Chapter 27 Birdie
Birdie
I’m having second thoughts about this whole trip.
Maybe I should have just asked to borrow Dawsen’s truck to do this alone.
By myself. Without him. Yep, that would have for sure been the better option.
Because right now I’m kind of freaking out.
Like, what in the actual hell. He’s been nothing but thoughtful, kind and vulnerable today.
All the things that would make any girl swoon, and I knew better than to subject myself to this sort of Dawsen exposure.
I’m a stupid woman, I shouldn’t have come.
Alie’s words ring true in my mind. She knew Noah Calhoun was her kryptonite and she just couldn’t stay away. I guess Dawsen is my Noah.
Dawsen is most typically closed off, a little rough around the edges, and, well, I guess he has always been thoughtful. I just never really considered it, or maybe I was just too busy thinking otherwise.
Regardless this trip is putting my ovaries into overdrive because this man has detoured our journey just so that I can go to “my new favorite place” as he so confidently put it.
Which means that he planned this. He put thought into this day and wanted to make sure that I enjoyed it.
And to think that I was worried this whole errand would be nothing but a burden to him, he is showing me in every single way that he cares about me.
I can’t be making this up, can I? I mean, he packed all the salty snacks for God’s sake!
And here we are, and I hate to admit that I think he might be right.
Dawsen opened the door and I was immediately hit with the most incredible smell of coffee and sugar.
It’s the kind of smell that sweeps you off your feet and sends a shiver down your body.
That sweet coffee smell filters through my nose and straight to my brain, and suddenly I’m drunk on this day and the thoughtfulness of Dawsen that I’ve never quite noticed before.
* * *
The barista is a little too excited to greet us as we approach the counter as her eyes linger on Dawsen’s tall, strong frame.
I also don’t miss how Dawsen’s focus has remained on me and my rambling on about how much I love when places have real, actual living plants, opposed to those super fake looking ones.
The barista is pretty in a very obvious way.
She’s wearing hardly any makeup at all, but in that sort of way that almost makes you not like her because of how naturally pretty she is.
She’s got dirty blonde hair that’s pulled up in a high ponytail, and bright blue eyes that are piercing into Dawsen’s soul right now.
“What can I get started for y’all?” She asks, her accent is thick with southern charm. Because of course it is. This woman has done nothing to me, but we’ve got beef, because she’s looking at thoughtful Dawsen like she wants a piece of him and I have become very territorial all of a sudden.
“Hey, yeah, I’ll just take a large black coffee, hot please. And then whatever she wants.” He shifts his body so his arm is propped on the counter and he’s leaning against it. He just looks at me and juts his chin up, signaling for me to place my order.
“Hi! Uhm, I will have a large maple latte and one of those chocolate croissants.” I say, tapping the glass pastry case on the counter.
Dawsen reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his leather wallet, and starts thumbing a card out of one of the worn leather slits.
“Will this be together?” The barista asks Dawsen, which irks me, because clearly we’re together, standing here, ordering together. But honestly I can’t blame her. Hell, I don’t blame any woman to shoot their shot with Dawsen. I’ve been thinking it might be about time to shoot my own.
I break out of my thoughts when I hear a low rumble chuckle come from Dawsen as he slides his card across the counter. “Yeah, she’s with me.” He nudges my shoulder with his, and I can’t help the way my cheeks have probably turned bright red.
“She’s. With. Me.”
Once Dawsen finished paying for our order and leaving a very nice tip, we head over to the opposite end of the counter where the drinks are being called out.
The coffee shop is the perfect blend of cozy and urban.
The exposed brick, accented with large plants and large rugs, warm lighting and bookshelves lining the walls, it’s like heaven.
We’re both looking through the bookshelves while we wait for our drinks to be made, and I can’t help myself. “The barista was into you.” I said, without looking away from the book in my hands.
“Oh yeah?” He offers back, flipping the book in his hands over like he’s about to read the back cover.
“Yeah, and she’s super pretty.”
“She is super pretty.” He says in agreeance, but doesn’t add anything else to this conversation.
“Soo… you should ask her out.” I suggest, unsure of why I keep pushing this.
Actually, I know exactly why. Because in my sick and twisted mind, I don’t trust myself and the feelings I have for Dawsen, and it would just be better if he was completely unavailable. Then maybe I would be able to move on, and maybe actually give Max a fair shot.
I haven’t thought about Max at all today, aside from the time I saw a few text message alerts from him that I quickly swiped away.
Dawsen slides the book back into position on the shelf and turns toward me as he leans his shoulder against the shelf and crosses his ankles in this casual, cool guy sort of way.
“She’s not really my type, Birdie. But thanks for the suggestion.” His voice almost has a soft edge to it now.
“You sure left her a nice tip for not being into her.” I hate myself for how jealous I just sounded as that rolled off my tongue so quickly.
He raises an eyebrow at me, speculatively as a small smile appears on his lips.
“I work in the service industry, I always try to tip other service workers well. I know it can be a thankless job, so I just try to do my part.”
“Oh, well that’s really nice of you.” I say, finally looking up at him as I hear our drinks being called out on the counter.
“…and a chocolate croissant to go.” The barista adds as she slides the brown paper bag across the drink bar.
Dawsen strides over and grabs our order and offers the baristas his sweet tight lipped smile and nods, then he turns toward me and we head towards the door.
* * *
“Looks like a storm is rolling in. We better get back on the road.” Dawsen says as he surveys the dark clouds that seem to be moving in at an animated pace.
He follows me around to the passenger side door and I pick up my pace to try to beat him to it. I feel his arm reach past me and grab the handle just as I’m about to reach for it. “Nice try, tweety.” I roll my eyes at that absolutely terrible nickname that just won’t die.
I let out a groan, and he just laughs, because Dawsen and River know that I absolutely despise that name.
I hop up into the cab of the truck and stash my purse on the floor board by my feet and turn to Dawsen who is standing there between the cab and the door, impressively holding both of our drinks in one of his big hands.
“Okay, sorry, no tweety. I promise.” He holds out his pinky finger, and I roll my eyes at him and reluctantly wrap my pinky around his.
“Consider this a peace tweaty.” He can’t contain his laughter with that one. “Ugh, you loser! Give me my drink. Let’s go.” I groan at him as I reach for my large latte which looks small in his big hand.
He keeps laughing as he closes my door and rounds the front of the truck to his door. He slides in and sets his drink in the cup holder. He tosses the pastry bag into my lap and says, “check it out!”
I reach for the bag and turn it around to see the name ‘Sarah’ written in black ink and a phone number beneath it.
“Oh my gosh, unbelievable!”
Dawsen throws the truck in reverse and starts to back out of the lot. He’s laughing at me when he says, “What?! Isn’t that what you were trying to set up in there, Iike five minutes ago?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s different because we both know that ‘we’ aren’t a thing.” I say, signaling between both of us, “but she doesn’t know that. In fact, she has every reason to believe that we are very much a thing and she still was hitting on you!” I say, sounding a little too flustered.
He’s just laughing, looking so relaxed, almost like he’s enjoying how annoyed this has made me.
“You’re right. When you put it that way, it’s pretty messed up.”
“Exactly!” I say, throwing my hands up.
He looks over at me and just smiles, and takes a sip of his plain black coffee.
“How’s the latte?” He asks, jutting his chin up at me.
“I’m a little scared to try it. Sarah probably spit in it.” I say bitterly.
“Kind of sounds like you might be a little bit jealous, Birdie.” Dawsen says smugly, narrowing his eyes at me for a moment.
“Ew, no, what?” Real clever response, Birdie.
“Ew? Okay, I hardly think I’m “Ew” worthy. I mean, Sarah definitely didn’t think so.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean that, nevermind. Can we stop talking about this now.” I say, folding my arms across my chest, annoyed at every action I’ve taken and every word I’ve spoke over the last fifteen minutes.
I see a smile spread across Dawsen’s face.
“Whatever you say, Birdie.” He takes his hand and does that thing I love—rubs it across the stubble on his cheeks and then runs it along the back of his neck before returning his hand to the wheel.
I sip the best latte I’ve ever had, and crunch my croissant the rest of the drive into Munsen while we listen to a playlist that I made with incredibly too much Bon Iver, but this rainy weather demands it.
* * *
It started pouring buckets just as we got back onto the highway. After driving through with close to zero visibility, we finally arrived at the hardware store, and I think we both let out a sigh of relief.
I could sense a lot of tension in the cab of the truck.
Dawsen didn’t say much when the rain started to get bad.
He just adjusted in his seat, turned the volume dial down a bit.
I focused on the way his knuckles were gripping the steering wheel and the way his breathing almost felt forced.
Like he was doing breathing exercises or something.
I sat silently, admiring all of the work on the interior of his truck that he’s done.
Dawsen has had this truck since he turned sixteen.
Although, back then it was a piece of junk.
But now, he’s restored it, and it’s actually so beautiful.
It’s not flashy, and there’s not a ton of upgrades, besides cup holders and a good stereo, which of course are necessities.
He has the leather bench seat newly upholstered, and he has a plaid, flannel blanket laid across the bench making it feel cozy and charming.
There’s something romantic about being in a man’s truck.
Like, for a brief moment you’re getting a glimpse into his soul—and I can’t help but think about all the thoughts that have swirled around in that gorgeous head of his in this very place.
I think I watch too many movies and read too many books.
“Are you okay?” Dawsen asks as he shift the truck into park.
“I mean, I wish we had gotten two of the croissants, but other than that, I’m fine!” I say, trying to make him smile because he looks stressed.
“And don’t worry, I saved the bag, just in case you want to give Sarah a call.” I wink, as I reach under the seat to grab the pastry bag that I strategically folded to show the name and number scrawled across it.
Dawsen takes the bag from me and then reaches forward to adjust the heat setting. He turns the dial up a notch.
“Hang tight, I’ll go take care of this.” He says as he unbuckles his seat belt then slides the pastry bag into his jacket pocket and starts for the door.
“Wait! I’ll come with you, I can help!” I offer, even though the thought of getting drenched by the freezing rain sounds absolutely miserable.
“Not a chance. Stay warm, I’ll be back.” He tells me, and jumps out and shuts the door before I can respond.
I watch him jog up to the doors of the hardware store and he pauses by the entrance. He reaches into his jacket pocket. He glances back at the truck, gaze on me.
He holds up the folded pastry bag, crumples it into a ball and tosses it in the trash. He turns and heads inside, and I smile while a blush creeps up my cheeks.