Chapter 4 – The Agreement

The smell of coffee pulls me out of sleep before I’m ready. For a second, I forget where I am, my brain still stuck in the memory of peeling paint and the steady drip-drip-drip of water in my old apartment. Then I hear the faint clatter of mugs downstairs and remember—Liam Carter’s house. Spare room. Temporary.

The floor is cool under my feet as I shuffle toward the kitchen, my hair an unbrushed mess and my sweatshirt hanging loose off one shoulder. I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear voices—Liam’s low rumble and a lighter, quicker voice that must belong to his daughter, Emily.

“She’s still sleeping?” she asks.

“She got in late,” Liam says. “Let her rest.”

I turn the corner into the kitchen, and both of them look up. Emily’s sitting at the table with a half-eaten bowl of cereal, and Liam’s leaning against the counter, coffee in hand.

“Morning,” I say, aiming for casual.

“Morning,” Emily says brightly.

Liam nods once. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” I say, trying not to sound too grateful.

He pours a mug without asking how I take it—black, apparently—and slides it across the counter toward me. I take a sip and immediately try not to wince. It’s strong enough to strip paint, but caffeine is caffeine.

Emily leans forward. “Daddy says you’re staying here for a little while.”

“That’s right,” I say. “Just until my place gets fixed.”

“Daddy snores,” she whispers, like it’s top-secret information.

I laugh, and Liam gives her a look. “Emily.”

She shrugs, grinning. “It’s true.”

I sip my coffee again, bracing for whatever awkward conversation is about to happen. Liam’s too controlled to just let me stay without some sort of terms. Sure enough, he sets his mug down and folds his arms like he’s about to deliver a verdict.

“We should set some ground rules,” he says.

I rest my elbow on the counter. “Ground rules? Sounds serious.”

“It is,” he says, completely straight-faced. “I’ve got a kid. I like my house quiet. And I’m not… used to having someone else here.”

“Translation,” I say, “you think I’m going to turn this place into a circus.”

“Am I wrong?”

I grin. “Depends on your definition of circus.”

He doesn’t smile. “Rule one—no touching.”

I blink. “No touching?”

“You heard me.”

I set my mug down, feigning offense. “Do you think I’m just going to… leap across the room and grope you without warning?”

His expression doesn’t change. “I think you live in a world where boundaries aren’t always clear. So I’m making them clear.”

I tilt my head. “Wow. You really know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

“Rule two,” he continues, ignoring me, “no loud music, no unexpected guests, and no… late-night activities that wake people up.”

I raise an eyebrow. “By late-night activities, do you mean—”

“Yes,” he says quickly, and his ears turn the faintest shade of pink.

Emily giggles, clearly catching the tension without understanding it. “What’s rule three, Daddy?”

“No leaving dishes in the sink,” he says.

“That’s it?” I ask. “That’s your sacred list of rules? No touching, no noise, and clean the kitchen?”

“Also,” he says, “don’t go into my office.”

I lean against the counter, swirling my coffee. “And what happens if I break one of these precious rules?”

His gaze sharpens. “Then you find somewhere else to stay.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air between us is thick with unspoken things—his obvious distrust, my equally obvious urge to poke at it just to see what happens.

I take a long sip of coffee, then set the mug down. “Fine. I can follow your rules.”

“Good.” He turns back to the counter, grabbing his keys. “I’ve got work. Emily’s going to a friend’s after school, so you’ll have the house to yourself for a bit.”

I nod. “Got it. No touching. No noise. No office. Your kingdom, your laws.”

He shoots me a look on his way out the door, and I can’t tell if it’s annoyance or the tiniest flicker of amusement.

Once he’s gone, Emily grins at me. “He’s always like that.”

“Grumpy?”

“Yeah. But he makes the best pancakes on Sundays.”

I smile. “Noted.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of unpacking my bag and poking around the guest room. I tell myself I’m not curious about his office—closed door, no sign of life behind it—but my eyes keep drifting that way whenever I walk down the hall.

By late afternoon, the rain has finally stopped, and I’m curled up on the couch with a blanket, scrolling through apartment listings that make me want to cry. Too small, too expensive, too far from work.

The front door opens, and Liam steps in, shaking off his jacket. He glances at me, then at the coffee table, then back at me again. “You’ve been here all day?”

“Yes. Following your rules to the letter.”

He doesn’t comment, just sets his keys down and heads toward the kitchen. A moment later, he’s back, leaning on the arm of the couch.

“Just so we’re clear,” he says, “no touching includes casual stuff. No brushing past me, no hand on the shoulder, no… whatever it is you do to get people on your side.”

I look up at him, biting back a smile. “You think I have some kind of magic touch?”

“I think,” he says, “you’re the kind of person who doesn’t even realize when you’ve crossed a line. So we’re avoiding that entirely.”

I sit up a little straighter, mock-serious. “Understood. Your personal space is a sacred temple. I’ll keep my hands and elbows and knees entirely to myself.”

“Good.”

He turns to leave, but I can’t resist. “Does this rule work both ways? Or is it just me who’s banned from touching?”

He pauses at the doorway. “Both ways.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me staring at the empty space where he stood.

It’s only later, when I’m brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed, that I realize how strange it is to have a rule like that in the first place. No touching. Like we’re middle schoolers with a teacher watching to make sure we keep a foot of space between us at all times.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror, toothpaste foam on my lip, and laugh under my breath. This is going to be… interesting.

But as I turn out the light in the guest room, I hear it again—the soft creak of the hallway floorboards.

I hold my breath, listening.

And then, so faint I almost think I imagined it, Liam’s voice from just outside my door.

“I don’t know if I can actually follow that rule.”