Page 43 of One Wrong Move

“And what’s that?”

“I want you to answer a question honestly.”

The stab of fear is instant. As if she reached into my heart and squeezed. But it recedes with a few rational thoughts. There’s no way she knows.

I haven’t shown any signs of it.

I raise my bow and aim deliberately off-center. My arrow misses the target entirely. “You want me to accept the odds when I don’t even know what the question will be?”

“Yes.” Her tone is still excited, energy drumming beneath the surface. “Or are you scared?”

“You’re baiting me, but I’ll admit that I’m intrigued.” I line up another shot and deliberately put this one on the bottom of the target. Just barely hitting the outer circle. “All right. You’ll have your honest answer if you win… but if I win,” I say, lowering my bow, “you don’t move out at the end of the week.”

Harper lowers her own bow in surprise. “What?”

I reach for another arrow with calmness I don’t feel. “If I win, you won’t rush to move out.”

“Nate… I can’t impose on you indefinitely.”

“It’s not an imposition.” I raise my bow again and focus on the target, and not on the green eyes I know are resting on me. This time, I hit the upper edge of the target. Still far away from the bullseye. “If I win, you give yourself a month instead of a week.”

“A month,” she breathes.

“Yes. No stressing about moving out.”

Harper digs her teeth into her bottom lip. A small furrow lies between her pulled-down brows, and a shadow falls over her thoughtful eyes. I feel them trying to figure me out.

“Why?”

“Why not?” I ask in response. My fingers grip another arrow, holding the feather-light weight up in the air. “I’m out of the house most days. It’s good to have someone there to take care of it.”

“Like, water the plants?” Her voice is so incredulous that it makes me chuckle.

I spin the arrow around in my hand. Meet her gaze with a steady one of my own. I’ve been in plenty of negotiations. I’m more than capable of smoothing over awkward situations and convincing people to do what I need. What the company needs…what the family needs.

“I don’t want you rushing into another dumpster of an apartment, in an area known for its crime rate, with an hour-long commute.” I nock the arrow in the bow, aim, and take a deep breath. Shoot.

“Darn,” she murmurs.

Yeah. I hit it right where I intended… on the edge of the paper. Not even on the target.

“I can’t be responsible for your premature death,” I say with a drawl and lower the bow. “If I win, you take a month, and you search for something that’s safe and comfortable.”

Her eyes are narrowed, but then she glances at my abysmal performance with the bow and nods. “All right. It’s a bet.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

I smile behind her back. “Three shots, highest combined points wins?”

“Sounds good,” she says.

We retrieve the arrows we’ve already shot and head back to our starting positions. There’s an undercurrent of energy I can’t quite shake. It makes my skin feel tense, and my fingers fist tightly around the light handle of my bow.

“Ladies first,” I say.

She hits the middle ring and grins in surprise at her own success. It’s infectious, seeing this zeal. It’s the same intensity she’d had at the exhibition event at London Modern a few nights ago.

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