Page 61 of Almost Perfect
“Everything’s delicious, thank you.” She smiled up at him, one demure little nod to let him know he could go.
And he did.
That small movement said so much. She was used to speaking for herself and giving orders. She knew how to command a room, how to charm people, and how to captivate an audience of literal thousands. It was a side of her I hadn’t been privy to until tonight—until I saw her greet people who knew who she was, and now talk to Josh.
Before I could say something stupid about her dress or her career or just generally anything since I seemed to be nailing the awkward comment game tonight, she saved me, launching into a series of questions about my work. She acted like a boutique cattle ranch was fascinating, and I talked more than I had at one time in… well, as long as I could remember.
* * *
We drove back up the mountain in quiet. For my part, I’d used about all the words I had for the day. I wasn’t a true introvert, in that being around others didn’t always drain me, but I preferred to be listening and observing. I liked being the one to ask questions and gather information rather than the one in the other seat.
Calla hadn’t gone for that. Anytime I asked her a question, she turned it around. This served to highlight yet another difference between our night together and every other date I’d had, much less the fledgling attempts at a relationship with Samantha.
I’d always driven the conversation with questions. Maybe it came back to that idea of interviewing, but most women ended up chatting away, only occasionally reciprocating. And I preferred it that way. I wasn’t someone who had to get his word in.
The closer we got to the ranch, the more the ball of twine in my chest wound around itself. I’d started picturing something like that nestled opposite my heart behind my ribs. Each small smile or throaty chuckle cinched it tighter. And with that sensation came the anxious, greedy desire for her to unravel it.
My truck’s tires crunched into the light layer of snow in front of the porch steps at her little house. I hopped out and plodded carefully around, wary of hidden ice but also working to settle myself.
I wanted to kiss her. Very much.
She’d flirted with me, pushed me all night. She’d worn that dress and made sure I took note. I felt reasonably confident she’d be interested in the idea.
At her car door, I held out a hand. I’d slipped my gloves off as we got closer to home since the car had heated, and selfishly, I didn’t want to be wearing thick leather gloves if I did kiss her.
She accepted my assistance with her bare hand, also free of gloves, and the contact paired with the knowledge that she’d skipped her gloves too—such a stupid, small detail—had me swallowing hard as I shoved her door shut once she’d cleared it.
“Thank you for coming out with me.”
“Thanks for the invitation,” she said, her hand still in mine as we took the porch steps slowly.
Once at her door, she turned to me, our hands still linked. I wouldn’t ask to come inside—that was about as far from my personality as it could get. Maybe she was used to men inviting themselves in, but if she was, I didn’t want to be like that. Maybe she wanted that, but I couldn’t go there yet.
Her dark eyes sparkled with heat in the dim porch light, and my stomach twisted with wanting. The freezing air surrounding us made our breath puff out in little white clouds. My pulse hammered in my neck, all through my head. My mind reached for something to say, some other thing to offer her beyond thanking her again, because that was just overboard.
But before I could speak, and without saying a word, she opened the door, walked inside, and pulled me in after her.
TWENTY-FIVE
Calla
He thoughthewas surprised.
I’d surprised myself.
I didn’t do this. I didn’t invite people in. And I had no intention of sleeping with the man, but the idea of ending the night with a peck on the cheek or whatever he was about to do, and having that potentially be the end of everything between us, tore at some essential part of me.
We’d never circled back to whether my differences were a bad thing. Of course, I wasn’t an idiot, so I could read a few things, like the fact that whether he wanted to or not, he liked the dress. He liked the little push, a nudge into acknowledging who I was. Because if he wanted me, Calla, then he’d need to confront me, Miss Mayhem, too.
We hadn’t fully gone there. And he seemed to believe that I didn’t have the same things in mind as he did. That should’ve consoled me, made me feel good that we were on the same page. Though right now, it only made me feel vaguely hollow and like I had a popcorn kernel stuck between my teeth.
But atthismoment, with our hands linked and me tugging him inside behind me and shutting the door, facing his searching eyes in the darkened hallway, I knew what I wanted.
And fortunately for me, so did he.
His smile flashed, sending my stomach dropping, just before he reached for me with his other hand and stepped into my space. Instead of a gentle touch at my cheek or cradling of my face, which was totally where I’d pegged Wyatt in terms of first kiss territory, his hand slipped into my open coat, skimming along my waist and smoothing around to my bare back.
I gasped at the contact of his cool hands—mercifully, we hadn’t been standing outside too long or that would’ve been unpleasant. But the rough pads of his fingers dragged along my spine now, sending ripples of sensation and covering my entire body with goose bumps. It felt better than I’d imagined more than once. Then he paced us backward until my shoulders and legs hit the wall and our chests nearly touched.
