4. Chapter 4
Cate
The breath whooshed out of me as my back smacked the sidewalk. A blur of fur and enthusiasm hovered over me, panting hot dog-breath directly into my face.
“Oh my… gah… stop…” I threw my hands over my cheeks as the dog enthusiastically licked my eyeball like it was doing me a favor.
And then, suddenly, the licking stopped.
“Are you al…”
The voice froze me.
I peeled my arm away from my face.
“Cate?”
John.
Of course it was John.
A shiver ran straight down my spine - and not from the cold. His grin took over his entire face, those damned dimples making a reappearance as he pulled the dog back with one hand and offered me his other.
“Cate, right?” he said. “With a C?”
I let him pull me up, ignoring the spark that shot up my arm at the contact. “John, right?” I tried to sound unimpressed.
It came out breathless.
His grin widened like I’d just confirmed something. “You’ve been thinking about me.”
Had I?
Probably. Definitely. But he didn’t need that kind of ego boost.
“John’s a pretty common name,” I said, lifting my chin.
That dimpled smile said he wasn’t buying a second of it.
I needed safer ground. “You might consider a leash,” I said, brushing dirt from my jeans. “It’s the law.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.” He ruffled the dog’s fur. “Baby usually listens.”
Baby’s tail wagged like she took that as a personal challenge.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
For the second time in twenty-four hours, a perfect stranger was having to haul me upright. I sighed. “I’m fine.”
I took a step to leave and nearly went down again as my heel folded sideways, hanging by a literal thread.
Perfect.
I tried to hobble away with dignity.
Unfortunately, I had none left.
“Cate,” he called, already moving toward me, “can I give you a ride? My truck’s around the corner.”
I looked at the ruined heel. Then at the length of sidewalk between me and home. Then at him.
Every stubborn bone in my body screamed no.
My ankle screamed please for the love of God, yes.
I exhaled. “Okay. Yeah. A ride would be great.”
He murmured something soft to Baby and slid an arm around my waist before I could protest. His hand was warm and steady.
My pulse was… not.
“Just go with it,” he said quietly, like he could tell I was already overthinking it.
Baby hopped into the truck without being told, plopping down in the middle of the bench seat like this was a daily routine. John helped me up next, smiling as he shut the door.
“What am I doing?” I whispered.
Baby tilted her head at me, like same, girl.
John climbed in and reached across me. My heart tripped - until he opened the glovebox and pulled out a tiny tube of glue.
“Let me see your shoe,” he said.
I blinked. “You’re going to fix it?”
He held out his hand.
I slipped the shoe off, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “This isn’t going to work.”
He dabbed glue on the broken heel, pressed it together with practiced confidence, and after a moment, he handed it back. “Give it a tug.”
I tugged. It was solid.
“What is that stuff?”
“Fake nail glue,” he said, shrugging like that was a perfectly normal thing for a man to carry. “It’s great for architectural models.”
I stared at him. Strong jaw. Messy hair. Warm eyes. The urge to stare longer was obnoxious - and very present.
“So,” I said, focusing very seriously on my repaired shoe, “does this happen often?”
He laughed. It was bright, easy, and something in my chest loosened. “No. Just… comes in handy.”
“Okay,” I said quietly. “That’s actually impressive.”
He grinned. “Glad I could help.”
Baby barked, clearly claiming partial credit.
“Baby and I were heading to lunch,” he said. “Want to join us?”
“The dog too?”
“Well… yeah.”
I stared at him. At the dog. Back at him.
This man was either insane or dangerously charming.
“…Sure,” I said, before I could talk myself out of it.
We drove in what I decided to call comfortable silence. John kept sneaking glances at me. I pretended not to notice while my stomach pretended not to care.
“So,” he asked finally, “you live close?”
“A couple houses from where your dog tackled me.”
His eyebrows shot up. “No kidding? I’m a few blocks over. Small world.”
He pulled into a small parking lot before I realized where we were.
A rustic wooden sign hung over the door. Eat at Moe’s
I’d never been here before.
He rolled down the window a crack, then hopped out and jogged around to open my door.
My brain malfunctioned for a full second. Men didn’t do that for me. Not the ones I usually hooked up with anyway.
“Ready?” he asked, leaving Baby in the truck.
Inside, the place smelled like coffee, waffles, and nostalgia. I loved it instantly.
We were shown to a table in the back, and he pulled out my chair.
Who was this man?
“Were you going to come to The Scot & Barrel tonight?” he asked, sipping his water.
I dropped my eyes to the menu. “I…”
“It’s okay,” he said gently, rescuing me. “I didn’t think you would.”
Something in me bristled. “You don’t know me.”
“No,” he agreed easily, “but that’s what talking is for.”
My heart did a weird, traitorous flutter. I swallowed. “Can we… start over?”
His smile softened. “I’d like that.”
I held out my hand. “Hi. I’m Cate Larkin.”
“John Rosewood,” he said, shaking it. “Nice to meet you.”
It really was.
We ordered - a cheeseburger and fries for me, waffles for him, and chicken fingers to-go for Baby - and the tension eased.
“So,” he asked, “what do you do for fun?”
“I like going out,” I said instantly. “Every Friday night. Well… except last night. Amy dragged me to that haunted house.”
He tried not to laugh. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was awful,” I countered. “Don’t you forget it.”
He mimed writing it down. “Noted.”
I giggled.
I never giggle.
He told me about hiking. About summers in the mountains. About biking. I asked if he had a motorcycle and he nearly choked laughing.
“It’s a mountain bike,” he said.
My cheeks burned. “Right. Obviously.”
By the time the plates were cleared, we’d fallen into an easy rhythm - talking about school, work, family, dreams. I’d never talked to a man like this.
Not without tequila, and even that was a stretch.
He walked me out, his hand warm at the small of my back, and Baby greeted me like we were old friends.
“You ready?” he asked once we were back in the truck.
“For what?” I teased.
He hesitated, suddenly shy.
It did something dangerous to my chest.
“Where’s home for you?” he asked.
We were already pulling onto my street. I pointed to my house, then heard myself say, “I’m not… quite ready to go home.”
He stopped.
“What did you say?”
I dared a look at him. “Didn’t you tell me meetings like this don’t come around every day?”
Something warm flickered across his face.
He made a U-turn so smooth it felt practiced.
“So,” I asked, “what have you got going on for the rest of the day?”
He hesitated, then sighed. “I do have a project.”
“A project?”
“You’re going to laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“I bought a dresser,” he said.
“…Okay?”
“From IKEA.”
“Oh no…”
“Oh, yes.”
“And?”
“It’s winning.”
I burst out laughing. Real, unguarded laughter, and he laughed too, shaking his head like he was embarrassed and relieved all at once.
“Come help me?” he asked quietly.
I opened my mouth and closed it. “Today?” I asked carefully.
His eyes widened. “No-no. Not like that. I just… sometime. If you want. I could really use another brain.”
I studied him. The way he’d asked, then immediately backtracked. The way he was putting the ball in my court, without pretending he didn’t care.
The smart thing would’ve been to say no.
The me thing?
“I mean,” I said slowly, “I am already out. And my shoe is only holding together because of industrial-strength nail glue.”
Hope flickered across his face - quick and contained. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I smiled despite myself. “Let’s go lose to furniture.”
His laugh was immediate. “Deal.”