Mallory

I watch as John comes back into the apartment. It’s unreal that the man I’ve had the world’s biggest crush on since I was twenty years old is right here in front of me. For the longest time I thought he was interested in me but when he never asked me on a date, I started to think I was wrong. Still, I quietly coveted him. Since he went from the Chattanooga police department to the department in Nashville six months ago, I haven’t heard a word from him. My grandmother went on and on about how Nashville was a city of singers and sin, and she made sure to tell me over and over that John had probably fallen for the first easy woman he came upon. It didn’t matter what she said—I refused to believe it. Two months ago, I started planning to come here so that I could find John to determine one way or another if he is interested in me.

The reminder of my grandmother saying John would be snatched up by an easy woman has my eyes going to his hands. No rings. I feel silly for hoping that means no one has tied him down yet. Maybe, I think to myself, there’s a chance. Then again, I’m a mess and he’s… well, not. He’s hot, funny, hot, sexy, hot, successful and, of course, hot. Like stupid hot. He’s a little over six feet tall with brown hair, hazel eyes and a smile that makes me feel butterflies in my stomach. Since the last time I saw him he’s grown a tightly cropped beard that I am absolutely on board with.

I inhale sharply as he takes a seat on the couch next to me. With him so close, I get a whiff of his cologne, which is something sporty and sexy that makes my mouth go dry. Nervous, I bite my lower lip as I look up at him.

“Babe,” he growls, “fuck. You’re killing me.”

I blink up at him like an idiot. “Uh, what?”

He barks out a laugh as he waves the question off. “You don’t know anyone around here do you?”

I shake my head. “No one.”

“What brought you here?”

Now I know I’m blushing from head to toe. “Well,” I say slowly, “this neighbor I had took a transfer to Nashville six months ago. Before he went he kept telling me how awesome the area was. My grandmother died a month after he left and since I didn’t want to be there anymore I started saving up to get out of Chattanooga. I didn’t know where I wanted to go but I just kept thinking about how he…well, um, you, were always saying how cool Nashville is. I decided it was time to take a chance and do something wild.”

He’s looking at me like I’ve just said something truly incredible. “I’m glad you did, honey,” he says after a few seconds. “Been a good move for me. Only been here six months but if I have my way this is where I’ll stay. You’re going to love it here.”

“I liked what I saw as I came in,” I say, “but I have to admit having the cops burst in here was a buzzkill. I thought this area was pretty safe.”

He gives me a look. “First, the cops busting in today is how we found each other again, so I gotta think that’s turned out to be a good thing. But seriously, babe, even the best towns have shady areas and drug dealers. I gotta work on getting your street smarts up to par.”

I frown and look away. I’m trying to hold onto my emotions but I’m devastated that the plan I worked so hard to put into play just blew up in my face. “Not sure I can stick around long enough for you to teach me street smarts.”

John gives me a pointed look as he shakes his head. “You’ll be here,” he says gruffly. “Not lettin’ you walk out there into God only knows what, honey. You made it to me—you’re staying.”

“I, um—” I’m trying to think of a way to tell him that if I stay here and have to live in a motel for a while, I’ll be broke as a joke if I don’t get a job within days. If I go back to Chattanooga, I’ll be able to get my old job back and stay with someone from my church while I get myself together.

Before I can say this to John, he continues, “Getting your stuff and taking you home with me, Mallory.”

My eyes fly up to meet his. “Home with you?” I parrot.

“It’s where you belong and I know you’ll like it. More than that, you’ll be safe. Good place to live—you won’t be sorry.”

“But, but,” I splutter. “I don’t even know if I can afford to stay with you. What’s the rent?”

His eyes narrow as he gives me an affronted look. “Didn’t say shit about rent, honey. Not taking your money.”

“You’re not?”

John shakes his head. “Fuck no.”

“Okayyy,” I drawl, “you won’t take my money but you want me to move into your place.”

He nods as if that’s somehow perfectly reasonable. “You’re getting me now,” he says.

No. I am most certainly not “getting” him. Never—even in my wildest dreams (and I admit those dreams were specific and involved me finding him in Nashville and making him fall in love with me) have I imagined John asking me to move in with him within one hour of our seeing each other.

“You have an extra, um, bedroom?” I ask.

He nods. “Bought a three bedroom house when I got here.”

“And you want me to move into one of those bedrooms?”

His face clouds for a few seconds before he seems to shake it off. “For now, yes.”

For now is the best offer I’m going to get and I know it. I don’t have the money to rent anything on my own until I get a job and let’s face it, living with John won’t be a hardship. After all, I came here to find him. “I am going to owe you so big,” I squeak.

“Don’t owe me shit,” he says as he stands and holds his hand out to me. I shiver as I slide my tiny hand into his much bigger one.

“Let’s get your stuff and get out of here,” he says. I nod. He doesn’t let me go when I try to pull my hand away. Instead, he links our fingers together before gesturing down the hall with his free hand. “Show me where your luggage is.”

My stomach is full of butterflies as I take him into the bedroom. Only when we get there does he let go of my hand. This he does as he barks out a laugh when he sees my suitcases. I don’t see anything about my hard-shelled dark pink suitcases that would cause a laugh.

“What’s funny?” I ask.

“Babe. The pink. You’re so colorful now.”

Ah. That makes sense. Without my grandmother around extolling the virtues of being unnoticeable, I’ve taken to color in a big way.

“I like pink.”

He grins at me. “I’m seeing that.”Crossing over to the bed he gets busy slamming my suitcases shut before he secures the locks on each. He does this deftly and without paying real attention since he is glaring around the room as if it’s a crime scene.

Hefting both of my giant suitcases from the bed, he sets them down on the floor. “Shit hole,” he says gruffly. “Pisses me off to even think of you spending even one hour here, much less a night. Lucky I found you, honey. This could’ve ended badly.”

It’s a fair point, one I don’t even try to argue since he was one of three cops who burst into the apartment an hour ago.

“This ain’t much, Mallory. You got anything else?”

I nod. “I have a backpack, a toiletries bag and my purse.”

“Grab it all.”

Going to the bathroom, I take both my toiletries bag and my backpack off the hooks on the back of the door before I grab my purse from the sink. None of the things are exactly as I left them—come to think of it, neither were my suitcases—which I suspect means the cops must’ve gone through them. I’m not sure how I feel about everyone knowing how boring I am, but it’s not like I can make a big deal out of it. They were just doing their jobs. With a sigh, I take my stuff back into the bedroom.

John reaches out for it. “Give it all to me.”

I put my hand on my hip and pin him with a look. “I can carry some stuff, you know.”

Throwing back his head, he laughs before meeting my gaze again. “In addition to the color you’ve gotten some sass since the last time I saw you.”

I shrug. “I don’t like feeling useless.”

He stares at me for a few seconds before he nods. “Fine. You can carry your purse and the toiletries bag.”

“Really?” I ask. “That’s it? Why can’t I take the backpack, too?”

He shrugs. “Looks heavy.”

True, it’s not the lightest thing in the world—but I’ve carried heavier. Heck, I got it and my luggage down here without a lick of help from anyone.

He raises his hand when I open my mouth to argue.

“Not gonna win this battle, sweet girl. You need to let me do this.”

I let out a heavy sigh and nod. Gesturing down to my feet he says, “shoes.”

I gesture back over my shoulder. “They’re back in the living room,” I answer.

“Cool. Put ‘em on so we can bail.”

Once I’ve handed off my backpack I head into the living room with him right behind me. I stop at the end table next to the couch and slide into my purple Muggs. They’re a knockoff of a big name brand because I can’t afford a pair of the real ones.

“Babe,” he laughs, “it’s about ninety degrees out. You really wearin’ boots?”

I push my hair back from my face as I stand up. “They’re really comfortable,” I explain. Men are oblivious to the cozy comfort of a faux-fur lined boot.

He rolls his eyes but smiles as he does it. “Alright, let’s get out of this dump. Once we get outside you’ll have to tell me which car is yours.”

I wrinkle my nose and look down at the gross carpet. “I don’t have one.”

This makes him frown. “No car?” he asks, like he can’t believe what I’ve just said.

I shake my head. “I can’t afford insurance so I sold my grandmother’s car. That’s a large part of why I had the money to move here. Anyway, I took a car service to get here from the airport. Location is part of the reason I chose this house—it’s close to public transit which would’ve made it easy to get around while I looked for jobs.”

When I look up, John’s staring at me in a way that makes my pulse start to race. “Gonna thank God every day from here on out that I found you before you started spending time at that fuckin’ bus stop.”

I frown. “What’s wrong with the bus? I’ve been taking it for almost six months.”

He grimaces as he raises his hand behind his head to rub his neck. “There’s nothing wrong with the bus,” he answers, “but the bus stop in this neighborhood is routinely the sight of drug deals and petty thefts.”

That sounds awful. “Oh,” I mutter.

“Yeah, oh,” he says. “Got a feeling if I didn’t come across you today our meeting up would’ve been inevitable. Gonna work on those street smarts, sweetheart. Right away.”

“I don’t want to be a bother—”

I stop talking when he reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder. “You are never a bother, Mallory. Want to sit and catch up with you but we can’t do that here. Let’s get gone.”

I nod my agreement as he picks up my big suitcases—like they weigh nothing—and gestures to the door. “You follow along right behind me. We’re walking up the stairs and right out the door to my squad car.”

I can’t help the little squeak of excitement that bursts forth. John raises a brow in question.

“I get to ride in your squad car,” I say with a high degree of excitement. “I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like in one.”

John guffaws like I’ve just cracked the funniest joke he’s ever heard. When he gets himself together, he shakes his head and smirks.

“Looks like we’ve got a wish list item to knock off. If you play your cards right I’ll let you turn the siren on for me a minute.”