Chapter 8
ALEC
It’s not a date.
It’s just two friends having dinner together.
I share meals with my friends all the time. Lunch with Ronan when he’s working in Stowe, or an early breakfast with Knox at Breakfast Bliss before we both head off to our day jobs. We have team dinners nearly every week unless we’re busy with an extended pro-bono case.
Having dinner with Hazel is no different.
Like tonight, for example. We’ll eat club sandwiches and duck fat fries from The Laughing Goat, which is a perfectly ordinary meal.
We’ll chat about work and the weather and whatever else comes to mind, which is exactly the same as I’d do with my teammates.
And then we’ll play some Tenebris Veil; a decidedly un-romantic activity.
Clearly, not a date.
Except.
Do I have dinner with my friends every night?
Do I spend more time than I’d like to admit trying to come up with the perfect meal to bring, combing through past conversations with Hazel as I try to recall all her favorite foods?
My gaze slides over to the gift bag resting on the passenger seat, emblazoned with the words, Bookish Bliss, in elegant script.
Beside it sit two paper bags stuffed with food—not just the club sandwiches and fries, but two kinds of brownies and a large carton of mac and cheese for Hazel to eat for lunch tomorrow.
Do I bring my friends gifts when I come over for dinner? Do I bring extra food so they don’t have to worry about cooking the next day?
Sometimes I bring a six-pack. Does that count?
I shake my head at myself.
It’s not remotely the same, and I know it.
As I bump along the narrow road that winds through the GMG property, I spot Winter and Enzo up ahead, walking their two rescue dogs, Comet and Rusty.
Enzo’s flashlight bounces ahead of them, catching glimmers of stone and bits of leaves strewn across the road.
He points the beam down as I approach and waits for me to pull to a stop beside them.
I lower my window and say, “Hey, guys. How’s it going?”
Winter smiles at me. “Good. Just enjoying a quick walk before dinner. How are you?”
Enzo peers into the truck, his gaze lighting on the assortment of bags beside me. He smirks. “Hey, Alec. Where are you off to?”
Wiseass. He knows exactly where I’m going. “Dinner at Hazel’s,” I reply.
“Hmm.” He eyes the bags again. “That seems like a lot for only two meals. And since when did the bookstore start selling food?”
“Enzo.” Winter’s voice turns gently scolding. “It’s none of our business what Alec brings for dinner.” Her lips twitch. “Or if he decides to bring Hazel a gift.”
“A gift, eh?” Enzo’s smirk broadens to a shit-eating grin.
“A book,” I clarify. “It’s not like I’m bringing flowers or something.”
Although. I did see some nice autumn arrangements in the florist’s window on my way here. Maybe I should have picked one up. Surprised her with it when I set out all the food at the table. I bet Hazel would like having a pop of fall colors in the cabin. A little extra cheer when she’s feeling down.
“I think a book is better than flowers,” Winter says. “Not that flowers aren’t nice,” she adds quickly, “but a book lasts longer. And it can be more meaningful, too.”
Enzo turns to Winter. “So you’re saying Alec bought a meaningful gift for Hazel?”
“It’s not meaningful,” I protest. “It’s just a book.”
“Okay.” Winter smiles at me. “If you say so.”
“Well,” Enzo adds, “I guess we should let you get going. So you can give your completely meaningless gift to Hazel.”
“I thought it would make her feel better,” I retort. “Is there something wrong with wanting to cheer Hazel up?”
“Of course not.” Enzo reaches through the open window to clap me on the shoulder. “It sounds like a great idea.”
Exactly. A book is a great idea for a gift. A platonic gift for someone who’s just a friend.
“As nice as this chat has been,” I say, “I’d like to get the food to Hazel’s before it’s ice cold.”
Winter laughs. “Okay, okay.” To Enzo, she says, “I think we’ve harassed Alec enough tonight. And I bet Comet and Rusty are hungry by now.”
I shift the truck back into gear. “Enjoy the rest of your night. I’ll see you later.”
But as I accelerate away, Winter’s cheerful voice carries after me, “Enjoy your date, Alec!”
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. My jaw clenches.
It’s not a date.
It’s just dinner with a friend.
I’ve almost convinced myself of it by the time I reach Hazel’s front door. Shifting all the bags to one arm, I ring the doorbell, then knock three times to follow.
And if my heart beats a little faster as I hear her footsteps approach the door?
If anticipation rushes through me at the thought of seeing Hazel again?
Shit. I don’t know what that means.
Liar.
I damn well know what it means. I just don’t want—
“Alec!” Hazel opens the door and beams at me. “You’re here!”
The instant I see her, all thoughts of platonic friendship and meaningless gifts and casual dinners disappear.
Shit.
She looks beautiful.
Not that I haven’t thought that before—I’ve thought it whenever I see her, really—but tonight there’s just something about Hazel that takes her beauty to a whole different level.
Maybe it’s the sparkle in her eyes, turning them to a brilliant sapphire.
Maybe it’s the pretty pink flush to her cheeks.
Or the gorgeous smile that’s brighter than any I’ve seen on her.
Maybe it’s the way her dress drapes over her lush curves and the shining curtain of hair spilling over her shoulders.
Without thinking, I step forward, gathering Hazel in my arms. Her scent wraps around me, imprinting on my memory. Her silky hair brushes my skin as she leans into me, and a soft sigh whispers across my skin.
My body immediately reacts, throbbing with need. My pants draw painfully tight.
Rather than have Hazel feel my arousal jabbing her in the belly only seconds after saying hello, I reluctantly release her and rearrange the bags so they’re hiding the obvious bulge below my waist. “Hey, Haze. How are you?”
“I’m good,” she replies. But the faint bluish smudges beneath her eyes tell a different story.
It’s a story that brings to mind Hazel spending another sleepless night haunted by nightmares—both of her traumatic experiences of less than a week ago and the one from three years prior.
I’ve thought about it a lot over the last few days; how she must be struggling and wishing so badly I could make it better for her.
I wonder if she’d sleep better if I stayed over. Not in her bed, but on the couch. Close enough to hear her if she has a nightmare and be there to comfort her after. To sit on the couch watching ridiculous movies together until she’s lulled back to sleep.
“Alec, that seems like a lot just for dinner,” Hazel adds, her eyes widening at the bags in my hands. “Did you buy extra again?”
I walk through the doorway and close the door behind me, securing the three locks before turning back to her. “Just some dessert and something for lunch tomorrow. In case you don’t feel like cooking.”
“You don’t have to keep doing that,” she insists. “I can make a sandwich for lunch. Or a salad.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
Something I’ve noticed about Hazel is her reluctance to allow people to do things for her.
At first, I didn’t understand where it came from.
But now I get it. Or at least, I think I do.
With the spectre of guilt from her roommate’s death hanging over her, I don’t think Hazel believes she’s worthy of help.
Which sucks. Because she’s more than worthy. And I’m determined to prove it to her.
Hazel blushes. “Right. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just remember, anything I do for you is because I want to. Not because I feel obligated. Like the blondies I picked up at Decadent Delights and the macaroni and cheese from The Laughing Goat.”
Her face brightens. “You got mac and cheese?”
“Didn’t you say it was one of your favorite comfort foods?”
“It is. But when did I tell you that?”
“A few months ago. I was at Blissful Brews with the guys, and there was a beer mac and cheese on special. You convinced me to order some and I remember you saying it was your favorite cold-weather comfort food.”
An unreadable emotion moves across her face. “Alec.”
“Come on.” Now that my erection has subsided, I shift the bags back to one arm. With my free hand, I touch Hazel’s lower back, guiding her over to the dining table. “Let me show you what I brought.”
I set my laptop case to the side and begin unpacking the bags as Hazel watches me with interest. “Oh, roast beef clubs,” she enthuses when I lift the carton lids to show her. “I love club sandwiches.”
I grin at her. “I know. And I got the duck fat fries to go with them. They’re not as healthy as the regular fries—”
“Alec. No fries are healthy. That’s the point of them.” She grabs one of the fries and pops it into her mouth. “Oh. This is amazing.”
Desire surges again at the moan of pleasure she makes. And my mind wanders to an alternate reality where I hear Hazel’s sultry moan during other, sexier activities.
A little voice in my head asks, It doesn’t have to be an alternate reality, though, does it? It could be real, if you’d only take the risk.
“This all looks so good,” Hazel continues. “I’m going to get spoiled, Alec. Once I go back to living at home again, and I’m eating frozen microwave dinners…”
“Microwave dinners?”
Hazel’s smile fades. “It just seems silly to cook an actual meal just for me. And when I’m working the night shift, I get home late, so frozen dinners are just easier.”
I don’t like the mental image that follows. Hazel sitting alone in her living room after a long shift on her feet, eating her little microwave dinner when she deserves so much more.