Chapter 10
Nate
It’s different coming home when there’s someone you’re coming home to.
I’m used to turning into a driveway and seeing a house that’s dark and empty. But as I park the Explorer, a warm light in the window catches my eye, and the sight warms my heart, too.
I can’t wait to see her, I realize. She looks so at home here. So perfect, like this place was waiting for her and she fits right in.
She’s going to leave that space empty when she leaves, just like the one she left in my heart when she walked away from us all those years ago.
I shake my head as I walk up the driveway to rid myself of that thought. I have two weeks, I remind myself. Two weeks to remind her of that pact we made way back then and see if she’s willing to remember why we made it.
See if she’s willing to follow through.
I worked today’s shift with Travis and Lawton, two of my closest friends on the force.
Travis graduated from high school a few years ahead of us, so like everyone in town, he knows the story of what happened between me and Rory.
He was far enough removed that he wasn’t entangled in it, and that lets him be a little more objective than people who were closer to the fallout.
Lawton, on the other hand, moved up here not too long ago, so he’s only heard my side of the story.
The three of us spent a long time talking today about Rory, in fact. What she’s like now, how she’s different, how I feel about her.
Maybe it was me who did most of the talking, actually, especially after Lawton headed out to do a welfare check. But then, that’s Travis. He’s content to sit back and listen most of the time.
Ollie follows me to the door, his tail wagging. He loves working—dogs see it as play—but he gets excited to come home, whether we’re relaxing on the couch or heading out to play fetch.
He looks up at me like he’s wondering what my plans are.
“Not tonight, Ollie,” I say as I turn the doorknob, shaking my head. “I want to hang out with Rory.”
Can a German shepherd’s shoulders slump?
I push the door open, nearly taking out Spam in the process, who expresses his feelings at an ear-splitting volume.
Rory stands from the couch. “Shut it, Spam,” she says.
My thoughts exactly, but hearing Rory’s voice soothes the annoyance I feel with the little dog.
Spam chooses not to listen to her. It’s becoming wildly apparent that he doesn’t listen to just about anyone.
Ollie stares down at the pipsqueak with a fierce expression, and amazingly, it works. Spam closes his mouth and scampers off.
Hmm. Maybe there is someone who can keep the little dog under control.
“We need to take that dog to obedience school,” I say, my gaze following Spam as he disappears into the kitchen, probably to rip a hole in the trash bag.
“Maybe,” she says with a little shrug. “How was your day?”
I kick off my shoes, lining them up by the door as usual.
Then I think better of it and stick them in the closet instead.
I don’t trust Spam. He’s cute, and he’s growing on me, at least a little.
But he’s not the most well trained, and dogs aren’t born knowing that shoes are off limits.
He’d either eat them or pee in them. I’m not sure which would be worse, but I’m not interested in finding out.
“It was good,” I say. “Nothing too exciting. A car accident just outside of town, but everyone was okay.”
This is about as exciting as it gets at the HiLo Police Department. I’m lucky to have good friends in the department because they’re the ones I end up sitting around with when things are quiet, which is an awful lot.
We get our fair share of calls, I suppose, for a town our size.
There’s the occasional cat up a tree, wildlife rescue, and every now and then—usually in the dead of winter—a call for domestic violence.
Those are the worst. It’s terrible in general, but when they’re your friends and neighbors, it somehow makes things even more personal.
How can I look someone in the face on Saturday evening at Lone Brews when I know he hit his wife two days ago?
“What about you?” I ask, turning my focus back to Rory, taking her in. “How was your day?”
She brightens, a smile spreading across her face, and fuck, she’s beautiful. Her hair is tied back, wisps of the dark strands falling around her face. Ripped jeans and a T-shirt fit her perfectly, conforming to every curve and making my fingers itch to touch every part of her.
Rory tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It was good! Weird not to have to work, I guess, but it was relaxing. I went to Lone Brews and talked to Marge for a while and had a coffee. I ran into Stacey Hiller. Remember her from high school? We’re going to try to catch up soon.”
I chuckle. “I remember Stacey from when she got drunk at The Church Bar, and I had to arrest her for drunk and disorderly conduct.”
Rory’s mouth drops open, her pink lips forming an O. “She didn’t!”
“Oh, she did,” I say. It’s one of my favorite memories since I’ve been on the force, in fact.
“They were celebrating something. Maybe a bachelorette party? I can’t remember that part.
But Stacey had a few too many tequila shots and ended up taking her top off and streaking down High Street in just her bra. ”
Rory dissolves into giggles. “She did not!”
“Swear on my life. She left her pants and boots on because it was in the middle of January and it was freezing as usual. So technically not streaking, I guess. It was more just a topless run down the street.”
Rory lets out a small snort, which triggers another bout of laughter, and I wish—again—that I could pull her into my arms and kiss her senseless.
Patience, Nate.
“Yeah. This is a weird town.” I scratch Ollie’s head, trying to focus on something other than Rory’s body for a minute.
When she first got here, I wasn’t sure about how I’d react to Rory after not seeing her in person for ten years, but at this point, there’s no doubt in my mind. She’s the same girl I fell in love with, but she’s also a woman who’s captivated me in an entirely different way.
My body can’t help responding to her, and while my jeans will make an erection less obvious, they won’t hide the bulge completely. The last thing I need to do is scare Rory off.
I try to think unsexy thoughts to keep my dick in check. Baseball. Dogs. Pizza. Cheese. Sauce.
Suddenly, I’m famished, even though I haven’t managed to banish all thoughts of my attraction to Rory.
“Want to make some dinner?”
“Sure,” she says, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “It’s so much fun to cook in your kitchen. I’ve been used to a tiny apartment, so it’s nice to be able to spread out and have counter space. I cooked breakfast this morning. I hope it’s okay that I used your eggs.”
“Of course. You’re welcome to use anything here.” I head toward the kitchen, motioning with my head for her to follow me.
I’m still hoping we can get around to talking about our past. When Rory first let me know she was coming up here, my hope was that we could get some closure. But now, I’m starting to think I want more.
I want another chance for us.
And maybe making dinner isn’t the most romantic idea, but we’re starting small. Rebuild the friendship so there’s a solid foundation to start from.
Plus, I want Rory to see me as the kind of guy you can share a life with. Someone who’s fun in the little moments in addition to being a protector and provider and all that.
I pull open the refrigerator to see what’s available. I stocked up earlier, but I didn’t have much of a plan as to what I could make with the things I bought.
“Let’s see. We have some chicken in the freezer, I think. In here, there’s tomatoes, carrots, lettuce…” I look up to see Rory wrinkle her nose. “What’s wrong with vegetables?”
“Tomatoes. Ick.”
I’d forgotten. Rory hates raw tomatoes. Mushrooms, too, for some reason, which is weird because mushrooms are delicious, at least on pizza. From what I remember now, though, Rory will eat things with cooked tomatoes, like marinara sauce.
I scratch my jaw, thinking. “How about spaghetti? That’s easy. I have some jarred sauce in the cupboard.”
Rory sidles close to me and peers into the fridge. I’m distracted by the closeness of her body to mine, the fresh scent of her shampoo. I breathe in deeply, inhaling the citrusy floral scent.
“I see some cream, lemon juice, butter… Do you have Parmesan?” she asks, her head in the refrigerator.
“Like in a can?” I think I have the stuff you sprinkle from the green container somewhere in the back. I can’t remember the last time I used it, so it’s anyone’s guess if it’s still good.
She wrinkles her nose again. Picky little thing. “No, like a block of it.”
“Why would I have that?” That seems needlessly complex. What would I do with it? Don’t you have to grate it? Why wouldn’t I just buy it already grated, when that seems to be the endpoint anyway?
Rory looks at me like she can’t believe she’s explaining this. “You put it on everything. Salads, pizza. Pasta. It’s delicious.”
I think my cheese-in-a-jar is decent too, but I’ll try it her way if she wants. “Were you thinking of something in particular? Or just naming things you see in my fridge? If you have something in mind, I can run to the market and grab it.”
Rory straightens. I miss the feeling of her up against me as soon as she moves.
“If you can get a block of Parmesan, I can make Alfredo sauce from what you have here. Ooh, and I can cook some chicken so we can have chicken fettuccine Alfredo.”
My mouth waters at the idea of something other than my usual microwave dinners. “I can get fettuccine, too. I just have regular spaghetti in the cabinet.”
Rory shrugs, now pulling a pan out from the drawer next to the stove. “If you want. Really any pasta will work. It’s more about the sauce anyway.” She winks at me. “Maybe one of these days I’ll teach you to make homemade pasta. That’ll really blow your mind.”