A/N: Hi all! Long time, no write! Thanks to quarantine, as is the case with many of us, I've had a little more time on my hands. So, naturally I came back to fanfiction and decided I wanted to write. Because I have a tendency to leave stories unfinished and because that usually means that they don't turn out exactly as I envisioned them to be, I decided to finish writing this one before posting. I am about three quarters of the way through writing it, so as you can see, I have the patience of a toddler. Nevertheless, outside of an event of disastrous proportions, this story will not be abandoned.

I'll be posting weekly on Sunday. However, that doesn't mean that I wouldn't be willing to post earlier if persuaded! :) The rating will change to M a few chapters into the story.

A special thanks to Elm, who took a look at some of the chapters for me and helped me work out some kinks. The disadvantage of posting a story post-writing/editing is that you miss out on really helpful feedback from the readers and she returned that benefit to me.

I posted a playlist of songs for this story on my profile page, if you are into that sort of thing. :)

Disclaimer: While I did borrow shamelessly from the original, I fully acknowledge that it doesn't not, and never has, belonged to me. Any deliberate quotes or descriptions taken directly from the book were chosen solely in an attempt to keep the characters as close to Margaret Mitchell's depiction.

Read and Review!

Scarlett stood by the grand bay window of her home, staring out at the "for sale" sign that was placed in the yard next door. The yard that belonged—had belonged—to Ruth.

It was world altering for Scarlett on multiple levels.

It had been two months. Just long enough that she could think about the life altering event without breaking. She could now comprehend it on some rational level. Her grasp of it was almost ruthlessly practical now. Of course, the house had to be sold. God knew Scarlett would never be able to cross over the threshold again without experiencing that pounding ache that was nearly physical. Ruth was everywhere in that house. The smell of the house alone could undo Scarlett in an instant. The bittersweet nostalgia of time past. Not just time with Ruth. But time with her mother too.

Ruth had been her neighbor in the house next door since before Scarlett could remember; her mother's best friend and "other half", as Ellen used to say. She was like a second mother to Scarlett; a grandmother, "Nanny", to her children. With Ruth gone, Scarlett was forced to face the reality of the loss of both women. Even though her mother had been gone for many years, Ruth had held her together. She was the woman she was today because of Ruth. Ruth, who had pushed her to make a life for herself. To stand on her own two feet.

Scarlett O'Hara was no stranger to loss. Thirty-one years of life and they hadn't been particularly kind to her. In her childhood years she had been "spoiled rotten", along with her two younger sisters. Those days were a distant memory in light of all that followed.

She had lost her mother and her father, all before she had been legally deemed responsible enough to do something as simple as drink a glass of wine or book a hotel room. She had nearly lost her family home, in a battle over her father's estate, due to her father's grief-stricken choices after her mother passed.

She had lived through the deaths of both of her children's fathers.

But this—

Scarlett closed her eyes against the sting of tears. She quickly pulled in a deep breath before releasing it, willing her mind back to that place of rigid pragmatism she had practiced in recent days.

As shattering as all of the devastation was that had come before, this was different. She had been young when her parents died. More resilient. Her worldview only just formed. Same with Charles. Same with Frank. She was older now. Ruth had been the foundation upon which her capricious life had been laid. With that foundation now compromised, the structure was unsteady. She knew that she could withstand anything that life threw at her, but it didn't make it easy.

Quite the opposite.

The grandfather clock in the foyer rang out. 3 p.m. Ella will be home soon. And Wade, not long after that. And the realtor had mentioned that there was someone coming to look at the property this evening around 4 p.m.

Apparently, the potential buyer was very interested.

The realtor had arrived a few minutes early and was tidying up the porch. She spotted Scarlett, who was observing from her own porch with a cup of coffee in her hands, and greeted her from across the rails. Scarlett ached, briefly remembering the last time that she and Ruth had sat together—Ruth in her rocking chair on her own porch; Scarlett mirroring her on her porch swing—gossiping and enjoying the Atlanta heat.

"Ms. O'Hara! How are you today?"

Scarlett gave her a half-hearted smile. "Just fine. How are you?"

"Doing good, doing good..." She replied, heels clicking against the treated wood boards of Ruth's porch as she fussed over the decorative pillows and the hanging plants. Scarlett couldn't remember what kind of plants they were. Ella and Wade probably knew. They had loved to help their Nanny water them...

Scarlett took another sip of coffee just as Ella screeched from within the house so loudly that it rattled the windows. Scarlett grit her teeth and rolled her eyes before heading for the door, a little embarrassed—the realtor had startled at the sound before politely returning to her pruning—and immediately aggravated that this new nanny, the one she had been forced to hire when she no longer had Ruth around to help, couldn't control the two siblings. The children had been positively out of control since...well, since Ruth had passed.

Scarlett peaked in just as the idiot girl was coming around the corner, completely oblivious and obviously searching for the two children.

"Priscilla!" Scarlett hissed. The girl jerked and turned towards Scarlett, her bright blue eyes wide, her pale cheeks darkening. Though only God knew how it was possible to see any natural color peaking through all of that caked on makeup. "Contain the children, please! There is a potential buyer coming to visit the house next door. They will be here any minute, and I would prefer for them to assume that we have even a modicum of sense."

The girl paled and stuttered as Scarlett slammed the door, turning back towards the greenery in her own yard. She took another sip of coffee before the realtor spoke again, probably in an effort to ease what she would presume to be Scarlett's discomfort with Ella's outburst. Scarlett ground her teeth.

"Have you thought any more about selling your home?" She smiled. "I have mentioned it to a few buyers and they are all very interested."

"I'm not sure." She said curtly, frustrated at the thought that this woman was trying to ease her.

"Well, take your time. But people ask me about the historic homes on this street all of the time. I will say that if you were ever going to sell—"

"This is the time to sell. Yes, I know." Scarlett sharply replied. The realtor's smile faltered a bit but she perked right back up as a car pulled into the driveway. Scarlett continued, "My house has sentimental value. It wouldn't be an easy decision to sell, for any amount of money." The agent nodded in understanding, obviously distracted, before turning to greet her clients.

A man—a very tall, attractive man—glided out of the driver's seat before heading towards the passenger side door. The man glanced her way briefly before double taking and pausing, as if in shock. Scarlett started as the look was quickly replaced with a rakish grin that made her feel like she had been caught. Doing what, she didn't know. She started to smile back—

In a split second, she realized exactly who he was and her stomach bottomed out, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth. His own grin widened, and he chuckled.

He wasn't much changed since the last time she had seen him. His jet black hair was now peppered with silver around his temples. He still wore the same facial hair, short clipped and neat. She'd almost think that he had lived in a time capsule for the last ten years...

He kept his eyes on Scarlett until he assisted the passenger from her seat. She was an older woman, probably his mother or older sister, judging by their resemblance to each other. Scarlett noticed the woman's astonished reaction to the house and she remembered why they were here. To see Ruth's house.

Oh, God, no!

Of all the people on the planet!

Rhett Butler.

She stumbled into the house as memories pummeled her:

"Scarlett, it's so easy," Cathleen urged. She was Scarlett's "rebel friend", kicked out of their Catholic school before she could graduate with Scarlett's class, just two years before. She had snapped a compact shut before placing it back in her designer bag, which Scarlett had eyed covetously. It had been beautiful and in another life she would have been pleased to wear it on her shoulder. But in her current circumstances, Scarlett couldn't help but think about how the money that had bought the piece of cowhide could have bought diapers for little Wade for a year. "You just spend time with them. Nothing dirty or anything. And they just give you stuff for, like, being around them or whatever." Cathleen leaned in and spoke as if she were telling Scarlett government secrets. "This one guy that I met at a business party gives me an allowance every month. Two thousand dollars! All I have to do is go on a date with him one night a week!"

Scarlett had been intrigued but not convinced. Cathleen continued. "Once I get a few more like him, I'll be making bank." Cathleen glanced down at her nails before shoving Scarlett's shoulder. "I'm telling you, Scarlett, you need to get in on this. You have the face, the body. You're young! You could use the money…" Cathleen had glanced down at Scarlett's thrift store jeans and t-shirt with disdain. "Just come to this business party this weekend. One of my other "sugar baby" friends knows the host. If you don't like it, no harm done!"

Scarlett was peering out her dining room window, watching guardedly as he walked into Ruth's home.

She had been twenty year old single mom to a toddler, who had very recently lost her father and was on the brink of losing all of her worldly possessions. She had felt there was no harm in trying out...alternative lifestyles, if it could possibly benefit her and her family in the end.

Cathleen had made it seem so easy. But Cathleen had never met Rhett Butler.

She continued to glare out the window in complete disbelief. Of all the people in the world, this man had to show up to—

Oh no…

Rhett could end up being her neighbor. She gasped out loud at the thought. This...this cannot happen.

Scarlett ran around her house for the next hour, trying to keep busy and glancing out the windows towards Ruth's house every time the opportunity presented itself.

When they finally exited the home, Scarlett was in the dining room, dusting the curio cabinet contents absentmindedly. She immediately flung herself at the window, trying her best to hide behind the sheer curtain.

It didn't work.

The agent—Scarlett realized she had never even bothered to remember her name—saw her and gave a surreptitious thumbs up before turning back to the man and his...relative. What did that mean?!

Damn it! Scarlett balked as she watched the agent lift the "for sale" sign from the front yard the following afternoon.

So he had made an offer.

Scarlett rushed to her cell phone and dialed Ruth's personal assistant, Tara, who was also the executor of Ruth's estate. She confirmed that, yes, someone had bought the property that morning.

"Bought? Don't you mean they put a bid on it or something?" Scarlett insisted.

"No, he, uh, he paid cash. When I met him, the buyer, with his attorney this morning, which was a miracle in and of itself, to have an attorney on-call like that. Must be on retainer or something...But I mean the man is obviously loaded so why wouldn't he have an attorney on retainer—"

"Tara, please stop rambling and get to the point."

Scarlett heard Tara scoff over the phone. "Jesus, Scarlett. Chill. You need to get laid." Scarlett was piqued momentarily, and considered explaining to Tara firmly and in her most judgemental voice that sex wasn't the cure to all that ails a person and she had done just fine without it for (how old was Ella?) many years before Tara continued, "My point is he bought the house this morning. With cash. Well, not like, with a bag of cash but...still. He had a whole team of people running around here this morning to make it happen. He didn't even haggle, Scarlett." She paused. "And he was...very attractive."

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "So...did they mention if he was buying it for a vacation home or...something?" Scarlett attempted to sound nonchalant but she was really hopeless at subtlety.

Fortunately, Tara was as observant as a brick wall. "I think his mom is going to live there?"

Maybe that meant Scarlett wouldn't be forced to see him very often. "Well...good." In an attempt to change the subject, Scarlett asked, "Have you decided which job you are going to take yet?"

"Not yet. Thank you for the references and for submitting my resume to some of your colleagues, by the way. It gave me the freedom to be a little picky..." Tara advised, sounding grateful but distracted, which gave Scarlett the out she needed to end the conversation.

Scarlett placed the phone back on the counter and contemplated her absolute shit luck. Walking to the living room, she sank into the couch, disbelief clouding her mind.

How?

How was it possible that of all the people in the state of Georgia this man had to be the one to buy the house right next door to her? At least Tara seemed convinced that the home was for his mother and not him.

His mother had seemed normal enough. Maybe she wasn't as infuriating as her son. Scarlett understood that her new neighbor didn't have to be her best friend or anything but it was hard for her to imagine not having some kind of relationship with whoever lived there, considering the fact that the person who had last lived there had basically been her family.

The grandfather clock chimed. Ella would be home soon. That silly Priscilla would be here soon too. Scarlett sighed and cheered herself with the knowledge that she was returning to work tomorrow, after taking an extended bereavement leave. She had been working from home since Ruth's passing. Her supervisor insisted that she take time to grieve.

God's nightgown, didn't the woman know that the last thing that she wanted to do was grieve? If she hadn't been home grieving, she wouldn't have been here to encounter that dreadful man!

Returning to work would be good for her. Busy hands make light work. That was the saying, right?

Actually, it definitely wasn't the saying but that wasn't the point. The point was she would keep busy over the next little bit. Maybe he would assist his mother with moving in and then leave.

Saints, she hoped so.

Two days later and a fleet of trucks, along with an army of movers and contractors, had taken over the roadside parking, much to Scarlett's ire. Priscilla had arrived that morning to get the children off to school and had nowhere to park. Scarlett had been forced to allow her to use the driveway. Which meant having to play a game of musical cars when it was time for Scarlett to leave.

The drive to her office used to be one of the most relaxing parts of the day. But as of late, Scarlett didn't appreciate the quiet in the same way. It was too easy to fall into the angst of sentimental longing. Something that was easier and easier to lose herself in, the older she got.

Thirty-one was, by no means, ancient but at times it felt like it was. Sometimes, Scarlett felt like she had already lived many lives. She had lost, loved, failed and regenerated so many times it was hard not to feel that way. Sitting in her quiet car, forced to reflect while making her way through the Atlanta morning traffic, it was starting to weigh heavy on her heart, just how tiring it all could be.

She thought of turning on some music. But so many songs were triggering for her, reminding her of someone or something she had lost. Listening to the radio was like playing Russian Roulette with her emotions. And most of the music she owned reminded her of Ruth in one way or another. She could listen to a podcast. But the thought of engaging in any capacity sapped out any small desire to do so.

She was in a strange state of mind these days. One that felt almost like a crossroads.

When she found herself confronted with these moments, she thought to pick up the phone. To call someone. But with Ruth gone, she would draw a blank. She wasn't close to her sisters. She had no friends, really. Outside of work colleagues.

Long ago, she had decided that survival was more important than community. Now that she was surviving and thriving but had swiftly lost the small community she had, she was starting to realize how essential friendship was to survival. Scarlett was starting to wonder if it wasn't just as essential as a roof over your head, clothes on your back and food in your stomach. She felt distinctly how very alone she was and the feeling was as unpleasant as an empty stomach.

She would like to have a friend.

Well, she did have one.

At the thought Wade's doting aunt and her ex-sister-in-law, Scarlett ceased up with anxiety and shame. Every bit of her Catholic upbringing reared its ugly, guilt-ridden head, and insisted that taking any sort of help or comfort from Melanie Wilkes, as willing as Scarlett was sure she would be to give it, would ensure her a one way ticket to hell.

It wasn't particularly surprising that Scarlett wasn't close to many people. People were high maintenance. She wasn't good at being a friend. Her friendship with Melanie Wilkes was proof of that. Why the woman still attempted to keep up a friendship with Scarlett when they were separated by several states was beyond Scarlett. Part of it was Wade, yes. But Scarlett knew that if she knew the truth, she would never want to see Scarlett again. No, she wasn't a good friend.

She thought of the unforgivable act—the friendship killer—that she had committed against Melanie years before, that no one knew about except the unendurable man that was currently moving his mother into the house next to her. She wasn't very...good. She swallowed and her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

At the rising tide of emotion swelling up in her chest, she put the thought out of her mind. It didn't make any difference whether she liked every little thing she had done with her life. With the exception of that one unforgivable act, she couldn't have done it differently. Wouldn't have. The risk of losing had been too great. She hadn't had the luxury of a guilt-free conscience when confronted with her circumstances. She hadn't had the luxury of compromise.

Maybe that meant she was going to hell. Well, no need to think about that just now, if she was.

But maybe it did mean that she could call Melanie, to hell with her conscience.

Maybe.

To talk to someone. To be treated with care, without pity or without having to pay them by the hour.

She planned on getting home very late tonight, in a concerted effort to avoid Rhett Butler, just in case he was around to be avoided. Nevertheless, Chicago was an hour behind Atlanta. Maybe it wouldn't be too late to call Melanie then.

Maybe.

It was 10:02pm when she pulled into the garage. She cut the engine and took a deep breath before pulling the keys out of the ignition.

She was tired. She had accomplished a lot today and with the accomplishment came a sense of satisfaction. Made it easier to breathe. When her mind was occupied, it was always easier to deal with everything else.

Scarlett noticed that the trucks had dispersed. The house next door appeared to be completely dark, save for a small light in an upstairs window. She breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that meant that her new neighbor was down for the night, and all of the visitors were gone. Meaning that she could take her glass of wine out onto the porch tonight. She needed the fresh air after having been stuck indoors all day.

She briefly remembered her plan to call Melanie tonight, but quickly decided that, more than a friend, she had simply needed a hard day's work.

It was definitely not because her shredded conscience still held her back. Still, something in her felt a sort of desperation for companionship.

Maybe tomorrow.

Ten minutes later, she had changed into her comfiest pajamas and had a large glass of merlot in her hand as she headed out to the porch. She brought her tablet with her so that she could look at her itinerary for tomorrow, making some notes to send to her inadequate assistant. She didn't bother with the porch light, worried that it may draw bugs. She curled up on her porch swing, content to stay there for a long time.

"I see that you are a creature of habit."

Scarlett jumped, an ungodly, high pitched squeal leaving her lips. She turned her attention to what had been Ruth's porch. She could just make out the silhouette of Rhett Butler, holding a cigar that glowed brightly on one end as he pulled from the other. He chuckled softly before continuing, "Though a little jumpier than I remember."

"Oh—I-I am not sure that I know what you mean. I don't think we've met before." Her hand was shaking so badly she could hear the wine in her glass sloshing around. She gripped it tighter.

"Ah," He laughed before standing and approached the railing adjacent to her porch. His arm crossed over his chest. "Forgive my effrontery. I believed you to be a very intriguing young lady that I had the pleasure of meeting many years ago before a certain–er–misunderstanding drove a wedge in our friendship." Scarlett was thankful for the cover of darkness as the heat rushed to her face. "And if I am being completely candid, I was immensely delighted at the prospect of rekindling our acquaintance. She had the most bewitching green eyes… But, alas, another hope dashed." He took another pull from his smoke, smiling widely at her, his teeth glowing in the darkness.

Scarlett took a deep breath. "I am sorry to disappoint you." She quickly turned, eager to reach the sanctuary of her closed—and locked!—door.

He laughed again. "Not at all, Ms. O'Hara." She gasped—he remembered her name! She swiftly jetted inside, before running up the stairs to the safety of her bedroom.