Nate
Forget the pageant.
And forget the dishes that are piled high in the sink, the laundry that needs to be folded, and the dog hair collecting in the corners of just about every room in the house.
All of that can wait.
Because I’m taking my girl on a date.
“Right, Ollie?” I ask, adjusting my shirtsleeves.
These Oxford shirts aren’t exactly made for comfort, but I want to look nice to take Rory out tonight.
He makes a noise as he tilts his head to the side because he has no idea what I’m saying. Or possibly because I offered no context to that question. I like to think it’s that last one.
I reach out to pat his head before I turn toward the stairs. “The outfit look okay? I need to impress my girl tonight.”
He doesn’t respond, but he follows me down and into the living room, tail wagging, so I’ll take that as a yes.
And I do want to look good for Rory, but my goal with this date isn’t just to impress her. Something is up with her, and I need to know what it is.
I don’t need her to share every detail of her life with me. I’m not that kind of guy, the one who needs to know where his girlfriend is and what she’s doing every single moment. Rory is a strong, independent woman, and I want her to stay that way.
Along the way, though, I’m going to make sure she realizes that she doesn’t have to shoulder everything alone. Not anymore. I’m here for her. No matter what comes our way, we can face it, as long as we’re together.
I’ve worked too hard to win her back. She’s the one I want forever. The one I choose every single day.
She’s special, and she deserves to know that. To be so certain of that truth that nothing can shake it.
I settle on the living room couch. Rory should be home soon, and she’ll need a bit of time before we leave to do whatever it is that girls do before a date. I tried to watch her process once, and she shooed me away.
I smile at the memory. No one could claim that we’re not keeping the mystery alive, even though we’ve been living together for several months now.
I lean forward and rest my forearms on my legs. Ollie settles on the floor between my feet. I reach down and scratch the area right behind his ears. I’ve done everything I can to set things up so tonight goes smoothly.
Now we just wait.
The creak of the front door hinges startles me. Even Ollie must not have heard her pull into the driveway, because he snaps to attention, sitting tall as he waits for a command.
“I’m home!” Rory calls.
Ollie looks toward the door, then at me.
“Go say hi,” I tell him. “Release.”
He trots toward the entryway, but as soon as he rounds the corner, Spam announces that he has arrived home, too. High-pitched yelps echo throughout the first floor.
Ollie makes a U-turn and retreats to his crate.
I smile. There’s something comforting in the familiarity of all of this. And hell if I don’t want to make sure I hold on to it.
I stand from the couch and meet Rory in the entryway. She’s pulling off a muddy boot, the matching one already resting on the floor in front of her socked foot.
From the trail of tiny paw prints, it looks like Spam headed toward the kitchen.
“Hey, babe.” I step gingerly around the splotches of mud to press a kiss to her lips. “How was your day?”
She kisses me back. “It was amazing.”
A wide smile stretches across her face. She’s practically glowing.
“That’s what I like to hear. Did you ride?”
It almost seems like a given. Whenever Rory gets a chance to jump on one of the horses—especially Starfire—she comes home all lit up, stars in her eyes, just like now.
She shakes her head. “Not today. Just chores, mostly. But I’m feeling…” She takes a breath as she lifts her shoulders, then lets it out, spreading her arms wide. “I’m just feeling good. I mean, I got my period, but I feel good. Happy.”
My heart lifts at the smile on her face. I love seeing Rory like this. I’ll do just about anything to keep her this happy.
Maybe I’ve been overthinking things. If she was going through PMS the last day or so, that would explain her mood.
I kick myself for not realizing it sooner.
Rory has months when the hormone shifts are barely noticeable, but then there are months when it hits her hard, and she’s told me that while her IUD helps, it makes things less regular, so she never knows when it’s coming.
Rory finally takes in my outfit, and her brows draw together, although her smile doesn’t dim. “What are you wearing?”
I tug at the hem of my gray Oxford. “A shirt. Why?”
She wrinkles her nose. “It’s not exactly your style.”
She’s not wrong.
Before I can respond, though, she looks up, and something on my face must give her pause.
“I mean, it looks good. It’s just different from what you usually wear. That’s all.” She nods, like she’s trying to convince me.
She’s not wrong. I had to dig into the back of my closet to find this shirt.
“I thought I might take you out tonight. On a date,” I clarify, because something about our conversation has thrown me for a loop.
There are still times when I look at Rory and wonder if this is all real. If she really chose me, after everything in our past and everything life has thrown at us since we’ve found our way back to one another.
She studies me, her lips twisting to one side in a smile. “A date?”
“Dinner. And drinks. Or just dinner, if you want. I just want to show my girl a good time.”
Spam yips, apparently trying to remind everyone that he lives here, too, but tonight is so far from being about him.
Tonight is about Rory.
She looks down at her mud-stained clothes, then back to me. “I’ll just need to shower, but I’d love to.”
“Of course.” I move my arm in a flourish, directing her toward the stairs. “Or even a bath, if you wish.”
She gives me a strange look.
Understandable since I don’t think she’s taken a bath in all the time she’s lived here, or maybe she doesn’t want to take one while she has her period.
But even if she doesn’t actually take a bath, I want her to see something.
“I’ll be down here when you’re ready.” I retreat to the living room, where I settle on the couch to wait, secure in the knowledge that the date is on.
I’m going to show my girl a good time.
No. Not just a good time.
A romantic time.
I’m going to prove to her that she has nothing to worry about with this whole pageant thing, bachelor auction or not.
I wait while her footsteps retreat up the stairs, straining to hear.
Then—there it is.
A gasp.
I can almost picture her hands clasped to her chest or covering her mouth.
Did I search how to romance your girlfriend on Google? Yes, I did. And I took notes.
That’s why there are candles lined up along the edge of the tub and rose petals scattered in there, just waiting for her to add water. There’s even a bath bomb.
From what I read online, I don’t think it actually explodes. I think it’s one of those self-care things.
“Nate,” Rory says, reappearing at the top of the stairs, now wrapped in a towel. “Thank you. This is amazing.”
She’s amazing.
“You’re welcome, babe. Take your time. Enjoy it.” My gaze follows her as she turns back toward our bedroom, disappearing from sight.
I cross to the bookshelf in search of a book to read to pass the time while Rory soaks in the tub.
Spam whines at my feet as I peruse the selection of books, all of which I’ve read at least three times.
I pick A Short History of Nearly Everything, one of my favorites by Bill Bryson, and set it on the end table. Before I sit back down, I detour to the kitchen to where we keep the dog treats and pull two from the jar.
“Here you go, Spam,” I say, tossing one to him. “And one for you, Ollie. You’re good boys.”
Ollie chews his slowly, while Spam grabs his and takes off with it in his jaws.
I pull two more treats out and hand one to Ollie, then head back toward the living room, where Spam is attempting to wriggle behind the couch again.
At the sight of the treat, he pauses and turns back to me.
I toss him the second treat. He’s a good boy.
At the very least, he’s ours now. Me and Rory, as one unit.
And that deserves a treat.
“I smell like roses,” Rory says, smelling the back of her hand as we walk from the car to The Tin Lantern, the little restaurant that’s one of the hidden gems tucked into the mountain just outside of Vail. “Can you smell it?”
She holds her hand up to me, and I take a long sniff.
“Kind of.”
While there’s a faint scent of the roses from the bath, mostly I just smell Rory. Her own undefinable scent, the one I know by heart.
And some roses.
She pulls her hand back and sniffs it again. “It smells good.”
It does. She smells good, and looks good, and all I can think about is how good she must feel, too.
Hell, I can’t wait to find out for myself.
There’s a lightness about her tonight, an energy that I haven’t seen from her in a few days, even a few weeks, if I think back.
As we reach the restaurant, I pull open the door and hold it for Rory. Just inside, I give my name to the hostess.
She nods as she locates our reservation. “Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Patterson.”
Looking up at me, Rory raises her eyebrow, but I don’t correct the hostess.
We may not be married just yet. But if I get my wish, it’s just a matter of time.
We’re seated in the back corner of one of the dining rooms, the table lit almost entirely by candlelight.
The hostess hands us menus, and Rory looks around, her eyes wide.
I follow her gaze as she takes in the rustic decor. The tables with a dark wood finish and red-and-white plaid placemats, the taxidermied animals on the wall.
With the low light and cozy vibes, it’s almost like we’re dining in a small cabin rather than a restaurant.
She runs a finger along the cotton tablecloth. “This place is amazing. I didn’t even know it was here.”
For some reason, that strokes my ego. “Not many people do. It’s kind of hidden away, so they don’t get many tourists, and I think the owners like it that way.”
It’s refreshing. In a town where tourism pays the bills, this place has carefully curated its image to appeal to locals.
I’m sure the occasional tourist pops in, of course, and that’s what keeps this place in business in a way the locals can’t on their own. But unlike some of the larger businesses that advertise to the out-of-towners here to spend money, this place chooses to lie low.
It’s been in business for more than fifty years, so perhaps they’re onto something.
We peruse the menu in relative silence, the low hum of other diners and soft music filling the comfortable space.
The selection isn’t huge, but it doesn’t need to be when the options are this good. Like the decor and the name, the food is rustic and geared toward the mountain community.
Smoked salmon, venison, locally sourced trout with almonds and wild rice.
Every option makes my mouth water. It’s tough to choose when they all sound so good.
“Hey. Any chance you want to split a couple dishes?” I ask, looking over the printed paper to Rory. “There are just too many things that look good. I can’t decide.”
“Oh, I love that idea!” Rory points at her menu. “I was between the trout and the venison and maybe the duck breast. What were you thinking?”
“Definitely the venison. I was between the trout and salmon, so your choices sound perfect.” I set the menu on the table. “Any appetizers? You ever try Rocky Mountain oysters?”
Rory snorts with laughter. “Nice try. I’m a Colorado native. I know better.”
“Have you ever even tried them?”
“No, and I have no plans to. Have you?”
I wink at her. “A gentleman never tells.”
I fell for it once when I was in high school. I’m still not sure how.
They were good, actually. But I don’t think I’ll be indulging again. There’s something about the idea of eating deep-fried bull testicles that doesn’t sit quite right, even if we name them something else.
We place our orders and nibble on the bread our server places on the table.
I still feel like there’s something going on with Rory, but she seems happy. At ease. So maybe I’m just reading into things.
If she’s finally having a moment of relief from grieving for her mother, who am I to question it?
I sit back in my chair and pop the last bit of my slice of bread into my mouth. “How was work today? Anything fun?”
She chews her bite and swallows. “It was good. A couple of lessons in the afternoon. There are a couple of barn girls who came today, so they took care of some of the chores, which was nice.”
“Barn girls?” I ask, nodding to the server who sets our entrees down without interrupting the conversation.
“Basically kids who want to spend more time around the barn. They do chores in exchange for getting to hang out there all day, and Mandy will let them ride if they do a good job. It’s what Allie and I did when we were that age.”
I furrow my brows. “It kind of sounds like unpaid labor.”
She shrugs, smiling. “It is and it isn’t. They get paid in horse time, but it’s almost more about the freedom they have at the barn. Allie and I spent hours there while we were in high school.”
Rory lifts her plate, and I do the same, touching them to one another while we slide half of each entree onto the opposite plate.
I lift a bite of trout to my mouth. The flavors meld together perfectly, almost as good as Rory’s cooking.
Rory spears a slice of venison with her fork, and as she lifts it to her mouth, I can’t tear my gaze from her face.
The way her lips part when she takes a bite.
The movement of her throat as she swallows.
And fuck, that moan.
How did I get lucky enough to have her in my life?
“Are you okay?” Rory asks.
I blink. “Huh?”
She gives me a strange look. “You were staring at me. Do I have something on my face?”
I shake my head, smiling. “You’re perfect.”
More than perfect. She’s my future wife. The mother of my future children. She’s everything.
I should ask her to marry me, right now, before I lose my nerve.
I open my mouth, ready to utter the words that will change my life.