Vulnerably Yours,

Chapter One

RICHARD

"Hey, Lustberg!"

My head snaps up at the sound of my last name. Only a handful of people call me that, and every single one of them owes me money or a favor.

I crack a grin when I spot Tristan Kaur waving at me from the canned goods aisle like we're across a football field instead of twenty feet apart.

"Buddy, what's going on?" I pull him into a quick hug.

"Grocery run," he says, lifting the basket. "Shira's stocking up like the apocalypse is coming. This snowstorm's got her acting dramatic as hell."

My grin fades.
"Is she here?"

Tristan raises an eyebrow. "Easy, tiger. She didn't come."

"Good," I say too fast.

He smirks. "Yeah, well, she still thinks you hate her guts, so you can stop looking like you're about to bolt."

"I don't hate her."

"Sure you don't," he says, like he absolutely doesn't believe me.

Shira Kaur is Tristan's older sister. Only a year older, but they're the kind of siblings who move through the world like a matched set.

She's been around my whole life. Childhood parties. High school games. Random Tuesdays at the grocery store. Cottswald is small like that—no one ever really leaves each other.

Most people greet me with smiles.

Shira just studies me.

Head tilted. Quiet. Those eyes like they're peeling me open, reading every thought I'm trying to hide.

She's the only person in town who's never seemed convinced by me.

"What are you up to? Pasta, huh?" Tristan cranes his neck to check out my cart.

I shrug. "It keeps."

Not that I'll admit it, but I'm stocking up too.

This storm's supposed to bury the town. Schools closed. Offices shut down all week. The kind of snow that turns roads into nothing and neighbors into strangers.

Cottswald doesn't shut down for anything.

So yeah—maybe we're all a little nervous.

"God, I miss your tomato basil pasta with the Chinese sausages," he groans. "You should just hole up with us at Shira's house. Place is massive—five bedrooms, a Jacuzzi, a bar, a whole TV room. We're turning it into storm central. Me, a couple friends..."

He nudges me. "Come on, Lustberg. Bring the pasta. Be a hero."

I don't even have to answer.

One look at my face and he bursts out laughing.

"Wow," he says. "That's a hard no, huh?"

"I'm a fox sometimes," I say. "They like being solitary."

Tristan barks out a laugh. "You crack me up. You're never alone. You collect people like stray cats. Just come over before dusk. Seriously. You don't want to get stuck out there by yourself when the hill ices over."

He flashes this dramatic, horror-movie grin.

I stare at him. Twenty-eight years of friendship and this is what I get.

"I will not," I say. "Goodbye. I have pasta and an entire season of Sherlock Holmes waiting for me."

"Tragic," he calls after me.