Free Dream Lake by Lisa Kleypas

All I’m doing is getting into the car and driving to the cottage.’ Don’t worry about the rest of it, just do that. And once you’re there, say to yourself, ‘Step two. All I’m going to do is unlock the door and go inside to wait.’ And when Alex shows up: ‘Step three. I’ll let him in and chitchat for a couple of minutes.’ ” Justine gave her a self-satisfied smile. “See? None of those things are so terrible by themselves. It’s just when you view them all together that you start to feel like you’re sprinting away from a rabid tiger.”
    “Spiders,” Zoë said. “I’m not stressed by the idea of a rabid tiger. Spiders are what scare me.”
    “Fine, but that ruins the metaphor. No one has to sprint away from a spider.”
    “Wolf spiders chase down their prey. And black widow spiders can move very fast. And there are leaping spiders that—”
    “Step one,” Justine interrupted firmly. “Find your car keys.”
    From the moment Alex had pulled up to the lakeside cottage, the ghost had seemed riveted. He’d stopped talking, for once, and stared in open fascination, taking in every detail.
    Alex couldn’t figure out what he found so interesting. The house was small and rustic, with cedar shake siding, a covered front porch, wide eave overhangs, and a stone chimney. Craftsman details like tapered boxed columns on the porch and a fieldstone foundation made it the kind of place that, when properly restored, would have a certain amount of charm. But the cheap carport on the side was a detraction. And it was apparent at first glance that the property management company had done a mediocre job of upkeep. The landscaping was untidy and overgrown, the graveled driveway choked with weeds. If the inside had been as poorly maintained as the outside, there were going to be problems.
    Since they were early and Zoë hadn’t arrived yet, Alex decided to walk around the exterior to look for mold, damaged siding, or foundation cracks.
    “I know this place,” the ghost had said in wonder, following Alex from the truck. “I remember being here. I remember—” He broke off abruptly.
    Alex glanced at him, sensing the wistfulness in his mood. “You lived here?”
    Looking troubled, the ghost said distractedly, “No, I was … visiting someone.”
    “Who?”
    “A woman.”
    “To do what?” Alex persisted.
    Although the ghost wasn’t capable of blushing, his discomfort was impossible to miss. “None of your business,” came the curt reply.
    “So you were boning her?”
    The ghost glowered at him. “Up yours.”
    Pleased at having annoyed him, Alex continued to wander around the exterior of the house. The satisfaction faded quickly, though, drowned in the awareness of a yearning so powerful and raw that it almost hurt to be near it. Did the ghost know who or what had inspired the feeling? Alex was tempted to ask him, but somehow that seemed brutish … the only way to respect that degree of unexpressed pain was to keep silent.
    “She’s here,” the ghost said, as they heard the crunch of tires on the graveled driveway.
    “Great,” Alex said dourly. The prospect of talking to Zoë, interacting in even the most mundane way, was enough to make him break into a cold sweat. He reached up to the back of his neck to rub the tense muscles.
    The ghost had been right when he’d called Alex a coward. But Alex wasn’t worried for his own sake.
    The failed marriage with Darcy had confirmed some of the worst things he had ever suspected about himself. It had taught him that intimacy not only gave you the weapons but the will to hurt the people you were closest to. And most of all it had convinced him that he was fated to end up like both his parents. He would inevitably destroy everything and everyone he cared about.
    The worst of the damage had become apparent after he and Darcy had separated. They’d continued to have sex on the occasions when she came to the island. “For old time’s sake,” Darcy had said