Chapter 11
11
HARPER
T he smell of strong coffee pulls me out of sleep before the sunlight does.
For a minute, I lie there, half buried in soft blankets, listening to the creak of the porch swing just outside the bedroom window.
I don’t move. Because the second I do, I’ll have to admit last night actually happened.
The laughter. The way Brody caught my ankle like he didn’t want to let go. How he looked at me like I wasn’t just another mission he was stuck babysitting, but something he couldn’t seem to walk away from.
I roll onto my side with a groan, dragging the quilt over my head like it might muffle the memory.
It was the magic of the sunset. Or maybe the playfulness of the cheese-puff fight got to our heads. Except … I felt the undeniable electric charge streaming between us. The one that’s always there, like it’s lurking in the shadows, waiting. Underneath the jokes, there was something bigger than us both, and the thought of that scares the hell out of me.
I sit up, the quilt puddling in my lap, and run my hands through my hair as thoughts of Brody fill my mind. The two of us is what I’ve always hoped for, something I dreamed about as a lovesick teenager. Brody was always my secret crush, the uncatchable one.
Nope. Not even going there. Not when we are stuck in this cabin together for God knows how long. I have absolutely zero chance of surviving if I start acting lovesick. I push the thoughts away.
I shove my feet into a pair of socks and shuffle toward the kitchen, determined to drown out last night with caffeine and denial.
Brody’s already up—because of course he is—and judging by the trail of fresh wood chips tracked across the floor, he’s been outside, chopping things. Probably to work off whatever emotional slipup he’d made. A fort protects his heart, one I haven’t been able to overtake.
I catch myself smiling at the thoughts. They’re uninvited, those traitorous little things.
No. No smiling about Brody Calloway. No letting him get under my skin either. I’m here to clear my head, not lose my heart. But even still, I can’t help the fantasy of it all. Micah already feels like a distant memory. I will erase him from my mind completely.
I grab a mug from the cabinet and fill it full of coffee, ignoring how my hands feel lighter than they should.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a scandalous little voice whispers, You make that man forget his rules.
And even worse, he makes me forget mine too.
By the time I wander outside, the sun is creeping higher. The grass still has dew, but eventually, it will disappear.
I spot him immediately—Brody Calloway, an emotional disaster, pretending to be one with the earth.
He’s at the edge of the property, raking piles of leaves that honestly didn’t need raking. His shirt is rolled up to his elbows, his jeans are dusted with dirt, and there’s a determined set to his shoulders that screams, Leave me the hell alone .
Subtle. Really subtle, Calloway.
I cross my arms and lean against the porch rail, watching him for a few minutes. It’s not just the way he’s attacking the yard like it pissed him off that concerns me, but how he won’t even glance toward the cabin. Like if he doesn’t look at me, he can pretend he didn’t feel the shift between us last night.
I should let him have his little retreat, but watching him rake the same patch of grass over and over like he’s fighting demons? Yeah, that’s not happening. I see through him like he’s glass, and I won’t allow the self-torture.
I hop down the porch steps and saunter toward him, calling out casually, “Careful, Calloway. Keep that up, and you’ll start a turf war with the squirrels.”
Brody doesn’t stop raking, but I catch the twitch of his mouth, the almost smile he’s fighting like hell to bury. He jabs the metal rake into the ground and finally looks at me, wiping his arm across his forehead.
“What do you want, Harp?” he asks, gruff but not mean.
I pretend to think about it, tapping my chin. “Well, I’m actually here to make a proposal.”
He eyes me warily, like he already knows he’ll regret whatever comes out of my mouth next.
“A challenge,” I announce, “since you’re obviously dying for a distraction.”
Brody holds the handle of the rake tight. “You want to compete again? After I let you win?”
“Yep,” I say, deadpan, noticing his usual pleasantries have disappeared. “I actually demand a rematch. Higher stakes. No pity wins. Understand?”
He chuckles low under his breath, and, damn it, the sound buries itself under my skin. “And what are these high stakes you’re proposing, Harp?”
I grin. “Best out of three. The loser has to do a dare. No backing out, no whining, and no rules.”
His jaw flexes like he’s considering it, weighing how badly he wants to avoid whatever conversation we’re not having.
I can see the exact moment he caves because he wants to win. He’s just as competitive as me.
“Fine,” he says. “Explain.”
“We’ll play three games, and whoever wins two out of three, well, wins one single dare.”
“Great. Prepare to lose,” he says.
I bounce on my toes, already acting as if I won. I step forward, digging my finger into his chest. “Prepare to be humiliated.”
Brody shoots me a look—one that’s hot and heavy as he grabs my wrist.
His thumb brushes across my racing pulse, and his brow quirks up as if he feels it.
“You’re dangerous,” he says under his breath, like he doesn’t want me to hear.
I freeze for just a second. It’s playful and honest. Brody releases me and is already turning away like it meant nothing, but I know better. I’m not dangerous because I could hurt him physically, but because I matter. Way more than either of us planned. I shake it off, jogging after him and throwing him my best smirk.
“Don’t worry. I promise to go easy on you this time.” I snort beside him, amused.
When I glance over at him, he’s already watching me with that unreadable look. Something that feels a little too much like trouble.
Brody leads me inside and grabs a worn deck of cards that looks like it’s been shuffled thousands of times, along with a checkers board and some dice. It’s like he’s assembling weapons for a game war.
I stretch my arms overhead, then pop my fingers, giving him a smug little grin as we sit on the rug in the living room. “You ready to get your big bodyguard ego bruised?”
He tosses me a smirk. “Sweetheart, my ego’s bulletproof. You’re about to be humbled.”
I fake a gasp, hand to my heart. “Such confidence. But more than expected from a Calloway.”
Brody’s mouth twitches up into a smirk. “Keep it up, Harp. Trash talk is all you’ll have left when I’m done with you.”
The air between us crackles—not the kind that usually comes before a fight, but the hot, simmering kind that’s loaded with more. I ignore it—or at least I try to as I square my shoulders.
“All right, what’s first? Card throwing? Checker stacking? Arm wrestling?”
Brody chuckles under his breath. “I’d break you in half if we arm-wrestled. Even your stubbornness has physical limits.”
I flip him off with a cheerful smile, which earns me a slow, amused shake of his head.
We settle on a series of ridiculous challenges—a drawn-out game of checkers, which he won, followed by a competitive round of Go Fish. Right now, it feels more intense than any high-stakes poker game I’ve ever seen.
“Hopefully Lady Luck is on my side,” I tease.
Brody rolls his eyes dramatically, but I catch the flicker of amusement dancing behind his eyes.
“Harper,” he says, voice dripping with playful suspicion, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “got any sevens?”
I scowl, handing over two sevens from my hand. “I swear, you’re cheating. Do you have X-ray vision?”
He laughs, and the sound sends warmth fluttering through my chest. “Nah, I’m just that good.”
“Or maybe you’re the lucky one,” I retort, refusing to admit he’s getting under my skin.
“Mmm, luck has nothing to do with it.” Brody wiggles his brows at me, shuffling his cards obnoxiously loud.
“Hmm. Maybe I should make you streak around the cabin,” I say, determined, knowing that if he wins this game of Go Fish, I lose overall. If I win, we tie, and I’ll still have a chance of winning that dare. “Got any kings?”
His smile slips slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’re kidding me.”
I hold out my hand expectantly, grinning victoriously as he reluctantly hands over his single king.
“Thanks, Bro ,” I say sweetly, knowing he hates it when people shorten his name to that.
He growls, and I place my completed set of kings on the floor between us.
“I. Fucking. Win!” I do a little wiggle to rub it in.
Brody leans back dramatically, groaning as he covers his face with one hand. “My pride can’t handle this.”
“There’s always a first time for everything,” I tease, reveling in the victory. “Now we’re tied.”
Brody’s scowling like a man personally offended by the laws of probability, which only makes me grin wider.
“Moving onto the next game,” I say, snatching up the dice. “The first one to roll doubles wins. It’s not too late to forfeit and admit I’m superior in every way.”
Brody leans back against the couch, his gaze locked in on me.
“Keep talking shit, Harp,” he says, picking up the dice and rolling. He gets a one and a six. “One minute, you’re throwing dice; the next, you’re trying to steal my soul.”
I shrug, acting innocent. “I’m a woman of many talents.”
He just watches me, that same look from last night lingering in his eyes. It’s like he sees right through all the games and straight into the parts of me I don’t show most people. It’s thrilling.
I roll again and get a five and a two. We keep taking turns.
I shake the dice in my hand, then open my palm, placing a kiss on both.
He rolls his eyes. “Go.”
I make an annoying show out of it, and when I roll double twos, I scream. “Victory,” I say, standing up to gloat. “Now you’ll kneel before me.”
“Is that your dare?” Brody huffs a low laugh, tossing his hands in mock surrender.
“Hell no!” I say.
“Then give me your worst,” he tells me.
I dust off my hands and take my time pretending to think about it. To be honest, I knew what I would ask him before we even started.
“No takebacks,” I warn, pointing a finger at him. “No fake excuses.”
He raises one dark brow. “Oh, I’m not afraid. Go on.”
The image of him running around the cabin naked flashes across my mind so vividly that I laugh. Brody Calloway, cocky and barefoot under the stars, holding his cock. I nearly choke on my own tongue thinking about it. I wave it off before my brain short-circuits completely.
“I’ll go easy on you this time.”
He smirks like he knows exactly what I imagined, and for once, I’m grateful for him seeing me. Really seeing me.
“I actually dare you to give me one truth,” I say, moving back in front of him on the floor. “No bullshit. No smart-ass comment. I just want one real thing about you nobody else knows. Our secret.”
The smirk slides off his face because he realizes I played an Uno Reverse card. I know he’s fearless when it comes to tasks, but not when it comes to talking. For a second, I think he’ll dodge me and give me that cocky smoke screen he uses when things get too real. But Brody tips his head back, staring up at the ceiling, like he’s looking for help, but there’s nothing there to save him.
When he finally speaks, his voice is rough around the edges. “When I really care about someone, it scares the hell out of me because I know exactly what it’d feel like to lose them.”
The words hit harder than I was ready for, knocking the air right out of my lungs. I don’t say anything. I don’t joke or offer some lame expression about time healing all wounds. I brush my fingers lightly against his, a silent I hear you he doesn’t have to earn. For a long moment, we sit there as the soft hum of the ceiling fan fills the room.
I could kiss him so easily right now. It would take nothing. I could lean a little closer, place one hand on his cheek, and capture his mouth. We could forget the rest of the world exists. But I don’t. Because some part of me knows, if I cross that line, there’s no going back.
Instead, I give him a soft smile before I stand. Brody watches me with an unreadable expression as I reach my hand out to him. He takes it, and I pretend to pull him up, but—let’s be real—I did nothing.
Without another word, I scoop up the dice and place them in his hand with a crooked smile.
“Come on, Calloway,” I say lightly. “Let’s see what your next roll would’ve been.”
He rolls the dice and gets double threes. His mouth curves up into a smile.
“So close,” he says with a smirk. “Next time, you’re fucked.”
“Promise?” I shoot back with a wink, and he shakes his head, laughing under his breath like he doesn’t know what to do with me.
The late afternoon closes in around us, and the air in the cabin grows cooler as the house gets quieter. I stretch my arms over my head, yawning, the last of the adrenaline from our games draining out of me.
Brody leads me outside, and we sit on the porch swing and wait for sunset in silence. I like that I don’t have to say anything when I’m with him, especially if I have no words to share. He understands, appreciates silence, and strives for it.
The day fades away and afterward he makes us fancy sandwiches with oven-baked fries for dinner. When we’re finished eating, I rinse our dishes even though he insists.
Brody drops onto the couch like his bones have finally given up on him. His legs hang awkwardly over the armrest, boots planted on the floor because he’s too damn tall for it. He tries to get comfortable, shifting around, folding one arm behind his head like it doesn’t bother him, but I know better.
I hover in the kitchen for a second, chewing the inside of my cheek, before moving to the back of the couch and leaning over it.
“Hey,” I whisper to him.
Brody cracks one eye open, looking at me like he’s bracing himself for whatever I’ll say. I shift my weight between my feet, instantly feeling weirdly awkward.
“You can sleep in the bed, you know.”
Both of his brows go up. “That a dare or an invitation?”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Calloway. It’s logistics. You’re gonna fold yourself in half on that couch like a damn lawn chair. If you’re to protect me, you have to be at your very best. No more of this.” I wait for a few long seconds. “Join me?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but just stares at me, weighing his options.
I cross my arms and arch a brow. “Unless you’re too scared? You’d be the first Calloway to be a fucking chicken.”
That gets to him. He mutters something under his breath, pushes up off the couch, and follows me down the short hall toward the bedroom, grumbling the whole way.
Before we reach the doorway, he pauses, his voice low and gruff. “You have to stay on your side, Harp.”
I flash him a grin over my shoulder, and he knows this is trouble.
“I can’t make any promises.”
Brody exhales slowly, like he already knows he’s lost whatever game we’re playing, but he follows behind me anyway. And just like that, the line between what we are and what we’re pretending to be blurs just a little more.