Page 13 of Until Next Time
I see Dawsen’s black Ford F-100 up the road, in what I can only imagine is the farthest parking spot from the winery that he could possibly find. I’m slightly annoyed and wondering why he parked so damn far when he lives upstairs, and because I am wearing heeled boots which are probably the most uncomfortable pair of shoes I own, and I feel a blister forming and my pace slowing. The bottle of wine I consumed is probably not helping either.
“You okay back there, hon?” Crawford pauses to let me catch up to him a bit. “My boots are really cute, but they aren’t made for walking, I’ll tell ya that.” I say with a little laugh and continue walking while looking down at them, because they are really cute.
Next thing I know I’m met with a very firm chest, as I walk directly into Dawsen. He doesn’t say anything, just turns his back to me, standing mere inches apart and looks over his shoulder—
“Hop on.” I just stand there in slight shock.
“What?” Very clever, Birdie.
“I’ll give you a lift. Just hop on. Don’t make it a thing.” Dawsen says flatly.
I roll my eyes because I don’t like people telling me what to do. Even if it is a 6’4” man that smells like spiced vanilla and wears the hell out of a henley. But, I do what he tells me, because I’m realizing that maybe I don’t mind so much when he’s the one telling me what to do.
I give my best wine induced hop I can muster, and wrap my arms around his shoulders, and my legs around his waist as he hoists me up like I weigh nothing at all. I make a mental note to calm the fuck down so that my heart doesn’t beat out of my chest.
“Why the hell did you park all the way down here? You live upstairs.” I say, as I realize how dangerously close my mouth is to his ear.
“Don’t you know that if you’re an employee or a business owner, it’s polite to park in the spots furthest from the business so that your patrons can be closer?”
I can hear how his voice shifted into that way it does when he teases me.
“No, I didn’t know that. But if I ever am fortunate enough to land a job some day, I’ll be sure to implement this bit of wisdom. I will think of you every day on my walk to and from my car and I will say, “WWDD. What Would Dawsen Do.” I say, trying to poke some fun at him while also being a little self deprecating, like any good comic knows to do.
I can feel his body vibrate and his laugh come out a little bit husky. “You’re such a smart ass, ya know that?” He prods.
“Yes, Yes, I do. It actually happens to be one of my favorite things about me.” I say proudly.
“Mine too.” He says it like he’s never been so sure of anything.
I can’t find words again.
Top Five.Mine Too.
Four meaningless words that are holding a lot of meaning for me right now. Tucking those away for safe keeping.
We approach the truck and Dawsen lowers me down near the passenger side. Crawford is already there, and he swings open the door and motions for me to hop in first. I step up into the cab and slide myself across the bench seat so I’m positioned right in the center. Crawford climbs in on my right, as Dawsen climbs in on my left. I am now the contents of a Jones men sandwich.
There have been worse places to be.
Dawsen reaches in front of me and turns the dial on the radio to 102.5, our local country station. I love that no matter how long you’re away from home, you seem to always remember your local stations.
We ride in companionable silence most the way. Crawford and Dawsen have a couple exchanges about going fishing next week some time, and how Dawsen will just need to take care of a few scheduling things, but he’ll call him in a couple days.
We pull into their driveway and Dawsen shifts the truck into park. “See ya, dad!” Dawsen raises his hand to his dad. Crawford just nods and gives him a smile.
“I look forward to being graced with your presence again soon, Miss Birdie Banks.” Crawford says as he takes my hand in both of his and places a kiss on it. He turns and closes the door, and jogs up to the house.
Their beautiful blue cottage. I’ve always loved it here.
“I love your dad.” I say, while staring at the porch. Dawsen glances at me, I can feel it— “He loves you too.” He says, while he puts the truck in reverse.
“I have always loved this house. There’s something so cozy about it. It just looks like something someone would do an oil painting of or something.” He kind of gives me a questionable glance, “Yeah, it looks like what a home should feel like.” He says, like he knows exactly what I’m trying to say. I just smile at him and give him a nod in agreeance.
I’m suddenly very aware that I am alone with Dawsen Jones in his black truck, on a bench seat with our thighs touching. I didn’t slide over when Crawford got out because I didn’t know if that would be weird, but now I’m wondering if it’s weirder that I didn’t.
My mouth is dry and the cab is quiet, except for the faint hum of 90s country playing through the speakers. Silence makes me extremely nervous, and I think my nerves right now might be higher than usual because of the touching that’s happening. I decide that I’ll do what I do best—talk.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, because everyonelovesgetting asked if you can ask them a question. Brilliant start, Bird. *Hand, meet face.*
