Page 13 of True Ruin

It was time to forgive herself, even if forgiving Theo remained safely off the table.

She’d made a mistake. Picked the wrong guy.Marriedthe wrong guy. Spent years trying to fix a broken relationship. Built her life around his instead of her own. Done, done, and done, she concluded, giving the doorknob the jiggle to the left it needed to open. Women repeated these patterns every day—and had for centuries. Falling for a charming cheat wasn’t original. Constructing a life around his wants wasn’t original. Blaming herself for staying too long? Tragicallyunoriginal.

And now…

Gabi laughed softly, earning a return smile from her son.

Dallas True might be just the complication she needed.

He’d asked her out. Sort of. Though for all she knew, Julie Arnett was making a play for him this very second, using a column for that silly newsletter as an excuse. Funny, wasn’t it? Back then, Gabi had been one of the only people who saw how brilliant Dallas was beneath that restless, wounded-boy attitude.

Now the whole town had caught up.

Gabi halted in the entryway, kicking a Matchbox car into the corner as Sam raced around her and headed straight for the kitchen in pursuit of the Pop-Tart she’d promised he could havebefore dinner, a questionable parenting choice that said plenty about her day.

“Yes,” she murmured, closing the door and leaning against it. She repeated the affirmation twice more as she made her way down the hallway, dumping her bounty on the turquoise Formica dining table Verna Mae had given her as a housewarming present. She’d kept it in storage since the ’60s. It was gorgeous and kitschy, inspiring Gabi to remake the entire place in midcentury splendor, one carefully selected (and not too expensive) piece at a time.

After all,yeswas a simple word.

One she wouldn’t let slip away the next time someone asked.

Gabi pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to calm the foolish flush. She’d say yes no matterwhatDallas True asked.

The afternoon had been indecently scenic, to say the least, men in clinging cotton and ripped denim, muscles flexing beneath a sheen of sweat, the scents of raw wood, coffee, and sawdust mingling in the air. She wasn’t that strong. Neither were the—oh, she tapped a finger against her jaw—four women who’d stopped by to view the new space, though it was fairly obvious they’d come to appraise the True brothers.

As expected, Justin handled the interruption with ease, slipping effortlessly into tour guide mode. As the project’s managing architect, he had a way of making exposed brick and half-framed walls sound visionary as he steered the visitors away from the active worksite. The smooth talker of the group, he was born to persuade, and being happily married probably left him free to enjoy the attention as harmless atmospheric nonsense.

Campbell was harder to read and had been since high school. A renowned photographer restoring the mill as much for his family as for himself, he worked with sharp focus and a perpetually furrowed brow, creative instincts firing as he wrestled with budgets and permits instead of darkrooms andcamera angles. Also happily married, he gave off the distinct impression that female attention ranked somewhere below electrical inspections.

Ransom, the eldest and the actual builder in the family, kept the process tethered to reality, reading the space with a contractor’s eye and making sure their vision didn’t outpace what could actually be built. The visitors earned a polite nod from him, then immediate demotion beneath load-bearing walls and delivery delays.

That left Dallas, the watchful one. The loner. Not withdrawn, exactly, but intensely present, his attention deliberate—the sort that slid over a woman and lingered, making her feel seen in ways that were anything but innocent.

Gabi burned where his gaze touched her. That had to mean something. Because he’d barely glanced at anyone else.

He was the only man in Promise she couldn’t look past.

Her mouth went dry as she remembered the strip of skin above his hip, the brief, unfair flash that had stolen every sensible thought from her head. His skin had a slight olive cast, that small slice paler where the sun hadn’t reached it, and she wondered how that long, lean strength would look tangled in her cream sheets. Cropped dark-brown hair. Glittering green eyes. Stubble shadowing his jaw. Those adorable glasses sliding down his nose while his hands did things that would make her forget every practical reason to be careful.

She was tired of being careful.

With another man, she might have suspected strategy. Some calculated move deployed for maximum damage. That had certainly been Theo’s game. But Dallas didn’t seem to have a clue. As far as she could tell, he was walking around with George-Clooney-ERlevels of hotness and absolutely no idea women were trying to survive it.

And his slightly rusty voice made promises her imagination was more than willing to collect on. Honestly, she wanted him to make good on the look in his eyes and pin her against the nearest flat surface. In the privacy of her own head, Gabi dragged his shirt over his head, then let her gaze fall to the faded button-fly of his jeans, a detail she had absolutely no business noticing and every intention of remembering.

“Mom!”

With a gasp, Gabi bumped the table, sending recipes tumbling to the floor.

Sam stood in the kitchen’s arched doorway, a book in his hand and mischief on his face. Snickering, he darted across the room, clambered onto the counter, and stretched up to rummage through the “snack cabinet.”

“You were lost for a second. Like, gone. In space,” he mumbled around a bite of Pop-Tart.

“Long day,” she said, crouching to gather the recipes. If her knees were weak from a daydream, what would the real thing be like? “But exciting, right? Soon, you’ll be able to come to the café after school and help out.”

He tore into a bag of Oreos she hoped would last the night. “I can’t wait. The mill is super cool.”

“Only two, okay?” She glanced up, and her heart gave a quiet maternal tug. Sam was growing up so fast—his new pants were already hitting his ankles. High-waters, they’d called them back in the day. Thankfully, if somewhat begrudgingly, Theo shared expenses. It was his time her ex didn’t share. His attention. The easy, everyday love a child shouldn’t have to chase. Teaching him to play baseball, building forts in the backyard.