6. Ariana
6
ARIANA
I try to convince Duke to rest his hand, but he won’t hear of it. Immediately, he gets back to work on my bookcase with renewed determination, cutting the wood to the correct dimensions and letting me help him when I ask. We work hard, occasionally pausing for a snack or to pet Scout, and before I know it, the clock on the wall says it’s after six. Time seems to fly by in Duke’s company. I’ve spent all afternoon sneaking glances at him while he works, savoring the steely resolve in his eyes, the deep scars on his face, the sheen of sweat on his lined forehead.
God, he’s so rugged.
So handsome.
The promise of dinner with Duke has filled my veins with buzzing anticipation. My pulse is racing as we climb into his truck and head for my apartment, where he waits outside while I take a quick shower and change my clothes. I swap my baggy t-shirt for a pale blue summer dress that I’ve rarely ever worn, inspecting myself in the mirror. My heart sinks a little when I see the way my stomach looks, and I turn from side to side, inspecting my body from every angle.
I’m curvy, but not the kind that gets millions of likes on Instagram. Not ‘perfect boobs, tiny waist, wide hips’ curvy. I’m big all over. My thighs jiggle and my belly sticks out. I have stretch marks, cellulite, and boobs that are big and heavy, not perky. As I look at myself, my first instinct is to take the dress off and pull on something baggy. Anything to hide the bumps and rolls that are visible beneath the blue fabric. But then I think about Duke and the way his eyes pierced me earlier, like he never wanted to look away. It gives me the boost I need to take a deep breath and stare resolvedly into the mirror.
“You look great,” I tell myself. “This dress is perfect on you.”
I don’t believe my words. It’s not as simple as that, even if I’ve come a long way toward self-love since my teens. But just saying them aloud is enough for now. With a smile at my reflection, I turn around and head back into the warm summer evening.
Duke is waiting by his pickup, which dwarfs every other vehicle parked outside Mountain Brew. My mouth goes dry when I see the look he’s giving me, his eyes raking over my body like I’m a work of art, and my anxieties are drowned out by the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
“You look beautiful,” Duke says in his deep, growly voice.
“Thank you.”
He looks at me for a moment longer, eyes narrowed, like he knows I don’t believe him. “I mean it, Ariana. You look so damn pretty.”
My cheeks pinken, heating up at the compliment, and I can’t stop myself from beaming at him. “Thanks, Duke. So do you.”
He makes a noise of amusement as we cross the street and begin the short walk to the restaurant. “Nobody’s ever called me pretty before.”
“Handsome, then,” I say.
“Never been called that, either.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”
He gestures to his scars with a wry smile. “Freddy Krueger isn’t many people’s idea of a hot date.”
“You don’t look anything like Freddy Krueger,” I tell him, frowning. “Anyway, I think your scars look cool.”
“Well, if you think they look cool, that’s all that matters.”
Warmth spreads through my chest at his words, but there’s a question that’s been nagging at me for a while. “How did you get them? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Duke absent-mindedly touches his face, and I follow his finger with my eyes. There is a jagged line between his eyebrows, a deep groove on his cheek, and several raised patches of puckered skin on his neck and forehead that look like small, individual burn marks.
“I was in the military for over twenty years,” he says. “The burns came from an exploding car. I got too close. The one on my cheek was a bullet that grazed me, and the one between my eyebrows was a knife.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, staring at his scars with renewed respect. “Sounds like you went through hell.”
“Sometimes. Other times, it was great. Never thought they’d let me in at my height—too much hassle having a guy who can’t fit in normal vehicles or tight spaces. But I was lucky.”
“Do you miss it?”
Duke is quiet for a moment. “No. But it took me a while to find a sense of purpose after I left. Wasn’t easy to find that as a civilian for the first time in twenty years. I had the store waiting for me, though. A family business to run.”
“Do you like owning a hardware store?” I ask, hanging onto every word Duke says.
“I like working with my hands. Building stuff, chopping lumber, things like that. But I have employees to do the people-facing shit.”
A chuckle escapes my lips. Duke is even more introverted than me. Somehow, that makes it feel even more special that he’s asking me out to dinner. He seems like a loner who prefers his own company, keeping to himself in the woods, just him and Scout. Yet he invited me to dinner so we could spend more time together, and the thought sends a rush of affection through me.
We round the corner onto Orchard Street, and Hollow Grill comes into view. As we near the entrance, a gaggle of people spills out of the restaurant—a large family, by the look of it. They stare openly at Duke as they pass us. A couple of kids have their jaws hanging open, and I see one woman pull her child closer to her, marching past Duke as fast as possible.
The unfairness of it is like a punch to the gut, and I swallow down the sourness in my throat. They were looking at Duke like he was some kind of monster. And even though he doesn’t say a word, I’m sure he must have noticed.
Is this what life is like for him all the time?
People staring at him like he’s dangerous?
We’re led to a table in the corner when we enter the restaurant, but my mind is still stuck on the street outside, watching that family walk by. I don’t know whether to bring it up or not. The last thing I want is to embarrass Duke, but after we order our drinks, I’m spared having to make a decision.
“Sorry about that,” Duke says, looking down at his bandaged thumb, not meeting my gaze.
I don’t understand him at first. “About what?”
“The people on the street.” He furrows his brow. “They can stare at me all they want, but I don’t like them looking at you just for being with me.”
“I don’t care who looks at us, Duke.” My heart twinges as I add, “Does that happen a lot?”
“All the time,” he grunts. “Especially in summer. Tourist season. More people around—people who aren’t used to seeing me.”
“They shouldn’t stare like that.” Anger flares like fire in my gut. “It’s not right.”
Duke sighs. “It’s a pain in the ass. But I’m seven feet tall with a face covered in scars. People are always gonna stare. They stare at anybody who doesn’t fit in.”
I nod, smiling sadly. “I know a thing or two about not fitting in.”
“You mean with your family?”
“Not just that.”
We’re interrupted for a moment while a young woman brings our drinks before taking our order. Once she’s gone, Duke prompts me to keep talking.
“I had a rough time at school,” I say eventually. “There was a lot of bullying because of…you know, my weight and stuff.” I bite my lip, unable to meet his gaze. “I know what it’s like to feel different.”
A moment later, warmth engulfs my hand, and I look down to see Duke’s fingers covering mine. The shock of his touch makes my heart stutter, and I look up into his deep blue eyes, sucking in a breath when I see the rage swirling in them.
“Who bullied you?” he asks firmly. “Names?”
It’s lucky I’m sitting down: the protectiveness in his voice makes my knees weaken, my legs turning to mush.
“It was years ago. They all either went off to college or moved away. I’m pretty sure the worst ones don’t even live in Colorado anymore.”
Duke mutters something about “catching a flight” and “finding the bastards”, and I have to bite back a smile.
“I’m not interested in getting even with my school bullies,” I say honestly. “All I meant is I know how you feel. It’s how I felt back in high school. I was the biggest girl there, and it wasn’t easy to be treated like a freak for being different.”
Duke seems to be grinding his jaw. His hand is tight on mine, like he’s trying not to clench his fists.
“They were stupid assholes, Ariana,” he grits out. “I hate knowing that anybody made you feel like that. Your body is fucking gorgeous.”
The intensity in his voice sends a shiver through me, and for the space of a few heartbeats, I’m speechless.
“Thank you,” I say breathlessly.
His eyes are burning into me, and the restaurant melts away. The buzz of chatter, the clink of cutlery, the hum of music: it all vanishes, leaving nothing but Duke’s face. It might be scarred and weathered, but that only makes him look more handsome, especially now I know that his scars came from being a hero. I’ve never met anybody like him. He’s gruff, serious, rough around the edges, but also kind. Gentle. Caring. The kind of man to rescue a feral kitten with no tail and build a bookcase for nothing, just because he can.
I want to express all these thoughts. I want to tell him how he makes me feel. But it’s too crazy. Too soon. The words won’t come, and before I can say anything else, the server returns with our meals. I bite into my crispy chicken sandwich; Duke cuts into his steak, and the moment to speak is gone.
Our conversation turns to more normal things as we eat. I tell Duke about my favorite mystery books, and he listens while I gush about the Agatha Christie novel I’m reading. In turn, he tells me about life in the woods. The hidden waterfalls and overgrown trails blooming with flowers, the rich wildlife, the birds and plants. He tells me about the store and how his grandpa opened it in the fifties, and I tell him more about my plans for a future bookstore. We even talk more about his time in the military—how the other soldiers welcomed him with open arms, making him feel normal for the first time in his life.
“Thanks, that was delicious,” I say, polishing off the last fry, energy buzzing through me from our conversation. All I drank tonight was orange juice, but learning all about Duke makes me feel a little tipsy.
“Glad you enjoyed it.” He smiles at me. “Ready for dessert?”
My first instinct is to decline. It’s what I usually do when I go out to eat, so nobody can judge me for my big appetite.
Duke senses my hesitation. “Get anything you want, Ariana. My treat, remember?”
I eye the menu. “The cherry cheesecake does sound pretty good…”
He doesn’t let me get another word out. Before I have time to second guess myself, he’s already asking a passing server for cheesecake. It arrives a few minutes later, and I tuck into the delicious creaminess, almost choking when I feel Duke’s leg brush against mine beneath the table. It’s been happening all night. His legs are so long that there’s not much room for them, but the contact makes me shiver every time.
I don’t want the night to end. The cheesecake may be delicious, but it’s a reminder that we’re a few minutes away from paying the bill and leaving. And I’m not ready to leave Duke yet. Heck, I can’t imagine ever being ready for tonight to end. With anybody else, I’d be drained and ready to go home. I’d be fantasizing about curling up in bed with a book right about now. But with Duke, all I want is more. More of him.
There’s an unspoken tension mounting between us as we finish our dessert, and I wonder if Duke is thinking what I’m thinking. If he wishes, like me, that we could stay in this moment, tucked away together at this corner table, eyes fixed on each other as the world around us disappears.