Page 3 of Only One I Ever Wanted

Chapter2

Nora

I wadedthrough the half inch of water that filled the kitchen of my rental house.

Was that spaghetti?

I hoped it was. I didn’t want to think about what else could be that shape.

I was flicking through the home delivery app and added a Shop Vac, mop, bucket, and floor cleaner. The cart was getting very full.

I’d only moved in last night and had absolutely nothing besides two suitcases of clothes and a wildly impulsive and impractical circular chair in front of a folding table that held my television.

And that was it.

The divorce had blindsided me. California was a fifty-fifty state, and my ex hadn’t fought it. Mostly because he’d been the one to destroy my world. I’d left everything behind in Los Angeles with Booker. Including the signed papers on the overpriced and shudderingly modern dining room table he’d picked out.

Probably why I’d bought that crazy impractical chair.

I peeked into the small living room with the massive, cozy lavender chair perfect for curling into. Hell, I’d slept in it last night.

Booker liked cold, modern lines and buying it had been my first middle finger to that life.

Driving from Los Angeles to Indigo Valley had been grueling, but leaving him in my rearview had been cathartic.

And halfway between Colorado and Nebraska, a weight lifted off of me.

We hadn’t been right for a damn long time. We were both career-driven. Booker, with baseball, and me with my social media company—No BS. I just chose to ignore how much we’d grown apart in favor of working harder and going home less.

Now I was relocating my entire life to my old hometown.

Alone.

I looked down at my wet socks.

Thankfully, my landlord, Gene, had a handyman on call. Hopefully, he’d show up before the water hit the living room. I rushed over with a few rolled up towels to make a damn.

The doorbell chimed. “Thank, God.” I turned and splashed through to the short hallway. “One second!” I called and peeled off my socks and shoved them in my pocket with a wince as my jeans quickly showed wet spots. Not my best idea.

I swung open the door and my breath stalled.

“Sully?”

Sullivan Murdock stood on my doorstep, ShopVac in hand, a tool belt on his narrow hips, and a bag beside his workboots. “Nora?” He dug out his phone and looked at something on his phone, then he glanced at me. “Not who I was expecting.”

“My landlord.”

“That makes sense.” The endearing grin I remembered from my early days in the valley was still the same. There were a few more crinkles at the corners of his eyes and heavy scruff showed off that honed jawline that definitely hadn’t sagged in the more than a dozen years since I’d seen him.

He cleared his throat. “I thought you were in LA.”

“Now I’m here.”

“Evidently. Uh, I guess you have a busted washer?”

“Oh, right.” I glanced down at my toes, annoyed that I hadn’t gotten a pedicure since Christmas. As if that mattered right now. “C’mon in.”

“I have my son with me. I hope that’s okay.”

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