Page 7 of A Bride for the Bodyguard

Taking one last deep breath, I tap the send button.

“I’m in.”

Chapter Three

JACK

“Two black coffees, please,” I tell the barista through the drive-thru intercom. “Oh, and a couple of blueberry muffins, too, if you have them.”

“Sure thing, sir,” her voice crackles back. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s it.”

As I pull away from the window, rain tap dances on my windshield. The sky is painted in shades of somber grey but inside me, it feels like sunrise.

My girl said yes.

After I proposed to Marlie out of the blue yesterday, I honestly didn’t expect to hear from her again. But then, last night, she texted me two words that sent my world spinning on its axis: “I’m in.”

The relief was so intense that I wanted to shout out loud right there in my living room. Even against this morning’s dreary backdrop, I feel like I’m floating above the clouds.

With every passing hour, I become more sure that Marlie is ‘the one.’ Not just for show or for this assignment but for real. Love at first sight seems insane but it’s exactly how I feel about her.

I don’t want to scare Marlie off, so I won’t tell her this right away. But I know that once we’re married, even if it’s all make-believe, I won’t be able to let her go.

I’ll still hold up my end of the deal. The money and the store are hers. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove myself to her. Buy her whatever she wants, give her everything she needs. But once we say I do this afternoon, Marlie Watts is mine.

Forever.

I arrive at Marlie’s apartment ten minutes later. And when she opens the door, she’s wrapped in a fluffy pink bath towel that barely contains her curves. Another towel is twisted on top of her head while a few damp strands escape down the nape of her neck toward her perfect cleavage.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I’m running a bit behind.”

“No worries, baby,” I reassure her, my tone light. “We’re not in a rush. Take your time.” I hold up one of the coffee cups in my hand. “Brought you this, too.”

Marlie accepts the cup with a grateful smile as she steps aside to let me in.

Her apartment is compact but spotless, an organized chaos that seems to reflect her personality. The walls are painted a soft cream color and covered with framed photos and artwork that give it a homely feel. A small kitchenette occupies one corner, its counters scrubbed clean and gleaming under the overhead light.

“Nice place,” I murmur as I glance around. “Have you lived here long?”

“About five years,” she replies as she walks past me into the kitchen. “I’ve had this apartment since I moved here.”

“Oh, you’re not a local?” I ask, intrigued by this new piece of information about her.

She shakes her head and takes a sip of her drink. “Nope. Most of my family lives in Wyoming.”

I lean against the counter. “So, what brought you all the way to Vermont?”

“I came here for culinary school. Graduated last year.”

“So why stay?” I ask.

She shrugs lightly as she replies, “I guess it felt like home. Plus, it was a good base while I was getting my business off the ground.”

Suddenly, Marlie seems to remember she’s still wearing her bath towel. She hastily sets down her coffee cup on the nearby counter. “Um, I’m going to finish getting ready,” she announces, making a beeline for her bedroom.

“Sounds good,” I reply. “I’ll take your stuff to the truck.”

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