6. Daria
Six
Daria
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Rand replies without hesitation.
My stomach flips.
“That's a lot.”
He grins indulgently.
“I've got time.”
I look at him suspiciously.
“Are you always this intense?”
“Just with you, Honey.”
He smiles and I get shivers racing down my spine.
God, he’s so handsome.
“But I've been called worse things.”
I laugh.
“Fair. Well, I don’t know where to start. Oh! I’m new to town. Only been here a few weeks.”
“That so? Welcome to Maccon City. You like it?”
I nod.
And silence settles comfortably between us before I ask the question that's been bouncing around in my head.
“So... what about you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you do besides punching strangers?”
“I own Jameson Customs.”
“That’s that motorcycle shop?”
His eyebrows rise.
“You've heard of it?”
“I passed it last week. I think it’s by my house!”
He grins.
“Well, that's mine.”
“Very cool. So, what do you do?”
“I restore motorcycles. Build custom parts. Fabricate just about anything made of steel.”
“You make things with your hands.”
“I do.”
I smile.
“I like that.”
He ducks his head, almost embarrassed? And damn, that’s so attractive.
“I never went to college.”
The words come quietly.
Almost cautiously.
Like he's waiting for me to judge him.
I reach over and squeeze his hand.
“So?”
He looks up.
“So?”
“I almost failed out of college.”
“You did?”
“Twice.”
His eyes widen, but I don’t feel any judgment from him. Just curiosity.
“I couldn't figure out what I wanted to do. Everyone kept telling me I needed a degree, but every class I took made me miserable.”
“So what happened?”
“I quit.”
He blinks.
“You quit?”
“I did.”
“Weren't your parents upset?”
I laugh.
“Oh, they were seriously pissed off.”
That earns me one of those deep chuckles I swear I could listen to forever.
“But it worked out.”
“How so?”
“Well, for one thing, school never held my interest.” I shrug. “I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was twenty. Suddenly, my entire childhood made sense. Sitting still for hours? Miserable. Office jobs? Even worse. See, I like moving. I like solving problems. I like every day being different.”
Rand nods slowly.
“Sounds familiar.”
“It does?”
“Yup. Honey, you strike me as someone who's already thought about three different things while we've been sitting here.”
I gasp dramatically.
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
His grin says he absolutely knows.
“So, what did you do?”
“I opened my own business.”
His eyebrows lift.
“You did?”
“Yep.”
“What kind of business?”
“A mobile pet grooming company.”
He smiles.
“I can picture that.”
“Oh, but it gets better.”
I wiggle in place, getting ready to tell my tale.
And Rand tilts his head—and I think he might’ve just growled. But it’s over so soon, I can’t tell.
“So,” I begin my story. “I started with one beat-up conversion van in upstate New York. Just me, a pair of clippers, and enough determination to annoy everyone who told me it wouldn't work.”
“And?”
“And it worked.”
His smile grows.
“Then it worked some more.”
“Keep going.”
“I franchised.”
His mouth actually falls open.
“What?”
“There are a little over two hundred Daria's Dawgs & Other Pets Mobile Grooming vans running up and down the East Coast now.”
He just stares at me.
Then points.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I've seen those vans.”
I laugh.
“You probably have.”
“Holy shit.”
His eyes are huge.
“Those are yours?”
I nod.
“They are.”
“Daria...”
He shakes his head.
“That's incredible.”
Warmth blooms in my chest.
Most people hear “pet groomer” and stop listening.
Rand looks genuinely impressed.
“I still go out in my van sometimes.”
“You do?”
“It's the ADHD thing.”
I shrug.
“I started the company with good intentions, but I never expected it to be so successful. Having a franchise means I can help others just starting out, and I still make money. And since if I spend too many days behind a desk, I start climbing the walls, every now and then I open my schedule and do some house calls.”
“I like that.”
“Why?”
“It tells me you haven't forgotten how you started.”
His answer catches me off guard.
No one's ever looked at it that way.
“I hadn't really thought about it.”
“What made you move here?”
I smile and nod at the ocean.
“I like the beach. So, I bought a house.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s a really old one.”
“Define old.”
“Built sometime in the eighteen hundreds.”
He whistles.
“That's old.”
“It needs work.”
“So you're renovating?”
“Kinda. But I suck at it,” I tell him and laugh.
He grins and waits.
There's more.
“But I didn't buy the property because of the house.”
“No?”
I shake my head.
“Nope. It came with land.”
His moss-green eyes brighten.
“How much?”
“Just under twelve acres.”
Now he's really interested.
“And there's this enormous old barn sitting at the back of the property.”
“Wait, do you mean the old Milford place?”
I’m not sure, so I shrug. He chuckles.
“I know that place, it’s close to my garage. So, what are you going to do with it?”
I can't stop smiling.
“I'm going to save it.”
“Yeah? The house and the old barn?”
“Yep.”
He blinks.
“What for?”
“I want to turn the barn into a rehabilitation and rescue center.”
His expression softens.
“For injured animals?”
“For anything that needs help.”
I start counting on my fingers.
“Senior dogs nobody wants anymore.”
He nods.
“Injured wildlife until they can be released.”
Another nod.
“Farm animals that have been neglected.”
His smile grows.
“Exotics that need temporary placement.”
By now he's looking at me like I've hung the moon.
“I know it's ambitious.”
“Honey...”
He reaches over and takes my hand.
“I don't think ambitious is the word.”
“No?”
“I think extraordinary fits better.”
Heat floods my cheeks.
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
I laugh softly.
“You haven't even heard the weird part.”
His eyebrow arches.
“There's a weirder part?”
“Yeah, see I've groomed just about everything.”
He chuckles.
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“Name something.”
“Dogs.”
“Expected.”
“Cats.”
“Makes sense.”
“Rabbits.”
“Sure.”
“Goats.”
He blinks.
“Goats?”
“Miniature horses.”
“Seriously?”
“Alpacas.”
He laughs.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Llamas?”
“Three.”
“My God.”
“A potbellied pig named Kevin.”
He loses it.
Laughing so hard he has to brace a hand against his knee.
I grin.
“Oh, and I once gave a miniature donkey a spa day.”
He points at me.
“I refuse to believe that.”
“I've got pictures.”
“I need to see these pictures.”
“I'll show you.”
His laughter fades into something quieter.
Warmer.
“What about exotic animals?” he asks.
“Actually, I've worked with a few zoos and some private facilities.”
His expression turns serious.
“Isn't that dangerous?”
“It can be.”
“So why do it?”
I look out toward the waves.
“Because they deserve kindness too.”
Silence stretches between us.
“And I never work with an exotic unless its handler is standing right beside me,” I add. “I may be adventurous, but I'm not stupid.”
When I look back at him, his eyes catch the first hint of dawn.
For just a heartbeat, the mossy green seems to glow.
Gold flickers around the ember ring circling his irises.
Beautiful.
Wild.
Almost animal.
The thought disappears as quickly as it came.
But the way he's looking at me doesn't.
Like I'm something he covets.
Something almost precious.
Then something changes in his expression.
Those beautiful moss-green eyes soften.
The ember ring around his irises seems brighter somehow.
For the umpteenth time, I swear they flash gold.
“Rand?”
“Hmm?”
“Your eyes...”
“My eyes?”
“They're...”
I shake my head.
“Never mind.”
He smiles.
“What?”
“I was going to say they're beautiful.”
His ears turn pink.
Actually pink.
“I wasn't expecting that.”
“You weren't?”
“No one's ever called my eyes beautiful before.”
I blink.
“Seriously?”
He nods.
“Usually they mention the tattoos first.”
I lean closer.
“Well, they're not wrong. The tattoos are very sexy. But you’re still a beautiful man, Rand Jameson.”
His breathing catches.
“Of course, the eyes win,” I murmur.
All our light teasing is gone now, replaced with something deeper, something hungrier.
“Honey,” he growls deep and low.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he leans in and we’re kissing again—only this feels different.
It feels… perfect.
We kiss for a long time—and it’s not rushed or frantic.
It’s slow, careful.
Like he’s kissing me with a purpose.
The waves roll in.
The boardwalk lights slowly begin to dim.
Somewhere down the beach, gulls announce the coming morning.
When I finally open my eyes, I glance toward the horizon.
“Is that...”
“Dawn.”
I sigh dramatically.
“We’ve been here all night.”
“We have.”
“I should probably go home.”
“I know.”
Neither of us moves.
Finally, Rand stands and offers me his hand.
Again.
He’s done this every single time.
Like he’s making sure it’s my choice to go with him, to pick him.
And I do.
I take it.
Again.
We clean up, walk back to his motorcycle. And he helps me with the helmet.
Carefully.
Respectfully.
I climb on behind him, and this time when I hold him I feel something settle inside me.
A sense of longing.
A yearning for something I don’t quite understand.
The ride back is quieter.
Not awkward.
Comfortable.
I wrap my arms tighter around his waist, pressing my body against the broad expanse of his back as we cruise through the waking streets of Maccon City.
The boardwalk is nearly empty.
Shop owners are unlocking doors.
The sky turns shades of pink and gold over the Atlantic.
It's beautiful.
When we pull up outside my new house, I almost don't want to get off the bike.
Almost.
Rand helps me stand and removes my helmet.
His fingers brush a strand of my long blonde hair behind my ear.
“So...”
“So,” I echo.
“I'd like to see you again.”
I smile.
“I was hoping you'd say that.”
His grin is slow and devastating.
“Good.”
He gently takes my hand.
“I've got a job this morning.”
“Me too. I've got three very fluffy golden retrievers who are about to regret shedding season.”
He laughs.
“Alright. I'll pick you up after work.”
My heart flutters.
“You sound awfully confident.”
“I am.”
“Oh?”
He lifts my hand and brushes the softest kiss across my knuckles.
“Because I have a feeling that this...”
His eyes meet mine.
“...is only the beginning.”
I don't know why.
Maybe it's the sunrise.
Maybe it's the way he's looking at me.
Maybe it's the butterflies that haven't stopped fluttering since he punched my date.
But for the first time in years...
I believe him.
“I'll be ready,” I whisper.
His smile could power the whole Jersey Shore.
“I know you will, Honey.”
Then he climbs back onto his Harley.
The engine rumbles to life.
He gives me one last look before pulling away.
And I stand there barefoot on my front walk, helmet hair and all, smiling like an idiot as the man I met only hours ago rides away.
Something tells me this is going to be the best bad decision I've ever made.