Page 24 of Don't Fall for a Grump

“Half the city. Yes, I know.”

I’m struggling to connect the dots here and can only look at her with utter disbelief. “But you’re feeding my dad’s chickens.”

“Yes, I know,” she says again, and laughs.

I can’t do anything but shake my head. Barker and Reid were big. My own company had several times facilitated mergers for our clients with Barker and Reid at the helm. I simply could not get my head around it.

“You gave all that up to come and live here?”

“I’ve discovered that money isn’t everything,” Bree says evenly. “I also discovered that manipulative boyfriends do not like their girlfriends earning substantially more than them. Apparently, it’s emasculating,” she hissed.

“It really isn’t,” I reply. “Not to a man who is whole in himself. A man who feels threatened by you earning more, is not troubled because of the money. He’s troubled because he cannot control you. And a real man doesn’t need to control a woman,” I say with some feeling.

“Dr. Phil’s back,” Bree quips with a smile.

This conversation was getting a bit too heavy for a Sunday afternoon.

I change the subject and we talk instead about life in the city. We talk for hours, covering everything from pizza places and our favorite restaurants, to the social housing issues and the unnecessary homelessness. Rob, her ex-boyfriend, pops into the conversation on occasion, but not often.

The more time I spend with Bree, the more relaxed I become in her presence. I realize I haven’t had such a good time with anybody else in years. Something about Bree makes me feel alive inside. In one afternoon, she’s broken through defenses I’ve spent years building, and she hasn’t even been trying.

Eventually, I bid her goodbye. It’s late in the evening, and time that I left. She has offered on more than one occasion, to make us something to eat, but I’ve already overstayed my welcome.

“I should get going,” I say, getting up to leave.

Bree looks disappointed but tries to hide it. It makes feel a little warm inside.

“Oh, well. Yeah. Of course,” she says, standing up with me.

Leaving the empty beer bottle on the table, I move across the porch, but she’s in my way. And then we do this silly dance, both of us hopping from one foot to the other, trying to move out of each other’s way, but ending up going in the same direction. Eventually, I take her by the arms and hold her in place.

My intent is to keep her still while I step around her, but then, she looks up straight into my eyes. Her eyes are like pools of clear water that I could just fall into, and with her lips slightly parted, looking soft and luscious, my heart thuds in my chest as I wonder what they would feel like pressed against my own. Our eyes lock, and it’s clear, neither of us wants to turn away. We’re caught, transfixed, held together in this single moment of time.

Her skin feels so soft clasped between my fingers. I move them gently, brushing the tender skin of her inner arms. If I let this linger any longer, something is going to happen between us. I just don’t know—even though my gut feels like it’s twisting into noodles—if it is what I really want. I need to leave. I need to think this through, without the raging testosterone that is currently pumping through my body, swaying and overriding my rational mind.

Bending my head, I softly kiss Bree on the cheek. I hear a slight gasp leave her lips. Her breath reaches my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. Her floral scent reaches my nostrils, mesmerizing my mind. I really need to leave.

“I’ve really enjoyed my time with you,” I say. And I actually mean it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, I step around her and head to my truck without looking back. I just can’t. If I do, I might just give in to the temptation to stay longer. And I don’t want to think about what might happen next.

As I drive back to my house, I can still smell her sweet scent, feel the softness of her skin under my fingertips, and remember the twist in my gut as I considered kissing her.

Yet, despite all that we had shared together this afternoon, doubt still niggles at the back of my mind.

Could I really trust another woman? Especially a city woman?

My ex-wife, Claire, had been a city woman too, and look how that had turned out. I want to believe that all women are not two-faced liars that don’t jump into bed with another man the minute my back is turned, but the wounds are still too deep, the scars are still too fresh.

Can I really risk getting hurt again?

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