Page 11 of Lucky Haven

She stops pretending she’s looking for something to cook for dinner, and she finally gives me her full attention. Her eyes glitter, but her chin stays stubborn. “This is my hometown. Not his. He doesn’t get to scare me.”

“Hell—” I cut myself off from cursing. “Heck yeah.”

She smiles reluctantly. “You can swear.”

“Thank fuck.”

That makes her laugh. Good.

“Listen, I’m not just a pretty face, you know? I’m a big, thick, scary looking dude. So while the kissing plan was good—definitely sent him a message—I think I can be more useful in a…protective capacity.”

“What do you mean?”

“You got a scary email earlier.” Yeah, I didn’t forget that. I don’t forget anything. “You need a bodyguard.”

Chapter Four

Haven

I laugh again, because he’s very good at joking. But the way he grimly stares at me, I don’t think he said that to put me at ease.

It’s having the opposite effect, in fact. A weird worry starts to crawl up my spine. “What do you mean?”

“There are two options for making it clear to Jeb—and anyone else who wants to cause you trouble—that you’re not to be messed with. If you don’t mind being associated with me, I’d make it clear you’re under my protection.”

“I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“You aren’t. If there’s trouble that’s needed, it’ll be me that causes it. But I saw how Meghan Pelley looked at you.”

I snort. “She didn’t look at me.”

“Is this what it’s like for you every day? Harassing emails, cold shoulder from frigid bitches?”

“Not every day,” I whisper, but there’s a lump in my throat, because it’s more common than I’d like to admit.

“Jesus, Haven.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “Okay, we’re going to do something about this. Have you talked to your uncle? Do you want me to talk to him?”

“You wouldn’t!”

He barks a cold laugh. “I’m not scared of him. Trust me, I can walk into his church without a second thought.”

I bite my lower lip, worrying it between my teeth.

He frowns. “You haven’t talked to him at all, have you?”

Shaking my head, I try to fight the wave of regret surging inside me. “I know I should, but⁠—”

“Nope, I’m not saying you should do anything. If anyone had an obligation to reach out, that’s on him. Did he do that?”

The lump in my throat gets worse.

“Fuck,” he whispers before he tugs me in against his chest and wraps his arms around me, enveloping me in hard muscles and the scent of soap and skin.

His t-shirt is soft and clean, and as tears start to fall, I have the faint thought that my face is going to be blotchy, but he’s already seen me like that once today.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You’ve been nice to me since I returned.”