Page 12 of The Bodyguard Situation

BRODY

My hat is pulled low and sunglasses on as I chill in a booth by the window of this fancy restaurant Weston insisted I check out. The menu looks straight out of a 1950s diner, but they’re serving smoked salmon and avocado toast. Go figure.

I lift my steaming coffee to my lips, enjoying the bitter warmth, and skim the menu again. I’m starving after skipping dinner to chase ghosts out of state, and my frustration keeps piling up with every dead end.

After I eat, I’ll visit the big house by the bay that Micah owns on this side of town.

“Whatcha havin’, doll?” the server—a woman with jet-black hair and a Jersey accent thicker than syrup—asks.

“Surprise me,” I mumble without looking up, still scanning the restaurant through the side of my sunglasses. I’m never relaxed in public settings, no matter how hard I try.

“How hungry are ya?” she presses, her gaze lingering appreciatively over my broad shoulders.

I ignore her flirty looks. “Starving.”

She bites her lower lip, scribbling on her pad. “I gotchu. The superhero breakfast.”

The irony almost makes me laugh. If only she knew I wasn’t feeling very heroic right now—more like a guy chasing shadows, haunted by past failures. She walks away, and I notice the local newspaper lying on the edge of the table. The bold headline saysJANE DOE IDENTIFIED.

I barely register the server topping off my coffee when my heart starts racing. Harper and Micah walk in, and a sick feeling twists in my stomach at the sight of him touching her. My fingers tighten around the ceramic mug, knuckles going white. I didn’t expect him to bring her out in public, but, hey, it’s a nice surprise. My luck couldn’t have timed this better.

Harper’s scowl tells me everything isn’t as perfect as she wants people to think. I quickly unfold the newspaper, hiding behind it to watch their reflection in the tall windows as they sit behind me. Harper’s scent—a mix of coconut and vanilla—fills the air, and it’s sweet torture. I close my eyes, knowing I could pick her out in a crowd.

The server greets them and Harper immediately orders and Micah followers her lead. The tension stretches between them as their coffee is delivered.

Micah finally clears his throat. “Everything okay?”

Harper’s voice shakes, irritation and vulnerability creeping in. “That woman thought I was your daughter, and you said nothing.”

My jaw tightens, teeth grinding. He’s way too old for her—honestly, there are moments when I feel like I am too. Harper’s only thirty-two, and I’ll be forty in six months. Eight years. It’s one thing that has held me back. Truthfully, there’s a list of reasons we could never be together. But age was why I rejected her when she made a move on me at eighteen. Harper needed to grow up and experience the world. Dating a teenager at the age of twenty-six isn’t okay in my book. She was barely legal.

“Why does it matter?” Micah’s words are like nails on a chalkboard.

His dismissiveness sends a fresh wave of anger rushing through me. My fingers twitch, and I seriously want to smash his smug face in with this coffee mug. It takes everything in me to stay put and not make a scene. Getting arrested would do no one any good, especially not Harper.

“If you don’t understand why it matters, then I can’t explain it to you,” Harper shoots back, surprising me with the strength in her voice. I haven’t heard that in weeks. “Maybe I should’ve ordered from the kids menu,Daddy.”

Oh, she’s very pissed.

I almost choke on my coffee, trying not to laugh. I watch as the server brings over a plate, piled high with pancakes, bacon, eggs, and hash browns, her earlier flirtation forgotten in the tension between Harper and Micah.

Micah tries to save face. “Does it bother you that I’m twelve years older than you?”

“No,” Harper snaps back. “What bothers me is when the man I’m supposed to marry doesn’t claim me publicly.”

The thought of Harper marrying him hits me so fucking hard that it nearly takes my breath away. Time is precious, and life is fragile.

“I’m sorry, baby girl. I’ll address it moving forward if it upsets you so much.” Micah’s apology breaks me out of my thoughts. His words sound empty, but wrapped with a thin layer of care to cover his shitty facade.

“You know,” Micah goes on, changing his tone to sound kind, “I was thinking about this marriage discussion we had. What if we just went to the courthouse this week and got secretly married?”

My stomach drops. He’s trying to rush things, to trap her faster than even I thought.

Harper hesitates. “I need to think about it. This is too big of a decision to make on a whim.”

Good girl.

“You’re marrying me before the weekend, or I’m calling it all off,” Micah demands, and it’s too aggressive.

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