Chapter 8 Parker
EIGHT
PARKER
I’d gotten maybe two hours of sleep after our kitchen conversation, but my mind wouldn’t stop replaying Dawson’s words.
I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings.
The confession had caught me completely off guard, even though Cerys had been telling me for weeks that Dawson was interested. I'd been so focused on protecting myself from getting hurt again, that I'd missed all the signs.
Or maybe I'd been ignoring them on purpose.
I stared at the ceiling of Dawson's guest room. I was in Dawson's house, wearing his clothes, having just been told he cared about me, and tried to sort through the tangle of feelings in my chest. There was fear. Being with someone new and risking my heart again terrified me.
But underneath the fear was something else.
Something that had been building since that second week when I'd watched Dawson humming over his weather models, completely absorbed in his work.
Whatever that was, it had grown stronger, every time he'd looked at me with those intense green eyes and when he'd made me feel safe instead of scared.
I'd told myself I wasn't ready. That it was too soon, that I was still healing.
But Carys had been right. At some point, "not ready" became an excuse.
Dawson wasn't Callan. He didn't play games. He'd saved my life and then yelled at me because he'd been terrified of losing me. He'd confessed his feelings at four in the morning in his kitchen and told me I didn't have to feel the same way and that he wasn't trying to pressure me.
Who did that? Who lay their heart out and stepped back to give the other person space? Someone who cared and was willing to wait.
My body responded when he was near. My breath caught in my throat when he was close and his rare smiles were gifts intended just for me.
I thought about how good it had felt to have his arms on me last night, and how right it had been to wear his clothes and drink his hot chocolate and feel safe in his home.
I thought about the alternative which was walking away, maintaining my walls, and letting fear dictate my choices. And I didn't want that. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life wondering "what if." Dawson had taken a risk by telling me how he felt. Maybe it was time I took one too.
My phone buzzed and I was thrown into work mode.
We drove back to the station in Dawson's truck. The morning light revealed the full extent of the storm's damage. Downed trees and power lines littered the roads, smashed glass covered the pavements and houses were missing roofs.
We pulled into the parking lot. "Thanks again for letting me stay." This wasn't the time to tell him the conclusion I'd reached.
"Anytime." His back was so rigid almost as though one movement and his spine would snap. He was waiting for me to say something about his confession and judging by the tension in his shoulders, suspecting I was going to reject him.
I wasn't ready to have that conversation and definitely not in a truck in the station parking lot before a long day of damage assessment coverage.
Inside, the station people were running everywhere. Isla was coordinating with field reporters, Zara was reviewing footage, and someone had brought boxes of cup cakes. I grabbed one and tried to focus on work instead of the man currently setting up weather graphics twenty feet away.
The morning passed in a blur of updates and viewer calls and emergency management briefings. Dawson and I worked together, falling back into our professional rhythm even as the personal tension simmered underneath.
But I had to tell him and around noon, I found him in the weather center, studying damage reports.
"Hey." My heart was pounding in my ears. "You got a minute?"
He looked up and there was maybe fear in his eyes. "Yeah. What's up?"
I closed the door, aware of how small the room was. "About what you said this morning."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to see where this goes." The words came out in a rush. "I'm not saying I have it all figured out because I'm still processing everything. But I'd like to try."
The fear vanished and was replaced by relief and hope. Or perhaps I was imagining it. "Great."
I was overcome with shyness, which was ridiculous. "So, ummm. We should probably go on a date or something."
"Or something." The corner of his mouth twitched and he almost produced a smile." My cheeks flamed at what that something was. But I wanted to keep our first kinda date more neutral.
"I could cook dinner tonight." The offer came out before I could think it through. "At your place, since my building is still inaccessible."
I wanted to do something normal, something that wasn't about hurricanes or near-death experiences so we could figure out what this could be.
"Okay." He was definitely smiling now. "What time?"
"Seven? That gives us time to finish up here and for me to grocery shop."
"I look forward to it"
We stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. This was terrifying but on the flip side, it was also right.
"I should get back," I said finally. "But I'll see you tonight."
The afternoon flew by. Isla caught me smiling at my phone. Carys had sent approximately twenty excited texts after I'd told her about the date and my boss raised a brow.
"Things seem better between you and Dawson."
Heat crept over my chest and cheeks. "We're working on it."
"Good." She leaned against my desk. "You two have been dancing around each other for months. I'm glad you're finally figuring it out." She paused. "Also, you both look exhausted. Take a few days off. The storm coverage is winding down, and you've earned it."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive. Get out of here. Rest. Do whatever it is people do when they're not working." She smirked. "Both of you."
I found Dawson and relayed the message.
"I need a few days off, especially with..." He glanced around at the busy newsroom.
"… a date tonight," I finished for him
"Yeah. That."
We left separately, him to his truck and me to the nearest grocery store that still had power.
I'd showered at the station and changed into a button-down that I knew looked good on me.
I'd shaved and run product through my hair.
When I stood in the produce section, I stared at the vegetables and tried to remember the last time I'd actually cooked a proper meal.
The answer was that Callan used to cook. I'd always been more of a takeout person. But how hard could it be? I grabbed ingredients for pasta with vegetables. Even I couldn't mess up boiling pasta.
By six-thirty, I was back at Dawson's house with bags of groceries and brimming with confidence.
"Need help?" He appeared in the kitchen doorway as I unpacked.
"Nope. I've got this. You relax." I pulled out a pot. "Go watch TV or something."
"I don't really watch TV."
"Then go stare at weather models."
He laughed, and the sound did something warm to my insides. "Okay. But if you need anything, let me know."
"I'll let you know."
He disappeared, and I got to work. The pasta went in the pot. That part was easy. I'd bought pre-cut vegetables so that was also manageable. I threw them in a pan with olive oil and turned up the heat.
Damn, the vegetables were smoking. Apparently, high heat was not the right choice. I turned it down, but by then they were already slightly charred on one side. Then I realized I hadn't started boiling the water for the pasta. I'd filled the pot but forgotten to turn on the burner.
Dawson popped his head into the kitchen asking if I needed help but I shooed him away. He cast a worried glance over my efforts before leaving.
I tried to make a simple garlic butter sauce except I turned the heat too high, and the butter burned and the garlic turned black as smoke filled the kitchen. Sweet coated my brow from the heat and stress.
The smoke alarm went off and Dawson appeared in the doorway. He took one look at the mess and started laughing. He was really laughing and not just that corner-mouth-twitch thing.
"It's fine!" I waved a towel at the smoke alarm. "Everything's under control!"
"Your vegetables are on fire."
He was right. Small flames were licking up from the charred vegetables.
"Okay, maybe not completely under control."
Dawson turned off the burners, and opened the windows and the smoke alarm stopped wailing. In the silence, I surveyed the disaster I'd created. There were burnt vegetables, blackened garlic, and pasta sitting dry in the pot.
"I can't cook," I admitted.
"I noticed." But he was smiling, and I took note of how his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Why did you offer to make dinner if you can't cook?"
"Because I wanted to do something nice for you." I waved my hands at the ruined food. "This was supposed to be romantic."
"It is." He moved closer, until we were standing in the middle of his smoky kitchen, surrounded by my culinary failures. "You tried to cook for me even though you knew you'd probably set something on fire."
"That's not romantic. That's just ridiculous."
"It's both." He cupped my cheek and his hand lingered on my skin before brushing off whatever was there. "And I think it might be the nicest thing anyone's ever tried to do for me."
We were close enough that I could see the flecks of hazel in his green eyes and feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he whispered. "If that's okay."
I nodded as I was unable to form any words.
He closed the distance between us and his lips met mine in a soft kiss. I made a small sound in the back of my throat and leaned into him while my hands came up to grip his shoulders.
The kiss deepened, and I wasn't thinking about burnt vegetables or smoke alarms or anything except the way Dawson tasted like coffee and how his hands settled on my hips as if they belonged there.
When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing hard, and he rested his forehead against mine.
"We should probably order pizza."
I laughed, the sound breaking free from somewhere deep in my chest. "Yeah. Probably." But I'd lost my appetite for anything but Dawson.
"For the record?" He pulled back just enough to look at me. "Best first date I've ever had."
"Even with the kitchen fire?"
"Absolutely."
We ate our pizza sitting on his couch, close enough that our shoulders touched. And when he kissed me again, tasting like pepperoni, I thought maybe Carys had been right all along. Perhaps I was ready for this.
"What now?" I asked as we finished eating and I popped some gum in my mouth.
The silence that followed had me jumping up, wanting to do something to avoid having to say what I really wanted to do.
"I should clean up this mess, first." I grabbed the plates and rinsed them and put the pizza in the trash. Not knowing what else to do, I resumed my seat, hoping Dawson would say something.
But I could make the first move.