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Harrison’s frown deepens, a canyon between his brows. “But that’s where . . . that’s the real estate in question. We were told it was unoccupied, no renters.”
“She lives in the guest cottage.”
The PPO’s forehead wrinkles like a shar-pei.
“It’s a separate property,” I point out. “Back in the day, it was the guest quarters for the main house. For the help and all that. My mom bought it five years ago when it had just been subdivided into two different properties. We share a driveway, but that’s it.”
I know I can’t see his eyes, but I can feel the resentment in them, the fact that he’s going to be sharing a driveway with me.
Oh. Wait a minute.
I’m going to be sharing a driveway with them.
Holy shit.
They’re going to be my neighbors!
“Nothing is final,” Harrison quickly says, reading my building excitement. “I don’t even know if they’ll want to rent it or not. They’re just looking at their options.”
Bert shrugs with one shoulder. “If they don’t, there are plenty of other properties on the island that might suit them. Privacy, space, we have that in spades.” He pauses. “That said . . . are you sure they really want to move here? I mean, no offense, but judging from how the town was today, I’m not sure our fair little island can handle it.”
“I’m sure they’ll take that into consideration,” Harrison comments, in a way that says they most likely won’t.
“So, am I free to go home now?” I ask.
“Of course,” Bert says, but Harrison holds out his hand in that “stop” gesture again. My goodness, he has large hands.
“Just a minute, Miss Chamomile.”
“Piper,” I say imploringly. “My name is Piper. Chamomile is the name of one of my students.” He’s smart enough to remember my name, so it’s obvious he’s just doing this to be a dick.
“Because you share a driveway, I have to trust you not to go up to the property or take any pictures or tip off anyone or . . . You know what? I’ll escort you to your house.”
I jerk my chin back, which I’m sure is very flattering. “You will not.” I look at Bert with wide eyes. “He can’t escort me.”
Bert’s mustache twitches with sympathy. “The royals are a part of our commonwealth, and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police is in charge of providing their overall safety when they visit. I can escort you, Piper, if you want, but if they are calling for it, then I’m afraid I have no choice but to provide the service.”
“They aren’t calling for it. He is.” I side-eye Harrison again.
His face could be made of stone. “As head of security for the Duke and Duchess of Fairfax, I make the calls, and my word is law.”
Whoa. That’s dramatic. I glance at Bert, thinking I’ll catch a hint of a smile buried under his lip bush, but to my surprise, he’s looking at Harrison in awe.
Bert finally wipes the fanboy expression off his face and looks at me. “I’m still more than happy to escort you, if you’re not comfortable with this gentleman.”
Oh great. Now it sounds like I’m scared.
“I’m absolutely comfortable with this . . . man.” I make a weak gesture to him. “I’ve never had a male escort before, so why not start now?”
I flash him an overly cheery smile, and he grunts at me in response.
With a heavy exhale, he nods at Bert. “Do you mind blocking the road while I escort this woman to her house? No one is allowed through unless they have proof of address.”
“No problem,” Bert says, and then he goes and actually salutes the man.
Harrison nods in response, and then to my surprise he walks around the front of the car and opens the passenger door. For some reason I thought he would walk beside my car or something like that, like . . . escort me. Not actually get in the car with me.
I don’t think I’m ready for this level of intimacy.
But he pauses, half in the car, which seems far too small for his massive frame, eyeing the disaster on the seat. I quickly start picking up all the junk with both hands and throwing it in the back seat.
Finally he sits down, his knees comically rammed against the glove compartment.
“There’s a lever at the side,” I tell him, “to adjust your seat.”
He moves the lever back and forth until the seat slams all the way to the back.
THWACK!
For a dude who probably had to do some epic training with crazy dangerous situations, he seems completely out of sorts in the fuzzy green seat.
I try not to laugh, especially since he looks so serious as he dutifully buckles himself in. He looks down at the seats and the dice.
“Interesting décor. Did you skin Oscar the Grouch?”
