Chapter 13 Iris
IRIS
When Collin asked us to dinner, I’d pictured some cozy Seattle restaurant, maybe one of those trendy spots downtown where the waiters wear flannel and everything’s locally sourced.
Instead, I’m standing in his apartment, mouth slightly agape as I take in floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the Space Needle like it’s some kind of casual decoration.
The city sprawls out below us, a glittering tapestry of lights.
“This is where you live?” The words slip out before I can stop them, earning a low chuckle as he shrugs off his jacket.
“Home sweet home.” He barely gets the words out before a massive German Shepherd comes bounding around the corner, all wagging tail and fluffy ears. “And this is Ace.” Jamie’s eyes go wide.
“You have a dog?” The question comes out in an excited squeak as Ace immediately gravitates toward him, tail sweeping back and forth like a metronome.
“Sure do. Ace, sit.” The command is gentle but firm, and he responds instantly, though his tail keeps thumping against the hardwood floor.
“You can pet him if you want, buddy. He loves kids.” I watch as Jamie cautiously reaches out, giggling when Ace immediately starts covering his hand in kisses.
The sight does funny things to my heart.
Unable to resist, I crouch down beside them, running my fingers through Ace’s impossibly soft coat.
His fur is all black, and when he turns those intelligent amber eyes toward me, I’m a goner.
“Hey there, handsome,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears. His tail picks up tempo, and he nudges closer, pressing his cold, wet nose against my palm.
“He likes you,” Collin observes, and there’s something in his voice that makes me look up. He’s watching us with an expression I can’t quite read, but it makes my stomach do a little flip.
I stand again and let my eyes wander. The place is surprisingly pristine.
Gleaming granite counters stretch across an open kitchen that looks like it belongs in a magazine.
A massive flat-screen TV dominates one wall, framed by built-in shelves that stretch from floor to ceiling, housing what must be hundreds, no, thousands of DVDs, all meticulously organized by what looks like genre.
I step closer, tilting my head to read some of the titles.
The whole space feels warm despite its size, anchored by an oversized beige sectional that looks sinfully comfortable.
“Wow, you really like movies,” I say, running my finger along the spines. The collection is impressive, everything from classic films to modern blockbusters.
“Love,” he corrects as I turn to look at him.
“I love movies.” There’s something endearing about the seriousness in his tone, like he needs me to understand the distinction.
"When I was a kid, movies were..." He pauses, running a hand through his hair.
"I guess they were my escape. You know? For a couple hours, I could be anyone.
A superhero, a detective, someone living in a completely different world.
" His eyes drift back to the collection, "still feels that way sometimes. "
"I know exactly what you mean," I say, my voice softer than I intended.
"For me it was always books, but same idea.
You get to live a completely different life for a while, where problems have solutions and happy endings are usually guaranteed.
" His smile softens at that, and I find myself looking away. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out?” I ask, fidgeting with the strap of my purse. “We could grab something...”
“The best food in Seattle is right here in this kitchen.” He says it with such confidence that I can’t help but raise an eyebrow.
“You cook?” He laughs and presses a hand to his chest in mock offense.
“Yeah, I cook. Hold that thought.” He disappears down a hallway, leaving me to wonder what exactly I’ve gotten myself into.
When he returns, I nearly swallow my tongue.
He’s changed into a soft-looking Henley, but that’s not what catches my attention.
It’s the glasses now perched on his nose, black-rimmed and devastating.
Hello, Clark Kent.
The thought hits me like a truck, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot.
It should be illegal for someone to look that good with a split lip and glasses.
The whole thing feels deeply unfair—like he’s some kind of romance novel hero come to life in his perfect apartment with his perfect dog and his apparently hidden culinary talents.
“Something funny?” he asks, catching my expression as he rolls up his sleeves. The movement draws my attention to his forearms, and honestly, I need him to stop. Just... all of it. Stop.
“Not at all,” I manage, proud of how steady my voice comes out despite the warmth creeping up my neck. “Just didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“Ah, yeah.” He reaches up to adjust them, almost self-conscious. “Contacts during games and appearances. But at home...” He shrugs, and the casual domesticity of it all makes my stomach do a slow flip. Jamie’s voice saves me from embarrassing myself.
“Does Ace have toys?” He’s still on the floor with the shepherd, who’s now rolled onto his back, shamelessly begging for belly rubs.
“Yeah, bud.” Collin grins, giving Jamie his full attention.
“They’re in that basket by the TV.” Collin points, then turns to me with a grin that makes his split lip pull slightly.
“Now, about that cooking comment... prepare to eat your words. And my food.” He grimaces.
“I think that sounded cooler in my head.”
I settle onto one of the barstools at the massive kitchen island, taking in the pristine space around me.
Everything gleams. Professional-grade cookware hanging from a rack overhead, stainless steel appliances catching the city lights that filter through the rain-streaked windows.
Thunder rumbles softly in the distance as the sprinkle that followed us from the game starts to pick up.
“Wine?” Collin asks, already reaching for a bottle of white. When I nod, he pulls two glasses from a cabinet. His shirt is bunched around his forearms where he’d rolled up the sleeves, and I find my eyes drawn to the way the fabric stretches across his shoulders as he moves.
“That depends. Are you trying to get me drunk so I won’t judge your cooking?”
“Please. My cooking needs no liquid courage.” He pours generously, sliding the glass across the granite counter. I take a sip, watching as he reaches up to pull down pans from the rack overhead. His eyes catch on me and linger, that half-smile playing at his lips.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.
“Nothing.” He sets the pan down, leaning against the counter. “My jersey looks good on you, that’s all.” Heat crawls up my neck.
“I—”
“Collin!” Jamie’s voice carries from the living room. “You have all the Marvel movies!” Collin turns, grin pulling wide across his face.
“I do.” He chuckles. “You like Spider-Man, right?”
“It’s my favorite!” Jamie bounces on his toes. “He’s the coolest. Can we watch one of them?”
“Sure can. Maybe after dinner?” I watch Jamie return to exploring the shelves, Ace trailing faithfully behind him.
“He’s going to go through your entire collection, you know.”
“Good. Finally someone who’ll appreciate it.
” He turns that mega-watt smile back toward me and it almost steals the air from my lungs.
I watch him move through the kitchen, pulling ingredients from cabinets with practiced ease.
“So what’s the verdict on dinner? Mac and cheese for the connoisseur”—he gestures toward Jamie with a wooden spoon—“and carbonara for us?”
“You don’t have to make two separate meals.”
“I want to.” Something in his tone makes me pause, the sincerity of it catching me off guard. “Besides,” he continues, pointing at me with the same spoon, “it gives me a chance to show off.”
“Promise me you’re not one of those people who puts peas in carbonara.” I grimace, watching him gather ingredients. He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest.
“I would never commit such crimes against pasta. Who hurt you?”
“My college roommate. She thought it made it ‘healthier.’”
“There’s nothing healthy about carbonara. That’s the whole point.” He starts grating cheese, the movement practiced and smooth. “It’s comfort food at its finest.”
“Collin! Look!” Jamie’s voice rings out from the living room. “Ace can shake hands.” The cheese grater hits the counter with a soft clink as Collin spins toward Jamie, his whole face lighting up.
“He sure can. Try asking him to give you his other paw. He knows the difference.” Jamie’s delighted laugh fills the apartment as Ace dutifully offers his other paw. I can’t help but shake my head, smiling.
“I’m sorry, he’s just so excited. The game, the puck you gave him, he thinks you’re pretty much the coolest person ever right now.”
“Hey.” His expression softens. “Don’t apologize.
I love it.” He busies himself again with dinner prep, dropping his gaze to the counter.
I immediately miss the warmth of it. “Besides, anyone who gets that excited about my movie collection is automatically cool in my book too.” I watch him work, the way his forearms flex as he chops pancetta, how his glasses slide slightly down his nose until he pushes them back up with the back of his wrist.
“That fight tonight was something else,” I say, taking a sip of wine.
“Yeah?” His grin turns slightly wicked, dimple poking through on the left side. “Did I impress you?”
“Eh.” I shrug, but I can’t hide my grin. “Maybe a little.”
“Only a little? Damn, I’ll have to try harder next time.” My eyes drift to the thin white line cutting through his left eyebrow and I find myself studying it. I've noticed it before—impossible not to, really—but I've never asked about it.