by Nash, Willa
A calling.
This. I could do this.
I’d had the same thing happen in college when Lucy had told me she was moving to Nashville. She’d asked me to come along and I’d known, to the essence of my being, I could do it.
“Give me one of them,” Hux said.
“It will help Savannah.”
“I didn’t realize you cared so much about my daughter.”
“We went through something horrific together.” And it was my fault.
I’d led the stalker to Calamity. Whatever wounds that incident had inflicted on the girl were on me. I had to live with that guilt, but if there was something I could do to make it easier for her, then I’d do it.
Savannah reminded me so much of myself at that age. Lonely. Lost. An outsider in my own home. I’d been able to run away to Lucy’s for an escape. Savannah deserved to find her own sanctuary and maybe that safe place was with Hux.
From the sounds of it, the cards were stacked against him. I had the power to even the scales. Maybe not balance them completely. It was going to take a lot for a judge to look beyond the past. But I could help.
“It might not work,” he said. “Even with a wife or a better reputation around town, it might not make a damn bit of difference.”
“You won’t know if you don’t try.”
He hung his head. “This is insanity.”
My breath caught. Was that a yes? It almost sounded like a yes.
Until he raised his chin and leveled me with a penetrating gaze. “I don’t buy it.”
“Buy what?”
“Your reason for offering to marry me. Yeah, you and Savannah went through some shit at the farmhouse. But you could help her through it without marrying her father. Mentor her at school or something. Do what Duke does for Travis, just be in her life. You don’t need to be my wife for that.”
Suspicious much? “All true. Like I said, I have reasons.”
“Give me another.”
“Maybe I’m bored.”
“Not a reason to get married. Try again.”
He was asking me to open a window to my soul. To talk about my parents and my past and my feelings and . . . no. My reasons were mine. Hux wasn’t going to agree to this anyway, so my reasons for offering to help him were none of his damn business. “Let’s be done talking about this.”
“Fine,” he clipped.
I started up the stairs, muttering, “I don’t know why I’m trying to convince you of this anyway. I’m not the one who needs to improve their image.”
“What did you say?”
I stopped. “I said that I’m not going to convince you of this. It sounded like you were stuck. I offered to help. That’s all. I don’t have a problem with my image around town. I don’t need a judge’s approval. But I get it. You don’t want a woman. You don’t want a wife, not a real one or a fake one. Discussion over.”
Typical Hux, he assumed his scowl.
And I went upstairs, stripped off his shirt and pulled on my clothes from yesterday. I’d shower when I got back to my apartment.
Hux was waiting by the door wearing a gray jacket and a black beanie that covered his hair.
I swallowed a groan. The beanie was sexy. It made his sooty eyelashes darker. It gave him a rugged edge. I would definitely let him screw me wearing that beanie. Too bad any and all future bedroom escapades were off the table.
When he dropped me off today, I doubted I’d see Hux again.
All because I’d opened my damn mouth and offered to be his wife.
We didn’t speak as he led me into the garage. He focused on the road as he drove. I kept my gaze out the passenger window. The tension mounted, growing block after block, and when he turned on First, I knew it was my last chance to clear the air.
“Look, I only wanted to help.” I sighed. “I don’t want you to think I was offering marriage because I have any delusions of what is happening here. You and I are—were—purely physical. This wasn’t something I thought to trap you with.”
“’Kay,” he deadpanned.
He didn’t believe me? Gah. This man was infuriating. Did he trust no one?
“I like Savannah,” I said. “She reminds me of me when I was that age. Stubborn but soft. She wants to pretend like she’s got it all figured out but deep down, she’s scared. She’s unsure, though she’ll never admit it.”
Hux remained silent, though his shoulders slumped a fraction of an inch. Because he knew I was right about his kid.
“I don’t have much going for me,” I admitted. “Honestly, I’m in limbo. My career as a singer is over. I left my home in Nashville. I grew up in New York and have no desire to return. So I’m here. But not really sure what my next step is. When I heard your lawyer joke about this, I just thought . . .”
What the hell had I been thinking?
Marriage? To a stranger? Limbo was not the time for me to be making major life decisions.
Except it didn’t seem major. My parents’ marriage had always been more like a business relationship. They were more passionate about their accounting firm than they were about love or sex.
They might have skewed my perception of marriage, but this thing with Hux could be similar. He’d improve his chances to win his daughter. I’d have a purpose—temporary, but a purpose.
“Thought what?” Hux asked.
“I thought it would give me something to do. Until I figured out what direction to go, this would be better than hiding in my apartment, watching the world instead of participating in it.”
Hux pulled up to the curb in front of my building. “It’s just—”
“Too crazy.”
He nodded. “You don’t know me. You don’t want to.”
“I know enough.” I gave him a sad smile.
Hux wasn’t a villain. Emotionally unavailable, but not a bad guy.
“Take care, Hux.” I leaned across the cab and brushed a kiss to his stubbled cheek, dragging in one last inhale of his intoxicating scent. Spice and soap and paint. I doubted I’d ever be able to smell paint again and not think of him. Then I got out of the truck and disappeared inside my building.
The rumble of his engine was gone before the door closed at my back.
Alone again.
“That was an interesting morning.” I laughed to myself and trudged upstairs to the apartment where I took a shower, leaving my long hair to air dry. Then I crawled into bed, yawning to the ceiling, but even after snuggling deep into my pillow, I couldn’t find sleep.
What better way to spend a Friday than clean?
I worked with fury through most of the day, refusing to go to the window and look outside. I didn’t want to see Hux’s truck in front of the gallery. I didn’t want to see the gallery period.
Because as I dusted, vacuumed and scrubbed, the morning played over and over in my mind. With each loop, the embarrassment grew. My cheeks were hot with shame.
Goddamn it.
I’d basically begged that man to marry me. I mean, I hadn’t dropped to my knees and pleaded, but there was nothing about what had happened this morning that didn’t make me look like the crazy woman who’d heard the word marriage and jumped all over it like the only single bridesmaid during the bouquet toss.
“I don’t even want to get married!” I cried to no one as I furiously polished the stainless-steel fridge.
At least, not right now. Someday, I wanted a family of my own. But I was in no place for a real relationship at the moment. Maybe that was why I’d suggested it. Reese Huxley was not real husband material. I’d dodged a bullet.
Yet he had rejected me. And it had been surprisingly painful.
What the actual fuck?
It wasn’t about me. I took my polish to the dishwasher, buffing it to a shine. That rejection wasn’t about me. Hux would have rejected anyone. Knowing that didn’t ease the sting.
My phone rang on the counter and I picked it up. Dad. Uh-oh. What had I done now? “Hey, Dad.”
Keyboard c
licks rang in the background.
“Hello?”
More typing.
“Dad.”
Nothing.
“Dad!”
“Everly?” he asked, coming on the line. “Strange. I didn’t hear the phone ring.”
“Because you called me.”
“I did?”
“Yes,” I drawled.
“Oh, sorry. I must have just hit the wrong name.” And without another word, he ended the call. Probably to call the right name.
“And it’s a wonder why I didn’t go home for Christmas.”
Assholes. Two rejections from two different men on the same day was enough to send my cleaning into overdrive.
My apartment wasn’t big. The studio was one open room with windows only along the front wall. The bathroom, tucked beside the kitchen, was the only space with a door. But with nothing else to do, I made the place sparkle.
The duct work in the open industrial ceiling got dusted. I shined every inch of glass. I cleaned the inside of the fridge. I color coordinated my rolling rack of clothes.
I spent the day doing anything and everything to feel productive.
It didn’t work.
For the first time in months, limbo felt weak. It felt childish. It felt . . . hopeless.
With the scent of bleach, glass cleaner and furniture polish in the air, I finally put away my sponges and rags to plop down on the couch and open my laptop. Job hunting was up next.
Nothing new had popped up since I’d searched the other day. The only new listing required a bachelor’s degree.
“The grocery store it is.” I could cashier there until something else opened up. If something else opened up. If they hired me. I groaned and clutched my twisting stomach. What if they didn’t hire me? What if I was the worst candidate in their pool?
What if the problem wasn’t the Calamity job market, but me?
My fingers hovered over the keys and my heart lurched as I let them type in the search bar.
Jobs in New Orleans.
If Calamity’s job pool was too small, Montana might not be the place for me. The idea of leaving Lucy behind made my heart ache, but she had Duke and, soon, their baby. She might be my only true family in this world, but that didn’t mean we had to live in the same town.
New Orleans might be fun. I’d never been there but Mardi Gras was on my bucket list.
The list of available positions for a woman with few qualifications was surprisingly long. The hourly rates were droolworthy.
I’d just clicked on a position with a clothing company when a knock came at the door. I set my laptop aside and crossed the room. It was probably Kerrigan. She often came upstairs to say hello whenever she was downtown. Maybe she’d be up for a Friday afternoon cocktail, because I sure as hell could use one.
But when I checked the peephole, it wasn’t Kerrigan on the other side.
It was Hux.
“Hey.” I opened the door and stepped aside so he could come in, but he stayed rooted to his spot beyond the threshold.
“Were you serious?”
As I’d cleaned, I’d tried to convince myself that Hux’s rejection was a good thing. But with him so close, still wearing that sexy-as-fuck beanie, I knew my earlier efforts had been futile.
I would marry Hux.
“Yes.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, then gave me the tiniest of nods. “Okay.”
My stomach dropped. Oh. My. God.
Holy fuck.
I was getting married.
Chapter Eight
Hux
“Sorry.” I shuffled to the side so Everly could pass me in the hallway. My back was plastered against the wall as she slid by, keeping her eyes trained on the floor.
Goddamn, this was awkward.
Everly darted down the stairs and I blew out a long breath, taking the box I was carrying to the office.
We hadn’t spoken much in the last five days. Too stunned that I’d actually gone to her place and we’d agreed to get married, I’d bolted as soon as we’d exchanged phone numbers.
Everly had agreed to become my wife and she hadn’t even known my number.
How fucked up was that?
It had started as a kiss in my office, a marathon fuck in my bed, and now she was my fiancée.
I’d inhaled too many paint fumes. They’d warped my mind.
Yet as I acknowledged this was crazy, I couldn’t seem to turn this train wreck around.
After the past five days, I’d thought a lot about what Aiden had said. I’d hashed and rehashed his concerns and my ex-wife.
April was a master at tainting my reputation around town. She had the crying, pitiful, poor-me act honed to perfection. And most people bought it.
To Aiden’s point, I hadn’t done anything to dispute it.
There was no point. She was April Tosh, loving wife of Julian Tosh, a respected and admired attorney. Maybe some folks suspected that Julian liked to hit April—and that April liked it when Julian hit her—but there was no proof and April would never turn on him.
She was a master manipulator and liar. She wanted to cast me as the evil, criminal ex-husband, and that’s just what she’d done. She refused to let people forget why I’d gone to prison. She’d convinced many around town that I was the one who’d shunned Savannah. She had too many believing I’d disowned my own child and that Saint Julian had stepped in to rescue her.
People didn’t want to see the truth. They didn’t want to admit I was fighting for my child. They didn’t want to think about why I’d always, always refused to let Julian adopt her.
It was easier to believe her lies, buy into the crocodile tears and pathetic stories.
Fucking Calamity.
This town was too small for its own good.
If not for Savannah, I would have left long ago. But I refused to leave here until she was eighteen. Only two years to go.
I was thirty-five, and starting over before I hit forty sounded damn nice. The plan was to move to whatever area she decided on for work or college. Thankfully, my baby girl wanted to get the hell out of Calamity too.
Katie could run the gallery here or we could close it down. I didn’t care.
But that was for later. There were still two years left. Two important years. So I’d keep fighting, and it was time to step up my strategy.
I’d been in the studio painting when I’d realized this marriage idea might be a good one. It had stunned me so fast, the brush in my hand had dropped onto my jeans, streaking them with green.
Before I knew it, I was driving to Everly’s apartment and knocking on her door.
What was it about that woman who made me act on impulse? That first night in the bar. The second night at her place. And now . . . marriage.
We were getting married.
In two days.
Today, she was moving into my home. She’d texted a few days ago and said we should probably live under the same roof.
It was strange to have her in my space. The box in my arms was full of chargers and electronics and a few books. She’d spent the past few days packing up her apartment, though there wasn’t much. She’d decided to leave the furniture until her lease was up with Kerrigan. Then she’d sell it, either online or to Kerrigan, who could then rent the space as furnished.
Everly’s footsteps echoed on the stairs. I braced for another awkward exchange.
We probably should have stuck with the sex.
Eventually, this would fade, right? I sure as hell hoped so. Because there’d be no avoiding one another.
I had three bedrooms, one of which I’d turned into an office. The guest room was for Savannah. So Everly and I would be sharing a room, a bed and a bathroom, like an actual married couple.
The ruse had to work here too. If Savannah came over, she needed to think I’d married Everly for real.
We couldn’t risk anyone knowing this was all a bluff.
“Um . . .” Everly appeared in the doorway behind
me with another box, setting it on the floor.
“I’ll clear some space.” The desk in my home office was as cluttered as the desk at the gallery. Buried beneath the papers was a smooth, hickory surface. I just hadn’t seen it for a few years.
“Okay.” She glanced around the room, taking in the crowded bookshelves. Her gaze darted over the tall-backed chair and the stacks of blank canvases in one corner.
I was always tripping over canvases but when the time came and I needed a certain size, I never could find the right one. I collected a large armful to take to the studio.
“I don’t need much,” she said. “You can leave them.”
“No, I should have moved these months ago. Just didn’t get to it.”
She shifted so I could pass, five under one arm and three under the other. Then I bolted down the stairs, through the living room and out the back door, where I disappeared to my studio.
I breathed a long sigh when I was inside. “Fuck.”
Savannah. This is for Savannah.
Everly had her unknown reasons for agreeing and I had mine.
This was my Hail Mary so I might as well go all in. And somehow, if there was any person who could convince the entire town this was a real marriage, it was Everly.
She was magnetic. She drew people in with her warm smile and magical eyes. Maybe she’d be good for Savannah too. Any female influence besides April’s would be a good thing.
I stacked the canvases with the others, then lingered for a few minutes. My studio time was about to go up. I’d spend more time out here painting. I’d spend time at the gallery and give Everly her space.
Anything to avoid the house until the dust settled.
It had to get easier, right? This was just the first day. I hadn’t lived with anyone since April, unless my cellmates counted. If I could survive nearly two years in prison, I could survive a couple married to a beautiful woman.
Not wanting to make her unpack alone, I headed inside, meeting Everly as she came in from the garage, both hands loaded with clothes on hangers.
“There’s only one more load.”
“I’ll get the rest.” With the rest of her clothes on one arm and the truck empty, I kicked the door shut and met Everly in the bedroom by the closet.
