“If this is an attempt to hear my apology, you’re wasting your breath.”

With a sigh, she pressed her lips together. “Trust me, Mr. Clayton, I would never expect an apology from you.”

“Then what is it, Ms. Ashton?”

“A guilty conscience. An attempt to make amends.”

He half-smiled. “Very sincere. But I wasn’t born yesterday. You want something from me. Be up front and—”

“It’s both,” she said, chin high. In her eyes, an almost admirable confidence beamed. “I won’t lie, there is something I need, and I figure I have a better shot if you can see I’m a civil human being. It might make this…less awkward.” Before he could respond with the many words he wanted to spew, her brow softened. “But I am sorry. Not just because I need something, but because I’d like to think I’m a better person than what I showed you a few days ago.”

How heroic. He’s the asshole yet she’s apologizing, making him look like a bigger asshole. He resumed walking, and again she tried keeping up. “A person can’t be sorry for the things they feel.”

“You’re right. And I’m not sorry for the way I feel about you. I can be sorry for verbalizing it though.”

Just briefly, he paused again, shaking his head. Her honesty was surprising and strange. He found it welcoming. “What is it, Ms. Ashton? I have a feeling I won’t get my peaceful walk, so just come out with it.”

“I want to stay.”

He faced her. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He should have seen this coming a mile away. “Stay?”

“Move here, start a life.”

“Your life wasn’t good enough in L.A.?”

“I think we both know it wasn’t.”

Laughter shook his chest, a genuine kind. It seemed to anger her. “Ms. Ashton, you must be delusional if you think I would support this. Have you heard nothing I’ve said from the moment you arrived?”

“I’m asking you to reconsider your hatred of my being here. Please, Mr. Clayton. I just need a place to start over.”

“This town is not the place to start over, not for someone with a shady past. I don’t know what you’re running from, but whatever it is I don’t want it following you here. There’s no room for—”

“I won’t be any trouble. And my past isn’t anything like that. I just want to live somewhere new, somewhere secluded. Somewhere I can…breathe.” She stepped closer and her eyes were so grave he felt stuck in place. “I am running, but it’s something that doesn’t concern you or this town. And aren’t we all running from something?”

He didn’t answer, since her desperation for something he knew so well struck him.

“This place is…” She paused and swallowed deeply, then looked around her with a sort of admiration. “You can call me crazy, and you don’t have to understand, but it speaks to me. There’s something here I can’t explain.” With her face toward the forest, she closed her eyes, feeling whatever it was she couldn’t explain, feeling it in the breeze like he did. The hair framing her face blew away from it, and he’d never seen anything so lovely. Her high cheekbones and rosy lips allured, even in their natural color. “I’ve never known anything like it. It’s beautiful and reminds me of my father, and I just want to be a part of it.”

“What are you running from?” he asked after a dry swallow, blunt but not harsh.

She met his eyes again. “I’ll tell you anything but that.”

“Did you really expect to get what you wanted by coming to me this way? Life doesn’t work like that, Ms. Ashton. It’s not that easy.”

“Says the billionaire to the woman who’s never gotten a single want in her life. And it can be that easy, Mr. Clayton, if people allow it.”

He had nothing to say. He only stared.

“I’ve never asked for anything. Just this.”

“Well, don’t I feel privileged.” He looked away. He was Henry Clayton, after all, and she was supposed to be like everyone else. “You’re oblivious to reality, which tells me you still have much to learn about life. And that naivety is what doesn’t sit well.”

She exhaled as though he’d hurt her—in the same way he had a few days prior. “Naivety?” She stepped closer yet again, and her eyes smoldered with passion. “If there is one thing I know about, it’s life. Trust me, I’ve learned life’s about people like you and then people worse. I’ve learned a sadly high percentage of people think they can get what they want, and they do. I’ve learned those people take it, drain it out of the rest of us until they’re satisfied. I’ve learned that of all things, life is most definitely never fair.”

She remained close, and though she seemed to shrink from a thought he wanted to read, her eyes revealed nothing. “You want to know about me, Mr. Clayton? Fine. I’m someone who watched from across the street at age ten as my mother was killed by a speeding car. I’m someone who watched that death destroy my father, and then watched cancer finish the job. I’m someone who became my father’s caretaker at age twelve, and my brother’s sorry excuse for a parent. I’m someone who went from being a child to an adult overnight. I’m someone who adopted my thirteen-year-old brother at age eighteen, when my father finally passed. I know what it’s like to be taken advantage of by someone who isn’t capable of reciprocating your love.

“If you’ve looked into my past, you know my brother was a drug addict. Everything I did in life was for him, and I watched him die with the knowledge that none of it was good enough.”

“Ms. Ashton—”

“No, you wanted to know who I am, so let me finish. I’m someone who’s stared death in the face, felt it in the tip of a gun against my chest. Someone who’s been pushed and pulled in every direction. And yet through it all, I’m someone who hasn’t been able to shed a single tear since the moment my father passed away. That might make me a bad person; in fact, I’m sure it does. And I won’t hide that what I’m running from makes me a far worse one. But I’m not naïve, Mr. Clayton, nor do I know little of life. You have every right to think I’m unworthy to reside in Hemlock Veils—I think it myself. But all I’m asking for is a chance. Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?”

Seconds passed. Never feeling so put in his place in all his life, he simply stared, humbled and humiliated at the same time. But most of all, he felt for her in a way he was against. It was why he couldn’t get close; not to her, not to anyone. The exposure left him uneasy, as much as the vulnerability. He did believe in second chances, especially for someone like Elizabeth Ashton. There was even something beautiful about the way she’d opened herself up to him.

But he was Henry Clayton.

“Ms. Ashton,” he said after a bored sigh. “It’s all very moving, but where would you plan on living?”

“Right here.” She pointed next to them, at the old cottage. It charmed him just as much as it had when he was a child. At first he didn’t connect the dots, since the thought of someone living there was simply unfathomable. Then it clicked.

He released a hot breath as he turned from her and resumed his walk, remembering why she was so infuriating. The sun was higher now, its rays breaking through troublesome clouds and dispersing the fog. “That is not for sale.”

“It is according to the sign,” she argued from behind, again trying to keep up.

“The sign is ancient. I had it on the market years ago. It’s been forgotten, overgrown.”

They rounded the corner, turning onto Clayton Road. “That’s what’s so appealing about it.”

He ground his teeth as he turned, and she ran into him. Gripping her arms, he steadied her, and she craned her neck to meet his eyes. He felt warm and he tried to keep a measure of control in his voice. “Ms. Ashton, stop. This is something you cannot make your own. Give up and move on.”

She appeared only slightly wounded before holding her chin high. “Why? As far as I can see, no one’s lived there for years. And with me in it you wouldn’t notice a difference. I keep to myself, Mr. Clayton. You’d still be neighborless, still feel alone on this—”