28. Dakota
28
DAKOTA
It’s too bright. Jesus, what time is it?
I find the energy to lift my restless body from my bed to check the time.
8:00 am . Why does it feel so much earlier?
It’s probably because I spent a better portion of last night spilling my pathetic life story to a man who’s most likely been through worse.
Yeah, that adds up.
Except he listened and took my story in stride. His silence proved his intention to listen, not be an overpowering man attempting to fix it.
My parents would start essential conversations with the question, “Do you want me to listen or fix it?” The fact I didn’t have to ask Callaway to listen means more than he could ever know.
Deciding to get myself up and make today one that counts, I muster up the energy to shower, brush my teeth, and head to my closet to find something to wear. What’s an appropriate outfit to wear to the selling of your dead parents’ home? Black seems too morbid, but bright colors also seem too happy for something of this significance.
I’m thinking too much into this.
I settle on a blue and white striped form fitting midi dress, all white Dunks, and some gold jewelry. It feels cute without trying too hard.
I wouldn’t wish this on my biggest enemy.
Why can’t I have siblings to take over the stress of this? Or at least one to share it with.
Realizing my mood needs some brightening, I pause on drying my sopping wet hair and head into the living room to blast some hype music. Not that hype music will heal the dread washing over me, but it gives me the pep I need to face today, whether I like it or not.
It’s taken me longer than I care to admit, but selling my childhood home has been something I’ve contemplated since their death. It's been a year since I’ve gone back to check on it.
I couldn’t do it before.
There are too many memories; there is so much love in that house that the pain of it will surely cripple me. Technically, I could keep it.
My parents purchased it before I was born, leaving it to me entirely paid off. Every last dollar to their name was left for me.
They always made sure I never went without.
The home itself is dated; I’m sure more so now with the absence of someone living there and caring for it. The guilt of my neglect weighs heavily. I did ask Trevor at one point to help me at least maintain the lawn, and he refused, saying they left it to me, and I had the funds to hire someone to do it. Asshole.
I miss them so much .
Their absence feels lighter, however, after sharing it with Cal, but I know revisiting the home we shared will hit me like a ton of bricks—a full-fledged gut punch.
I’m startled by a loud knock on the door. I’m not expecting anyone. Especially this early. Maybe it’s a delivery?
Walking to the door, I quickly unlock the deadbolt and step back as the door reveals Callaway in all his glory.
He’s dressed effortlessly in what I’ve known to be his perfect outfit: dark-washed jeans, a solid black tee, and brown Chelsea boots.
The man couldn’t look unkempt if he tried.
Fortunately for me, he’s holding my favorite thing: black coffee in the biggest size available, which seems to be from Java, my favorite coffee place. I can’t forget to ask him how he knew that, and my coffee is accompanied with an entire sleeve of Biscoff cookies in his hands.
A hottie and some snacks? What did I do to deserve this reward?
This might be the moment I fall for him. If I haven’t already.
He came here for me. And brought my favorite things.
I realize I’m staring, more like gawking. “Callaway, hi. What are you doing here?”
His contagious smile makes me question why I’ve refused to accept him in the way he’s fought like hell to have me. His surprise arrival is unquestionably throwing my hormones off kilter.
Since we met, has he always been this protective of me? Has he always shown up?
There’s too much at stake. But when he stands before me, looking like everything good in my world, I can’t help but want to fall at his feet .
The roles have reversed, vacating my ridiculous thoughts of us being just friends. I’m not sure a nun could resist his alluring charm.
He’s looking at me in question, asking me to invite him in.
“Oh goodness. Sorry, come in.” Leading him into my apartment, he heads straight to the kitchen making himself at home, almost like he’s been here before.
Because he has. Not that I would remember much of it. But I’d be deceiving myself if I never pictured him here.
Even the slightest sight of Callaway living the domestic life makes my stomach jump; the limit does not exist on the number of times he’s left me flustered by my feelings toward him.
He wastes no time in letting me in on his surprise visit. “I’m taking you to meet the realtor this morning. You’re kidding yourself if you think I’d let you do that alone.”
Always telling, never asking.
He’s perfect. Let’s get married. Kidding. Maybe.
My voice barely escapes my lips before he speaks up again, cutting me off quickly, “Before you try and fight me on this, know that you don’t have the slightest chance at winning. Now, walk that pretty ass of yours I love so much into the bathroom. Finish getting ready, and I’ll have your coffee reheated and cookies ready for you when you’re done.”
Callaway doesn’t give me the option to respond before he’s busying himself around my kitchen, the sound of dishes being washed and the microwave opening, echoing in my small space.
If I looked for it, I’m sure I’d find my jaw on the floor, but I choose not to fight it.
This can’t be happening, but Callaway is in my kitchen .
And he brought coffee and cookies for me. And now he’s washing my dishes. And taking me to my appointment to sell my dead parents’ house. And refusing to take no for an answer.
I retreat, speechless to his caring authority. He’s always doting over me, and I’m not sure why it constantly throws me off. I’m a grown woman, and I could have conquered today alone, but Cal made sure I didn’t have to do it alone. He probably knew I would never ask, but who else do I have to ask besides Navy? And now him. But technically, he’s nothing but a friend to me.
As much as I’ve turned him down when it comes to a relationship, he still shows up and goes above and beyond to make sure I’m taken care of.
These Hayes kids were raised to perfection.
Quickly blow drying my hair and putting on some light makeup, I head back into the kitchen to find Cal seated at the breakfast bar. Once he hears me approaching, he turns and gives me a small smile.
“You look beautiful.”
I must be in a permanent state of blushing when he’s around.
It's possible my lady parts are blushing too.
He found me broken with plans to break me in—love that for me.
I’m fragile, but he’s slowly mending me back together.
“Thank you. You sure you’re up for this?” If I’ve learned anything about Callaway Hayes, he never does anything he doesn’t want to do. The weakest part of me wants him never to leave. I’ll need his safety and perspective to make it through today.
Never let me go, Callaway Hayes.
He leaves me no choice, firing off like it’s his job, “And lose the chance at seeing the home that built my favorite girl and taking a joy ride in Chevy? I’m driving, angel. Keys.”
Smirking, he holds his hand out to me, waiting for me to hand over the keys. I don’t even argue. I stand dumbfounded as I watch him strut to the hall tree and grab my purse, throwing it over his shoulder shamelessly, my coffee and cookies in hand, while he stands perched at the door, waiting for me to exit.
“After you.” My body moves on its own, realizing I have nothing to carry, feeling naked at the thought. I’m the girl at the store who needs a cart to hold onto for security. Even if I don’t purchase anything, I’m woman enough to admit it.
I stop my body next to him as I exit the apartment. My eyes find his. “It’s a little creepy that you knew when to be here without me telling you.” His deep and gravelly laughter has me smiling in return.
“Haven’t you figured it out by now?” I’m on the move, trying to puzzle out what he means by that before a smacking sound echoes behind me.
He smacked my ass.
Gentleman, no more.
But I’d like for him to do it again.