I’d called him. I’d called him, and I was going back down there.
What in the world was I doing?
It was such a spontaneous thing, I didn’t even really think it through. One minute I was standing in my living room, debating what to order from Grubhub for dinner, and the next I was Googling the VFW in Wakan and calling the number.
I had no idea if he’d actually be there. He was. And the second I heard his voice, I knew I was spending the night in a bed that wasn’t my own.
I’d scoured my closet for the right thing to wear. I checked the weather in Wakan. It was sixty today, so I picked jeans, some plaid rain boots that could be hosed off if I stepped in poop again, and a flannel with a white tank top underneath it. I looked exactly like someone trying to look woodsy. I debated calling Gabby to ask her for help with what to wear, but then
I’d have to explain why, and I wasn’t ready for that talk at all.
Daniel was not someone I could introduce to my friends. Ever. They would never get it. Frankly I barely got it.
My set of friends didn’t know people with tattoos. Or beards. Or goats. Gabby’s husband, Philip, was some big money manager guy, and Jessica’s husband, Marcus, was a hotshot lawyer. Daniel was too young and too different from the men they were used to. He was too different from the men I was used to.
Maybe that was the allure…
There was definitely something very non-demanding about him. I didn’t feel like I had to summon stimulating conversation or dazzle him. And he was so fun. Neil would have never hustled his friends in a bar.
Neil would have been horrified to be in that bar.
I packed some silky sleeping shorts and a matching black tank top. Not too s*xy, but definitely not frumpy. I didn’t want to look like I was coming there solely to seduce him—which I totally was—but I also didn’t want to look like I wasn’t making an effort.
I showered, shaved my legs, did my hair and makeup, packed a quick overnight bag, and headed south before I had time to talk myself out of it.
I listened to Lola Simone the whole way down.
I decided, since I couldn’t get to know my new sister-in-law in person, I’d do it through her songs. She had eleven albums, and I started with the first one. It wasn’t really my kind of music. Sort of pop rock. Very early Britney Spears, which I guess made sense, since according to her Wikipedia, Lola was sixteen when she made this. But her lyrics were pretty good.
This time when I drove through the tiny town of Wakan, I looked around. Half the businesses were closed on the sleepy main street. An ice- cream and fudge place, an old-timey photo shop, two boutiques, and half a dozen restaurants had unlit neon open signs and “gone for the season” posters in their windows. The motel I’d seen the other night on the drive in had a “closed for the season” message on the marquee, and the RV park next to it looked abandoned too. But even in the off-season, Wakan was charming.
The town was nestled between a river and bluffs. All the buildings were redbrick with old-fashioned lampposts lining the sidewalks. Almost every shop had a black metal historical landmark plaque, though I was too far
away to read the inscriptions. I crept past an antique shop, a bakery, and a pharmacy that looked like it’d been there since the 1800s, with a faded mural of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox painted on the brick side.
There was a tiny bookstore, a barbershop, and a single café called Jane’s Diner with an OPEN sign hanging from a chain on the inside of the door.
I drove half a mile more and finally turned down the gravel drive of Daniel’s rental property. A sign I hadn’t seen the last time was illuminated on the corner. The Grant House, 1897. The same year Royaume Northwestern was built, I noted.
Daniel was waiting outside—holding the baby goat. My heart leaped the second I saw him.
I didn’t know how I was going to feel seeing him again—if it would be awkward or whatever had attracted me to him might be gone. But the moment I laid eyes on him standing there, my pulse zinged.
He was even handsomer than the last time—maybe because he had warning? He was wearing jeans and a black Jaxon Waters T-shirt with a loon on the front, a thick brown leather bracelet on his wrist. His hair seemed more styled. Sort of coifed up. He looked like he’d gotten ready.
It was funny that Daniel’s version of getting ready was a level of dressed down that I’d never seen on Neil. But it fit him. And God, was it attractive.
Daniel had that lithe, toned body type. Not a bit of fat on him, but he was muscular enough for it to not look lanky on his tall frame. I remembered he had broad shoulders sprinkled with freckles. Every time he’d lifted me, his abs had crunched like an accordion…
My face flushed thinking about it.
I parked. As I got out, Daniel came up to the car door to meet me.
The dog bounded between us, tail wiggling back and forth. He stopped in the middle of his excited greeting and let out a long roooooooooo!
Then he jumped on me.
I caught him with an oomph, staggering back.
“Hunter, down!” Daniel pulled him off me with his free hand, still cradling Chloe. “Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay. I came dressed for it this time.” I smiled at the kid. “You’re really milking this, aren’t you?”
“I know what I have.” Then he leaned in and kissed me.
It was sort of surprising. I mean, I was here for this, so I expected kissing at some point. But the sensual kiss as a greeting made this feel oddly familiar. Like I’d been here a dozen times and was just coming back again.
Chloe was pressed between us, and she began nibbling on my shirt button. I started laughing, and Daniel smiled against my lips. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
He leaned away from me. “Let me put her away. Hunter.” He eyed his dog, who was sitting obediently at my feet. “No jumping. We talked about this.” He made the fingers to the eyes motion like he was watching him and then headed to the back of the garage.
I smiled after him and grabbed my overnight bag from the passenger seat.
When he came back, I was peering up at the house.
It had been dark the last time I’d been here, so I hadn’t gotten a good look at the place. It was getting dark now too, but the up-lighting on the house was on this time and I could see it was a gorgeous Victorian, green with white trim. It had a wraparound porch, a swing, rocking chairs, and red geraniums hanging from flower boxes over the banisters. There was a historic landmark plaque by the front door with the same year as the sign in the driveway.
“This is beautiful,” I breathed.
“It’s been in my family for six generations,” he said, taking my bag for me.
“You didn’t want to live in it?” I asked, walking with him to the steps. “I can’t afford to live in it,” he said.
He didn’t seem embarrassed by the question, but I kicked myself for asking it anyway.
It was like I’d forgotten that not everyone can just casually live in mansions. It was a disconnected Let Them Eat Cake moment, and it was the first time since I called him that I thought maybe I’d made a mistake coming here. I was so different from him that I didn’t even know how to not carelessly insult him. I was afraid I was going to accidentally do it again.
I still was internally beating myself up for this when he let us into the house.
“This is it,” he said, closing the door behind us.
I peered around the entry. It was beautiful. I sort of knew it would be, just based on the outside.
There was a small check-in counter just inside the foyer and an impressive dark walnut staircase behind it with a switchback leading to the second floor. The banister was like a functional piece of art. Hand-carved floral appliqués twisted along the railing. A beautiful period piece, probably original to the historic house. Stunning.
The formal dining room on the left featured a long wooden table that would seat twelve. A living room was on the right with a fireplace framed by green mosaic tile. Colorful glass Tiffany lamps, rich red curtains, antique Victorian furniture. The house was exquisite.
I beamed down at my feet. “Original hardwood floors?”
“In a maple wood herringbone mosaic,” he said, proudly. “My great- great-great-grandfather did these. See how he inlaid oak for contrast in the switchbacks? Finished it with a colorless filler, white shellac, and a light- colored wax to preserve the natural color of the wood grain.” He smiled. “He knew what he was doing.”
And Daniel knew what he was talking about… “Did he build this place?” I asked.
“He did.” He nodded. “Come on, I’ll show you the rest.”
He went into what sounded like a well-rehearsed tour as he walked me through the rooms. He pointed out Baroque antique monumental Italian wood tole wall sconces, a German wall clock, a nineteenth-century Victorian hair wreath.
It was like the place was frozen in time, trapped in the 1800s. I was totally in love with it. I adored antiques. I always wanted to buy some, but Neil complained they didn’t match the style of the house.
The Grant House had four bedrooms and bathrooms, and a view of the river out back, though it was almost too dark to see it. There was a four- season porch with wicker chairs and another hearth. The landing on the switchback to the second floor had a huge stained-glass window of a blue underwater river scene with swimming fish and diving loons. We viewed the bedrooms upstairs. Each one had a beautiful fireplace. In the fourth bedroom, he set my bag down. “This is your room for the night. It’s the best one in the house.”
I looked around, smiling. It had damask wallpaper, a four-poster bed, and a crackling fire. This was a huge upgrade from Daniel’s loft.
I remembered when I walked into his garage that first night. It had smelled like cedar. Like the lumber section of a hardware store. The jagged teeth of a power saw had glinted on a table in the middle of the room and
various furniture projects had been cluttered around the concrete floor and walls. There was a weight bench that he obviously used and a row of muddy men’s work boots carefully lined up by the side door. To the right was a small kitchenette where he’d made me that grilled cheese.
To the left a metal spiral staircase had led up to an enclosed loft with a tiny bathroom, a queen-size bed, and a large window that overlooked the garage. It had probably been an office once, but Daniel had converted it into a small bedroom.
To his credit, the room had been spotless. The bed was made, and there weren’t clothes thrown around. He hadn’t known he was bringing a woman home, so it spoke to his cleanliness. And so did this…The room he’d put me up in was immaculate—and there were fresh flowers on the nightstand.
I’d Googled reviews of the property on TripAdvisor before I headed down.
Five stars. A solid five stars.
Every single review gushed about Daniel and how he’d gone out of his way to make them feel at home. Tales of practical heroism abounded. He’d gotten the pharmacist to open the store at two in the morning to buy Tylenol for a sick kid, and he’d changed a tire when a guest had a flat. He did things like leave a box of graham crackers with chocolate and marshmallows by the fireplace.
He had guests on their fifth year of vacations on the property because they were so loyal to him. It went on and on and on.
He was thoughtful. And generous. I knew this already, having experienced his selflessness in our very first meeting, but it was nice to be able to attach a star rating to the man as well.
“It has so much character,” I said on the way back down, almost more to myself than to him.
He waited for me at the bottom of the stairs, then he opened the front door for me.
“So what are we eating?” I asked. “We’re eating out, actually.”
I paused on the porch. I wasn’t sure I liked this. The town was small. I didn’t want to advertise this liaison to everyone he knew. Did he?
“Where?” I asked.
He looked up at me from the bottom of the steps, amused. “Are you afraid to leave with me?”
I crossed my arms. “No.” “You do have the Taser.”
“I don’t think you’re going to murder me. Though statistically speaking you’re much more likely to be murdered by someone you know, so my chances are actually higher this time.”
He laughed. “You think I saved you from the raccoon ditch the other night just to murder you now? And technically aren’t my chances of getting murdered higher now too? Should I be concerned?”
I fought a smile.
“I planned a picnic. Just us. But my friend Brian will be around to call an ambulance for me if you assault me.”
I laughed, relaxing. “Okay. Also, while we’re on the subject of bodily injury, no hickeys this time.”
He pulled his face back. “I gave you hickeys? You gave me hickeys.” “What? No, I didn’t.”
He pulled his shirt down and showed me a fading purple blotch on his collarbone.
My jaw fell open. “I did not give you that.”
“What? Who else would give me this?” He held his arms out and peered around with a grin. “How much action do you think I get around here? I’m not making out with anyone but you.”
I crossed my arms. “Okay, but seriously, I didn’t do that.” “Yeah, you did. I have scratches down my back too.”
I gasped, and his eyes twinkled.
I did remember clawing at him a bit…
He climbed the steps between us and slipped his hands around my waist. “It’s okay, I liked it,” he said, his mouth a fraction of an inch from my lips.
I would have laughed if my entire body hadn’t turned to jelly in his arms.
God, he was so s*xy. I think he knew it. He grinned at my breathlessness and whirled me off the porch to the ground. “Your chariot awaits.”
