I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS. THEY BELONG TO THE CW NETWORK. THIS IS A WORK OF FANFICTION BY OMEGABEAST.

PROLOGUE

The all too familiar white house came into view as Catherine's car turned right. The sound of the gravel crunching under the tires signified her arrival at a place that was still deeply embedded in her heart. After leaving the attorney's office, where she was informed Grammy had bequeathed her the house and a small sum of money, she had decided to take one last look at the property before selling it.

Pulling up and getting out of the car, she surveyed the place that had been her refuge in the past. Unless of course, her selfish, conceited mother came rushing into town. It wasn't that often and definitely not for very long. As quickly as she could finalize one divorce and hunt another willing and able sucker down, to continue the charade of being a trophy wife. Whatever disaster was left in her wake, didn't register on her radar. Her daughter was nothing more than a nuisance, that she quickly dropped off to Grammys, before the ink on the discharge papers from the hospital were dry. Evelyn Chandler hadn't even deigned to show up for Grammy's funeral. No one was surprised, most of all Catherine. She had been disappointed by her mother most of her life, but now she was old enough to recognize her for who and what she was. A narcissist.

Entering the house, she was taken aback. Utter disarray was an understatement. Items were strewn about as if someone had been rummaging through them, searching for something. Surprisingly, the house wasn't as rickety as she had assumed. Entering the last room, the past collided with the present. Her old room opened a portal she had closed ten years ago. She had written to Grammy while away at college and even visited her in the nursing home, but this was her first time since leaving town, being in the house again. Old pictures and posters reminded her of the life she had left behind. She wondered had it been worth it. Had she sacrificed everything for the sake of her own selfishness or simply ran from her mother, the bane of her existence?

Catherine took one last look at the dilapidated remains of her childhood home. Nostalgia suffused her body, slithering through her veins, gripping her heart. She backed into the wall as memories accosted her. Her eyes lost focus as she drifted into a holding pattern. In vivid detail, she saw her and Grammy sitting on the porch, talking and laughing. As if looking through new eyes, the priceless treasure steeped in history, spoke to her clear as day.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she brushed specks of dirt off her jeans. With each brush, despair and regret diminished. Ten years ago, she had left this podunk town, vowing never to return. Of course, that was after a heated argument with her mother, but obstinate as she was, she had kept her promise, only returning when Grammy entered the nursing home.

Catherine stepped out onto the porch, breathing in the country air, relishing in the sounds of summer. In that moment, the finality of her situation impacted like a ton of bricks. Grammy was gone! But as one revelation faded, an idea manifested. This was her home and she was staying. Decrepit and dated, it was hers to start anew.

CHAPTER 1

Vincent stared at the clock. His mind willed his body to move, a command lost in translation. He groaned, while turning over, sensing the day ahead was going to be a tedious uphill battle. Stomach pangs added to his agitation, forcing him to leave his bed sooner than planned. Swinging his legs to the side of the bed, he stood up to his full height. Padding across the floor and down the hall to the kitchen, he scoured the pantry and refrigerator for some type of nourishment, finally deciding on toast, grits, and turkey bacon. After quickly preparing breakfast, he sat down to eat. With a spoon of grits halfway to his mouth, a loud buzzing noise suddenly pierced the air. Vincent jumped up, nearly knocking the chair over. Frowning and on the brink of furious, he rushed over to the window. In the distance, he spotted someone standing by a saw horse. Seconds later, the buzzing sound filled the air again. Unfortunately, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. Having heard enough, he barreled out the back door, fuming mad, headed to confront the source of his ire.

Small towns were supposed to be quiet, peaceful and serene. Construction noise early in the morning was a direct contrast to that belief. Reaching the yard, he approached the lone worker in overalls and a cap.

"What do you think you're doing?" he said, his words dripping with anger.

The worker turned around and Vincent's stomach lurched. His heart skipped several beats and his mouth suddenly became drier than the Sahara desert. He found himself tongue-tied and mesmerized by her emerald green eyes. Seconds felt like minutes, before he heard the sound of her sweet voice.

"Hi," she said.

Unable to collect himself, he simply glared.

In a professional tone, she asked, "May I help you, sir?"

Taking aback by her beauty and calm demeanor, his anger abated, but unfortunately his bad attitude didn't.

With one last scowl, he said, "No. You may not. Good day."

Catherine watched the mysterious man walk away, wondering what had just happened? He was tall, dark, handsome, and he could teach a class on brooding. Whoever he was, apparently he wasn't too pleased with her. It was if he had taken one look at her and found her wanting. The man was an enigma, that surprisingly, intrigued her. The little voice in her head reminded her that she was there to renovate the house and get her life together. The fascinating stranger with the captivating blue eyes, didn't factor into the disaster called her life, so leave him be. A man of his caliber surely wasn't interested in her. A living, breathing, Mr. Darcy, in the flesh. And to make matters worst, next door. Not only was her composure hanging by a thread, her concentration was nonexistent. And just like that, her morning was sabotaged by a man. Insufferable, but gorgeous man. She shook her head. It was going to be a long summer with Mr. Panty Dropper living next door.

...

Vincent knew he was being rude, but he was so disconcerted, he couldn't restrain himself. He had never experienced a reaction of that magnitude to a woman. A mere woman. A mortal woman. He shook his head as he ambled slowly toward his house. He almost chuckled to himself at how fast his ego deflated, followed by his anger, after one look. That woman was trouble and he'd best stay away from her. Who was he kidding? He would need more than a wing and a prayer, for a woman like that to even feign interest in him. Women like that weren't interested in some old battered war veteran. And why was she doing construction on that deathtrap? Entering his house, he headed straight to his bedroom. Climbing back in bed, he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His day and neighborhood had taken a nosedive and he hadn't been up a good hour yet. Upcommance had delivered a bowl of cruel and unusual punishment for breakfast, and undoubtedly, life as he knew it, was definitely over.

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