Chapter 3 – An Unlikely Offer

The rain hasn’t let up by the time I pull into a quiet residential street. It’s the kind of neighborhood where the lawns are too neat, the houses too close together, and the porch lights glow like they’ve been waiting for company.

My GPS announces, “You have arrived at your destination,” in that smug tone that makes me want to argue with it. The address Marissa sent me matches the house in front of me—a simple two-story with a dark blue exterior and white trim. The front porch light is on, but the blinds in the windows are drawn tight.

I sit there for a second, engine running, palms sweating on the steering wheel. Every nerve in my body is screaming, Turn around. This is a bad idea.

It’s not like I have options.

I check my phone again. There’s a new text from Marissa: Just knock. He’ll be grumpy, but he won’t let you sleep in your car.

Grumpy is putting it nicely. I remember Liam Carter from that barbecue—tall, broad, and radiating the kind of serious that makes you straighten your posture without realizing it. He didn’t smile once that whole afternoon, not even when his kid shoved a cupcake into his hand.

I take a deep breath, grab my duffel from the back seat, and step out into the rain. By the time I reach the porch, my hair is plastered to my cheeks and my sweatshirt is sticking to my skin. I knock once, hesitantly, then again, louder.

The door opens halfway, and there he is—exactly as I remember, maybe even more intimidating up close. His dark hair is a little messy, like he’s been running his hand through it all evening. He’s wearing a plain gray T-shirt that fits just enough to hint at the muscles underneath. His eyes flick over me quickly, sharp and assessing, before landing on the bag slung over my shoulder.

“Can I help you?” he says, voice low and rough.

“Uh, hi,” I start, instantly regretting not rehearsing something better. “Marissa sent me.”

His brows draw together. “Marissa?”

“Your cousin,” I clarify. “She, um, said you might have a spare room?”

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, his gaze cool and unreadable. Then he opens the door a little wider, but not in a welcoming way. More like he’s deciding whether to let the cat in or shoo it away.

“It’s late,” he says finally.

“I know. Trust me, this isn’t how I planned to spend my night.”

“What happened?”

“My apartment flooded.” I try to keep my tone light, but it comes out more tired than I mean. “Landlord says it’ll be weeks before I can go back.”

Liam’s expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth—maybe surprise, maybe annoyance. “So you came here?”

“Not exactly my first choice,” I admit before I can stop myself. “But Marissa said you had a spare room, and she seemed to think you owed her one.”

That gets the faintest huff of a laugh out of him. “She would say that.”

I shift my weight, the strap of my bag digging into my shoulder. “Look, if this is too weird, I can—”

“Where would you go?” he cuts in, his tone not unkind, just… direct.

I hesitate. “My car, I guess.”

His jaw tightens. “You’re not sleeping in your car.”

Before I can answer, a small voice pipes up from somewhere behind him. “Daddy? Who’s that?”

A little girl appears at his side, peeking around his leg. She’s maybe six or seven, with dark hair pulled into a messy braid and big brown eyes that are nothing like his stormy ones. She’s wearing pink pajamas with tiny unicorns on them.

Liam glances down at her. “Back to bed, Em.”

“Is she staying here?” the girl asks, looking at me with open curiosity.

“We’re talking about it,” he says, which sounds suspiciously like a maybe.

Her face brightens. “She’s pretty.”

I smile, caught off guard. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“Bed,” Liam says again, but his tone is softer this time. She giggles and pads off toward what I assume is the hallway.

He turns back to me, rubbing a hand over his jaw like he’s trying to scrub away the decision forming in his head. “You can stay. For a little while.”

Relief floods through me so fast it’s dizzying. “Thank you. I promise I won’t be in the way.”

“We’ll see,” he mutters, stepping aside to let me in.

The house smells faintly of coffee and something warm, maybe cinnamon. The living room is neat—too neat, the kind of tidy that says either no one lives here or someone’s very strict about where things go. There’s a couch, a coffee table with a single magazine on it, and a bookshelf lined with hardcovers.

“You can take the guest room upstairs, second door on the right,” he says, closing the door behind me. “Bathroom’s across the hall. Kitchen’s downstairs, obviously.”

“Got it.”

“And one more thing.” He fixes me with a look that makes me feel like I’m about to be given detention. “This isn’t permanent. A week, maybe two, until you find something else.”

“Understood.”

“And no… distractions.”

I blink. “Distractions?”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Whatever it is you usually do to cause chaos.”

I almost laugh, but something about his tone makes me bite it back. “I’ll be a ghost,” I say instead.

We stand there for a moment, the rain tapping against the windows, neither of us quite sure what to say next. Then he gestures toward the stairs. “Go get settled. It’s late.”

I nod, clutching my bag a little tighter as I head for the staircase. The carpet is soft under my damp socks, the hallway dimly lit by a single lamp.

The guest room is small but clean—white walls, a double bed with a plain gray comforter, and a dresser that looks like it’s never been used. I drop my bag at the foot of the bed and sink down onto the mattress, letting out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

I listen for footsteps, but the house is quiet again. I’m still damp, still shivering a little, but the warmth of the room starts to seep into my skin.

I tell myself I’ll just rest for a minute before unpacking. But my eyes drift shut, and the steady drum of the rain outside pulls me under.

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when I hear it—soft footsteps in the hallway. The faint creak of the floorboards just outside my door.

Then, a low voice, almost a whisper.

“She’s here, isn’t she?”

It’s the little girl.

And then another voice, quieter but unmistakable. Liam’s.

“Yeah. But I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”