Three Reckless Words: Chapter 3

Chocolate, the purest way to a woman’s heart.

As a nice bonus, it’s a great pain reliever, too.

I’m talking magic cure-all for being dumped, losing out on your dream job, and yes, even when you flee your own wedding and the raging dumpster fire of insane consequences.

The highest rated bakery in Kansas City is The Sugar Bowl, and by God, it’s good. In the day I’ve been here, after throwing out the remainder of the wedding cake I never want to see again, I’ve eaten my own weight in sugar.

On their website, they offer these fun local packages you can get delivered.

When I saw ‘breakup box,’ I didn’t hesitate.

Because let’s face it, I’ve definitely broken up, and not just with a man.

I’ve broken up with everything: my past, my present, any future I ever imagined.

RIP to the girl I used to be.

The fact that I tried to go along with the wedding at all is proof she was too stupid to live.

Old Winnie, she was optimistic to a fault. She kept thinking maybe, just maybe, this could be the right move because so many other people wanted it.

If only she’d stopped to consider the hard truth.

It wasn’t right because I didn’t want it.

Stupid?

Yes. Fabulously so.

But I guess that’s what you get when you’re raised to make your family proud above all else. And by proud, I mean letting your father marry you off like a prized asset meant to be leveraged.

Gross.

But now I’m free.

And I’ve decided a healthy part of this freedom means devouring three huge chocolate eclairs in one sitting while I work on relinquishing any and all fucks related to pleasing my dad.

The damage is done. There’s no way he’ll be proud of me again.

So, I might as well enjoy the sugar high and the sunshine.

The summer sun certainly warms my back as I wander along the well-tended paths through the garden.

My fingers are already smudged with dirt, but that’s what I get for not finding gloves.

There’s something peaceful about plucking weeds to pass the time, though. There aren’t that many when this place has perfect maintenance, but still.

There are also so many flowers—the bee-friendly kind like lavender—and I kneel down on the path, clearing space around them.

Lazy bees at work drift by, humming gently around me like this sweet lullaby.

I really hope I get that extended stay. If I can’t freeze this moment forever, I’d like to stretch it out a few more days, at least.

Just me and the bees and this sunbathed garden.

Nothing more, nothing less, and no freaking worries.

Maybe someday I can find a more permanent place like this. I’ll stay for the week, the month, a whole year or two.

I’ll slowly become the crazy bee lady I’ve always wanted to be and live my best life.

No more Dad. No more Holden. No more nasty weddings. No more Springfield.

The thought doesn’t make my throat tighten with anxiety anymore.

I guess that’s the power of bees, because if I was cooped up in some hotel room somewhere else, looking out at the city skyline, there’s no way I wouldn’t be sobbing into my wine and pizza.

It’s way too peaceful here for shedding tears.

Sighing, I crouch down to pull out another weed and sit back, looking at my handiwork. A bee lands on the flower I just cleared space around, and I smile.

“Hi, buddy.”

Its little antenna waves as it hunts for pollen, collecting it on its legs like a dusting of gold. Nature is so beautiful it hurts sometimes.

At least by helping, I’m giving them more space to do their vital work, making this garden bloom and turning their effort into delicious honey.

I’m also giving myself a Winnie-specific therapy session no money could buy from any shrink.

I’m so engrossed in my work I don’t notice the rustle of footsteps behind me.

But I do hear a throat clearing.

Swearing, I stand and turn, all in one movement that would be smooth if I didn’t spin face-to-face with the grumpy owner dude from yesterday.

He’s a damn giant.

The way he towers over me alone is enough to make me unsteady.

I take two steps back, giving up on being smooth.

Honestly, that’s also because I forgot just how good-looking this bear of a man is.

It feels illegal for anyone to be this attractive with his short dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and God, that jawline.

Yes, he’s older. Late thirties, maybe.

Huge big daddy vibes as the kids would say.

The tiny lines flaring out from the corners of his eyes prove it when he frowns. Probably his permanent expression.

I don’t think I’ve seen him smile. Not that he had good reason to look happy last night, but he has a face that doesn’t seem like it remembers how.

Even when he’s standing in front of me in this slice of Missouri Eden, he looks like he just walked in after Goldilocks ate his porridge.

Scowly or not, he’s hotter than sin.

“Um, hi.” I tuck my hands behind my back just in case he hasn’t noticed the mud under my fingernails. Hopefully he hasn’t also noticed the fact that I wiped my face with those hands and probably have dirt smeared on my face.

“Hello,” he says curtly, still frowning. “Were you… weeding?”

Oh, good. He noticed.

“Not too much, your garden doesn’t need it. You keep this place up very well. I was just passing the time.”

“I see.” He pauses like he’s trying to remember why he’s here. “I’m Archer Rory, by the way.”

“Yes, I remember the name from your card…”

Archer, huh? Like the muscly men with bows and arrows in ancient times.

His name fits the old-timey vibes he gives off.

And the fact that the gaping age gap between us means he was probably born in the Viking age.

A silly image flashes in my head of him shirtless, streaked with blue paint, swinging an axe around over his head. I clap a hand over my mouth and bite back a giggle.

No, this modern man in his sharp suit and perfectly trimmed beard is about as far from wild warrior as you can get.

Pull yourself together.

“I’m Winnie, but I think you already knew that?” I drop the hand I extended automatically because I remember I’ve got mud on my fingers.

“I remember,” he says. “You introduced yourself last night. I have all your details.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, sometimes I space out.” Talk about awkward.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you like this. I tried the door but you weren’t answering.”

“I was out here.”

“Weeding, yes. I have a landscaper and lawn crew for that. They come every week.”

“Well, many hands make light work and all.” I pin on the world’s cringiest smile.

We stand in uncomfortable silence, unsure what to say.

I debate if I should invite him in or see what he has to say first.

Eventually, I decide that if I invite him in, it feels like I’m encouraging him to stay, and no matter how hot he is, I’d like to get back to my peace and quiet soon.

I’m not in the mood for hot, growly interlopers today.

“So, you must be here for that schedule thing,” I say, looking out across the garden rather than at him. “Have you figured it out? If this place is free so I can stay another week?” I wait a beat and when he doesn’t immediately reply, I add, “I won’t lie, I was expecting you to just call.”

“Your phone is off,” he says blandly.

Oh, crap.

I wince. Good point.

I forgot I put it in airplane mode after I scarfed down those eclairs to block the steady stream of nonstop messages from people ready to have me committed for going full runaway bride.

“Yes, my bad. I forgot I had it off. Anyway, do you have news?”

“Yes and no.” He tilts his head slightly as he looks at me, like trying to piece my mysteries together into a picture that makes sense. “Truthfully, I didn’t just drop by because you want to stay longer. I had a man call my office this morning looking for you.”

A man? What man? Who would—

Oh, no.

No, no, no, this is bad.

Holden or my dad. It has to be.

They’re both equally awful.

“Carroll Emberly,” Archer continues. “I figure he’s your father.”

I close my eyes, turning numb to the tips of my toes.

Partly in defeat, but also because I don’t want to see the way Archer keeps looking at me. Especially the distrust in his eyes, like he’s convinced I’m some sort of danger.

Look out, here comes Winnie, queen of all screwups and burned bridges! Watch out, or she’ll set you on fire, too.

“Is he your father?” he presses.

“Yes.” I give up and open my eyes again.

“He seemed concerned. He wanted to know where you were. It sounded rather urgent.”

Well, obviously.

Dad makes everything sound urgent. Pretty easy when you’re used to snapping your fingers and people go running like obedient dogs.

He’ll want me to come home as soon as possible with my heart in my hands.

As far as he’s concerned, I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.

That’s why my phone is off.

I don’t have to face the train wreck yet if I don’t hear the violent crash.

Dad calling, demanding my return in that high-and-mighty way he has.

Mom, too, pleading with me to grow up and beg Holden to take me back. Does she ever do anything besides echo my father?

Dad’s the big dominant personality. Mom is a willow blown around in a storm. Beautiful, graceful, but ultimately forever bent to his will.

God, maybe Holden himself tried calling, still trying to persuade me to come back instead of giving up on a ‘good partnership.’

What he really means is a profitable one, and Dad strongly endorses his view.

Sighing slowly, I fold my arms and look at Archer, who’s still waiting for a reply. I’m sure he wants me to spill the truth so he knows he isn’t dealing with a total wacko.

Tough luck, big guy.

“Did you tell him where I am?” I ask quietly.

He frowns like he’s annoyed by the question. “No. It’s not our company policy to give customer details to anyone else without a damn good reason. This doesn’t qualify as a medical emergency or an official missing person case. Not yet anyway.”

“Thank God.” I heave out another sigh. “I mean, cool. If he calls back, don’t tell him where I am. Pretty please?”

“Winnie.”

Holy hell.

This man should not be able to say my name like an entire thunderstorm condensed into one word.

“Yes, Archer?”

“Be straight with me. What’s really going on with you?”

At least he’s asking me directly this time. “It’s fine. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble with your family?”

“Trouble? What?” I wrinkle my nose, laughing painfully. “I mean, it depends how you define trouble, I guess, but—”

But he’s absolutely right and he knows it.

His face hardens. I raise my hands defensively.

“Not legal trouble. Nothing like that. I haven’t broken any laws. Feel free to do a background check if you want.”

“Then what kind of trouble are we talking? I deserve to know if I’ve got your dad calling my office, damn near demanding we give up your location.”

Awkward silence.

It’s starting to feel familiar.

“Look, I hate to do this, Archer,” I say. Really, I don’t, when the alternative is worse. “But this is none of your freaking business, okay? It’s personal. I’ll worry about my trouble, and you worry about yours, making money hand over fist with these fancy cabins or whatever else you do.”

His scowl says he totally doesn’t believe a word I say.

Ouch.

“Dude, if my dad keeps calling, just block him. Is that so hard? He’s a big important guy, kinda used to getting his own way. He won’t like it but he can’t do much more than complain.”

Understatement of the century.

As I read Archer’s face, I regret my words.

Is he a younger clone of my father? He’s big and successful and important enough to own these beautiful places. Then again, I doubt he’s ever been elected to state office, which might keep his ego in check a little.

Trust me, I know. Nothing turns people into raging entitled monsters like a whiff of political power.

Archer shifts, folding his arms and holding my gaze like he’s expecting me to back down. But I’m no stranger to intimidation and I’ve hit my limit.

This big gruff evil eye business isn’t changing my mind.

“Fine,” he snarls at last, his voice grating with annoyance. This must be costing him—but I don’t care as long as he gives me some peace. “As I said, it’s corporate policy to respect your privacy as long as you’re not breaking the law.”

“Just company policy?” I raise an eyebrow.

I swear his teeth snap together so hard he might’ve cracked a molar.

“And mine, personally,” he growls. “I don’t get off on prying. Normally, I’d be too busy to give one shit about your secrets, lady.”

Ouch again.

“Sounds good. Personal integrity matters,” I force out.

“Yeah, we agree. That’s why, if you won’t tell me what’s going on, I’m afraid I can’t guarantee you a longer stay than what you’ve booked.”

“What? You just said you cared about my privacy!” My heart tries to leap out of my chest.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit personal. Higher Ends has had its share of troubles the last couple years. Real, criminal issues that would probably make yours look like a cakewalk,” he says, and he makes it sound so reasonable that I want to scream. “This property has a lot of interest as one of our newest and best offerings. I’d be a fool to risk that on a handshake agreement.”

I step back. The dread burning in the pit of my stomach flares into anger at this corporate beast who thinks he’s too good for my money.

“Excuse me?”

“I know this is disappointing, however—”

“First of all, hold the bullshit,” I snap.

He steps back like he’s not used to someone speaking over him.

Actually, given the way he reacted last night when he picked up the kids, I don’t think he’s used to people making his life difficult.

And is he using the same voice on me he used with the kids?

Well, sorry, Mr. Archer Man.

I don’t believe in being talked down to like I’m one of your son’s teenage friends.

“This might be a popular place, but does that mean you’re going to be charging other people more than you’re charging me?”

“No.” His eyebrows descend over his eyes.

“So, it’s first come, first serve, and I’m here first. Why isn’t that good enough?”

“That’s not what I said—”

“That’s exactly what you said.” I don’t know why this hits so hard, but it does. My chest hurts. “You don’t want to rent this place longer because it’s gotten a lot of interest. You want to replace me with someone who won’t cause you any weird phone calls.”

His jaw clenches as he stares at me. I wait for him to deny it or say something to redeem himself, but he just says, “I don’t want to invite more trouble into my company, Winnie. It wouldn’t be fair to my brothers, my business partners. They’ve suffered enough, right along with me.”

I hate that he sounds like he actually cares for them.

Sigh.

“I told you… my trouble isn’t the legal kind.”

“And I told you I had your father on the phone demanding to know, in no uncertain terms, where the hell you are.” Archer looks just as exasperated as I am now, his huge barrel chest rising and falling and his eyes like blue flint. “I’m trying to protect my company, Winnie. This isn’t anything against you, it’s simply—”

A bee lands on his shoulder, and he raises a hand to smack it away.

My jaw drops.

I did not just see that.

I’m not thinking when I throw myself forward, grabbing his giant wrist with my small hand, shielding the bee with my other hand.

The little bug flies off.

Archer looks at me like he’s fully convinced I’m insane.

We’re way too close. I can see details I never expected, like the tiny flecks of green in his eyes and lines around his mouth that might mean he can smile.

But he’s really, really not smiling now.

“What the hell was that?” he demands, an edge to his voice.

“Do you have any clue how much bees are struggling right now?” My voice is high, but I can’t control it. “And you… you were about to kill it without thinking.”

“Do I—what?” He blinks in shock.

“People keep destroying their habitats. We’re killing them with diseases and chemicals. You thought you were just swatting a pesky bug, but every drone is vital. Without bees to pollinate our flowers, we’ll be the ones starving someday. And no honey, oh my God,” I continue, my voice wavering. “That’s becoming as rare as gold. I don’t think you get how delicate bees are, how important—”

Archer frees himself from my hold, swearing under his breath.

Then, to my utter embarrassment, I burst into tears.

Not little tears, either.

Big, snotty dumb ones that have been building in my chest all day.

Before, I held them back while I was enjoying the sunshine and the bees. But this stupid fight, this intrusion with Archer, reminds me why real life is too much right now.

I stumble backward, almost falling, and cover my face with my hands.

Congratulations, I guess. He just proved I’m no queen bee.

I hate crying.

And I hate crying even more when this human wall walks forward and takes my wrists. I think he’s about to shake me to restore some control.

Only, his fingers are surprisingly gentle as he tugs my hands away from my face, hiding the pathetic mess I’ve become.

When I dare to look, there’s something almost tender in his eyes. An empathy I don’t expect.

No way. I have to be misreading things in my own scrambled brain.

This is Archer, Mr. Heartless Incarnate. King of Silent Threats and Barked Orders.

Jesus, Winnie, stop crying.

“Hey.” His voice crackles like a warm fire. Not fair. “Winnie, shit. I’m sorry about the bee.”

I want to tell him to let go, to walk away and leave me with my crazy self, but instead I choke on another sob. It’s so disgustingly wet I make a noise that’s half mewling cat and part parrot.

Yep. I’m about to die from mortification.

If the ground could open up and swallow me right now, that would be cool. I think I could start over in India or China on the other side of the world.

Wherever Dad has no reach.

But the ground doesn’t open, of course.

And when Archer releases one hand, I don’t even fight to free the other. There’s something comforting about the way his huge fingers envelop my skinny wrist.

“We’ll work something out,” he tells me. “Whatever the hell I think, it’s not a hard rule. I could be convinced.”

There’s something so weirdly reassuring about his promise, this steely-eyed stranger bending rules for me in my darkest hour.

All I can do is nod as he leads me back to the cabin.