Cherish Her

by Johnston, Andrea

  Chapter 11

  Dakota

  Can another person hear your heartbeat?

  If so, Grant isn’t embarrassing me by pointing out how loud and rapid mine is racing. Pounding. Is it hot in here? Tapping my window, I let the cool breeze filter through the car and cool my face. I have no idea why I’m nervous. He makes me nervous. His large body takes up so much space in my small SUV it’s like the warmth of his skin is filling the space.

  Is that his cologne or soap? It smells like grass after the rain. Or the forest. Maybe it’s the forest.

  “Do you have one of those pod coffee makers at your house?”

  His random question pulls me from my thoughts and I actually do a double take before looking at him quickly before returning my eyes to the road.

  “Huh?”

  Very articulate, Dakota.

  “You didn’t get your cup of coffee. I don’t know about you but if I don’t get my fill each morning, I’m only functioning at half rate. If you don’t have one of those pod things, maybe we should stop in town for a cup to go.”

  Oh my goodness. Someone who gets my caffeine needs. If he tells me he wears glasses while he reads in bed I might combust. What is wrong with me? I’ve never been so scattered in my thoughts when it comes to a man. Even Jeff, bless him, never brought out this awkwardness and unbridled attraction. Of course, I never went without when Jeff was alive. It’s been years since I’ve been with a man. And, while the thought of dating has only recently come to the forefront of my mind, thanks to the man to my right, I’m a little overwhelmed.

  “Oh . . uh . . . umm . . . yeah, I do. Sorry. I guess I’m a little off kilter now that I smell like I bathed in dark French roast with hazelnut creamer.”

  “A dark roast kind of gal, huh? I was thinking of you as more of a flavored brew.”

  “No way. I like my coffee to serve its purpose. Bold is the only way to go.”

  Feeling his eyes on me, I glance his way. Slowly, he smiles before turning his attention back out his window.

  “This is a nice neighborhood,” he comments as I approach a stop sign and signal to turn left.

  “It’s been perfect for us. The houses are small, and while the lots are on the smaller side, it’s made maintenance easier.”

  “Low maintenance is good.”

  Turning into my driveway, I click the button to engage the garage door before cutting the engine. Opening the door, I look to Grant who is now on his phone.

  “You weren’t serious about staying out here were you?” I’m sure he was but that’s silly.

  “Of course. You shouldn’t invite strangers into your home, Dakota.”

  “You’re hardly a stranger, Grant. Come on in and make yourself at home. Fair warning, two little girls live here. It’s likely there’s some sort of doll or glittery fairy lying around.”

  Laughing, he exits the car and follows me into the house. “Help yourself to something to drink. I’m going to clean up and change. Be back out shortly.”

  Hustling down the hall to my room, I wait until the door closes behind me before pulling off my soaked sweater. Tossing it aside, I quickly strip the rest of my clothes and rush to the bathroom for the fastest shower in the universe. Keeping my face angled toward the ceiling, I manage to wash away the evidence of my coffee mishap before turning off the water and wrapping myself in a towel.

  Choosing another sweater, this one a deep teal with bell sleeves, I redress, swipe the stained sweater from where I dropped it on the floor, and rush back down the hall straight to the laundry room. Once the sweater is sprayed and the washer set, I return to the kitchen and find Grant leaning against my counter, a cup of coffee in his hand and a smile on his face.

  “Hope you don’t mind. I made us both a cup of coffee. I guessed on how much creamer, so don’t kill me if it’s too sweet.”

  Taking the offered cup of coffee, I look through the clear lid and smile before taking a tentative sip. “Mmm . . . it’s perfect. Thank you.”

  With my cup that reads “Best Mom” frozen just before his lips, his eyes widen. Shrugging off his reaction to my appreciation, I grab my keys from the counter and say, “Alrighty, ready to hit the road? I have four properties to show you.”

  “Sure. Let me wash this,” he says while flipping the faucet on and grabbing the sponge from its perch. It’s a simple gesture and not one that should send my pulse racing. Yet, here we are. Me ogling him while he washes a cup.

  Once he finishes filling my mind with ridiculous fantasies, we exit the house and settle in my car. I set the GPS for the first property and back out of the driveway. As I’m directed out of the neighborhood, I lean back in my seat feeling more relaxed than I did thirty minutes ago.

  My favorite song begins to play, and I send out a prayer that I don’t start crying. The lyrics of Ocean by Lady Antebellum are beautiful and never cease to tap into something deep inside me. Warmth rushes through me and there’s no doubt the tears that always appear are building. I lift my hand to change the song, but Grant stops me, his hand on my forearm.

  “Leave it. You have a beautiful voice.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. The emotion in your voice, that song must resonate with you.”

  He can say that again. When I was in rehab, I struggled to find the words to articulate my emotions. The best I could come up with was an overwhelming constant feeling that I was hovering at the edge of a cliff looking at the violent crashing waves below. One misstep and the earth beneath my feet would crumble, the ocean below sucking me deeper into the darkness.

  Then, one day I heard this song, and it was everything I couldn’t express. The loneliness, the struggle, but most of all, the constant feeling of drowning. In my guilt, my loss, and my inability to be stronger.

  Feeling my cheeks wet, I wipe them frantically just as the GPS reminds me to exit the highway. Although Thad still thinks he’s interested in this property, I thought the Tennison Road land may work for Grant as well. Only a few hundred feet from the exit, I signal for my turn off to the road that runs parallel to the property. Pulling to a stop in front of the gate, I put the car in park and kill the engine.

  Closing my eyes, I bury my face in my hands. Mortification overwhelms me and I push the emotions away and try to compose myself. Then I feel the seatbelt loosen across my body and two large hands grip my arms, pulling me into an embrace. Burying my face into his neck, I sniffle.

  Okay, it’s kind of more of a sniff of his cologne than a crying sniffle, but I’ll pretend that didn’t happen. As much as I should feel embarrassed and ridiculous to being held by a virtual stranger, regardless of what I said earlier, I don’t. I quite enjoy the feeling of his arms around me, the way his breath is light against my ear, and how safe I feel.

  Releasing him, I lean back and look up at him. His right hand lifts from my shoulder and pushes the hair in my face away. The lightness of his thumb on my cheek heats my skin and I watch as his eyes search mine, asking without words what just happened.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, not moving an inch. He sighs and sits back. I miss the contact of his hands on me.

  “No, I should be the one apologizing. I had no business manhandling you like that. Your boyfriend would probably kick my ass.”

  “My what?” That nervous tick I have? It’s back and a giggle escapes through my tears. The look on Grant’s face doesn’t help me compose myself.

  “Boyfriend. I saw the flowers on your desk.”

  “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. Well, not you, you, but what you said. I don’t have a boyfriend or anything remotely close to that. The flowers are from a client.”

  His shoulders relax and Grant takes my hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “I’m not disappointed to hear that.”

  Oh my.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  Not at all, but I can’t tell him that. What do I say? I was overwhelmed with the ghosts of my past but now I’m really confused because I
liked the way you held me and looked at me more than I should? Probably not the best response.

  “Yes, thank you. How about we see this property?”

  Chapter 12

  Grant

  As Dakota ticks off the highlights of the fifteen-acre parcel before us, I feign interest but can’t stop thinking of the look in her eyes when she broke down. I’m not sure if she realized how she was shaking, how her silent tears slid down her cheeks so quickly, they wet the leg of her jeans.

  Broken and lost. Devastated and consumed by memories.

  I don’t know her story, the cause of a loss that left her to raise two small children alone. Facts aren’t important. I recognize the pain she carries, the kind that only comes from tremendous loss.

  Surviving a traumatic experience will eat you up inside. It is like a slow-moving snake in the grass. Slithering through you, quiet and unsuspecting and then, when your guard is down, rearing its ugly head and biting. Over the years, I watched men nobody in their civilian lives would have expected to suffer but the reality is, we all suffer.

  She’s composed herself and is back to chattering away, the occasional laugh escapes and I smile each time. I wonder how often she does that. Pushes the emotions deep down, not letting anyone see it. See her.

  “I know it’s just land but it’s beautiful and you could build an amazing home here.” Spinning to look at me, her smile is wide but forced.

  “Hey, we don’t have to do this today.”

  “You don’t want to see the listings?” Her voice drops, as do her eyes. Shit.

  “No. I do want to see them but if you don’t—”

  Her cheeks tint the lightest pink, and she’s back to biting her bottom lip.

  “You know what? Never mind. Show ’em all to me. But I can add to the list of don’t want if you have that handy,” I reply and watch as the relief washes over her. Nodding, she smiles up at me, and it’s a true smile. Not the mask she’s had on the last thirty minutes.

  “No new construction. I’d like something with a little history.”

  Truthfully, I have no idea what the real estate market in Lexington is. For all I know, there are six properties in the entire city limits. That would be just my luck. Now that I’m prepared to make the move, to lay down some roots, there would be nothing left for me to purchase.

  “Oh, that’s no problem at all. Shall we head to the next listing?”

  “Lead the way.” Motioning toward the car, we begin to walk side by side and the desire to reach out and grab her hand is overwhelming. It wouldn’t be a romantic gesture. Just simple friendship. A way for her to know she’s not alone.

  Instead, I follow her to the SUV and secure myself in the passenger seat. With a deep breath, she turns the car on and immediately reaches for the volume knob, turning it to zero. Quickly, she taps on her phone, switching the music station. Gone is country and in its place . . .

  “Is this the Pitch Perfect soundtrack?”

  “It is. I need the polar opposite of what we were listening to before. Sorry but this is my feel-good playlist. Be aware—I can’t promise I won’t be singing along in the next few minutes.”

  Laughing, I reach over and turn up the volume and look her way. “Scarlett’s favorite,” I comment with a wink.

  As promised, she begins to sing along and dance in her seat. This woman. She’s nothing if not resilient. Impressive. While I think Dakota Jennings would appear complicated to many, she’s really quite simple.

  And maybe a little perfect.

  As Dakota drives us from one listing to another, I settle in and enjoy the views. Our final stop is next and we’re driving in the direction of Taylor’s house. Can’t say I’d be too bummed to live in that area. It’s peaceful and the lots are no less than two acres each. Just far enough I won’t hear my neighbors but not too far that I couldn’t hop over for a beer.

  Speaking of Taylor, my phone signals a text message.

  Sugar: Stop and grab some beers before you head back home.

  Me: Don’t you own a bar? Why do I have to stop and BUY some?

  Sugar: Support the small businesses in the town you’re moving to.

  Me: Good point.

  “Everything okay?” Dakota inquires.

  “Yeah, just Taylor. I need to stop by the store on my way back to the house. Which looks like we’re headed toward it anyway.”

  “This next property is hitting the market this weekend. Doug has the listing, and when I saw the specs, I thought it may work for you. Of course, it’s a little on the larger side but the location is ideal for what you want.”

  Passing Taylor’s house, we continue down the road and around the bend. It’s close but not too close to his place. That’s probably a good thing. We’re family but even some distance between family is a good thing.

  Turning onto the gravel drive, Dakota slows, the tires crackling beneath us. A massive oak tree shades the front of the property, a tire swing hanging from one of the branches. Beyond the tree is a large craftsman style home. It reminds me a little of Dakota’s house but maybe triple the size.

  “You weren’t kidding; it’s big.”

  Scrunching her nose, she sighs.

  “Hey now,” I say, placing my hand on her arm as she parks the car. “In my defense that last place was a shack. Literally. There was one room and a toilet closet.”

  Giggling she looks my way, “It has good potential.”

  “Mm hmm and I have a little gray in my beard. Now show me this place because I think I’m already half in love.”

  As we approach the front door, I look around the porch. Two rocking chairs sit off to the left with a perfect view of the rope swing. A tall potted plant is to the right of the door, small flowers beginning to bloom on the branches.

  “Welcome home,” she snickers, and I nudge her with my hip.

  “Someone is watching a lot of house flipping shows on television.”

  “Nah, this place feels like a home. Don’t you think?”

  She doesn’t wait for me to reply as we step through the threshold and into the large foyer. The dark stained floors are beautiful but that’s kind of where it all stops. We both gasp as we take in the scene before us.

  “Oh my—”

  “Is that leopard print wallpaper?”

  Approaching the wall slowly, I reach my hand out tentatively. I know it’s not actually a leopard, but you wouldn’t know that by how cautious I’m being. Yep, fuzzy leopard wallpaper. You don’t see that every day.

  I turn to say those words to Dakota when I hear her screech and rush in the direction of the sound. When I reach the kitchen, she’s doubled over laughing, her knees crossed and kind of bouncing. Then I see what has her in such a state.

  “Cocks?”

  “Omigod stop. Don’t say it. I can’t . . . Oh, I’m going to pee my pants. I can’t . . .”

  She’s gasping for breath and repeating “Oh” over and over. Walking over to her, I grab her by the shoulders and turn her away from the offending décor and push her out of the room. Rushing from the space and down the hall, I hear a door slam and a lock engage.

  Peeking my head back into the kitchen, I shake my head at the design choices of the homeowners. You’d think with the rocking chairs and tire swing this place would be more overrun with fake flowers and plants than huge roosters and hens all over the room and a sign that reads “Cocks Only” over the stove.

  “I can’t go back in there,” Dakota says from the living room.

  “Can’t say I blame you. Do we want to look at the rest of the house? I mean, I’m a little nervous there might be a mirrored ceiling and a waterbed upstairs.”

  Her eyes widen and a yelp of a laugh escapes, her hand flying to her mouth. “No. Don’t say things like that. Let me tell you what you have with this house, and then I’ll step out so you can take a look around and so I don’t die from laughing.”

  Once she’s told me all about the facts: two thousand three hundred square feet, three bedrooms w
ith an office, two and a half baths, and a gourmet kitchen. Or a cocky one at that. As promised, Dakota stepped outside to let me meander around the house on my own.

  Other than the awful decorating choices including brass finishes in some of the rooms, it’s a great house. A home is what Dakota called it. Sure, it’s huge for a single guy but as Taylor and Scarlett have more kids, I doubt I’ll be alone much. Uncle Grant is going to be the best kind of Uncle. Spoil the rug rats, fill ’em with sugar, then send them home.

  Stepping out the front door, Dakota’s rocking in one of the chairs, her eyes closed as she hums a melody. It’s borderline creepy but I watch her for a few beats. She looks relaxed and peaceful. A far cry from how she was a few hours ago, I prefer this version of her, and I suspect it isn’t one she allows very often. Or perhaps her life doesn’t allow it. She is a single mom of two and building a business. I can’t imagine how difficult that must be for her.

  Clearing my throat, I make my presence known. Smiling, she’s slow to open her eyes and only lulls her head to look my way.

  “Sorry, I was enjoying the peace and quiet.”

  Taking the rocker next to her, I look out at the expansive yard. We sit together quietly, the birds chirping and squirrels skittering up the trees our nature soundtrack.

  “This is what I would want,” she says quietly.

  “Sorry?”

  “You told me to find you a place I would like. This is it. When we moved here, well, when I moved here, I spent hours driving around, looking at houses. It helped me clear my thoughts. Having something to focus on, dreaming of a future, it’s how I made it through some of the more difficult days. Somehow, I’d end up out here, driving past these properties. The lots are just the right size for a family, and I could envision my girls growing up here.”

  She’s calm, no hint of distress or emotion in her voice but with every word she speaks, I feel like she’s showing me a piece of her. It isn’t my nature to pry, but I admit I’m curious. I want to know about the struggles she mentions, about the difficult days and how she persevered.