Chapter 7

7

Dolly

H e’d been watching me the entire time I cooked dinner. I felt his gaze on me, but I thought I’d done a good job of pretending like I didn’t notice him. It had been harder said than done. I set the last dish on the table, smoothed my hands over the apron I’d tied around my waist, and finally glanced up at the doorway of the kitchen and dining room to see him leaning against the frame, staring at me.

His big arms were crossed over his chest, and I told myself over and over again that I would not stare at the clear definition of his muscles under the material of his shirt. I knew he worked at Blake Auto, but it was also clear he kept in prime physical condition working on his land. That was evident by the slabs of muscles and obvious strength he exuded.

It was also evident in the way calluses marred his big, wide hands… ones I’d pictured far too many times holding me down as he did totally inappropriate and filthy things to me.

“I hope you like lasagna.” The rag I used to carry the hot dishes to the table was in my hand, and I twisted it tightly, using it as something to calm me down, to keep my thoughts grounded. Of course even that didn’t help. I felt so unbalanced where Tristan was concerned. “It’s my father’s recipe, and my favorite meal. I hope it’s yours as well, or at least one you don’t hate.” I tried to tease, but the serious look on his face had the amusement fleeing.

He pushed away from the frame and stepped inside, stopping by the table and looking down at everything I’d placed on top of it. The dish of cheesy, browned, and bubbly lasagna. There was a side salad, a plate of homemade garlic bread, and a few small ramekins of freshly grated Parmesan and mozzarella.

“It looks incredible,” he said deeply and lifted his head so we were gazing at each other again. “Thank you. I’ve never had anyone make me a home-cooked meal before.”

I felt my eyebrows rise in shock. “No?” He shook his head slowly and walked around to the side of the table to pull the chair out, gesturing for me to sit down. Once I was seated, I watched as he walked to the fridge and grabbed a couple beers out for us. He turned back and held one out for me, a silent question that I nodded my agreement and thanks to. He popped the cap and came closer. I grabbed the beer, our fingers brushing. I hoped he didn’t see the way my body slightly shivered in response.

He took a seat across from me, and we started serving ourselves. I knew this was going to be either the most memorable dinner I’d ever had or the most uncomfortable, awkward one.

Half an hour later, I got my answer. It was absolutely one of the best dinners I’d ever had with another person. After the initial discomfort of being with a virtual stranger, the conversation had taken a natural, organic route. It was as if Tristan wanted to know everything about me. He asked about my childhood, my likes and dislikes, my time in the city, and even my schooling.

And then I’d asked my own questions, realizing I wanted to know everything about him. It felt like I was so thirsty, starved for the information. I asked him about his life before Cherry Falls, and although I’d seen the tightness around his mouth and was about to tell him it wasn’t my business, he told me everything.

I realized quickly the reason he’d acted reluctant to tell me was because he was ashamed. He was a former fighter who got lost in booze and violence and had lived his life hard and without care. It made me realize how much I’d been lucky and privileged to have a father who cared and loved me unconditionally. My mother may have passed before I’d ever had the chance to meet and love her, but still, I’d never wanted for anything, not material or emotional.

And it made my heart break that Tristan hadn’t experienced any of that.

I should’ve stopped at one beer, because despite the pasta, which I’d hoped would have sucked up a lot of the booze, I kept drinking them. And here I was finishing up my fourth, feeling the buzz, my lips loose as I talked about anything, everything I could because I’d never felt so good in my life.

I was a lightweight, shamelessly so, and after each beer I found myself divulging even a little bit more information that I normally wouldn’t have until I’d known someone for quite some time. But I felt so easygoing and comfortable around Tristan, the atmosphere warm. I felt like I’d known him my entire life, and not just in the obvious sense that we lived in the same town for fifteen years.

And every time I said something, even a simple “yes or no” in response to what he’d asked, it was like he hung on to my words. Every single one of them.

“Damn, Dolly,” he said with a very satisfied grin on his face, his hand placed on his hard, defined abdomen. “I have never had a meal that good.” I knew my expression was skeptical, and he laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “I swear. I’m not the type of dude to just try and woo a beautiful girl by speaking lies.”

I felt a wave of heat move through me, this pleasure that I’d put that look of contentment on his face simply from preparing him a home-cooked meal. But the air became a little tense, and the silence stretched on as I let his words sink in fully. Beautiful girl.

“I made things awkward, right?”

I laughed softly, probably awkwardly, but the weirdness I’d caused from tensing up at his words dissipated the longer he stared at me and the more I felt that pleasure settle deep in my body.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird or uncomfortable. I just…” He cleared his throat and ran a hand over the back of his head. “I was just speaking the truth,” he murmured.

I licked my lips and willed my face to not be as red as a cherry tomato. I brought my beer up, finished it off, and found myself looking down at the empty bottle before looking at Tristan again. I shouldn’t have said what I was thinking, but the words tumbled out of me.

“Got anything stronger?” His grin was answer enough.