I don’t have to worry about sleeping on the floor. I do need to find a Target or Walmart, though—the kitchen is completely devoid of pots and pans, and I’ll go crazy if I can’t cook.

“Your father couldn’t be more excited about making the trip. I really think you made his year by asking for help. You know, he’s felt helpless since your accident. Such a hard feeling for a parent to get over.”

I love my mom dearly, but boy, is she good at laying on the guilt thick, like peanut butter, slathering it on with no possible breathing holes.

I hastily change the subject. “Hey, Mom, do you think you can send me that list of kitchen essentials we talked about? I really want to make some of your classic King Ranch chicken casserole as one of my first meals at my new place, you know, break it in right, and I want to make sure I have everything I need.”

“Oh yes, I can do that.” See, if you task her to do something, she forgets to worry. “Would you like it as an email or text?”

“Email works. Thank you. And I should go. I’m coming up on Port Snow, and I want to make sure I know where I’m going.”

“Okay, honey. Be safe, and call us when you get settled. We love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

We hang up, and I let out a long breath, allowing my body to ease back into the leather seats of my little two-door Honda Civic, berry red because it caught my eye—a little something spicy to add to my more-than-humdrum existence.

Oncoming traffic from the left yields as I take a slight right past an old white chapel, the paint chipped and the stained glass windows having seen better days. But it’s still beautiful, so different from the churches back home. Grassy New England meadows and quaint buildings border the road, reminding me that I’m getting closer and closer to my new town.

Up ahead, a white-and-blue sign comes into view: WELCOME TO THE TOWN OF PORT SNOW

A happy smile, full of anticipation, spreads across my face.

This is where it all begins, the new chapter in my life.

New town.

New house.

New job.

New—

“Holy hell!” I scream as a giant—and I mean giant—brown moose gallops into the middle of the road. “Moose attack!”

Hysterically, I swerve my tiny car off to the side, avoiding the Godzilla of all deer, and careen down an embankment, plowing through wild grasses and flowers.

“I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.” I close my eyes, my body jostling up and down from the hilly terrain, my hands gripped like a vise on the steering wheel.

Who knew the new chapter in my life would end so abruptly?

No to be continued . . .

No happily ever after.

Instead, I’m going to die, thanks to a suicidal moose!

“Damn . . . you . . . moose,” I say on each bump of my car as I feel the vehicle catch a surge of air and fly before coming to a halting, crunching stop. My head slams into the steering wheel.

Ooof.

My car wheezes; a poof of air whirls in my face right before the airbag detonates.

No, detonates is much too generous a word, since the bag has expanded to barely full size, and about five seconds too late.

I blink a few times, my head already starting to throb as a trickle of wetness begins to stain its way down into my eye. I try to gain my bearings, struggling against the flashes of my previous accident.

The sound of the car crunching.

The scent of air-conditioning fluid.

The flashing lights.

The taste of blood in my mouth.

My breathing becomes labored, my lungs begging for air, fresh air, the constraints of my car closing in on me . . .

Wait.

No!

It’s okay. You’re okay, Ren.

Your legs don’t hurt. Your arms are intact, and all limbs are moving.

This is not like last time, not even a little.

I take a calming breath through my nose and out my mouth.

Through my nose and out my mouth.

I’m okay.