“If it’s on your radar, it’s important to everyone who lives here on some level.” I stare at her. “So, tell me if you can use my help.”
She bites her lip, making me want to lean forward and kiss her to stop.You can’t. You may never be in a place you can. She has to guide who you are to her in the future.Still, the urge to lean forward and capture her lips beneath mine is in full force.
“I’ll gladly take your help,” she says.
“I’m here for you to use.” I confess.In any way you want me.“I’m trying to be a better person.”
Her mouth curves into a small smile. “I can see that.”
I flush under the flattery.
She lifts her drink in a small toast. “To the future.”
I clink mine against it. “To collaboration.”
For the first time, it doesn’t feel like I’m chasing the past. It feels like I’m heading in the direction of the future.
26
CONTROLLED ZONE ENTRY: ENTERING THE OFFENSIVE ZONE WHILE KEEPING POSSESSION
It takes three days for me to make the call to tell him I’m ready for our dinner date and less than two minutes for him to reply with, “How about tonight?”
“Do you want me to bring anything?”
“Just yourself,” he assures me. “Seven?”
“I’ll see you then.”
I drive to Brennan’s home practically on autopilot. Living in Willow Creek my whole life, I know exactly which home Brennan purchased. I pull up and pause in the driveway. It’s stunning. Still, I imagine it was the fact it’s on the outskirts of town that really sealed the deal.
It’s the kind of place you’d choose when you wanted privacy more than you wanted community. It’s a masterpiece of escapism wrapped up with stunning views. It might have been what he wanted when he first got here. But that’s changed. He’s changed.
Alighting from my car, I head to the front door. My knock is instinctive—one soft. Three fast. Another soft. The opposing knock to the one he started using in college.
The door flies open so fast, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was hovering next to the rustic wood from the other side. I rake my gaze over him in a single glance. He’s wearing a cable-knit sweater and jeans, hair still damp. His gaze travels over me from head to toe, and his face shifts with relief, hunger, restraint.
“Welcome.” He steps back to let me in. “I ordered food and hope you don’t hate me for it.”
“Why would I be offended by you wisely choosing not to poison me with your cooking?”
“Because I guessed what you might want to eat?”
“Bold of you.”
He winces. “It was either that or ask you eleven different questions. I was torn between making it weird and assuming you’d be okay with pasta.”
“I appreciate your commitment to reducing any weirdness and you already know pasta is always a yes for me.”
He exhales while laughing. “Before dinner arrives, I want to tell you something.”
My pulse ticks up. “What?”
His voice is steady. “My head’s been off a little today.”
Alarmed, I step forward and lay my hand on his bicep. “Do you want to reschedule?”
“No, no! I…just didn’t want you thinking it was you if I act…off.”
