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I’m not used to seeing Holland look despondent, but he seems to be stressed about the Most Eligible Mister stuff.

I never thought of him as a guy who would want to settle down.

He’s always seemed content to keep things casual with the women he’s been with since Poppy.

But I guess I was wrong. Judging from how serious he’s taking the process of this show, he wants it to work for him.

“You shouldn’t give up on it,” I hear myself say. I blow out a breath. Apparently, I’m in the business of relationship pep talks now. “You’ve got some great women here.” I think of Mindy Sue and Britt, especially. They’re accomplished and beautiful and fun. They’d be great matches for Holland.

I glance over at him, and he’s staring at me again. He gives me a small smile. “Thanks. I know you’re right. It’s overwhelming. You can say you told me so,” he adds, his grin turning wry.

“I told you so,” I deadpan.

He laughs, and his shoulders drop. He lets his head fall back against the couch.

“Your mom was sweet this morning.” He turns to look in my direction.

“Everything still okay on the home front for you? Because if you have to leave, the offer still stands. To take a page out of Belle’s playbook, I don’t want to be like the beast, keeping you locked up in the castle. ”

I snort. “I appreciate that.” I tug my knees to my chest. “Things are okay…for now.”

I don’t know if it’s the lingering effects from the cold medicine or what, but I find myself wanting to tell Holland more of the back story with my family, to make him understand why I am the way I am and why I’m doing what I’m doing here.

“My mom was diagnosed with Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy about five years ago.”

Holland frowns in confusion, so I go ahead and fill in the blanks for him.

“It’s a disease that affects her nervous system, and it’s been pretty crippling. She’s unsteady on her feet, and her arms are often tingly. It’s completely changed the way she lives. She used to be so active, and now she’s pretty restricted.”

Holland sits forward on the couch. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” I clear my throat. “It’s been an emotional tornado, for all of us. She handles it better than my dad and aunt and me most days.”

“She always seems so cheerful.”

“She is, but sometimes I wonder if she’s putting on a brave face for my benefit.” I sigh. “She’s the best person I know, and I’d do anything for her.”

Holland nods. “You’re a good daughter.”

I shrug. “I try. That’s why I’m here. I couldn’t turn down the money.

She needs regular physical therapy, but she and my dad don’t have a lot of savings, and my dad has always been self-employed, so insurance is of minimal help.

They worked hard my whole life, but we had some things come up that set them back financially, and so now I help them out.

What you pay me to coach you goes a long way, but the therapy is expensive, so the MEM money gave me the security of knowing I could help my mom for a long time. ”

Holland’s gaze bores in to me. He slowly nods. “You’re a good daughter.”

My cheeks heat. “You said that already.”

“Just making sure you know it’s true.”

I chuckle. “Well, thanks.”

We’re quiet for a minute, and I worry that maybe I overshared.

“If there’s ever anything I can do to help. Please, let me—“

“No,” I cut him off. “That’s very kind, and I appreciate it. But I don’t want handouts. I can work, and I’m good at what I do.”

“You are.”

I smile, a warmth from his praise spreading out from my chest and making my whole body melt.

“That’s why I’ve always kept things professional with you. I need the money, and I can’t have anyone in the industry calling in to question my skill set. My work is too important to me and my family. I can’t let anything jeopardize that.”

He mulls that over. “That explains why you’re all golf, all the time.

“Pretty much.”

“Do you let yourself have any fun? With friends? A boyfriend?” Holland says it in a way that’s light and breezy, but his stare is intense.

“My fun consists of spending time with my parents and my aunt. My travel schedule with you doesn’t leave a lot of room for me to see friends, much less a boyfriend.

Someday, I hope. But, I’m focused on building up a nest egg so my parents can breathe easier.

I’m sort of one-track-minded, and I can’t afford to let anything derail my efforts.

So no…no boyfriend right now. I’ll leave the romantic relationships to you.

One relationship is enough in our partnership, don’t you think? ”

He doesn’t respond, just closes his eyes and leans his head back.

I do the same .

“I’m glad you told me,” he says after a while. “For the record, you can coach me as long as you want. I’ll always pay you what you’re worth, which is a lot.”

I chuckle and glance over at him. “I appreciate that. I want to do a good job for you, Holland.”

He blinks and opens his eyes. “You do.”

I nod. “I’m going to go back to bed. I think rest is the best way for me to kick this bug.”

“Sounds good.”

I stand from the couch, and Holland follows me.

“I’ve got an extra toothbrush from the dentist somewhere around here.” He follows me into the room I napped in and opens the door on the far side, which reveals a small en suite.

I look around the room clearly for the first time.

There’s a dresser with a drawer partially opened.

T-shirts are folded neatly inside. There’s a hanging rack for baseball caps on the door to the bathroom.

A sweatshirt is tossed over the side of the chair in the corner.

This doesn’t look anything like a guest bedroom.

It looks like a bedroom that’s lived in.

That’s used frequently. Like every day. By Holland.

He emerges from the bathroom. “I set the toothbrush next to the sink for you.”

He crosses to the dresser and tugs open the top drawer, grabbing a pair of flannel pajama pants out of it.

“Bradley,” I say between my teeth, “is this your bedroom?”

He looks over his shoulder at me. “Yeah.” He turns. “What’s with that face?”

“Why did you let me sleep in your bed?” My voice rises with each word. This is bad for me. Really bad.

He frowns. “It’s the only bed here. This is a one-bedroom apartment.”

“Oh my gosh.” My cheeks are volcanic. I look to the bed—that’s unmade. There’s still the indent of my head on the pillow, and all the covers are rumpled from where I tossed and turned during my nap.

I slept in Holland’s bed.

I drooled on Holland’s pillow.

The number of professional lines I’ve crossed today is too many to count.

“It’s not a big deal, Mal. Don’t worry about it. I’m going to sleep on the couch. This is not going to be an only-one-bed situation.” He winks at me.

My mouth falls open, and I point at him. “You are a romance reader!”

He clicks his tongue. “I’ll never tell.”

He walks past me on the way out of the bedroom, and I catch another whiff of him. How does he smell so good? “Make yourself comfortable. We should be up and out of here early tomorrow morning, though. Daisy said she’d help us sneak you back in to the inn.”

I nod, because what else can I do?

Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to get any sleep tonight, knowing I’m in Holland’s room, with the scent of fresh grass lingering all around me.

“Thank you…for everything today,” I say weakly as he turns to leave.

“It’s nothing.” He pauses and glances back at me. “I’m glad I could be here for you.”

We stare at each other for a long moment.

It feels like something shifts between us, and whatever it is throws me off balance.

I’m drenched with dismay because I can’t deny how much I’ve enjoyed talking to Holland.

It’s going to be difficult to lie to myself and keep him in the box I’ve always kept him in.

Not when he showed me some of his heart.

Not when he proved himself caring and sweet.

My lungs are sapped of air. I need to retreat.

Starting tomorrow, the walls separating Holland and me are going back up.

I vow it to myself then and there, even as I swear Holland is looking at me like he’d like nothing more than to cuddle up next to me in his bed and continue our conversation.

I shake my head slightly. He probably wants his bed.

Who wouldn’t? It’s a comfortable mattress.

“I can sleep on the couch,” I blurt.

He frowns. “Absolutely not. You need your rest.”

“So do you!” I protest. “The Grand Masters—“

“Mal, chill. I’ll be fine. It’s a comfy couch. Besides, all your germs are all over my sheets.” He makes a face, and I splutter out a laugh.

He smiles a genuine smile, and the sight of it holds me in place, arresting my lungs and forcing me to break eye contact.

“Fine,” I croak. “But only because I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Good.” He chuckles softly. “Goodnight, Mallory. Sweet dreams.”

He closes the door with a quiet snick, and I hurry to put myself to bed, but then I lie there, eyes wide open. I’m terrified that I’ve lost all control of my mind and, more dangerously, my heart, and that when I fall asleep, the only thing I’ll be dreaming about is Holland.