Chapter 2
Thatcher
Iknock on the guest room door, still irritated as hell that my sister is making me do this. I hate Valentine’s Day. I’ve hated it since I was twelve, when the girl I had the biggest crush on stomped on my heart.
That girl is now the woman hibernating in my parents’ guest room.
Though I’m secretly thrilled Blaire called off her wedding on account of hating the asshole she was with, I wouldn’t wish the heartbreak she’s going through on my worst enemy. I’ve kept her stocked in snacks, but otherwise, I’ve given her a wide berth of space.
But Raelyn chose today of all fucking days to call in a long-owed favor I believed, until ten minutes ago, that she’d forgotten all about.
I should’ve known better. My sister reminded me in agonizing detail how she made a round trip drive to Anchorage to pick our parents up from the airport three years ago because I was still drunk from the night before.
In my defense, I’d broken things off with a woman I thought I might possibly marry.
I never popped the question, but she expected me to.
And instead of giving her a ring, I broke up with her.
Which, of course, devastated her. She was almost as blindsided by the breakup as I was.
Though I don’t regret breaking things off, I felt like such an asshole that I drank myself blind that night.
“I had to take off work,” Raelyn reminded me. “And I still covered for your ass. Told our parents you got a stomach bug. You owe me, Thatcher.”
I relented in minutes, which is why I knock on Blaire’s door a second time.
“I’ve showered,” she groans. “Please tell your sister that I smell like a bouquet of wildflowers and leave me alone.”
“I haven’t heard the water running,” I counter.
The other reason Raelyn was so easily able to twist my arm into this whole Cupid’s Crawl thing is because I’m genuinely concerned about Blaire.
I’m the first one to isolate and go quiet when I’m overloaded.
But six days is extreme, even for a recluse like me.
She’s hardly left her room since she arrived.
She needs to get out, even if it’s just for lunch.
And since my sister is three time zones away, the only one who can make that happen is me.
Even if it’s fucking Valentine’s Day.
“Go. Away.”
“No can do.”
“Why are you being such a pain in the ass?” Blaire protests.
“I’m always a pain in the ass, remember?”
“But you’re being an extra big pain in the ass today.”
“I’m giving you five seconds, then I’m coming in. I hope you’re decent.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“One,” I start counting. “Two. Three.”
“You won’t do it,” she says.
“Four.”
“Thatcher, come on!”
“Five.” I twist the knob and push the door open.
The sight before me can only be described as sad chaos.
Her suitcase is open on the floor, clothes everywhere.
Three cups, two soda cans, and a wine cooler bottle cover her nightstand, among a sea of bunched up tissues.
A couple of empty chips bags are crumped up on the floor, alongside a half-eaten package of cookies.
And one Blaire Sutton is tangled in her covers, looking a little bit like death warmed over.
Fuck, I hate seeing her like this. So…defeated.
“Out of bed, Sleeping Beauty.”
“You can’t make me.”
“I can.” I close the distance, approaching her bed.
“What are you—”
I scoop her up with the blanket she’s cocooned around her body and carry her down the hall to the bathroom. She fights me for all of two seconds before relenting.
“I’m standing guard outside this door until you’ve showered,” I insist.
“I’m too tired to be a flight risk,” she says as I set her back on her feet and nudge her into the bathroom.
I’ve set out fresh towels and all of my sister’s toiletry items I could find.
I’m about to ask if she wants me to grab her a change of clothes, but she cuts me off by closing the door in my face.
“You really don’t have to wait outside the door,” she says.
“Actually, I do.”
“Why? Did Raelyn put you up to this?”
“Because I need a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“I want to make my ex jealous.” I’m glad she can’t see me shaking my head. If I wasn’t a man of honor, I’d have laughed at my sister and hung up. Instead, here I am, inventing a bullshit story to convince a stubborn, heartbroken woman to leave the house for an hour.
“Why does that involve me?”
“Because it’s a lot easier to make her jealous if there are two people in the pictures I post than one.”
Raelyn made it very clear that unless Blaire felt like she could do something to help me, the chances of her going out, even for a quick meal, were almost certainly zero.
My sister suggested we stop by the local brewery this afternoon, where something called a Cupid’s Crawl is happening.
But what she failed to offer up was a reason I would want to take her best friend to it. So, I had to improvise.
“Why do you want to make her jealous?”
“I want her to know what she missed out on while she’s out with the guy she left me for.”
“Ouch. Are you trying to win her back?”
“No,” I answer immediately as she turns on the shower. That’s taking a white lie too far. I don’t have any desire to reconnect with any of my exes. “But I don’t want her to think I’m hung up on her on Valentine’s Day. I want her to see I’ve moved on.”
“Why should I help you?”
“I’ve been keeping you supplied with snacks, for one.”
“For two?”
“You want to tell me you wouldn’t feel a little bit better if your ex thought you were out living your best life? Especially on Valentine’s Day.” Just saying the name of the holiday I loathe tastes sour on my tongue, but I power through anyway.
“You have a point.” I hear the shower curtain yanking back, and instantly I’m assaulted by the image of Blaire’s naked body stepping under the stream of water. My dick twitches against my zipper as I imagine joining her.
Knock it off, Thatcher. It’s never going to be like that with Blaire.
“What is this Cupid’s Crawl?” she calls a little louder, no doubt so I can hear her over the stream of water.
“Just something the brewery is putting on. Figured we could grab a drink, maybe some lunch, and pretend we completed it together. You know, for the photos. You can be back in your bed before dinnertime.”
There’s a long pause before she finally says, “Okay, I’ll do it.”