The Runaway Bride

Chapter 5

If embarrassment could kill a person, I would have been dead at least three times by now.

Unfortunately, I was still alive.

Alive, fully dressed now, sitting on a sofa that wasn't mine, across from a man who looked as though he was one badly chosen word away from throwing me out of the house. His daughter sat beside him, swinging her little legs and watching me with the kind of open curiosity that made me want to disappear into the cushions.

I had changed into a loose T-shirt and a pair of shorts, tied my damp hair into a messy knot, and done my best to pretend the last fifteen minutes hadn't happened.

It wasn't working.

Every time I looked at the man, I remembered the towel slipping to the floor.

Every. Single. Time.

And every time I remembered it, I wanted to grab a pillow and smother myself with it.

The worst part was that he hadn't even looked particularly apologetic. He'd said he hadn't meant to see anything, but that was hardly comforting. He had still seen enough to make me wish I'd never left my old life in the first place.

No.

I caught myself immediately.

I would rather walk naked through the town square than return to the life I'd escaped.

That thought helped a little.

Not much, but a little.

Across from me, the stranger leaned back against the sofa with one arm stretched along the backrest. He'd removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and there was a tiredness in his face that hadn't been as obvious during our screaming match.

He looked like a man who had been dragged into a situation he had no patience for.

Good.

So had I.

His daughter, on the other hand, appeared perfectly content. She had a small backpack beside her feet and was now examining a loose thread on her dress with intense concentration.

I tried not to look at either of them.

It was difficult when the man kept staring at me as though I were an unexplained stain on his furniture.

"Are you always this rude?" I finally asked.

His eyebrows rose.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

He let out a humorless laugh. "That's interesting coming from the woman who screamed at me in my own kitchen."

"You barged into the kitchen holding a wooden stick!"

"A coat stand."

"Oh, forgive me. I didn't realize the distinction mattered when someone was threatening to knock my head off."

"I wasn't threatening you."

"You were holding it over your shoulder!"

"Because I thought someone had broken into my house!"

"And I thought you were a lunatic!"

His daughter giggled.

Both of us turned toward her.

She immediately pressed her lips together, but the smile on her face betrayed her.

"Sorry," she whispered.

The man sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Don't encourage her," he told the little girl.

"I didn't say anything," I replied.

"You didn't have to."

I stared at him.

Good Lord. Was he always like this?

I'd been in the house for less than a day, and I was already considering whether I could survive living under the same roof as this man without committing a crime.

And I hadn't even learned his last name until a few minutes ago.

Wade Mercer.

The name sounded annoyingly suited to him. Solid. Uncomplicated. The sort of name belonging to a man who expected doors to open when he approached them and people to move when he told them to.

I hated that I was even thinking about it.

"I'd like to make one thing clear," I said, straightening my back. "I did not break into this house. I rented it from the landlady. I have a key, I have an agreement, and I paid the money she asked for. So whatever problem you have, take it up with her."

"I intend to."

"Wonderful."

"Wonderful."

We stared at each other.

His daughter looked between us, clearly entertained.

I wondered if this was how he spoke to everyone. If so, I pitied the people who had to deal with him regularly.

"What's your name?" the little girl suddenly asked.

I blinked, turning toward her.

"Maren."

She smiled. "I'm Poppy."

Despite myself, I smiled back. "That's a lovely name."

"Thank you. Daddy picked it."

"Did he?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "He said it sounded like sunshine."

For one brief moment, I forgot about the man sitting opposite me.

Something about the way she said it made my chest soften. She had the kind of innocent confidence children possessed when they believed the people they loved could do no wrong.

I knew very little about children. I liked them, of course, but liking children from a distance and actually knowing what to do when one looked at you expectantly were two entirely different things.

Still, Poppy was adorable.

And unlike her father, she hadn't accused me of being a trespasser in my own rented home.

"Well," I told her, "I think your daddy chose very well."

"Thank you," she repeated, beaming.

"You're welcome."

"Do you have a daughter?"

The question caught me off guard.

"No."

"A son?"

"No."

"Then who do you live with?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

It was a simple question. An ordinary question. One that shouldn't have made me feel as though someone had pressed a finger against a bruise.

"No one," I answered eventually. "Just me."

Poppy's smile faded a little.

"You're all alone?"

I swallowed.

Before I could answer, her father intervened.

"Poppy, sweetheart, we don't need to ask Miss Maren all those questions."

"But I was just asking."

"I know."

He said it gently, without the irritation he'd used with me. His hand settled briefly on her shoulder, and she leaned into him as though the movement were as natural as breathing.

Something inside me twisted.

I looked away.

There had been a time when I thought I would have a family of my own. A husband, perhaps children someday, a house filled with noise and laughter. The sort of future my parents had always spoken about as though it were already written.

Except every time I imagined that future with Graham, something inside me had gone quiet.

I'd tried to convince myself that love could grow after marriage. That I was being childish, that the discomfort would pass, that I only needed to stop overthinking everything.

But when the moment came to step out of that car and walk into the wedding venue, I had discovered that there was a difference between being afraid of a decision and knowing it was wrong.

I pressed my fingers together in my lap.

I would not cry.

Not in front of this man.

Not again.

"So," Wade said, drawing my attention back to him. "How long have you been here?"

I frowned. "What?"

"In the house. How long?"

"Since this afternoon."

His jaw tightened. "And my grandmother didn't mention anything to you about me?"

I stared at him.

"Your grandmother?"

"The landlady."

"Oh." I shifted in my seat. "No. She said the house belonged to someone in her family, but she didn't say you lived here."

"Because I don't."

"Then I don't see the problem."

His expression darkened.

I lifted my hands. "I'm serious. You said you don't live here. I was told I could rent the house. I paid for it. What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Leave."

The word landed between us.

"You want me to leave?"

"Yes."

I let out a disbelieving breath.

"Absolutely not."

His eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I'm not leaving."

"You seem to be under the impression that this is a negotiation."

"And you seem to be under the impression that you can order a complete stranger out of a house she paid to rent."

"It's my house."

"And I paid for the right to stay in it!"

"Without my permission!"

"Then perhaps you should have spoken to your grandmother before she rented it out!"

His mouth opened.

For a second, I thought he'd have an answer.

Then he closed it again, and the look on his face told me I'd hit a nerve.

Good.

At least one of us was beginning to understand how ridiculous this was.

"Look," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady, "I didn't come here to cause you problems. I needed somewhere to stay, and your grandmother offered me this place. I didn't know you existed until you nearly gave me a heart attack in the kitchen. If you have an issue with the arrangement, take it up with her. But I'm not going to pack my things and wander around looking for somewhere else to sleep because you showed up unexpectedly."

His gaze lingered on my face.

I couldn't tell what he was thinking, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

Then he looked away, his jaw working.

"Fine."

I blinked.

Fine?

That was it?

He reached for his phone.

"We'll wait for her to get here."

I relaxed a fraction.

"Good."

"But don't mistake that for me agreeing to let you stay."

I stiffened again.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good."

"Wonderful."

Poppy sighed loudly.

We both looked at her.

She folded her arms across her little chest and shook her head with an expression of deep disappointment.

"You two are fighting again."

"We're not fighting," Wade said.

"Yes, you are."

"No, we're having a conversation."

"Grandma says when people talk loudly and their faces get angry, they're fighting."

I pressed my lips together.

Wade looked at the ceiling.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then his expression hardened again, as though he'd caught himself noticing something he didn't want to notice.

I looked away first.

I wasn't here to make friends. I wasn't here to get involved in anyone's life. I certainly wasn't here to become acquainted with a grumpy man who thought he could throw me out of a house I'd paid for.

I was here because I'd finally made a decision for myself.

And I intended to stand by it.

A car engine sounded outside.

I sat up immediately.

Wade's head turned toward the window.

"That's her," he muttered.

Relief swept through me so quickly that I nearly laughed again.

Finally.

Someone who could explain what was happening.

Someone who could confirm that I hadn't accidentally rented a house from a woman who had no right to rent it in the first place.

The front door opened a moment later, followed by the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

Then the landlady appeared in the living room.

Her gaze moved from Wade to Poppy, then settled on me.

She smiled.

"Oh, good. You're all getting acquainted."

I stared at her.

Wade stared at her.

Poppy waved.

The old woman looked between the three of us, her smile slowly fading as she took in our expressions.

"What?" she asked cautiously.

I stood so quickly that my knees knocked against the coffee table.

"What do you mean, getting acquainted?"

Wade rose beside me.

"Grandma," he said, in a voice so calm it was almost frightening, "would you care to explain why there's a tenant in my house?"

The old woman blinked.

Then she sighed, as though we'd inconvenienced her by asking.

"Oh, Wade. Don't start."

I looked at her in disbelief.

Don't start?

I had spent the evening being screamed at, accused of trespassing, and nearly frightened out of my skin by a man wielding a coat stand. My towel had fallen off in front of him, and I'd been forced to defend my right to sleep in a house I'd paid for.

And now the woman responsible for all of it was telling him not to start?

I pressed my lips together.

This was going to be a very long night.

And judging by the look on Wade Mercer's face, it was about to get much, much worse.