I was eighteen. He was thirty-one. He was my first. And whether he knew it yet or not, I was going to be his last. After losing the only person who ever felt like home, Trinity is sent from the Bronx to a quiet farm in rural Georgia to live with relatives she barely knows. Everyone tells her it's a chance to heal. She isn't looking for healing. She's just trying to make it through tomorrow. Then she meets Arthur Brandreth. Thirty-one. Her aunt's brother. The man who worked in the farm with his own hands. Quiet. Disciplined. Impossible to read. Arthur keeps everyone at arm's length. Except somehow, not her. He never treats Trinity like she's broken. He never treats her like she's a child. And every stolen glance, every accidental touch, every moment spent alone blurs the line between comfort and temptation. She knows better than to want him. He knows better than to want her. But grief has a way of making people reach for the one thing they should never have. In a town where everyone believes they're saving Trinity, no one notices she's falling for the one man she can never have. Because some kinds of love heal you. And some ruin you so quietly, you mistake them for fate.