Page 6 of I Do With You

She blinks rapidly, her eyes getting sparklier with every flutter of her lashes. “No, he’s ... Roy’s fine. Nice. But I couldn’t ...” Big baby-blue eyes land on me, pleading with me to understand what she’s saying, though it makes less than zero sense. “I couldn’t marry him.”

“Do you have to? Can’t you say no?” It’s a logical question—reasonable, even, given that it’s the twenty-first century and we’re not in cult territory. I don’t think. Though that probably wouldn’t have been highlighted in the scavenger hunt book, so what the fuck do I know?

She narrows her eyes, pinning me in place with a cold stare. There’s a newfound thread of strength as she snappishly informs me, “I thought Iwantedto marry him, but then I wasn’t sure. I was standing there; he said his vows—which sucked and were not the sweet, romantic things he was supposed to say—and when it was my turn, I ... ran. And now here I am.” She looks at the trees around us. “My mom’s gonna kill me. Do you have a phone so I can call her? I need to tell her I’m okay, just crazy.”

Those two things do not sound the same, but I’m not going to argue with the lady in the forest. On second thought, maybe this is one of thoseIf you see something in the woods, no you didn’tsituations. But if she’s a skinwalker, I’m already a goner, given that I’ve not only acknowledged her but also talked to and touched her. She felt real enough, warm and a little sweaty beneath my hands, so she’s probably real.

And she really needs help, of one kind or another.

Is it bad that my first inclination is to walk away? As bored as I am out here, I don’t want to get tied up in more drama when I’ve got enough of my own, and this woman hasDrama Queenwritten all over her, from the intricate beading on her dress to the silver-toed white boots I can see peeking out beneath the hem.

But I don’t abandon her. Despite my misgivings, I can’t. It’s not who I am.

Unfortunately.

Thanks a lot, Mom. You raised me to be a too-nice fuckup, and now I’m gonna die at either Psycho Bride’s or her fiancé’s hands and end up as an urban legend for Maple Creek—wherever the hell this is.

I shake my head. “I left it. Communing with nature, you know,” I say dryly as I wave my arms around us at the encircling trees. “But you can walk with me to get it. It’s not far, about thirty minutes that way.” I point back down the trail from where I came, toward the cottage I’m renting.

Miss Bride looks at where I’m pointing and then looks behind her, in the direction she hauled ass from.

“Or you could go back?” I suggest, halfway hoping she chooses that option.

That seems to be unacceptable, because she hitches up her fluffy dress in both hands and gestures down the trail with a stubborn jerk of her chin. “Lead the way.”

I hesitate to give her my back because for all I know, she’s thebaitin this bait-and-switch deal and I’m the dumbass mark about to get mugged. But I don’t get that vibe, so I start walking, taking care with my pace since she’s got the huge dress to contend with. I’m quiet for a few minutes as we walk, letting her think, because I’m sure there’s a lot going on in her brain right now. Mine is definitely going like a shredding guitar solo.

Runaway. Lost in love. How bad were this guy’s vows that they sent this woman careening off into the forest in satin and lace?

“My name’s Benjamin, by the way. Or Ben. Either’s fine,” I begrudgingly offer after a bit.

“Hope,” she replies.

I think it’s her name, not that she’s hoping for something. Though, given her current situation, she’s probably got some hopes being shattered with every step farther away from her wedding.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, peering over my shoulder.

She cuts her eyes my way. “No.” It’s a complete sentence, leaving no room for waffling or misinterpretation.

“Fine. However, I’m an uninvolved, nonjudgmental third party,” I say, if only because some talking might make this weird mindfuck of a situation a bit more normal. “I can listen if you want—hype you up and give carte blanche agreement that Roy’s a complete shitstain who doesn’t deserve an amazing woman like you.” I’m rambling to ease the awkwardness because Hope has started sniffling a bit. And while tears seem like a reasonable reaction to skipping out on your wedding, I hate to see a woman cry.

It works. She huffs out a small laugh, and it feels like a victory, although she stays quiet.

“Thanks for helping me,” she says as we round a curve in the trail. “And sorry for interrupting your bird-watching.”

I nod, accepting her apology even though I don’t give a fuck about birds. “Can I tell you a secret?” I ask, hoping to entice her. I glance over my shoulder again, this time finding her staring at my back with an inscrutable expression. Not waiting for permission, I divulge, “I don’t even like birds. Or the forest. Or being alone in the middle of nowhere, with no one to talk to but myself. It’s a dangerous place up here.” I smile as I tap on my head, which has been giving me all sorts of ideas about how to deal with Sean and AMM. “You’re the first person I’ve seen in three days, and I might start telling you my life story just to get my words out.”

That’s all mostly true. Especially the birds and forest part. As for being alone? I thought it was exactly what I wanted—a break fromSean, fans, the hustle and bustle of touring. But being alone gives my brain time to think about my part in the drama with Sean, and I’m not ready to face that yet.

The only lie in what I’ve said? That I’ll tell Hope my life story. That’s a closely held secret I don’t share with anyone, per my AMM Records contract. Apparently, “mystery” is good for press too.

Chapter 3

HOPE

Ben’s place is exactly what I knew it’d be when he pointed in this direction. The Cottage Resort is one of the most popular vacation spots in Maple Creek. It’s also a complete misnomer. There’s nothing at all cottage-y or resort-y about them—no pool, no fancy landscaping, and nothing luxurious.

In fact, the 1970s mobile homes housed park rangers once upon a time, but years ago, the rows of manufactured buildings were reincarnated into their current lives as kitschy tourist traps. But lipstick on a pig aside, it’s still a trailer park.

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