Chapter 14
EDDIE
I woke up slowly, awareness creeping in by degrees—the unfamiliar weight of another body in the bed, the sound of steady breathing that wasn’t my own, the warmth radiating from the person lying beside me.
For a moment, I felt disoriented, caught between sleep and waking, before memory reasserted itself.
Bash. We’d shared the bed because of his back injury.
I turned my head carefully, not wanting to wake him, and studied his sleeping face in the pale morning light filtering through our curtains.
He looked younger like this, the usual tension gone from his features, dark lashes resting against his cheeks.
His hair was mussed from the pillow, sticking up in directions that would probably mortify his military sensibilities if he could see himself.
There was something almost unbearably intimate about watching him sleep, about being this close to him when his guard was completely down.
The steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand was curled loosely against the pillow, the small scar on his temple that I’d never noticed before—all of it felt like secrets I was being trusted with.
My insides warmed as I lay there studying him, a flutter that had nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with how right this felt. Waking up beside him, sharing this quiet morning moment, felt more natural than anything I’d experienced in my entire carefully orchestrated life.
Which was dangerous territory, because it reinforced all these soft feelings I had for him, this tenderness in my chest. Something far beyond the physical attraction we’d been exploring or the friendship that had developed so naturally.
Something deeper and infinitely more complicated that made my pulse quicken from watching him breathe.
The realization should’ve sent me into a panic. This was supposed to be exploration, experimentation, a safe way to discover this part of myself without being forced to come out or explain my sexuality to people who might not understand.
It wasn’t supposed to involve feelings.
But lying here, hyperaware of every point where our bodies were almost touching under the covers, I couldn’t deny what was happening.
I was falling for Bash Puller, for his competence and kindness, his dry humor and unexpected gentleness, the way he made me feel like I could be completely myself without judgment or expectation.
But that was probably normal, wasn’t it?
He was the first man I’d ever been intimate with, the first person I’d been able to explore this side of myself with.
It made perfect sense that I’d develop strong feelings for him.
It was the novelty of it all, the thrill of finally being able to acknowledge my attraction to men combined with the intensity of discovering physical pleasure with someone I genuinely liked.
Like a duckling would imprint on the first adult animal it saw, thinking it was its mother.
That was all this was. First relationship excitement, amplified by the forbidden nature of our situation and the fact that we were living together in such close quarters.
Once I had more experience and had some basis for comparison, these feelings would disappear or morph into something more manageable.
Bash stirred beside me, his breathing changing as he drifted toward consciousness, and I quickly closed my eyes and tried to look like I was still asleep. I wasn’t ready to face his knowing looks or answer questions about why I’d been watching him sleep like some sort of lovesick teenager.
“Mornin’,” he said softly, his voice rough with sleep and that hint of Southern drawl that was always more pronounced first thing in the morning.
I opened my eyes and found him looking at me with a small smile, brown eyes warm and alert despite having just woken up. “Good morning. How’s your back?”
“Much better, actually.” He shifted experimentally, testing his range of motion. “That massage worked better than I expected. Think I might actually be functional today.”
“I’m glad. I was worried you’d wake up feeling worse.”
“Nah, you took good care of me, so thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. Anyone would’ve done the same.”
“No,” Bash said seriously, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me properly. “Not anyone. Most people would’ve been annoyed about having their plans disrupted. You made it feel like it wasn’t even an inconvenience.”
The sincerity in his voice made something flutter in my stomach.
This was exactly the kind of moment that was feeding into my growing feelings for him, the way he noticed and appreciated small kindnesses.
“Well,” I said, trying to keep things light, “I suppose we should get up and start the day. Can’t lie around in bed forever, much as the idea appeals. ”
Bash’s smile turned slightly wicked. “Is that an invitation?”
Heat crept up my neck as I realized how my words could be interpreted. “I meant lying in bed sleeping, not something else.”
“My back is feeling much better,” Bash said, his hand finding mine under the covers. “But you’re probably right. We should get some breakfast, start behaving like productive members of society.”
We eventually made it out of bed and into our morning routine, though sharing a bed, even platonically, had shifted something between us, added a layer of domestic closeness that made everything feel more significant.
Over breakfast—coffee and toast, nothing too ambitious—Bash mentioned something that caught me off guard.
“So I was thinking about Thanksgiving plans,” he said casually, buttering his toast. “It’s only about three weeks away.”
I paused with my coffee mug halfway to my lips. “Thanksgiving plans?”
“Yeah, you know. The holiday? Fourth Thursday in November? Turkey, stuffing, family gatherings, Americans acting grateful for things they complain about the rest of the year?”
“Right, of course. I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought. In Britain, we don’t celebrate it, obviously, so it wasn’t on my radar. I’m not even wholly sure what it involves other than turkey.”
Bash stared at me like I’d admitted to never having heard of Christmas. “It’s the most important family holiday in America. Well, maybe tied with Christmas. Everyone goes home, families get together, there’s football and way too much food and generally a lot of chaos.”
“Oh.” I processed this information, feeling like I’d missed something important. “So the university gives students time off?”
“We have Wednesday through Sunday off, actually.” Bash studied my face. “You didn’t know about this?”
“I knew it existed, obviously, but I didn’t realize the scope of it. I assumed we’d stay here, maybe catch up on reading or work ahead on assignments.”
“Stay here?” Bash looked genuinely disturbed by this prospect. “The campus will be basically empty. Dining halls closed, most services shut down. It would be like living in a ghost town.”
The picture he painted wasn’t particularly appealing, but it seemed like the logical option. “Well, what’s the alternative? I can’t exactly go home for a four-day holiday. The travel time alone would make it impractical.”
Bash was quiet for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.”
If I hadn’t been watching him so closely, I might’ve missed the flash of disappointment that crossed his face, or maybe even pain. But why? Then it hit me. He wanted to go home. This holiday mattered to him, maybe even more because of his mom. “You can go home. I can stay by myself for a week.”
He firmly shook his head. “Absolutely not. Out of the question.”
“Look, we can get groceries ahead of time, so I wouldn’t even have to leave the apartment. I’d hunker down and take a few days off. Get some reading in, watch TV…”
“You’re not staying here by yourself. It’s a violation of my contract, first and foremost, but aside from that, I would never leave you. I wouldn’t have a second’s rest, knowing you were unprotected.”
He was saying that out of professional responsibility, surely, not because he had any feelings for me beyond friendship, but it still made me grateful. It also didn’t solve the problem because it still kept him here. “I wish you could go home. I know you want to see your mom.”
Bash was quiet for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was careful. “What would you say to experiencing a real American Thanksgiving? With an actual American family?”
“I’m sorry?”
“My parents always do the full traditional thing. Turkey, all the sides, football games on TV, the works. They’d probably love to meet…
” He paused, and I could see him working through the logistics.
“Well, they’d love to meet Prince Gregory.
My protectee. And they’ll accept it if I say you want to experience a traditional Thanksgiving. ”
Meet his parents. Go to North Carolina, to his childhood home, and pretend to be nothing more than his job in front of the people who’d raised him. It was simultaneously the most terrifying and most appealing prospect I could imagine. “You want me to meet your family?”
“I want you to have a proper Thanksgiving,” Bash corrected, though something in his eyes suggested it was more complicated than that. “And yes, I’d love to see my mom, but I can’t leave you here alone, and I can’t drag you to North Carolina without a good cover story.”
“So this would be part of our arrangement. Professional necessity.”
“Right. Professional necessity.” But the way he said it didn’t quite match the expression on his face.
I thought about it—leaving campus, traveling to a completely foreign environment, spending several days pretending to be nothing more than Bash’s protectee while surrounded by his family. It sounded like emotional torture of the highest order, especially given my growing feelings for him.
It also sounded like exactly what he needed.
A chance to see his mother, to be with his family during what was clearly an important holiday, without having to worry about leaving me unprotected or compromising his professional responsibilities.
“Your parents wouldn’t mind having a stranger crash their family holiday? ”
“Nah, Southern hospitality is a thing. If my mama ever caught wind I’d left you alone for Thanksgiving, she wouldn’t speak to me for a week. They’re good people, Eddie. You’d like them.”
The offer was tempting for reasons that had nothing to do with experiencing American culture and everything to do with seeing Bash in his natural environment, meeting the people who’d shaped him, getting a glimpse into the life he’d lived before he’d become responsible for protecting me.
“It would mean a lot to you. Being able to go home.”
“It would. But not if it makes you uncomfortable. We can figure out something else—”
“No.” I made the decision before I could talk myself out of it. “I’d like that. A real American Thanksgiving sounds educational.”
Bash’s face lit up with genuine pleasure. “Yeah? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Besides, you should be able to see your mother, especially now. I wouldn’t want to be the reason you missed that.”
“Thank you. This means more than you know.”
“Just promise me you’ll help me navigate the cultural expectations. I have no idea what’s involved in a proper American Thanksgiving.”
“It’s mainly eating a lot of food, most of which will be unfamiliar to you, and most of which will contain boat loads of sugar.”
“That won’t be an issue. I have no allergies and I’ve eaten things far worse than turkey or overly sweet food.”
Bash cocked his head. “Like what?”
“Goat, snake, crickets, crocodile… Those are the first examples that come to mind. I’ve had testicles too, and stomachs and other parts of animals I really didn’t need to know about. All part of my cultural education.”
He shivered. “Ever refused anything?”
I firmly shook my head. “God, no. That’s absolutely not done. But I have thrown up once. Turns out my stomach does not like cow blood.”
His eyes widened to the point of bulging. “Cow blood? Why the fuck would you even try that?”
“It’s a traditional part of the Maasai diet, the famous tribe in Kenya.
When we visited, they offered me to try and I could not refuse.
Luckily, I didn’t throw up until we were back in the jeep so they never saw it.
” I was nauseous even thinking about it now.
“All I’m saying is that I don’t particularly fear the food I’ll be served. ”
“Yeah, no kidding after that.” Bash scratched his chin. “Now we have to figure out the logistics. I’ll need to talk to Ms. Hartwell first and get her approval.”
I winced. Rebecca was, to put it mildly, not a fan of last-minute plans. But surely in this case, it wouldn’t be too much of a bother since it wouldn’t even involve her team.
“And then there’s the matter of how to get there,” Bash continued.
“We don’t really have the time to drive down, ’cause that would take days.
We could fly, but airports are security nightmares, especially during holiday travel.
Lots of crowds, lots of opportunities for someone to recognize you.
Pretty sure Ms. Hartwell would not be okay with that. ”
“I can arrange for a private plane.” I tried to sound casual.
Bash went very still. “A private plane.”
“Obviously, we’d have more privacy, and we could fly directly into a smaller airport near your hometown. Plus, you’d be allowed to carry your gun, which you wouldn’t be able to bring on a commercial aircraft.”
I resisted the urge to apologize for my privilege, for the resources I had at my disposal. At least I was using them for good in this case, or so I told myself. It meant Bash would get to see his mom.
Bash nodded slowly. “Okay. Private plane it is. That actually solves a lot of logistical problems.”
I was grateful he didn’t say anything more. “And for lodging?”
“I’ll look into renting a secure apartment. That would be the easiest and the safest option.”
“We’re not staying with your parents?”
His face tightened, and I regretted asking. “No. They don’t have the space.”
“Okay.” I plastered a smile on my face. “So we’re really doing this. I’m going to North Carolina for Thanksgiving.”
“If Ms. Hartwell approves our plans, then yes.”
“She’ll say yes.” She would, if only because she ever only said no if it was logistically impossible and that wouldn’t be the case here.
“You’re going to love it,” Bash assured me, his earlier excitement returning.
“Mama’s feeling much better, she said. She’s an incredible cook, so you’ll get to experience a true Thanksgiving.
” His face fell a little. “But obviously, we’ll have to keep our distance and keep up a completely professional pretense. ”
“I know.”
“Which won’t be easy,” he said, much softer now.
“No?”
He reached for my cheek and cupped it, an unexpectedly tender gesture. “No. Not easy at all.”