Page 70 of Almost Perfect
After finishing cleanup, Wyatt poured us both a little wine, and we curled up on the couch in front of the fire. He mentioned he’d planned for us to relax and watch the new Jack McKean movie, but with the power flickering, thought it better we not. He disappeared a moment and returned with an ancient Monopoly box and a few puzzles.
“I’m voting puzzle,” he said, setting the pile of options on the coffee table in front of where we sat on the cozy couch.
“You choose. I’d hate to beat you at Monopoly and make you feel bad.” I winked when he shook his head.
“You can beat me at Monopoly any day. I won’t fight it.”
He pulled a lid off one of the boxes and I sat back, appreciating the show of skin at his forearms and working to understand my reaction to his last statement.
I liked the idea that he’d surrender to me. It sent a low, thrilling awareness through my brain and body. But why? Maybe because of the way we’d started—his resistance to me. Or perhaps because, despite our kiss yesterday and time together tonight, I still suspected he thought of me as unlike what he truly wanted. He’d seemed happy enough with the idea I might want to stay when I mentioned it earlier, and he certainlydidn’tappear to want a fling.
But I could freely admit I had no idea what he did want. And, at least while I still could, I needed to keep myself from abandoning all reason and wanting him right back.
“I don’t think I’ve done a puzzle in decades.” I couldn’t remember the last time I had.
“No? I like them at times like this.”
Times like this? Times when the snow was howling outside and he sat cuddled up with a date? Prickly, sour jealousy punched into me. “Times like…”
He glanced at me as he sorted through the pile looking for edge pieces. “When it’s stormy outside and cozy inside.”
His blue eyes looked darker, almost navy, in the low light of the living room, but the heat in them could’ve lit something on fire. Maybe they did me, because it became difficult to swallow.
I reached for my wine and hid my face as I took a drink. I wished on every star we couldn’t see that he’d reach over and kiss me. Touch me in any way beyond our knees gently knocking together when we sifted through the puzzle. But he didn’t.
We chatted and laughed, and despite that awareness of him never decreasing, I relaxed into the evening enough that when we noticed it’d been two hours, I reluctantly suggested I get home.
“Thank you for tonight. It’s been great.”
“Thanks for being here.”
He held up my coat, and I slipped my arms into the sleeves.
We both bundled up completely, and I knew it’d be futile to suggest he not worry about walking me home. Plus, at this point, my only hope for a kiss was the doorstep. Not ideal in the storm that’d intensified steadily as the night went on, but I needed something from him. Any amount of time spent with him increased my interest in him.
No, notinterest. That sounded distant and almost clinical. I had feelings for him—I did. Terrifying to own up to, but that was where this wanting had come from. Yes, there was attraction piled higher than the mountaintops outside, but I liked him. I liked how capable he was to just take care of things—shoveling and cooking and even unplugging the TV with the power surge. It was such a small, stupid thing to like about someone, but it exemplified something I’d liked about him from the minute I realized it. He was a man who wasn’t going to make excuses. If something needed to be done, he did it.
Maybe it was pathetic how attractive I found that, but in my world of excuses and false smiles, his genuine way of doing things just did it for me. That paired with thoughtfulness and kindness, being unafraid to talk about his feelings of grief and concerns for his brothers… this man was a walking cowboy-shaped cinnamon roll and I was hungry.
We held hands as we walked, and while in some ways it made it harder to move in the ever-deepening snow, I didn’t want to let go. By the time we reached my porch, my face felt frozen.
He held up his phone to light the door so I could fit the key into the lock.
“Sorry. I thought I’d left the porch light on.”
But when I opened the door, everything was dark. I knew for certain I’d left at least one light on for exactly this reason—I didn’t want to come home to a pitch-black house. I didn’t fear someone breaking in here, but memories of people invading my privacy over the years kept me vigilant.
“I didn’t think I’d left it totally dark.”
“I’m pretty sure the power’s out. The generator must’ve switched on at my place.” We glanced over at his house, a warm glow coming from the kitchen window.
He and Warrick had warned me they did lose power occasionally, but I didn’t really think about what that meant. It was cold and lonely in this little space, and it could only have been a matter of minutes since the power had gone all the way out.
We hustled inside, and I shut the snow out behind us. I held my phone up, the flashlight beaming into the darkness between us, and looked at him for direction. “What should I do?”
“Two options. One, I make you a huge fire that you feed throughout the night, probably sleep on the couch or floor in front of that fire, and you come to breakfast tomorrow morning as planned.”
I could do that. Sounded cozy, in theory, though there were more windows in here, and sleeping on a couch didn’t entirely appeal.
