Runaway Bride’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #1)

9. Stella

9

stella

Much like the dream wedding I wasn’t going to get, I also wasn’t getting my perfect honeymoon.

I wanted to go to Greece. Duncan, who preferred not to fly because his lips got chapped, wanted to go somewhere drivable. When he heard that Simon bought rental properties in Destin, he somehow talked my brother into giving us access to one for two weeks. For free. I thought he was being frugal. Now I wonder if it it’s because he knew we’d be broke.

I mean, who needs to see the Parthenon when you have the Destin Fishing and History Museum? The sad thing is I didn’t even fight for Greece. Didn’t leave subtle hints like having baklava around the house or watching Mamma Mia every time Duncan came home.

Nope, like so many other things I didn’t fight for while we were together, I just agreed. Now don’t get me wrong, I love Destin. My family vacationed here every year when I was a kid. But for a vacation. Not for a trip that’s supposed to be romantic and once-in-a-lifetime.

God, I was an idiot. So blinded by what I thought I wanted that I was agreeing to two weeks in Florida. I don’t know in the stages of grieving a relationship if you’re supposed to beat yourself up for your past blunders in judgment, but that’s where I’m at. I’m calling it Stage 1.5: Stupidity.

The Uber driver pulls up to my beach house and helps me unload my bags. I wonder if I tip him extra he’ll help me bring my bags inside. Because now that I look at the suitcases I brought, I’m wondering what the heck I packed for, while also wondering if I remembered to pack bras.

Two full-size suitcases with clothes and shoes. A smaller one for makeup, face products, and hair tools. A carryon for electronics. And of course my Louis Vuitton oversized purse that is bigger than most suitcases.

It looks like I’m moving in. Which, if I’m being honest, isn’t out of the question. Here has a beach, peacefulness, and no one who knows what happened to me in the past week. There has Duncan, regret, and everyone who knows what happened to me.

I wonder which one I’ll choose…

“Here you go, ma’am,” the driver says as the bags are safely out of his trunk. I give him a cash tip—we’re not about to make this nice young man claim that on his taxes—but he takes off before I can ask for extra help.

Smart man.

It takes me longer than I care to admit to wheel and carry my bags down the driveway, through the garage, and into the house. When I get inside I throw down my purse and wipe the sweat off my forehead. I feel gross and disgusting, which is only amplified by the one-million-percent humidity outside. Without looking in a mirror I know my hair and makeup are a mess. My clothes are sticking to me. Yet, I somehow don’t care. Normally I would. But right now, all I want is to lay down and let this glorious air conditioner cool me off before taking a shower so cold my teeth chatter.

I abandon my bags in the entryway—that’s future Stella’s problem—as I walk the few steps I need into the living room and fall face first into the oversized sectional. I kick off my tennis shoes and just lie in air-conditioned bliss. I know I should be looking at the beach because I’m at the beach, but I need AC more.

This might be heaven. Then again, my bar is extremely low for what qualifies as heaven right now. I’m exhausted. I haven’t had a peaceful night’s sleep since…I don’t know when. Not the night before the wedding. Not since. Actually, the only time I slept like a baby was when I was at Cap’s…

Oh, Cap…

I feel myself smiling as I let my mind drift off to that night, which was the only shining moment in the shit show that has been my life. But just as I feel my eyes starting to grow heavy, and memories of Cap’s smile flashing in my mind, I hear a door slam. I think it’s coming from the back of the house. My eyes shoot open, but I don’t move from my position on the couch. I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I just do my best to hear where the noise is coming from and formulate a plan, because I refuse to be the dumb blonde who gets killed first in the horror movie.

How does my brother not have a security system? Nothing went off when I walked in, though I was too tired to realize it at the time. I didn’t think going on your honeymoon alone could get worse. Nope. It can. Because you can be the victim of an ax murderer.

I hear footsteps growing louder. They are heavy. Like he’s wearing boots. Which is also odd for Florida in August. But not odd if he plans on dumping my body in a nearby forest.

I really need to stop watching true crime shows before bed…

I slowly roll off the couch, trying my best not to make a sound. When I get to the floor I reach around and find one of my shoes. It’s not the best weapon, but at least they have a little platform on them. I’m sure it could do some damage if I put some weight behind it.

Oh, who am I kidding…I’m a one-hundred-twenty pound, five-foot-three female who is surviving off caffeine and stubbornness at this point .

But as my parents say, I’m tiny but mighty. And the ax murderer is about to learn that firsthand.

The footsteps stop, but they got pretty close. Maybe he’s at the edge of the living room? I take that as my cue to slowly creep up from a crouching position, priming myself to pounce on the intruder.

There he is. His back’s to me so I can’t tell what he’s doing. But it gives me a few more seconds to size up my adversary.

Fuck, he’s hot…

Well, at least from the back. Strong thighs wrapped in denim. An ass that looks damn good in said jeans. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that’s clinging to his back muscles, and his light brown hair is curled out underneath a ball cap. It’s giving sexy modern cowboy, and I’m here for it.

Which is odd since that’s not usually my type.

And odd because he’s about to kill me.

Stella! Focus! There’s a stranger in the house and you need to go all Home Alone on his ass.

With an internal pep talk, and fueled by the pending anger stage and a lack of sleep, I launch myself in the stranger’s direction.

“Ahhh! Danger! Danger! Get out of my house!”

I wield my shoe above my head as I run toward him. My plan is to jump on his back and just start beating him with it. I think. I mean, that’s the plan. Except it doesn’t matter because right before I jump onto him, the man turns around. His reflexes are definitely catlike as he catches me mid-air. Somehow my legs wrap around his hips.

But these aren’t just any hips.

They’re Cap’s hips.

Cap is catching me.

Cap is the ax murderer.

Cap is here.

In Florida.

In Simon’s house .

“Tiger?”

I wiggle and push myself out of his hold, which he doesn’t protest. My breathing is heavy, bordering on hyperventilation, as I take a few steps back.

Because what the actual fuck?

I have to be dreaming, right? That’s it, I fell asleep on the couch and I’m having the realest dream of my life. Yes. That’s it. Because Cap isn’t here, and that wasn’t his ass I was staring at, and those weren’t his arms holding me like I was nothing.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my breath still heavy.

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

“I asked first.”

“Really, Tiger? That’s how this is going to go?”

“It is,” I say sternly, my shock now being replaced with determination. “You’re going to tell me why you’re breaking into my brother’s house.”

He looks confused and gives his head a quick shake. “For one, I didn’t break in. I have a key. And I don’t know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t your brother’s house. This is one of the rental properties that my boss owns that I’m checking out, along with numerous others over the course of this week.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

He shakes his head and puts his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that maybe you got the wrong house. Because I work for the man who owns this house, who isn’t your brother.”

“This is the right house, and my brother does own this property.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does.”

He groans. “Are we really having a kindergarten argument over this? Just admit you’re in the wrong house.”

Okay, now I’m mad. I’ve just spent the better part of the last four years with a man who would gaslight me into submission. Or argue with me until I gave up. I’m not about to spend one of my first days of freedom being treated the same way.

No matter how sexy Cap looks in those jeans and that hat.

“I’m not in the wrong house. This is the house I’m staying at, owned by my brother, Simon Banks. I’m staying here for two weeks. So now I’m going to ask you again, what are you doing here?”

Cap’s jaw drops a little. No. Not a little. A lot. Think cartoon character with the jaw that hits the floor and the eyes that bug out.

“Are you…Stella?”

Did he…how does he…

“How do you know my name?”

He shakes his head and starts pacing in circles. He takes off his hat and runs a hand through his hair. He looks panicked. I’m just confused.

“No…no, no no,” he mutters. “This is supposed to be occupied by his sister, named Stella, who just got married. It’s supposed to be for her honeymoon.”

“It was for my honeymoon. And as you know, that didn’t happen.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “Now it makes sense that he asked me to check on you. He just forgot to tell me that one small detail.”

I notice Cap’s hat as he puts it back on, which says Magnolia Properties.

The name of my brother’s company.

And then it hits me.

I’ve heard about my brother’s one and only employee, his property manager, Emmett. One of his best friends from college whom he reconnected with over the past year.

We’ve never met. At least I thought we hadn’t.

Emmett is Cap. Cap is Emmett.

The one who saved me on the worst day of my life.

The one who took care of me when he didn’t need to. When I was a stranger in a bar wearing a fugly wedding dress and crying into my martini.

He’s the man whose ass I was having the most wicked thoughts about just a few minutes ago.

“Cap?” I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat. I know the answer to the question, but I need to hear it from his lips. “What’s your real name?”

He stops his pacing, and my heart immediately hurts when I notice just the slightest bit of sadness in his eyes. “Emmett Collins. Nice to officially meet you, Stella Banks.”