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

by Claire Cain

  TWENTY-NINE

  Calla

  “Maybe so,” I said, not at all joking.

  His smile dropped. “Really? Are you considering moving?”

  I stretched my hands high above my head, then stood and took both of our plates. He leapt from his chair and grabbed the rest of the items on the table as I spoke.

  “I’m over the whole life-crashing-and-burning-on-the-front-page thing. I wanted an escape, so I came here. Now that I’m here, it only cements what I set out to prove.”

  “What’s that?”

  I flipped on the tap to rinse the dishes, knowing he wouldn’t want to leave them in the sink like I did. “I don’t want to go back.”

  His gaze on me pierced through any calm façade I’d managed to put up tonight. When he didn’t speak, I faced him.

  “I’m serious. I’m done. Today was confirmation that I could have the kind of life I’ve never thought would be in the cards for me—real friendships.”

  Real love.

  Waaaaaaaaiiiiiiitttt. What? I was not in love with this man, nor had love ever been an aspiration of mine. If it had been, I would’ve gotten it and been subsequently punished for doing so, just like Candy had been.

  She fell in love with every man she dated for more than a half second, and she dated a lot. Powerful, smart, well-positioned men. And they all crapped on her.

  One even introduced her to pills to “take the edge off,” which ultimately worked so well that they took every possible edge off, including her life.

  “That’s amazing. But can you do that? Just walk away?”

  He’d moved to stand by me, his strong form not quite touching mine, but close. I occupied myself with placing the dishes in the washer before answering. When I did, I made a point not to lie—to him, or me.

  “Probably not. But I’m going to try.”

  After finishing cleanup, Wyatt poured us both a little wine, and we curled up on the couch in front of the fire. He mentioned he’d planned for us to relax and watch the new Jack McKean movie, but with the power flickering, thought it better we not. He disappeared a moment and returned with an ancient Monopoly box and a few puzzles.

  “I’m voting puzzle,” he said, setting the pile of options on the coffee table in front of where we sat on the cozy couch.

  “You choose. I’d hate to beat you at Monopoly and make you feel bad.” I winked when he shook his head.

  “You can beat me at Monopoly any day. I won’t fight it.”

  He pulled a lid off one of the boxes and I sat back, appreciating the show of skin at his forearms and working to understand my reaction to his last statement.

  I liked the idea that he’d surrender to me. It sent a low, thrilling awareness through my brain and body. But why? Maybe because of the way we’d started—his resistance to me. Or perhaps because, despite our kiss yesterday and time together tonight, I still suspected he thought of me as unlike what he truly wanted. He’d seemed happy enough with the idea I might want to stay when I mentioned it earlier, and he certainly didn’t appear to want a fling.

  But I could freely admit I had no idea what he did want. And, at least while I still could, I needed to keep myself from abandoning all reason and wanting him right back.

  “I don’t think I’ve done a puzzle in decades.” I couldn’t remember the last time I had.

  “No? I like them at times like this.”

  Times like this? Times when the snow was howling outside and he sat cuddled up with a date? Prickly, sour jealousy punched into me. “Times like…”

  He glanced at me as he sorted through the pile looking for edge pieces. “When it’s stormy outside and cozy inside.”

  His blue eyes looked darker, almost navy, in the low light of the living room, but the heat in them could’ve lit something on fire. Maybe they did me, because it became difficult to swallow.

  I reached for my wine and hid my face as I took a drink. I wished on every star we couldn’t see that he’d reach over and kiss me. Touch me in any way beyond our knees gently knocking together when we sifted through the puzzle. But he didn’t.

  We chatted and laughed, and despite that awareness of him never decreasing, I relaxed into the evening enough that when we noticed it’d been two hours, I reluctantly suggested I get home.

  “Thank you for tonight. It’s been great.”

  “Thanks for being here.”

  He held up my coat, and I slipped my arms into the sleeves.

  We both bundled up completely, and I knew it’d be futile to suggest he not worry about walking me home. Plus, at this point, my only hope for a kiss was the doorstep. Not ideal in the storm that’d intensified steadily as the night went on, but I needed something from him. Any amount of time spent with him increased my interest in him.

  No, not interest. That sounded distant and almost clinical. I had feelings for him—I did. Terrifying to own up to, but that was where this wanting had come from. Yes, there was attraction piled higher than the mountaintops outside, but I liked him. I liked how capable he was to just take care of things—shoveling and cooking and even unplugging the TV with the power surge. It was such a small, stupid thing to like about someone, but it exemplified something I’d liked about him from the minute I realized it. He was a man who wasn’t going to make excuses. If something needed to be done, he did it.

  Maybe it was pathetic how attractive I found that, but in my world of excuses and false smiles, his genuine way of doing things just did it for me. That paired with thoughtfulness and kindness, being unafraid to talk about his feelings of grief and concerns for his brothers… this man was a walking cowboy-shaped cinnamon roll and I was hungry.

  We held hands as we walked, and while in some ways it made it harder to move in the ever-deepening snow, I didn’t want to let go. By the time we reached my porch, my face felt frozen.

  He held up his phone to light the door so I could fit the key into the lock.

  “Sorry. I thought I’d left the porch light on.”

  But when I opened the door, everything was dark. I knew for certain I’d left at least one light on for exactly this reason—I didn’t want to come home to a pitch-black house. I didn’t fear someone breaking in here, but memories of people invading my privacy over the years kept me vigilant.

  “I didn’t think I’d left it totally dark.”

  “I’m pretty sure the power’s out. The generator must’ve switched on at my place.” We glanced over at his house, a warm glow coming from the kitchen window.

  He and Warrick had warned me they did lose power occasionally, but I didn’t really think about what that meant. It was cold and lonely in this little space, and it could only have been a matter of minutes since the power had gone all the way out.

  We hustled inside, and I shut the snow out behind us. I held my phone up, the flashlight beaming into the darkness between us, and looked at him for direction. “What should I do?”

  “Two options. One, I make you a huge fire that you feed throughout the night, probably sleep on the couch or floor in front of that fire, and you come to breakfast tomorrow morning as planned.”

  I could do that. Sounded cozy, in theory, though there were more windows in here, and sleeping on a couch didn’t entirely appeal.

  “Okay. Or?”

  “Or, you come home with me.”

  My stomach flipped and dropped, then did a double dismount from the balance beam it’d been walking all night.

  That. I want to do that.

  He was safe and sturdy and wonderful. I didn’t want to stay over here in the dark, no buzz of electronics or internet to keep me company. Granted, in theory I’d be sleeping the whole night, but still.

  “I have a guest room, so no pressure there, of course.”

  I swallowed, then cleared my throat. “I think I’d like to come with you, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course. Let’s get some things packed for you, and we’ll head back home and get warmed up.”

  Oh, this man. How cou
ld he know what his referring to us going home did to me? It took my heart and shook it, rattled the parts, and thawed more of the iced-over muscle. It made me want.

  And I knew all too well how that road went downhill fast.

  THIRTY

  Wyatt

  As a gentleman, and generally not a creep, I tried not to notice the clothes Calla packed or what things she gathered. We stayed close in her darkened little cottage, and though she hadn’t said it, I could tell she wanted it that way.

  She’d asked me to come with her when she packed and then stayed close. When she moved to the bathroom to get toiletries, she had me hold her light. Was it the dark? Or something else? Obviously enough, she wasn’t scared of me, which was definitely a positive, but it disturbed me to see the edge in her body language as she moved through getting her things.

  By the time we reached home, I’d faced the cruel possibility that maybe she didn’t feel nervous around me, but the prospect of staying with me did make her anxious. And why wouldn’t it? I’d said no expectations, but we’d only known each other a little over five weeks at this point.

  “I’m sorry about this. Warrick needs to get that place set up with a generator.”

  I shucked my boots and hung our jackets, then showed her to the guest room. The fear that she might not be comfortable clutched at me. I hated the thought.

  We’d spent weeks sharing breakfast, and our date had certainly gone well. But I’d been a jerk on more than one occasion. Maybe I didn’t deserve her trust and comfort.

  I set her bag on a small desk in the corner and waved a hand into the room. “Not glamorous, but clean and warm, I promise.”

  She padded inside from where she’d been standing at the threshold and walked right up to me, so close our chests bumped. Eyes staring into mine, she wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you for inviting me and helping me.”

  I squeezed her close, reassured, and yet still confused. “I swear to you I have no nefarious plot. This is your space. You’ll have your own bathroom, and—”

  Her hand pressing into my chest as she inched away stopped me. She shook her head and then explained.

  “I don’t like the dark. It’s not a huge thing, but I’ve had some break-ins and other stuff like that in LA, and I got spooked over at my place. But I know you didn’t lure me here with ‘nefarious’ plans or anything.”

  We shared a smile like that thought was completely ridiculous. And it was.

  Except for the whole thing about her spending the night here and that becoming a more and more vivid fantasy playing out in reality. Not that I’d act on my baser impulses, but I couldn’t pretend I wished Warrick had done his due diligence and gotten a generator before Calla moved in. Plus, ultimately what I wanted most was for her to be here of her own volition. For her to want me like I wanted her. No coercion or power crisis needed.

  “Glad to know you trust me at least that much.”

  Her brow furrowed just a touch. “I think I trust you more than most people.”

  My smile was genuine, but it covered my heartbeat jolting to a canter and the very real sensation that the ground was crumbling at my feet. Soon enough, I’d be falling, and her trust in me chipped away more steadily than almost anything yet.

  “I’m glad,” was all I managed.

  “Well…”

  She twisted to look behind her, and it clicked. Time to go, or this becomes awkward.

  “Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair, give you some privacy. Bathroom’s just to the left in the hallway. I’m at the other end—don’t hesitate.” For anything. Ever.

  I shuffled to the door, but she grabbed my hand.

  “Thank you for dinner. And the puzzle. And the room.” Then she leaned against me and pressed a slow, delectable kiss to my lips.

  The connection sent heat bursting in my gut and rushing through my blood. Unadulterated longing sent my breath from my lungs as I pulled away, knowing any more time touching her would weaken my resolve to be welcoming and put no pressure on her.

  I cleared my throat. “See you in the morning.”

  Needing a visible reminder that I should not linger or go back and kiss her again, but more, and deeper, I shut the door behind me. To avoid marching right back to her and asking something stupid like if she needed towels, because of course she did and I’d put some in the bathroom in a minute, I made the rounds, checking locks to outside doors, unplugging any other electronics that could get fried in a power surge.

  And then I went to my room and closed the door. I debated leaving it open a crack, just in case she needed an invitation. It was a stupid idea—she was leaving, and no matter how much chemistry and companionable time we’d shared, this couldn’t go anywhere.

  But if I didn’t leave the door open for possibility, was I falling back into the old trap? Waiting to die instead of choosing to live?

  Maybe it was simply that she was new—I hadn’t known her all my life, and I hadn’t had to seek her out on an app. If that was the case, testing this out, letting it unfold, was worth it.

  And if it was her, in particular?

  I’d have to deal with that when the time came.

  I woke with every small sound, and earlier than usual, but didn’t see Calla during the night. Sadly.

  No. It’s for the best.

  Yeah, but seeing her would’ve been even better.

  I poured water into the coffee maker and silenced my idiotic, fighting internal dialogue. I’d been going back and forth with myself since I gained consciousness at five this morning, and even a brutal bodyweight workout hadn’t worked to silence my mind. With the power out, I didn’t want to tax the generator and use the treadmill, and I wasn’t about to leave Calla to check on the herds.

  Plus, that wasn’t my job anyway. I’d hired the best, and I needed to trust them. I could tell Terrence had gotten irritated the last few weeks when I’d visited him daily instead of just my usual once a week. Whether that’d come from the restlessness of not being engaged in things overpowering my good sense, or a subconscious need to put a little space between me and Calla every so often, the result was the same.

  After adding grounds to the machine, a job I religiously did the night before and yet had completely forgotten last night, I closed the lid and pressed start. I needed a shower and clothes, and then coffee. After that, I’d visit Sheridan, do some shoveling, and—

  Any coherent thoughts fled my mind at the sight of Calla leaning against the doorway between the hallway and the kitchen. She wore slouchy pants and a baggy sweatshirt. Her hair was in a familiar braid snaking over her shoulder. Her face was relaxed, and a soft smile played on her lips.

  My heart pulsed a longing ache, and a lifetime of this—seeing her at home in my house, seeing her first thing—flashed in front of my eyes.

  “You look like you were having a very intense thought just now,” she said, stepping fully into the kitchen.

  I sidestepped to the sink and washed my hands to keep from touching her. I was sweaty and disgusting, or I might not’ve had the will. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Got a little chilly, but overall just fine.”

  “You should’ve come and told me. I could’ve gotten you another blanket.” I dried my hands and looked up just as she moved to block me from walking by.

  “I will next time, if there is one.”

  The promise in her words and the intensity of her gaze hit me like a low blow. The dual thought that I hoped there was another chance, and that there might not be a next time, sent me into a weirdly frazzled dance around her.

  “Just finished a workout, so I’m going to grab a shower. Coffee should be ready soon. I’ll be right out to get breakfast going.”

  Then I bolted, practically jogging down the hallway to my room.

  “Take your time!” she hollered, and I could’ve sworn I heard her smile.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Calla

  The day that should’ve felt slow and claustrophobic turned into one of t
he best days of my life. It started after a somewhat odd breakfast in that Wyatt seemed antsy. He had such a mellow, staid energy, so this seemed completely out of character. But when I asked him what was wrong, he shook it off.

  “Probably just worried about Sheridan.”

  “He has food and water, right?”

  “Of course, and Clayton checks in on him all the time too, but I’m late getting over there. He’ll expect me.”

  The first instance of feeling out of place hit then. So far, I’d felt nothing but welcomed and a little charmed by his overactive hospitality. But this seemed more like I’d inconvenienced him than ever before. He must’ve seen that on my face because he reached across the table and grabbed my hand, touching me for the first time today.

  “Not your fault, of course. But I’d like to go soon, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not, go ahead. I can head back home.” I could make a fire and hang out reading, or maybe shovel my porch and walkway.

  “Would you want to come? Meet Sheridan?”

  Did I want to meet his beloved horse he visited every morning? “Absolutely. Yes. Just tell me what to do.”

  And so after that, we whipped the kitchen into shape and piled into his giant truck. The size of the wheels and the vehicle itself made even more sense than it had before as we rumbled over the short pathway from his garage to the barn, only a five-minute drive. It would’ve been a long, hard walk, though.

  “He’s fairly friendly, but he might be mad that I’m a few hours late today. Have you ever ridden?”

  “No. I’ve always wanted to. Always hoped I’d have a shoot with a horse for a music video, but no such luck.”

  He let us into the massive, rather modern-looking structure through what looked like a small office, and then we stepped onto a compressed dirt floor to find eight stalls. I could see four heads from where we stood.