Ellie’s distracted, buried in her notebook, humming as she writes. It gives me a chance to watch Char quietly. She’s wearing her dark hair loose today, waves brushing over her shoulders. I become fascinated by the tiny crease between her brows when she’s concentrating. I have to fight to avoid reaching over to smooth it with my thumb. And then I realize I’m staring, again.
Pull it together, man.
The words are out before I can think better of them. “Go out with me.”
Her head snaps up. “What?”
“I said—” I clear my throat, feeling the heat rise to my neck, “go out with me. Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
What the hell am I doing?How much rejection can one man endure before he just learns to walk away with a shred of dignity?
Char blinks at me, caught between surprise and uncertainty. But it’s not the same guarded, dismissive tone she’s used lately. She’s hesitating. But something softer is just beneath the surface of those deep green eyes.
“I don’t know, Dave.” She lowers her voice, glancing over my shoulder. “I’m feeling a bit… overwhelmed. Between Ellie’s friends and all their questions.” Her eyes dart toward a corner table.
I follow her gaze to Janet. The town’s self-appointed ambassador of chaos.
Char leans closer, whispering, “Ellie says that girl will ruin your life, spreading all your business, whether it’s true or not. Then throw out a Bible verse right after.”
“Ha. Yeah. I’ve learned it’s the southern way. Kind of like when one of them says ‘Bless your heart.’ I’m from New Jersey. I assumed they were being cordial. Turns out it’s anything but.”
Her hand covers her mouth as she giggles. The sound is like water after a long drought. “The way to call someone an idiot, without calling them an idiot.” Her cheeks glow from her laughter in a way I’ve missed more than I can put words to.
As if scripted by fate, Janet slaps the table while guffawing loudly with her girlfriend. We’ve obviously missed the first part of the conversation, but there’s no mistaking when she says, “I’m not one to gossip, butI am oneto forward a mugshot.” They cackle like a coven of witches standing around a bubbling cauldron.
I can’t help it. I laugh.Hard.
Char’s eyes roll, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile.
And just like that, it happens. That shift. That small, unguarded moment between us where everything feels like we’re back there at that wedding reception again.
My mind goes into overdrive. There aren’t many places we could go without prying eyes. Not in this town. Not with Janet sitting there like an entertainment reporter about to share the next Taylor Swiftsighting. I guess we could venture to the next town over. But after my conversation with Max, I tend to think she wouldn’t be interested in leaving the safety of Sycamore Mountain. Then it hits me.
“Come to my place,” I blurt. “I’ll make you dinner.”
Jesus.What the hell are you doing, man?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DAVE
I pullup to Matt and Ellie’s place, kill the engine, and barely have time to shut the truck door before Char’s already coming down the steps. Guess she doesn’t want to make it awkward by me showing up at the door. Hell, Matt would probably pretend to be her dad. I chuckle.
Yeah, no way I could make that cool.
She’s bundled in navy leggings and an oversized cream cable-knit sweater, the kind that looks so soft it makes you wonder what it would feel like under your hands. But I already imagine her in my arms, so that’s not helping. Her dark hair’s loose, a little wild, and there’s no mistaking how beautiful she is. Even dressed down, there’s something effortlessly striking about her. She never ceases to make my heart rate soar.
I tug at the zipper of my hunter green Henley, pretending to fuss with it like I’m adjusting to the temperature instead of my nerves. “Hey,” I manage, sounding way too casual for how my pulse is reacting. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her. But I know I need to tread carefully here. It feels as if I’m bringing home a wounded animal from the pound, not the vivacious woman that’s seared herself into my very soul.
“Hey,” she echoes with a soft smile, her eyes darting down before she makes her way to the truck. I extend my hand to the passenger side of my Tundra and open the door for her. I’m tempted to buckle her in, just for an excuse to touch her. But manage to restrain myself.
By the time we’re on the road, I’m already sneaking glances. Theheadlights carve through the mountain curves, and I have to remind myself not to stare too long. The last thing I need is to drive us into a ditch because I can’t take my eyes off her.
It’s stupid, how nervous I am. Like I’m sixteen again, trying not to stall out my dad’s pickup in front of a girl. I’ve had women in this truck. Beautiful women. But no one has ever made me feel like I’m trying to earn my place beside them.
“It’s a clear night tonight. I’m hoping the stars will all come out for you.” Hell, why is conversation suddenly so difficult? Fuck, we talked like we’d known each other our whole lives at that wedding. Danced in sync like it was in our very DNA. Yet now, I’m so nervous about doing or saying something that could scare her off, I’m on edge.
Part of me wants to come clean. Tell her about my conversation with Max. Ask her who she’s running from. And why. But she’s already uneasy. Since the moment I fell asleep with her in my arms things have turned on a dime. That carefree girl is gone, and I’m left with one who acts like a cat on a hot tin roof. There’s no way I’m giving her a reason to jump.
