Chapter 6
November
Today’s been a whirlwind of emotions.
Usually, on my dad’s birthday, I spend the morning lying in bed while I cry over the fact he’s not here anymore.
Kelly and I go to Rooster’s for bourbon and sometimes food if she has time, while we talk about the good times and happy memories.
Then, I get back in bed and watch The Love Bug, my dad’s favorite movie and the one that sparked my interest in being a mechanic.
The only person I’ve ever spent today with has been Kelly. I didn’t even tell my ex about my dad’s birthday. I’ve never wanted to spend the day with anyone other than Kelly.
So why are the words “do you want to watch a movie with me?” sitting on the tip of my tongue? What is it about Saint that makes me want to spend more time with him?
I didn’t expect to see him again, let alone so soon after the last time.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t like it.
Something about him calms me. Maybe it’s because he smells like vanilla and cinnamon, or maybe it’s the laugh lines that crinkle his eyes when he smiles. Maybe it’s the way he genuinely listens, like he’s hanging on to every word. He seems like a quiet observer, and I find his presence soothing.
I find myself wondering what it would be like to be wrapped in his arms.
Hell if I know why.
Hell if I know what the fuck to do about it.
Hell if I know how to stop thinking about him. I’ve spent the past three months getting a flutter of excitement when a white van would pass by the shop, only to be filled with disappointment when it wasn’t him.
It’s stupid, really, the crush I have on this virtual stranger.
I don’t believe in love at first sight. Kelly seems to think he could mean something to me.
I haven’t wanted to feed into her delusions, but there’s something familiar about him.
If reincarnation is real, maybe we knew each other in a previous life.
When I saw him walk into Rooster’s today, my stomach flipped and twirled like I was on a roller coaster. I felt like a giddy teenager seeing her crush again.
I don’t know why Merv sent him my way—and I’ll be having words with him about meddling in my love life—but I’m secretly grateful for it.
Saint turns into my apartment complex all too quickly, and I direct him around the back to where my building is.
I should be feeling some apprehension over letting him know where I live, but the nagging feeling to invite him up overpowers any anxiety I should have.
He stops in front of the doors and parks the van. “I uh… I actually do have two loaves of bread if you’re interested,” he says, pointing over his shoulder.
“Are you sure? They don’t need to go to someone else?” Did you bring them all the way down for me? Why does your van keep having issues? Do you like me, yes or no?
“No, I brought them so I would have something to eat with the soup.”
I look back again and notice a Thermos and some muffins in the basket next to the bread.
I have so many questions.
“Oh, well, I don’t want to take your dinner.”
“I have enough soup for two,” he blurts out.
“If you don’t have plans. I mean, if you want to share it?
God, I’m not trying to invite myself up.
How about you take the soup and bread? And muffins.
I can grab something on my way back.” His cheeks turn redder than his checkered flannel the more he talks.
I bite back a grin. I like that this Viking of a man can still get flustered. “Would you like to come up and share some soup, Saint?”
“I swear I’m not trying to overstep—”
“I know you’re not. I’d really like the company.” I place a hand on his forearm, resisting the temptation to squeeze. Forearm porn exists for a reason, and I want to see what his look like.
“If you’re positive.”
“I am. The visitor parking is just down there. Let me take the basket up and make sure my place is tidy, and you can meet me up there after you park. I’m in 5C.”
Saint nods, reaching behind the seat and handing me the basket, his face leaning closer to mine as he does. I glance away before I stare too long at his lips. They look so soft. I wonder what they’d feel like pressed against mine or pressing kisses down my neck.
No. Don’t even go there.
I dash out of the van and rush inside to the elevator, rapidly clicking the buttons like it’ll make it arrive faster.
When I finally reach my floor, I hurriedly unlock my door and rush in, setting the basket on the counter.
I pick up my discarded pajamas from last night and shove them under my comforter.
I clear my small coffee table of the random books and papers, making sure to hide the NSFW special edition cover of a book under an old newspaper.
When there’s a knock on my door, I jump a little, even though I know it’s Saint. Knowing who it is should calm my nerves, but it doesn’t. Kelly, Merv, and Patrick are the only people who’ve been here, so I’ve never had anyone over I wanted to impress. I’ve never had anyone over for a date.
Not that this is a date.
Just… two people sharing soup.
What is my life?
I swing the door open, and even though I saw him less than five minutes ago, I’m unprepared.
I’m rendered speechless by how handsome he is.
His blonde hair is pulled back into a bun at the back of his head, and his beard looks freshly trimmed.
How did I not notice the way his flannel clings to his chest? Does he have any loose fitting clothes?
I shouldn’t have invited him up here. My inhibitions are lowered by the bourbon, and it’s been so long since I’ve had someone touch me, and he’s so damn big and…
No. Soup and bread. That’s it.
“Come in, come in. Sorry I only have the couch to sit on. As you can see, there’s not a lot of space for a table or anything.” I awkwardly motion for him to enter, and his body presses against mine as he does. I should have stepped back and let him in.
Now my body’s all tingly, and my nipples are puckered. I cross my arms over my chest in case they’re visible through my shirt.
“There’s no lock on the front door of the building? No keypad or anything?” Saint questions, surveying my space.
My studio isn’t big, so you can see everything from my tiny kitchen to my full-sized bed to the small sofa and coffee table from the entrance.
The bathroom is hidden behind a door, thankfully.
I tried to make the place as homey as I could with some curtains and a rug, but embarrassment warms my cheeks when I realize how sad my space looks.
I’m not hurting for money, Merv pays me well, but I’ve been saving every penny I can to buy a house with a garage to start working on my own personal projects.
“No, no lock.”
His lips flip into a frown. “That’s not very safe. I could kick your door in with ease, Mikey. What do you have for security?”
Ooof, stern daddy Saint is hot.
I shouldn’t like that he’s worried about me. No one except Merv and Kelly have been concerned about my safety in so long.
“Pepper spray and a knife block?”
Saint shakes his head, his jaw tight beneath his beard. “You need a deadbolt at the very least.”
“I’m a big girl, Saint. I can take care of myself.” Even if I might secretly want someone else to take care of me sometimes.
His hazel eyes make a slow perusal over my figure, and I’m surprised when I don’t want to cower away from it.
His gaze doesn't feel predatory or judgmental but almost appreciative. Maybe it’s just my wishful thinking, and I’m imagining the spark of heat in his eyes.
I want to ask him if he likes what he sees.
His stare lingers on my lips for a second before his eyes meet mine. “I’m sure you can, sw—Mikey. But sometimes you need to let other people do it.”
What the hell am I supposed to do with the heat coursing through my veins right now? Part of me, the independent part, wants to snap at him and tell him I’ve been on my own long enough, and I’m fine.
Another, bigger part of me, the one I’ve pushed aside because I don’t want to be burned, wants to ask him to just… hold me. Just for a second.
“I can’t get a deadbolt,” I say, walking towards the kitchen. “I’m not allowed to change the structure of anything, or I’ll get a hefty fine when I move out.” I start taking out bowls and spoons, needing something to do with my hands.
“That’s stupid, but I guess it makes sense,” he grumbles, rubbing his hand over his neatly trimmed beard. “They make portable door stoppers that are renter friendly.”
“I’ll look into it.”
Apparently, that satisfies him, because he doesn’t say anything else about it. He grabs the thermos and unscrews the cap, handing it to me to pour into the bowls. The aroma of herbs and spices I can’t quite place wafts out with the steam, and my mouth waters.
“This is chicken noodle soup but with an added twist,” he explains. “Ruby’s been playing around with the recipe, so you’ll have to give me feedback to pass along to her.” I slide him his bowl, and he holds up the loaf of bread. “Do you have a bread knife I can use to cut this?”
I cringe as I turn to my thrifted knife block. I don’t cook much, so half the knives are missing, and the rest are dull. I can’t remember the last time I used the bread knife. He takes it, slicing through the bread and handing me two slices.
“Am I just your guinea pig now? First the cookies, now the soup.” I dip the bread in the broth, letting it soak in before I take a bite.
Jesus Christ on a cracker, that’s fucking delicous.
Saint chuckles, dipping his bread in his own bowl. “I guess so. Hope you don’t mind.” He gives me a playful wink.
It’s a damn good thing the counter is holding me up, or I’d be in a puddle on the floor.
It’s obvious Saint is attractive. With the beard and the bun and the gentle-giant-lumberjack-Viking-baker vibe he has going on, he’s basically a walking wet dream. Add in the protective nature and a fucking wink?
My panties are incinerated.
And I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. He’s practically a stranger.