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God, he’s so rugged.
So handsome.
The promise of dinner with Duke has filled my veins with buzzing anticipation. My pulse is racing as we climb into his truck and head for my apartment, where he waits outside while I take a quick shower and change my clothes. I swap my baggy t-shirt for a pale blue summer dress that I’ve rarely ever worn, inspecting myself in the mirror. My heart sinks a little when I see the way my stomach looks, and I turn from side to side, inspecting my body from every angle.
I’m curvy, but not the kind that gets millions of likes on Instagram. Not ‘perfect boobs, tiny waist, wide hips’ curvy. I’m big all over. My thighs jiggle and my belly sticks out. I have stretch marks, cellulite, and boobs that are big and heavy, not perky. As I look at myself, my first instinct is to take the dress off and pull on something baggy. Anything to hide the bumps and rolls that are visible beneath the blue fabric. But then I think about Duke and the way his eyes pierced me earlier, like he never wanted to look away. It gives me the boost I need to take a deep breath and stare resolvedly into the mirror.
“You look great,” I tell myself. “This dress is perfect on you.”
I don’t believe my words. It’s not as simple as that, even if I’ve come a long way toward self-love since my teens. But just saying them aloud is enough for now. With a smile at my reflection, I turn around and head back into the warm summer evening.
Duke is waiting by his pickup, which dwarfs every other vehicle parked outside Mountain Brew. My mouth goes dry when I see the look he’s giving me, his eyes raking over my body like I’m a work of art, and my anxieties are drowned out by the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
“You look beautiful,” Duke says in his deep, growly voice.
“Thank you.”
He looks at me for a moment longer, eyes narrowed, like he knows I don’t believe him. “I mean it, Ariana. You look so damn pretty.”
My cheeks pinken, heating up at the compliment, and I can’t stop myself from beaming at him. “Thanks, Duke. So do you.”
He makes a noise of amusement as we cross the street and begin the short walk to the restaurant. “Nobody’s ever called me pretty before.”
“Handsome, then,” I say.
“Never been called that, either.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”
He gestures to his scars with a wry smile. “Freddy Krueger isn’t many people’s idea of a hot date.”
“You don’t look anything like Freddy Krueger,” I tell him, frowning. “Anyway, I think your scars look cool.”
“Well, if you think they look cool, that’s all that matters.”
Warmth spreads through my chest at his words, but there’s a question that’s been nagging at me for a while. “How did you get them? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Duke absent-mindedly touches his face, and I follow his finger with my eyes. There is a jagged line between his eyebrows, a deep groove on his cheek, and several raised patches of puckered skin on his neck and forehead that look like small, individual burn marks.
“I was in the military for over twenty years,” he says. “The burns came from an exploding car. I got too close. The one on my cheek was a bullet that grazed me, and the one between my eyebrows was a knife.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, staring at his scars with renewed respect. “Sounds like you went through hell.”
“Sometimes. Other times, it was great. Never thought they’d let me in at my height—too much hassle having a guy who can’t fit in normal vehicles or tight spaces. But I was lucky.”
“Do you miss it?”
Duke is quiet for a moment. “No. But it took me a while to find a sense of purpose after I left. Wasn’t easy to find that as a civilian for the first time in twenty years. I had the store waiting for me, though. A family business to run.”
“Do you like owning a hardware store?” I ask, hanging onto every word Duke says.
“I like working with my hands. Building stuff, chopping lumber, things like that. But I have employees to do the people-facing shit.”
A chuckle escapes my lips. Duke is even more introverted than me. Somehow, that makes it feel even more special that he’s asking me out to dinner. He seems like a loner who prefers his own company, keeping to himself in the woods, just him and Scout. Yet he invited me to dinner so we could spend more time together, and the thought sends a rush of affection through me.
We round the corner onto Orchard Street, and Hollow Grill comes into view. As we near the entrance, a gaggle of people spills out of the restaurant—a large family, by the look of it. They stare openly at Duke as they pass us. A couple of kids have their jaws hanging open, and I see one woman pull her child closer to her, marching past Duke as fast as possible.
The unfairness of it is like a punch to the gut, and I swallow down the sourness in my throat. They were looking at Duke like he was some kind of monster. And even though he doesn’t say a word, I’m sure he must have noticed.
