Page 8 of No Place Like Home

I stuck to the outskirts of the town, not wanting to go through Main Street, following the directions Prescott had given me.

“Oh, hell no,” I whispered as I passed Juliet and Prescott’s childhood home.

I hoped this was not the place he said he had for me. Mr. Dunnett still lived there—alone. Served him right. His ex-wife lived with Prescott since he was the single one, and his house was far too big for just him and his ego.

I was glad he’d found me that day before I could make a huge mistake.

It was almost three in the morning when I pulled up to where he had told me. He was right there, leaning on the side of his car. You know, this was when I really thought I would have found him looking a little relaxed and not with the stick he had up his ass.

He had on gray pants and a crisp-looking white shirt rolled at the sleeves. His legs were crossed with one arm in the pocket of his pants, the other scrolling his phone. His handsome face was perfectly groomed. No tie, just the top button was undone, and his dark hair styled back.

“Seriously,” I mumbled to myself.

Did he always have to look like a poster boy for a cologne ad? Would it have hurt him to wear sweatpants other than for fucking jogging?

I pulled my car next to his, and that was when I let myself feel it. The gravity of what was about to happen. When I’d left, I was scared and broken, and now I was a little less scared, a lot less broken, but a whole lot more confused.

I got out of the car and waved at him. He did not find this amusing.

“Three a.m.?” He raised a brow at me.

“It’s what Satanic people do,” I joked.

He glared. Guess he didn’t find the humor in it, but I did. I could joke about it now, and it hurt a little less every time I did it. My therapist was right. You had to take back the power, and once you did, you realized how words didn’t have meaning unless you let them affect you.

“You owe me big time, kiddo,” he said as he made his way over to me.

I used to hate it when he called me kiddo. I used to hate many things that made me feel included or a part of something. I didn’t let myself think they were for me.

“My offer to marry your old ass still stands,” I told him as he leaned down to hug me. “It would still be doing you a favor.”

It was a lie. He was still handsome as ever…and he thought of me as his niece.

He pulled away and looked at the backseat of my car.

“And how will we explainthat?” He pointed to the back.

I glared, because no one ever wanted their kid to be called a that.

“We adopted,” I joked, mainly to ease my nerves.

Prescott shook his head as he went around to get my sleeping toddler out of her carseat. Once she was in his arms, he began walking to the house. I grabbed my bag, turned off the engine, and followed him.

“One look at Quinny, and the whole town will know who her father is,” he bit back as he opened the door.

Prescott was right, and I knew he wasn’t happy with any of my decisions over the last three years. And I also knew he hadn’t helped me because I was his niece or whatever. Sure, it was a part of it, but his reasons almost felt selfish.

But I didn’t dare ask. He wasn’t the type of man to share his story. So I figured I would just take advantage of the hand he had offered me, even if that hand came with a list of conditions.

The house was tiny. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to see it fully decorated. Everything inside was fancy like the Dunnetts’. It had a bathroom and two small rooms. I followed Prescott; he turned on the lights as he went. He opened the door to the room I assumed would be ours. It had a queen-sized bed, fully furnished, and he laid Quinn in the middle. She had been so tired from our drive that she didn’t stir once.

I put my purse on the counter and watched as Prescott touched my daughter's head, then looked around the room, and sadness crossed his face.

“So, how did you find this place?” I asked.

“It’s mine,” he clipped.

“I guessed that much since your dad lives on the other side.”

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