CHAPTER FOUR
ALEXANDRA
He's already on the bench when I get there, same as yesterday, as if he's been sitting in that exact spot since the moment we said goodbye. Considering he's a strange guy, he very well might have been.
As I approach, Bran stands and smiles, and that smile makes all my worries suddenly seem silly. He's not some ax murderer or other scary psycho character from a horror movie. At worst, he's some unemployed, nature-loving guy who doesn't like wearing shoes.
“Ready?” he asks.
I grin back. “As ready as I'll ever be for dinner with a stranger in the woods.”
He leads me off the main path through a gap in the trees I never would have noticed on my own, and the sounds of the city drop away, swallowed up by trees and underbrush until all I can hear is the crunch of our footsteps and the various noises of birds settling in for the evening.
A cabin appears out of nowhere, taking me by surprise.
What do you know, he really does have a cabin.
It's tucked back among white oak and pine trees with curls of gray smoke rising from the brick chimney.
It's positively charming and oddly fitting for Bran.
“Wow,” I say, looking it over. “You rented this fast.”
He doesn't answer, merely smiles and pushes the door open for me and gestures for me to go first. As I pass by him, my arm brushes against his chest, and we both freeze in place for a second. Then I continue walking, and the moment is gone like it never happened.
The cabin is made of logs and smells like woodsmoke and something roasting.
My mouth waters at the scent of roasting meat, and even more embarrassing my stomach lets out a low whine of hunger.
I press an arm across my middle and continue into the room as Bran closes the door behind us.
The place is warm, with overstuffed couches facing the huge fireplace and red and black checked curtains over the windows.
The cabin is a big room that's sectioned off into areas by the groupings of furniture.
The living room is obvious with the couches and fireplace, the kitchen has a fridge, stove, and sink along with a long counter with four stools pulled up along the side.
The dining area has a thick wooden table with six chairs and place settings for two.
There are also no pictures on any of the walls. There are a few odd knickknacks and the chandelier above the dining table is made of antlers, but otherwise there are no real personal touches here. Which, I suppose, if it's a rental makes perfect sense.
Bran heads to the table and holds out a chair for me. It hits me that this is a date. Of sorts.
With a man who thinks he's the Lord of the Woods. If Bee were here she'd laugh her head off. She might have gone off with a leprechaun, but here I am having dinner with a crazy man.
Since it's my first real date in over a year, I shove those thoughts to the side. Plus, it's not like I'm planning to marry Bran and have absolutely gorgeous babies with him. Though his kids would probably be as model-beautiful as him.
And maybe as strange.
I force a smile as he brings me a plate full of food and sets it in front of me before he fetches his own.
Looking down at my plate, I see a salad with various greens and... a flower?
Spearing it with my fork, I bring the yellow flower up to my face.
It's a dandelion. I think I've heard before that they are edible, but I certainly have never tried one.
I slip it off my fork and instead stick the fork in the wedge of browned meat and pick up my knife.
Slicing into it, reddish juices flow out and more of that delicious aroma teases my nose.
It also smells entirely unfamiliar, which has me on alert despite my rumbling tummy.
“What is this?”
Bran pauses in cutting his meat. “Venison.”
I set my fork down slowly. “You fed me Bambi.”
He puts down his fork and knife. “Who is Bambi?”
I almost laugh, but I don't because he's serious. I know cartoons aren't for everyone, still, how could he not have heard about Bambi? “You know what? It doesn't matter. I don't really do deer meat.”
Perfectly arched dark brows rise up like I'm the one being ridiculous. “It's good meat. Lean, clean, and taken with respect. The woods provide. I don't waste what they give.”
“Oh.” I suppose I would be a bad guest if I didn't try it. My grumbling stomach gurgles its agreement. Cautiously, I cut off the tiniest sliver and nibble on it. The taste explodes on my tongue and before I know it I'm cutting off larger pieces and eagerly chowing down.
“Good?” he asks, watching me with a pleased smile hovering around his mouth.
“Don't look so smug about it.” I point my fork at him before taking another bite. “This doesn't mean I'm signing up for a regular diet of woodland creatures.”
That grin grows. “Noted.”
I poke my fork at the flower and ask, “What's the deal with the dandelion?”
“It’s edible and good for the blood,” he says carefully, in the tone you might use when explaining something to a child. He points his fork at it. “You should eat it.”
I look at the vibrant flower sitting on the edge of my plate and decide if I can eat deer meat I can eat flowers too. I pick it up with my fingers and take a cautious bite. It’s rather bitter but not terrible. I pop the entire thing into my mouth and chew.
“What do you do?” he asks, watching me cut another piece of venison. “When you're not running or being run into.”
That makes me grin. Bran does have a sense of humor. “I'm an insurance adjuster.” I wait for the blank look or the inevitable follow-up question that everyone asks, and he doesn't disappoint.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I get paid by a company to figure out how much damage costs and whether my company has to pay out. They really don’t enjoy paying out.”
He pops a dandelion into his mouth whole and chews, looking like he relishes the bitterness. “Do you enjoy it?”
Everyone always thinks I’m the villain, denying their claim or giving them less than they think Great-Nana’s mismatched old china deserves. “Not particularly.”
Bran pauses eating, putting his fork down. “Then why do you do it?”
That makes me laugh. “Because it pays well and living costs money.”
His lips compress and those green eyes of his get brighter. He opens his mouth, closes it and shakes his head. “Then what do you do for enjoyment?”
I’m sure that’s not what he was originally going to say. But unless I unexpectedly win the lottery there’s no point in even thinking about what I’d do if I quit my job and go do something I do enjoy. Which I’m not sure what that would even be at this point in my life.
Now, as for the question he did ask, that’s simple. “I drink wine, watch reality TV, and go to trivia night with friends at a local bar.”
Thinking of that reminds me keenly of the loss of Bee. I miss her so much at trivia nights, and our other friends don’t because to them she never existed.
Being reminded of Bee and thinking about the leprechaun that whisked her away to live happily ever after makes me a tad grumpy.
And right or wrong, I take it out on poor Bran.
“So, Mr. Bran, Lord of the Woods, why are you here in nowhere, Pennsylvania? I get that we have great woods, hence the name of the state, but why here and why now?”
His green eyes meet mine, and the pain in them is so real that I ache.
“I'm lonely,” he says quietly. “I've watched others find love for centuries while I’ve always been alone. Then a group of annoying matchmakers started sending out others to find love and they succeeded. I see what they have, and I want it for myself.”
Something in my chest twists because I know exactly how he feels.
Maybe not the centuries’ part, but I’ve never been married and all my relationships haven’t lasted more than a few years.
It leaves me questioning if it’s me, if I’m really that unlovable, or just destined to be alone. Either way, it’s not a good feeling.
“So these matchmakers sent you to PA,” I say, because it’s easy to focus on Bran than think about my own failed love life.
“I allowed them to.”
I raise my brows at the emphasis he put on the word allowed. “Is there a difference? Because either way you’re here.”
He grins. “A significant difference.”
His smile has a touch of smugness to it, which I have to admit looks darn hot. Though, to be fair, this man is simply hot, no matter what his expression.
“And you think I’m going to help you get over your loneliness?”
“I find it telling that you’re the first woman I’ve run into.”
That makes me laugh. “Actually, I ran into you. But who’s counting, right?”
Shaking my head, I push my plate away, mostly empty now despite my initial reluctance to try the venison and dandelion.
“I'm sorry I can't give you what you want.” Though the idea is certainly tempting, at least the part where I get him in my bed for a night.
“Maybe I can help you find someone, though. I know some nice women.”
He looks at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted another head. “I don't want anyone else.”
Rolling my eyes, I state, “You don't even know me.”
He crosses his arms, and I can’t help noticing how the fabric of his green t-shirt hugs the swells of his biceps. “I know enough,” he says.
“Bran,” I say it slowly and with as much patience as I can.
I mean, it’s flattering, it really is, but he’s not being realistic at all.
“You've known me for one day. I pepper-sprayed you and called you Bran Flakes.” I smile a bit at that memory.
Bran Flakes are the most boring cereal out there, and this Bran is anything but boring.
“Yes, that is all true.”
“And you still think I'm the one?”
He nods his head. “Yes.”
I throw my hands up because there's just no getting through to him. “Why?”
“Because you are the one.”
“I'll think about who I can set you up with,” I say, ignoring his last remark and standing up. “I’m sure I know some nice and normal woman who won’t pepper spray you.”
He stands too. “I don't want a nice woman.”
I fight my grin and finally give up. “Yeah. I'm getting that.”
“Then we are agreed, you’re the one for me.”
Getting my jacket off the couch where I left it, I shrug it on and Bran grabs his leather one. We walk out the door together, pausing on the porch, both of us taking a breath of the cool night air, so difference from the warmth of the cabin.
In silence, he walks me back through the trees to the park bench where we met. I assume we’ll part ways here but he continues up the path towards the park’s entrance.
At the entrance, I stop and turn, and despite his insistence that we’re destined to be together- or maybe because of it- I ask, “Same time tomorrow?”
The whiteness of his teeth is bright even in the dim light provided by the park lights. “Yes.”
I look at him for a long, quiet moment, this strange man with a horrible first name, an amazing head of hair, and a loneliness that I recognize too well.
Driving home, I wonder why I’m seeing him again. Nothing is going to come of it. I don’t want anything to come of it.
Yet I know I’m lying, even if it’s just to myself.