Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
cove
“Have more than you show, speak less than you know.”
William Shakespeare
I’ve been here twenty-four hours, and I’m ready to quit.
If Austin puts his rich prick hands anywhere near my ass one more time, I’m going to cause a scene. And that’s a promise. When Abigail showed us to our rooms last night, I knew for a fact my late grandmother in heaven could hear my gasp from the pearly gates.
I couldn’t help it, feeling like I was being locked in my prison cell for a life sentence. Nathaniel seemed to have zero issues with his so-called daughter sleeping in the same room as a man she doesn’t know.
His room is right next to ours, and at this rate, I’d rather sleep near his sour ass any day than Austin. The moment the bedroom door sealed us inside, I knew I had to come up with a game plan.
So, I cried wolf. Or should I say, explosive diarrhea?
Not my best idea, but it was all I could think of as Austin lifted the blanket for me to climb under, revealing himself in Calvin Klein tighty-whities.
So, I planted my sick little tush on the floor of the surprisingly clean bathroom connected to our room.
After a few practiced dry heaves and some clammy skin later, Austin didn’t argue with the distance, claiming we had the rest of eternity to sleep beside each other.
That about made me actually puke.
Not sure this plan will be sufficient for five more nights, but I’ll figure out my next best option when I get there. Despite lying about my stomach situation, I couldn’t ignore the gut punch I felt spotting Stetson down the hall from me when I snuck out for a glass of water.
Our interaction in the powder bath was not only unexpected, but left me with a gaping hole in my heart. We weren’t official yet, but it felt like we could be, and that’s the kind of loss that changes you. Especially knowing you’ll never get to find out for sure.
I stand no chance of avoiding him for the rest of our time here.
I’m not entirely sure what the next few days look like, but I know Abigail has celebrations planned around the clock for Stetson.
From what her husband, Kyle, told me last night after one too many cocktails, Stetson never entertains at the ranch with anyone but family, so they want this to be a week of quality time with his people.
That’s great. Great for those who are actually considered his people, and not so great for people like me who want to be his people but are secretly someone else’s people.
When we locked eyes from across the hall before bed, I felt my entire body grow numb.
My heart. My breathing. All of it. What we have is over because of me.
It’s over because of my deal with the devil, and I can’t do anything to change that.
I need this money. My mom needs this money, and I have a feeling that if Stetson knew that, he would understand.
But it’s too late to beg for forgiveness, I’m afraid.
Then again, the fact that he and Nathaniel are best friends still doesn’t sit well with me. It makes me question if Stetson really knows him. But that would be crazy, right? Of course he knows him. They’ve been friends for nearly half their lives.
I’m probably just overthinking it.
The one thing I’m not overthinking, though, is the woman I saw whispering to Stetson by his bedroom door. Everything seemed hush-hush, despite his eyes on me. But then again, that seems to be an intuition he and I share. All I know is that she was stunning and seemed eager for his attention.
Never in my thirty years of living have I felt an impulse to vomit from a sight alone—especially one caused by jealousy rather than disgust. The view of them together had my stomach churning, making my tiny white lie to Austin a damn near reality.
Her body language made it clear they’re physically familiar with each other.
And I hate that.
But I’d be a lying fool if I said I didn’t feel the smallest amount of joy watching her exit the back door of Stetson’s house less than a minute later.
This morning, however, I’m choosing to stay positive the best way I can—reminding myself I’m another day closer to the finish line.
The weather in Texas is comparable to Florida in a way. Except there’s much less humidity here, but the heat hits the same. If not worse.
I hope whatever it is we have in store today, it involves water.
Please include water.
I decided to start the morning early, craving a cup of coffee and a bit of quiet before the rest of the guests wake up. It feels strange being in Stetson’s home and going through his things to find what I’m looking for.
Abigail said to make ourselves at home, so that’s what I’m gonna do. I know everyone else who stayed in the guest barn will likely be headed to the kitchen shortly for their morning pick-me-ups, so I forced myself off the bathroom floor and got dressed quickly.
Luckily, Austin is dead to the world, providing me with some much-needed distance from his clinginess and wandering hands.
Already finding a pot of coffee brewed, I locate the cabinet with the cups, remembering seeing Stetson sipping from one last night. Four rows of cups stare back at me, each unlike the rest. Does he have a coffee addiction?
I reach for the white one at the front, truly not caring which I drink from, just needing caffeine like a drug.
I’m halfway to the brewed pot when a feminine voice stops me.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I pivot quickly, needing to see who’s speaking.
However, I could have done without seeing the beautiful woman from last night up close.
I’ve never been self-conscious, but Jesus on horseback, her skin is perfect.
Long blonde hair, looking like she just came from the salon, fresh blowout in tow.
“He gets a bit territorial over his coffee cups. That one in particular.”
The mysterious woman points at the cup in my hands.
“This one?” I ask, holding it high.
“Something about the chip in it. If you ask me, it’s the most boring of his collection.” She smiles before offering me her hand. “Jules.” I return the gesture, but not before looking down to find the smallest chip on the rim of the cup, less than an inch away from the handle.
Is this her attempt at being kind? Or just an assertion of dominance?
I hate that she knows that quirky fact about Stetson. That makes her important. An important enough person in his life to know that he favors the old white cup with a chip on the rim.
“Cove,” I respond with nowhere near the same energy as her. “Thanks for the heads up.” Jules just nods and stands there. I’m not sure if she’s waiting for me to replace it, but if so, she’ll be waiting all day because I’m using it.
I fill it with coffee an inch away from the brim and search the fridge for creamer, a loud praise seeping from my lips the moment I spot a carton in the back of the fridge.
Hazelnut. Perfect.
I prepare it in silence, not expecting this conversation to go any further.
“I’m surprised we haven’t met, actually,” she continues. “Figured I would have seen or at least heard about you.”
I smirk, and I hope my dislike for her is already clear. “I’m just visiting.”
“Not for long, I’m assuming?”
This bitch. She reminds me of Meredith from The Parent Trap.
“Who really knows?” I attempt a chuckle before taking a sip. “Might decide to overstay my welcome. Although, not sure anyone around here would mind. I’ve never felt more at home.”
How did that dig feel, Jules?
“Sure,” she whispers, eyes now fixed on the floor. “I know the feeling.”
“Right. See you around,” I mumble, anxious to get away.
I slip past her carefully, en route to the front porch, when she replies, “You will. I’m not going anywhere.
” Something about her comment makes me uneasy, but I ignore it.
I need to keep my thoughts on my purpose.
The reason I’m here to begin with. I let the door shut behind me and finally release the breath that’s been sitting in my chest since she interrupted my peaceful morning.
The wraparound porch I’m transported to is oddly inviting for being attached to the home of a single bachelor.
Swings and rocking chairs litter the meticulously built deck, overstuffed pillows adding an additional layer of comfort.
There’s no color, but I’m not sure it needs it.
Everything about Stetson’s home is cozy and quaint.
That’s the one thing about Miami I wish we had—quiet.
The city is on the go twenty-four-seven, making the ability to find even the smallest amount of stillness a difficult feat. I love it, but being out here reminds me how much I lack privacy.
Finding the nearest brown wicker swing, I spot the same pup who approached me when I arrived, lounging across it with a pillow tucked under its head.
“Hi, little—I do my due diligence and check for gender—guy. You sure look cozy.” His head pops up as I sit beside him, naturally reaching to rub his belly. “Snug as a bug in a rug, huh?”
He wags his tail in a bit of a scurry, panting in excitement, the more I pet him.
Yet he’s too comfortable to move, making room for me to crowd his space.
I toss a throw blanket over my legs, the morning air feeling a bit cool, and cover the dog’s bottom half as well, blissfully enjoying the view of the ranch.
It’s massive in size, and I’m convinced I have yet to see half of it.
The drive to the main house alone was nearly two miles down a graveled pathway, acres upon acres of land surrounding both sides.
To my right is the outdoor space we gathered in last night, nestled between an entrance to the main house and what looks to be the guest barn, where other family members and friends are staying.
According to Abigail and Kyle, Stetson completely transformed the unit into a mini apartment building. Five individual suites inside, perfect for numerous visitors.