Page 54 of Almost Perfect
Only half a minute after I knocked, the door swung open and revealed her buttoning up her black wool knee-length coat. Her hair came down in long, luscious waves that looked so soft and gorgeous and shook me by the shoulders—I wanted to touch it so bad.
“We ready?” she asked, a smile on lips that were a compelling muted pink color.
I nodded, because the sight of her ready like this for a date with me had stolen my words.
She was always gorgeous. Truly, always. I had yet to see her when she didn’t strike me as almost too beautiful. But so far, I’d seen her in a stripped-down version of herself—hat low on her head or a messy braid, rarely any makeup, relaxed clothes, a giant hot chocolate stain down her shirt.
I hadn’t seen the Hollywood version of her, the famous, perfected look. And this wasn’t Miss Mayhem—she wasn’t quite that. Butholy crap, this was next-level Calla.
“Should we go?” she asked when I said nothing, did nothing.
I nodded again and stepped back, gesturing to the truck pulled close to her front step. The flurries in the air hadn’t picked up yet, so the road should be clear until later in the day tomorrow. Thankfully. Because I didn’t want to miss this chance with her, and the weather was one of the only things that could’ve stopped it beyond her changing her mind.
I opened her door and held her leather-gloved hand as she stepped up into my truck and slid onto the seat. Minutes later, we were pulling onto the road, the low hum of the engine and the only radio station I had reception for up here our background.
“So is this place one you take all your first dates?”
Her tone made me glance at her, but the sun had set and she was nothing but shadow. It sounded pointed, but I wasn’t sure in what way. And I couldn’t read her face to figure it out.Should’ve gone for lunch so at least I could’ve stolen glances at her.
I mentally cringed away from that idea. If Warrick could hear my thoughts, he’d never let me live that one down. He’d been suspiciously quiet today when he’d dropped the groceries, and I had the feeling he was saving up to really lay it on thick the next chance he got.
I needed to focus up and not continue swimming through the hazy, ridiculous thoughts I’d been steeped in since I’d opened the door and seen her.
“Uh, not usually.”
“Really?”
“I tend to go for lunch first. It’s a little more than a coffee date, which is too quick and casual to really get a feel for someone. But it’s not the commitment of multiple courses and potential dessert.”
Her low chuckle sent a bolt of heat through me. Damn, but her voice made my insides downright liquefy sometimes.
“That’s quite strategic of you.”
“It is.” Something about the admission made my cheeks heat, and I immediately discovered gratitude for that early sunset.
“You’re very systematic with your dating and all of that.”
Again, I couldn’t identify that tone. I didn’t know her well enough to know for certain, but I could definitely tell it wasn’t the normal way she spoke when we ate breakfast weekday mornings.
“I know what I want. Might as well be smart about it.” But it’d changed, hadn’t it? Granted, I couldn’t very well say,I’m pretty sure I want you, even if we’re way too different.
She hummed, and that definitely lit me up. The darkness in the cab of the truck, the intimacy of our proximity, the teasing scent of her perfuming the air between us—it was a good thing both my hands were occupied with driving the winding canyon road.
“And what is it you want? You’ve mentioned a little about this, but I want the full job description.”
Job description. That verbiage smarted, though there was something teasing to it. I didn’t think of it that way—like a job—but I’d certainly begun to treat it like one, interviewing different candidates for the position of wife. And then, of course, discarding them since I’d been stuck functioning like none of it mattered anyway.
Did she see me that way? Wandering around trying on different women like that? Maybe she did, and maybe she’d be right to.
But what I’d done before didn’t have to be the way I went on. I’d changed, at least mentally, in the last week. Even in the last few days. And the way I’d go looking for that family I’d always wanted but never let myself have? That would have to change too.
The how, but not necessarily the what. “I want someone… simple. Steady. Reliable. Stable. Willing to do the hard work of a relationship that’ll last. Someone who wants kids—who wants to build a family with me.”
That wasn’t so unusual. I didn’t need all that much, but so far, I just hadn’t found it. And as Mom had confirmed, there was nothing wrong with wanting those things.
Maybe in her world, where relationships were fake and love depended on your Instagram following—or whatever the hell it looked like in the public eye—the idea of simple and working together toward a goal was unusual. Of course it was.
Quiet closed in when she didn’t respond. Unable to bear my swirling mind, wondering what she thought of my response and silently begging her to tell me, I fiddled with the radio until the local country station popped on and Whit Grantham’s latest ballad floated through.
