Chapter 26 Dave
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DAVE
I pull up to Matt and Ellie’s place, kill the engine, and barely have time to shut the truck door before Char’s already coming down the steps. Guess she doesn’t want to make it awkward by me showing up at the door. Hell, Matt would probably pretend to be her dad. I chuckle.
Yeah, no way I could make that cool.
She’s bundled in navy leggings and an oversized cream cable-knit sweater, the kind that looks so soft it makes you wonder what it would feel like under your hands.
But I already imagine her in my arms, so that’s not helping.
Her dark hair’s loose, a little wild, and there’s no mistaking how beautiful she is.
Even dressed down, there’s something effortlessly striking about her.
She never ceases to make my heart rate soar.
I tug at the zipper of my hunter green Henley, pretending to fuss with it like I’m adjusting to the temperature instead of my nerves.
“Hey,” I manage, sounding way too casual for how my pulse is reacting.
I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her.
But I know I need to tread carefully here.
It feels as if I’m bringing home a wounded animal from the pound, not the vivacious woman that’s seared herself into my very soul.
“Hey,” she echoes with a soft smile, her eyes darting down before she makes her way to the truck. I extend my hand to the passenger side of my Tundra and open the door for her. I’m tempted to buckle her in, just for an excuse to touch her. But manage to restrain myself.
By the time we’re on the road, I’m already sneaking glances. The headlights carve through the mountain curves, and I have to remind myself not to stare too long. The last thing I need is to drive us into a ditch because I can’t take my eyes off her.
It’s stupid, how nervous I am. Like I’m sixteen again, trying not to stall out my dad’s pickup in front of a girl. I’ve had women in this truck. Beautiful women. But no one has ever made me feel like I’m trying to earn my place beside them.
“It’s a clear night tonight. I’m hoping the stars will all come out for you.
” Hell, why is conversation suddenly so difficult?
Fuck, we talked like we’d known each other our whole lives at that wedding.
Danced in sync like it was in our very DNA.
Yet now, I’m so nervous about doing or saying something that could scare her off, I’m on edge.
Part of me wants to come clean. Tell her about my conversation with Max.
Ask her who she’s running from. And why.
But she’s already uneasy. Since the moment I fell asleep with her in my arms things have turned on a dime.
That carefree girl is gone, and I’m left with one who acts like a cat on a hot tin roof.
There’s no way I’m giving her a reason to jump.
Char looks out the window as the road starts to climb. “You live up here?”
“Yeah. Little farther yet,” I say, gripping the wheel a little tighter.
She’s quiet for a few more minutes. “I bet the views are stunning from up here.”
“Yes.” I’m sure she thinks that was the allure.
But I honestly wanted the solitude. When I found out about the property, I toured the place assuming it would be too remote.
Yet there was a sense of peace and privacy I couldn’t shake.
It immediately felt like home. Well, the mountain property did.
The shack that was constructed on it was one snow away from collapse.
I knew when I inherited the money from my grandfather I would splurge on a home I could make my own. One away from prying eyes. Where I could enjoy the gift he’d given without judgment. Just didn’t consider the impact it might have on my dating life at the time.
However, if the look on Charlene’s face is any indication, she’s as attracted to the solitude of the location as I was.
The thought needles me that she might be on the run from something.
Or someone. Hell, if I can give her a place where she can feel safe, then all of my lonely nights will have been worth it.
When the gate comes into view, Char sits up taller.
I hit the button inside my truck, allowing the oversized iron entry doors to swing wide, and watch her expression from the corner of my eye as we roll through.
Her gaze flicks to me, quick and unreadable, then back to the drive as we climb the rest of the way.
Then her big green eyes widen as the house comes into view.
It’s not exactly modest. It’s a sprawling luxury log cabin that looks more like a damn ski lodge than a bachelor pad.
A massive stone chimney, wide porch, and well-manicured landscaping lining the sidewalk are the first things that come into view, but the attached three-bay garage off to the left isn’t too shabby either.
I can’t help but watch her in my peripheral vision as we circle the drive.
I’ve seen plenty of women react to this place with stars in their eyes, already counting dollar signs.
But that’s not the expression she’s wearing.
Char leans back in her seat, shoulders loosening.
There’s something equivalent to relief in her expression.
Is it the privacy up here? The safety? Maybe this feels like a sanctuary. Knowing what I’ve learned from Max, this causes my chest to ache. I want to pull her into me and beg her to share all of her darkest secrets.
Once inside, I give her a quick tour, careful not to make a big deal of anything.
I attempt to focus on the basics, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom.
Not the massive open floor plan, the magazine cover worthy stone fireplace, the vaulted ceiling with exposed beams, or the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the mountains.
She seems genuinely impressed, but appears to be holding her emotions tight.
“It’s just dinner,” I remind her when she glances toward the view again, like maybe she’s wondering what she’s gotten into.
She smiles as I hand her a glass of water. “Right. Just dinner.”
I turn to her. “If you want to leave at any time, you just say the word.”
She cocks her head to the side, giving me a cautious but playful smirk. “Why, Dave? Do you have a playroom?”
“What?” Not sure what that has to do with anything. What guy in his right mind wouldn’t build an over-the-top movie and game room into a place like this if he could afford it?
“Oh.” She giggles. “I thought you were going all Christian Grey on me.”
I give her a blank stare.
“Oh my god. Are you the only person on the planet who didn’t see Fifty Shades?”
“Probably?” I wince. “Want to watch it later?”
She spits out her water, and I immediately reach over to rub her back. “Ha. Not sure that would be wise.”
“Okay. We can watch whatever you like. In the meantime, I thought you could help me with the finishing touches on dinner,” I say as I make my way to the stone hearth.
Crouching down, I stack several logs, crumple some paper, and light the fire as I do most fall and winter nights.
The feel of the fire against the crisp mountain backdrop is unmatched.
I pour us each a glass of wine and start setting out the ingredients. “Hope you’re okay with spaghetti Bolognese. It’s kind of my go-to.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “You cook?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I just figured you were more of a takeout kind of guy.”
I grin. “You wound me. I actually make most of the meals at the firehouse when I’m on duty. You should try my chili.” Smiling at her, I add, “I think you’d like it. It’s full-bodied and a little spicy. Reminds me a little of you.” I wink.
She laughs softly, and for a moment, the tension between us breaks.
We move around the kitchen like we’ve done it before.
She chops vegetables while I stir sauce, and it feels surprisingly easy.
Natural. Every brush of her hand near mine sends a spark straight through me, but I keep my cool, pretending to be focused on not overcooking the pasta.
Dinner’s simple but good. We talk about easy subjects like Sycamore Mountain, Ellie’s restaurant, the firehouse. The conversation flirts around the edges of something deeper, yet I’m careful not to go anywhere that could scare her off. I’ve come too far to risk that now.
The fire crackles. The smell of garlic and tomatoes lingers in the air, mingling with the pine from the logs I tossed into the hearth earlier.
Keeping her tone light, Char says, “This sauce is incredible. Where did you learn to cook?”
I set down my fork. “My mom and I would cook together a lot when I was younger.” My face falls, knowing how different the experience is with her now. “Still do whenever we can. What about you?” I ask cautiously, knowing this could be a minefield. “You cook with your family?”
She drops her gaze to her plate, pushing a piece of bread through the sauce. “Not really.”
I nod slowly, deciding not to press. “Yeah. I secretly think Mom recruited my help with baking cookies and preparing dinner to try to get intel on my life.” I chuckle. “Easier than interrogating me about school stress or girls directly.”
This earns me a small smile. “I’ve never been a great cook. It’s the last thing I want to do after being on my feet all day.” She takes a small sip of her wine and grins. “Besides, when your bestie cooks like Ellie, why bother?”
I clear my throat, my chin in my hand. “For the record, I’d give your salad a solid nine and a half out of ten.”
“Oh? Only nine and a half?” She arches a brow. “What’s it missing?”
I give her a bashful grin, slow and sincere. “Maybe a chef who doesn’t make me forget to breathe every time she smiles.”
She giggles, making my stomach flip from the sound. “And you said you had no game. That’s such a line.”
I sit up straight, hand over my chest in mock outrage. “It’s true.”