A fresh coat of taupe paint covers the walls, and an exposed brick fireplace is at the front of the living room with a flat screen TV mounted above it. The furniture is new, and decorative touches are scattered throughout the living room and kitchen. A red-and-black-checkered throw is thrown over the back of the couch, and succulents are placed on the end tables to each side of it.
“Thank you for talking to your landlord, putting down the deposit, and getting everything in order on such short notice,” I say to Lauren, pulling my purse up from the floor by the strap. I rummage through it in search of my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
Her hand goes up, stopping me. “Put your wallet away. Thank Dallas. This was all him.”
I give the apartment another once-over. “What? How?”
Blame it on the loser I dated for nearly a decade, but my mind can’t wrap around a man doing this for me. I guess Stella wasn’t lying when she said small-town guys were a different breed.
“Ask him. In the meantime, get yourself settled in. I have a double shift in a few hours and need to hit the shower. Text me if you need anything, neighbor.”
I smile. She made a six-hour round trip to pick me up and then has to pull a double. “Have fun. Thank you for the ride. I owe you one.”
“I got you, girl,” is all she says before winking and waving good-bye.
I scoop up my bags and take them into the bedroom when I hear the door shut. Just like the rest of the apartment, the bedroom is spacious. Settling my suitcase on the cream-upholstered king-size bed, I start to unpack.
I let my mom watch Scooby for a few weeks, so I could get settled in and check with the landlord if pets were allowed. Only a few bags came with me on the flight, and I’m having my other stuff and car shipped. I have a baby on the way and am not handing an airline my savings to have a few extra bras.
I drop the shirt I’m hanging up at the sound of the doorbell.
“You forget something?” I ask, opening the door. I stumble back when I don’t see Lauren.
Dallas is standing in front of me, shoulders broad and square, wearing a red-buffalo-plaid flannel that nearly matches the throw on my couch, dark jeans with holes in both knees that hug his legs, and brown boots. My heart races, and I can’t stop myself from running a finger over my lips.
Shit. Pregnancy hormones are making an appearance. They seem to be well acquainted with him.
Dallas has the efficacy to pull off attractiveness with this casual demeanor better than any man wearing an expensive suit. My ex was a hipster wannabe who regularly sported holey jeans, beanies, and flannels. He was a generic version of the real thing—Dallas. He’s no wannabe. He’s this rugged, down-to-earth man who has no idea how wet he makes my panties.
I smooth down my hair and shyly smile. “Hey,” I say in nearly a whisper.
Tension bleeds through the air like an open wound. Our last face-to-face conversation wasn’t exactly pretty.
His thick lips curl up. “If it isn’t Blue Beech’s newest resident.”
“Temporary resident,” I correct, scooting to the side. My back brushes against the wall as I give him enough room to step into the apartment and shut the door.
His scent, a light evergreen that reminds me of a vacation lodge deep in the mountains where you never want to leave, hangs in the air like smoke as he skims the living room. “You getting settled in okay?”
A few inches separate us, and I play with my hands in front of me, nervousness climbing up my spine. We haven’t been alone like this since that night with the small exception of the women’s restroom at the airport, which has the privacy that’s equivalent to one in prison.
“I haven’t had a chance to find a place for everything yet, but the apartment is gorgeous. I can’t believe you did all of this. Thank you.”
He stares over at me, his eyes flashing with victory and satisfaction. “Thank you for moving here.”
I draw in a sharp breath when he edges closer into my space, standing in front of me, as if he’s geared to tell me a secret. Being too close for comfort seems to be his thing, which I find completely unnecessary. This isn’t L.A. The square footage is out of this world, dude.
“You have no idea how much I fucking appreciate it.”
I shrug off his gratitude and laugh. “I needed a getaway for a while anyway. Nothing like a vacation before delivering a baby.”
He chuckles lightly. “Just a vacation, huh?”
I nod.
He runs his boots back and forth over the hardwood floor. “I stopped by to make sure you showed up and weren’t planning on bailing again.”
I hold out my arms. “I’m here, in the flesh, breathing and everything.”
“I also wanted to see what you might be doing tomorrow night.”
Like I have big plans here?
“Most likely, unpacking.”
“Perfect, you’re free. I’m taking Maven to the fair tomorrow. Come with us.”
Is he nuts? He wants me to hang out with not only him, but also his daughter?
“The fair?” I scrunch up my face. “Like vomit-inducing, spinning rides and honky-tonks?”
“No.” He pauses. “I mean, yes to the rides, no to the honky-tonks. You watch too many movies.”
“I work for movie stars. Watching their movies is part of my job.”
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
“I’ll have to pass.”
“Come on, who doesn’t like the fair?”
“I’ve never been to one.”
His lips tilt into a half-smile, and he opens the front door, patting the inside of it. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Wait!”
“Have a good night, Willow.”
The door slams shut behind him.
Chapter Twelve
Willow
THREE MONTHS AGO
“Want to dance?”
Dallas and I both flinch at my question.
Did those words leave my mouth?
This whiskey shit is messing with my insanity. I shouldn’t want to dance with Dallas. I definitely shouldn’t be feeling this weird pull between us after only a few hours of drinking together.
Lauren stopped by our table earlier to give me a ride back to Stella’s, but I wasn’t ready to end my time with Dallas. Turned out, neither was he. He offered to walk me back to Hudson’s on his way home. Surprisingly, Lauren didn’t find it weird and took off.
The place is close to empty, except for the few lone rangers at the end of the bar, and the band left with their armful of groupies. The music has been downgraded to static-infused country songs coming from an old jukebox in the corner of the room.
He stares at me with hooded eyes, and I wave my hand in the air as rejection slaps me in my stupid, drunken face.
“Forget it,” I rush out, beating him to the punch. “Of course you don’t.” This will mortify me when my senses come back in the morning.
He holds his fist to his mouth and lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m not really up for dancing.”
He jumps up from his stool, and I avert my eyes to the tabletop.
This is where he bails. Do they have Uber around here?