Brenda Harlen - Her Seven-Day Fiancé

As Jason had listened to the explanation of why she was at his door, he found himself mesmerized by the curve of her lips rather than the words she was saying. And when his gaze had dipped lower, he couldn’t help but appreciate that her soft sweater and leggings outlined her sweet curves. She wore fuzzy socks on her feet, and the top of her head barely reached his chin, but there was a lot of punch in the petite package.

Since the storm prevented him from going anywhere, he’d invited her to come in to eat with him. He’d opened a bottle of merlot and, as they’d shared dinner and conversation, he’d found himself increasingly intrigued by the beautiful woman he’d never really let himself notice before.

After that night, when they’d sipped wine and listened to the wind rattling the windows, he’d been much more aware of his neighbor—and more cognizant of her comings and goings. But their morning runs had done little to satisfy his growing curiosity about his new neighbor.

“Looks like spring is finally here,” he noted, when he met her at the top of the driveway on a Friday morning in early May.

“The last time you said that, we got dumped with six inches of snow only a few hours later,” she remarked, walking toward the street.

“No chance of that today,” he promised. “The sky is clear and blue.”

“So far,” she acknowledged.

They turned west, away from the rising sun, and picked up their pace.

“Any big plans for this weekend?” he asked as they transitioned from a brisk walk to a slow jog.

Her only response was a negative shake of the head that sent her ponytail swinging from side to side.

“You’re not going to ask if I have plans?”

“I don’t need to ask if a man whose nickname is ‘Charming’ has weekend plans,” she noted.

He winced inwardly at her use of the moniker he’d thought— hoped —he’d outgrown. “Where’d you hear that name?”

“In the staff room at school.”

Of course. Because he’d dated Lisa Dailey, the music teacher, Shannon Hart, the girls’ gym teacher and soccer coach, and—very briefly—Taylor Lawson, the office administrator.

“Rumor has it you’ve broken the hearts of all the single women in Haven and are dating someone in Battle Mountain now.”

“Was,” he clarified.

“She dumped you already?”

He was so surprised by the question, he stopped running.

It took a few strides before she realized he was no longer beside her and turned back, jogging on the spot until he caught up again.

“She did not dump me,” he told her.

“You dumped her?”

“We decided that we wanted different things,” he said as they continued along their usual route.

“She wanted a relationship and you didn’t?” Alyssa guessed.

Her assumption hit a little too close to the truth for comfort. “Renee said that I was too focused on my business and not enough on her.”

“And instead of trying to appease her with flowers or chocolates or candlelit dinners, you gave her the equivalent of a relationship pink slip.”

“Pink was her favorite color.”

She surprised him by laughing. “Then maybe you made the right decision.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“How is that relevant to anything?”

“It’s a simple question—although also a personal question,” he acknowledged. “And I’ve noticed that you always sidestep personal questions.”

“Orange,” she told him.

“Why orange?”

“That’s an even more personal question.”

“Tell me anyway,” he urged.

She picked up her pace and turned onto Peregrine Lane, and for a minute, he didn’t think she was going to answer.

“Because it’s the last color you see as the sun dips below the horizon at the edge of the ocean,” she finally responded.

“That’s right—you’re a California girl, aren’t you?”

“Former California girl,” she amended.

“Why’d you trade sand and surf for northern Nevada desert?”

She shrugged. “It was time for a change.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Did you date Belinda Walsh, too?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, a little warily.

“She teaches English at the high school,” Alyssa explained. “And she looks for hidden meaning in everything.”

“That’s not a female thing?”

She sent him a disapproving glance. “Belinda was talking to another teacher in the staff room one day, explaining the symbolism in a poem her class was studying. She claimed that the blue curtains fluttering in the breeze were representative of the author’s depression. I suggested that perhaps the author just happened to be writing in a room that had blue curtains.”

He grinned. “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar?”

“And sometimes orange is just the color of a sunset,” she confirmed, waving to him as she made her way to her door.

Clearly that was all she intended to say about the subject, but as Jay made his way up the stairs to his own apartment, which occupied the two upper floors of the building, he wasn’t entirely convinced. In fact, he suspected there was a lot more going on with the sexy schoolteacher than she wanted anyone to know.

He did know that she left her apartment at precisely seven twenty-five every weekday morning to head over to Westmount, and she usually returned home by three forty-five in the afternoon. The only exceptions were Wednesdays, when she monitored Homework Help in the library after school, and the second Monday of every month, when there was an afternoon staff meeting. She didn’t, as far as he could tell, date very often—or maybe not at all.

Which piqued his curiosity for two reasons: first, she was a beautiful woman, and second, she was new to Haven. Either of those factors would appeal to most of the single guys in town; the combination would prove almost irresistible. This led Jay to believe her presence at home most nights was a matter of choice. But why?

Was she involved with somebody back in California? Was she nursing a broken heart? Or was she simply not interested in any of the guys she’d met?

It wasn’t in his nature to ignore an intrigue, but he didn’t like being distracted by thoughts of a woman.

So rather than admit that he was, he pushed all thoughts of her out of his mind and focused on getting ready for work.

* * *

Alyssa turned off the water, grabbed a towel from the bar and briskly rubbed it over her body. She knew, without looking at the clock, that it was 7:00 a.m. She knew because she was a creature of habit who awakened every morning at six and had her shoes laced up, ready to head out the door, ten minutes later.

She wasn’t a competitive runner—not like her sister, Cristina, had been. But she enjoyed challenging herself to go a little farther, a little faster. After too many years of being told to be careful, to slow down, because she was fragile and weak, she had a lot to prove—if only to herself.

She’d started running three years earlier, just a short jog at a moderate pace, to see if she could. And then she could do a little more—and a little faster. Now she was strong, she was fit and she was determined to live her life on her own terms.

She ran for herself. It wasn’t really a secret, but it also wasn’t something she’d shared with anyone else.

Until Jason Channing.

Somehow, eight weeks earlier, she’d acquired a running partner she didn’t need or want. And despite her less-than-welcoming demeanor at the start, he’d continued to show up, until she’d found herself not just enjoying his company but looking forward to it.

But at the same time, being around her upstairs neighbor also left her feeling a little...unsettled.