true?” Nate asked.
“Is what true?” Brenna asked, stalling.
“You know what,” he said.
“That Tenley and I are going to try to clear her father?” Brenna shouldered her purse and started walking down the hill toward her cabin. “Yes, it’s true.”
“I don’t like this,” he said. He fell into step beside her. “Not one little bit. Chief Barker is a good man, and he’ll find the killer. You and Tenley need to stay out of it.”
“She’s my best friend,” Brenna said as she stepped up onto her porch. “How can I say no?”
“Simple. N-O,” he said.
“You know it’s not that easy,” Brenna said. “I know Chief Barker is a good man, but I also know what it’s like to be wrongly accused of a crime. The police miss things sometimes, and they make mistakes.”
“Brenna, you have to let go of what happened to you in Boston.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
She turned to face him. He wasn’t frowning anymore. He was looking concerned. It gave Brenna a case of the guilts, and she decided having him annoyed with her was infinitely more appealing than having him feel sorry for her.
“Listen, everyone has a past,” he said. “But it is the past, and you can’t let it dictate the rest of your life.”
“Really?” Brenna asked. “Because yours certainly dictates your life by the simple fact that you never talk about it. Other than your public life as an artist, before you retired, I don’t know anything about you.”
“Sure you do,” he said. But he looked defensive, and Brenna knew she had struck a nerve.
“I know you like baseball, you have a sweet tooth, and you love your dog. I know you were once a worldrenowned artist, who got tired of the art scene and retired here. That’s all I know about you. I don’t know where you grew up, what kind of kid you were, or if you’ve ever been in love. I don’t even know why you quit being an artist.”
“None of that’s relevant to who I am now,” he said.
“Yes, it is, because it makes you who you are,” Brenna said. “You know everything about me. You know I grew up in Boston; you know I went to Boston University with Tenley; you know I was working at an art gallery when it was robbed. You even know that I was framed for the burglary and suffered a mild case of agoraphobia because of it.”
Nate opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand, stopping him.
“Don’t tell me the past doesn’t dictate the choices we make,” she said. “I can’t let go of what happened to me in that burglary in Boston just because it’s in the past. It changed who I am. It made me more cautious and careful, but it also taught me to look beneath the surface of things. People and situations are not always what they appear to be at first glance.”
“Solving every crime that comes along in Morse Point won’t change the way that burglary went down,” Nate said. “You can’t change the past.”
“I know that,” Brenna said. “But you can learn from it. In the past two years, Morse Point has become my home, and I like it here. I don’t want to feel like I’m not safe here, and if it helps me to feel more secure by asking questions and helping to solve a crime, well, then I’m in.”
“You could be putting yourself in harm’s way,” Nate said. He leaned against the porch rail while she fished her keys out of her bag. “I don’t like that.”
Brenna turned to face him. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why. Was he worried because he cared about her in a romantic sense? Or was he worried that he’d have to find another tenant if she managed to get herself killed?
“Nate!” a voice called from the cabin beyond Brenna’s.
They glanced over to see Siobhan standing on her porch and waving at Nate. She had changed since their hike this morning and looked adorable in a denim skirt and curve-hugging sweater paired with knee-high brown leather boots.
He smiled and waved in return. Brenna had to squelch the urge
“Is what true?” Brenna asked, stalling.
“You know what,” he said.
“That Tenley and I are going to try to clear her father?” Brenna shouldered her purse and started walking down the hill toward her cabin. “Yes, it’s true.”
“I don’t like this,” he said. He fell into step beside her. “Not one little bit. Chief Barker is a good man, and he’ll find the killer. You and Tenley need to stay out of it.”
“She’s my best friend,” Brenna said as she stepped up onto her porch. “How can I say no?”
“Simple. N-O,” he said.
“You know it’s not that easy,” Brenna said. “I know Chief Barker is a good man, but I also know what it’s like to be wrongly accused of a crime. The police miss things sometimes, and they make mistakes.”
“Brenna, you have to let go of what happened to you in Boston.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
She turned to face him. He wasn’t frowning anymore. He was looking concerned. It gave Brenna a case of the guilts, and she decided having him annoyed with her was infinitely more appealing than having him feel sorry for her.
“Listen, everyone has a past,” he said. “But it is the past, and you can’t let it dictate the rest of your life.”
“Really?” Brenna asked. “Because yours certainly dictates your life by the simple fact that you never talk about it. Other than your public life as an artist, before you retired, I don’t know anything about you.”
“Sure you do,” he said. But he looked defensive, and Brenna knew she had struck a nerve.
“I know you like baseball, you have a sweet tooth, and you love your dog. I know you were once a worldrenowned artist, who got tired of the art scene and retired here. That’s all I know about you. I don’t know where you grew up, what kind of kid you were, or if you’ve ever been in love. I don’t even know why you quit being an artist.”
“None of that’s relevant to who I am now,” he said.
“Yes, it is, because it makes you who you are,” Brenna said. “You know everything about me. You know I grew up in Boston; you know I went to Boston University with Tenley; you know I was working at an art gallery when it was robbed. You even know that I was framed for the burglary and suffered a mild case of agoraphobia because of it.”
Nate opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand, stopping him.
“Don’t tell me the past doesn’t dictate the choices we make,” she said. “I can’t let go of what happened to me in that burglary in Boston just because it’s in the past. It changed who I am. It made me more cautious and careful, but it also taught me to look beneath the surface of things. People and situations are not always what they appear to be at first glance.”
“Solving every crime that comes along in Morse Point won’t change the way that burglary went down,” Nate said. “You can’t change the past.”
“I know that,” Brenna said. “But you can learn from it. In the past two years, Morse Point has become my home, and I like it here. I don’t want to feel like I’m not safe here, and if it helps me to feel more secure by asking questions and helping to solve a crime, well, then I’m in.”
“You could be putting yourself in harm’s way,” Nate said. He leaned against the porch rail while she fished her keys out of her bag. “I don’t like that.”
Brenna turned to face him. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why. Was he worried because he cared about her in a romantic sense? Or was he worried that he’d have to find another tenant if she managed to get herself killed?
“Nate!” a voice called from the cabin beyond Brenna’s.
They glanced over to see Siobhan standing on her porch and waving at Nate. She had changed since their hike this morning and looked adorable in a denim skirt and curve-hugging sweater paired with knee-high brown leather boots.
He smiled and waved in return. Brenna had to squelch the urge
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