“That’s incredible. What you do. It matters.”
“It’s just…”
“Don’t.” His voice grew firm, the same tone as last night. “Don’t minimize it. You save lives. That’s not ‘just’ anything.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Okay.”
The wine arrived. Cole poured, his hands steady now, and we toasted to nothing in particular and everything at once.
“Your turn. Tell me about the music.”
His entire face lit up from within.
“I’ve been writing songs since I was twelve. My brother Decker and I used to sneak into our barn after our parents went to bed and just play. He’d bang out rhythms on whatever he could find; I’d work out bass lines and write lyrics. We’d stay up until three in the morning sometimes, just making stuff up.”
“That sounds magical.”
“It was.” He swirled his wine. “My dad hated it. Thought music was a waste of time. Wanted me to take over the farm, marry a nice local girl, pop out some kids and continue the family legacy.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I tried. For a while. Did the whole college thing. Went to school for agriculture business, if you can believe that. Lasted two semesters before I dropped out and told my dad I was starting a band.”
“How’d he take it?”
Cole’s laugh held an edge. “About as well as you’d expect. We didn’t talk for a while. My mom was the bridge. She’d call, tell me he missed me, that he just needed time.”
“Do you talk now?”
“Yeah. It’s better. He came to a show last month, which was…” Cole paused. “That was good.”
I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine.
The touch sparked. Electric. Immediate.
Cole turned his palm up, laced our fingers together, and I forgot how to breathe.
“Tell me something true,” he said.
“What?”
“Something real. Something you don’t tell people on first dates.”
My brain short-circuited. “That’s a dangerous question.”
“I like danger.”
God help me.
“I don’t think I’m good at dating. Being vulnerable. Letting people in. My ex-husband left me for someone younger, prettier, thinner.” I paused. “We lost a baby. A miscarriage. He blamed me. Said I was too stressed, working too much at the rescue. Then he left.”
“His loss.” His eyes burned into mine. “Any man who had you and walked away is an idiot. And I know that you’re sitting here telling yourself you’re not good enough, not pretty enough, not young enough for me. But, Autumn? You’re wrong.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know enough, but let me get to know more.” He leaned forward, closing the space between us. “Let me know you. Let me prove that the age thing doesn’t matter, that your past doesn’t scare me, that I see you and I like what I see.”
“This is crazy.”
