Chapter 9
BLAKE
It’s nearly five when the sound of an engine fills the air. I’ve hemmed and hawed all day about what to do with the gift bag sitting on the end of the island. It had been impulsive and I can only hope that I made the right choice.
Being with Ellison hadn’t been like this. Our situation had been understandably different.
We both had something to lose.
With Cal, I’m the only one who needs something. But I’m not trying to impress him or keep him happy simply for the sake of keeping him involved in my charade.
I want him to be happy.
It’s an attachment I can’t afford, but I can’t stop myself either. There’s something special about Cal I can’t quite put my finger on. He’s handsome, sure, but his eyes are kind and soulful and even through the photographs I saw before we met, I wanted to get lost in their depths.
I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all but instead, I school my expression as he walks through the door, a tired but content look on his face.
“Good day?” I ask, stirring the sauce with the wooden spoon I managed to locate in the back of one of the drawers.
“It was, actually. The kids are doing watercolors and it’s a mess, but they love it so much, it’s hard to be upset about the cleanup.”
“That definitely sounds like fun although I don’t think I have a creative bone in my body.”
“Creativity isn’t bound to one medium,” he says easily, sliding onto the stool on the other side of the island as he rests his forearms on the surface. “Creativity is in expression. I could argue that you express yours through cooking or maybe the charity work you do.”
He smiles and damn him for being so adorably sexy and completely off-limits. He’s in a polo shirt and jeans, splotches of paint here and there, and it’s totally him.
Messy and still perfectly put together.
I want to laugh at how different we are. I’ve been in the house all day fighting with my mother over the phone, working with my assistant, and triaging emails in my business casual attire. Even now, I’m still buttoned-up despite being at the stove for the last couple of hours.
In this space, I don’t fit, but I don’t know how to be anything else.
“What is this?” Cal asks slowly as he nods towards the bag, drawing out the words and pulling me from my thoughts.
“It’s for you,” I reply cautiously as he pulls the package of acrylic paints from inside. I thought Ellison mentioned something in passing about that being his preferred medium but the longer he’s silent, the more I start to doubt the memory.
“These are from a store in Nashville. You did this? You went to Nashville and came back? This is a gift. We can’t do gifts.”
His expression is panicked as he meets my gaze, my hands facing him palms out in surrender. “It’s not a gift. It’s a thank you for trusting me with that incredibly personal piece of your life I don’t take that lightly kind of thing.”
“Blake.” He almost sounds annoyed, so I give him my most winning smile.
“I have a friend who paints, and I asked them where someone might purchase something like that.” I nod toward the box before looking back up at him. “And had them delivered.”
“You can’t just do that; these are expensive.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“Blake—”
“Cal, listen to me,” I say with enough force that he presses his lips together and waits.
“I come from a place where so many things aren’t real.
People, relationships, connections—most of it is fake.
” He raises an eyebrow but I ignore him.
“You shared something vulnerable and important, and I just need you to know how humbled I am by that.”
“You make it really hard to be annoyed with you.”
“I was sort of banking on it.”
“Fine.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he runs his fingertips over the label. “Thank you. This was extremely thoughtful.”
My shoulders sag at his words, the stress of the moment ebbing away. “You’re welcome.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“I…can’t promise that.”
“What?”
“I mean I could lie to you and say I won’t.”
“No,” Cal says on a surprised laugh, “don’t lie to me.”
“Well, then I promise not to make a habit of this.” I motion toward the box in his hand.
“I guess that’ll have to do.” He sighs but it’s playful and my heart swells in my chest, the feeling dangerously tempting.
And even though it feels good, I can’t feed into it.
For his sake and mine.
Mostly mine.
Because Cal is the kind of guy you can easily fall for. He has that effortless charisma that some people are just born with. He’s blissfully himself whereas I’ve had to cultivate my image over the years, a careful balance of enough real and illusion to satisfy my mother without losing myself.
I’ve kept the act up for so long it’d become second nature to just fall into that persona. But being here, in Blackstone Falls, it’s impossible to keep it up. No one is impressed by my bank account or the label on my clothes.
But if I’m not Blake Reynolds, heir to Reynolds Advertising, then who am I?
“Blake?”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I say quickly, taking in the concerned look on Cal’s face.
“I just asked if you’re all right.”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
He looks like he’s going to say something but then just shakes his head and stands, moving to the sink to wash his hands.
I’m not afraid to admit that I ogle him for a minute, taking in the breadth of his back, strong and sinewy, the muscles flexing as he moves.
When was the last time I got laid?
I can’t remember.
Because all I can think about is the way he had his hand wrapped around my dick and his tongue in my mouth.
It felt so damn good.
“Blake, are you sure you’re all right?” Cal asks, his breath skating across my cheek, startling me and making him chuckle. “I just wanted to know if you needed any help.” What I need must be written all over my face when I turn toward him because he gulps and adds, “With dinner.”
“I’m all set…” I take a step back and rub the nape of my neck with my palm, and because I can’t stop myself I say, “…with dinner.”