It was nothing short of perfect, even if the man across from me wasn’t mine to have.
But could he be yours?
There were moments when I thought the answer might be yes. Like when he’d spun me around the dance floor and looked so deep into my eyes, I thought he might have seen my very soul. I thought I might have caught a glimpse of his too. I’d sat across from him in his kitchen, his pink apron dusted in flour and his eyes bright with hope that things got better.
Somewhere, deep down, I believed he was interested in me, and I was interested in him, despite whether or not it was a good idea. Because although I had to admit I didn’t know him well, I saw something of myself in Keaton, and I saw the kind of person I wanted to be too. I admired him for all he stood for, for all he’d done, and it left me wanting to rise to meet him.
The server interrupted my thoughts for a drink order, and once she was gone, we were alone again.
“Well,” I started, “They really outdid themselves.”
He shook his head at his menu. “I’m sorry. My brothers … they mean well.”
“So do my sisters, however heavy handed they may be.”
“Subtle, right?”
“Not exactly a Blum forte.”
“It’s not a dominant Meyer trait either.”
I glanced up and around us. “It’s beautiful though.”
“It is.”
Something about the way he said it made me look at him, expecting to find him looking around as I had been. But he was looking at me.
Our gazes held for a fluttering moment before his eyes fell to his menu.
That two seconds of eye contact was all it took to double my pulse.
For a little bit, we chatted about the menu, neither of us seeming to know what to say. My mind scrambled around for a direction to take the conversation, anything to make the unexpected dinner easier, but I couldn’t seem to find a thing. When the server brought our drinks and took our orders, we were out of distractions.
I watched Keaton’s bear hands move his silverware and open his napkin, laying it in his lap. He sat back, then shifted. Put a hand on the table, then back into his lap.
“Do I make you nervous?” I teased.
A flicker of a smile just there, at one corner of his mouth. “Do you always say what you think?”
“I do, sometimes to my peril.”
That earned me a chuckle.
“My sisters are worse. You can’t walk five feet in my house without hearing what somebody thinks.”
“You can’t get five in mine without someone cracking a joke. I don’t think any of them have a serious bone in their body.”
“Not even Cole?” I challenged.
“You know, when it counts, they all do,” he conceded. “And Cole most of all, especially when it comes to Sophie. But the rest of the time?” He made a derisive noise.
I laughed and took a sip of my wine, comfortable for the first time tonight. I couldn’t help but notice he’d relaxed too, just a little. “I admire them. My sisters too. They’re so … I don’t know. Carefree, in their ways. Although your siblings are more easy going than mine. But they’d fight to the death for what they love, human, town, bee, or otherwise.”
One of his brows rose. “And you wouldn’t?”
“Not like they do. They chase down what they want. I … well, I’m less certain about what I want. You’re more like them.”
“You think I know what I want?” he asked, laughing.
I frowned. “To run your family’s business? To take care of your brothers and Sophie?”
He sighed, still smiling, but the expression held a wry edge. “Needs and wants are two very different things. I doubt everything you want could be summed up in your farm and family.”
“Then what do you want?”
Keaton shrugged, reaching for his glass. “I don’t know. But let me know if you figure it out.”
I gave him a look. “Stop it,” I said, chuckling.
He set down his glass and eyed the wine inside. “Everything I want is for other people, not myself. I want the business to survive because it was my father’s, and even now I want to make him proud. I want my family to be happy, and I would take a bullet to ensure their safety. But what I want?” He shook his head. “I thought I knew a long time ago. Not so much anymore.”
“Well, what do you do besides whack stuff with a hammer?” I asked lightly.
A quiet laugh. “Saw stuff. A little light welding. What do you do besides steal honey?”
“Play music.”
“You sit around in your living room playing your French horn?”
“Nah, it’s not really a casual instrument. Mostly the guitar or the piano. But that’s all of us, even Mama, though she won’t sing. She’s tone deaf.”
“A tone deaf Blum? Never heard such a thing.”
“It’s true,” I promised. “She’s not allowed within ten feet of a microphone. We stick her in the back with the stand up bass where nobody can hear her if she decides to sing along.”
His smile was like the break of blue sky in a thunderhead. “Poor Dottie.”
“I like to read too, and draw a little. I appreciate your hammer whacking. I can manage handiwork around the farm, but I can’t build anything.”
“Sure you can. Anybody can. Take a look at my brothers, for example. If those dummies can do it, anybody can.”
“If you say so.” I took a sip of my wine.
“What do you want to build?”
“Oh, all kinds of things. I had an idea for a table and drew up plans for a window seat. I’ve always dreamed of working with an architect to build my own house, but who knows if I’ll ever leave the farm. I even drew up my own plans and everything.”
“Build it on the farm.”
“So easy,” I joked.
“I know a guy.”
“You know a few, but I can’t afford you.”
“I bet you can,” he said. “Send me your plans.”
“Why, you’re not going to build me a house, are you?”
“It’d be kind of a hard surprise to pull off.” When I laughed, he added, “I’m curious. Plus, I’d like to at least get you a quote. It’s worth having for down the line.”
My cheeks were warm from the wine or the proximity to Keaton. Maybe both. “I’d like that” I said, trying not to daydream about him without success. I could see us working side by side, building my dream house. I could imagine us together in that house, and let my mind run away with itself all the way down to a wedding and babies and beyond.
He’d relaxed into his chair, his smile easy. I saw the boy I’d known long ago with his whole life ahead of him. The Keaton I knew now spent his time on the life behind him. But this Keaton was somewhere in between, a fresh start. That second chance he needed to give himself. I wondered if I could keep this version of him, water and care for him. Bring him back from the edge of death.
Could he be mine? I asked myself again, but for the moment, the needle was moving decidedly toward the green.
“I’m kinda glad our families are nosy,” I noted, crawling out on a limb and hanging on for life. “Thank you for joining me for dinner tonight, Mr. Meyer.”