Page 92 of The Bodyguard Situation

His expression softens, surprise flickering in his eyes before warmth floods his gaze. He steps closer, tucking hair behind my ear. “Maybe one day. When you’re ready—because I know you’re not.”

“Thank you,” I say, the genuine sincerity in his words melting something inside me, replacing all my fears. I lean into his touch. “I just hate that they’re turningthis—us—into something ugly.”

Brody shakes his head. “It’s about perspective though, isn’t it?” He glances down at the picture of us kissing. “I think that’s very fucking beautiful.”

“You’re right,” I tell him. “And I’m supposed to be the one who finds the bright side.”

He smirks. “I’m a changed man.”

A chuckle escapes me. “That’s what we call the power of the pussy.”

Instead of being upset, we laugh together, and he pulls me into him.

We dance barefoot in the kitchen, and I tilt my head up to meet his gaze.

“Tell me something real,” I say as he spins me around.

“I can’t imagine a future without you in it,” he says.

“Neither can I,” I admit as my breath catches.

Brody leans down and captures my mouth, and he tastes like mint and coffee.

“We’ll make it through this. After storm clouds come flowers and rainbows.”

I smile. “It’s the only thing that keeps me hanging on.”

After we eat brunch, the day stretches out in front of us. It’s easy, and it offers a sense of calm despite the shitshow that waits for me outside of this cabin.

Brody suggests we spend the afternoon relaxing, away from screens and messages and the relentless gossip columns. I couldn’t agree more.

Eventually, I wander toward the built-in bookshelves lining the far wall of the living room. Fingertips brush over the worn spines of books that have been read several times. The shelves are filled with thriller novels, old notebooks, and magazines. My attention catches on a thick, leather-bound photo album, tucked neatly among it all.

“What’s this?” I glance at it.

Brody’s eyes look at the album, and a faint smile tugs at his lips. He stands from the couch and walks toward me. “Family photos.”

I look up at him. “May I look?”

He nods, sitting beside me as I settle on the couch, the leather cool beneath my fingers. His thigh presses against mine, and it’s comforting. I lift the cover, revealing pages filled with memories of smiling faces, holidays, birthday parties, and everyday moments, made precious with the passing of time.

I study each picture, careful not to rush, allowing Brody space to process whatever feelings surface. He remains silent at first, his breathing steady beside me, but I can feel him tense.

“That’s my mom and dad,” he finally says, pointing to a candid picture of a laughing couple, eyes bright and carefree. “They were high school sweethearts. Together forever, right up until the very end.”

I glance at him, noticing his faint smile, tinged with sadness.

“They look really happy.”

“They were.” His voice grows gentle. “They had the kind of love we always hear about, but never think is real.”

“My parents were the same way,” I admit. “It bothered me for a long time and made me think there was something wrong with me because I’d never be able to live up to what my parents had.”

I give him a small smile, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “Then Zane fell in love, and I realized I wasn’t doomed after all.”

This makes Brody laugh because my brother is a known hard-ass. “You’re not doomed, Harp.”

“You’re not either,” I tell him.

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