Page 8 of Slapshot Bride

“Well, welcome to my house, Ms. Brooks,” He winks. “Come on, let me give you a tour.”

He beckons me to follow but for a minute, I’m thrown off.

“A tour? Like it’s a museum? I’m only here for the night. A couch to rest my head would be fucking generous of you right now, and that’s all I need.”

He cocks a brow.

“It’s a five-bedroom house, Riley. You’re not sleeping on the couch, and you sure as hell don’t have to figure out your entire life tonight.” He nods toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour. I’m gone a lot during the day, so if you’re staying here, I want you to be comfortable when I’m not around."

I’m floored by his offer.

He’s a stranger. One I made my getaway driver abruptly and rudely. I barreled into his life without warning, and he’s taken the reins to step up for me.

My eyes almost water. Almost because this man has the guts to look me in the eyes like I just stepped out of an alternate universe, and he’s not being the nicest person to me at this moment.

“I don’t know whatever you’ve got going on in that pretty head, but come on,” He waves his hand. This time, I don’t wait. My legs propel me forward.

He gives me the tour in about six minutes, not the entire house, but enough to get my bearings. Guest room at the end of the hall, queen bed, clean white bedding, a lamp with a shade still in the plastic. He pulls the plastic off the shade without comment and drops it in a trash can.

“Bathroom’s through there.” He pushes the door open. Large, slate-tiled, walk-in shower. “Towels are in the cabinet.”

“Okay.”

“There’s a lock on the bedroom door.” He says it like it’s nothing, just a standard feature he’s mentioning the same way he’d mention the Wi-Fi password. He’s already turning back toward the hallway. “Use it if you want.”

I stare at his back.

He offered me a house with a room and a lock, and he said it like it would be strange if he didn’t. Like the most obvious thing in the world was to tell a woman he’d known for forty-five minutes that she was safe here.

This man has literally given me his house.

“Easton,” I say his name like a prayer because it might as well be.

He stops in the doorway.

“Thank you. I mean that. I know that…” My voice wobbles at the hinge of the sentence. I push through it. “I know this is a lot to ask of a stranger. And you didn’t even let me ask it, you just...” I stop. A lump forms in my throat. I try again. “Thank you.”

He looks at me for a beat. Something moves through his expression—not pity, I’d recognize pity, and he’s never looked at me with that, in all of the forty-five minutes I’ve known him.

That makes me laugh.

“I can’t believe it’s only been less than an hour, and you…” I exhale, trying to will back the tears that are filling my eyes. “You’ve trusted me with your home, a-and…”

I see him step forward and extend an arm like he’s coming in for a hug, but he catches himself last minute. Silence swallows the rest of my words. A minute passes, and I just stare on, wordlessly.

“There's a t-shirt and some shorts on the bed,” he says. “They’re going to be too big.”

“That’s okay. It’s… It’s more than I need.”

He turns to walk away, but stops at the door.

“Riley…” His eyes meet mine again. “You can stay as long as you need.”

He leans a shoulder against the doorframe, and for the first time, I notice how tired he looks. There are faint shadows beneath his eyes, and suddenly I feel a little guilty for hijacking whatever plans he had for tonight. “No questions. No conditions. Stay until you figure things out.”

I nod, my throat doing that annoying thing again.

“I need to get some sleep,” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s been a long day, and I’m running on about four hours.”