Chapter 26 Dave #2
The firelight dances across her face, softening the guarded state from earlier. “Careful,” she utters quietly, meeting my gaze. “You keep talking like that, and I might start believing you.”
Leaning back in my chair, that same half-smile returns to my lips. “That’s the plan.”
After we clear the dishes, I top off our glasses. Char meanders back to the glass windows, taking in the night sky. “It’s incredible. Who knew you could see this many stars without a telescope? It must be beautiful to be snowed in here. Like you’re living in your own personal snow globe.”
“Yes. Beautiful,” is all I can force from my lips as I take in her profile.
She turns to face me, and I should look away. But what’s the point? It can’t possibly be lost on her how I feel. I try to break the ice. “So, what do you like to watch? Romcoms? Action adventure? Porn?” I shoot my eyebrows up, and she nearly chokes on her wine.
“Jeez. I swear you really need to warn a girl.” She giggles.
“Sorry.” I laugh and take another sip of my wine. “Or are you more of a true crime girly?”
A grimace crosses her face. It’s small but noticeable. Is it fear? It’s gone before I can name it. She shakes her head, forcing a half smile. “No. That true crime stuff gives me nightmares.”
“And romcoms?” I ask as I make my way to the great room and turn on the television.
She shrugs. “Sometimes. I have to be in the right mood. They usually only build false expectations, in my opinion.”
I grin, leaning back in my chair. “Something we have in common.”
She lifts her glass.
I let my grin turn into a smirk. “Guess that leaves porn.”
She laughs. Really laughs this time. And for the first time all night, it feels like maybe, just maybe, she’s not interested in running.
We settle into the couch, the fire burning low and steady. It’s casting this warm, amber glow that makes everything feel smaller. More intimate.
She curls up on the far end of the soft, leather sofa, legs tucked under her, wine glass balanced in one hand. I sit at the other end, pretending I’m perfectly fine with the mile of cushion between us.
The movie I settle on is mostly background noise. Some old action flick I’ve seen a dozen times, but right now, I couldn’t tell you a single damn line of dialogue. Every time Char shifts, I feel it. As if her energy vibrates in the space between us.
She glances over. “So, is this what you usually watch?”
“You ruled out all of my other options.” I wink.
Her mouth curves, but her eyes stay on the fire. “You don’t seem like the romcom type anyway.”
“Too predictable.”
“And true crime?” she asks softly, swirling her wine.
“Too depressing.”
“Porn?”
I nearly choke on my drink. How best to answer this one? “Too, uh, plot-heavy.”
She throws her head back in laughter, the sound light and easy, and damn if it doesn’t settle somewhere deep in my chest. I could live off that sound.
The quiet stretches again, but it’s different now. Not as awkward.
“You really surprised me tonight,” she says finally.
“How’s that?”
“You cook. You’ve got this beautiful house. You’re…” She trails off, shaking her head like she’s said too much. “You’re not what I expected.”
I study her, trying to read what’s behind those words. “And what did you expect?”
She looks down at her glass, thumb tracing the rim. “I don’t know. Someone less…” She pauses, searching for the word. “Down to earth.”
“Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” Her voice is soft, almost shy now.
The silence that follows hums through the air. Her gaze is fixed on the fire, but I can’t stop staring at her.
Every instinct in me is at war. The one that wants to keep her safe from whatever’s haunting her, show her she never needs to be afraid of anything ever again. And the one that just wants to close the space between us and see if she tastes like I remember.
Instead, I run a hand down my face and clear my throat. “You want more wine?”
She shakes her head. “Better not.”
I stand, reaching for her empty glass. Hating the very thought of driving her back down the mountain to Matt and Ellie’s place. But this night is beyond what I could’ve hoped for a week ago.
Baby steps, man. Just be grateful she’s still here.
Char
I shouldn’t feel this at ease here. Not after everything that has transpired over the last few months.
But this amazing man doesn’t feel the need to keep the conversation moving.
There are quiet moments that rest in the space between us.
And the silence is safe. Not the heavy kind that makes you want to fill it.
This one is comfortable, soft and alive.
It wraps itself around the edges of my nerves, soothing them.
Leaning against the island, I watch Dave in the kitchen, rinsing the last of the dinner dishes. I offered to help, but he waved me off with that easy half-smile that makes my chest tighten in ways I don’t want to analyze.
My eyes bounce around the space again, trying to take it all in. It’s over the top, but somehow it doesn’t feel pretentious. It feels lived in. Warm and inviting.
Like him.
And I have to admit, that’s the part that scares me most. He’s kind.
Considerate. Well-mannered to a fault. The kind of man who probably sends thank-you notes and remembers birthdays.
And given the house, I’d bet he comes from money.
Old money, maybe. The kind that never had to worry about rent or what would happen if the bottom fell out.
That thought should put me on edge. Because in my experience, men with money only ever see what they can buy. Who they can attempt to control. Yet I’ve never once seen anything to indicate he’s anything like that.
He drove with Matt and Ellie all the way to Florida when he could’ve just hopped a flight. He doesn’t flash cash at the bar or pick up tabs like a performance. His truck’s a little beat-up, the kind you’d expect someone who actually works to drive.
Nothing about this man screams privilege, even though I know it’s there. And I can’t tell if that’s comforting… or dangerous.
Because I’ve been wrong before.
Deadly wrong.
“Hey,” his voice breaks through my thoughts. I look up to find him leaning against the doorway, drying his hands on a towel. “You okay? You’ve gone quiet.”
I shrug, smiling softly. “Just… thinking.”
He grins, cautiously crossing the room to sit beside me. The couch dips under his weight, and I feel the shift of air, the nearness of him. “About what?”
“Nothing in particular.”
His head drops, as if he’s disappointed. Why?
“What’s wrong?”
“I just…” He considers his words for a second, eyes on the fire. “It feels so good having you here.”
My breath catches before I can stop it. “Dave…”
“I know,” he interrupts, glancing over at me, the corner of his mouth twitching with something between a smile and surrender. “It’s just dinner.”
But it doesn’t feel like just dinner.
It feels like the start of something I’m not sure I’m able to consider. How can I have a healthy relationship, the kind Matt and Ellie share, with someone who doesn’t understand my history? It wouldn’t be fair to bring this into a relationship. I mean, who the hell would want this?
The fire pops, scattering sparks behind the mesh screen.
I tuck my legs up beneath me, watching him in the flicker of the light, not knowing what to say.
And somewhere beneath all the noise in my head, all of the warnings, the what-ifs, and the urge to run, I can’t ignore the truth creeping in, quiet and insistent.
I like him. A lot.
And what’s more, I trust him.
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s both of us, finally giving in to something that’s been simmering from the moment our eyes met all of those months ago.
One second, I’m sitting by the fire, watching the way the flames shimmer in his big brown eyes. The next, his hand is at my waist, and my pulse is racing so fast I can’t breathe.
He hesitates long enough for me to see the question in his eyes. And that’s all it takes. My fingers curl into the front of his shirt, and I pull him to me. Whatever careful distance we’ve kept between us shatters.
The kiss starts soft, searching, but turns hungry in an instant. All the confusion, the restraint, the second-guessing is gone. It’s like we’ve both been holding our breath for weeks and finally remembered how to breathe.
He whispers my name against my mouth like a plea. It’s more than the raw passion of the first time. It’s reverent, affectionate, and endearing. Because in this moment, I don’t feel like someone who’s hiding. I feel wanted.
Safe.
The next few moments blur. The feel of his hands as they carefully skim down my arms, the warmth of his breath as it trails down the hollow of my throat. The very way he looks at me like I’m not broken.
And just like that, this man has been able to shut out the riot of fear from the world outside.
“I don’t want to push for more than you’re ready for.
I’m so thankful to have you here,” he whispers against the shell of my ear.
“I never dared think things would become physical tonight. Not beyond the hope of a goodnight kiss.” He drops his lips on my temple, pulling me tight against him.
He’s so warm and strong. So hard. Everywhere.
But the most attractive thing about this incredible man is how secure he makes me feel.