Chapter 1

The screen door slammed shut, a punctuation mark on Tom's furious exit.

Another one gone.

He'd been so sweet, so understanding, right up until Mike, my adoptive father, gestured toward the detached tool shed at the edge of our yard.

"Son, let's have a little chat in here."

That was always the beginning of the end.

I'm twenty-seven. Not a kid. I'm a freelance writer, I pay my own bills, but in Mike's eyes, I'm still a problem to be managed, especially when it comes to men.

Tom had lasted three months. A new record.

He'd sworn Mike wouldn't get to him. He'd squeezed my hand, promised he'd just listen politely and then they'd come back inside, and we'd laugh about it later.

But when Tom walked out of that shed, his face was a mask of disgust. He wouldn't even look at me.

"We're done, Ashley," he'd spat, his voice tight. "Don't ever call me again."

Then he was in his truck, tires screeching on the gravel driveway.

Mike emerged from the shed a moment later, wiping his hands on an old rag. His expression was grim, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

"See? Told you he wasn't right for you."

"What did you say to him, Mike? What do you always say in there?" My voice trembled.

He just shrugged, a gesture that always made my blood boil. "Just talking, Ashley. Man to man."

I've had five boyfriends in the last few years. Tom, David, Chris, Mark, and Ben. Every single one, a carbon copy ending. They'd be charming, kind, even talk about a future. Then came the summons to the tool shed. After that, they'd look at me like I was something vile they'd scraped off their shoe.

Some got angry. David had shoved me against the wall, his eyes bulging. Chris had just turned pale and walked away without a word. Tom, he'd just looked...horrified.

My younger cousin, Becca, lives a few towns over. She got married at twenty to Jake, her high school sweetheart. They have a little boy now. Susan, Mike's wife and my adoptive mother, dotes on her grandnephew.

Sometimes, when Jake comes over to help Mike with some heavy lifting, I see the easy way they talk. No hushed tones, no trips to the dreaded tool shed.

"Why, Mike?" I asked, my voice raw. "Why do you do this to me?"

He finally looked at me, his eyes cold. "You don't need a man, Ashley. You need to focus on...other things."

"What other things? I'm a grown woman! I want a life, a family!"

"You have a family," he said, his voice flat. "Me and Susan. That's enough."

He turned and walked towards the house, leaving me standing there, the scent of rust and old oil from the shed clinging to the humid afternoon air.

I knew he liked Becca more. He always had. Susan, too, in her own way. Susan ran the local bakery, a whirlwind of flour and sugar, always busy. She'd sometimes pat my arm and say, "Don't you worry, honey, your time will come." But her eyes never quite met mine.

When Becca and Jake went on their honeymoon to Florida, Mike made me clean out the gutters. "Keeps you out of trouble," he'd muttered.

Becca even called once, her voice hesitant. "Ashley, maybe...maybe Mike's right. You're so independent. Marriage isn't for everyone."

I didn't understand. I'm pretty, people tell me that. Men seem to like me, at first. But that tool shed...it was like a black hole, sucking all the good out of my life.

I even hired a private investigator once, a sleazy guy from a town over. I thought maybe I wasn't really their kid, maybe I was adopted under weird circumstances. But no, the PI confirmed it. Mike and Susan Miller were listed as my guardians after my parents, their supposed best friends, died in a car crash when I was three. No other family.

Mike was a retired auto mechanic. He had no big business deals I could have ruined by being born. He was a deacon at the Baptist church, never a hint of another woman.

So why? Why was he so determined to keep me alone?