“I did interrupt him chopping his own firewood the other day,” I inform them.
Carrie purses her lips. “Yeah, wear the jeans.”
Rowan’s text message letting me know he’s arrived at my apartment complex arrives just as I’m giving up on my hair.
The curls are unruly at worst, and unmanageable at best. I guess I’ll take unmanageable for tonight's festivities.
My tight black shirt makes me appear a bit buffer than I actually am—not that I’m particularly scrawny or anything—and that gives me a confidence boost that negates the messy appearance of my hair. My jeans are a dark blue and sit low on my hips; the combination of the two articles reveals a slight sliver of my stomach and my hipbones.
As I do my best to shake off the nerves, I throw on my leather jacket and a pair of white sneakers. Snapping a picture, I send it to Carrie and Jeff in a group chat.
Elijah 8:13 p.m.
*sent an attachment*
Elijah 8:13 p.m.
Does this look fine? Say yes, I’m already out the door.
I lock my apartment door behind me, turning to jog down the stairs. I spot Rowan leaning against the passenger door of his truck and am immediately grateful for Jeff. Rowan is wearing a pair of blue jeans and a grey t-shirt. His typical jean jacket is stretched over his shoulders and arms, and the brown of his boots is a stark contrast against the pavement.
Jeans were definitely the right choice.
As I approach him, Rowan’s eyes devour me. They perform a slow, dangerous drag over my body—only stopping once they’ve landed on my face.
He meets my gaze and gives me a very charming, very seductive half smile.“Afternoon, Eli. You look beautiful.”
I can feel the flush work straight through me, and just like it always does, my heart begins to beat painfully in my chest the closer I get to him.
“Isn’t it night now?” I ask him, doing my best to school my expression. “And you look pretty good yourself.”
Rowan just shrugs in response, pulling the passenger side door open.
“Tomato, toe-ma-toe,” he says, and once I’m seated, he leans right in over me.
“What—” But I don’t get to finish before he’s grabbing my seatbelt and clicking it into place. “I’m not a child,” I mutter.
“Safety first.” He grins, keeping the distance between us at a minimum.
I can smell him so well—the flowery scent that immediately reminds me of chrysanthemums, sunflowers, and sugar.
And right when I think he’ll kiss me, he shuts the door and rounds the front of the truck to get in himself.Fucking tease.I try not to look disappointed.
“So where are we going?”I ask.
“You ever been to Jamestown?” Rowan answers my question with one of his own, pulling out of the complex parking lot.
“No, what’s that?”
“Jamestown is the town next to Fort Myers. It’s about a thirty-minute drive in the opposite direction from my house, and a bit bigger.”
I observe him as he speaks. With his window rolled halfway down, the breeze ruffles his black curls.
I watch as a couple of them become caught in the collar of his jacket and resist the urge to dip my finger in and pull them free.
With one arm propped on the window seal and the other with a hand loosely gripping the steering wheel, Rowan looks incredibly relaxed.Lucky. I feel as if I’ll explode at any second.
Whether from the nerves, the tension, or the hot ache in my chest that craves his proximity—I do not know.
