Thea
My dad usually isn’t too keen on strangers being in our home. He often worries it’s someone he forgot because of the stroke. But he took an instant liking to my giant, broody bodyguard and insisted Pierce sit next to him.
During dinner, my dad regales us with stories from my childhood, the time of life he remembers best, making my eyes well up with all the mentions of my mother. Dad has never had a problem talking about her, but I do. Each story makes me choke up.
Pierce’s hand finds my knee under the table, and he gives me a quick squeeze.
I’m not sure what’s happening. It’s like I landed in another universe.
Pierce turned the kindness up to a twelve out of ten, which was uncalled for.
My heart can’t handle this display of tenderness.
I want to lock him in this house, ensuring he always feels wanted and appreciated.
He fits in with us, which only makes the reality tougher to swallow.
There’s nothing I can do to make him stay if he doesn’t want to.
It’s the hardest part of my job—wanting the change for someone they don’t want for themselves, wishing I could just get them to see what I do. That they matter.
“I think it’s time for ice cream,” Dad announces as he polishes off his last bite of stroganoff. He reaches for his water, but his slow hand knocks his plate into the pitcher.
Pierce deftly rights the pitcher and scoots the glass into my father’s grasp, all without Dad noticing.
Tears threaten and I take a drink of my own.
That’s the third time this meal he’s saved my father from catastrophe, and if I wasn’t already sure, this is it for me. I have fallen for him. A goner.
Megan gives me a pointed look, then inclines her head toward Pierce. She can see right through me. My love of romance novels comes from her, and I fear she can read my emotions like I’m one of her characters.
“Megan, get the ice cream,” Dad says.
Megan scoffs and takes a sip of the forty-two ounce Coke that lives beside her. “I’m your sister, not your slave. You get it.”
I’ve missed their sibling bickering when she comes to help out. “I’ll get it.”
It’s good to be home.
I scoop four bowls of cherry chocolate chip—a family favorite—and hand them out around the table. Pierce looks at me, then at the bowl full of sugar like it might kill him, but he picks up the spoon and takes a bite anyway.
I take a bite of my own. “Andi got you the good stuff.” I can usually only afford the knock-off brand, but this is premium ice cream.
“Who’s Andi?” Pierce asks.
“She was my apprentice,” Dad says. “Brilliant girl. I taught her everything she knows, of course.”
“Of course.” I chuckle and look at Pierce. “She comes over for dinner every Sunday, Christmas, and Easter. We kind of adopted her since she doesn’t have any family around.”
“You’re fond of strays,” Pierce notes, his expression soft and… grateful?
My face warms under his intense gaze, and I’m suddenly bashful. My cheeks heat more when I remember what he said about liking my blush. I swallow, gaining control of myself. “We always have a seat at the table.”
He studies me as if he wants to say something only the two of us would understand. Something meant solely for me.
“We should have invited her for dinner,” Dad says. “I think she’d get along well with this one.” He waves his spoon at Pierce, and I nearly choke on a chunk of cherry. “Since you’re only friends.”
That dirty, rotten man. He’s calling my bluff, and it’s very effective. I’m about to “my husband” Pierce, but that’s part of the story I definitely left out.
Pierce’s heated eyes meet mine, the smirk on his lips barely visible yet insanely irritating.
“Pierce is intimidated by smart women,” I say.
This time he chokes on a bite of ice cream.
He clears it with a drink of water and a scowl that carries very little fire. “I wouldn’t say intimidated. More like impressed. By one, specifically.”
Why do I keep pushing him? And why, if he’s determined to keep me at arm’s length, does he keep saying all the right things?
Dad finishes his ice cream and abruptly stands, insisting he has something for Pierce to see.
I stand, ready to assist him to the living room, but Pierce is at his side, laughing at something Dad says about the first time he went fishing and allowing him to lean on his arm as they go.
I know the story—I’ve heard it many times—but watching my dad embrace Pierce so easily leaves me at a loss for words. I suddenly want to hear every story again. I want to hear it all, see it through Pierce’s eyes.
“Well, I was wrong about him,” Megan says, startling me into the present moment. “Handsome and kind. Let him kidnap you if you have to.”
“Megan!” I hiss, making sure the door closed behind the man with super hearing.
Megan only laughs and begins clearing the table. “Just saying, that man is something.”
Something is not nearly a strong enough word for Pierce. Ruggedly handsome, funny, protective, to name a few. I grab the rest of the dishes and stack them in the sink.
“Is that why you look so sad? Because he won’t kidnap you?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
I should deny it, but I’ve never been good at keeping my emotions where they should be.
I return the salt and pepper shakers to the cabinet above the stove, ignoring her inquisition. “His job doesn’t allow for a significant other, and he’s made it clear he doesn’t want one. I don’t think he even believes in love.”
“Oh honey…” Megan laughs. “That’s not what his eyes say when he looks at you.”
I search her face for signs she’s lying. But she’s the exuberant, optimistic woman she’s always been. “He doesn’t look at me any sort of way, except for when I’m driving him nuts.”
She tucks a strand of graying brown hair behind her ear. The strand gets tangled in the glasses that rest on top of her head, and she rips out the glasses only to replace them. “That boy is gone for you, whether or not he’s willing to admit it. I know these things. Give it time.”
“I don’t have time. He needs to get home then back to work.”
She nudges me with her hip. “Then go in there and give him a reason to stay.” She offers me a devious look. How is this the same woman who threw a pan at us when we broke in the back door?
“You’re trouble.”
“I used to be once. Life has a way of changing you.” She sounds sad.
For the hundredth time, I wonder why she never married.
She claims she never found love, but a person who writes the kind of swoon-worthy, soul-crushing romances she does experienced love at least once in her life.
She nudges me again, and I stumble out of my thoughts.
“I’m going.” I drop the dishcloth onto the counter and head for the living room.
Once again I'm emotionally unprepared to find my dad and Pierce squished next to each other on the small sofa. It’s domestic and adorable. They’re even looking through a scrapbook… of me.
“I thought we hid those,” I say, rushing to grab the book from my dad. Pierce grips the edge, keeping it firmly in place.
“We were almost to prom.” There’s an intensity in his gaze that has me reading into the words Megan said in the kitchen.
“That boy is gone for you, whether or not he admits it.”
I release the book. “I suppose it would be a shame if you missed that; I was the first attendant.”
“What’s that?”
I plant my hands on my hips. “Not the queen, but like, if the queen were to die, then I would have been Prom Queen.”
His lips quirk. “Do prom queens typically die during their four-hour reign?”
I feign a distraught sigh. “Almost never.”
He flips the page.
Then he laughs. “What are you wearing?”
Despite myself, I laugh too. “Hey, it was in style at the time.” I’ll never understand why. It’s a bright yellow and pink sparkly dress that hugged the curves of my body… until my knees where it exploded in a ball of multicolored tulle.
“You look like a feather duster,” Pierce wheezes through his laughter.
“It was a statement piece.” I snatch the book from him. He’s seen enough.
“What was the statement? You like rainbow Nerds?”
“I said a strawberry banana smoothie,” Dad chimes in.
“Hey!” I hug the book to my chest. “I looked good in that dress.” At least my butt did.
“Of course you did, sweetie.” My dad placates me with a smile.
“I bet you still have it, don’t you?” Pierce asks with a challenge. Maybe he has me figured out. Maybe he likes it.
“I’ll be right back.” I’ll show them how good I looked in that dress.
If it still fits. I ditch the book and run upstairs to my old room.
Mom refused to get rid of my dresses and instead bought a fancy armoire to store them.
I haven’t opened it in years. I search through the mountain of fabric before I find it.
I don’t have the bra that used to go with it, so I forgo one, sliding the thick material up my body. I get the thin straps over my shoulders and tug the small zipper that sits low on my back. It’s a snug fit, and the back is lower than I recall.
I turn in front of the mirror, taking in my appearance. There is far more cleavage than I remember.
I turn to the side, studying myself. My body has changed over the last eight years, and the dress is more revealing than it should be, bordering on indecent. With confidence, I turn and stride downstairs.
Pierce and my dad are still on the sofa, looking at the scrapbook I should have confiscated for good.
I sashay into the room, arms outstretched. “Admit it, I look great.”
Pierce’s head flies up, his gaze sweeping over my body, singeing my skin. His Adam's apple bobs, and his knuckles turn white where he grips the scrapbook.
My neck burns. This was a bad idea. Abort mission.
“I let you leave the house in that?” Dad asks while Pierce clamps his mouth shut, all traces of humor lost from his eyes.
“I’ll take your stunned silence as affirmation that I rocked prom.
” I turn and speed-walk for the stairs. Only when I hit the bottom step do I remember how hard it was to ascend in this dress.
I wiggle and side-step to the bottom stair.
But my hips have really filled this thing out, and it’s impossible to lift my foot higher than three inches.
I lean my back against the wall and lift my foot, almost…
“Need some help?”
I jump at Pierce’s voice. “No.” I grab at the mermaid skirt, trying to hike it up my hips.
“Well, go ahead then, because I need to use the restroom.” He stands there, arms folded, watching. Waiting. Judging.
I yank harder on the skirt. When it doesn’t budge, I wiggle my hips.
“Don’t do that,” he snaps gruffly as he scoops me up in his arms.
He’s caught me from fainting, thrown his body over mine, carried me across a boardwalk… this should be a familiar experience. But something is different this time. Maybe because my dad and Megan are downstairs. Maybe because I can’t stop thinking about the way he reacted to seeing me in this dress.
“I thought I looked like a filthy feather duster.” I mimic him.
“I never said filthy.” His chest rumbles.
“It’s a good thing you don’t have any feelings for me because this situation could totally be misconstrued,” I say lightly, allowing my fingers to tickle under the collar of his shirt.
His jaw clenches.
“One might even think you like me. That I”—I tiptoe my other fingers up his chest until I get to his jaw—“affect you.”
His heart thuds against his chest, and I feel every strong beat.
“Even strong men have emotions,” I whisper.
He hits the top step and freezes. Then promptly drops my feet to the floor. I nearly fall over, but he snatches my waist before I hit the wall. “I’m not the man you want.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I want.” I try to step into his arms. Megan told me to give him a reason to stay, and I’m about to do so when he steps around me.
“I can.” He steps around me and shuts himself in the bathroom.
I gape at his cowardly retreat. He is absolutely infuriating. But he’s breaking. And I’m not going to stop until that big strong man is putty in my hands.