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But he’d said he wanted to talk, and that he’d wanted to take her home. The implication—at least as she’d understood it—was that he wanted to talk either on the way to her home, or at her home.
They hadn’t talked on the way, ergo …
Kelsey was naturally quiet, too, she tended toward introversion, but she wasn’t shy. She could and did speak up, and stand up, for herself when she had to. But just now, yeah, she felt shy. Dex had rejected her, in his weird, half-measures way, repeatedly over the past couple weeks. She didn’t relish getting dinged again.
Or—was he just waiting to be invited?
Oh. Duh.
“Will you come inside with me?”
He smiled—not a common expression for him, andwow. Even under his winter beard, those deep, long dimples showed. The wound on his cheek was going to make a noticeable scar, and there remained some discoloration from bruising, but even so, it couldn’t diminish how handsome this man was when he smiled.
“I’d like that, yeah.” He took the keys from the ignition and undid his seatbelt.
“Cool.”
They got out. Dex came around and met her at the front of the truck; Kelsey got the idea that he’d intended to open her door for her. But as they met, he simply reached for her bag and lifted it from her shoulder. She let him take it and led him up the walk to her door.
“It’s sticking!” Kelsey cheered as she watched their feet leave marks in the new snow.
“Yeah,” Dex said. “It’s pretty. I hope it’s not too much, though.”
She’d never met a biker who really loved snow. They all looked at those beautiful white flakes as a jail sentence: confined to their trucks until the roads were clear.
“I think the forecast only called for three or four inches.”
He nodded. Then they were at her door, and he chuckled softly. “That’s cute.”
“My wreath?” she asked as she slid her key into the lock.
The wreathwascute, and she loved it. Burlap and different bits of red and green calico fabric, like pet bandanas were made from, gathered and mingled with different ribbons, and a tiny Pound Puppy-style stuffed dog in the center, holding a paw-shaped sign that readDeck the Paws.
“Yeah. I’ve never seen one like it. Did you make it?”
“No. I’m not good enough at crafts to make something like that. It is handmade, though. I bought it on Etsy.”
“I like it.”
“Thanks.” She opened the door, and Seth ‘Dexter’ Denson walked into her apartment.
She went in behind him and flipped the switch beside the door. The matching lamps at either side of her sofa turned on.
“Oh, hey,” Dex said, taking a few steps forward, to the end of her tiny entry hall. “This is nice. Your kitchen is up front, like mine.”
“Yeah.” She took off her coat. “Can I take your coat?”
“Sure, thanks.” He shed the fleece-lined leather and handed it over. While she hung the coats in the hall closet, he turned the corner into the main area of her apartment.
“Wow. It really is nice.”
It wasn’t much of an apartment, really. Just a typical, bland, beige box. Two bedrooms, one not much bigger than the walk-in closet in the master, two bathrooms, tiny kitchen, tinier dining area. But the living room was decent-size, and it had a gas fireplace, and the pretty paned slider to her brick patio and the pond and woods beyond.
And it was hers. She loved it.
Loving it as she did, she’d made a real effort to make that bland beige box into something pretty. Something that was hers. So she took some pride in Dex’s compliment.
“Thank you. Can I get you something to drink?” She slipped into the kitchen.
