Chapter 10
Ten
Colter
After Grandma Elsie shooed us both away from the dinner dishes with a firm wave of her dish towel, I led Swayze out to my truck.
The evening air held the crisp bite of fall, with enough of a chill that I knew legitimate winter wasn’t far off.
As she slid into the passenger’s seat, I couldn’t help but remember last night and how good she’d felt in my arms, all tucked up against my chest as I’d carried her.
I’d thought way too much about that in the past twenty-four hours.
Which was probably evidence of exactly how long a dry spell I’d had.
Given the size of our town, I was careful and choosy about such things, usually electing to go elsewhere to scratch any necessary itch to avoid the inevitable complications that came with small-town dating.
I’d had two or three dates locally that hadn’t escalated past a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night.
There’d been no spark, nothing remotely intriguing because I’d known those women since grade school, knew their families, their histories, every embarrassing moment they’d ever had.
Not that I needed something new and different.
I wasn’t that kind of guy. But I needed something more to induce me to risk getting tangled up with someone seriously enough to bring them around Oakleigh.
I wasn’t gonna find that more in the woman sitting silently beside me.
I sensed a mutedness in her, a quietness that wasn’t introversion.
I didn’t think a woman who could bust out singing in my grandma’s kitchen could be an introvert.
But she held an air of someone who’d been through some major shit, the kind that left marks you couldn’t see.
And, of course, she just had with the fire and losing everything she owned.
But it seemed like more than that. I didn’t judge people for their traumas—God knew we all carried our share of scars.
But I wasn’t looking to bring any complications into my daughter’s orbit.
Swayze wasn’t looking to put down serious roots in Gibson Hollow, and mine ran deep as the mountain, anchoring me to this place with bonds I’d never want to sever.
That made this low simmer of attraction a no-go.
No matter how gorgeous she was without soot streaking her face and her caramel hair loose around her shoulders.
The duplex was much closer to town than Grandma Elsie’s place.
Only two minutes from the firehouse, which mattered in a town with a fire department as small as ours, where response time could mean the difference between saving a structure or watching it burn to the ground.
I pulled up in front of the house, a broad log structure with a porch stretching across the front and around one side.
Swayze arched her brows, those hazel eyes widening slightly as she took in the place. “I think this is going to be a bit out of my price range.”
“It’s a duplex,” I assured her.
She studied the front, which clearly had only one front door flanked by a pair of Craftsman-style light fixtures that cast warm pools of light onto the weathered wood. “Are you sure? Because it looks like a whole house to me.”
“Well, it was originally built as a house back in the day, and then somebody in the past fifteen years or so hacked it into a duplex. So the layout is a little unusual. Door to the second unit is around the side.” I gestured toward the shadowy corner of the building.
I slid out of the truck, assuming she’d follow. As I heard the soft scuff of her shoes on the drive behind me, I continued my landlord spiel. “It’s a one bedroom, one-and-a-half bath, with a sort of open loft-type space that would work well as an office if you need it for your design work.”
She said nothing as I unlocked the door and let us both inside, reaching around the doorframe to hit the light switch.
The overhead fixture illuminated the small living room, which currently housed a sofa bed in a deep blue that had seen better days, a slip-covered armchair that had come from somebody’s attic, and a small coffee table that was scarred but sturdy.
Behind the sofa, tucked against the wall, sat a little dinette set with seating for three, the chairs mismatched but serviceable.
“So it comes furnished?” Her voice remained carefully neutral.
“Nothing fancy, but it’s got all the basics.”
I waited as she peeked into the laundry room that also served as the downstairs half-bath, watching her take in the stacked washer-dryer unit and the tiny pedestal sink.
Her gaze skimmed over the space, pausing on the electric fireplace set into the living room wall, its dark screen currently blank. “That’s a nice feature.”
“It’s got a remote, so you can turn it on for vibes without heat if you’re so inclined.” I grabbed the remote from the mantel and demonstrated, the flames flickering to life with a soft hum.
Swayze cocked a brow, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth. “Vibes?”
Heat crept up the back of my neck. Damn, did she think I was coming on to her? “I mean, if you like it cozy when it’s not actually cold enough for a fire. Some folks do.”
“Fair point.” She moved past me, close enough that I caught a whiff of something floral and clean, probably whatever soap she’d used at Grandma Elsie’s. She headed to where the room doglegged into what could euphemistically be referred to as a kitchen. “What is that?”
I followed her gaze to the cramped cooking area. “The world’s smallest non-dorm fridge and stove. A cook’s kitchen it is not, I’ll admit.”
“There’s like…two feet of counter in the entire kitchen.” She turned to look at me, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“It’s not ideal,” I conceded, scratching the back of my neck.
“Whoever divided up the house put the regular kitchen on the other side and shoehorned this in. There’s a butcher block cover that fits over the sink to give a bit more workspace, and the pantry is around the corner here.
” I hoped the apologetic note in my voice wasn’t too obvious.
I continued through the doorway into the stairwell, where a red garage tool cabinet now sat at the base of the stairs and functioned as kitchen storage. A pot rack was mounted to the wall beside it, with a few basic pans already hanging from the hooks.
“Well, that’s… different,” she observed, and I couldn’t tell if she was trying not to laugh or trying not to cry at the absurdity of it all.
“I did say the layout was unusual.” Without waiting for her to reply, I pushed up the stairs, the old wood creaking under my weight. “Loft space is to the right. Bath and bedroom are off to the left here.”
Swayze quietly followed, her footsteps lighter than mine on the worn treads.
She looked into the bath with its claw-foot tub and shower combo, then into the bedroom that was equally simply furnished with a queen-size bed covered in a simple quilt—one of Grandma Elsie’s—and a pair of wine crates that had been mounted to the wall as nightstands.
“Clever for a small space,” she murmured, running her fingers along the edge of one crate.
The ceiling here sloped dramatically, following the roofline, so the closets were low, but there were two of them tucked under the eaves on either side.
Given she’d just lost all her stuff in the fire, it wasn’t like she had that much to store at the moment.
Not that I was about to bring that up right now and risk making her feel worse.
She turned to face me in the narrow hallway. “What kind of outdoor space is there?”
“I’ll show you.”
She trailed me down the stairs, and I was hyperaware of her presence behind me. The old house seemed smaller with another person in it.
“There’s a fenced backyard shared between the two units. Are you afraid of dogs?”
“Not a bit. I love dogs.”
“Good.” I moved to the back door and opened it, the hinges squeaking slightly. Approximately five seconds later, right on schedule, my bear of a dog lumbered in to say hello, his massive paws thudding on the hardwood floor.
“Oh my God. He’s huge!” Swayze’s voice pitched up in surprise.
I fully expected her to retract her statement about being fine with dogs, maybe take a step back or put me between her and all hundred-and-fifty pounds of Ludo.
But she simply melted, dropping to her knees without hesitation and immediately burying her hands in his thick, dark fur, giving him a scritch behind his ears that had his back end dipping and one massive foot thumping against the floor in pure bliss.
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a big, beautiful boy?” Her voice went soft and sweet, the kind of tone you used with babies and beloved pets.
That was what I’d needed to see. That crack in her facade, the genuine warmth flooding through.
The smile that transformed her whole face, making her eyes light up with uncomplicated joy.
Whatever tension I’d had through the showing—the worry that she’d find the place too small or too weird or just not right—disappeared as I watched her sharing a mutual love fest with my pup.
Ludo’s tail wagged so hard his whole backend swayed.
“That’s Ludo,” I announced, unable to keep the fondness out of my voice.
“What is he?” She looked up at me, still scratching, her fingers working through his coat.
“Mostly Newfoundland. My brothers are convinced his mama mated with a Wookie, and honestly, I can’t argue with them. He’s three, so he’s still got some puppy in him.”
“He’s precious.” She pressed her forehead against Ludo’s, and he let out a contented grumble.
“Pretty sure he’s in love with you now. That’s his ‘you’re my favorite person’ sound.”
Grinning, Swayze pressed a kiss to Ludo’s broad nose, and my traitorous dog practically melted into a puddle at her feet. “The feeling is mutual, sweet boy.”
I cleared my throat, trying to get back to business before I started thinking too hard about how right she looked here with my dog. “Anyway, the place is yours if you want it.” I named the monthly rent, a figure I’d kept deliberately low.
Still loving on the dog, running her hands through his fur in long, soothing strokes, she looked up at me. “I’m guessing that even in this small a town, you aren’t this intimately acquainted with the details of everyone’s dog. Does that mean you’re the one next door?”
I rocked back on my feet, hoping she didn’t find it weird that I’d waited this long to bring it up. “I am.”
She flashed another smile, this one tinged with something I couldn’t quite read. “Well, then I guess it’s safe to assume it’s up to fire code. It’s neat and clean and exactly what I need. I’ll take it. Thanks for thinking of me.”
I offered my hand to shake on it, sealing the deal the old-fashioned way.
Her palm was warm and soft when it slid into mine, a contrast to the calluses I’d earned from years of firefighting and working with my hands.
There was a little zing when our skin connected—probably just static electricity from her petting Ludo.
I told myself I didn’t notice the way her hazel eyes caught the overhead light, or how natural her hand fit in mine.
Told myself I wasn’t aware of how long I held on, that extra beat or two beyond what a professional handshake required.
When I finally—reluctantly—let go, I took a small step back to put some proper distance between us. “Welcome to Gibson Hollow, neighbor.”
The word tasted different on my tongue than I’d expected. Neighbor. It meant she’d be right there, just on the other side of the wall. Close enough that I’d probably see her coming and going. Close enough that Ludo would undoubtedly try to visit whenever he got the chance, the traitor.
Close enough to be dangerous to my peace of mind, apparently, but it was too late to take back the offer now.
Not that I wanted to.