who is so desperate to be loved that she has no idea who she is. That woman isn’t a heroine.
For some reason, that last sentence made tears prick the backs of Cora’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She could do better with her story. She could make her heroine stronger and more resilient. More confident. She could wow her father. Make him proud.
Make him believe in her.
And that was a way better thing for her to focus on, instead of how Trent’s lingering gaze made her feel more alive than she had in months.
Chapter Six
Trent and Hale stood back and surveyed their work. The plumbing was now in much better shape, with the sink reinstalled and everything sealed up. Trent had the shower running, and only the sound of water rushing against tile could be heard.
No more ghost-in-chains rattling for this house.
“Thank God,” Trent said, shutting the taps. “I don’t know how Liv has put up with that sound the past few months. It was so loud, it sounded like the whole bloody house was coming apart at the seams.”
“Lucky she’s got big brother to help her out.” Hale crouched down to throw the last of his tools into the heavy metal box with his business name etched into the side. “Are you going to tell her about the flood?”
Trent shrugged. “Why bother her with it? It wasn’t Cora’s fault, and we’ve fixed it all now.”
“You don’t want to get the American in trouble. That’s sweet.” Hale chuckled and rubbed a hand over his thick, dark beard. “You know, something struck me about her. She looks exactly like—”
“I know.”
“Like…a lot. They could be related.”
“They’re not.” He’d know if someone was related to his toxic Venus Flytrap of an ex. Mainly because the family traits included horns and pitchforks. “It’s an odd coincidence, nothing more.”
“What ever happened to Rochelle?” Hale asked, picking up his tool kit and heading out into the main room.
“She moved to the city, got married, and started popping out kids.”
All with the guy Trent had caught her with. In their bed. He remembered the day like it was yesterday—he’d had a funny feeling when he couldn’t reach her, so he’d come home early to find her screwing her best friend. The best friend she “thought of as a brother.”
One of the many lies she’d told him.
Rule number one of relationships: never trust anything that comes out of someone’s mouth unless you can categorically prove it.
Only Trent hadn’t wanted to let people know he’d been duped—it had made him feel like a dickhead. He never told anyone that she’d cheated on him. Instead, he’d acted like he was bored of her and had avoided anything long-term ever since. He leaned into being the “town charmer” and used his charisma to mask the hurt.
But Trent wouldn’t make the mistake of trusting someone ever again. Even the people he cared about most in this world—his family—had hidden things from him. And if he couldn’t trust them, he couldn’t trust anyone.
After Hale left, Trent spied Cora through the sliding glass doors, sitting outside on the little deck that was badly in need of a sand, stain, and refinish. She sat on one of the wicker chairs, her leg dangling over the arm as she worked. Her toenails were painted a bright, fiery red, and she swung her foot back and forth with a gentle rhythm.
Her hair tumbled down her back, glinting all shades of caramel and toffee and deep gold. Like everything about Cora, it was perfectly styled even if it looked like it wasn’t styled at all. Because a woman like that knew how to pay attention to the details.
He’d seen the notes she started putting together on Liv’s project—the care and diligence in jotting down every single thing.
“Arck! Ya bastard!”
Trent’s head snapped to the open window, where a cockatoo sat, head cocked and crest fully fanned. The damn thing showed up on the daily, looking for the lunch that his sister so happily provided. That was Liv—friend to all, including creatures of any size.
“You’re a nuisance,” he told the bird. “And rude, too.”
Joe the Cockatoo whistled. “Who’s a pretty boy?”
“You, buddy, you’re the pretty boy.” He walked over to the windowsill and held out his arm. The bird hopped straight on, happy to be chauffeured to his meal. His big, gray claws gripped Trent’s arm, the sharp talons scratching against his skin. “Ease up. I don’t want you leaving a mark.”