Page 72 of Until Next Time
Casey eventually joined us for dinner. She spends every Christmas dinner with us for as long as I can remember. I’ve always insisted that she just stays the night on Christmas Eve so she can spend the whole day with us on Christmas, but she never does.
Casey’s family is basically nonexistent. She’s never shared too much about them, but she went to live with her grandma here in Saddlebrooke when she was just a girl.
Her grandma hasn’t been well for the last few years and has been living in an assisted living facility in town, so she usually has Christmas breakfast with her.
Casey is so independent, strong, and so sure of herself. I’ve always admired her for that. She’s never had much in the wayof a family, but it never broke her. She’s resilient and has used everything in her life as a driving force and as her best friend, I feel so fortunate to have a front row seat to her life.
When people talk about fierce and inspiring women, she embodies that wholly. She’s taken what most would see as setbacks in life, and she’s overcame them with gusto.
I wish I had an ounce of what she has.
I’m confident and sure of myself, but I don’t have the same grit, tenacity or force as her. I just respect the hell out of her.
Christmas dinner consisted of wine, pasta, and cannolis. Like the half-Italians we are, we used store-bought noodles, but we made the sauce from scratch.
River and Casey bickered pretty much the entire meal while we all simultaneously tried figuring out my future career path.
That’s right—I have the type of family who has a lot to say about everything, including my lack of career.
However; there was absolutely no progress made. But it’s fine, I know I’ll figure something out. And I’m not out of money…yet.
I woke up to a text message from Dawsen
Dawsen:I have a surprise for you. When can you get here?
Considering the unemployment, I can get there pretty fast actually. I spend more time on my hair and makeup than usual, and I decide on my favorite skinny jeans, my red western boots, and a hoodie. It’s simple, but it’s warm and the boots give it a little extra flair.
I make my way to my car which happens to have a light dusting of snow on it. I take my forearm and schlep it off the windshield. As I go to grab the handle on my door, there’s a redribbon tied around it. Attached to the ribbon is a gold key. My heart races at the sight of it. Butterflies consume my insides as I imagine Dawsen coming over early this morning to leave this for me.
I examine the key for a moment, trying to figure out what it would unlock. There’s no note with it though.
I tuck the key into my back pocket and jump into my car. I turn the ignition and crank the heat—I love old cars, but their heating and cooling systems leave something to be desired. I rub my palms together to create some semblance of warmth before I grab the steering wheel and point these wheels towards Dawsen.
Just a few minutes later, I’m at the back entrance that leads to Dawsen’s loft. I pull the door and it swings open, and I’m immediately hit with warmth, and I think I audibly sigh at the feeling. I wipe my feet on the mat that’s just inside the door.
There’s not much snow, but enough to dust my boots off. I take off towards the stairs that lead to Dawsen’s loft. I take two at a time, and once I’m at the top I realize how out of shape I am. When I lived in the city, I had a gym membership and would try to go at least twice a week, but since I’ve been home, it’s sort of been the last thing on my mind. I make a mental note to change that. But not today.
Dawsen’s front door is made of solid oak. I love the color, and the ornate handle on it. It’s very true to the history of the building. There are no markings other than a small brass door knocker.
I reach for the tiny brass handle, but I remember the small gold key with the red ribbon. I reach into my back pocket and put the key between my fingers. I slide the key into the door lock and give it a twist.
*Click*
I’m taken aback for a beat.He gave me a key to his apartment.I’m a little speechless and also a little bit giddy, and a lot a bit freaking the fuck out. What is my life?
“Dawsen?” I step in hesitantly, and quietly close the door behind me.
I set my purse down on the small little table he has by the door, which is very oddly adorable and thoughtful for a man to have near the door. He has a small leather catchall that holds his watch, wallet and keys. I set my keys and my new key in the same leather tray.
I hear Dawsen shuffling across the loft from his bedroom.
He pauses, still halfway across the room and his hand flies up and lands smack in the center of his chest like something has taken his breath away.
He just looks at me. His eyes meet mine, then they rake up and down the rest of me. It takes only a second until he finishes his stride to me. Once he’s in front of me, he scoops me up, all muscle, no help from me. I wrap my legs around his waist and his hand goes to the back of my head, softly petting my hair as he kisses my neck. I giggle at the sensation and feel his lips trail up to my ear.
In a breathy, low voice, “I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve imagined being able to do this. And seeing you here. Like this.”
I lean my face towards his cheek so I can kiss his skin. “I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve imagined you wanting me like this.”
