Violet
“A coffee a day keeps the grumpy away.”
When Everett asked me on a date, I panicked. Not because I wasn’t excited, but because I haven’t been on a date in years.
I smiled and nodded, even laughed a little, like it was the most natural thing in the world when he first asked me. Like dates were just something that casually happened to me all the time.
Inside though? My brain immediately started spiraling.
It has been years since I’ve been on a real date.
Even when I was with Ryan, we barely did the dating thing.
At the beginning, we had dinners, drinks, and a few movie nights, but those faded quickly.
Eventually, it turned into takeout containers on the coffee table and him scrolling endlessly on his phone while I sat beside him, pretending it counted as spending time together.
So, when Everett asked me out with that confident smile, I felt something between excitement and terror. Of course, I said yes, but that didn’t mean I knew how to handle it.
Our town, small, observant. And deeply invested in everyone else’s business.
We both know how living in a small town is, if we went on a date in town rumours would spread so fast. By morning, the entire population would have us halfway to marriage.
So now Everett is coming to my place and cooking for me. And just like that, my quiet little apartment became the setting for our first date.
Which is exactly why I have spent the entire afternoon overthinking everything.
I cleaned even though my house was clean, and then I cleaned some more.
I also changed my outfit three times. Finally settling on jeans and a soft sweater that is comfortable but also makes me feel pretty without looking like I tried too hard.
At 5:30 p.m., I check the clock.
At 5:32 p.m., I check it again.
“Relax,” I mutter to myself. But relaxing is impossible when Everett Callahan is coming over.
Because Everett isn’t just attractive. There is something about him that makes me feel safe, like I can open up and be my true self when he’s around.
Like everything would work out simply because he existed in the same space.
And that is dangerous. Because I can already feel myself trusting him. At exactly six o’clock, there is a knock on my door.
I open the door and immediately forget every thought I’d been having.
He stands there holding two grocery bags, looking unfairly good for someone about to cook dinner. Those jeans he always wore were back. The ones that hug his thighs in a way that makes it impossible for me not to stare.
His sleeves are rolled up his forearms, exposing his tattoos that curve along his skin and veins that flex when he adjusts the grocery bags in his hand.
Butterflies explode in my stomach.
“Hey, beautiful,” he greets, smiling.
“Hi,” is all I manage to say.
I step aside, gesturing for him to come inside.
He instantly fills my apartment with his presence.
He sets the grocery bags on the counter and starts unpacking things.
“You can sit down,” he offers.
“Oh, can I?” I ask, sliding into the chair at my small kitchen table.
“Absolutely,” he confirms as he pours me a glass of wine and places it on the table in front of me.
I could get used to this.
He moves around in my kitchen, like he has cooked here before. Easily, with confidence, like he belongs here.
“Salt?” he asks.
“Second drawer.”
“So,” I say, casually swirling my wine, “do you always cook on first dates?”
He glances at me, a slow grin forming.
“This is actually my first time,” he winks.
My stomach drops straight to the floor.
Dinner comes together quickly.
Chicken sizzling in the pan, vegetables roasting in the oven, soft music playing quietly from my speaker.
We talk the entire time.
About childhood.
About growing up in Lavender Creek.
And how weird it was for him to leave and come back.
“What was LA like?” I ask.
“Big,” he says simply. “Loud. Busy all the time.”
“Did you like it?”
He thought for a second. “I liked parts of it.”
“What parts?” I ask.
“The ocean being close,” he says. “Late night with friends. The feeling that anything could happen.”
I rest my chin on my hand. “What about the parts you didn’t like?” I ask.
“Feeling alone all the time. Even though the city is big, that doesn’t mean that there is always someone around.”
I looked at him and smiled.
“What about you?” he asks. “Big dreams when you were younger?”
I laugh softly. “I always felt at home here, I knew this was where I would stay, I didn’t know what that would mean though. I thought I would stay in home design, but I wasn’t as passionate about it as opening up a coffee shop.”
A comfortable silence settles between us. Eventually, we moved to the couch.
We talk about old relationships. Careful at first, then more honestly.
“You know about my ex,” I say. “What about your past relationships?”
“There was someone in LA,” he admits.
“Was it serious?”
“Yeah, it was,” he adds, keeping eye contact, his hand on my thigh, like a small gesture of him telling me that I matter now, not who was in his past.
“What happened?” I ask.
He shrugs. “She wasn’t ready for the same things I was.”
“Oh wow, that must have hurt,” I say
“It did, it was hard to hear,” he says, rubbing his thumb in circles on my thigh.
The honesty in his voice made my chest ache slightly.
Sitting close together, just being together. It reminds me of Bill and Sarah, who come into the café every morning. I always thought it would be nice to have something like that. And it’s here, in my living room.
“Violet,” he says, quietly.
Something about the way he says my name makes me feel like I’m melting. The space between us suddenly feels very small.
Then he pulls me gently onto his lap. My knees landed on the couch on either side of him. My hands rest against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
His hands move slowly up my back. Fingers brushing lightly against my skin before sliding into my hair.
My heart pounds as I look down at him.
And suddenly, a very dangerous thought crosses my mind. I think about his hands while he’d been cooking earlier. Big. Strong.
And for one brief, reckless second, I wonder what they would feel like around my neck.
The thought sends heat rushing through me.
Everett’s eyes darken slightly. “Careful,” he murmurs.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because if you keep looking at me like that,” his thumb brushes along my jaw, and his fingers touch that spot I want him to hold, “I might lose my self-control.”
My pulse races.
“Maybe I want you to,” I say.
He smiles slowly. Then he wraps his fingers around the back of my neck and pulls my head down toward him and kisses me. Soft and slow. The kind of kiss that starts gently but promises something more.
My fingers curl into his shirt as the kiss deepens. His hand tightens slightly in my hair. The warmth surrounds me completely.
When we finally pull back, our foreheads rest together.
His voice is low. “You, okay?”
I smile softly. “More than okay.”
His hand slides along my back again. Pulling me closer. Then he kisses me again. And this time, neither of us holds back.