Yeah, because of you, Blair. Because of you.
“It was the peach iced tea ramble.” I shrug.
“I think I might have to ramble about it more often, then.” She laughs.
And there it is again.
If she keeps doing that, laughing the most perfect laugh I’ve ever heard, I might just have to wrap her in my arms and take her home and?—
“Have dinner with me tonight?” I ask, the words flying out of my mouth without even a second thought.
What am I doing?
She stares at me, unblinking.
“My place,” I add.
The words are flying out of my mouth on their own accord at this point.
She leans back in the seat, her eyes stay fixed on mine, but an eyebrow raises in question.
“Are you asking me on a date, Griffin Barlow?”
I narrow my eyes and instantly regret it the moment her eyes widen, and her hand comes up to cover her face.
“I—Uh—I’m sorry. That just came out of me.” She trembles over her words. “I didn’t mean it like that. Uh—Shit.” She says the last words under her breath, turning away from me so I don’t see the embarrassment.
It’s not that I react the way I do because of what she asked me, more so because I can’t remember the last time I’ve even been on a date. I swore off women and anything that would remotely open me up to that type of life a long time ago.
“I figured since you don’t have any food in your house…” I say.
She turns back around to look at me, but this time there’s more hope in her eyes.
“Also, I’m a mean cook,” I add.
Thank fuck, the smile is back. I feel like I’m getting to the point of needing to see that smile on her face at all times. I can’tnotsee it. It’s becoming the sole thing that’s bringing me joy lately.
“I’d expect nothing less, Angry Cowboy.”
Blair is in my house.
Not only is she in my personal space, but her scent is taking over every square inch of my spacious kitchen. Overpowering the smell of chicken parmesan in the oven.
It’s not a meal I love to make. I’d prefer steak and potatoes over this. But I wasn’t sure what she would want, and I felt too nervous to even ask. I’m not sure how I went from being annoyed by her presence in this town to being nervous about having her in my home.
The oven timer dings and I wish like hell I could get the smell of some kind of flower I can’t pinpoint, mixed with honey, out of my nose. It’s a wild combo, but it fits her.
It’s a consuming scent that I’m getting lost in.
“Your house is really nice,” she says, breaking the silence stretching between us.
I pull the baking dish from the oven and place it on the hot plate in the center of the island separating us. “Thank you. I built it myself.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re joking.”
A smirk plays on my lips, unable to control the urge to smile any longer. “I wish I was. I have the chronic back pain to prove it.”
“That’s…impressive.” She nods repeatedly.
