“Too predictable.”
“And true crime?” she asks softly, swirling her wine.
“Too depressing.”
“Porn?”
I nearly choke on my drink. How best to answer this one? “Too, uh, plot-heavy.”
She throws her head back in laughter, the sound light and easy, and damn if it doesn’t settle somewhere deep in my chest. I could live off that sound.
The quiet stretches again, but it’s different now. Not as awkward.
“You really surprised me tonight,” she says finally.
“How’s that?”
“You cook. You’ve got this beautiful house. You’re…” She trails off, shaking her head like she’s said too much. “You’re not what I expected.”
I study her, trying to read what’s behind those words. “And what did you expect?”
She looks down at her glass, thumb tracing the rim. “I don’t know. Someone less…” She pauses, searching for the word. “Down to earth.”
“Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” Her voice is soft, almost shy now.
The silence that follows hums through the air. Her gaze is fixed on the fire, but I can’t stop staring at her.
Every instinct in me is at war. The one that wants to keep her safefrom whatever’s haunting her, show her she never needs to be afraid of anything ever again. And the one that just wants to close the space between us and see if she tastes like I remember.
Instead, I run a hand down my face and clear my throat. “You want more wine?”
She shakes her head. “Better not.”
I stand, reaching for her empty glass. Hating the very thought of driving her back down the mountain to Matt and Ellie’s place. But this night is beyond what I could’ve hoped for a week ago.
Baby steps, man. Just be grateful she’s still here.
Char
I shouldn’t feelthis at ease here. Not after everything that has transpired over the last few months.
But this amazing man doesn’t feel the need to keep the conversation moving. There are quiet moments that rest in the space between us. And the silence is safe. Not the heavy kind that makes you want to fill it. This one is comfortable, soft and alive. It wraps itself around the edges of my nerves, soothing them.
Leaning against the island, I watch Dave in the kitchen, rinsing the last of the dinner dishes. I offered to help, but he waved me off with that easy half-smile that makes my chest tighten in ways I don’t want to analyze.
My eyes bounce around the space again, trying to take it all in. It’s over the top, but somehow it doesn’t feel pretentious. It feels lived in. Warm and inviting.
Likehim.
And I have to admit, that’s the part that scares me most. He’s kind. Considerate. Well-mannered to a fault. The kind of man who probably sends thank-you notes and remembers birthdays. And given the house, I’d bet he comes from money. Old money, maybe. The kindthat never had to worry about rent or what would happen if the bottom fell out.
That thought should put me on edge. Because in my experience, men with money only ever see what they can buy. Who they can attempt to control. Yet I’ve never once seen anything to indicate he’s anything like that.
He drove with Matt and Ellie all the way to Florida when he could’ve just hopped a flight. He doesn’t flash cash at the bar or pick up tabs like a performance. His truck’s a little beat-up, the kind you’d expect someone who actuallyworksto drive.
Nothing about this man screams privilege, even though I know it’s there. And I can’t tell if that’s comforting… or dangerous.
