Chapter 6
Bellamy
I take my time showering. The hot water feels amazing against my sore body, and this bathroom is like something out of a magazine.
When I first laid eyes on Garen's home, I had to swallow my surprise.
My rescuer is clearly quite wealthy. Every room is spectacular, and every little item reeks of quality, not in a pompous or ornate way, but in a well-made way.
Just by looking at Garen, I never would have guessed he comes from money.
Granted, I've only seen him at the festival and when jogging.
Thinking this causes the memory of him in his running shorts and shirtless to wash over me.
Damn, the man is fine. I can still feel his muscles pressing against me as he carried me home, my entire body ablaze.
I was disappointed when he changed after making me tea, although it told me he's not a show-off.
I chuckle softly to myself, shaking my head. Now, now, Bellamy. Garen isn't here to be eye candy for you.
When I finally force myself out of the heavenly shower, I dry off with the fluffy towels Garen left me.
I treat the deeper scratches with ointment and Band-Aids before slipping into the sweats he left on the guest bed.
The rain continues to fall outside as I blow-dry my hair and give myself a quick once-over.
My hiking backpack has nothing but lip balm, so I can't do much more with my appearance.
I dig out my scrunchie and put my hair up in a messy bun, then decide to yank it out, letting my gray and brown waves fall past my shoulders.
Stepping into the hallway, delicious smells greet me. I follow them to the kitchen and find Garen at the stovetop, focused on cooking. He looks up and gives me a crooked smile through his thick beard. My stomach flips at the way his dark brown eyes crinkle in the corners.
"Hope you're hungry, and there's wine open on the counter if you'd like a glass."
"Oh, wow. You didn't have to cook me anything," I say, feeling my cheeks heat.
"I'm sure you're starving," he says, watching me limp over to the wine bottle. "How's that ankle?"
"It's okay, but I should probably keep it elevated for the evening."
"I'll set you up by the fire after dinner."
"That would be perfect."
I immediately regret how eager I sounded, feeling my cheeks burn. Chill out, Bellamy.
"Great," he says, his eyes meeting mine briefly before returning to what he's cooking.
Wanting to change the subject, I ask, "What are you making?"
"My world-famous chicken piccata."
Garen then steps back, chewing his lip.
"Shoot. I didn't ask you whether you eat meat."
"Oh, I do. Don't worry about it. Thank you so much for cooking," I say.
"Of course. I thought we'd just eat here in the kitchen if that's alright with you."
"Sure. Where else would we eat?"
"The dining room. My place is pretty big."
"Everything I have seen so far is gorgeous. You have a beautiful home."
"I'd give you a tour, but I don't think you should walk too much," Garen says with a soft laugh.
"No worries," I say, slipping into the kitchen chair, nursing my red wine. My cheeks heat again. I wish I could turn my schoolgirl blushing off, sheesh.
After Garen plates the food, he joins me, and I am overwhelmed at how amazing everything tastes.
"I can see why this is world-famous," I quip.
His cheeks flush under his mountain man beard, and I can't help but feel pleased. We fall into easy small talk, and when I mention moving to the foothills of Ravenhart Mountain to start my own business, he grabs a tablet to look up my website.
"Wow. These are incredible! Your art is so intricate. So this is what you were selling at the festival?"
"Yeah. I actually sold out before it ended. I'll need to be more prepared next time," I say, feeling my cheeks heat yet again.
"I'm not surprised. So, you make these all on your own?"
"I do. I have a small workroom at my rental."
"Well, I'm definitely going to order a couple. These are simply stunning."
"Oh, you don't have to buy my stuff," I say, feeling embarrassed.
"I know I don't have to buy them. I want to buy them," he says, grinning at me, and my heart feels like it's going to bust through my ribs and dance around the table.
After dinner, Garen refuses my help with the dishes and sends me to the living room with another glass of wine so I can put my feet up. The storm howls outside as R&B plays, and I dreamily stare at the flames dancing in the fireplace.
When he steps into the room, the song changes. He closes his eyes, smiling to himself as he sways in place. I take in the sight of him, this ruggedly handsome mountain man with his thick beard and graying brown mop of hair. Then, he opens his eyes and catches me watching.
"Sorry, I just absolutely love this song," he says, smiling at me. "It's such a good song to dance to with someone."
"Did you want to dance?" I ask, surprised at my boldness.
"I would love to, but your ankle," he reminds me.
I set my wineglass on the table. "I'm sure one dance won't be a big deal."
Standing, I hobble over to him. When he takes me in his burly arms, I melt into the feel of him, my body igniting with a fiery spark just like when he carried me home.
We dance in rhythm without speaking, letting our bodies do the talking.
Thunder explodes above us as rain pelts the windows, and I'm overwhelmed by how magical this moment feels. Almost unreal.
An hour later, I'm wearing his oversized T-shirt and brushing my teeth with a guest toothbrush Garen had on hand. I crawl into bed and listen to the rain pounding outside as I snuggle under the heavy quilt. What a random day.
Like a dream.