His shoulders lifted and fell. "Never know when you'll get banged up."
"Wow," I said, a laugh cracking out of me, "you're gifted. This is a talent you have, Doctor Hartshorn." I took a sip of my latte and set it back down. "Why have you been watching me at the pond?"
"I wasn't watching you. Not exactly. I saw you one day and then again, and…I wanted to keep seeing you. I liked it. I liked you." He swallowed. "You're gorgeous and fascinating and it brightened my day every time we crossed paths. I was trying to figure out the best way to approach you, but—but I didn't know what to say. I thought you might be spoken for."
Yeah, no. None of that. I snatched my hand back because nope.
"Let me stop you right there, chief." I held my index finger up, laughing without humor. "I speak for myself, thank you very much."
It was true—no one spoke for me. No prevarication, no half-truths. I wasn't dating anyone, I wasn't looking, and I didn't belong to anyone. Didn't want to. I'd foreclosed that option long ago and never looked back. But the reality came with more layers than I was willing to share right now.
"Right, my bad. Figure of antiquated speech," Cal said. His smiling eyes never left mine as he took my finger-wagging hand, lifted it to his lips, and pressed a single kiss just past my knuckles. "Go ahead, then. Speak for yourself. Tell me everything."
"I'm in public relations," I started, amazed that I could form words after Cal killed me with the last great act of chivalry.My god.I didn't believe there were still men out there who kissed a woman's hand as if he was bowing at her feet before riding into battle. And yes, feminists could enjoy acts of chivalry. I could open my own doors but I could also appreciate a man opening one for me when it was done out of deference rather than some old-fashioned concern over my skirts being too big for me to reach on my own. "I manage publicity and communications for professional and collegiate athletes. I specialize in crisis management messaging and total image overhaul. I'm from around here. Quincy, to be exact."
Cal's fingers started moving up my wrist, toward my elbow, and I had to stop speaking because my words were dissolving like salt in stew. This wasn't me. Not at all. Not how I rolled. I didn't get lovestruck or smitten. I didn'tfallfor guys.
I had a healthy handful of men in my life and each of them understood the name of the game. They'd have to after the lengths to which I went to establish expectations up front. Stephen, Leif, Harry. I didn't have the time or interest in cultivating a relationship with any of them but I did have a color-coded Google calendar reminding me of my meetups. I wasn't dating them. They weren't my boyfriends. They barely qualified as friends with benefits.
Harry and I met up once a week and we'd been on that program since last fall. We didn't have any mutual friends and shared few interests but our evenings together didn't require any of those things because he was a big believer in the two-to-one ratio and he didn't get his until I got both of mine. Leif traveled a solid forty-five weeks out of the year but we managed to get ourselves in the same place about once every other month. He had a few kinks that didn't interest me but he always came with his A game and I admired that. Stephen lived in London but his firm shipped him off to Boston for a week each quarter. The man was a beast in bed but drier than a week-old biscuit.
Those guys didn't need relationships, exclusivity, feelings. They were predictable and reliable, and I never worried about my world collapsing because I figured out all the important things a minute too late.
And none of them ever kissed my hand or dragged their fingers up the inside of my wrist like they were amazed by the feel of my skin.
Stopppppppppp, Stella. Just stop. Throw a flag. Call a penalty. Get out of here.
Cal wasn't following any of my rules. He was already two thousand percent more invested than I wanted him to be but I couldn't stop him. Couldn't stop myself. I didn't pull my hand back or edge away. I didn't shut him down. I scooted my damn chair closer to his side and—and yeah, this was un-fucking-believable—I dropped my hand to his thigh.
Stelllaaaaaaaaaa.
What the actual fuck was I doing? What was I thinking? Was I thinking or had I fallen into some kind of hand-kissed dream state where I made moves on a man without first communicating the rules and boundaries? Because I always laid down the rules and boundaries. No one walked away bitter and bruised and hating me when there were rules and boundaries in place.
Cal glanced down at my hand. His brows pitched up. Then he shifted his chair toward mine, closing the whole damn distance between us. Boundaries? Gone. Rules? Nowhere to be found. And those inklings? They were everywhere.Everywhere.
"And what about the flowers and your first available evening?" he prompted. "Tonight comes to mind. You'd be doing me a big favor if you agreed because I don't think I can go back to lurking around you at the trail. If you think this has been awkward, I've got some news for you about the way tomorrow morning is going to shake out."
I wanted to touch him. More than resting my palm on his leg. I wanted to feel him. It was an urge twisting deep inside me. I wanted him to hold me the way he did when we stumbled away from that raccoonasaurus on the path, his arms around me and his big body making me feel small and precious. Even though I was neither of those things. I wanted to spend time cataloging every inch of him, feel the places where he was hard and soft.
Stellllllllllla. Noooooooooo.
"I'm not really a flowers-and-proper-dates girl," I said, fully aware of his thigh muscles tightening under my hand. "I'm more of a burgers-and-football girl, to be honest. Baseball or hockey since we're in the off-season. Basketball too. Burgers, sports, nothing proper. I'm not proper."
Cal rested his forehead on my shoulder with a quiet groan. That sound, it was more intimate than a kiss. It belonged to private spaces where no one else could listen in. But we'd already forgotten about the rest of the world. We were alone here, me and Cal, and I wasn't smitten. I wasn't lovestruck. "Marry me, Stella. Marry me and bear my children."
His hand skated up my arm and over my shoulder to cup my face, and just like that, I was kissing a man I'd met an hour ago.
5
Cal
I was forty-two years old.
I'd studied in the most demanding cardiothoracic surgical residency program in the country.
I'd done two tours through an active war zone as an Army Ranger.
I'd hiked the Appalachian Trail straight through from Maine to Georgia. Twice.
