Chapter 22 – Paloma
Everything about what I’m wearing tonight feels wrong.
I am much more confident now than I was when I was younger. I am a woman who embodies and promotes through her music, women's rights, not taking shit from anyone, and body positivity.
My belly may be softer than it once was, and my hips curvier, but I love the way I’ve changed physically and will change as I age.
I love everything about myself. Yet here I am, nervously twisting the bracelets on my wrist and overthinking everything about the simple outfit I’ve picked out to wear to dessert at the co-op.
It’s not an actual first date. He thinks you’re in love with some guy.
A pair of bell-bottom jeans that fit my thick hips and ass perfectly, showing off my pear-shaped figure, and an all-white, V-neck T-shirt. It couldn’t be simpler, but it’s me.
Does Dallas find me attractive?
The man exudes confidence. I can tell that because he stands out amongst the cowboys and girls in Lonestar Junction, defying their rules and sticking to whatever he wants to do. The fact that he bought a whole farm in a town he’d never even visited before was a bold choice.
Maybe that's why we've always been drawn to each other. We never quite fit into the environments we were forced to grow up in and were constantly searching for a place where we belonged. I found mine in making music, yet still never felt completely at home in Texas or California, and Dallas found his in the Marines yet chose to settle in Texas, a place that likely didn’t welcome him at first.
A surge of butterflies fills my stomach as I think back on the fact that he’s really here.
I’m not na?ve, I know that the only reason he even knows about this town is because of me.
There was a reason he’d chosen to move here after separating from the Marines, and I was determined to have him admit that reason was me.
Last night, while going over everything that happened yesterday, including our encounter in the broken elevator, the way he’d allowed me to hold him yet hadn’t touched me back, his strong, manly scent and the handsome curve of his jawline, I read through all of the old letters we’d exchanged, that were still buried underneath my childhood bed at my parents’ house.
I hadn’t burned them like I’d told him, given the fact that I was in Croatia when I’d written that last letter to him, and the trip down memory lane had me laughing in tears while searching for any nugget that might elude to his potential feelings for me.
I swallow my nervousness, reminding myself again that this guy had been my friend for years before he disappeared and wasn’t technically a complete stranger. At one time, he’d known me better than even my siblings had.
“Hi Dove, Happy Thanksgiving,” one of my mom’s best friends and the wife to our small town’s mayor, Terry, gives me a squeeze. “Great turn out for the co-ops second year open. Glad to see you’re back in town for the holidays. I bet your mom is happy.”
I smile, “She is. She’s sad that she couldn’t be here tonight. Her and my dad are catching up on things back at the ranch.”
She nods, “Saw that article that reporter wrote about you in the LA Times.”
I bite my tongue, because despite the people in this town being supportive of my wishes to act normal when I’m home and mostly not talking to me about the gossip that is inevitable that follows my star, sometimes these comments still come up.
“Yeah…”
She nods, “Well if you’re looking to put those rumors to rest, I have a cousin who has a son who’s twenty-five years old and lives in San Angelo. Really nice boy. Single. High paying job working for the city.”
I force a smile, because a fake dating relationship in order to create a persona that appeases some stranger’s perspective of me goes against everything I believe in and sounds like an absolute headache.
I don’t need the money, nor do I need the attention.
The last thing I care about is trying to convince anyone to believe anything about me that simply isn’t true, but I know Terry means well.
“Thanks, but I don’t mind the rumors.”
Plus, if the Dallas who confided in me years ago, kept me laughing, and showed me friendship is still somewhere inside the strong, barrel-chested man who just walked into the co-op with Clay Cameron tonight, then I know I’m going to have a tough time disguising my attraction to him.
I just hope it’s reciprocated.
“Ok dear, well tell your mom I said hello.”
“Will do…” I respond, my eyes locked with Dallas,’ completely oblivious to Terry’s departure.
He’s found me like a magnet and is walking towards my direction as if we’re connected by a string.
I draw in a steady breath, trying to still my heart.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and it’s terrifying and electrifying at the same time.
“Paloma,” Dallas says with one of those big smiles I loved. He bends his tall frame downward to embrace me, his arms circling my waist, and I realize this is the first time that he’s hugged me.
And I like it.
A lot.
It feels like a piece of my body has been missing for years and is returning to its rightful position nestled here in his strong arms. He smells like pine needles and warm hay and the heat radiating from his body is almost too hot.
I hope that the scent of him sticks to my clothing and hair so that I’ll never lose it.
I'm in trouble.
“Hi, Dallas.”
Clay raises a brow as he takes in our greeting.
“Y’all look like you’ve known each other your whole lives. Though I guess you have, huh?” he nudges me with his shoulder then shakes Dallas' hand, mumbling something about keeping in touch, before walking over to the table of desserts.
“So…”
“So,” he smiles. “I’m eager to try this pumpkin pie you’ve been praising.” His big, thick palms rub together like a fly preparing for its meal. The action is so comical, smashing through any nerves I had moments ago, I can’t help the burst of laughter that comes out of me.
“Come on. Let me go introduce you to my family’s secret recipe.
” I take his hand, enjoying the way it engulfs mine and trying not to get too excited while I guide him towards the table full of desserts that stretch around the co-op.
I grab two slices and a can of whipped cream before finding a corner of the packed building where we can sit and talk more privately.
“Now the dollop of whipped is necessary to make this work. I hope you don’t mind.”
I crack the seal, press the button on the can, open my mouth wide and shoot a small amount inside before swallowing. Then, I add a hefty glob to his slice and mine.
Dallas watches me with a strange expression as I hand him a plastic fork and nudge a piece towards him.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Do you always do a taste test of the cream first?”
I laugh, “Yeah, kind of a rule. Gotta break the seal in your mouth before you put it on the pie.” I snicker, realizing what I’ve just said. “I’d like to break another seal tonight, too.”
His eyes widen, crinkling slightly at the edges as he grins while my jaw drops open.
Oh… did I just say that out loud?
He leans toward me, his hand brushing across my thigh.
"Paloma, there’s no way I’m going to be able to eat this pie without thinking about another type of cream in your mouth now.
Especially with the way it’s gaping open like that.
" He taps my jaw gently, pressing it closed with his rough fingers. "I'm going to need you to tell me something you’ve done that’s super gross, or a story about your grandma for me to get that vision out of my mind.”
“Wh..what?” I stammer.
He sits back in his chair, his hand moving to my knee where he squeezes firmly, almost as a warning.
“I’m a recently returned Marine trying to transition to civilian life who hasn’t had sex in well over a year.
You can't talk about breaking seals, pie, and cream around me without my mind going straight into the gutter.”
My already slack jaw drops open wider. “I’m not understanding. You’ve been celibate for that long?”
He snorts, “When do you think I’d have time to date, let alone have sex?” He scoops a spoonful of pumpkin pie into his mouth and closes his eyes briefly. “Damn. You were right, that is good.”
Meanwhile, I am still stuck on the words celibate, year, and cream in my mouth.
“I can’t believe that wasn’t the first thing you did when you got back. I would think you'd want to hook up with your girlfriend, or, you know, like a Tinder date or something?”
He snorts again, shoveling another forkful of the pie in his mouth. “You gotta have a girlfriend to hook up with them, and I’ve never been keen on the whole sleeping-around thing anyways. I figured I’d do it when the time felt right. Hasn’t felt right since moving to Lonestar Junction.”
Hasn't... felt right... since moving to Lonestar Junction...
I remain silent, not touching my pie as I watch him eat.
Each scoop of the pie and cream melts into his mouth like foreplay.
His strong Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow and groan while I feel the last shreds of my control slipping away.
When he closes his eyes again, dark lashes framing his cheeks, I can feel the wetness pool between my thighs.
He’s so different from the boy I used to write to—way better, even. He also seems completely unaware of the effect he has on the women in this town.
I glance around the co-op, catching a few eyes of ladies looking at us huddled in the corner as they likely whisper about the new big, handsome, single Marine who’s in town.
I’m jealous. It’s childish and ridiculous, but I can’t help it. I’ve always felt like I had a stake in him. As if he were mine even though we hadn’t met.
Dallas shifts the conversation again, completely oblivious to my inner thoughts and the fact that I haven’t touched my dessert. Meanwhile, he’s one scoop away from finishing his.
“Where’s your boyfriend at, anyways? Back in Los Angeles? Did he stay home with his family for the holiday?” he asks between a mouthful of whipped cream, “Talking about him will definitely cool things down for me and help me get my mind off of you putting that cream in your mouth.”
I swallow thickly, ready to confess the drunken lie that I put in my last letter to him.
It had been a stupid thing to write, but I'd been scrambling for closure, thinking that my heart was still stuck on a guy I’d never get the chance to meet.
And a small piece of me hoped that the letter would find him and remind him of the friendship that we’d had and provoke him to be curious to seek me out.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He sets down his fork on the empty plate, his warm eyes shifting to mine. “I don't understand.”
My body straightens taller in the plastic chair, “I mean I’m not in love with someone.
I lied when I wrote that letter to you. I was drunk and emotional, and I don’t know…
mad that you’d never written back and just disappeared without even telling me how I could contact you.
I lied because I was hurt and felt like I was never going to meet you.
You were one of my closest friends and I guess I nursed a bit of a crush on you through our correspondence. ”
My voice drops into a whisper, “There's no guy.”
He’s silent as he stares at me, scrutinizing every feature of my face, searching to see if what I’m saying is the truth.
His gaze is so intense that I pinch my thighs together, feeling heat spread throughout my body.
If my underwear wasn’t destroyed before, it is now.
It would crush me if he didn't reciprocate the feelings that I have for him or thought that they were premature, but I feel like I’ve always known him.
I know him. And he’s one of the few people that know me.
“You’re telling me that after being stuck in an elevator with you, where you straddled my lap, then talking to you all night at the bar, and now sitting here watching you down that whipped cream in a way that’s making it impossible not to imagine it’s my come all over you…
you haven’t had a boyfriend this whole time? ”
I smile and shake my head, relieved that it seems like he is just as sexually frustrated by this whole situation as I am. “Nope. No boyfriend. I thought, now that I know you live here, you might want to catch up… try to be friends again..."
A wicked grin crosses his face as he leans his body closer to my lips and takes his strong forearm, brushing both of our plates away from the table until there’s nothing in front of us.
“I'm a thirty-year-old man who hasn't had sex in over a year finally meeting his long-lost pen pal and realizing she's not only just as cool as shit as she was when we were younger, but the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I don't want to be just your friend, Dove.”
My cheeks flush again as he pushes back his chair loudly, drawing a few curious gazes from the crowd and extends his hand to me.
"What are we waiting for? Let's get the hell out of here."