Where We Call Home (Faircloud #2)

Chapter 7

Seven

Aspen: Do we want to hike Hawke Peak tomorrow? I could die for some fresh air and sunshine

Penny: I have to go to work in the morning. Our weekend kid’s reader called out, so now I’m in panic mode to find a replacement

Aspen: Maybe I can convince Boone to do it

Penny: Boone Cassidy, reading to children? My ovaries wouldn’t be able to take that.

Penny: I can go after

Aspen: DEAAALLL

M y knuckles brushed the door lightly, so lightly that if no one answered, I could pretend I’d tried and leave. A perfect excuse to retreat. However, retreating would do nothing except make me angry with myself.

Was I really ready for this?

This wasn’t just any visit. This was the first time Rhodes and I would be alone—no friends to buffer awkward silences, no distractions to hide behind. The thought sent my pulse skittering, my breath hitching in my throat. I had to stop overthinking, but it was too late. My stomach twisted harder, the imaginary indigestion turning into full-blown contemplation for even showing up.

The seconds dragged, stretching out like an eternity. I stood there, frozen, my heart pounding in my ears. Then I heard it, a shuffle of muffled footsteps, the faint clatter of something. He was home. And he was coming to the door.

There was no turning back now.

A waft of air blew the strand of hair falling from my braids and Rhodes appeared in front of me with an easy grin that screamed confidence. His deep voice, smooth as butter, greeted me.

“Hey there, Honey.”

Honey. The nickname rolled off his tongue, sending a tingle straight through me. Butterflies collided with the knots already twisting in my stomach, and even the baby shifted, as if reacting to the deep timbre of Rhodes’ voice.

I couldn’t read him. One moment, he seemed nervous and uncertain around me, and the next, he exuded confidence. It was maddening, trying to figure out if he was just as unsure as I was, or if I was the only one overthinking every little thing.

Biting my lip, I reached up to push my pigtails behind my shoulders, a nervous habit that made me feel both childish and exposed. My fingers brushed the strap of my purse, fiddling with it as I tried to ground myself. “Hi,” I whispered, the word barely audible, my voice trembling.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside and holding the door open for me.

The scent of pasta hit me immediately, rich and tangy, curling around me like a warm invitation. My stomach growled, loud enough to be embarrassing, but I couldn’t even bring myself to care.

I stepped into the living room, glancing around. The space was simple, functional. Dark forest-green walls framed a cozy L-shaped couch and a modern coffee table in front of a TV. A long table sat near the entrance, the room lacked personal touches—no photos, no art.

Following him further inside, I found myself in the kitchen. The dark wood cabinets and matching floors gave the space warmth, while the marble countertops, streaked with gold veins, added a touch of luxury. It wasn’t what I expected for a ranch hand’s home, still, it suited him.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Rhodes said, stirring something on the stove. Then, with a simple, commanding tone, he added, “Here.”

Like a moth to a flame, I moved toward him, drawn by the man and the intoxicating aroma wafting through the room.

Without a word, he dipped a spoon into the simmering red sauce, wiped off the excess, and offered it to me. Instinctively, I leaned forward, my lips parting as he gently placed the spoon against them.

The flavors burst across my tongue. A perfect harmony of garlic, rosemary, and the kick of red pepper flakes. The spice was bold and satisfying, scratching every itch. My eyes fluttered shut as I savored it, my tongue darting out to catch a stray drop that had escaped.

When I opened my eyes, Rhodes was staring. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, gaze following the slow, deliberate path of my tongue.

Heat crept up my cheeks. Was it from the spice—or from the way he was looking at me?

"That’s delicious," I muttered, not breaking eye contact.

We stared at each other, a thick silence hanging between us. I could feel an invisible force holding me in place. Tilting my head slightly, I took in his wide eyes and slack expression. Something flickered across his face, something I couldn’t quite identify.

Rhodes was looking at me like he thought I was delicious.

An urge swelled inside me to reach out, to close the space between us, but he broke the moment with a simple clearing of his throat, shattering my thoughts.

“Mhm.” His groan was soft. Turning back to the stove, he wiped his hands on a towel. “I, uh, have something for you.”

Before I could ask, he disappeared into another room, leaving me standing there with my curiosity building. When he returned, he was holding a bouquet of vibrant flowers, their colors so bright they almost seemed to glow.

The sight of them caught me completely off guard. My chest tightened, and before I even understood why, tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said quickly, his grip on the bouquet tightening as I reached for it. “I just... I saw these on my way out of the store and thought they were pretty.”

“Thank you.” My voice cracked as I grabbed the flowers, my gaze fixated on the arrangement of Gerbera daisies in every shade of the rainbow with delicate baby’s breath and lush greenery. “They’re beautiful.”

Our hands brushed as I accepted the bouquet, and I glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at my lips. “You can let go now. They’re mine,” I teased, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rhodes chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and the tension in the air dissolved. I couldn’t help but laugh with him, wiping away a stray tear that escaped down my cheek.

I’d never had a favorite flower, I loved them all equally, but these? These I loved just a little more.

Rhodes took a step back, leaning casually against the kitchen island. I appreciated the distance. His proximity was intoxicating, his cologne—a blend of cedar and coffee—assaulting my senses in the best way.

In the short time I’d known him, Rhodes had exceeded every expectation. He helped me out of my car, held doors open, and now, he’d brought me flowers. No man had ever given me flowers before. I didn’t know what to do with them. Should I put them down? Thank him again? Ask for water?

Why was I panicking over flowers ?

I tried to calm my spiraling thoughts, reminding myself that Rhodes wasn’t judging me. He didn’t care if I said something awkward or stumbled over my words. If he hadn’t already been scared off by my blunders, he wasn’t going anywhere now.

I placed the bouquet gently on the island next to my bag and turned to face him. “Can I help?” I asked, desperate for a distraction from the chaos in my head.

Rhodes shook his head, stepping back toward the oven. When he opened the door, a wave of rich chocolatey aroma filled the air.

He’d baked a chocolate cake.

Rhodes baked me a fucking chocolate cake. My ovaries were officially done for.

My gaze fixed on his broad back as he moved effortlessly around the kitchen. Watching a man cook was undeniably sexy, and Rhodes was making it impossible to say no to...well, anything. If his goal was to get me into his bed tonight, he was certainly on the right track.

“Are you sure? Please, let me help,” I begged, teetering on the edge of dropping to my knees, though it wouldn’t just be to beg.

“Fine,” he relented with a smirk. “You can grab the pitcher from the fridge and bring it to the table.”

Grateful for the task, I opened the refrigerator and blinked in surprise. It was nearly empty.

If Rhodes liked to cook, why was there nothing in his fridge?

I grabbed the pitcher, careful as I removed it from the shelf. The pale liquid inside sloshed as I carried it to the table, my curiosity piqued.

“What the hell is this?” I asked, eyeing the contents skeptically.

“Peppermint tea,” he answered, his voice casual as he plated the last bit of food. “It’s supposed to help with heartburn. I read online that it’s safe during the third trimester.”

I nearly dropped the pitcher.

Rhodes had researched pregnancy-safe foods, then bought ingredients—ingredients that clearly weren’t staples in his nearly barren fridge.

Swoon.

Rhodes was thoughtful, gentle, and undeniably caring. How could anyone choose city life over someone like this?

That made me wonder, were there skeletons in Rhodes’ closet?

“Wow, that’s amazing,” I whispered, pouring tea into my glass until it was nearly full. I repeated the process with his glass, leaving the pitcher on the table between us.

My legs began to ache, so I sat, easing the pressure off my ankles.

“Can I get you anything else?” Rhodes asked, his tone sincere.

I glanced at the table in front of me: pasta coated in rich red sauce, warm bread, and a pitcher of peppermint tea.

I smiled. “No, this looks fucking fantastic, ” I said, laughing in partial disbelief. He’d truly outdone himself.

Rhodes sat across from me, his eyes meeting mine, and I couldn’t help but grin. “I’m so excited to eat this right now. My mouth is literally watering.”

He chuckled, gesturing toward my plate with the silverware in his hand. “You try it first. Be gentle with me—it’s been a while since I made this.”

Twisting my fork into the noodles, I gathered as much as I could before taking a bite. The spice hit me immediately, but oh my God, it was good. An explosion of flavor burst on my tongue, a mix of heat and richness that was downright addictive.

“Oh yeah,” I moaned, my eyes rolling back. “That’s it.”

Rhodes cleared his throat. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“I’d make love to this pasta,” I confessed, covering my mouth as I laughed. “I’m going to need you to make this for me every day.”

The sauce was perfect—creamy, smooth, and balanced. If I hadn’t seen him stirring the pot when I arrived, I might’ve thought he bought it pre-made and passed it off as his own.

“Your wish is my command,” Rhodes replied, his eyes crinkling as he tried to hide a smile.

“Where did you learn to make this?” I asked, eager to learn more about him, to peel back the layers one by one.

“My mom,” he said. “It’s a recipe that’s been in my family for generations.”

“That’s so cool. So, you’re close with your mom?”

“Oh yeah,” he said with a nod, taking another bite.

“Me too,” I said. “How about your dad?”

Rhodes shook his head, washing down his food with a sip of tea. “I never met him. He left my mom before I was even born.”

For fuck’s sake, it was only my second question, and I’d already made things weird. Why couldn’t I have just asked his favorite color or something? I managed to say the wrong thing around him… again.

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard on your mom,” I said carefully.

“Yeah, she worked hard to give me the best life possible. I owe her everything.”

I felt that to my core. My mom had taken on both roles after my dad passed away. At least I had ten solid years with mine, Rhodes never even had a chance.

“I get that. My dad passed away when I was ten,” I said. “My mom handled everything with so much grace, even though her whole world was turned upside down.”

The conversation had taken a serious turn, but with Rhodes, it didn’t feel uncomfortable. He listened, really listened, giving me his full attention.

“That’s why we moved here. After he passed, we needed a change,” I continued. “I’m glad we did because who knows where I’d have ended up if we’d stayed in Oklahoma.”

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like,” he said, his voice soft. “That kind of pain doesn’t really go away, does it? Was it sudden?”

His words cut deep, but not in a bad way. Not many people knew the details of my dad’s death. It was sudden and devastating, and I never got the chance to say goodbye. Thinking about it still tore me apart.

I nodded, deciding to share a little more. “He died in a car accident. Not having closure keeps the wound open.”

I spared Rhodes the haunting details: my dad driving late from a job to surprise me at a soccer game I’d begged him to attend, the accident that robbed me of him forever. After that, I stopped asking for things from anyone.

“Jesus, Theo. I’m sorry,” Rhodes said. Then, to my surprise, he added with a crooked smile, “Now we’re both assholes.”

A laugh escaped me, a snort, really, and once I started, I couldn’t stop. Rhodes joined in, and for the first time in forever, I didn’t feel weighed down by my grief.

“We can call it even now,” I said, wiping my eyes as I took another bite of pasta.

The rest of dinner flowed easily. Conversation came naturally, and when the plates were clean and dessert devoured, I didn’t want the night to end. Usually, by this time, I’d be curled up in pajamas, watching TV. However, I craved more time with Rhodes.

“I’d suggest playing a game, but neither of us likes losing,” I teased, leaning back in my chair.

“I’ve got a game we can play solo. No losing to someone else,” he said with a smirk.

Rhodes disappeared down the hall and returned holding two decks of cards. “Solitaire.”

“Ugh, I’ve heard of it but I’ve never actually played it.”

He feigned shock. “Theo. You’ve never played? It’s the ultimate game for an only child.”

“That’s definitely not true. I’m an only child, and I’ve never heard of it.”

Rhodes handed me a deck, then cleared the table to demonstrate. “We have more in common than I thought,” he said.

“What? No dad and an only child?” I quipped.

“Exactly,” he replied, smirking as he winked.

I fumbled with the cards, trying to follow his lead as he patiently showed me how to shuffle and set up the game. Despite my clumsiness, he was encouraging, guiding me through each step.

At first, I was slow, asking a million questions and second-guessing every move. With Rhodes’ help, I got the hang of it, and soon we were playing in companionable silence.

Every so often, I’d catch him stealing glances at me, and I’d sneak looks at him too. Without his usual hat, his tousled black hair curled behind his ears. Freckles dotted his sun-kissed nose, softening his rugged, masculine features. He was...beautiful.

“You know what game I love?” I asked, breaking the quiet.

“Hmm?” he hummed, giving me his full attention.

“Scrabble. Specifically, the digital version. I play it every morning and night before bed.”

“You play against strangers?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got at least five games going right now,” I said.

The tradition had started with my family. Tuesday nights were game nights with Mom and Dad, and Scrabble was always the highlight. After Dad passed, Mom and I kept it alive as long as we could. Playing online now gave me a way to hold onto those memories.

Rhodes nodded thoughtfully, waiting for me to return to my game before resuming his own.

When I couldn’t stop yawning and my eyelids grew heavy, I knew it was time to go. Rhodes offered to drive me home, but I refused. There was no way I’d admit I couldn’t keep up—even if it was true.