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3

Holt

This is the worst idea in the history of terrible ideas.

This is a fucking awesome idea , I can practically hear Caden reply. Got my popcorn and a beer. Let’s do this .

And that’s why I’m here.

Because since Caden died, I haven’t taken chances. I haven’t put myself out there. I haven’t lived .

Yes, I’ve played a successful season of rugby.

Yes, I’ve had fun with my teammates off the pitch.

But it’s been motions.

Not feelings .

Today?

Today, I have some feelings.

I fucked up last night, and it got Ziggy Barnes fired.

I should’ve noticed faster that she wasn’t at her station. But I didn’t because I was feeling a little like a creeper for looking her way too often, so I made myself ignore her .

Wasn’t getting the yeah, you’re hot, I’m hot, let’s be hot together vibes off of her, and I knew I needed to cool it.

But the minute I finally got a grip and quit staring, the incident happened, and I wasn’t there to stop it soon enough.

And after the incident , Brydie told me Ziggy’s been living in a hotel since returning to the States because living with her parents was, and I quote, not ideal .

Know a thing or two about not ideal parents myself.

See also, they’re both still alive, and they weren’t invited to Caden’s funeral, nor were they asked for help when he was sick.

I shake my head.

Not what I need to concentrate on now.

When I stopped in at the catering office this morning to turn in my gear and my uniform, I heard they’d fired Ziggy because of last night’s unexpected turn of events.

So I did what I always do, and I stuck my nose into someone’s business when they’re down, and I told Brydie that I’d help Ziggy get a new job. She gave me a copy of Ziggy’s résumé, and I’m looking it over once again while I remind myself that this is not me taking responsibility for a random woman’s life, but instead, offering her an opportunity that will be mutually beneficial for both of us.

Even with the I’m not into you vibes.

That’s not why I’m doing this.

I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do. The fact that she’s pretty and I could listen to her talk about wines for hours despite not liking wine at all is irrelevant.

Beyond the fact that her résumé is impressive and makes her look like a potentially good candidate for what I need.

Or at least not a bad candidate.

It doesn’t actually matter to me that she went to culinary school in New York and has a level two sommelier certification. Or that she’s done continuing education, studying Spanish and Italian—makes so much sense now why I couldn’t understand what she was muttering when I went to check on her after I escorted the fuckwanker who cornered her out of the building—or that she spent seven years working for Lusso Cruises.

Despite my first impression of her last night with that chicken, she’s elegant and sophisticated and way out of my league.

Knew that as soon as she stepped out of the restroom ready for work—black pencil skirt, white blouse, black apron, makeup fixed and curly hair tamed.

And then she stood in front of the roomful of Copper Valley’s richest residents, hosting an awards banquet to congratulate themselves for donating to various charities over the year, and she described every wine in a way that made my balls ache and put me under a goddamn spell of wanting to ask questions just to hear her say things like Rhone Valley and hints of tobacco and ashy soil and particularly good crop that year .

She’s fancy as fuck.

And now unemployed as fuck.

The unemployed part is the main reason I’m sitting in the parking lot of her hotel, next to her rental car, waiting for her to come out.

I’m not a total creeper—I got her number off her résumé and texted her to ask if we could talk.

Told her it had to be in person because I need to see for myself that she’s okay after letting her down last night.

After it was my fault she got fired.

Partially my fault. Not all my fault. Partially. But a crucial part. I should’ve gone looking for her sooner. When I found her, I should’ve told her someone needed her help.

Not gotten my boxer briefs in a bunch over watching a guy hit on her and make her uncomfortable.

Though it was satisfying to tackle the asshole.

Little gross too, given Ziggy’s method of trying to get him to back off, but satisfying.

It’s a good thing I’m leaving the country soon.

Probably a bad sign I’m still attracted to her despite what she’s demonstrated she’s capable of doing when she’s not interested in a guy.

And there she is, stepping out of the hotel lobby, pulling a suitcase, looking fucking gorgeous.

Her face twists up in an I’m going to puke expression that has me wondering again what’s going on with her.

But it could be the weather.

Hell has nothing on the temperatures in Copper Valley today. Whoever gave July permission to exist is an asshole.

I climb out of the air-conditioned interior of my Jeep and grimace myself as the heat smacks me in the face.

Ziggy spots me, and her face goes blank. More pink rises in her cheeks. Much like when I found her in her car last night, she’s in cotton shorts and a casual shirt, though today’s is a pink tank top instead of a T-shirt. Her curly light-brown hair is tied up in a loose bun with wispy, frizzy little hairs standing up all over her scalp.

Ziggy’s hair, zero. Humidity, one.

I take a hit to the chest where my heart lives.

What is it about this woman?

What is it about her that makes me want to put myself out there again ?

“Good morning,” she says in a pleasant tone that doesn’t match her wary eyes as her sandals tap the pavement.

I hate wary.

I hate that she has any reason to be concerned.

If I’d done my damn job better, she wouldn’t need to worry.

“Morning. Feeling better today?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

I angle another look at her suitcase as she approaches her rental car. Black. Simple. Small. Not much bigger than my overnight bag for away matches during the season.

“You checking out?”

Her nose wrinkles briefly before she blanks her face. “Sometimes smart financial decisions have to be made.”

“Moving in with your parents?” I ask.

She sighs. “Naked Tuesdays, here I come.”

“ Naked Tuesdays ?”

“Forget I said that.”

No chance. And now I’m imagining Ziggy naked. Maybe she has a secret tattoo. Birthmarks somewhere. Are her nipples light pink or a dusty rose?

Not the time, Webster .

I clear my throat. “There’s not a person on this earth who could forget you said that.”

Her wince is wincey enough that I feel it in my own face. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you here?”

“To apologize.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong. Except possibly judge me for how I ate my chicken. Which, clearly, was a bad idea. I should not have had that chicken. And I will likely never eat chicken again.”

Oh. Food poisoning . That makes sense. Shit. Been there. I should’ve checked in with her last night. When I didn’t have her phone number. “I should’ve noticed the situation with the dick-nugget sooner.”

“You’re supposed to be some kind of superhero, tracking everyone at every single minute?”

“That actually was what I was supposed to be doing. It’s the job.”

She slides me a look as she pops her trunk. “That’s an impossible task.”

“Still mine to do.” I snatch her suitcase and lift it in for her.

She’s traveling light.

And there’s not another suitcase in the car. No boxes. No bags. Not even the empty cloth grocery bags that everyone I know carries in their car these days.

Maybe she’s not checking out.

Regardless, she’s crossed her arms and is frowning at me. “It’s hot, so excuse me for being short, but you don’t need to feel any obligation to apologize to me. Or feel any shred of responsibility on my behalf. What happened was entirely my fault, and you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know you well enough to feel obligations or responsibilities to you.”

Those wide blue eyes telegraph if that was true, you wouldn’t be here .

It’s like she knows I agreed to take in my neighbor’s dog despite the fact that the dog hates me. That I make an effort to have dinner with even my most annoying teammates regularly in the offseason to make sure they’re doing okay physically and financially. That the schools hand out my address for every fundraiser since I can’t tell random kids no when they come to my door .

Or possibly those wide blue eyes are telegraphing that was an asshole thing to say .

Shit.

I’m usually good at this.

I shift on the pavement. It’s so hot the soles of my shoes are heating up. “I mean, I know I can’t stop shitty people from doing shitty things every minute of every event I work, but it’s human and natural to feel bad when you could’ve made a situation better instead of worse.”

Do I sound like a blabbering idiot, or am I being extra hard on myself because I want to impress this woman and I want her to like me even if I never see her again?

Both.

Definitely both.

And I’m making her uncomfortable.

The wary is back in her eyes.

As it probably should be. A guy smaller than me cornered her and made her feel uncomfortable and then called her names when she wasn’t interested, and now here I am, bumbling through offering to help her.

She probably thinks I’m here to ask her to get involved in my protein powder pyramid scheme.

“You didn’t make it worse,” she says. “What happened was…inevitable. And had nothing to do with what you did or didn’t do.”

“It was inevitable that a guy would corner you like that?”

“No. It’s not—actually, yes.” She sucks a breath through her nose and squints up at the sky. “Yes. Let’s go with yes.”

I know women get the shitty end of the stick when it comes to dealing with some guys. That’s a big reason my offseason job exists—to handle what happened last night because it happens too frequently .

But I get the impression there’s more to Ziggy’s story than when you work with the public, it’s inevitable that a guy will push boundaries he shouldn’t .

And the regrets at how I handled last night are getting heavier. “Sorry. Again. That I didn’t get there quicker.”

She shakes her head. “It’s fine. It ended fine.”

“You got fired.”

“Probably shouldn’t be working events right now anyway.”

“So you know, I quit.”

She presses her hands to her cheeks. “Oh my god .”

“Not because of you.”

If I hadn’t met her while she was shoving a whole roasted chicken in her face, the dead-eyed get to the point look she’s giving me now would probably intimidate at least some small part of me. Maybe an eyelid or one of my pinky fingernails.

I’d enjoy it too.

Not immune to teacher-librarian fantasies.

Fuck, it’s hot out here. “Last night was already scheduled to be my last night.”

“Oh. Good. Then I hope your next job is less exciting.”

“It’s overseas.”

The corners of her mouth tighten. “Did Abby Nora send you?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Enjoy overseas.”

She was overseas. Wonder if she misses it.

I miss it. Been a long five years since I left the league in the UK to come home and take care of Caden. “I will, but that’s why I’m here. ”

She glances down and seems to realize I’m holding her résumé in my hand.

I get another look.

A what the fuck is going on? look.

“I need a dog sitter,” I say quickly.

She speaks Spanish.

Don’t want her thinking I need a personal translator.

Wait.

Did I tell her I was going to Spain?

No, I just said overseas . She’d only know it was Spain if someone told her, and I doubt Ziggy got specific, accurate information about me from anyone last night.

If she asked.

Which she probably didn’t.

She stares at me blankly. “Have you looked at pet-sitting websites?”

Fuck.

She’s probably not a dog person.

“I was going to board her, but she’s not the type who will like that.”

“Is this a thing where you assume that since you saw me eating chicken like a dog would one time , that I must want a second job as a dog sitter?”

I’m the goddamn captain of a rugby team. I’m the wise one. The guy who solves other people’s problems. The guy that the other guys come to for advice. Advice on women. Sports. Buying a car. Picking jobs in the off-season.

And I can’t spit out what I actually want when I’m standing in front of Ziggy Barnes.

“Watching my dog comes with staying in my house. I’m offering you a place to stay while I’m out of town if you’ll watch my dog. ”

“That’s very kind of you?—”

I hate that phrase. Hate it. “Why’d you leave the cruise line?”

“Because when you’re puking every day, the guests get concerned about norovirus.”

“You puked every day for seven years?”

“Okay, near-stranger in the parking lot, what did you do, hire a private investigator in the last twelve hours? Where did you get my résumé?”

“Brydie.”

“She doesn’t have boundaries, does she?”

“No, but once you have her chocolate lava cake, you don’t care anymore. Stuff’s next-level delicious. Totally worth letting her pick apart your private life to get another slice. If you were seasick, how?—”

“Pregnant, Holt. I got pregnant, and then I got morning sick, and when I decided I wanted to keep the baby, I had to come home. That’s why I puked on Vitamin Man last night. Chicken and baby didn’t mix. Not right now anyway.”

Oh, shiiiiiit. Didn’t see that coming.

Also— fuck . I got a pregnant woman fired.

And I’m standing here thinking about her naked.

While she probably has a boyfriend or a husband.

No ring though.

And she’s living in a hotel and talking about moving in with her parents, and shiiiiit again.

This just got a lot more complicated.

She lifts a hand. “Don’t. Do not look at me like I’m a pity case. I’m perfectly fine. I’m looking for a house of my own, my parents are excited, I’ll find another job, and I’ll be fine. Thank you for?—”

“So you are moving back in with them. ”

Her eyelid twitches. “Likely for a short time. If I can survive doing my laundry at their house today.”

“And this Naked Tuesdays thing…?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You very clearly said that.”

“And I also very clearly asked you to forget you heard it because I didn’t say it.”

Huh.

I’m smiling.

I’m smiling at a woman because she’s funny.

And someone in my head is whispering that house needs babies after everything it’s seen .

Fuck.

Fuck .

It does.

That house needs new life in it.

“I’m gone for at least six weeks. Have a few contractors coming in and out. Could use someone to keep an eye on them. And walk my dog. If you’re a dog person.”

“I appreciate the offer, but?—”

“You prefer Naked Tuesdays.”

“You’re a complete stranger.”

“My neighbor’s a doctor. The kind that delivers babies.”

“How convenient.”

“Kitchen renovation is done. Brand-new appliances. Granite countertops. Built-in step stools hidden in the lower cabinets so short people can reach all the way up to the highest cabinets safely.”

That gets her attention.

Can’t miss the way her pupils dilate.

Getting her résumé was an excellent move .

“Are you selling me your house or asking me to house-sit?” she asks.

The question makes my brain hiccup.

It’s Caden’s house.

I can renovate it.

But I can’t sell it.

If I sell it, whenever I finally end my career and come home from Europe—and I am definitely getting a spot on a team somewhere overseas before training camp is done—I want to come home to Caden’s house.

I want to still have that part of him.

Even if I move to Milwaukee or settle in San Francisco or become a hermit in the Pacific Northwest, I want to know I can still see Caden’s final chosen home.

Ziggy fans her face. “Thank you for the offer?—”

“I leave in four days. If you want to see the house, text me. If not, I have friends who will check on it and I’ll board my dog.”

She flinches.

Not a little flinch either.

This is a whole-body, warn me before you slap me next time flinch.

This woman is a puzzle box of puzzles, and I’m so fucking curious right now.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” she says shortly. “Please excuse me. I have a meeting with a real estate agent and my mom. I hope you enjoy your trip.”

“What did I say?”

She shakes her head while she moves to the driver’s side door. “It’s not you.”

“Offer stands. ”

“You don’t know me. At all . You watched me throw up all over a man last night?—”

“He deserved it.”

He did, but she keeps going like she didn’t hear me. “—and otherwise, all you know about me is what’s on my résumé. Why would you ask a complete stranger to house-sit for you? I might be the kind of person who throws ragers. I might be a terrible dog sitter. I might paint the exterior an awful color for fun and sell all of your appliances for cash.”

“You saw things working on that cruise ship, didn’t you?”

She does a slow blink, and then the most magical thing happens.

Ziggy Barnes cracks, and she starts to smile.

I saw her smile last night.

It’s glorious. Like a sunset over the mountains. Rain in the desert. A great white breaching the ocean surface when you’ve given up hope of spotting it.

“I did,” she says. “I heard things too.”

“Would you destroy my house?”

“No.”

“Your baby daddy in the picture?”

She shakes her head.

Fuck yeah, we have a chance .

And I need to shove that voice in a damn box.

I’m not asking a morning-sick pregnant woman who’s all alone if she wants to get naked before I leave and maybe never come back.

“My dog’s not the kind that’ll be happy being boarded,” I tell her. Pretty sure I already said that, but it’s my best card right now.

I don’t add she already hates me, and this will only add fuel to the fire, especially since I don’t know if I’ll need to find her a new home or move her overseas with me when I make a team after camp .

I’m struggling enough with that.

I don’t let people down. I take care of them.

I moved here to take care of my brother. I take care of the guys on my team. I take care of my neighbors. I water their gardens. I mow their grass. I take in their pets when they die.

And Ziggy seems like a person who just needs a break. A person who needs a break because I was doing a shitty job of being the security guy last night.

“I’m still a stranger,” she says.

“Hard to feel like someone’s a stranger after what we went through last night. I wore your body fluids.”

She flips me off but also fails miserably at suppressing the laugh she’s clearly trying to hold in. “You’re a dick.”

“Stage two of not being strangers. You’ve seen me for who I am. A huge dick. That’s as low as I go, by the way.”

“Thank you for the apology.” She opens her car door, grimacing and retreating a step, which I assume is due to the extra heat rolling out of the car. “It was unnecessary, but thank you.”

“Four days if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“Good luck with everything. You seem like a nice person who deserves good things.”

Her eyes meet mine over the top of her car, and she blinks hard and fast like I’ve said the exact wrong thing. “Thank you. You too.”

I nod.

She nods.

She climbs into the car and cranks the engine.

I don’t wait to feel the heat off of it before I get back in my Jeep, which has also gotten hotter in the few minutes I’ve been outside.

I leave first.

It’s a rule. You don’t follow a woman you barely know out of a parking lot, so you do your damnedest to leave first.

Only you could find a single pregnant woman in need of a home on your last night working in Copper Valley .

Swear I can hear my brother cracking open another beer in my head too.

Too bad you’re a creeper and you fucked this up, but it was always a bad idea .

I puff out my cheeks, blowing out a breath as I steer my Jeep out of the parking lot.

This might’ve been a terrible idea.

But I made the offer.

And now I’ll never see Ziggy Barnes again.