He felt alone, more alone than ever now that the holidays were coming up. His adoptive parents were fretting, though he tried to reassure them. Nothing would reassure his mother, he knew. Guilt was a carnivorous beast.

Hayden lit a candle on a nearby shelf, and he took back his earlier comparison to Claire. Hayden was completely different. From her dark hair to her curvy dancer’s body.

Pointing to the quote on the mantel, he said, “I bet you’ve never stumbled a day in your life.”

With a smile, she sat next to him and lifted her mug. “I’ve stumbled many times. Do you know how hard it is to do a headstand in yoga?”

“How is the studio doing? I was considering trying a class.” A clumsy segue, but that might explain why he’d been lingering outside like a grade A creeper. “I’ve been...stressed. I thought yoga might be a good de-stressor.”

“Yoga’s a great de-stressor,” she said conversationally, as if him coming to this conclusion while standing in a downpour was normal. “I teach scheduled group classes as well as private sessions.”

“One on one?” He’d bet her schedule was packed. Being in her presence for a few minutes had already made him feel more relaxed.

“Yep. A lot of people around here prefer one-on-one help with their practice. Others just like being alone with no help at all, which is why I open the space for members once a week.”

“That’s a lot of options.” She must work around the clock.

“There are a lot of people here, or haven’t you noticed, Mr. Spright Island?” She winked, thick dark lashes closing over one chocolate-brown iris. Had she always been this beautiful?

“I noticed.” He returned her smile. There were just shy of nine hundred houses in SWC. That made for plenty of residents milling around town and, more often than he was previously aware, apparently in Hayden’s yoga studio.

“I don’t believe you want to talk about yoga.” Her gaze was a bare lightbulb on a string over his head, as if there was no way to hide what had been rattling around in his brain tonight. She lifted dark, inquisitive eyebrows. “You look like you have something interesting to talk about.”

The pull toward her was real and raw—the realest sensation he’d felt in a while. It grounded him, grabbed him by the balls and demanded his full attention.

“I didn’t plan on talking about it...” he admitted, but she must have heard the ellipsis at the end of that sentence.

She tilted her head, sage interest in whatever he might say next. Wavy dark brown hair surrounded a cherubic heart-shaped face, her deep brown eyes at once tender and inviting. Inviting. There was that word again. Unbidden, his gaze roamed over her tanned skin, her V-necked collar and delicate collarbone. How had he not noticed before? She was alarmingly beautiful.

“I’m sorry.” Her palm landed on his forearm. “I’m prying. You don’t have to say anything.”

She moved to pull her hand away but he captured her fingers in his, studying her shiny, clear nails and admiring the olive shade of her skin and the way her hand offset his own pinker hue.

“There are aspects of my life I was certain of a month and a half ago,” he said, idly stroking her hand with his thumb. “I was certain that my parents’ names were William and Marion Duncan.” He offered a sad smile as Hayden’s eyebrows dipped in confusion. “I suppose they technically still are my parents, but they’re also not. I’m adopted.”

Her plush mouth pulled into a soft frown, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I recently learned that the agency—” or more accurately, the kidnappers “—lied about my birth parents. Turns out they’re alive and living in London. And I have a brother.” He paused before clarifying, “A twin brother.”

Hayden’s lashes fluttered. “Wow.”

“Fraternal, but he’s a good-looking bastard.”

She squeezed his fingers. There for him in spite of owing him nothing. That should’ve been Claire’s job.

“I was certain that I was the owner/operator of Spright Island’s premier, thriving wellness community,” he stated in his radio-commercial voice. “That, thank God, hasn’t changed. SWC is a sanctuary of sorts. There is a different vibe here that you can’t find inland.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I stepped foot in my studio downstairs that first time, and it had this positive energy about it. Does that sound unbelievable?”

No more unbelievable than being kidnapped in another country and having no memory of it.

“It doesn’t sound unbelievable.” He took pride in what he’d built. He’d poured himself, body and soul, into what he created, so it wasn’t surprising some of that had leaked into the energy of this place.

“I was also certain I was going to be married to Claire Waterson.”

At the mention of a fiancée, Hayden tugged her hand from his and wrapped her fingers around her mug. He didn’t think it was because she was thirsty.

“When I found out about my family tree, she bailed on me,” he told her. “I didn’t expect that.”

He raked his hands through his damp hair, unable to stop the flow of words now that he’d undammed them. “You invited me in for tea thinking I had something on my mind. Bet you didn’t expect a full-blown identity crisis.”

Her eyebrows dipped in sympathy.

“I just need... I need...” Dropping his head in his hands, he trailed off, muttering to the floor, “Christ, I have no idea what I need.”

He felt the couch shift and dip, and then Hayden’s hand was on his back, moving in comforting circles.

“I’ve had my share of family drama, trust me. But nothing like what you’re going through. It’s okay for you to feel unsure. Lost.”

He faced her. This close, he could smell her soft lavender perfume and see the gold flecks in her dark eyes. He hadn’t planned on coming here, or on sitting on her couch and spilling his heart out. He and Hayden were friendly, not friends. But her comforting touch on his back, the way her words seemed to soothe the recently broken part of him...

Maybe what he needed was her.

He leaned forward, his eyes focused on her mouth and the satisfaction kissing her would bring.

“Tate.” She jerked away, sobering him instantly.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” What the hell was he thinking? That Hayden invited him in to make out on her couch? That sharing his sob story would somehow turn her on? As if any woman wanted to be with a man who was in pieces.

He stood to leave. She stood with him.

“Listen, Tate—”

“I shouldn’t have come here.” He pulled his coat on and shoved his feet in his shoes, grateful for the leather slip-ons. At least there wouldn’t be an awkward interlude while he tied his laces. “Thank you for listening. I’m really very sorry.”

“Wait.” She arrived at the coatrack as he was stuffing his arms into his still-wet leather coat.

“I’m going to go.” He turned to apologize again, but was damn near knocked off his feet when Hayden pushed to her toes, cuffed the back of his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers.

Three

Hayden had fantasized of kissing Tate ever since she first laid eyes on him. She knew he wasn’t meant to be hers in real life, but in her fantasies, well, there were no rules.

Of all the imagined kisses they’d shared, none compared to the actual kiss she was experiencing now.

The moment their lips touched, he grabbed on to her like a lifeline, eagerly plunging his tongue into her mouth. His skin was chilly from the rain, but his body radiated heat. She was downright toasty in his arms...and getting hotter by the second.

She tasted dark liquor—bourbon or whiskey—on his tongue, but there was a tinge of something else. Sadness, if she wasn’t mistaken. Sadness over learning he had a brother after all these years—a twin brother. Wow, that was wild...

A pair of strong hands gripped her waist. Tate tugged her close, and when her breasts flattened against his chest all other thoughts flew from her head. The water clinging to his coat soaked through her sweater, causing her nipples to bead to tight peaks inside her bra.

Still, she kissed him.

She wasn’t done with this real-life fantasy. A brief thought of Claire Waterson crashed into her mind, and she shoved it out. They were broken up—he’d said so himself. Hayden had nothing to feel guilty about.

Besides, he needed her. Whenever she’d been lost or sad, she’d taken solace in her friends. That was what she offered to him now.

A safe space.

She pulled her lips from Tate’s to catch her breath, her mind buzzing and her limbs vibrating. His chest and shoulders rose and fell, the hectic rhythm set by the brief make-out session. An unsure smile tilted his mouth, and she returned it with one of her own.

“Better?” she asked.

His low laugh soaked into her like rum on spongecake. He pulled his hand over his mouth and then back through his hair, and her knees nearly gave way. It’d be so easy to lean in and taste him again, to offer her body as a place for him to lay his worries...

“I didn’t mean to take advantage of your hospitality. Honest.” His blue eyes shimmered in the candlelight.

“You didn’t. I always serve tea with French kisses. It’s a package deal.”

“The best deal in town,” he murmured. He stroked her jaw tenderly, those tempting lips offering the sincerest “thank you” she’d ever heard.

“Call a car,” she said, before she asked him to stay. “It’s pouring out there.”

“Actually—” he opened the door that led down to her studio “—I could use a cool, brisk walk after that kiss.”

She smiled, pleased. It wasn’t every day she could curl a hot guy’s toes. She considered this rare feat a victory.

“I’ll lock the studio door behind me. There are some real weirdos out there...”

She grinned, knowing he was referring to himself.

Before he pulled the door shut, he stuck his head through the crack. “You don’t really kiss everyone you offer tea, do you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She was tempted to put another brief peck on his mouth, but he disappeared through the gap before she could. A fraction of a second later, she was looking at the wood panel instead of his handsome face and wondering if she’d hallucinated the entire thing.

“Hayden, Hayden,” she chastised gently as she engaged the lock and drew the chain. She turned and eyed the mugs of tea, Tate’s untouched and hers barely drunk. His lips hadn’t so much as grazed the edge of that mug.

But they were all over yours.

That spontaneous kiss had rocked her world.

She dashed to the window and peered out into the rain, hoping for one more glance at her nighttime visitor. A dark figure passed under a streetlamp, his shoulders under his ears, his hair wet all over again. Before he disappeared from sight, he turned to face her building and walked a few steps backward. She couldn’t see his face from that far away, but she liked to believe he was smiling.

She touched her lips.

So was she.

Three wet days later, the rain had downgraded from downpour to light drizzle. Even walking across the street to Summer’s Market yesterday for ingredients for blueberry muffins had left Hayden wet and cold. She’d returned home soaked to the bone, her hair smelling of rainwater.

Which, of course, reminded her of The Kiss from the other day. She hadn’t seen Tate since. Not that she’d expected him to stop by, but... Well, was hope the wrong word to use?

Over and over, she’d remembered the feel of Tate’s firm lips, his capable hands gripping her hips, the vulnerability in his smile. The ways his eyes shined with curiosity afterward.

Knowing she’d erased some of his sadness made her feel special. She was beginning to think she actually missed him. Odd, considering the concept of missing him was foreign until that kiss.

The chilly bite of the wind cut through her puffy, lightweight coat, and she tucked her chin behind the zipped collar as she crossed the street to the café.

Nothing better for walking off sexual frustration than a brisk November stroll.

She had an advanced yoga class in an hour and was tired just thinking about it. A hot cup of coffee would put some much-needed pep in her step.

She wasn’t the only resident of SWC taking advantage of the drier weather. Cold drizzles they were willing to brave. Drenching downpours, not so much. As a result, there was a buzz in the air, an audible din of chatter amongst the couples or single professionals lounging in the outdoor patio. It was closed off for the winter, the temporary walls and tall gas heaters making the space warm enough for the overflow of customers.

Inside, Hayden rubbed her hands together, delighted to find that the person in line ahead of her was finished ordering. The only thing better than a Sprightly Bean coffee at the start of a day was not waiting in line to get one. She ordered a large caramel latte and stepped to the side to wait. Not thirty seconds into her studying the glass case of doughnuts and other sinful baked goods, the low voice from her dreams spoke over her shoulder.

“I’ve seen regret before, and it looks a lot like the expression on your face, Ms. Green.”

Her smile crested her mouth before she turned. She thought she was prepared to come face-to-face with Tate until she did. His dark wool coat was draped over a charcoal-gray suit, his hair neatly styled against his head and slightly damp, she guessed from a recent shower. And wasn’t that a pleasant image? Him naked, water flowing over lean muscle, corded forearms, long, strong legs...

“Am I broadcasting regret?” she asked, her voice a flirty lilt.

He pointed at the bakery case. “Was it the éclair or the lemon–poppy seed muffin that caused it?”

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider. “I could be regretting my impulsive behavior three days ago.”

His eyebrows rose like she’d stunned him. She wasn’t much of a wallflower, which he should know after she’d grabbed him up and kissed him.

He opened his mouth to reply when a thin blonde woman glided around the corner, tugging a glove onto her hand. Claire.

“I’m ready to go,” she announced without preamble. Or manners. Or delicacy.

As if her frosty entrance had chilled them both, Hayden’s smile vanished and Tate retreated.

He nodded at Claire Waterson, his frown appearing both on his mouth and forehead. “Hayden, this is Claire. Claire, this is Hayden Green. She owns the yoga studio down the road.”

“Charmed.” Claire nodded curtly as she tugged on her other glove. No offer of a handshake, but Hayden didn’t want to shake the other woman’s hand, anyway.

“See you around,” Tate told Hayden.

She watched them leave, her forehead scrunching when Tate touched Claire’s back on the walk out to a car. He hadn’t walked to the café today. Hayden would bet Priss in Boots hadn’t allowed it.

“Grande caramel latte.” The cheery barista handed over Hayden’s coffee, and she managed a genial smile before walking out the front door, her steps heavy. Tate, in the driver’s seat, pulled away from the curb on the opposite side of the street. He didn’t wave, but did manage a compressed half smile.

While Hayden didn’t have any claim on him, she’d admit she felt like an idiot for believing him. He’d sounded so sincere when he said his relationship with Claire was over. Or had he implied it was over? Either way, if she’d had any idea Tate and Claire would be sharing morning coffee a few days later, Hayden never would have kissed him. From the looks of it, he and Claire were very much together.

Ew.

She started her march home, an unhealthy dose of anger seeping into her bloodstream. The first sip of her coffee burned her tongue, and the wind blew directly into her face, cold and bitter.

A series of beeps sounded from her pocket and Hayden’s back stiffened. That was her mother’s ringtone. It never failed to cause a cocktail of panic, fear and resentment to boil over. She ignored the second ring and then the third and, a minute later, the chime of her voice mail.

When Hayden left Seattle, it had felt like more of an escape. Her mother had been—and was still—stressed to the max, refusing to draw boundary lines around the one woman causing problems in their lives: Hayden’s alcoholic grandmother. Grandma Winnie favored drama and bottom-shelf vodka in equal measures, and Hayden’s mother, Patti, had turned codependency into an art form. Hayden’s dad, Glenn, was content to let the matriarchs rule the roost, as if he’d eschewed himself from the chaos in the only way he knew how: silence.

After years of trying to balance family drama with her own desperate need for stability, Hayden left Seattle and her family behind for the oasis of Spright Island.

By the time she was changing for her class, her coffee was cool and her mind was numb. She paused in the living room of her apartment, put her hands over her heart and took three deep breaths.

There was no sense in being angry at Grandma Winnie for being an alcoholic. It wasn’t her fault she had a disease. Similarly, she let go of worrying over her mother’s codependence and her father’s blind eye.

“Everyone is doing the best they can,” she said aloud.

But as she trotted down the stairs to the studio and unlocked the door for a few waiting guests, she found that there was one person in her life she didn’t feel as magnanimous toward.

The man who’d kissed her soundly, scrambled her senses and then showed up in town with the very woman he claimed had left him behind.

“Hi, Hayden,” greeted Jan, the first of her students through the door.

Hayden returned Jan’s smile and shoved aside her tumultuous thoughts. She owed it to her class to be present and bring good energy, not bad.

Family drama—and Tate drama—would be waiting for her when the class was over, whether she wanted it or not.

Four

The bell over her studio entrance jangled as Hayden’s evening class filed out of the building. She was behind the desk, jotting down a note for Marla, who’d been coming for individual classes but decided tonight she wanted to join the group. Since Marla hadn’t brought her credit card, Hayden had promised to email her in the morning.

Hayden stuck a reminder Post-it note onto the cover of her hardbound planner and looked up, expecting to see the last of her students leave. Instead, someone was coming in.

A certain someone who hadn’t left her mind no matter how hard she tried to stop thinking about him.

Dressed in black athletic pants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt, Tate shrugged out of the same leather jacket he’d worn the night they kissed. It’d been five days since that kiss. Two days since the coffee shop.

She still wasn’t happy with him, but it was impossible not to admire his exquisite hotness.

“Hey,” she blurted, unsure what else to say.

“Hey.” He looked over his shoulder. “I know I missed class, but I was hoping to schedule a one-on-one.”

Her mind went to the last “one-on-one” session they’d had. She hadn’t forgotten that kiss. She probably never would. It was burned onto her frontal lobe.

“Individual sessions have to be scheduled ahead of time,” she said as tartly as she could manage. The vision of him with Claire was too fresh in her mind for her to be cordial.

“Are you sure?” He tilted his head as he stepped closer to her.

“If you’re here because you feel you owe me an explanation or you need to air your regrets—”

“No. Nothing like that.”

She lifted her eyebrows, asking a silent well?

“I haven’t been in control of my life lately. Everything’s moving at warp speed, and I’m caught in the undertow. You ever feel like you’ve lost control? Once upon a time you had it in your hands, and now...” He looked down at his own fists gripping his coat as his mouth pulled down at the corners.

She knew exactly what that was like, but in reverse order. Her world had been moving at warp speed since birth, and only moving to SWC had stopped its trajectory.

She sympathized with Tate, though she was tempted to cut her losses and show him the door.

“And taking a yoga class with me would help you feel in control?” she asked anyway.

“Ah, well. Not exactly.” Palm on his neck, he studied the floor and then peeked up at her with a look of chagrin so magnetic, her heart skipped a beat. “I’m really good at turning you on. At least I think I would be. Are you still doling out kisses with every cup of tea?”

She gripped the edge of the front desk, digesting what he’d just said. He was good at turning her on. She knew that, but what was she supposed to do with it? Especially when Tate stood in front of her looking coy and cunning and yet vulnerable and was offering... Wait... Was this a booty call?

“Sorry. That offer expired.” Not that she was above kissing him, but... “I’m not going to be your girl on the side, Tate. What would Claire say?”

“That’s over. It’s been over. What you saw at the coffee shop was her finalizing things. You know, like you do after someone dies.”

He paced to the salt lamp on her desk and stared at it for a beat. “She dropped off a box of my stuff at my house and then asked if we could grab a coffee and talk. I told her she could talk to me there, but she said she preferred neutral territory.”

“Oh.” It was a breakup. Hayden had misread that entire exchange. Still... “And you didn’t feel the need to explain yourself after I saw you at the café? You thought you’d instead come here and...” She waved a hand uselessly, unable to finish her thought, since she wasn’t 100 percent sure why he was here.

“I thought we could start with a yoga session.” He dipped his chin. “If you have any openings for, say, now.”

She tried to tell him no, but found she couldn’t. Tate Duncan didn’t have to work hard to charm her on any given day, and today he was actually trying.

“How about...” She flipped open her planner and traced her finger down the page. “Tomorrow. Noon.”

“Deal.”

“I’ll need your credit card. I require a nonrefundable down payment for the first appointment.”

“Smart.”

She hummed. She wasn’t so sure this was smart, but was too curious to turn him away.

The morning of his yoga appointment, Tate set out for Hayden’s studio. The day was dry if chilly, but he welcomed the burning cold in his lungs as he cut through a path in the woods.

He’d been out for a quick trip to Summer’s Market when he’d witnessed Hayden’s evening class letting out. He hadn’t planned on walking across the street and inside, but when he found himself in front of her, he had to have a reason for being there.

Besides the obvious.

Hayden had consumed damn near every one of his waking thoughts, which was a relief compared to his usual pastime: turning over his parentage, the truth about where he came from, or the disastrous outcome since.

He’d blamed the kiss on whiskey and a need for connection. The liquor buzz was long gone, but the imprint of her kiss remained like a brand. It was reckless to leap into the flames after he’d just escaped a fire—Claire should’ve rendered him numb. But Hayden...she was different.

Not only had she been there for him when he’d been adrift on his own, but she replaced his tumultuous thoughts with something a hell of a lot better.

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