4
Dolly
I tightened my hands on the steering wheel of my father’s pick-up truck as it bumped up and down the gravel road. With my car still in the shop—a part they were waiting on still not having arrived—being able to go places took a little bit of maneuverability since I was sharing a vehicle.
I also wasn’t going to wonder how much the repair was going to cost and if it would drain my savings.
The road was inclined, and once I reached the top, I could see a large swath of farmland as well as a ranch-style house situated in the center. There was a small pond to the left, and what I could make out of a large garden to the right. There was a strip of woods behind the house, and I was struck for a moment at how gorgeous it all was.
When I called the number for the rental, the voice on the other end had been deep and husky, making me feel a strange kind of way. It was as if I knew who it was. His tone was brisk yet polite, and the conversation extremely short.
He’d given me the address and told me a time to come, explained we could talk and see if things meshed between the two of us. To say my father wasn't pleased with it being a man who owned the house was an understatement. I’m sure he would have loved it if it was a houseful of women, but in life, adult decisions had to be made, so here I was.
I pulled the vehicle to a stop beside a massive pick-up truck, my father’s rundown, slightly beat-up and rusted old Chevy looking like a toy compared to the behemoth beside me.
I grabbed my purse and the few papers I was able to print out at the library, ones that had a couple references and any other information he might require and walked up the porch steps and to the front door.
I didn’t realize I was so nervous or understand why. It was essentially just a small interview; nothing was set in stone. Yet after getting off the phone with him the other day, I couldn’t push down the feeling that something life-changing was going to happen. I tried to blame it on fear of the unknown, at how this was another totally new path for me.
It was a strange sensation, something I’d never experienced before. I still couldn’t get over the fact that his voice reminded me of someone, yet I couldn’t place it even if it stuck with me the entire time.
The front door was open, but there was a screened-in one in front of it, and I brought my knuckles down on the wooden frame before taking a step back and clutching my bag to my chest as if it were a shield.
I couldn’t see very well into the house with the screen and the shadows, but I could smell the scent of lemon, pine, and something deeply masculine, something that triggered a memory. The sound of heavy footfalls came through and drew my focus to the present.
A massive body rounded the corner, and although he was still shrouded in shadows, I felt that prickle on the back of my neck intensify. He didn’t move for a second, which I found a little bit odd, as if he were sizing me up. Maybe he was. Maybe he wanted to get a good look at me as the prospective renter who would be in his house. Although compared to a man of his size, I wasn’t sure how much of a threat I’d ever be.
My heart started beating fast when he stepped forward, and the closer he came, when the shadows didn’t conceal him any longer, I heard my sharp inhale of breath as I got a good look at his face, and recognition slammed into me.
Tristan Black.
Although I didn’t really know him, nothing that would have caused this instant tightness in my body, and hadn’t even had a full conversation with Tristan, I had seen him plenty of times while living in Cherry Falls.
When I'd been a little girl, he’d seemed larger than life when I’d seen him in town, this massive man who looked like he could crush bones with his bare hands. The older I got, I saw him as something more of a protector, a man who might look scary, but in his eyes I’d seen something softer.
And then that awe I’d felt when I saw him faded to something more carnal on the night of my going away to college party, when my eighteen-year-old self noticed him in the shadows watching me, and my body lit up and ached with something I'd never experienced before.
I exhaled slowly as my traitorous body lit up the closer he came. My body softened more at the scent of him filling my nose, making me dizzy and feeling drunk.
He was big and strong, almost imposing in his size. His shoulders were so broad that I swore he filled the entire doorway. His eyes were so dark, almost black, but I didn’t know if it was the actual color or because the pupils were so dilated.
I didn’t know how long we stood there staring at each other, our gazes locked almost intimately, but it felt like an eternity, a moment frozen in time. One I wasn’t too quick to end because it made me feel funny things… warm things.
And then he was pushing open the screen door, and I had to remind myself to breathe. I might not have really known Tristan Black, but looking into his rugged face, the scruff that covered his cheeks and jaw, the way he made my heart beat a little bit faster simply by standing there, it felt like I’d been waiting for this moment for a very long time.
It was like I’d been waiting to see him.
It was the strangest feeling in the world, and one I shouldn’t have let consume my thoughts. I should’ve been terrified about them, yet it felt like it was so… right in some inexplicable way.
“Well—” I breathed out on an exhale and felt a little embarrassed because it might’ve seemed dramatic. “You were the last person I expected to see today.” I gave an awkward laugh and immediately felt my face heat.
The corner of his mouth twitched as if he found it amusing, or more so, he found me funny. I couldn’t help but feel how my face got even hotter. I was embarrassed, felt nervous and anxious, and found myself picking at a loose thread on my bag, shuffling back and forth on my feet.
I wanted to tell myself to stop, to ask why the hell I was acting like this, why I couldn’t control myself. He pushed the door open a little more, and I gathered my composure. I moved past him, my shoulder brushing against his chest, the feel of all those hard slabs of muscle underneath his T-shirt making me feel especially achy between my thighs. I stopped when I got fully into the foyer and heard the screen door close, the frame banging shut and seeming almost… final.
I turned around to face him, the shadows in the house from the way the windows were positioned, from how the sun hung in the sky, made things seem a little hazy, a little less real.
“Do you want to do this in the kitchen?”
I felt my eyes widen and my heart rate pick up at his words, my mind immediately going into the gutter. I ducked my head, letting the shoulder-length fall of my blond hair hopefully conceal my no doubt tomato red face.
I nodded but didn’t look at him, and a second later he moved past me, and I couldn’t help but take note again at how big his body was, how hard and broad his shoulders and chest were, how extremely masculine every inch of Tristan Black was.
I followed him into the kitchen, and he pulled out the chair at the two-seater table for me. I hated that I was so nervous, that my legs felt wobbly, my knees kind of locking up. I tried not to look around at his place, to be nosy, but it was hard not taking notice of his home.
The kitchen had a rustic flair to it, yet it was modernized, with exposed beams crossing along the ceiling, natural hardwood flooring that was polished and smelled like lemon beneath my feet. The appliances were stainless steel, the countertops a marbleized white granite. There was only a coffee machine on the top of that granite, a bowl of bananas and apples across from that.