Page 23 of Almost Perfect
“Wilder might be a grump most of the time, but I guarantee if she met him, she wouldn’t be scared away.” He tilted his head like he was reconsidering. “Actually, no. She might bescared, but she would also be… intrigued.”
“Well, you’re definitely selling him to me there. What an odd way to describe someone.”
He flashed his eyebrows. “Yep. He’s an odd duck, so that fits.”
Jane chuckled next to me. “Enough of all that. Calla, what are we going to do about your eating situation?”
“Oh. Uh… I’m doing just fine.”
She meant it in a kind way, no doubt, but I had no idea what to do about it. Keep eating cereal and try to mix in some bagged salad and pre-cooked grilled chicken? Sounded like a sad existence, but at this point, the goal to lay low still hovered front and center.
“She’s right, Calla. We’ve got to fix this. I’m thinking maybe you eat breakfast with me and Wyatt. He cooks a hot breakfast every morning, and if he doesn’t, I do. We could also work on taking you with us into town if you need breaks from up here. I hate for you to keep paying for a rideshare.”
Narrowly avoiding a laugh at his concern for my paying for rides, I couldn’t help the genuine smile on my face. “That’s very kind. It feels like more than you bargained for, though. And I can’t handle being an imposition… please.”
“I don’t mind,” Wyatt said quietly, but not weakly. He’d turned to engage fully in the conversation, and nothing about his body language or expression spoke of doubt. If anything, he had an air of determination to him.
“Oh. Thanks. Why don’t you all talk it over after I leave, and you can let me know. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t sound like a good setup for me, but it might not be for you if you think it through.”
I stood and tucked the cloth napkin back into place atop the matching placemat. These had to be holdovers from their childhood, and like the whole table—the whole night—charmed me. I didn’t have any leftovers from my childhood like this—no old embroidered linens or special pieces of furniture. Not a thing beyond a box full of photo albums from my mom’s mom, and a storage closet full of Gran’s antiques still nestled in a unit somewhere here in Silverton.
But even the glimpse into town the other day had given me a pull toward that feeling of home I’d missed. New businesses, new people, Silver Ridge Peak in the background, the crisp winter air—it all wrapped around me like an old sweater. I needed to get back there again, and soon.
I’d had the same nostalgic longing for the small town and sense of home when I’d heard Jamie Morris talking to Julian Grenier at a party about how much he loved using Silverton as his part-time home base. He’d struck the balance between LA, travel, and his true home at the base of Silver Ridge Peak.
Dreamy.
“Sure. Sure we will. Wyatt, will you walk her back? I’m actually going to run Mom home, and I might just stay the night in town. Good luck tomorrow.”
“No, you don’t have to. It’s like a hundred feet. I’m f—”
“No point in protesting, dear. You’re not going by yourself,” Jane said, then hugged me to her.
The move surprised me, but I squeezed her back just in time before she pulled away. “Thanks again.”
The next few minutes were a flurry of activity as Warrick helped Jane bundle against the now-snowy evening and Wyatt wound a scarf around his neck. For some reason, the sight of him with what looked like a hand-knit scarf made my stomach flip. A different kind of plaid than the shirt he’d worn tonight, he wasn’t a man who coordinated his outfit down to his socks. Observation said that what he did had meaning, and I suspected the things he owned had significance, too. An unmatching but special scarf from a relative or girlfriend would trump this man’s need to look any particular way.
What a stupid thing to find endearing, and yet that scarf might as well have wrapped around my own neck, warm as it made me. Refocusing on the task at hand, I pulled on gloves and my cashmere hat—impractical for snow, but it was so soft and warm.
“After you,” he said, that deep voice doing nothing to settle the flippy feeling.
We crunched out onto the path just as Warrick’s headlights lit the long entrance to the property.
“Did you need a ride tomorrow? I have a, uh, thing in town. I’d be happy to take you and, if you don’t mind hanging around a few hours, bring you back.”
“Yes. Please. Yes.” I laughed, and his warm, low chuckle sent a shiver through me. “Sorry. Maybe a little overeager. I came here to be alone and hide away, but…”
He raised a brow as we stepped onto the porch and into the light there.
“I’m just bored.”
He smiled—not exactly stingy, but sparing. He wasn’t like Warrick, handing out thousand-watt charmers. His was a flicker of a candle casting shadows on a wall.
“Then be ready by ten thirty. We’ll head down and I’ll head back up by about one thirty or two.”
Relief and anticipation shot through me. “Perfect. Yes. I’ll be ready.Thank you.”
If my voice was too eager, he didn’t show it. He simply nodded, turned, and trudged back to his house.
