Chapter 14
Dax
Ghostly shadows slunk on the walls, thanks to the candles strategically placed in my living room. The dim lighting created menacing silhouettes of the fake cobwebs and paper bats strung from the ceiling and arches. The plastic skull on the coffee table grinned back at me.
The couches were pushed together, creating an impromptu movie theater, and every seat faced the large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. I wrestled with the popcorn machine, ensuring it was primed to pump out enough buttery popcorn to feed the group.
Tonight wasn’t just about entertaining the Literary Persuasion Society; it was about Paris and me, and showing her I could be a part of her inner-circle.
Just a movie night with friends...and the woman you can’t stop thinking about.
My chosen lineup of horror flicks, spanning from Hitchcock’s iconic scares to contemporary hits, were stacked on the table. The plan was not only to match everyone’s horror palette but also gently introduce Paris to my world without sending her sprinting for the hills.
The doorbell rang. Samuel and Rachel strode inside and seemed impressed by the spooky decorations.
“Welcome to fright night!” I greeted.
Rachel slipped off her sweater. “Dax, this setup is killer!”
“Simply stupendous,” Samuel said.
“I appreciate that.” I slid the first film into the DVD player.
Rachel sat on the couch. “William was gonna come too, but he has a sore throat. Which means more popcorn for me.”
“That’s, uh, cool.” I was trying to appear nonchalant while keeping an eye on the door.
A few minutes later, Paris entered my home, looking gorgeous in a snug tee, ripped jeans, and high-top sneakers. Her perfume held a trace of peach blossoms and floral notes that made my heartbeat accelerate.
She set her purse and jacket on the table. “Aunt Margo and Carmen can’t make it tonight, their at a pottery class.”
“All right, folks.” I clapped my hands for attention. “Let’s get this movie marathon started. Remember, it’s all fun and games until someone ends up possessed.” I grabbed the remote and kicked off the first movie.
Rachel, contentedly ensconced with a bowl of popcorn on her lap, tapped the cushion next to her, signaling Paris to join. Samuel sank into the other leather sofa. Paris sat beside Rachel, and I took a seat beside her—close enough to exchange quiet comments while giving her enough room to breathe.
Every jump scare was punctuated by Paris’s quick intake of breath. Her hands would occasionally graze mine when she reached for the popcorn, causing a fierce tremor in my heart’s rhythm.
“Is it just me or does the killer have a striking resemblance to Mr. Jenkins from the grocery store?” Samuel said, adjusting his spectacles.
Rachel hugged a throw pillow to her chest, her knuckles turning white. “Maybe he has a secret night job at the morgue that we don’t know about.”
The chilling score intensified, heralding the killer’s imminent strike. I leaned in, shoveling popcorn into my mouth.
Rachel lifted the pillow. “I can’t watch,” she whimpered, burying her face in the fabric.
The movies were great, yet I kept sneaking glances at Paris. It always struck me as odd that she could be tagged as an outcast by others around town, ridiculed for all the cute ways she stood apart. However, she never let anyone’s harsh judgment bend her spirit. She stayed true to herself, undeterred, and never once stooped to unkindness. That strength, that grace under pressure, only deepened my admiration—and my feelings—for her.
Hours later the credits rolled on the last film of the night.
Rachel stood up. “Thanks, Dax. This was fun.”
“Certainly more exciting than my usual Friday nights,” Samuel said.
Samuel and Rachel walked to the door. They offered their thanks once more before heading out into the night, leaving me and Paris alone.
“Can you stay?” I sat near her on the leather couch.
Paris frowned. “Sure. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just...” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“What’s up?”
Damn, there was so much I liked about this girl. Where should I start? How to let her know how I feel?
I cleared my throat. “I just wanted to tell you…that one thing I really like about you is your sense of humor. It’s sharp, quirky. And the way you throw a joke into the mix? Makes every conversation a little livelier, a little smarter.”
Paris grinned. “Aw, shucks. Why am I getting all this praise?”
“Because I’ve met so many women who seem to only care about superficial things, you know? Chasing after guys for their looks or their bank accounts, putting on an act to be someone they think I want them to be. It’s all so fake and exhausting. What I’m looking for is someone genuine. I want a connection that goes beyond just looks. It’s the substance that matters to me, the real person underneath it all.” I stood back up and shoved my hands into my pockets. “In a town where everyone seems to follow the same script, you’re writing your own. That’s real. And I respect that a lot.”
And that’s exactly why Paris stood out—she was the real deal, didn’t put on airs, and that sincerity had pulled me in.
“That’s so sweet.” Her cheeks tinged a soft pink. “I had fun tonight. I was sorta hesitant about watching those scary movies, but I ended up really enjoying them. Guess you’re slowly converting me to expand my genre likes.”
“Then my mission’s accomplished,” I replied with a grin.
She rubbed her stomach. “I should go. I haven’t eaten much today.”
“No, stay. Are you craving a late night snack? The kitchen’s through there.”
We made our way into the kitchen. The stainless steel appliances gleamed under the recessed lighting. Paris made a beeline for the fridge.
“All right, Dax, let’s see what you’ve got.” She rummaged through the shelves. “Kale, spinach, tofu...” She looked at me. “Where’s the real food?”
I chuckled. “That is real food, Paris. Essential nutrients for the body.”
“Fuel for the soul is what I need. Like...Aha!” She emerged with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. “Now we’re talking.”
“Ice cream? At this hour?”
“It’s always ice cream o’clock somewhere.” She opened a drawer and grabbed a spoon.
“Must be left over from the last time my brother visited.”
“What’s your favorite flavor?”
“I’m more of a smoothie guy. Blend up protein powder, almond milk, throw in a banana...”
Paris wrinkled her nose. “Boring. You need to live a little. Expand your culinary palate.”
“Hey, I can get wild in the kitchen. You should try my famous grilled chicken and quinoa salad.”
She snorted. “Sounds yummy, but that’s not wild.”
I inclined against the counter, crossing my arms. “All right, bookworm, what’s your idea of a gourmet meal?”
“Easy. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but with the crusts cut off. Gourmet yum.”
I laughed. “Wow, that’s some Michelin-star level cuisine right there.”
She dug into the pint of ice cream. “I do enjoy baking. There’s something therapeutic about it.”
I watched her savor another spoonful, her pink lips closing around the utensil. Damn, even the way she ate ice cream was sexy.
“So aside from elite sandwich-making, any other talents I should know about?”
“Chocolate chip cookies. The secret is in the brown butter. Takes them to a whole new level.”
“I’ll have to try them sometime.”
She gave me a coy look. “Play your cards right, and I’ll bake you a batch.”
Oh, I’d play any hand she dealt me. Paris Novak, with her snarky humor and unrepentant love for all things sugary, had me completely smitten. This night was shaping up to be sweeter than I’d imagined. Especially when it involved quality time with a certain beautiful woman. She was one craving I didn’t plan on denying myself.
Paris dug the spoon into the pint with gusto. She gestured at me with the loaded utensil. “This right here? The ultimate comfort food.” She popped the bite into her mouth, closing her eyes in blissful appreciation. “Mmm, sweet, creamy, indulgent. Everything your boring healthy meals aren’t.”
“I never said my meals were exciting. At least they’re fueling my body right, not just satisfying a sugar craving.”
She scooped up another spoonful of ice cream and held it out to me. “Here, live a little. Embrace the decadence.”
I hesitated. One bite wouldn’t kill me, but it was a slippery slope. Next thing I knew, I’d be scarfing down entire pints of Rocky Road while binge-watching rom-coms and ditching my morning runs.
“Come on, Dax,” she cooed. “Don’t be so rigid.”
Was that how she really saw me? Some inflexible, by-the-book guy? If so, no wonder she didn’t view me as dating material. I prided myself on my easygoing personality, but maybe I came across as too nitpicky, too predictable. Well, if that was the case, I aimed to change her perception tonight.
She stepped closer until the spoon hovered temptingly near my mouth. The cloying chocolate aroma wafted my way, and I had to admit it smelled damn tempting. Could I let one indulgent bite derail my disciplined diet?
“Just a taste.” Paris’s lips curved into a sexy smile as if she could read the war waging inside me.
Ah, screw it. If indulging her sweet tooth meant getting closer to Paris, sign me up for a cavity.
Never breaking eye contact, I leaned in and closed my mouth around the spoon. The burst of cold sweetness on my tongue made me groan. “Okay, damn. That’s good.”
Her lips curved upward into a slow, satisfied smile. “Now was that so bad?”
“No…” I licked a stray bit of chocolate from the corner of my mouth.
She busied herself rinsing the spoon, her back to me. I hopped onto the island counter, admiring her beautiful lavender hair. The urge to hold her in my arms and breathe in her skin was overwhelming.
“Now that I know your diet preferences...” I cocked my head, studying her. “Tell me, Miss Prose and Positivity, what’s your grand philosophy on life?”
“Getting deep now, are we?” She tapped a finger against her chin. “I believe in living authentically. Embracing your true self. Why live any other way?”
“I hear you. But easier said than done, right? Society’s always pushing us to fit in neat little boxes.”
Paris snorted. “Oh, I know. It’s like, I love running my bookshop and geeking out over Jane Austen. I’m also the weirdo who dyes her hair purple and exists on Pop-Tarts.”
“Hey, I’m right there with you. Personal trainer by day, horror junkie by night. My Stephen King obsession isn’t exactly prime dinner conversation.”
“Um, says who? That’s exactly the kind of dinner chat I’m here for!” She reclined against the sink. “So, big guy, what’s your philosophy on life?”
“For me, it’s about resilience. I believe in rolling with the punches. Life knocks you down, you get back up. Not with bitterness, but by moving forward, always forward.”
“Resilience. I like that.” Paris tilted her head, lavender strands brushing her cheek. “Not letting life keep you down.”
Jumping off the counter, I closed the distance between us. “It’s about balance. And building real connections. That’s why this—” I gestured between us— “matters to me.”
Her breath hitched. “Wow, that’s profound. And here I thought you were all about fun and the flippant remarks.”
“I can be serious, too. Particularly about things—and the people—I care about.” I hoped she caught the deeper implication. “Don’t get me wrong, finding joy in the little things is also part of a good philosophy.”
Paris folded her arms, her gaze thoughtful. “You’re quite the philosopher. It’s so…”
“Unexpected?” I quirked a brow. “What can I say? I contain multitudes.”
A laugh burst from her lips, bright and infectious. “Quoting Walt Whitman? Be still my beating heart.”
I winked. “See? I’m not just a dumb jock.”
She swatted my chest. “I never thought that. Okay, maybe for, like, a second, but I’m officially revising that assessment.”
We stood there, gazes locked, the air between us electric. Her scent, vanilla and peachy shampoo, filled my head. I wanted to pull her close, taste her lips, yet I held back. This thing between us was special.
“So,” I said softly, “still think I’m not your type?”
Pink tinged her cheeks. “You’re certainly not who I thought you were.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“It is…” She smiled. “It definitely is.”
My heart soared. At that moment, I knew I was a goner. This brilliant, beautiful, hardheaded woman saw me, the real me. And she liked what she saw.
Just spit it out already.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. “I need to tell you something…”
“Whatever it is, you can say it.”
Clearing my throat, I blurted, “I...I’m falling for you. Hard.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “Everything just clicks when you’re around, in a way it never has before.”
She opened her mouth, but I held up a hand.
“Wait, let me get this out before I lose my nerve.” I sucked in a deep breath, letting it whoosh out. “Look, I might not be the most successful or intellectual guy, but I care about you, Paris. More than I’ve ever cared for anyone. I need to know if you feel this thing between us too. Or am I just fooling myself here?”
“Dax...” Paris bit her lip, glancing away. “I have feelings for you too, and you’re a great guy. You’re one of my closest friends and I don’t want to screw that up.”
My stomach dropped into my trainers. Rejection stung like a punch to the gut…and damn it hurt.
“I don’t get it. What’s holding you back, what’s got you so scared?” I wanted to pry those reasons out of her, to understand what made her hesitant.
She sighed. “A lot of reasons. Maybe because in almost every romance, the second you let your guard down, the universe conspires to make you regret it.”
I huffed out a tense chuckle. “Should I be worried about grand gestures and airport chases?”
“Only if you plan on leaving the country without telling me.” She ducked her head and her long hair hid her face.
I reached out to tuck the silky strands behind her ear, my fingers grazing her cheek. “Paris, you know I’d never hurt you.”
She leaned into my touch for a fleeting second before pulling back. “I want to believe you, but...” She shook her head. “Guys always say that and then they change their minds.”
“I’m not like other guys.” I tipped her chin up, willing her to see the sincerity in my eyes. “When I commit to someone, I’m all in. No games, no lies.”
“Sounds like you’re auditioning to be the next Bachelor,” she teased. “All you’re missing is the rose and the dramatic music swelling in the background.”
“Listen…” I said, pausing to find the right words. “I can’t guarantee life won’t throw us a few curves, and sure, we’re as different as a kettlebell and a bookmark. Different genres, different views...but that’s exactly why we’re so good together.”
She stepped back, putting distance between us. “I’ve been down this road before. Falling for someone who seems perfect, only to have it all crumble. I’m not sure I’m brave enough to risk that again.”
“It’s okay,” I said gently. “We don’t have to figure it all out now. And I meant what I said before, I like spending time with you.”
She let out a shaky breath. “I like spending time with you too, but...”
The last thing I wanted was for Paris to feel pressured.
“I get it,” I replied immediately. “You don’t have to say anything else.”
She turned and walked away.
Once the door closed behind her, the energy in the room seemed to vanish with her. Disappointment sank heavily on me as I took down the decorations.
Paris had her doubts, but she hadn’t given me a flat no. That ambiguity held a thread of hope. I wouldn’t push her into making a decision about us, but somehow, I had to prove that whatever fears were holding her back could be overcome.
After stowing the last of the Halloween gear, I sprawled out on the couch. A copy of Emma—the last book in the genre swap—sat on the coffee table and I snatched it up.
There had to be a way to get Paris to change her mind or at least give us a chance. She was obviously attracted to me and we had this off-the-charts chemistry. My gut told me we were meant for something great. I just needed to figure out how to prove it to her, how to break through her reservations.
Cracking the spine, I knew one thing for certain—I wasn’t ready to give up on Paris just yet.