7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Bella
The gate opens slowly, almost theatrically, and I half-expect a butler in a tuxedo to appear and offer me champagne.
But it’s just me in my beat-up SUV, driving cautiously up a winding gravel drive surrounded by trees that look like they were plucked from a postcard. Late-autumn golds and fiery reds blaze against the gray sky, and the whole place feels more like a secluded retreat than someone’s actual home.
I tug down the visor mirror and swipe one last glance at myself. Mascara, check. Lip gloss, check. Dark jeans and my favorite deep green sweater that hugs just enough curve to look intentional—check.
This is as fancy as I get.
I’d agonized for way too long about whether I was underdressed before reminding myself that I run a rescue shelter. My wardrobe consists of jeans, hoodies, and T-shirts with various dog silhouettes on them. This is me. Take it or leave it.
A staff member is covering the evening shift with the dogs. I’ve already texted twice to check in and didn’t get a reply, which hopefully means things are under control and not that the puppies have staged a coup.
The driveway curves one last time, and then I see it— Wylie’s house .
Or compound. Or fortress of solitude. Whatever you want to call it, it’s stunning. A mix of modern lines and rustic charm, with stone and timber beams and wraparound porches that practically beg for cozy mugs and a mountain view.
I park in front of the house, heart fluttering in my chest like it’s trying to escape.
The front door opens before I can even step out.
And there he is.
Wylie Cole.
Movie star. Dog adopter. Charity auction mystery bidder.
He’s wearing dark slacks and a charcoal blazer, no tie, shirt open at the collar. Effortless, like a GQ cover come to life. His hair is a little messy in the best way, and when he smiles—
Well, now I understand how he got so many roles playing heartbreakers.
“Bella,” he says, his voice warm and low. “You made it.”
“Barely,” I say, trying to play it cool. “I almost turned around twice.”
He chuckles. “Why? Because of me?”
“Because of the helicopter .”
At that, Nadine appears from the side of the house, Scout trotting happily at her side.
“Scout insisted on a proper reunion,” she says with a wink.
I crouch as he bounds over to me, nuzzling my leg like he remembers. I scratch behind his ears, grateful for the moment to ground myself.
“He’s still perfect,” I murmur.
“He likes to think so,” Wylie says. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
I follow him along a flagstone path, past the house, toward a sleek metal helipad tucked just out of sight from the main drive.
The helicopter gleams under the soft light of dusk.
There’s no one else around.
I glance at him, then at the chopper.
“Where’s the pilot?”
Wylie slides a pair of aviator sunglasses from his blazer pocket and raises one brow. “You're looking at him.”
I stare at him.
“Seriously?”
He grins. “I do my own stunts.”
I laugh, unexpected and breathless. “Of course you do.”
He walks over to the helicopter and opens the door for me like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like we’re heading to dinner in a cab instead of flying to Nashville in a freaking helicopter.
This is happening.
Wylie Cole is flying me to dinner.
And I have a feeling he’s about to do a whole lot more than just sweep me off my feet.