Page 43 of The Bodyguard Situation

“You’re right about that,” she admits, before she tucks her face against my shoulder, like she’s hiding from her admission.

But I felt the electricity streaming between us and saw the sparkle in her eye.

I know with bone-deep certainty, that I’m not just falling for her. I’m already hers. And somehow, she’s mine. Neither of us are brave enough to admit it, but eventually, we won’t be able to deny it.

11

HARPER

The smell of strong coffee pulls me out of sleep before the sunlight does.

For a minute, I lie there, half buried in soft blankets, listening to the creak of the porch swing just outside the bedroom window.

I don’t move. Because the second I do, I’ll have to admit last night actually happened.

The laughter. The way Brody caught my ankle like he didn’t want to let go. How he looked at me like I wasn’t just another mission he was stuck babysitting, but something he couldn’t seem to walk away from.

I roll onto my side with a groan, dragging the quilt over my head like it might muffle the memory.

It was the magic of the sunset. Or maybe the playfulness of the cheese-puff fight got to our heads. Except … I felt the undeniable electric charge streaming between us. The one that’s always there, like it’s lurking in the shadows, waiting. Underneath the jokes, there was something bigger than us both, and the thought of that scares the hell out of me.

I sit up, the quilt puddling in my lap, and run my hands through my hair as thoughts of Brody fill my mind. The two of us is what I’ve always hoped for, something I dreamed about as a lovesick teenager. Brody was always my secret crush, the uncatchable one.

Nope. Not even going there. Not when we are stuck in this cabin together for God knows how long. I have absolutely zero chance of surviving if I start acting lovesick. I push the thoughts away.

I shove my feet into a pair of socks and shuffle toward the kitchen, determined to drown out last night with caffeine and denial.

Brody’s already up—because of course he is—and judging by the trail of fresh wood chips tracked across the floor, he’s been outside, chopping things. Probably to work off whatever emotional slipup he’d made. A fort protects his heart, one I haven’t been able to overtake.

I catch myself smiling at the thoughts. They’re uninvited, those traitorous little things.

No. No smiling about Brody Calloway. No letting him get under my skin either. I’m here to clear my head, not lose my heart. But even still, I can’t help the fantasy of it all. Micah already feels like a distant memory. I will erase him from my mind completely.

I grab a mug from the cabinet and fill it full of coffee, ignoring how my hands feel lighter than they should.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a scandalous little voice whispers,You make that man forget his rules.

And even worse, he makes me forget mine too.

By the time I wander outside, the sun is creeping higher. The grass still has dew, but eventually, it will disappear.

I spot him immediately—Brody Calloway, an emotional disaster, pretending to be one with the earth.

He’s at the edge of the property, raking piles of leaves that honestly didn’t need raking. His shirt is rolled up to his elbows, his jeans are dusted with dirt, and there’s a determined set to his shoulders that screams,Leave me the hell alone.

Subtle. Really subtle, Calloway.

I cross my arms and lean against the porch rail, watching him for a few minutes. It’s not just the way he’s attacking the yard like it pissed him off that concerns me, but how he won’t even glance toward the cabin. Like if he doesn’t look at me, he can pretend he didn’t feel the shift between us last night.

Ishouldlet him have his little retreat, but watching him rake the same patch of grass over and over like he’s fighting demons? Yeah, that’s not happening. I see through him like he’s glass, and I won’t allow the self-torture.

I hop down the porch steps and saunter toward him, calling out casually, “Careful, Calloway. Keep that up, and you’ll start a turf war with the squirrels.”

Brody doesn’t stop raking, but I catch the twitch of his mouth, the almost smile he’s fighting like hell to bury. He jabs the metal rake into the ground and finally looks at me, wiping his arm across his forehead.

“What do you want, Harp?” he asks, gruff but not mean.

I pretend to think about it, tapping my chin. “Well, I’m actually here to make a proposal.”

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