Chapter 9
Grabbing the phone off her nightstand, she silenced the obnoxious bells that kept ringing in her dream. Her eyes were still blurry, and she didn’t recognize the number as she opened the text message on the screen.
Justin: Still on for tonight, sugar?
She smiled, tapping the glass with her thumbs.
Blythe: Depends, cowboy. Where are you taking me?
Justin: How did that one Criminal Minds episode play out?
Blythe: Shut up!
Justin: Don’t worry. I’m taking you back to my place.
Blythe: Do you have a basement? Still sounds suspicious.
She spent the day doing her usuals with Addie and Evie. They were on a roll after only a couple of weeks, and the house was getting more spick and span every day. Four o’clock rolled around a little too quickly, and she still hadn’t decided what to wear.
“I like this top…” Evie said, popping her head out of the closet.
“Your mom always said green was my color. Matches my eyes, she used to tell me.”
“Wear it, please!” Evie insisted.
“What jeans should I wear with it?” Blythe opened the dresser drawer and started pawing through her pants.
“How about these?” She held up a pair of light wash Levi’s, the same pair she was wearing the day she met Justin. They were her favorite, after all.
“Perfect!” Addie said from the closet doorway.
“Boots or sneakers?” Blythe pointed to the row of shoes on the floor. Both little girls looked at their options.
“Boots!” they both said in unison.
“I think you’re right. This outfit is perfect. Thank you for helping me.” She reached out and hugged her little helpers.
“Are you going to marry him?” Adelaide asked sincerely.
“Oh, my goodness, no! We barely know each other. This is just a date.”
“I think you should. Then you can move out here, and you won’t have to leave at the end of the summer.”
“You know what?” Blythe looked at each girl lovingly. “I don’t know that I am leaving here at the end of the summer. I’ve been thinking about it, and I have no one and no home to go back to. Whether I keep seeing Justin or not, I’m thinking about sticking around here for a while.”
Addie and Evie threw their arms around her in a hug that let her know they were relieved and excited. She hurried the girls out of her room and down the stairs with her, hoping her date hadn’t decided to show up early.
She heard a high pitched whistle and looked up as she landed on the bottom step. Justin’s shoulder was propped on the wall just inside the opening that led into the kitchen. He was looking her up and down. She thought she saw his tongue peek out, then the corner of his mouth lifted.
“My, my, sugar pie…”
“Shut up…” Blythe couldn’t help the sheepish smile that plastered itself on her lips as he moved to greet her half way. When they walked into the kitchen, she could see Chris with his arms folded, butt up against the counter.
“Hi.” Blythe smiled and tucked her hands into her front pockets.
Chris smirked and pushed off the granite slab. “I knew this was a good idea.” He pointed a finger at them both as his smile grew to a full grin.
Blythe rolled her eyes.
“I’ll have her back before midnight, you have my word.” Justin looked at Chris and nodded.
“Excuse me, I am a grown woman, and I do not have a curfew. I can stay out as late as I want, thank you very much.”
They all laughed, and the girls waved them off.
Justin reached down, and she felt his fingers thread through hers. He led her to the passenger side of his two-door Chevy truck. He opened it for her, and she stepped up inside. The seat was carpeted, and the air smelled like leather with a hint of grease…but somehow she found it delicious—in a weird, masculine sort of way. Blythe watched him round the hood and jump up behind the wheel. As he pulled the door shut, she blurted out, “I didn’t know you liked old cars.”
“Sugar, this is a pickup truck.”
“You know what I mean…” She rolled her eyes. “What year is it?”
“1980. I got this baby from a guy in Idaho Falls. Had to drive six hours with a buddy of mine to get it.”
“It’s red…” She reached out and touched the dash. Red was her preference, as far as vehicles went. “I drive a red, 1972 Cutlass.”
“I saw that…” Justin drawled. “They don’t even make Oldsmobiles anymore. You’ve got a rare piece of vintage art on your hands.”
“Max hated it—said it didn’t look good on me.”
Justin paused and shifted the truck into gear. “Maxy pad can go to hell. You and me? We’re going to have fun tonight, and that douche bag isn’t invited.”
The horseshoe archway at the head of the dirt road leading to Justin’s place was magnificent. It was made of dark stained wood and bore his brand right in the middle at the top. Pulling up to the house, Blythe took in the enormity of it. It was clearly custom. The log pillars and the dormers were gigantic. There was a swing on the porch, and she could see his dog waiting for him on the door mat. There was a tall, knotted, oak slab as his front entrance. It was also very masculine, just like the smell inside of his truck.
“Did you build this or did someone else?” She was enamored.
Justin put the truck in park and slid back in his seat. “I did. Of course, I had help. I’m not a machine. But the design is mine, and I did a lot of the work, too.”
What didn’t this thirty year old bachelor do? He had skills out the yin yang.
“Where is your wife, cowboy? How are you still living alone? Look at this place!”
He came around and opened her door. “There is no wife because I never fell in love with someone, let alone dated anyone long enough to make her my wife.”
It all felt a little cathartic. She remembered driving up to the palace that was supposed to be her newlywed, happily ever after. Max had slammed the car door and left her alone in the BMW without a word.
What a jerk.
She marveled at the difference between the two men. How could she have ever thought Max was it? Justin was right. He could go straight to hell.
She held his hand as he helped her down and out of the pickup.
The inside of his house was just as beautiful as the outside. They walked through the front door, then around a corner. She watched as he flipped the switch on the kitchen wall. Blythe was momentarily blinded as each canister embedded in the ceiling lit up the room. Walking over to a long, wooden island in the center of it all, Justin stretched out his arms and smiled.
“What do you think? Will this be okay?”
“Okay for what?” she giggled.
“For whipping up our dinner. I already have everything we need. You just sit here and observe, maybe hand me a utensil here and there.” He shot her a wink.
“You’re making us dinner?” She smiled and walked over to where he was standing.
“And dessert…” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
“What kind of dessert? The Mister Glaze kind?” She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her laugh.
“What the hell’s a Mister Glaze?”
Her head swung back over her shoulders, and she burst into a fit of laughter.
“Never mind. You clearly haven’t seen the side of socials filled with people who get freaky with their baking. Don’t look it up. You’ll barf.” She shook her head but couldn’t get the cheeky grin off her face.
“Oh, I’m definitely looking it up…” His blue eyes sparked with mischief. “My only question is…how did an innocent thing like you find such a freaky side of the algorithm? Any fetishes I should know about?” He winked and she had to look away before he saw her blush.
An image of Justin shirtless and smacking bread dough entered her mind. She snapped her head back, clearing her throat. “Nope. So, what are we having?” she asked, a little too chipper.
“Well, I assume you’re not vegan, because you were practically raised by your aunt and uncle. We eat beef around here, sugar. I’m making you my famous animal burgers with dirty fries!”
“Dirty fries? What makes them so dirty?” Her brow furrowed and she looked intrigued.
“Oh, it's just a hefty dose of seasoning on top. Get your mind out of the gutter.” A sly grin spread over his face.
“What?” She threw a hand over her chest. “My mind is pure, Justin Forge. I am a lady.”
Justin glared at her, challenging her declaration. “A lady who peeps on dudes that use handles like Mister Glaze?”
She bit her lip and looked down at her feet, one hand leaning against the counter. Her eyes peeked up to see a shit-eating grin on his face.
“I hope you can get down with some fry sauce, because it’s about to be all over these bad boys when I serve ‘em up to you in a few minutes.” He walked past her, holding a plate of raw beef patties, and headed toward the sliding glass door that led to the back patio—and the George Foreman grill.
Peep on dudes… She didn’t peep on anyone. It wasn’t her fault those videos kept showing up in her suggested feed. Maybe it was? She didn’t mean to watch, but it was like a train wreck happening in slow motion. How could anyone look away? They were literally doing unspeakable things to the food, and the mixers, and with the frosting bags, and the eggs.
Oh, my gosh, the eggs…
“ Give ‘em five minutes on each side and we’ll be ready to chow down.”
She jumped as he stepped inside and closed the sliding glass door behind him. “You scared me!”
“Oh, sugar, if that scared you, just wait ’til I rip my shirt off, then start licking fry sauce off the spatula and?—”
“You did not!” Her hands flew up, covering her face as she peeked through her fingers. She was mortified. She didn’t think he would actually look him up and watch his content.
“I did. And let me tell you, those guys got nothin’ on me.” He winked, tugged a strand of her auburn hair as he passed her, and started prepping the fries.