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Archer

“You were in her room, weren’t you?” Mr. Monroe asks in a muted tone. “You were hiding in my house while I was in it, then you snuck out with my daughter and drove away in my car.”

I swallow hard. “It’s not what it looks like, sir. My truck was dead. We took yours to jump it.”

But my explanations fall flat. Whatever I say won’t matter.

Mr. Monroe puts his phone away, nods to a passerby, then turns to face me directly. His smile remains, no doubt for the onlookers, but the coldness in his eyes is unmistakable.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Kade,” he begins, his voice dangerously low. “I haven’t liked you the minute you stepped foot in Autumn Ridge. I don’t think you’re trustworthy. I don’t think you’re coming by whatever income you have honorably. And I certainly don’t think you’re as innocent in your actions toward me as you profess.” He takes a step closer to me, the pleasant look on his face remaining, though the ice in his tone thickens. “But I’ll die before I let someone like you misuse my daughter as you have over and over again.”

I couldn’t care less about what the mayor thinks of my spending or where he believes my fortune came from. I couldn’t even care less that he’s aware of the many pranks I’ve made at his cost.

But the accusation hurled at me that I’ve misused Juliet? I won’t stand for it.

My jaw is so tight, I think it might shatter in two. “I haven’t misused Juliet, sir. You ask her what happened Thursday night—and you ask her how I’ve treated her from the minute she came back to Autumn Ridge—and you’ll hear the truth.”

Mr. Monroe huffs out a scoff of disbelief, his features losing their innocent expression. “You think I can believe anything she says now? Ever since she came back—ever since she saw you—she’s changed. She’s lying to me, sneaking out, not going back to college. All of this is because of you.”

I remind myself of our similarities, how he’s protecting his daughter because it’s all he’s ever known, but the injustice of his accusations blast against my patience.

Remember Juliet.

Taking another breath, I begin again more calmly. “I’m sorry you believe those things, Mr. Monroe. But have you ever considered that maybe the problem isn’t just me? That maybe it’s because your daughter can’t speak openly with you because she’s afraid of your reaction?”

Wrong choice of words.

Mr. Monroe’s nostrils flare, his face shifting to a beet red. Sadie walks past in that exact moment, eying the mayor in alarm, but she swivels away from us and heads deeper into the crowds.

“Leave,” Mr. Monroe says firmly. “Now. You’re not welcome at this dance, in this barn, or in Autumn Ridge. And don’t come near my daughter again.”

Anger sparks a single flame in my chest, but it grows to swiftly encompass my whole body, so I stand to my full stature. “Or, what, you’ll have me arrested again? You’ll try to close the doors of Horseshoe Holler for the third time?”

“Don’t try me.”

I shake my head, astounded I’m even having this conversation. “You can tear my world apart, sir. And you can destroy my career. I’ll go home tonight, just like you want. But you need to understand...I’m not the only one you’re injuring. Not anymore.”

His brow flinches, and I hope to Heaven I’ve made my point, but I don’t stick around to wait and see.

Juliet

I watch Archer storm through the barn and out the open doors, then look back at Dad with a tight chest. I’ve never seen him like that before—the intolerance in his eyes, the fury across his features—not even during his days as an officer.

I didn’t hear their words, but I know I was at the center of them.

“You okay, Juliet?” Rosie asks, her brows pulled together.

We’re standing near the outskirts of the dance, having only just congratulated each other on a job well done for surviving the manic week.

“What?” I ask. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I forgot I needed to...talk to my dad about something.”

Luckily, she doesn’t press for more information, letting me go with a wave as she wanders away herself.

I force my way through the crowds with sure steps, avoiding eye contact with everyone I pass. I’m not faking a good time anymore. Not when my stomach is pitching.

This isn’t how I anticipated the night going. I wanted to hand that carrot to Archer, dance until we were blue in the face, then sneak off and...

“Dad?”