Page 9 of Before You Go
“It is.” We step up to the bar, and he orders a beer after I ask for a glass of red wine. With our drinks in hand, I walk over to the table set up with lots of finger foods and a whole section that is just dips, cheeses, crackers, fruits, and nuts. I start to make myself a plate, and Dayton does the same. I’m starving, but even normally, I could live off charcuterie, so I fill my plate until it’s almost overflowing.
“Where do you want to sit?” he asks, looking around.
“You don’t have to stay with me. I won’t feel offended if you want to go mingle,” I tell him quietly, but not because I’m not enjoying his company. Actually, I feel at ease in his presence. I just know that he didn’t come here for me.
“Where do you want to sit?” he repeats, like I haven’t spoken, and I look around the covered patio that has filled with even more people since we came outside.
“I know a place.” I lead him down the steps. It’s a beautiful night, and with the moon just a sliver, you can see every star that is out once we get far enough away from the brightly lit patio. For being April, the weather is nice. It’s been this way for the last few days, so there is still a touch of warmth in the air left over after the sun has set.
Walking to one of the oversized lounge beds near the pool, which is lit up a pretty blue that glows in the darkness surrounding it, I kick off my heels and place my wine on the small table. When I take a seat, I stretch out my legs and cross my ankles, feeling my cheeks heat when I find his eyes on the exposed skin of my thighs. I bite my lip, then place my plate on my lap and dig into my food, pretending not to watch as he takes off his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing tattoos that I never would’ve guessed he was hiding under his clean-cut exterior. But I can’t seem to drag my eyes away. There is something compelling about him, magnetic even. And I can’t figure out if it’s because it’s been so long since I have been with anyone or if it’s just him.
“So, tell me about yourself,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of my lounge bed, putting his beer on the ground between his bent knees.
“I grew up here.” I wave my hand out toward the house. “I went to college in Alabama and got my master’s in healthcare administration. I moved back here after school and worked for one of the local hospitals, married Matthew a few years later, and then realized I hated my job. So I started painting, which is something I always enjoyed doing, as a more serious hobby. Not just when I was bored, but actually making the time to do it as a part of my daily routine. I sold my first painting five years ago, and a year later, I decided to quit the hospital and started painting full time.”
“You’re an artist?”
“Yes.” I load up a cracker with cheese.
“Have I seen any of your work?”
“Probably not. Most of it is purchased by people who want to hang it in their homes, but there are a few local floral shops and small businesses that have bought from me or sell my pieces.”
“That’s cool.”
“I think so,” I agree, and he smiles. “Where are you from?”
“You don’t think I’m from here?”
“No, you don’t have the typical Southern drawl most people from around here do.”
“I’m from Colorado.”
“Colorado is beautiful. Why did you move to Tennessee?”
“My brothers and my niece all moved out this way, so I followed them,” he explains with a fondness in his tone that makes me smile.
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Three.”
“Your poor mom,” I mutter, swearing I see his muscles get tight. “My mom only has one boy, Jacob, and he’s been a handful since the day he came screaming into this world.”
He doesn’t respond, so I focus on eating. I’m sure there’s a story behind why he suddenly seems tense, but we don’t know each other well enough for me to pry.
After I finish eating, I put my plate aside and start to pick up my wine glass, but the back of my neck begins to tingle, making me pause. Glancing toward the house, I spot Matthew close to the railing, with his eyes pointed in our direction, blatantly ignoring his date, who is clearly talking to him.
“He’s an idiot for bringing her here, when he so obviously wants you back.”
Focusing on Dayton, I find his gaze pointed in the direction I was just looking.
“That’s never happening.” I grab my wine and take a sip while leaning back in the oversized chair. “And I don’t think he actually wants me back. I think it’s just his ego and the fact that he considered me something he owned for a very long time.”
“Owned?” His gaze comes to me.
“As he put it, I was his.”
“Hmmm.”
