REILLY
S he sat on my couch like she belonged there. Bare knees together, skirt smoothed down, back straight like she was still trying to impress someone. Or maybe like she was bracing for impact.
I didn’t blame her. I didn’t have the warmest welcome-home energy. Never had.
She’d taken off her shoes at the door without me asking. Now her toes curled against the rug while her eyes roamed the living room—stone fireplace, heavy log furniture, and not a throw pillow in sight.
I fucking hated throw pillows.
“I thought there’d be more plaid,” she finally said.
“Plaid’s overrated,” I muttered.
She smiled at that. I didn’t. I couldn’t. My brain was busy running back everything I’d seen when she climbed into my truck. Every curve. Every inch of skin that wasn’t hidden by that long-sleeved blouse and super tight, knee-length skirt.
I was trying to be decent. Really trying. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how she looked in that damn pencil skirt. And I sure as hell couldn’t stop thinking about how she thought I was supposed to marry her.
I cleared my throat and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. “You want anything else? I don’t have much in the way of dessert. I have peanut butter and milk. Not sure if that helps.”
“I’m good,” she said, catching the bottle I tossed her.
We sat in silence, the air between us loaded with things I didn’t know how to say. I’d let her into my home, but I still hadn’t figured out what the hell to do with her.
“I can sleep on the couch,” she offered after a while.
“You’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“Well, I’m not sleeping in your bed.”
“Didn’t ask you to. I told you I have a guest bedroom.”
She nodded, then looked at me. “You really didn’t know?”
“Nope.”
“All this time, someone else was pretending to be you?”
“Seems like it.”
She leaned back against the cushion and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath since the moment we met. “Well, I’m here now. And I’m not going back.”
I raised a brow. “You’re not?”
“No.”
“That’s it? Just…no?”
“That’s it.” She lifted her chin and stared at something slightly to the right of me.
“I left for a reason. My mother—she’s the kind of woman who arranges your entire life before you’re old enough to drive.
Debutante balls, charity luncheons, business school I didn’t want to attend.
If it were up to her, I’d already be married to some perfectly polished bore with a Rolex and no backbone. ”
“So you came here for a lumberjack with a temper?”
“I came here for a chance to breathe.” She sighed. “And yes, I wanted a husband. I wanted someone who didn’t care that I’m not Ivy League or Stepford material. Someone who chops wood, builds things, maybe fixes his own truck.”
She paused, eyes returning to my face. She waited for a few seconds, like she expected me to interrupt. I didn’t.
“I wanted to get married, start my little business here, and finally figure out who the hell I am without my mother pulling the strings,” she said. “Do you know I’ve never been given the freedom to date who I want? That’s why I’m still a virgin.”
All the air seemed to have left my lungs as I took in that announcement.
This woman had never been with a man? She looked to be in her early twenties, sure, but I was guessing twenty-three or twenty-four.
It’d been more than a decade, but when I was that age, the women I dated were at least a little experienced.
But I didn’t comment on that. First, because I didn’t know what to say, but also because it would most likely make her feel self-conscious about it.
I leaned back, arms crossed. “You figured this town was the answer?”
“I figured a fresh start was. I figured you were.”
There it was again. That quiet, unapologetic certainty. She said it like it wasn’t crazy. Like it wasn’t completely insane that a woman would fly halfway across the country and walk into a stranger’s life with her heart gift-wrapped and ready to go.
“I’m not going to marry you, Bridget.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
She nodded. “And I said I know.”
“You say that, but?—”
“I’m not asking for a fairytale, Reilly. I’m asking for a shot. We can date, and if you decide you don’t want this, we’ll end it. No fight from me.”
I just stared at her. She said it like it was a business deal. Like we were swapping rings to start a car wash or buy a duplex. Except she didn’t look like a woman making a cold decision. She looked like a woman trying not to get hurt by one.
“You’re serious,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And you’re a virgin.”
Her cheeks flamed, but she held her ground. “I wanted my first time to mean something.”
My jaw tightened. I shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have let that mental image in. Her in white lace, cheeks flushed, mouth parted, soft and untested and waiting for me to show her what it meant to be wanted.
I shifted on the couch, trying not to think about how fast I’d close the distance between us if she even hinted she wanted my hands on her. Just one hint would be all it took.
“This isn’t how life works,” I said.
“It’s how mine works now.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling ten kinds of wrong for even letting this conversation continue. But I couldn’t make myself end it. I couldn’t make her leave. And I sure as hell couldn’t ignore the part of me that didn’t want to.
“You’re not making this easy,” I said.
“I’m not trying to.”
I looked at her again, really looked at her. The nervous girl in my truck had straightened her spine and drawn a line in the sand. She wasn’t just here for some backwoods fantasy. She was fighting to get her life back. And for some reason, she thought I was part of that.
Bobbi had set this up. I didn’t know whether I wanted to strangle her or thank her for it.
“You can stay,” I said finally. “But don’t confuse that with agreeing to anything else.”
She smiled just a little, and it punched something deep in my chest. “I never confuse hospitality with a proposal.”
“Good,” I growled. “Because I don’t play house.”
“No,” she said, standing up and stretching, her shirt lifting just enough to tease the edge of her soft stomach. “But you are sharing one with me. Tonight, anyway.”
Then she padded barefoot toward the guest room, hips swaying, like she hadn’t just turned my whole damn life upside down.
And I sat there on the couch, completely and utterly screwed.