Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
WEST
"Just head back to Atlanta after you talk to Marshal," I told Marcus as I paced the living room, glancing at the clock again. Blue was on her way, staying the night so we could get to know each other a little more. Which, under normal circumstances, sounded like a decent plan. But these weren’t normal circumstances. They never were with her.
“What shall I do?” He asked, apparently unaware of how to spend his time alone.
“What do you mean what shall you do? Take a damn day off. Go fishing, drink a beer, take in a Kings game. I don’t care.”
Marcus smirked but shook his head, “That isn’t what I meant.”
"We’ve got an extra driver and Marshal can take us to the airport tomorrow morning."
Marcus, in all his ex-military glory, didn’t even blink. "Who do you want picking you up Monday?"
"Both of you. The executive airport’s halfway between Atlanta and Harmony Haven. She’ll need to head back here, and I’ll need to get back to the city."
He nodded and pulled his phone out when it chimed. Then, without a word, he held the screen toward me.
“Miss Caldwell is here,” he said, showing the gate cam feed.
“It’s Mrs. Brooks,” I corrected with a smug smile.
“Maybe she kept her own name,” he suggested.
“She didn’t,” I called out as he walked toward the foyer and approached the door.
But instead of calmly opening it, the damn thing flew open like a storm had just blown in. Hurricane Blue. And clearly, I was the poor bastard in her projected path.
"You’ve got some nerve!" she shouted, stomping toward me like she’d been rehearsing this confrontation in the car.
Marshal followed behind her, hands up like he was trying to wrangle a loose animal. Marcus lingered, watching to see if I needed backup, but I gave him a small nod for him, and Marshal, to get lost. I could handle Blue alone.
Barely.
Without realizing they’d left, she got up in my face and started firing off again. "Do you even know what you’re doing? Do you even care? Did you do this on purpose?"
I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her. I wanted to calm her down, not because I was some saint, but because I hated seeing her so riled up.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
No I didn’t. But judging by her reaction, my confused silence only made things worse.
“Yes, you do!” she yelled before I could reply. “This isn’t some wild coincidence, it can’t be.”
"Was everything okay at the bar today?"
Wrong question. She flared again.
"Of course it was!” she snapped.
“What about your dad? Is he–”
“My dad’s fine, too. This has nothing to do with the bar or my dad. Stop trying to play dumb!”
I blinked once. Twice. Hell, I might’ve blacked out for a second because I had no damn clue what she was talking about.
She turned in a slow circle, breathing hard, looking out the window at the lake. Then she stared up at the ceiling fan, watching it spin like her thoughts were doing the same, and finally landed on me again.
“Who decorated this place?”
“Tammy Davis?” I offered carefully. Was that a trick question?
“From the fabric shop downtown?”
“You know her?”
“I may not be from Harmony Haven, but I’ve been crossing the tracks my whole life. I know a lot of people.”
She didn’t say it as a brag; it was more of a warning.
“She did an okay job,” I said, glancing around at the decor, wondering if they were friends and this was a set up. “Didn’t really care what it looked like. Just needed it furnished.”
She looked around a little more, her nose turning up at the pillows Tammy had picked out which matched the brown leather couch, which was definitely not stylish. After a minute of silence, she dropped onto the couch with a huff.
“This is my house,” she muttered.
“Well, dear wife,” I said, sarcasm in full force, “I guess for the next month or two, this is your house. If you want to redecorate, be my guest. You already want the pool table out of my library in Atlanta.”
“No.” She got up and walked to the window, arms crossed.
“This was supposed to be my house. Big open floor plan, wide doors, porch access to the lake without needing to take a million stairs. It was the only house on the water that could’ve worked for my dad’s wheelchair, and it was in my price range. ”
“What?” I asked quietly, not wanting to sound like a moron.
She turned, voice quieter as well. “I made an offer. It was accepted. But before we signed the paperwork, you came in with a bigger one. Took it right out from under me.”
“What?” I said again and blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“I had no idea,” I said. “My realtor never told me there were other offers. I paid under asking.”
Her head snapped around. “You what?”
“I offered under asking. I told my agent if the place had been sitting for a year, get it. I figured it needed some TLC.”
Her expression shifted. “I offered full price. They told me someone came in higher and had plans to flip it. They even told me not to worry, and said the house would be back on the market soon, and ‘better than ever.’ But I couldn’t afford ‘better than ever.’ I needed it as is.”
I glanced around. Nothing in the house screamed luxury, but it was cleaner and updated. Modern. Livable.
“The plan was to sell it, but then I needed somewhere to stay when I’m in town. This house just spoke to me when I finally saw it, and I never resold it.”
“They probably took your lower offer because it was you. The agent practically glowed with excitement and let it slip that you were the buyer. She said we’d find a new house, maybe the one next door because it was about to go on the market.
But it’s too big and too much, and I was done looking. I’ve pretty much hated you ever since.”
“I had no idea,” I repeated, though the weight behind her fury was starting to land. To me, it had been a business move. To her, it looked like I’d taken the one bar she loved, and the one house she’d needed.
“Whatever,” she sighed.
“I also bought Fiddlers,” I said out loud so she knew I understood. Blue just nodded and wiped her hands down her jeans as she paced in front of the window.
“That’s why you hate me, isn’t it?”
“I mean, I wanted to hate you. I tried. I did hate you… right up until I met you. But you’re not completely hateable.”
“Some people would strongly disagree,” I chuckled.
“Oh, definitely,” she said with a grin, her anger finally dissipating. “When Marshal turned into this driveway, I was giving myself a full-on mental pep talk about how much I hated you. But I can’t keep hating you for things you didn’t do on purpose.”
I watched her a second longer, then said quietly, “I really didn’t know about the other offer. If I had, I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”
She studied me, that same storm she was before now more of a drizzle. “Why do you care about fixing up houses here anyway? What do you mean that other house doesn’t need you?”
That stopped me cold.
Only my brothers and grandparents knew the real reason, and I’d always intended to keep it that way. But if Blue and I were going to pull this off and convince them that we were married for more than just convenience, she’d have to know me well enough to sell the lie.
Which meant knowing the truth.
Still, the words jammed up in my throat, my jaw tight, my gaze skimming the room like I might find an escape hatch in the drywall. It wasn’t some government-level secret. Anyone who really knew my parents probably could’ve put the pieces together.
But Blue was young, and the only version of my family she knew came from bar gossip and secondhand stories. Which may have included my brothers, but they were never really one to talk about me when I didn’t want them to.
So before I answered her, I hesitated. My jaw was tight and my eyes were drifting toward the dining room. Marcus had brought Marco’s for dinner, knowing we’d probably be starving, but it was getting cold now.
“Let’s eat,” I said, dodging the truth for now. “We’ll talk over dinner.”
Her gaze followed mine. “Marco’s?” She licked her lips. “I love Marco’s.”
She walked toward the bag like she did own the place, rummaging through the drawers for silverware as if she knew where everything was. She didn’t ask. Just set the table as though we did this every night.
When we were finally settled, I had hoped she had forgotten her original question. But no such luck. She took one bite of food while she stared at me and asked, “Why do you do it, West?”