Chapter 2
Unwelcome Guest
Peyton
I scream.
The sound rips out of me before I can think, raw and terrified and loud enough to wake the entire building. My hand flies to the towel covering me, gripping it tighter as my heart slams against my ribs.
There’s a man in my bathroom.
A shirtless stranger with broad shoulders, dark hair, and wide eyes that just raked over me in the mirror before snapping away.
Oh, my god. Oh, my god.
“Woah, woah, woah!” He stumbles backward, hands up, his voice rough and as startled as my scream. “I didn’t—”
“Get out!” I turn my back toward the sink, scanning for anything I can use as a weapon. Hairbrush? Plunger? The decorative soap dispenser?
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he demands, like I’m the one who doesn’t belong.
“I live here.” My voice cracks on the words. “What are you doing breaking into my apartment?”
“Your apartment?” His brow furrows, genuine confusion crossing his face. “This is my brother’s place.”
“Your brother?” I’m shaking now, adrenaline flooding my system. Water drips from my hair down my back, cold against my overheated skin. “I don’t know who your brother is, but you need to leave. Now. Or I’m calling the police.”
“Luke,” he says, still standing there like he has any right to. “Luke Harrison. He lives here. I’m Jake.”
Luke.
Oh, god. Luke from across the hall, who helped arrange the sublet and assured me this apartment was safe and quiet and mine for the next three months until I find something more permanent in the area.
“Luke doesn’t live here anymore,” I manage, my voice steadier now even though my hands are trembling. “He moved in with his girlfriend. I’m subletting this place.”
Something flickers across his face. Surprise, then frustration, then what might be embarrassment. He runs a hand through his hair, and I notice the alarming amount of grease on his thick forearms. He’s covered in it, actually. His jeans are stained, there’s a smudge on his jaw, and he smells like—
I scrunch my nose. Focus, Peyton. There’s a strange man in your bathroom and you’re naked.
“He didn’t tell you,” the stranger, Jake, says.
“Tell me what?”
“That I stay here sometimes. Between long charter runs to restock and visit. I’ve got a key.” He holds it up like that makes this okay. Like having a key excuses walking in on someone in the bathroom.
“Well, he didn’t tell me.“ If he had, I would’ve never taken the place. I lunge for my phone on the counter, nearly dropping my towel in the process. Jake’s gaze snaps to the ceiling so fast I’d laugh if I wasn’t terrified. “And I’m calling him right now to—”
A door slams in the hallway.
“What’s going on?” A male voice, urgent and familiar, shouts from outside the apartment door. Luke.
Thank god.
“In here,” I yell, not taking my eyes off the intruder. “There’s a man in my apartment!”
Multiple sets of footsteps pound through the hallway and into my apartment. The bathroom doorway suddenly flooding with people—Luke in pajama pants and nothing else, a petite blonde woman in an oversized T-shirt tucked under his arm, both are wide-eyed and disheveled.
“Jake?” Luke’s face goes from alarm to confusion in the span of two seconds.
“LUKE!” Jake and I shout at the same time.
“Do you know him?” I demand, clutching my towel like a lifeline.
“He’s my brother,” Luke says, then winces. “Shit. I forgot he might—”
“Might what?” My voice goes shrill. “Might walk in while I’m in the shower? Might use his key to break into the apartment I’m paying to live in?”
“I’m not breaking in,” Jake protests. “I’ve been staying here for two years whenever I’m in port. How was I supposed to know Luke rented out my place?”
“Your place?” I’m nearly vibrating with anger now, fear giving way to fury. “This is my apartment. I have a lease!”
“A sublease,” Luke corrects, and I want to throw something at him.
“Okay, everyone just calm down.” The blonde woman—Molly, I remember now from when I signed the papers—steps forward with her hands up like she’s negotiating a hostage situation.
Which, given that I’m trapped in a bathroom in a towel with three people staring at me, isn’t that far off.
“Peyton, this is Jake, Luke’s brother. Jake, this is Peyton.
She’s subletting for the summer. There’s obviously been a miscommunication. ”
“You think?” I snap, then immediately feel bad. None of this is her fault. “I’m sorry. I just… Can everyone please get out so I can get dressed?”
They scatter quickly. Jake disappears first, Luke and Molly right behind him, until I’m finally alone.
The first thing I do is lock the door.
My hands are still shaking as I drop the towel and grab my robe from the hook on the back of the door. My heart’s racing as I catch my reflection in the mirror—flushed cheeks, makeup smeared eyes, hair plastered to my head.
Deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
The meditation app I downloaded after Mom died would be proud.
Except I’m pretty sure ‘stranger walks in on you naked’ isn’t a scenario they covered in the mindfulness series.
I pull on my robe, tying it firmly at the waist, then take another breath before unlocking the door. Voices drift from the living room, low and tense. I catch snippets as I pad down the hallway on bare feet.
“—didn’t think you’d be back for another month—”
“—engine died, boat is a wreck, I had nowhere else to go—”
“—can’t just kick her out, she has a sublease—”
I round the corner into the living room and all three of them turn to stare at me.
Jake’s pulled on a shirt—unfortunately, because my traitorous brain had definitely noticed the muscles—and he’s standing by the couch with his arms crossed. Luke and Molly are near the door, ready to leave at the drop of a hat.
“I’m really sorry about this,” Luke starts, but I hold up a hand.
“Where is he supposed to sleep?” I ask, because despite everything, I’m not heartless. The man clearly had a rough day. There’s exhaustion written in every line of his face, and that grease isn’t decorative.
“He can stay with us,” Molly offers immediately. “Our couch—”
“Is a loveseat,” Jake mutters.
Molly bites her lip. “I have an air mattress, but Mitch borrowed it a while ago. I can call him and see…” she trails off, glancing at the clock on the stove. It’s too late to be hunting down an air mattress.
“Fuckin’ great,” Jake grumbles, and Molly’s shoulders fall.
“Watch your tone. You’re the one who should’ve called ahead,” Luke shoots back.
They’re going to argue. I can see it building. And I’m too tired for this. Too raw. Too aware that I’m standing here in a bathrobe in front of strangers while my heart still hasn’t returned to its normal rhythm.
“He can stay here,” I hear myself say.
Everyone stares at me.
“Really?” Jake’s eyebrows shoot up.
“You can stay here,” I repeat, because apparently, I’ve lost my mind. “On the couch. Just for tonight. Tomorrow we’ll figure out something else.”
“Peyton, you don’t have to—” Molly starts.
“I know.” I cross my arms, mirroring Jake’s stance. “But it’s late, everyone’s exhausted, and clearly, there’s been a misunderstanding. So, he can stay for tonight.”
Jake’s studying me now, those dark eyes—green, I realize in the better light—assessing. “You sure?”
No. “Yes.”
“Okay, then.” Luke claps his hands together, clearly relieved to escape this disaster. “We’ll let you two work out the details. Peyton, again, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you Jake had a key. And Jake—” He points at his brother. “—don’t be an asshole.”
“When am I ever an asshole?” Jake says, deadpan.
Luke chuckles, and I get the sense I’m missing the punchline. He ushers his girlfriend out the door and he follows. The door clicks shut behind them. And suddenly, it’s just me and Jake, standing in the living room of an apartment we’re apparently sharing for the night.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then Jake sighs, running a hand over his face. “Look. I really am sorry about before. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The apology catches me off guard. He sounds sincere. Tired, frustrated, but sincere.
“I know,” I say quietly. “And I’m sorry I screamed in your face.”
“You had every right to.” A tiny smile tugs at his lips and I wait for it to break into a full-fledged grin, but it doesn’t. “I’m surprised you didn’t grab something and hit me with it.”
“I considered the plunger.”
He grimaces. “Would’ve been effective.”
Another beat. The tension easing now, shifting into something less hostile. Still awkward as heck, but less like we’re about to cause a scene.
“So.” I pull my robe tighter. “Ground rules.”
He nods. “Sure.”
“You’re taking the couch, obviously. And don’t even think about coming near the bathroom when I’m in there.”
His jaw ticks. “Trust me, sweetheart, once was enough.”
The word ‘sweetheart’ lands wrong. Condescending. Like I’m some kid who needs managing instead of a woman whose space he invaded.
My spine straightens. “Don’t call me that.”
“Noted.” He sighs. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Tomorrow, we figure out a better solution. Because this—” I gesture between us. “—isn’t going to work long-term.”
“Agreed.”
He kicks aside a duffel bag I hadn’t noticed by the couch and sits, unlacing his boots with methodical movements.
I should go to my room. Lock the door. Process everything that just happened.
But I’m frozen, watching him. The way his broad shoulders move under his shirt. The exhaustion etched into his features. The grease smudge on his jaw…
“You’re going to shower, right?”
He glances up and stares. His gaze doesn’t waver and I catch his drift. Dumb question?
Heat floods my face. “Right, well, goodnight.”
“Night, Peyton.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the way he says my name, like he’s tasting it, testing it.
I turn and walk to the bedroom, very aware of his gaze on me until I close the door. I lean against it, heart pounding for an entirely different reason.
This is fine. He’ll be gone tomorrow, and this will just be a ridiculous story I tell someday about the time a stranger walked in on me in my bathroom, fresh out of the shower.
Except…
A flash of the way he looked at me in the mirror floods my mind. That split second before he turned away, and the way his gaze felt like a physical touch—a caress, even.
I shake my head, pushing off the door. No. Absolutely not. I am not attracted to the man who just scared me half to death.
Even if he does have really nice shoulders.
And kind eyes under all that grease and stiffness.
And a voice that does something to my wits when he says my name.
Stop it, Peyton.
I climb into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, and stare at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, this will all be sorted out. He’ll be gone. I’ll forget the way he looked in that doorway—all windswept and rough and unexpectedly, undeniably attractive.
Tomorrow, I’ll be back to the sad reality of my temporary position at the seaside resort with no friends, no family, no real place to call home since my mother died. I’ll be right back to where I’ve always been.
Floating in a sea of people living their lives to the fullest while I simply…exist.