Page 42 of Missile Tow
“Do you have those tiny marshmallows, ma’am?” he cheekily asked. “I love those so much.”
“Of course, I do…Van? Is that correct? Your name is Van? Is that short for Vance?” she asked, backing through the door while still holding his hand.
“Why, yes, it is,” he responded. “How’d you guess that so easily, ma’am?”
She raised her hand to him, acting coy. “Oh, I just guessed,” she replied, giggling like a schoolgirl again. “And please call me Sadie, Vance. I’ve decided I like you, young man.”
“I’d love to call you Sadie. And I like you too,” he said. “Any friend of Calvin’s is a friend of mine,” he teased.
She pulled him inside, basically ignoring me. I stood on the porch, gob smacked at how he’d utterly disarmed her. He’d read the scene like a professional therapist.
If he’d been even minutely bothered by the news of a grandson and her desire to marry me off to him, he’d recovered almost immediately, turning on the charm to such an unbelievable effect. Van was amazing. I was stunned.
The emotion meandering through my mind at that precise moment was frightening. He was everything I liked in a man. Boyish, yet mature. Charming, caring, and engaging with people. He’d wowed Bertie, me, and now the ice queen, Sadie Hatfield. He was obviously educated, well spoken, and quick on his feet.
Mrs. Hatfield was a complete stranger to him, who may have delivered unpopular news to his plans, but one would never know based on his skill at assessing the situation and thoughtfully avoiding an uncomfortable outcome.
The thought of sharing a life with someone I’d be so proud to have on my arm was occupying my mind. The fact that, like me, he’d be twenty-five in two weeks, yet still so polished, made him even more attractive to me.
Was Van truly on a journey to find a husband, or was this some schtick he used to charm the pants off unsuspecting men? One could easily appreciate that he was well equipped to get most anyone he desired. The man was a looker for sure. But the other killer weapons he possessed were beyond simply having incredible looks.
The total package was what made him deadly to my ability to resist his charms. He was an eleven in a world of tens. Perfect in so many ways and in such a short time. There had to be a catch.
I thought I knew what the catch was. He was too good for me, and way too big a personality for a small place like Missile. I’d better wise up fast. A man like him didn’t stay in towns like mine.
A heartsick feeling plunged like an elevator down my throat, stirred up an entire mess of butterflies living in my gut, and then took a huge dump on the fantasy of Van sharing my life in Missile. If my ex, John, a man born and bred here, couldn’t last in this town, how could a man like him?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Van
There was a half-inch space along the edges of the window where the blinds didn’t meet the frame flush. The mis-measure allowed brilliant sunshine to enter from the outside. I immediately thought of Evan and how angry he would’ve been if I’d done the measuring. His perfectionist personality was a difficult trait to live with.
Despite the spacing of the blinds, the room was dim, but there was no denying that the snow had ended. I ran a hand across the sheet next to me to find Chip, but he wasn’t in bed. I sat up and noticed the door was closed, Pooch no longer in the bedroom either.
Hurrying out of bed, I pulled gym shorts on along with an old University of Washington sweatshirt I’d packed for when I was hanging out in hotel gyms. So far, other than the night in Spokane, I’d been sharing a cabin in the woods with anot so strange to me nowstranger.
The bedroom was chilly, but as soon as I opened the door, a rush of warmth greeted me. “Whoa,” I muttered, figuring I wouldn’t need the sweatshirt with a roaring fire burning in the fireplace.
“Take that off, handsome,” Chip greeted from the kitchen. “You’ll sweat to death.”
He went back to stirring the contents of a ceramic bowl. I came up behind him, wrapping him in my arms. The roomsmelled of cinnamon and bacon. A weird combo for sure, but those were the scents I’d noticed.
“I don’t see the bacon, but I sure can smell it,” I said, nuzzling the back of his ear.
“I bake mine,” he explained. “Less greasy and far crispier that way,” he added, spinning around and moving my hands to behind his neck like we were about to slow dance. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock until I noticed you weren’t in bed with me.”
He jacked a thumb over his shoulder toward the focal point of his kitchen, the tiny window above the sink. “See outside?” I nodded and mumbled confirmation that I had. “Sunshine and zero clouds,” he reported. “Which means I gotta open the mercantile. That’s why I’m making you a big breakfast so you can relax today while I’m working.”
“I’m going with you,” I stated. “I need to earn my keep.”
“You did yesterday,” he teased, fondling my semi-hardness while making suggestive faces at me.
“True, but you didn’t fuck me last night like you threatened to do.”
The goofy expression on his face disappeared, and he turned back to the kitchen counter. I worried I’d been too forward. Remembering we’d only snuggled the night before, I was curious about the shift in his lust for me.
“You seemed exhausted after dealing with Mrs. Hatfield,” he replied. “She can be a handful, so I get it.”
