Page 93 of The Bodyguard Situation

Brody leans back slightly, eyes distant. I carefully turn the page, coming across a picture of a young Brody, his smile wide and carefree, holding up a fish by the pond. I enjoy the innocent joy on his face and know that the young boy had no idea what was in store for him.

“You were really cute.”

He chuckles. “Were? I’d challenge that.”

“True.” I grin, nudging him with my shoulder. “Now you’re a wet dream.”

He rolls his eyes but laughs. “We used to come up here as a family. Fishing trips, hikes, Fourth of July. This cabin was our safe haven. My mom didn’t come from money like my dad did. This place was part of her inheritance, and she refused to get rid of it. Dad wanted to build something big on the property, a huge mansion that overlooked the town, but Mom said no. Humbled him.”

“Typical Calloway,” I say with a gentle laugh. I reach out, covering his hand with mine. “I love it here. The simplicity of it is something I’ll cherish.”

“I love you being here.” His eyes meet mine, and they’re full of warmth and gratitude.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” I offer.

Brody draws in a deep breath, leaning closer and pressing a kiss against my temple. “There’s no one else I’d rather share this with.”

The album rests open across our laps, each photograph becoming a bridge between us, connecting his past, grounding us to the present, and illuminating the fragile hope that maybe—despite all the darkness we’ve faced—our future might hold the kind of love our parents had. A type of love neither of us thought we’d ever find.

* * *

Brodyand I stand side by side at the kitchen counter, ingredients spread out in front of us. Preparing dinner together is a normalcy I’m growing used to.

Brody effortlessly chops vegetables, the knife moving swiftly. I watch him, impressed by how domestic he looks right now.

He offers me a smirk. “See something interesting?”

I don’t look away. “Just something I want.”

“Mmm. Well, tonight, you’re dessert.” His tone drips with gentle amusement, his eyes glinting with teasing mischief. “I even have whipped cream.”

I laugh. “Where will you put it?”

“All over you, and I plan to lick it off,” he counters smoothly.

“Can we have dessert first?” I ask.

He stops chopping and stares at me. “You’ll ruin your dinner.”

“Tease!” Rolling my eyes, I bump my hip against him.

His laughter is rich, and it makes my heart flutter.

“This feels right. Easy,” I say, dropping my gaze as I slowly dice bell peppers exactly how he showed me.

When I glance back at him, his expression is thoughtful, and his eyes are sincere. “It does.”

Silence settles between us for the next ten minutes, broken only by the sounds of our meal preparation. Tonight, we’re making skillet beef tips with steak, peppers, onions, mushrooms, and garlic.

Brody drops the seasoned steak into the cast iron skillet, and the aroma immediately drifts through the cabin. My mouth waters in anticipation.

“Once this is browned, we’ll take it out, then cook the veggies until they’re translucent,” he explains. “This is one of my favorite meals.”

“Yeah? You’re my favorite meal,” I tell him, reaching into the cabinet and pulling down two wineglasses.

Thankfully, we picked up a bottle of red from the store when we went.

“You’re such a bad fucking girl,” he mutters as I uncork it and fill our glasses nearly full.

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