31. Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Chloe
As usual, I’m running late. I really need to reschedule when I meet with Mr. Simper. He’s always overly chatty during our Friday afternoon sessions. I feel bad cutting him off mid-conversation because he often gives me a cash bonus at the end of each month—money I use to splurge on shopping trips with Kate. But today, I’d rather skip going out with my best friend next time she asks rather than keep Dawson waiting.
Tonight is our first official real date. No Finn. No festival planning. Just us.
Dawson’s picking me up in forty minutes to grab dinner and go indoor rock climbing. I’m feeling super inadequate and like I don’t know Dawson at all. When it’s my turn to plan for us to go out, what will we do?
Dawson’s a great dad. He’s loyal, kind, has a great sense of humor, and loves with everything he has. But none of those things tell me what hobbies he has. Besides video games, of course. He told me once he liked to go hiking. With fall in full swing, now’s the perfect time to go. The weather is in the upper seventies during the day. The leaves are at their prime color, and the smell of apple cider, pumpkin spice, and campfire permeate the air.
But what about when fall is over? Does he like Christmas? Should all of our dates be focused around upcoming holiday festivities?
I slide my leggings on and a loose T-shirt. Tonight I’m determined to find out more about what Dawson likes and see if he wants to go hiking in Park City next weekend. We can take Finn, if Dawson doesn’t want to be away from him every weekend.
Shoving my running shoe on my foot, the doorbell rings. Nervous and elated flutters flit around in my stomach. Tying off the last loop of my shoelace, I hop up and fling the door open.
His brown eyes look at me with an appreciative smile. My insides turn to goo. “Hey,” I say, opening my door wider.
Dawson steps into my living room. I can’t contain my excitement any longer. Throwing myself at him, I hug him around his neck, my feet coming off the floor as I cling to him. Taking a deep breath in, I relish his fresh, clean scent.
“Whoa, Chlo.” He barely gets his arms around my back before I drop back down. “It’s nice to see you too.” He chuckles.
“Sorry. I might be a little ecstatic that I get you to myself tonight,” I say, squeezing him tighter.
“With a response like this, what if we order takeout and stay in? ”
I step back, taking in his broad shoulders. “Would you rather do that?” Is being home more his style?
“I’m tempted.” He glances at my lips, then back to my eyes. The flutters in my belly increase a hundredfold. “But I’ve never been rock climbing before and it looks like a lot of fun.”
“How long do we have before you need to get Finn?” Maybe we can squeeze in both activities.
A slow grin spreads across his lips, making wrinkles appear around his eyes. A twinkle glows in his gaze. “He’s sleeping over at Jackson’s. We have all night.”
My stomach swoops at the news. “Do we, now?” I purr.
Dawson trails a finger across my cheek. “We do.”
I grin flirtatiously at him. “The only remaining question is your place or mine?”
At this, Dawson tears his gaze away from my face, glancing around my living room, taking in my tan couch, rustic coffee table, the leaf and pumpkin garland draped across my TV stand, the flannel blanket folded on the couch, and all the decorative pillows.
My favorite cushion is the one with an old teal pickup truck piled with pumpkins in the back with “It’s Fall Y’all” in a cute font.
“Your place is nice,” Dawson says, continuing to look around. “But where is your cauldron and broom?”
I grin. “In the basement. Want to come see?”
He clears his throat, shifting his weight from side to side, like he’s nervous I’m being serious. “My place is bigger. How about we go there after rock climbing? ”
“Scaredy cat,” I tease, smacking his arm with the back of my hand.
He gathers me in his arms, and a thrill runs down my spine at how openly affectionate Dawson is with me. “I’m not scared, but you’ll find that just like a normal house cat, I like being at home. I relax easier in my own environment.”
Dawson’s house is bigger, more modern, and has way comfier furniture than mine. Spending more time at his home is a no brainer. “I’ll allow it, if you let me help you decorate it. Your walls are blank and you don’t have any fall decor.”
“A TV is more important than frou-frou stuff.”
I raise one brow at him. He’s such a guy. “You don’t think Finn wants photos of you and him, as well as the rest of your family hanging around the house?”
“He hasn’t mentioned it.”
What little kid would? “How about on Monday night when we shop for décor for the festival we take Finn with us to get a few fall or Halloween themed decorations for your house? We can kill two birds with one stone. And don’t worry, we won’t go crazy and buy every lawn item out there, but a wreath on the front door is inviting, and a few interior items will brighten your space considerably.”
Dawson shakes his head, an amused smile on his face. “We haven’t even gone out yet, and already you want to change how I do things?”
A knot forms in my mid-section. Am I coming on too strong? I step away from him, grabbing my purse off the coffee table as an excuse to get some space between us. “ I’m sorry. It’s your house. I shouldn’t have criticized your decorating abilities. Let’s go. I’m starving.”
Dawson puts his hands on my shoulders, bending until his eyes are level with mine. There’s warmth and concern in them. “I’m teasing. With the stress of moving and work, doing anything but the bare minimum right now is off the table. But I’d love to make my house a home. A place where all three of us are comfortable hanging out. If you want seasonal trinkets because it makes you happy, let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?” I don’t want him doing this just for me. Otherwise, it’s a huge waste of his money. “You know I’m not rolling in the dough, so whatever we purchase is with your money.” Great, and now I sound demanding and like a gold-digger.
Dawson cups my neck, his thumbs gliding along my jawbone. I’m doing my best not to shiver from all the goosebumps popping up on my skin. “Let’s decorate. I’d love your help making it feel homey rather than like a bachelor pad.”
“Your couch and dining table are way too nice for a bachelor.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, and I would love nothing more than to involve you and Finn in making your space cozier.” Although for it to truly feel like my space as well, there will be a spare toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant, and feminine products in the main bathroom. Maybe I’ll hold off on those for a few more months. Pillows, blankets, garland, rugs, and wreaths will suffice for now .
“It’s settled. We’ll shop Monday night. For now, let’s head out. My stomach is growling.”
I close and lock my door and head to Dawson’s car. The restaurant is a short drive and we spend the time discussing what colors Dawson finds relaxing. Turns out, he prefers cooler colors.
We’re seated at a table in the back corner at a mom-and-pop Italian restaurant. After placing our orders, my questions to get to know more about Dawson come rapid fire.
“Before you had Finn, what did you do for fun?”
“Oh goodness, that feels like a lifetime ago. Umm, when I wasn’t playing video games I liked to mountain bike, play card games with my family, do puzzles, and find the best vintage sodas. I remember my dad taking me to Rocket Fizz every Friday night before I could drive. I’d get one new candy and a soda to try.” He smiles as if he’s lost in old memories. “I can’t believe I haven’t done that with Finn. He’s eight, and he’s never tried Apple Beer. Or had cream soda from a glass bottle. I’m failing him.”
If fancy soda is the only thing Finn hasn’t experienced, I’d say Dawson’s doing a pretty dang good job. “You’re amazing, Dawson. And it’s not too late to start traditions with Finn. With how much he loves root beer, it’s a safe assumption he’ll love trying new flavors of pop with you.”
“You’re right. After the holiday sugar overload, I might start in January. Thank you.”
“Happy to help,” I say, smiling at him. The question was for me to get to know him more, but if something beneficial comes out of it, all the better. “Pre-Finn, what would you do on date nights? Or what did a typical weekend look like for you?”
“Dates were usually an activity and dinner. Nothing too crazy.”
“So staying in for the night with a movie and dinner bores you?”
“Ha!” One side of his mouth lifts in a half-smile. Amusement dances in his eyes. “Are you kidding me? That sounds like heaven.”
“But you said tonight you wanted to go climbing.” I need a firm answer as to what he prefers.
“Yeah, tonight I want to get out and have fun, but that doesn’t mean I always need that. It’s nice to mix it up.”
“What I’m hearing is, you aren’t picky and whenever I plan our nights together, anything is fine.”
Our server brings our food—lasagna for Dawson and salmon for me. After he leaves, Dawson says, “Correct. I don’t care what we do as long as I’m with you.”
My hand, holding a forkful of food, pauses halfway to my mouth. “And you say your nickname doesn’t fit you.” I slowly shake my head at him, marveling at how sweet he is. “For the record, I feel the same. All I care about is you.”
“Does this mean I’ve finally surpassed Finn as your favorite Reed?”
I adore Finn, but Dawson’s the one I can’t stop thinking about. He’s the one whose hugs make my day better, whose laughter lifts my spirits, and whose company I crave. “Marginally. I think there’s a few things you can do to make the difference substantially larger. ”
Dawson holds a bite of his lasagna out to me. Leaning forward, I wrap my fingers around Dawson’s, guiding the utensil to my mouth. Garlic, tomato, salty cheese, and spiced meat hit my taste buds and I let out a moan. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Yeah?” He raises a brow while cutting off another piece of lasagna. “If I give you another bite, does it help my score?”
I hold up my thumb and index finger, leaving a small space between them. “Tiny bit. I had something in mind that Finn can’t do,” I say, as delicious heat coats my stomach. Licking my lips, I stare at Dawson’s mouth. His full lips are straight, barely a hint of a cupid’s bow on his top lip.
A smile grows on Dawson’s face one millimeter at a time as he catches my hint. “How many is each one worth?”
I take a bite of my fish, forcing Dawson to wait for my answer—an answer I don’t have because he’s already won, but I don’t want to tell him. I’m enjoying our back-and-forth, this push-and-pull, pleasure at wanting to kiss but torture because of the wait. I settle on, “Five points per peck. Ten for a more lengthy kiss.”
Dawson’s irises shrink, his full-on gaze filled with heat. Heat so hot, my insides burn with his intensity. He swallows hard, then asks in a throaty tone, “And how many points do I need to surpass Finn?”
Do I go the nice route and tell him a low number, cheating myself out of a potential make-out session? Absolutely not. As my clients and Dawson like to remind me, I’m a witch and in this instance I’m channeling my evil behavior and lying to benefit myself. “A thousand points.”
He picks up his glass of water, chugging the contents like he’s parched. “Guess it’s a good thing we have all night, 007. By the time our date is over, I will be ahead of Finn. I promise.”
Digging in my purse, I pull out the tube of lip balm I bought earlier this week. Waving it in the air, I say, “I’m ready. Bring it on.”
Dawson raises his hand, “Waiter! Can we get our check please?”
I point to my food. “I’m not done eating and neither are you.”
“You have until I’ve paid the bill then we’re leaving.” He shovels three huge bites into his mouth, demonstrating how serious he is.
I pick up my fork and follow suit. Who am I to stop Dawson from “earning” his place as the favorite guy in my life?