Not massively, but it was there.
She still alternated between being impressive with work, often a huge dork when she wasn’t doing work shit or being quiet and peacefully in her own head.
But there was something between them that had…settled.
He couldn’t say what it was exactly, because she wasn’t completely comfortable with him, but within an hour, she’d gone from being entirely unable to fake a couple’s selfie to making him sit beside her at breakfast.
And shit like that continued for the rest of the trip.
Not often, but it happened.
So, definitely.
Something had changed.
And Rix liked it.
Their trip had been fruitful. It’d also been enjoyable. And he couldn’t get away from the fact that it sucked when they went their separate ways Friday evening when they got home, after they’d spent so much time together, and he dug the ease of being around her, got off on watching her work and how good she was at it, got off even more on getting to know her.
It sucked because he knew he had no shot of seeing her yesterday in order to officially begin their preparation to be fake engaged, because she and Chloe were heading down to Phoenix to do dress stuff.
Not to mention, Chloe, being Chloe, was taking Alex “in hand” and they were also shopping while they were down there in order that Alex would have appropriate outfits to wear for all the wedding shit that was happening. This apparently would take time, so they were spending the night at Genny and Duncan’s condo in Phoenix.
Don’t worry, Alex explained the itinerary, and I’m sorting you out too, had been the text he’d gotten from Chloe.
He didn’t argue with her, even if he knew she’d bought Judge several suits that cost obscene amounts of money.
If she wanted to dress him, since he needed to represent for Alex, Chloe would make that work in ways he had no clue how to do, so he’d let that happen.
And Chloe was not Blake. Whatever she picked, she wouldn’t make it bite him in the ass financially.
On a glance at his GPS that shared he was two minutes away, Rix told himself he was looking forward to having dinner at her place because they had a lot of ground to cover, and around six weeks to cover it in, so they needed to get stuck in.
But he was full of shit.
When the pin marked the spot on his truck computer and he saw her blue Subaru Crosstrek hybrid, he felt a warmth hit his gut.
And it stayed.
Her car was parked next to a roof that was level to a drive that butted the road that was just long enough to fit her car and his truck behind it.
From that roof, he knew her house was built down the incline and into the mountain, but even so, when he’d received her text yesterday, Dinner tomorrow? Mine? And he’d agreed, she’d said, Sorry. It’s not accessible. There are stairs. Will that be okay? So he figured it’d be something like this.
And that was Alex.
Just straight up, out there, it was what was, and if they had to adjust plans, they would.
He’d told her he’d be on his legs so it was fine.
He didn’t tell her he was curious as to where she lived, and that was why he was going to make it fine.
He parked, got out, headed to the side of the house where he saw the railing, and as he moved down her stairs, he further saw the pine needles on her property had meticulously been removed in an effort to make it defensible space.
Clearing ground cover was an aid to controlling wildfires.
“Fucking hell, this woman,” he muttered, continuing down the steps.
There was a small deck landing that had some attractive pots filled with fall flowers arranged around the area. The landing was shrouded by close-growing pines at the side of the house on what was the second floor down, but there was a walkway that went around to the front where he could see a big deck sticking out.
Her welcome mat was woven sailor’s knots.
Her door was glass panes, and he could see her through it, coming his way.
Guess you could hear cars parking from her living room.
She was in slash front pocket shorts in a gray-green. Wide V camel-colored tee showing lots of skin at her chest and her elegant collarbone.
No jewelry. No makeup. No shoes.
But hair down, so she didn’t need anything else.
Watching her get close, it was coming clear why he was keen to get there.
She opened the door and looked up at him, no smile on her lips, but the dimple was rippling, there and gone and back again.
“Hey.”
“Babe.”
“You found it.”
He looked to his feet, then to her, and lifted his brows.
When he did that, the dimple definitely popped, though only for about a nanosecond, before she flicked out her hand in an odd, hilarious, adorable way and stopped barring the door.
He walked in enough she could close the door.
But that was as far as he could make it before he had to stop dead.
Because her place was the…fucking…shit.
Big, slouchy, comfortable-looking couch that unquestionably would fit two. Bed up in the loft he could see had an iron footboard and some colorful, old-fashioned quilt folded at the bottom that looked like it was made up of stitched-together rosettes with a dripping, scalloped edge. Queen bed, so it’d fit two as well, but there’d need to be cuddling. Kickass farmhouse kitchen table with curve-back chairs. Wall of windows. Sunlights. Big deck with more pots with lots of flowers, also lots of seating options. Red cabinets in the kitchen that ran along the wall opposite him.
She had possessions. Books. A surprising (that she had one at all), but impressively large CD collection. Toss pillows. Warm-looking throws. The odd piece that was either bought while making a memory, taking an adventure, or she just thought it was pretty, lying around.
But it was small and contained, like her.
It was clean, and even neat, but not exactly tidy.
There was no massive, gourmet kitchen to wow you.
Not a single thing in the place looked like it was selected on a plan of setting the space.
Alex lived, and some of that life landed here.
That was it.
He fucking loved it.
“Cheeseburger eggrolls,” she announced.
He looked down at her.
“Say again?” he asked.
“That’s what we’re having for dinner. Cheeseburger eggrolls. Made in the air fryer. And a quinoa salad. Brownies and ice cream for dessert.”
“Sounds awesome.”
“I use turkey meat, I shy away from beef. And we had steaks this week. I’ve met my quota.”
“Works for me.”
“First, the binder.”
He did a slow blink.
The binder?
She strolled across the space, and he’d been busy with her hair, and her two-toned eyes, that dimple, her auburn-tipped lashes and getting her to talk comfortably with him in that husky voice, so he’d forgotten what a great ass she had.
Shit.
How had he forgotten about that ass?
By the time he lost sight of it, she was at the kitchen table, and sure enough, she was holding up a green three-ring binder.
The spine was thick.
“Can you come here, please?” she requested.
He walked across her space.
She must have had a candle or incense burning or something, because he smelled pinyon.
That made everything even better.
Jesus.
He stopped close to her, and she dropped the binder on the table with a plonk, and when she opened it, there was another plonk, so he looked to the table.