Chapter 2

Did I imagine what he just said?

I must have. Boys don't show up out of nowhere.

I ignore the thrill running down my spine and shake myself. I glance past the man on my doorstep but don't see any sign of a car in the darkness. Mine is in the garage around the side of the house. I focus on the man again.

"Hello?" Why would anyone be here at night? Or at all. The activity centre closed a few years ago, long before I bought the place.

He smiles. "Hi. I need help."

With his wind-swept, strawberry-blond hair, pale stubble, square jaw, high cheekbones, and grey-blue eyes, the stranger reminds me of a young Paul Bettany. That and the fact that he called me ‘Daddy', even though he can't have, makes him all the more endearing.

"Help?"

He grimaces. "You're not an axe murderer, are you?"

I resist the urge to laugh. "Not last time I checked."

"Good. Huh, but you would say that, wouldn't you?"

This time, I do chuckle. "You need help?"

"Yes. I'm lost, have a flat tire, and have run out of petrol."

"That's a lot of things to go wrong."

"Well, they say bad luck runs in threes, so hopefully, I'm due some good luck." He flicks his gaze over me. "Like meeting a hunky saviour in the middle of nowhere."

Maybe I didn't imagine what he said. "Where were you trying to get to?"

"Scarborough. I'm travelling from Lancaster."

"You're way off course."

"I was afraid you were going to say that." He shivers and rubs his arms.

"Come inside. I don't want you to catch a cold. How can I help?" I stand aside to let him into the warmth and shut the door.

He glances around the hall. The place is a fixer-upper, to say the least, but I'm slowly taming it room by room. Maybe I should have started with the hall, as it's the first—and often the only—space guests see, but after fixing up the assault course outside, I made my kitchen and the bedroom my priorities. Now I'm working on the lounge. From his nervous smile, something tells me this guy isn't looking at the faded decor or peeling wallpaper.

"Don't worry. I keep the axe in the cellar."

"You have a cellar?"

I fold my arms. "Yes. It's soundproofed to keep the screams in."

He gapes and laughs nervously. "You're joking."

"Am I?"

His expression flickers between amusement and worry.

"Yes, I'm joking." I hold my hand out. "Miles."

He grins and shakes. "Harris."

He's around five foot nine, so average height, but short compared to me. He has to tilt his head to look at my face.

"Your eyes?—"

I frown. "What about them?"

"They're beautiful. I've never seen eyes so blue."

How do I react to that? Certainly not by telling him he has pretty eyes too or that he's good-looking. I clear my throat. "How can I help?"

He waves his phone. "If I ring for a tow, could I stay here while I wait?"

"Of course. Coffee?"

"Yes, thanks."

"How do you take it?"

"With milk and two sugars, please."

He's polite, and he has a sweet tooth. I go into the kitchen, leaving him in the hall. I don't attempt to make out his muffled words as I brew coffee. Luckily, I bought fresh milk this morning, and I keep sugar for when my parents visit. I take my coffee black and bitter.

He walks into the kitchen with his phone hugged to his chest, his lips pinched.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

"I guess bad luck doesn't come in threes after all."

"Oh?"

"My breakdown cover lapsed. They're happy to sell me more and pick me up tonight, but only if I pay over the odds."

"Ouch."

He winces. "Yeah. Is there a local garage I could call?"

"Not that would pick you up out here this late in the evening."

"Oh." He rolls his shoulders back. "It's okay. If you could give me a number, I'll sleep in the car tonight and call someone in the morning."

I gesture to one of the chairs at the kitchen table and carry the coffee over to join him. "I'm not going to let you sleep in your car."

"You're—not?"

I sip my coffee tentatively. It's still too hot to drink comfortably. "No."

I definitely don't imagine him shivering in response to the firm but gentle tone of my voice. Maybe he is a boy… Not that I should be thinking about that. He needs my help, and that's the end of it.

"I'm afraid you'll have to sleep on the sofa. My spare room is full of decorating equipment."

"I noticed the hallway needs a bit of TLC."

"Was that before or after you were searching for an axe?"

He laughs. "During." He cradles his coffee mug in his hands and blows over it gently. "Have you lived here long?"

"A few months."

"You did this room up?"

"Yes. Having somewhere to cook was my first priority."

"I bet. You've done a great job."

"Thanks." It's nice having him praise me. What's even nicer is the way he's staring at me, his expression caught between admiration and something I'd swear is desire.

"Are you going to reopen the outdoor centre?" He blushes, which intensifies the red in his hair and stubble. "You look like the outdoor type."

"That was the plan."

"Was?"

"Buying this place seemed like a good idea at the time, but I don't know how to run an outdoor activity centre, let alone promote one." Why am I telling him this? He's a stranger.

"I can't help with the first problem, but I can give you some promotion tips to thank you for letting me stay tonight."

"You don't have to thank me." I bite my tongue before I can add ‘boy'.

"Yes… I do." Why was there an odd pause between his first two words? Was he going to slip another word in between?

I've been alone too long. I drink my coffee. Hopefully, the caffeine hit will stop me from imagining words that haven't been spoken. Not this time at least. Not at all. He didn't say ‘Daddy'.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"The outdoor type." He takes his time running his gaze over me.

It's nice to have a man admiring me, especially one as pretty as he is. He is checking me out, isn't he?

"I'm ex-army."

He widens his eyes. "That explains it."

"Explains what?"

He waves his hands. "Nothing. Ignore me. I should get some things from the car. Clothes. My phone charger. Toothbrush."

"I'll go with you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

He bites his lip. "Okay."

I collect my torch to light the way as we walk up the drive to the road. I unlock the gate and swing it open in case it's possible to move his car. It would be safer on the drive than on the edge of the road. Cars zoom along this road far too fast, especially at night.

His car is tucked against the bushes. I swing the torchlight over it. Two things become immediately obvious: the front passenger-side tire is completely flat, and someone has clipped the driver-side wing mirror.

"Fuck." He tugs his hands through his hair and clasps them at his nape.

"I take it your wing mirror wasn't hanging off when you left your car?"

"No. Wait. Does this mean I'm going to end up with three sets of bad luck? Are nine shitty things going to happen to me?" His voice and expression are so forlorn I want to hold him.

"No."

"How do you know?"

"I don't believe in stuff like that." And while he's with me, I'm not going to let him suffer any more bad luck.

He might not be a boy, but I am a Daddy, and all my protective, caring instincts are in overdrive right now.

I inspect the other side of the car. The tire is completely burst. I could push the car onto the drive, but I'd ruin the rim in the process.

"Do you have a spare?"

"Uh, yeah, but I've still got no petrol."

"We'll worry about that in the morning. Pop the boot. I'll put the spare on, and we can push your car off the road."

"I know how to change a tire."

I smile. "I'm sure you do, but I want to do it for you."

He presses his lips together and releases a strangled sound. "Well, how can I refuse an offer like that? Maybe my luck is changing after all."

"It is."

I change the tire while he holds the torch. Given how tight the nuts are, I doubt he would have got the wheel off alone. I return the tools to the boot and dust my hands. Not that it removes the grime from them.

"You steer. I'll push."

"Lucky me. I get to watch you flex your muscles."

I'm not imagining that flirty comment. "You like muscles?"

"I like muscly men. Show me how strong you are." He gets into the car and grins at me from the driver's seat.

I put my hands on the bonnet.

I wait until he's disengaged the hand brake, and push. It doesn't take long to get the car off the road and through the gate. While he retrieves his belongings from the boot, I lock the gate. Should I offer to carry his rucksack? He puts it on before I can get my tongue to work.

"Why Scarborough?" I ask as we walk toward the house.

"I needed a week off."

"Work?"

"Mostly, but off everything, really. I have happy childhood memories of Scarborough, so I figured it was as good a place to go as anywhere."

"What do you do?"

"Officially or really?"

I chuckle. "Both."

"Officially, I do marketing for my brother's cleaning company. Unofficially, I'm also the receptionist, pseudo-accountant, complaints manager, and errand boy."

"Sounds tough."

"Yes, which is why I needed a break."

"Don't worry. We'll arrange for someone to pick your car up tomorrow, and then you'll be on your way to Scarborough."

Harris smiles. "I'd better call the bed and breakfast I'm supposed to be staying at and let them know I've been held up."

"You'll have to wait until we get to the house for reception."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"You should also call whoever you were meeting there."

Harris walks backwards, hands behind his back. "What makes you think I'm meeting someone?"

"Aren't you?"

"Nope."

That tidbit of information shouldn't make me happy, although it's impossible to deny that Harris's behaviour is flirty, so why shouldn't I reciprocate?

"Who would I be meeting?" he asks.

I shrug. "A boyfriend?"

"Nope. I'm single. What about you? I already know you're hiding bodies in your cellar. Are you hiding a boyfriend in your bedroom?"

"No boyfriend."

"But you are hiding bodies?"

I chuckle. "No."

"I guess that should make me feel a lot safer."

"Have you felt unsafe here?"

"With you? No. How could I feel unsafe in the company of a big, strong military man?"

"Ex-military."

"Small detail." He stumbles backwards. He gasps, flailing his arms.

I catch his wrist and tug him toward me, stopping him from falling. He crashes into my chest, his hand between my pecs.

"Maybe you shouldn't walk backward," I say.

"Probably not. You saved me from disaster number six. You're, err, really strong." Red-faced, he pulls his hand away and walks alongside me once more. "You must work out a lot."

"Not as much as when I was in the army. Decorating can be quite the workout, and I've run the assault course a few times to ensure it's safe."

"Is it?"

"It is now. Some of the wood had got soft, so I had to replace it."

Harris hums. "It's important to have hard wood."

"Very."

I let him into the house. "The lounge is through there. I'm sorry I can't offer you a bed." Although I'm tempted to offer him space in mine.

I shouldn't, so I won't. He's asked for help. That's all I should give him.

"I'll fetch you a blanket and pillow."

He takes his rucksack off and props it beside the door. "Thanks, Miles." The way he says my name is deliberate. Would he rather call me something else? I'd rather he called me ‘Daddy'.

I hold his stare for a few seconds, enjoying the light in his grey-blue eyes and the upturn of his lips. "You're welcome, Harris." I say his name just as deliberately. I'd rather call him ‘boy'.