Page 11 of Unbound

I nod, teeth chattering. He shuts the door behind him, flipping on the light.

The house is modest. It’s not modern by any means. The decor looks like it was frozen in the early 2000s, except for the scuffed wood flooring, which looks older. The kitchen has lemon wallpaper and square white tile countertops.

But it’s clean, and the neighborhood seems quiet. I instantly relax in his space, which makes me think I can’t trust myself. His home is no different than the way he made me feel safe at the truck stop and on the trip here.

“I have a spare bedroom, but it doesn’t have a bed in it. The other room is my gym. First bathroom is down this hall. Shower’s in my room. I’ll go tomorrow to get an air mattress to sleep on. You can sleep in my bed.” He takes his cowboy hat off and hangs it on a hook by the door.

I look around the living room, taking it all in. It smells a little bit like an old lady, but it’s not a bad smell.

“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed again.”

“I fall asleep on this couch most nights anyway. Now, this is a comfortable couch.”

The tan sectional is shoved up against one white wall, leaving about three feet on the other side to walk around it.

I stare at it, my stomach starting to feel queasy. We haven’t eaten since we stopped for lunch.

“Do you want to eat something? I probably have a frozen pizza.”

How does he always know?

“I wanna know why you’re helping me. What do you want in return?” I blurt out.

My words halt his steps toward the kitchen.

He slowly turns to face me. “It’s the right thing to do. And, no, I don’t want anything in return.”

I’m chewing on my thumbnail—a bad habit I can’t seem to kick. “How long are you okay with me … crashing here? Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

He has to have someone. He’s way too good-looking to be single.

He shakes his head, continuing toward the kitchen. There’s a small island in it with two barstools. “No girlfriend. Come sit. Let me make you dinner.”

He punches the buttons on the ancient oven to preheat it.

“I can cook for you. I’m a really good cook.”

“It’s a frozen pizza.” He winks at me as he pulls a pizza box out of the freezer.

My eyes widen, and I can feel my cheeks flame. I take a seat.

“You’re exhausted. I’ll throw the pizza in the oven, and we can talk about this.”

After the oven beeps, he puts the pie in and takes the barstool beside mine. I lick my lips, trying to convince myself not to throw up. I wish I could lie down. His dark eyes settle on my face.

So good-looking. Almost too handsome to be real.

There has to be something wrong with him.

“I know we just met two days ago, and you’re in a bad situation. I can’t really explain why I want to help you, except that I can’t, in good conscience, let a pregnant woman with no other options go out on her own when I’m in a position to help. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I don’t need anything in return. I want you to stay here while you get back on your feet and figure out what you want to do.”

I tap my fingers on the tile countertop, studying the grout. “If I’m going to accept any more help from you, I can’t just sit here and do nothing in return.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Cooking, cleaning, I can mow the lawn⁠—”

He holds a hand up, chuckling softly. “Listen, I appreciate that. My mother would roll over in her grave if she knew I was letting a pregnant woman mow my grass. Why don’t we start with cooking dinner? I’d be stoked not to eat takeout or frozen meals every night.”