Chapter 6

Dax lived in an old farmhouse on fifty acres of land about ten miles from my house. I hadn't realized solitude could be obtained so nearby-there wasn't a neighbor in sight. It was nothing like I expected from him. Scarlett O'Hara, yes...Dax Cooper, no.

The plantation-style home was straight out of a storybook or Southern Living. A huge two-story, pale-yellow house with a dream porch wrapping around the entire perimeter of the lower level didn't fit his personality. But neither did the rocking chairs near the front door, or the huge fans with blades shaped like leaves. There was no denying someone spent an exorbitant amount of time caring for the landscaping out front-stunning flowers in every color, shape, and size imaginable lined the circular drive. Their smell permeated the air sweetly in a way only found in the South. His front yard could have been on the cover of Landscaper's Paradise it was that lush. But the fountain that stood between the driveway and the street drew my attention away from all the other beauty. An angel stood in a pool holding the hand of a little girl in a dress, and the tiny birds flitting about in the water made it all that much more fictional.

Dax caught me staring, taking it in. "It reminded me of Jeremy and Julie."

My heart broke for his loss. Turning into him, my arms locked around his waist and squeezed as well as I could with a cast on one side. I'd known that kind of loss, that of a close friend, someone irreplaceable-it was life altering.

"It was a long time ago, baby." He didn't say anything else before prying me from his midsection to pull me through the front door.

The old home was as beautiful on the inside as it was out. Everything had been restored to what it would have been a hundred years ago, but modernized with running water, plumbing, and electricity-but it was the warmth, the way the house welcomed me that stole my affection. Dax offered me the two-dollar tour, quickly showing me the front room that showcased a stunning grand piano, along with multiple guitars lining the wall, each on their own stand-but he didn't stop long enough for me to ask any questions. We traipsed through the house as if I weren't going to be living here but rather needed to know where the bathroom was in case I had to pee-the dining room, kitchen, breakfast room, formal living room, bathroom, a large family room, the laundry room, and the mudroom, all before he escorted me upstairs.

Four spacious bedrooms branched off the hall, two of which had private bathrooms while two shared one, and then the master. Every turn in Dax's home left my jaw slack and more questions than answers. I couldn't fathom what he'd needed the library stuffed with books in the master bedroom for, and he didn't seem the type to enjoy lounging in the quiet space on the worn leather sofa. But more than that, the desk shocked me-I couldn't imagine why he'd invest in such an expensive piece of furniture when he delivered packages for a living.

The rest of the room ushered in the same familiarity as the first floor. A warm, honey-wheat color coated the walls, and rich-blue fabrics covered the bed in pillows and blankets with a matching rug on the hardwood floors that ran throughout the house. There wasn't a stitch of carpet anywhere. And while the décor was masculine with a hint of country-chic, it was modern and comfortable. I loved everything about it, but not one thing was what I would have picked for Dax or imagined him choosing himself. Yet he was clearly proud of it and definitely at home.

"Your house is beautiful." I admired the high ceilings and what appeared to be hand-carved moldings.

"Thank you. It took me years to restore. Jeremy helped with a lot of it; we had pretty much finished the downstairs when he died. Since then, I've done most everything myself. It's taken a lot longer but been worth it. I got the house for a steal and paid it off in a few years. As much as I wanted to stop living in a construction zone, I forced myself to pay for all the renovations in cash as I went. Now that I'm through it, not having a mortgage payment is liberating. Hard to believe I bought this place when I was nineteen-Jeremy thought I was crazy. Hell, all my friends did. They were out partying, and I was replacing windows and commodes." A smile tickled his cheeks as the memory danced in his eyes.

"You bought this house at nineteen?" I was baffled-he was a delivery driver, for the love of God.

"When my grandfather passed away, he left all the grandkids large sums of money. I paid for the few college expenses I had that weren't covered by scholarships and bought this house-I worked on it as I could when I was home from school. I invested in my future." His answer was succinct.

I, on the other hand, now only had more questions. "Where did you go to college?"

He made his way back down the stairs and in the direction of the kitchen. "Juilliard," he called casually over his shoulder.

"You went to Juilliard? Like the Juilliard...in New York?"

"Yes. Are you surprised?"

I couldn't tell if he was playing with me or hurt by my disbelief. "A little. Did you graduate?" I asked, taking a sip of the tea he'd just handed me.

"Cameron, I'm starting to think you believe I'm an idiot. Yes, I graduated with a B.A. and then a Ph.D."

After spitting my drink all over his chest, I wiped my mouth. "You graduated from Juilliard in New York, with a Ph.D.? In what?" I sounded like a moron, even to myself.

He just laughed, thankfully not hurt by my asinine tone. "Doctor of Musical Arts."

"The guitar."

"No, baby, the guitar is something I play with. I went to Juilliard for piano on a full scholarship. I paid for my living expenses in New York while I was there."

"So why do you deliver packages now?"

"Actually, I don't anymore." He walked off, leaving that response hanging in the air.

I took off after him, right on his heels. "What do you mean you don't anymore?" I grabbed his arm to try to force him to turn around.

"It's not a big deal, Cam."

"It is to me. Tell me why." I demanded answers, but my voice was weak.

"I was let go. It really doesn't matter."

"Because of me?" It was rhetorical really.

"I ran out of vacation time. I took a leave of absence, but when they found out you weren't an immediate family member, the union encouraged me to resume my route. They warned me I was at risk of being replaced by a driver working split shifts. I didn't go back on the route, so I lost it." He shrugged as if what he'd just confessed held no weight, no significance.

"Why didn't you go back?" My brow furrowed as I stared at him in confusion.

"I told you I would be there. Every day I reconfirmed my commitment at your side. I promised I would take care of you; never let anyone else hurt you. When I make a promise, I keep it."

The thoughts in my head mingled with the words that came out of my mouth. "Like Julie," I muttered.

"What? I didn't hear you."

"Nothing. I was just thinking about Julie."

"Julie's like a sister to me and has been since the day she was born. I'll always look after her because that's what Jeremy did."

I let it go. I didn't want to believe Dax thought of me as a sister or that he'd done this out of obligation. I had no business thinking about why he'd done any of it period, and certainly had no reason to consider any relationship outside of friendship after what I'd just endured. Every step I took sent some form of pain through my body-that should have been reminder enough.

"So why on earth did you ever come back to Greenville after graduating from Juilliard?"

"This is my home, Cam. My family's here. My friends are here. My entire life resides in this county. Everything I love is here. I never had any intention of staying in New York, but I wanted the best education I could get. That was at Juilliard."

"What did you do when you came home?"

"You mean after college?"

I nodded.

"I taught music at Furman."

I was dumbstruck none of this had come out in the days we'd spent talking at the hospital. He'd even played the guitar for me, but I never thought to ask where he'd learned or how long he'd played. I had just enjoyed it without question.

"Will you play for me?"

"Maybe later. I need to get the bags out of the truck. Make yourself at home."

His rejection stung-the curt response cut me off from that part of his life. I wanted to respect that there were lots of things I didn't know about Dax and tried to push what felt like a slamming door aside. When he came back, I asked which room he wanted me to stay in while I was here. He gave me a quirky smile as though I'd said something funny before telling me to pick whichever one I liked. Exhausted, I wanted nothing more than to lie down. He handed off my bag and shooed me along to nap.

I chose the first door on the right.