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“And so…” Scarlett continues, her voice shaking, tears streaming down her face, “and so I…I quit my job, I left my apartment, and I b-booked my ticket out of there and I n-never…I never want t-to see them again.”
Her words melt into renewed sobs, and I get up from the table, circling around and sitting in the seat beside Scarlett. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her soft body close to me, letting her sob against my shirt until she starts to calm down, hiccupping weakly.
“Oh, Gunner, I’m so sorry,” she says, pulling back from me and looking ashamed. “God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me—you invited me over for dinner and instead I’m telling you my life story and crying all over your shirt.” She frowns down at the wet stain that her tears have left.
“Never mind my shirt,” I tell her. “I’m glad you told me, Scarlett. I meant what I said…I want to hear everything about you.” I swallow hard, painfully aware of her curvy body pressing against me. “That’s why I invited you over. So we could get to know each other better.”
Scarlett is so close that I can see the flecks of hazel in her blue eyes. “I’d like that. I want to know about you too, Gunner. Everything.”
Instinctively, I feel walls go up inside me, shrouding all the dark thoughts, hiding the horrors of the past. The thought of opening up freaks me out; it’s not something I do with anybody, but dammit, there’s something about Scarlett. She’s so kind and gentle, and when she gives me a sweet smile with those pretty lips, I think to myself,well fuck, no way could I ever deny this girl anything.
7
Scarlett
I’m flustered as I watch Gunner. I didn’t come to dinner with him tonight expecting to sob all over him and talk about my parents. Part of me is painfully embarrassed; it’s an emotion I’ve felt a couple of times now with Gunner since I always manage to act a little nuts around him. I don’t know what it is about those deep green eyes or that ruggedly handsome, bearded face, but something about him makes me trust him. It’s crazy, we only just met, but I feel like I can rely on this man—like he’s the kind of person who will always be there if I need him, keeping me safe, making sure I’m okay. Being alone with him in his huge mountain cabin fills me with a glowing warmth in my chest, making everything feel better, even after talking about the awfulness of my parents. But even though I trust Gunner, I want him to give me something back. I want some of his trust too; some of his secrets, some of his world.
“What would you like to know about me?” Gunner asks slowly. There’s something reluctant in his expression, and I can tell that talking about himself isn’t something that comes naturally, but he looks determined, like he wants to answer all of my questions.
“The day we met, you said you moved here from San Diego three years ago,” I say.
When I asked about it before, I’d gotten the impression that it was a sensitive subject for Gunner, but maybe tonight he’ll feel more willing to share. Now that we’re sitting so close, on the same side of the table, chairs facing each other, knees brushing, eyes locked…
“That’s right,” Gunner says eventually.
I press my lips together. “Why did you leave San Diego?”
There’s a flicker of something across his face. “Lots of reasons. I used to own a company there. Made millions in tech, but the lifestyle was cutthroat. The business made me rich and it also made me miserable. I needed a new start.”
I nod, but I can tell that Gunner is holding back. There’s something he’s hiding, something he’s not mentioning—I can see it in his frown, in the haunted look in his eyes. I want to ask more, but at that moment, a timer sounds from the kitchen. Looking reluctant as he pulls away from me, Gunner gets up, still with that faraway look in his eye.
“Sorry, one second, I need to get the lasagna out.”
I think about what he said as he busies himself in the kitchen. Trying to imagine this wild, rugged mountain man running a tech company in California isn’t easy. I can’t picture it at all, and I can only conclude that Gunner must have changed beyond recognition in the three years since he moved away from the city.
I wonder if the move made him happier.I hope so.
But as Gunner comes out with the lasagna and garlic bread, the smell wafting deliciously as he sets down the food, I can’t help but think of the look in his eyes—the pain of something hidden. I’m burning with curiosity, but I don’t want to ruin the atmosphere by pushing Gunner to talk about something that clearly causes him so much distress. So I tuck into my lasagna with a smile and keep the conversation light, asking about his work in the forest and his cabin, which he apparently helped build himself when he first moved here. The words flow freelybetween us, and our looks start to linger across the table, gazes roaming. My head is spinning, and it has nothing to do with the wine I’ve been drinking.
“Thank you, that was delicious,” I say truthfully as Gunner clears away our plates. “You make a mean lasagna.”
Gunner chuckles, a handsome smile playing on his lips, and a minute later he brings out a heavenly-looking chocolate fudge cake.
“I’ve got cookie dough ice cream in the freezer too if you want some,” Gunner says as I cut myself a slice.
“My favorite,” I say brightly. “Sounds great.”
For a second, my mind flickers back to last night, eating cookie dough ice cream in front of the TV while I was watching Law & Order. Suspicion flares up for a moment, but I quickly push it back down again.
So what? He likes cookie dough ice cream too…it’s not exactly uncommon…it doesn’t mean he was watching me…
I was sure I heard someone again earlier this afternoon, somebody walking around outside my cabin. Maybe Gunner was there, but that doesn’t mean he was watching me. He already told me that he spends all his time working out in the woods—maybe he just happened to be working nearby. Or maybe it wasn’t him at all…maybe it was an animal or a hiker.
But part of me hopes it was him.
The thought of Gunner outside my cabin makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt before. I want him close. I want more of these feelings he’s giving me—more of him.
“Thank you for dinner,” I tell him once we’ve polished off the desserts and Gunner has cleared the table. “Everything was amazing.”
