Almost Perfect: A Sweet Small Town Opposites Attract Romance (Back to Silver Ridge Book 1)

by Claire Cain

  This new perspective I had, thanks to my little lightning bolt in the barn a week ago, had shaken me. And what I’d realized after she’d said yes was exactly this—I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t felt what I did whenever I saw her. There was every reason to believe it might be the most cram-packed night of my life in terms of sheer desire.

  Based on every interaction with her, it would feel nothing like the other dates for about fifteen different reasons. Everything about preparing for this, anticipating it, felt more demanding and thrilling than the others. And even that small shift made me dangerously close to being giddy just to see her. Just to know I was finally doing something that felt like taking a chance and really living. Whether it was Calla in particular or simply waking up from the fog I’d been living under—or maybe the nitrous oxide was a better image—I couldn’t say. And while I had my suspicions, the only way I’d ever know was to try. So here we were.

  Only half a minute after I knocked, the door swung open and revealed her buttoning up her black wool knee-length coat. Her hair came down in long, luscious waves that looked so soft and gorgeous and shook me by the shoulders—I wanted to touch it so bad.

  “We ready?” she asked, a smile on lips that were a compelling muted pink color.

  I nodded, because the sight of her ready like this for a date with me had stolen my words.

  She was always gorgeous. Truly, always. I had yet to see her when she didn’t strike me as almost too beautiful. But so far, I’d seen her in a stripped-down version of herself—hat low on her head or a messy braid, rarely any makeup, relaxed clothes, a giant hot chocolate stain down her shirt.

  I hadn’t seen the Hollywood version of her, the famous, perfected look. And this wasn’t Miss Mayhem—she wasn’t quite that. But holy crap, this was next-level Calla.

  “Should we go?” she asked when I said nothing, did nothing.

  I nodded again and stepped back, gesturing to the truck pulled close to her front step. The flurries in the air hadn’t picked up yet, so the road should be clear until later in the day tomorrow. Thankfully. Because I didn’t want to miss this chance with her, and the weather was one of the only things that could’ve stopped it beyond her changing her mind.

  I opened her door and held her leather-gloved hand as she stepped up into my truck and slid onto the seat. Minutes later, we were pulling onto the road, the low hum of the engine and the only radio station I had reception for up here our background.

  “So is this place one you take all your first dates?”

  Her tone made me glance at her, but the sun had set and she was nothing but shadow. It sounded pointed, but I wasn’t sure in what way. And I couldn’t read her face to figure it out. Should’ve gone for lunch so at least I could’ve stolen glances at her.

  I mentally cringed away from that idea. If Warrick could hear my thoughts, he’d never let me live that one down. He’d been suspiciously quiet today when he’d dropped the groceries, and I had the feeling he was saving up to really lay it on thick the next chance he got.

  I needed to focus up and not continue swimming through the hazy, ridiculous thoughts I’d been steeped in since I’d opened the door and seen her.

  “Uh, not usually.”

  “Really?”

  “I tend to go for lunch first. It’s a little more than a coffee date, which is too quick and casual to really get a feel for someone. But it’s not the commitment of multiple courses and potential dessert.”

  Her low chuckle sent a bolt of heat through me. Damn, but her voice made my insides downright liquefy sometimes.

  “That’s quite strategic of you.”

  “It is.” Something about the admission made my cheeks heat, and I immediately discovered gratitude for that early sunset.

  “You’re very systematic with your dating and all of that.”

  Again, I couldn’t identify that tone. I didn’t know her well enough to know for certain, but I could definitely tell it wasn’t the normal way she spoke when we ate breakfast weekday mornings.

  “I know what I want. Might as well be smart about it.” But it’d changed, hadn’t it? Granted, I couldn’t very well say, I’m pretty sure I want you, even if we’re way too different.

  She hummed, and that definitely lit me up. The darkness in the cab of the truck, the intimacy of our proximity, the teasing scent of her perfuming the air between us—it was a good thing both my hands were occupied with driving the winding canyon road.

  “And what is it you want? You’ve mentioned a little about this, but I want the full job description.”

  Job description. That verbiage smarted, though there was something teasing to it. I didn’t think of it that way—like a job—but I’d certainly begun to treat it like one, interviewing different candidates for the position of wife. And then, of course, discarding them since I’d been stuck functioning like none of it mattered anyway.

  Did she see me that way? Wandering around trying on different women like that? Maybe she did, and maybe she’d be right to.

  But what I’d done before didn’t have to be the way I went on. I’d changed, at least mentally, in the last week. Even in the last few days. And the way I’d go looking for that family I’d always wanted but never let myself have? That would have to change too.

  The how, but not necessarily the what. “I want someone… simple. Steady. Reliable. Stable. Willing to do the hard work of a relationship that’ll last. Someone who wants kids—who wants to build a family with me.”

  That wasn’t so unusual. I didn’t need all that much, but so far, I just hadn’t found it. And as Mom had confirmed, there was nothing wrong with wanting those things.

  Maybe in her world, where relationships were fake and love depended on your Instagram following—or whatever the hell it looked like in the public eye—the idea of simple and working together toward a goal was unusual. Of course it was.

  Quiet closed in when she didn’t respond. Unable to bear my swirling mind, wondering what she thought of my response and silently begging her to tell me, I fiddled with the radio until the local country station popped on and Whit Grantham’s latest ballad floated through.

  “I like country. It’s so simple.” Her voice emerged low but steady.

  Yet again, I wished with everything I had that I could see her. Had I upset her?

  “We don’t get all that many stations up here. This one seems to play the same twelve songs, but I’m a captive audience unless I’m listening to a podcast.”

  “She’s really nice, you know? Well, actually, I guess you do know. She and her husband have come out here before, right?”

  She had to mean Whit Grantham. “They have. Nice people, from what I could tell.”

  She stayed quiet again, and I chased back the frustration creeping in. Not with her, but with myself. When had I lost all ability to make conversation with her? I’d done a decent job the last few weeks, but now that I had her truly all to myself, I could barely connect words and string them into sentences.

  I had to try, though. It wasn’t like I didn’t have a million questions for her. “So. What about you?”

  She must’ve followed my subject change, because she responded by saying, “What do I want in a partner?”

  “Sure. If you even want one, I guess.” I winced because it came out just as bad as it sounded like it would. Hadn’t thought that one through.

  “If I even want one?”

  Crap. Yeah. Definitely came out the wrong way. Adrenaline surged as I tried to repair the moment. “I mean, I don’t, uh… well, I didn’t know if that’s something you’d be interested in. Your life’s so different, and you mentioned your last relationship was mostly for publicity. I guess it might sound ignorant, but I also didn’t want to assume since not everyone does want that.”

  “Fair, I guess.”

  And then nothing. She gave me nothing else for a solid twenty minutes. Not until we were sliding into the parking lot did she speak again.

  “So this is different
for you, then?” she asked, unbuckling.

  “With you?” I had to clarify, because I’d bungled every single thing I’d said so far tonight.

  “Yes. I mean, you can’t possibly be looking for all that with me, especially since you’ve just admitted to being unsure that I’d want someone. So this must be something else.”

  The dome light cast her dark eyes in shadow, but I could see her chin jutting out a bit, and her full lips pressed thin. I loosed a breath, attempting to release some of the tension that’d built on the drive, even as the idea of something else with Calla sank a hook in me.

  “It is different. But I don’t know what it is.”

  That felt a little like taking off my shirt in the middle of a snowstorm—cold, exposed, and strangely raw. Admitting I had no idea what I was doing gave me absolutely no joy, and not being able to set her at ease chafed just as much.

  She hummed, though.

  “Well, I’m certainly nothing like the women you describe, so that makes sense.” Her door cracked open. “Let’s go eat.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Calla

  I’d dressed to kill. And after that conversation in the car, I wanted it to work.

  I’d given myself a special dispensation for tonight, buoyed by Jenna’s encouragement to enjoy my time here as much as a soul-deep need to spend time with Wyatt. But I wasn’t going to make it easy on him. Not after the last week of barely speaking to me unless Warrick was in the room. Not with the way he’d halted all progress between us and essentially disappeared right here at the end of my time in Utah.

  At least, he’d asked me about tonight. I’d looked forward to it more than I should’ve.

  He wouldn’t see my outfit until we were inside. I wore spike-heeled boots that put me at his eye level as we walked. There was no back entrance, so we’d be heading inside the front door. He’d sworn it was no problem, that weekdays tended to be slow in town as everyone reset and readied for the next influx of tourists, but I wasn’t concerned.

  That desire to hide away had vanished in the face of the need to make him see me. To ensure he realized I was both Miss Mayhem and Calla. And he could have both, at least for a while.

  If he wanted.

  But the biggest revelation there was for me—I was both Callaway and Mayhem. They could coexist in me. I could have the simplicity of this life and still be the woman who donned the fame and costuming and makeup. I hadn’t worked out exactly how to make them meet in the middle, but as I debated what to wear and how to approach tonight, I’d found a middle ground.

  So at least for tonight, Wyatt was getting equal parts Calla and Mayhem.

  Though again, based on that conversation in the car, he didn’t want both. No part of me or my life was simple or nice or even steady. He clearly didn’t know what to do with me, but he’d asked me here.

  And I’d arrived.

  Strangely, getting dressed like this, out of my sweats and chunky sweaters and warm socks, had made me feel powerful. It hadn’t felt like donning a mask exactly, but more like picking up an accessory I loved and hadn’t worn in a while.

  And that feeling… not loathing the persona that’d built my career? It felt awesome.

  Granted, I wasn’t Mayhem tonight. But it was close. It was a decent mix, the look and the mindset. The anticipation for how he’d react, how he’d handle this version of me, practically burned through me. I had to know if he would do what he’d said in that promising, whiskey-rich voice of his. “You bring yourself, and I’ll be ready for you.”

  Oh, honey, I did.

  “Hey, Wyatt, good to see you. And—Oh.” The hostess blanched as soon as she looked at my face. “Uh, um, wow, so. Welcome to Basta. It’s, um… wow.”

  Busted.

  Not that a little makeup or lack thereof made me obviously not Mayhem, but I always liked to hope that maybe being out of LA or out of music industry and Hollywood context would help, but no such luck.

  “We have a table in the back, Lizzy. Can you lead the way?” Wyatt’s hand pressed into the back of my coat and silk lining of my jacket and guided me forward after a wobbly Lizzy.

  “Wyatt Saint, out on a weeknight! What’s the world coming to?” A pretty blonde slipped from her seat and smiled widely as her eyes skated over Wyatt’s form.

  He did look good tonight. I hadn’t seen the shirt, but he wore dark jeans and black leather boots of some kind—couldn’t see for sure since I hadn’t been able to really study him yet. Not that it mattered—the man would draw eyes in a burlap sack. He was just that genuinely handsome. Plus that serious, steady vibe about him just made me want to lean into him—he was the kind of man you looked at and you just knew he’d catch you if you fell.

  This woman, whoever she was, clearly thought so. The hand on his wrist, stopping his progress, said maybe she wanted to be the one taking him out tonight.

  “Hey, Samantha. Nice to see you.” He looked at the table, and heat jumped to his cheeks. “Hey, Quinn. Chase. Dahlia. Sarah.”

  Samantha. Could it be his ex, Samantha? He’d mentioned her in passing once or twice. Was Silverton big enough to have more than one gorgeous blonde who knew Wyatt well enough to joke about him being out of the house? Unlikely. This had to be her.

  And wow… no smolder between them at all. Maybe I shouldn’t have felt such satisfaction, but I did.

  “Yeah, does anyone else see his date, or is that my imagination?” The only man at the table, presumably Chase, had that hazy, stricken look people sometimes got when they saw me in person.

  I stifled a laugh and smiled. “Hello.”

  Chase swallowed with effort. “Hi. Big fan.”

  “You’re—you are. Holy crap, what are you doing here?” one of the women said as she stood and shot out a hand. “I’m Dahlia. So nice to meet you.”

  At this, everyone else stood, and I shook their hands. Only Quinn didn’t seem completely enthralled, but of course, we’d met.

  “Good to see you,” I said to her, and she gave me one of what I suspected must be her signature chin nods in response.

  “I knew I recognized you,” Sarah said when I greeted her.

  I smiled, hoping she didn’t feel bad about not placing me right away last time we’d met after her pseudo-date with Wyatt. “You did say I looked familiar.”

  She shook her head but didn’t seem all that surprised or even thrown. Not like Chase, whose cheeks had lit on fire and couldn’t stop staring. Instead, she just said, “Well, now I know.”

  I nodded, that matter-of-fact statement warming me. Now she knew. Nothing earth-shattering, just… simple. Real.

  I’d been searching for that when I’d run away and tucked myself into the little cottage. And so far, everyone I’d met here had been just that—not fawning and crazed, but kind. Warm. Maybe a little enamored, like Chase, but still genuine. Not after something.

  The realization wrapped around me like a fuzzy blanket, and I mentally nestled into it because here it was. Yet again, the confirmation that Silverton was home. However long I’d been away, my roots were here, and my tree grew happy when I let it.

  Wyatt’s hand pressed into me, almost like he wanted to apologize for this run-in. “Well, guys, we’re eating in the back, so don’t mention this to anyone.”

  His eyes shot to Chase, whose hands rose in a helpless I would never gesture.

  “I appreciate it. It’s hard to find privacy once word gets out sometimes, so thank you,” I added, hoping that would buy me at least a few more days before word spread I was here.

  I still didn’t know if I’d stay longer. I wanted to, but I hadn’t told Warrick. I needed a reason to stay, and the mountains, the fresh air, and the space were all wonderful. Silverton, each time I came down from the ranch, was wonderful. But I wanted one particular reason, and I hoped maybe it would materialize tonight.

  Wyatt steered me away from the table, past two others whose occupants were deep in conversation and didn’t seem to notice the interaction we’d just h
ad, and finally into a room all the way at the back of the restaurant.

  I’d eaten in a fair number of back rooms or banquet rooms, usually with the entourage I honestly didn’t miss even a little bit. Well, I missed Gareth, my stylist, because he did amazing things to my hair I could never hope to attempt. But otherwise, no. And he’d needed time off to take care of his ailing father, so I wouldn’t have had him around anyway.

  The point was, this little back room, which might accommodate four or five ten-top tables when packed to the gills, had one two-person table situated next to an exposed brick wall with a large window looking out on a patio strung up with lights, even now in the middle of winter. The rest of the room was empty except for one round set at the opposite end. Blond wood floors stretched between, and though it should’ve felt oddly empty, the lights outside and the brick, and the fact that the huge windows didn’t make the temperature of the room too cold, all combined to make it welcoming.

  “It’s adorable,” I said, unable to stop myself or the little leap of excitement that jumped through me. I hadn’t bothered to eat in a restaurant in far too long—I’d been in hideaway mode long before I arrived here.

  “This place is great.” He led me forward, and it occurred to me Lizzie had faded away, likely back to the hostess stand. We stopped next to the table. “Can I take your coat?”

  “Of course.” I unbuttoned the front of the wool jacket, hoping I’d be warm enough with it off. The room felt great, but if we were sitting right next to the window, it might not stay that way.

  “They open the patio in late spring and you can sit outside. They have herbs and such planted out there, too. It’s really—” He made a sound, and I heard his breath hitch.

  And I knew exactly why.

  He’d pulled the jacket from my shoulders and found what the otherwise rather simple-looking little black dress revealed—my entire back. From nape to just above my tailbone, the dress left the skin of my back and much of my sides exposed.