Chapter 5
SO IT’S WORKING?
Poppy
Dallas is most definitely flirting with me.
And it makes me feel so out of my element.
Truthfully, I don’t know how to feel about it. This doesn’t happen often for me, and it’s mostly because I don’t get out enough to allow the opportunity to present itself.
Seeing Dallas again feels like an earthquake I never braced myself for, and it’s a weird and new feeling for me.
I thought about lying, telling him I have a boyfriend, so he can keep his distance, and I could protect myself from the inevitable.
But the way he looks at me with such intensity, it’s hard to deny that I want him to keep looking at me like this.
My brain may be swirling with doubt and questioning every intention of this man, but I can’t deny that I like this feeling. I can like this and still be in control, right?
“No boyfriend,” I say.
The corners of his lips twist up even more as if that’s the answer he wanted. The grin on his face forces one on mine, and I try to bite away my involuntary smile at him.
“I’d love to buy you a drink then. Maybe get to know you a little bit.”
Turning to face the bar, I rest both elbows on the bar top and check out what Griffin has stocked. I’ve never been much of a drinker, but when I do, I’m picky about it. As a teacher, I’ll always have this fear of going out in town, and the parents of one of my students judge me for my choices.
Will they think less of me for being out in a bar like this?
Will they go to the principal and accuse me of being an unfit teacher?
It weighs heavily on me more often than not. I grew up in this town, and everyone knows who I am, but that doesn’t stop the negative thoughts. The only reason I’m even here tonight is because it’s Lily’s birthday party, and she and Blair begged me to come out after our dinner we had before this.
I’ve gotten better about not letting the fear of judgment hold me back.
Looking back at Dallas, I decide to let him buy me a drink.
“One drink.” I hold up my index finger.
“One drink.”
Tucker passes us, and Dallas flags him down.
“What can I get you, coach?”
I raise a brow in his direction, but don’t ask why he’s calling him that. Dallas shakes his head, looking down at the bar top. He and Tucker both laugh. I feel like I’m missing something here.
“I’ll have another round of whatever Griffin poured before,” Dallas says, tipping his head in my direction. “And whatever she’s having.”
When I look at Tucker, it’s his turn to lift an eyebrow. I quickly fire him a glare, silently telling him to shut up. “I’ll have my normal. The Moscow mule.”
Tucker scoffs. “That’s not your normal.”
I narrow my eyes again.
“Oh, yes. That’s very scary—I mean, normal. Very normal,” he says flatly before moving to make our drinks.
Closing my eyes, I inhale slowly. He’s right. It’s not my norm. Nothing about this night is. But my therapist and I have discussed this, and I need to do it. Letting go of my control in every situation and allowing life to…happen.
Easier said than done.
It’s weird that I’m deciding to make the change with Dallas of all people—a stranger in town—but I have to start somewhere.
A strange silence stretches between us, though. I’m not sure if Tucker’s comments have made him second-guess this drink, or if it’s because I don’t know what I’m doing. Either way, it has me assuming the worst.
Flirting is foreign to me.
Engaging in casual conversation over a drink with a really hot man is foreign to me.
As Tucker returns with our drinks, I straighten my spine and muster up whatever confidence I have to get through this. I take a long sip and finally turn back to face Dallas, letting myself sit on the open stool beside him.
“So, how old are you, Dallas?”
He winces. Almost as if he didn’t want to bring up this topic, and of course, I hit him with it first. “I’m thirty-five.”
Jesus. I knew Dallas seemed older, but I was not expecting him to be ten years older than me. I lift my drink to take another long sip before my brain starts spiraling with all the doubts about even talking to a man like him.
“Where are you from?” I ask, not ready to tell him how young I am.
I mean, I’m twenty-five and I’m an adult, but I don’t know how he would feel if he learned that I am ten years younger than him.
He shakes his head. “I’m originally from South Carolina. I grew up in a large coastal town before moving to San Francisco after college. So, Bluestone Lakes is a culture shock for me, to say the least.”
I chuckle at that. “We’re definitely different from the rest here.”
“Have you lived here your whole life?”
“Born and raised,” I answer proudly, lifting my chin and grinning. “It’s home for me. My family and my job are here. And the best part? You get the most immaculate views in every direction, no matter where you are.”
His eyes bore into mine as if taking in everything I’m saying and trying to process something in his head.
“I can tell…about the views,” he says, pausing again. “My favorite has been the coffee shop and this bar.”
“That’s…” My voice trails off because…is he talking about me? I feel my cheeks heat up when I don’t even know the answer to my own question. Instead, I clear my throat. “So, why did Tucker call you Coach?”
“I’m, uh…” He pauses, adjusting himself in the seat before straightening his spine. “Well, I coach a baseball team. Did? Do? I don’t know anymore.”
“Not just any team,” Tucker cuts in like he’s been eavesdropping. “This guy coaches the San Fran Stags, baby!”
“Would you keep your voice down?” Dallas whispers, but he’s also laughing.
Tucker is very dramatic, and you can’t help but laugh at him. He drives me crazy, but he’s like a brother to us.
“I don’t know who they are,” I admit.
Dallas angles his face to look at me fully, and his smile stretches so wide that it forms a crinkle around his eyes.
It makes me blush, and my stomach fills with butterflies.
Even if I know nothing else, one thing about him is that his eyes can make me melt on the spot.
They’re the color of dark chocolate—smooth, rich, and dangerous.
“Thank god,” Dallas murmurs.
I spit out a laugh, snorting, and quickly thank the heavens I wasn’t currently taking a drink.
Dallas almost frowns in response, and I instantly feel hot with embarrassment.
Was that too obnoxious?
Does he think I’m weird now?
“Sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“That was…really obnoxious. And, like, was it that funny? Nothing was funny enough to laugh like that.”
And now I’ve taken my awkwardness to the next level and want to crawl into a hole. I’m not the type of girl to get nervous like this around a man because I always know it’s going to lead to nothing.
Why can’t this be like every other conversation with a friend I’ve had?
I angle my head down, facing my drink, when Dallas reaches up, brushing the curtain of hair falling out of the way and tucking it behind my ear. The delicate touch of his fingertips as he trails them along the side of my face, around my ear, and down my neck sucks all the oxygen out of my lungs.
“I’d love hearing you laugh like that anytime, Poppy.”
My name out of his mouth sends shivers through my body, but that statement, paired with his deep, gruff voice, makes me feel like I’m back in middle school when I liked a boy and my stomach would flutter when he smiled at me.
The smile on my face comes naturally. “That was clever.”
He shrugs casually, angling his body to face me more fully. Giving me his full attention. “Seems to come naturally when I’m talking to you.”
“Wow. You have all the right things to say, huh?”
“So, it’s working?”
“Depends on what you’re trying to do?”
He doesn’t immediately answer but lifts his glass of bourbon to his lips. Locking eyes with me as he takes a long sip. My cheeks ache from smiling so hard.
Is he trying to…take me home?
My stomach flips with that thought because I’ve never gone home with a man before.
I mean, I’ve never even had sex before or done…anything really.
Okay, well, I kissed some guys back in college after that one short relationship that built the walls I put up around my heart, and started my fear of going further with anyone.
I didn’t think I was good enough for anyone.
Constantly felt like I was doing something wrong.
Even kissing, was I even doing it right?
I’ll never know because I stopped, so the doubts didn’t consume me and ruin my life.
“I’m trying to keep that smile on your face,” Dallas finally answers.
Is there a tally for how many times my cheeks can turn a shade of pink or red tonight? Because I can’t remember the last time I ever smiled this hard outside of the classroom, playing games with six- and seven-year-olds.
“So, since I’ve just made it my goal to keep you smiling”—he grins at me—“tell me what kind of things make you happy. Where is your happy place?”
The question catches me off guard because no one has ever asked me that before.
I’m not about to tell him that organizing my spice cabinet in alphabetical order, or perfect vacuum lines in the carpet, make me happy. He’s going to bolt out of this bar quicker than an Olympic track star. So I settle on surface level. The truth of the things that do make me happy.
“It’s the little things that make me happiest. I like calm mornings doing yoga on my back deck, and quiet nights with a puzzle.”
He nods. “I like that.”
“My happy place is definitely Bluestone Lakes.”
“Come on, Poppy. Give me something more than your hometown.”
I laugh. “I mean the lakes themselves. The ones you passed on your drive into town. They span miles and miles, as far as the eye can see. Sometimes I like to go there and feel the peace and quiet of the lake.”
He stares at me for a moment, with wonder in his eyes. “I’ll have to make a point to head out there one day.”
“You should.” I nod. “How about you? What makes you happy?”
“Baseball.” He holds up a hand, a playful grin on his lips. “Before you ask, yes, it’s my only real hobby. It’s all I’ve ever known.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” I say, holding my hands up and laughing. “Is that why you coach? Or did coach? I’m not sure from your previous answer.”
He sighs. “I was the head coach for a major league baseball team.”
I can tell by how he says it that it’s a sore subject. I see how his smile stays on his face, but it’s no longer wide and bright.
There’s a dull ache behind it.
“That sounds like kind of a big deal.”
He shrugs.
“And you used the past tense. So are you no longer coaching?”
He averts his gaze to the bottles lined up behind the bar and shakes his head.
“I’m sorry. That was probably a sore subject. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
He faces me again, offering me a lopsided grin. “There you go again.”
“I’m sorry?”
“And again.” He laughs, and I remain silent, lips forming a straight line. “I don’t know what you’re sorry for, Poppy.”
“Just didn’t want to bring the mood down.”
“There’s no way you can bring the mood down, even if you try.” He winks. “Besides, it’s only temporary unemployment. Just have to get my shit together before I go back.”
This time, I don’t ask for more.
This time, I opt not to pry into his personal life and all the reasons he’s here.
But my brain locks on the four words.
Before I go back.
Meaning he’s not planning to stay. And there’s no reason that should sting. Even with this conversation, he’s still nothing but a stranger to me. So why do I hate the thought of him not staying here and missing out on a chance to get to know him more?
This was only a casual drink, I remind myself.
I don’t do relationships or want one.
He checks all the boxes for someone who’s looking. Older and more experienced than I am, not just in the bedroom but in life. My brain can’t help but go to thoughts about him finding out I’m young and still a virgin.
He seems laid-back and spontaneous, but if something were to spark between us, would he end things the moment he finds out I have a strict routine I follow to keep me sane?
And when things stray from my normal, I get too overwhelmed and shut down.
Or that I have little everyday quirks that I worry would cause judgment when others find out?
Shaking my head from the wandering thoughts, I look to Dallas sitting on my left. He’s staring at me. I don’t think he’s stopped for more than a few seconds all night, and it lights me up more than it should.
Yep. He checks all the boxes.
But he can’t check mine. The boxes need to remain unchecked here.
Standing from my stool, I finish my drink and stick out my hand for a handshake. Dallas looks down at it and back up to meet my eyes.
“I have to head out. I have to be up early.”
“So soon?”
I nod. “We agreed to one drink.”
“If I had known I was going to have such a good time listening to you talk, watching you smile, and hearing your laugh, I would have asked for a minimum of five drinks.”
I blush. Again.
“How about your number?” he asks. “I’d love to take you out.”
The question throws me off guard. It shouldn’t, because I had a good time with him tonight.
“I’m not sure it’s the best idea,” I admit.
He takes my hand in his, and his large palm engulfs mine.
He stands, forcing my head to tilt up and keep eye contact.
Then he tugs me just enough for me to step closer to him.
My heart skips a beat from the movement, but also from the intensity of his cologne hitting my senses.
It’s a blend of earthy wood and cinnamon.
He leans down, bringing his head over my shoulder and his lips to my ear. I can’t help but suck in a breath.
Him being so close.
His hand in mine.
His breath in my ear.
It’s so much all at once.
“I really hope to see you around then,” he whispers. “Sooner rather than later.”
“Maybe,” I reply with the same response as the last time I saw him in the coffee shop, as I step away from the heat of him before he consumes me like flames ignited by gasoline.
“It’s a small town.” He winks.
“It is, isn’t it?” I smile before turning on my heel and walking toward the exit, away from the inferno of a man.
But walking away does nothing.
I feel the heat of him everywhere.
Dallas is only here briefly, but I have a strange feeling he will do whatever he can to break through the walls I’ve put up to guard myself.
And I’m not sure I can let him.