Somebody Like You by Beth K. Vogt

driveway. “I am not ignoring the covenants—and will deal with the problems you point out as quickly as I can.”
    “I’m not finished talking—”
    “But I am.” She tossed him a mock salute. “Good-bye.”
    Back inside the house, she tossed the mail in the basket on the breakfast bar between the kitchen and the dining room and dropped her coat on the arm of the couch. She would not look outside to make certain Sterling Shelton III had left. She could only hope the man understood the meaning of good-bye —and resorted to writing letters again.
    After the unexpected face-off with the man, Haley was thankful Wes had decided he didn’t need her help behind thecounter at the gun club. The day stretched ahead of her, empty of her regular schedule. Fine. She’d list out the home projects. Unpack a box in the garage.
    And, thanks to Claire’s prodding, she’d meet with Stephen Ames.
    Powering up the television and the DVD player, she grabbed a notepad and pen, determined to create the to-be-tackled to-do list. So there, Mr. Shelton! Stretching out on the couch, the dialogue of Hellfighters filled the empty rooms. Imaginary people were better than no one at all. Between the list and the almost-memorized movie, she’d manage the hours until her meeting with Sam’s brother.
    Haley doodled a row of boxes across the top of the page. Why had she called the man and suggested they meet for dinner? Oh, that’s right. Claire had guilted her into it. She repositioned herself, placing a cushion under her knees in an attempt to get comfortable. She wasn’t being fair to her friend. Claire had made a reasonable suggestion, and she’d agreed to it.
    Not that she was going to be some sort of “answer woman” for Stephen Ames. If he wanted to know how she and Sam met or how long they dated before they got married—fine. But if he started asking questions about Sam’s life before then . . . well, Haley wasn’t going to be much help. After they’d married, she’d quickly learned her husband focused on now . When she asked about his family—him and his mom—he glossed it over, saying things were “typical.”
    The arrival of his twin brother shattered that word into mirrored shards of truths and lies—and she was left to clean up the mess.

    Five fifteen. No Haley Ames. Was she going to leave him sitting in Johnny Carino’s, staring at a basket of cloth-wrapped bread?
    Stephen powered up his iPad, opening his Paper by Fifty-Three sketchpad app. He roughed out a tree. First the trunk, then the leafy branches. Next, he outlined a tree house.
    Always the same simple tree house.
    It had never occurred to him that Haley wouldn’t show, although he had no reason to assume she would keep her word. Of course, he hadn’t expected Haley to call him half an hour after she’d shut the door in his face, much less suggest they meet for dinner and talk. He’d been too shocked to say “What about lunch?” and had spent the rest of the day bumming around Colorado Springs, finally ending up at a Williams-Sonoma cooking store for an hour. Not that he had anywhere else to go—like a job. He had plenty of tools from Lowe’s and Home Depot—he didn’t have to defend the fact that he also had a well-stocked kitchen . . . well, the beginnings of a well-stocked kitchen. A guy had to relax some way. He’d limited himself to purchasing a rice cooker, an item that had been on his wish list for a while.
    Stephen gulped down some ice water and was debating ordering Italian sangria when the waitress returned to check on him. But how sorry would he look if he ended up sitting in a booth, drinking by himself ?
    Should he call Haley? See if she’d changed her mind? He tapped the “Recent Calls” button on his phone, scrolling through to find her number.
    “Sorry I’m late.”
    Haley’s voice yanked his attention from the phone screen. She slipped into the seat across from him, even as he started to rise to his feet. Her head