By the time we finished, it was nearly seven o'clock. My father insisted on picking up barbecue from his favorite place on the way back to my house—"You need to eat, princess"—so we sat at my kitchen table with brisket and sides, making awkward small talk while we waited for Rhodes to arrive.
The three-block drive home—my father following in his Mercedes—had felt surreal. Now, sitting in my kitchen eating dinner like this was normal, like my studio window hadn't just been destroyed, felt even stranger.
"You'll be okay," my father said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Gray's people are the best. And if this turns out to be nothing? Then you'll have wasted a week or two of someone's time. Better than the alternative."
At eight o'clock sharp, the doorbell rang.
My father answered it. He stepped back to let Rhodes enter. I suddenly saw my carefully decorated living room through astranger's eyes—probably too feminine, too fussy for someone who'd spent years in the Marines.
The man who filled my doorway was tall and powerfully built—dark jeans and a button-down that stretched across broad shoulders. Dark brown hair cut short, blue-gray eyes that registered everything in a single sweep—my father, me hovering behind him, the interior visible past us. A scar cut through his left eyebrow, another along his jawline. Not pretty-boy handsome. Rugged, weathered, ready.
Heat flooded through me before I could stop it.
"You must be Rhodes. Dan Danforth." My father extended his hand.
"Mr. Danforth. Good to meet you." Rhodes's voice was deep and steady as they shook. "This is my daughter, Presley."
His gaze shifted to me. "Boss briefed me on the situation. I'm sorry you're going through this."
"Presley," I managed. "Just Presley."
My father clapped Rhodes on the shoulder. "I'll leave you two to work out the details. Gray said you're the best he's got, and that's good enough for me." He turned to me, kissed my forehead. "Call me if you need anything. I mean it."
After my father left, the house felt suddenly smaller. Rhodes stood in my living room, taking in my white furniture, soft colors, the throw pillows and framed artwork I'd chosen with such care.
"Can I get you something?" I gestured toward the kitchen. "Coffee? Water?"
"Coffee would be good. Thank you."
I led him to my kitchen, grateful for something to do with my hands. He settled into one of my chairs with surprising care—like he was conscious of taking up space—and pulled a small notepad from his pocket.
"Gray briefed me on speaker on the drive over," he said. "But I'd like to hear everything from your perspective. Start wherever feels right."
So I told him. The note Monday evening that I'd dismissed as a prank. Working Tuesday, trying to convince myself it was nothing. The brick crashing through my window at five forty-five. Going outside to look for whoever threw it and finding no one. My uncertainty about whether the incidents were even connected. My fear that I might be overreacting. My greater fear that I might be underreacting.
He listened without interrupting, his pen moving occasionally across the notepad, his expression unreadable.
"You did the right thing," he said when I finished. "Calling your father, taking this seriously. Even if it turns out to be nothing, it's better to be cautious."
"My father mentioned pretending you're my boyfriend as a cover," I said. "Have you thought about the details?"
"Right, your father mentioned that to Gray on the phone. Gray briefed me on the basics on my drive over. Here's what I'm thinking." He pulled out his phone, opened his notes app. "We tell people I'm an old college buddy of your brother Dalton's—we both went to Texas A&M, business school, graduated together. That's the story, anyway. Reality is I work for Lone Star Security, but we'll say I'm in business consulting, which explains why I travel a lot. I do actually live on a small property outside town with a couple horses, but the 'travel' keeps me away enough that folks haven't run into me much around Valor Springs. For the cover, we say about a month ago I was passing through for work, Dalton suggested we grab coffee and catch up, we hit it off, had a few quiet dates outside of town over the past few weeks. Now we're ready to go public."
I blinked at him. "You've really thought this through."
A small smile tugged at his mouth—the first I'd seen. "What do you think? Does it work?"
"It could." I ran through potential questions in my mind. "Dalton's thirty-one, you're—what, early thirties?"
"Thirty-three."
"Perfect age gap for college friends. And the consulting story explains the travel..." I paused. "Wait. Church. First Baptist is the social hub of Valor Springs. If we're supposedly dating, people will expect to see you there Sunday morning."
"You're right about that." Something flickered across his face—resignation, maybe. "Can't remember the last time I set foot in the Lord's house, but I'll manage."
"And town events. Social gatherings." I pressed my fingers to my temples. "My parents will probably want to have us over for dinner at some point—for appearances. Small-town gossip being what it is."
"Understood. We'll handle it." His tone was matter-of-fact, reassuring. "I know this isn't ideal, Presley. But it keeps you safe and your business intact. Both matter."
