“Then grow a pair.” My eyes snap up to meet his, and John is grinning widely from his leather office chair. “You’re a grown man, Eli. And so is he. Why sit around and suffer while you wait for a text message? Drive to his house and ask him what the problem is.”
Huh. I guess I didn’t consider that an option. The older generation seems to see things more plainly, I’m realizing.
“Is it that easy? I won’t look clingy?” I ask, and John gives me a look that tells me he thinks I’m an idiot.
“If the man no longer likes you because of something likethat, then he wasn’t worth all the drama.”
He’s got a point. If Rowan is that pressed over me showing up at his house, then there’s no point in putting stock in this ‘relationship’ we’ve started building.
He told me before that he doesn’t like people in his personal space—whateverthatmeans—but I’m not going inside, I’m only standing on the front porch. I think that’s perfectly reasonable.
“You’re right. I’ll head there after work.”
John offers me a small smile, and I do my best not to feel like a teenager getting dating advice from their parent.
“Good. Things will work out, just wait and see,” he promises.
With John’s pep talk in mind, I head to Rowan’s house as soon as I get off at five.
On the way, I stop at a restaurant a few miles from the office and pick up dinner—baked potato soup. He can’t be mad at me when I come bearing peace offerings, can he?
The drive flies by, most likely because I’m nervous to actually arrive, and when I pull up, I see Rowan’s truck in the driveway. Not that I thought he’d be out—he never is.
Grabbing the soup, I head to his front door, delivering three smooth knocks. Commotion can be heard from the other side, and I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.
It’s fine, he won’t freak out. Stop stressing. Remember back when you didn’t care about rejection or other people’s feelings? Let’s do that again.
Only, I can’t. Not when it comes to him.
The front door swings open, and it takes me a solid five seconds to register the woman standing in front of me.
“Uh,” I start, looking around the front porch again. I’m at the correct house, right? “Is Rowan here?”
The woman is young—probably mid-twenties—with incredibly long auburn hair and vibrant green eyes that rival Rowan’s. But their similarities stop there.
All of her features are soft and sweet, even as she stands at my same height of 5 feet 11 inches. She is very beautiful.
Her long hair is wet and dripping slightly onto her giant white t-shirt, and the bottom of a pair of lounge shorts can barely beseen from under the hem of it. When the breeze wafts in from outside, I notice her nipples hardening from under the fabric.
“He’s in the shower,” she responds coolly, and her voice is just as soft and pretty as she is.
Shower?She clearly just showered as well… that probably means—
“Oh. Okay. Never mind, then,” I rush out, suddenly incredibly embarrassed to be here. This woman is looking me up and down with an indifferent expression, and I feel as if I’m imposing.
“What’s in the bag?” she asks as I’m about to turn away, and I look at the soup in my hand.
“Dinner. Here.” I extend the bag to her, and she takes it hesitantly.
Reading the receipt taped to the side, she grins. “Potato soup. Rowan’s favorite.”
Something in me cracks at the words, at her familiarity with his name and his interests, and how it makes me want to sob or punch or scream.
“Right. Well, good night.”I race back to my car, peeling out of the driveway as soon as I’m behind the steering wheel. I can’t seem to get out of here fast enough.
There was only one vehicle in the driveway, and taxis don’t typically come this far, so he had to have gone and picked her up from wherever she came from.
In town? An airport? A bus station? Maybe he met her at Cocktails and Consonances the other night while I was busy singing athiscommand.
