42. Dakota
42
DAKOTA
Callaway: Wanna get food?
Dakota: I could eat.
Callaway: …at my parents’ house tonight.
Dakota: Like tonight tonight?
Callaway: Funny. Yes, angel. Tonight. Dinner with my parents and my girlfriend. Because that’s what you are. Get used to it.
Dakota: Okay.
Callaway: Don’t freak out on me now. They already love you.
Dakota: What can I bring? What do I wear? Jesus, Callaway. I need at least a month’s notice for something this serious.
Callaway: Just yourself, that’s it. I’ll handle the rest. Pick you up at five.
My mood is rare.
I woke up feeling energized and thriving on the likelihood of productivity.
It’s taken me months to feel the urge to purge through everything. Since moving into my apartment, I never realized how many things I had, due to the haze I was living in. The black fog seems to be a thing of the past now, and I’m ready to tackle my neglected tasks.
Starting my morning with the breakfast of champions, I brew my black coffee to perfection and secure my Biscoffs. Whereas protein is typically the fuel most people need to get through the day, mine just happens to be caffeine and sugar, a deadly combination for a woman on a mission.
After finishing my breakfast, I decide to blast some music to ramp up my mood and weed out the excessiveness of my clothes and shoes first. My Dunks will not be touched. They’re an addiction I refuse to forfeit.
Most of my clothes are basics, graphic tees and closet staples I’ve had for as long as I can remember. I’m finding that most of the ones I refuse to get rid of have some type of sentimental value to them. It seems so silly when referring to clothes but something as simple as jeans or a sweater can remind you of a special time in your life.
Fortunately, my mom and I were basically the same size, which meant we shared everything.
After her passing, I never let myself wear anything that belonged to her. It hurt too much. But now, my grief over them is finally reaching a point of acceptance. I would give anything to smell her warm honey scent in any way I can.
I pull out the pink cardigan she usually wore.
Mom always had it hanging off the back of dad’s recliner, just in case the temperature called for it. I pull the cardigan off the felted hanger and draw my arms through the soft material. It’s a full polyester blend, feeling like the coziest blanket, but the warmth that washes over me has nothing to do with the material, but the owner of it.
God, I miss her.
Sometimes, I swear I can feel her with me. I still dream of the apple cinnamon french toast she made every Sunday morning. I’d wake up to the smell of coffee and cinnamon filtering through the entire house. Those days I knew nothing could go wrong because those moments brought us together.
Smiling, I’m left with hope for what's to come.
I have finally started living, and it makes me proud of myself.
Honoring their life with my happiness is the best way to move forward. That would be their main priority if I could have said goodbye to them.
Deciding to move on, a familiar metal box catches my attention underneath a stack of blankets. I made this box in college when I was limited in space and needed a designated spot to store all my essentials. I know what I’m going to find before I even open it. I haven’t been able to look at the picture since their death, yet something about this time doesn’t feel so painful.
Unclasping the rusted metal latch—nostalgia hits me head on.
Front and center is the framed photo of my parents I took in our kitchen years ago. This was the exact moment I fell in love with photography.
They loved each other boldly, setting the purest example of unfailing love, even in their death.
At least, that’s what I’d imagine from them.
Dad would be doing whatever he could to be closest to Mom, whether in the physical sense or not, knowing she would need his comfort to be okay. He would be reassuring her I could survive without them. I’ll always regret not being there for their last moments.
I hate myself for it.
I’m now comforted by the fact that my absence in their goodbye can hold no jurisdiction in the depth of their love for me.
I long for that type of fervent love.
I may have found it.
Callaway’s patience in his pursuit of me rises to the forefront of my thoughts. He’s never once given up on us.
I can call myself lucky.
After what feels like days later, I’ve cleared nearly half of my things and filled four garbage bags with donation items. It feels strangely good to filter out the old and hopefully bring in the new.
The simple task of starting in my closet led to tearing up my apartment and loading Chevy with over ten bags of donations.
Who said being an adult was never satisfying?
They've obviously never purged an entire house of expendables and experienced a full-body orgasm from Callaway Hayes.
Both moments I’ll never forget.
The fact I spent the entire day checking off my to-do list is fulfilling. Completing those tasks inevitably leads to attending dinner with the Hayes family.
I’ve known Mr. and Mrs. Hayes since Navy and I first became friends, but that's all they’ve ever known me as, Navy’s friend.
Not their only son’s girlfriend.
I don’t even know if we’re calling it that. Callaway seems adamant about it, but I still think a conversation needs to be had about where we see this going between us. I’m almost positive we’re both on the same page, but still, it needs to be discussed.
Contrary to my nervousness, I look forward to spending time with his parents. I’m also slightly curious about how Callaway will interact with me around them, especially knowing he’s never brought a woman home or dated much at all. Even with our undefined status, we’ve never shown much PDA towards each other unless privately.
However, based on the level of desperation I have for this man, I’m at the point where I’d fuck him on a park bench at a neighborhood craft festival. Talk about making a scene. He can take me however his heart desires, and I won’t argue about the details.
Time is ticking, handsome—time to make your way into my pants before I put you there myself.
Maybe that’s why I’m starting to feel twinges of excitement now that the anxiousness has worn off. I know meeting the parents is the next step in a relationship—not that I’m an expert, but research .
Being with Callaway has only solidified what I already knew about my relationship with Trevor; there was never a mutuality of feeling between us. He was blatantly ashamed of being with me, and I was blinded to it.
Lesson learned.
Thankfully, the Hayeses know about my parents’ passing, so we don’t have to dive into that uncomfortable topic. Navy’s mom was the one in the front row holding me closely at the funeral while I fell apart.
It must have been a coincidence I never saw Callaway, given how present they’ve always been.
I think meeting him officially the way we did is my favorite accident and something I wouldn’t change.
Callaway is picking me up at five, which means he won’t be here a minute later given his expert promptness—never keep a woman waiting and all that.
Since he was useless in giving me any leads on what to wear, I settle on a pair of dark wash high-waisted jeans, a coral scalloped tank top, my seashell necklace, and jute brown platform sandals.
Deciding to leave the Dunks at home, I feel cute.
My style has always been a combination of coastal boho meets athleisure.
After checking the clock, I realize I have thirty minutes to take myself from homeless to presentable.
It’s doable. Maybe.
Curling my hair is the chosen sacrifice, so I decide to straighten it as thoroughly as possible before applying my makeup. I really need to get some serious beauty instructions from Navy when she has a chance. The woman never looks anything short of perfection.
I’m clueless about what to expect from this dinner. It feels similar to walking into a lion's den, except I know these lions, and they’re protective of their cubs—rightfully so. I also decided to run to the market earlier and grab a bottle of red wine.
I mean, who doesn’t love wine? Oh God, what if they’re newly sober, and I make myself look like a wino?
Chill out, Dakota. You like wine, so bring the wine.
I’d rather show up with something than be empty-handed.
I grab my purse and phone to keep everything organized on the kitchen counter, ensuring nothing is forgotten. The ringing doorbell cuts through the living room just in time, and I can’t fight the smile of happiness that paints my face.
It’s getting easier to fall for him since I’ve allowed myself to feel.
And heaven help me, I’m feeling so much for Callaway .
I know his natural attractiveness will knock me off my feet as soon as I open this door. I need to invest in knee pads—I’ve got big plans to be on my knees for him. His thick cock will be getting around-the-clock care.
He’s turning me into his little hussy.
A loud knock follows the doorbell ringing, registering to my perverted little brain that I’ve left him waiting while sitting on the other side of the door dreaming about his cock.
Jesus.
I could’ve had the real thing right here.
But not yet. I need him to be starved. Not hungry, not hangry, but starved for me.
“Coming.” I hope we do soon.
I’m a twisted, twisted woman.
Opening the door, I’m greeted with a delectable sight; his attention is fully set on me.
Callaway is striking —and that’s a mild term to describe his beauty.
Today, his eyes are ones I could get lost in. The brightness in them is usually pronounced, but today, it’s different. He’s wearing a light blue Henley that makes them pop even more, drawing attention to his gray and black shaded tattoos cascading his entire body. He’s matched this style with dark wash straight jeans and his signature Chelsea boots. I’ve noticed he wears them when he dresses up for something important.
My eyes finally reach his, and it’s clear I’m caught ogling him once again, but I’m unashamed.
I’m also in the mood to speak unfiltered.
“You weren’t going to open the door.” He thinks that, but he’s very wrong.
Surely this will surprise him. “Apologies. I was daydreaming about sucking your cock. Sorry to make you wait for that. Okay, let’s go. Wow, you look great.”
I’m babbling, kicking myself for my horny behavior, and requiring damage control on myself . I’ve reached a new low.
His heavy gasp stops my hustle as he lightly grabs my elbow, moving my body back into his sight.
“I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood that. It sounded like you said you were daydreaming about sucking my cock, angel? Tell me I’m mistaken.”
Oh. Did he like that? I could drop to my knees right no?—
“Dakota. Eyes on me. That time will come. Answer my question, beautiful.”
Sir. You tease me.
“Uh, I might have said something along those lines. Ignore me, I’m nervous, and I say random things I think when I’m nervous. Things that should be kept inside my head and not spoken out loud. See, I’m rambling now. Can we go?” I do my best to shuffle around his massive frame to grab my things, but the giant man before me won’t let up.
“You were thinking about me.” He’s shooting me that sexy smirk, announcing it like a statement, not a question. Arrogant asshole. He’ll never let me live it down.
Making a joke about this is all I can conjure. “Oh yeah. All the time. I’m obsessed. Ooo, are those wedding bells? Call the preacher. It’s time to get hitched.”
I’m legit laughing; my hand covers my chuckles as I try to catch my breath through the giggles. I’m hunched forward, letting my laughter consume me and giving him no room to interfere. Callaway suddenly places his index finger under my chin and raises it slowly to meet his deadly stare.
There’s no anger there but humor and lightheartedness.
I’m glad we’re of the same mind.
His eyes meet mine in question, and I still have yet to discover how he can somehow bring everything around us to a cease fire and keep my attention on him.
He sees me in a bone-deep way and loves it. Loves me.
“Don’t tempt me with a good time. I can barely get you to admit you like me. If it gets you to the altar, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Suddenly, my laughter dies down and is replaced with uncertainty.
Without thinking, I grab my things off the counter and quickly walk out the door, stopping outside the threshold as I wait for Cal to turn around and follow. He stands unmoving, and I am positive it’s from me ignoring his declaration.
Standing deadly still, his voice echoes in a whisper, the tone charged with what sounds like hurt and hesitation. “That’s what I want, Dakota. I won’t sacrifice that if you never catch up. I just can’t.”
I didn’t expect that, nor did I expect it to feel as painful as it does. Not once has Cal ever fed me false hope of a future. He’s always been transparent about wanting a family, kids, a house—all of it—from day one, and I admire him for that. It would be incredibly misleading to say I confidently know what I want my future to look like.
I know I see him in it. I’m confident in that.
For so long, all the milestones that come with being an adult or in a relationship have felt like a distant dream, never standing a chance of being a possibility.
Now that the possibility exists, I don’t know what steps to take.
I’m questioning everything to guard myself from getting hurt, even when I know what I want. I know I want a life with Callaway.
Feeling like he needs a moment to collect his thoughts before dinner, I tell him I’ll wait for him at the Jeep .
“I’ll meet you down there.”
He hasn’t turned around. I don’t hear footsteps as I retreat, but I do see his strong shoulders shrug and reload as if he had just now allowed himself to breathe.
I’ve been looking forward to this all day, and my mood has completely changed within a short period of time.
It looks like that conversation is going to happen sooner than planned. Let’s hope it ends on a good note.