Page 12 of Always Be My Pumpkin

I dart my hand out from under the duvet and grab my lavender spritz from the locker. It’s not much of a weapon, but it’s all I have. Maybe if I take the intruder by surprise and spray him right between the eyes, I can race down the stairs and escape. Or maybe he’s just here to steal stuff, and if I lie very still, he might not even notice me. I’m small and this duvet is thick. Maybe he won’t realise I’m under it.

The door creaks open. Oh God.

‘Ow!’ I yell as something heavy lands on my chest. The bastard just threw a ton of bricks at me.

I lift my head above the duvet and spray my lavender spritz wildly at the looming hulk approaching through the dim, hazy light. I scramble off the bed to make my escape, but the hulk moves, and I barge into a wall of solid muscle. Oh shit, I’m dead.

‘What the fuck? What the fuck?’

I blink as I realise that voice sounds familiar, and that shape looks familiar too. My vision adapts to the faint light coming through the slightly open door, from the landing. And I take in the tall frame of one very annoyed male, stepping back, and waving his hands vigorously as if to clear thick smoke from his path.

‘Flynn?’ I croak, my voice barely audible, and sounding strange, even to me. But in fairness, I have just had a near-death experience.

Flynn coughs a few times and straightens, then he blinks and tries to focus. ‘Jesus Christ, who is that? You could have blinded me.’

Yep, that was the plan. But I don’t say that. I just croak again, ‘Flynn?’

I drop back down on the bed, because my legs feel weak all of a sudden, and I need to sit down.

Flynn stretches over and switches on the bedside lamp. ‘Gracie?’ He sounds horrified.

His eyes are open wide and it doesn’t look like he’s blinded. My aim is not as good as I’d hoped. But I guess that’s a good thing, considering the circumstances.

‘Are you okay? I’m sorry. Did I get you?’

‘Get me?’ He stares at me like I’m crazy.

‘I was going for your eyes.’

‘Seriously, Gracie? What the fuck?’

‘Sorry, but you’re okay, aren’t you?’

‘Well, my T-shirt is soaked, and I smell like I took a bath in lavender oil.’ He sounds exasperated. He tugs his damp T-shirt to his nose and sniffs, and I try not to stare at the muscles of his stomach, the line of his hip bones.

‘But I think I’ll live.’ He peers down at me as I drag my eyes back up to his face.

‘Me too.’

‘What?’

‘You threw a bag of bricks on my chest.’

His eyes drop to my chest, and I remember I’m only wearing a very flimsy cami and no bra. I watch a muscle clench in his jaw, and he snaps his gaze away, as though he can’t bear to look at me. Wow. Thanks, Flynn. I know I’m not exactly well-endowed, and definitely not stacked like that girl who keeps posting about you on Insta, but you don’t have to look appalled at the sight of me.

‘I did not throw a bag of bricks on you.’ He huffs indignantly, then he spots the leather holdall beside the bed. ‘Oh, that. That’s just my clothes.’ He winces. ‘And my shoes. And some books. Hardbacks. Damn. Sorry.’

I grab a blanket from the end of the bed and wrap it around me, then I scramble back up to lean against the headboard.

‘Flynn, what are you doing here? It’s after midnight.’

He sits down at the very end of the bed and squints at me, hard. ‘Gracie, what are you doing here? In my house? In my bed?’

What? I jerk back and whack my head against the pine headboard. Ow.

So much for my new cosy sanctuary. This is not turning out how I planned. I glare back at Flynn. Because my head hurts, and my chest, and I feel nauseous, and I think I might be getting the start of a hangover, even though I only had two glasses of wine. Although, maybe it’s an overdose of lavender. Why can’t I just have one peaceful space to myself, without men who’ve already chosen to abandon me, or cheat on me, or whatever, following me, and wrecking my head.

‘Flynn, this is not your bed. It’s my bed. I’m renting the cottage from your parents.’