Chapter 37 Birdie #2
I lean in for another kiss, the world around me has disappeared. His hands find their way to my waist, and my core is throbbing. I’ve never felt this sensation, and I want more. I need more. We’ve unlocked years of tension, of need, of desire and this kiss is unraveling all of it.
I kiss him harder, and my hand lands on his thigh, and I let it wander and I know he’s hungry for it too. He groans, and pulls back.
“We’ve gotta slow down a little bit or else this is going to get embarrassing for me real quick.” He retreats a little, running his hand through his hair and scratching the back of his neck. His cheeks are red, and it’s warmed up in here in more ways than one.
I lick my lips and smile at him.
“Want to go eat food?” I ask.
He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear and then runs his thumb along my lower lip.
“Birdie Banks, you’re something else.” He smiles at me for a beat then grabs his key from the ignition and opens his door and jumps out. I follow him out his side of the truck and we head towards the diner.
Dawsen takes my hand in his, looking down at me, he smiles and brings our joined hands to his lips and places a soft kiss to the top of my hand.
I must be dreaming.
* * *
We got seated at one of my favorite booths at Mel’s.
It’s a small corner booth in front of the window with the prettiest view of Main Street.
I used to think living in a small town was like being trapped, but I never felt more trapped than when I moved to the city.
There’s something about being surrounded by concrete and people who don’t know you, like I could scream and nobody would hear me.
But here, I know that if I ever needed to scream, at least twenty people would come running and they’d know exactly who I am and who to call.
I excused myself to the restroom as soon as we got seated. I needed to reapply some lip gloss and make sure it didn’t look like I just made out with a guy in his truck—because that’s what absolutely happened.
When I got back to the table, my maple latte was already sitting on the table waiting for me.
I slide back into the booth and pick up the mug of hot liquid gold. I bring it to my lips and take a small sip. Dawsen reaches over and swipes the foam from the top of my lip, and then brings it to his mouth to lick it clean.
It was quick, and definitely not meant to be sexy, but I can’t pull my gaze from his mouth, and he notices, because he let’s out a quiet chuckle.
“What are you thinking about right now?” He asks, propping his elbows on the table and folding his hands together.
“I’m thinking a lot of things.” I say, and his attention on me is suddenly a unnerving.
“I can see those wheels turning up there, Birdie. Let’s hear it.” His eagerness sends butterflies into the pit of my stomach. There’s so much lightness to him right now. Like he’s enjoying himself and for some reason it makes me emotional.
I take a deep breath and let out a little sigh.
“Well, for starters, I can’t believe I just sort of made out with you in your truck.”
He laughs and nods his head in agreeance.
“Yeah, I’ve imagined that happening a few times or a hundred.” He says, nudging my knee with his.
“How had we missed each other all this time?” My tone turned a bit more serious, just as our server approaches our table to take our order.
“Have y’all had enough time to look over the menu?” Our server asks, pulling out her pen and pad.
Dawsen looks to me and I nod, letting him know I’m ready.
“Yeah, I think so! Birdie, you go ahead.” Dawsen says.
“I’ll do an order of scrambled eggs and bacon please.”
“And I’ll take the breakfast burrito, please.—Oh, and one pancake please.” He looks at me and winks.
“Sounds good, I’ll go give this to the kitchen.” Our server says as she holds up her pad of paper and heads off.
“Did you just order us a table pancake?” My eyes go wide at him in disbelief at this man’s memory and attention to detail.
“Yeah, you still like that right?” He asks, almost bashfully.
I just smile at him, because yes, that’s right. I love table pancakes.
I’ve always loved sweet breakfast foods, but I never want to only order pancakes or waffles.
I love classic eggs and bacon, with the option to have a few bites of something sweet.
So, my family would always order a ‘table pancake’ for anyone who wanted normal breakfast, but with the option to have a few bites of something sweet.
It’s my favorite way to eat breakfast, and the way he knows this very obscure thing about me makes my pulse quicken. In the best way.
“This is all just so hard for me to wrap my mind around. Like, this is weird right? Not bad weird, just weird like we’ve both been dancing around this for years without even realizing?”
He takes his forefinger and thumb and rubs it across his furrowed brows.
“I know. It feels like we skipped a few chapters. Like I should be asking you what your hobbies are, or how you take your coffee, not kissing you twenty minutes into the date.” He laughs.
“Let’s do this then. How about we tell each other something that we know for certain, the other person doesn’t know.” I challenge him, straightening in my seat and tossing my hair over one of my shoulders.
He grins, “You go first.”
“Okay. Well, I’ve cheated on every single math test I’ve ever taken.” I clench my jaw and try to look ashamed.
Dawsen laughs and shakes his head, “Straight to detention, missy.” He laughs and points his finger across the diner to invisible detention.
We’re both laughing and I give him the look of, “you’re next.”
It’s silent for a beat while he thinks, “Alright, I once spent two months of allowance on a video game that I didn’t care about at all, but I knew River wanted it really badly. So I bought it, knowing he’d invite me over to play it, and I just wanted an excuse to see you.”
I smile softly, because this man in front of me, who I always thought was indifferent towards me, he’s been carrying the same damn torch that I was. I can’t help but feel like we’ve wasted so much time.
“I used to make up reasons to come see you in the basement when you and River were down there. Mostly getting questions answered that mom would send me down to ask, which she definitely didn’t ask.
Like, what River wanted for dinner, or what he was doing that weekend, or if he finished his homework. ”
He lets out a throaty chuckle, and reaches his hand out and takes mine into his. The gesture is soft, kind, intimate. Like we’ve been doing this our entire lives.
Dawsen looks at me, like he’s weighing his thoughts carefully.
“Do you plan on moving back to the city? Are you looking for other journalism jobs there?”
I’m immediately transported to that elevator and the contents of my desk stuffed in a box.
Thanks to Dawsen, he bought me some time while I try to figure out my next steps.
The whole time I was working on the mural, I would be lost in thoughts of Dawsen, what I want the rest of my life to look like, and also a good amount of feeling sorry for myself, you know—being a 30 year old, unemployed virgin and all.
“I’ve actually been thinking a lot about that.
It’s funny how you can spend your whole life trying to escape something—which is what I did with Saddlebrooke.
And I was super hesitant about coming back here honestly.
I already felt like a failure. Getting fired, and basically getting kicked out of my apartment, I just didn’t want to come back here and get… stuck.”
I take a deep breath.
“But ever since being back here, the thought of leaving is actually terrifying.”
Dawsen squeezes my hand softly, and his gaze is still locked on mine. His eye contact is intimidating and sexy, and to be quite honest, I wish he’d look away for a bit, because it’s getting hard to focus on my thoughts.
“I want to stay here. I think. But I don’t want to live with my parents, and I want to write. It’s the one thing that has consistently brought me joy, and the one thing I feel completely alive doing.”
For some reason, saying these things feels like a weight lifted, but I didn’t ever realize it was heavy to begin with.
I tend to hold things in, bury them under the rug, including my feelings about life and circumstances.
I guess I’ve always thought that if I hide them well enough, they don’t exist.
“You don’t want to paint?” His brows furrow a bit, and the way he looks almost concerned makes my heart speed up. He cares.
“I love painting. I think it will always be where I feel most free, most true to myself. But, I don’t think I want to have to do it… if that makes sense. I want to paint because it transports me, and it gives me a feeling of levity.”
“Yeah, that makes perfect sense. Do you know what kind of things you want to write? I still have the contact for that magazine interview I did awhile back. I could reach out and see if they have any opportunities?” He offers, and I love that he’s trying to figure things out for me.
Like he genuinely wants to ease my burden.
“I actually have been thinking about writing a novel. I’ve loved romance for as long as I can remember, and I want to try my hand at it.
I think I could do it. I don’t know how good it would be, but I know the first step is just starting.
” I admit this out loud for the first time ever.
I’ve always loved the idea of writing a novel, but I’ve also felt so intimidated by the idea my whole life.
Like, I have never felt that I had what it takes, but lately, something has turned inside of me and I’m feeling why not me?
“Birdie, that’s incredible. You need to do it. If you’ve got the itch to take on a dream like that, don’t ignore it, don’t try to make excuses to avoid it. It’s there for a reason, and you’d be fucking incredible.” Dawsen says, beaming, which is making my knees feel weak and tingly.
“Yeah?” I say, shyly, feeling bashful suddenly.
“Hell yeah. In fact, you need to. I’ll set you up with an office. I’ve even got a spare room in my loft. It just sits there collecting dust. We can order you a desk, a nice chair, whatever else you need to feel inspired, and I’ll get you a key so you can come and go whenever you please.”
“Seriously? That’s way too much, I couldn’t impose on your space like that.”
“Bird, You imposing on my space is like a dream come true for me. I insist.”
I’m bright red, surely. And I’m buzzing on caffeine and the feeling of Dawsen’s nearness, and his incredibly sexy belief in my dreams. The rest of the breakfast flies by.
We talk about my new office space, my vision for it.
We talk about Dawsen inheriting The Mercantile, and how challenging and rewarding this part of his life has been, the winery taking off and being nationally recognized, and the pressures that come with it.
Being with Dawsen in this way feels like coming home. It feels like being able to sit next to an old friend and to say whatever is on your mind without fear of judgment or offense. It feels like a safe place to land.
We’ve never spoken as open as we are now, but it feels like we didn’t miss a beat.
Almost like we’ve both been waiting for this.
For this dynamic between us. It feels like we’ve discovered a secret door that we opened and just through the threshold has been this beautiful garden.
Flowing streams, blossoming trees, a cool breeze, and two chairs overlooking a meadow.
Peaceful, still, understanding. And it’s in this diner, in this very booth that I decide I want to peel back every layer of Dawsen Jones.
I want to learn every part of him. Starting now.