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“I’ll take her home. We can bring your car tomorrow for you”
Ian gets up. I’ve never been short, but beside his six-foot-three frame, I almost feel tiny. He smiles at me. “We have some catching up to do.”
“Alright. See you back here in fifteen.”
Ian and Dylan speak at the door for several minutes, while I stare out the window at the silent streets, beating myself up for spilling my guts.
The door to the driver’s seat opens. The smell of Ian’s cologne fills the car, and I suck in a deep breath. He smiles at me and puts on his seatbelt.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He starts the car and drives into the street. We’re silent for several minutes. The cold air rushes past my face as I stick my head out of the car.
“There’s a lot I don’t know.”
I turn to him. “What?”
His gaze remains fixated on the road. “There’s a lot I don’t know about your business. But I still remember what your cooking tastes like.” He smiles without looking at me. “And the fact that you made a business out of something you love is inspiring. I’m proud of you.”
Warmth spreads through me, and a smile tugs at my lips. A small laugh escapes my throat. For the past few weeks, I’ve not felt very proud of myself. I’ve gravitated between worry and despair, second-guessing my decision to choose passion over stability.
“Thanks.” My voice is thick with emotion. “I really appreciate that.”
He swerves into my street, and the car slows as we near my house. It’s my pride and joy – a little grey-and-white house I inherited from Grandma. The porch is just as she left it – the rocking chair, the pretty vase containing fresh flowers and the soft faux fur rug in front of a small soft couch. This was where I found peace, sitting next to Grandma, listening to the soothing sound of her voice as she gave me her age-old advice whenever I was going through something. A wave of nostalgia hits me as the car stops in front of my house.
“So, will you let me help you? See it as an investment.”
“I don’t want to be indebted to you.”
“I want to give your business a chance.”
“I’m sure you have other things to do than to –”
“Kaylee.” He grabs my hand, and I swallow. “Let me help you. I want to.”
I stare at our hands. It’s foolish to reject his help, even though a part of me wants to figure it out alone. But that’s what I’ve been trying to do for weeks, and it’s gotten me nowhere. What’s the worst thing that can happen if I accept his help?
I nod. “Okay. But you have to promise not to offer to pay or support my business financially. I really want to do this on my own” Before I can pause to think, I blurt out:
“Do you want to come in?”
I bite my lip, waiting for – and dreading – his response. Why did I say that? It’s the alcohol. That’s what made me invite him to dance with me, and what made my skin tingle oh-so-deliciously when he touched me. And it’s definitely what made me invite him into my house.
Ian is silent for a few heartbeats; then he nods. My legs feel like jelly as I get out of the car and head into my house. My hand trembles slightly as I reach for my keys, and I laugh.
“It’s the alcohol,” I mumble, as his footsteps resound behind me.
“What?” he asks.
“Um, nothing.” I open the door. “Welcome to my home.”
I laugh awkwardly, spreading my arms out as we enter the house. Ian being in my house feels…intimate. He fills the house with his presence, nearly dwarfing me. Was inviting him a wise decision? Whenever I’m around him, my inner sixteen-year-old always wants to come out and play. It’s embarrassing.
He crosses his arms over his chest, and my gaze lands on his bulging muscles.
I really have to stop looking at his arms.
