Grit: A Love Story on 7th and Main

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “No, it’s just—”

  “Good. You look beautiful. It’s a classic dress and you look like a million bucks. Go have dinner with Cary.”

  She walked to the door only halfway of her own volition. “Did Rumi tell you?”

  “No, you did.”

  Melissa squawked. “What?”

  “Every time you look at that man, I can see it. So just go. Have fun. I will be going to bed early tonight with a brand-new book Emmie got me because my granddaughter isn’t bouncing around the house and keeping me busy. Enjoy your date.” And with that, Joan nudged Melissa out the front door and onto the porch.

  Melissa turned to the closed front door. “Mom, keys!”

  Joan cracked the door open and tossed Melissa’s keys at her. Then she shut it in her face.

  “Gee, thanks.” She felt her phone buzz in her pocket. It was Cary.

  Heading over to pick you up.

  She typed back. I thought we were meeting there.

  We live a mile from each other. Why would we take two cars into Metlin?

  She had nothing to say to him. She had no idea why she’d been thinking she’d meet him there. Before she could think of a good excuse, she saw his headlights turning onto her road.

  Normally she’d run down and open the gate at the cattle guard, but fuck it. She was in heels tonight. She perched on a rocking chair and waited for him.

  Her date.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cary had a really hard time concentrating on driving. He tried to think of the last time he’d seen Melissa’s legs in anything other than jeans.

  There’d been the Fourth of July swimming party a couple of years ago that they’d both been invited to. Cary had nearly had to leave because his fortysomething body suddenly decided he was a teenager when he saw Melissa in a bathing suit. He’d ended up sitting at the outdoor bar the entire night, trying to ignore her completely.

  And now she was sitting next to him in his truck, dressed like a goddess. Wearing makeup of all things.

  “You look fucking amazing.” He cleared his throat. “Did I already say that?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “But thanks again. You look great too.”

  He was wearing dress pants and a fitted grey button-down. He’d put on more muscle climbing this summer, and the shirt felt a little tight in the shoulders. “Does this shirt look too tight? I haven’t bought dress clothes in a while.”

  She shook her head. “It’s really not. It looks… good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure.”

  “Okay.” He swallowed hard when he caught another glimpse of her legs as they passed under a streetlight while going through town. “So, Café Georgette?”

  “Did you make a reservation?” She winced. “Shit. I didn’t think about that. We might need a reservation on a Saturday night. I’ve only ever been for lunch, so—”

  “Relax. I made a reservation.” He reached across the cab and took her hand, playing with the fingers before she could start to worry them. “As soon as you told me, I called. We’re good.”

  Her fingers stilled. “Oh. Thanks.”

  “I’m taking you out. The least I can do is make a phone call.” He grinned. “This isn’t nearly as elaborate as Jeremy and Tayla’s first date. Did you hear about that?”

  “No. What did he do?”

  Cary recounted everything he’d heard about the world’s most elaborate lakeside picnic his climbing partner had pulled off last spring. It had worked. He’d convinced the city girl to stay in Metlin and give him a shot.

  “You know”—he released her hand so he could adjust the air conditioner in the truck, then he picked it up again—“I probably shouldn’t be telling you about the over-the-top exploits of my friends when I’m just taking you out to dinner, which is the least imaginative first date ever.”

  “Counterargument: the lake would be dry and dusty right now. Also, any meal I don’t have to cook is the height of luxury. Also also, I don’t have to do dishes tonight either.” She smiled. “Dinner is great.”

  “Good.”

  She shifted her legs and he bit his lip. Fuck. How was he going to make it through an entire meal in public this way?

  Acting on impulse, he pulled the truck over on the side of the road near a small grove of mandarins.

  “What’s up? Did you forget something?”

  “Yeah.” He flipped up the center console on the truck, slid across the cab, and slid his arm behind her neck. “Forgot to kiss you hello.”

  “Oh right.” The corner of her lips turned up and he took it as an invitation, angling his mouth over hers as he pulled her closer. His hand ran from her waist, over the soft curve of her hip, to the sliver of skin just above her knees. He pulled away from her mouth a fraction. “Have I told you I love your legs?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice was breathless.

  Praise the god of skinny black dresses, she crossed her legs and hitched the right one over his knee, placing one leg within reach. He ran his hand over the soft skin, down the muscled calf, and teased the sensitive skin at her ankle with the lightest touch.

  “Fuck.” He breathed out. “So good.”

  Her fingers curled into the muscle at the top of his shoulder. “Oh my God, so good.”

  Cary nudged her chin up so he could put his mouth on her neck. “You smell amazing.”

  “You smell…” Her voice was high. “…different.”

  He pulled back. “What?”

  Her smile was shy. “Okay so… I really love the way you normally smell, which is kind of like dust and oranges.”

  “And you like that?”

  Her cheeks got a little darker. “Yes?”

  Cary couldn’t stop the grin. “But tonight I took a shower and put on cologne.”

  She leaned forward and smelled his shirt. “And it’s very nice. It just smells different. Kind of like cedar trees and leather? And I like both things, it’s just different. But nice!”

  “Would you like to say nice again?”

  She smiled. “Very nice.”

  He started laughing and he couldn’t stop. Luckily, Melissa started laughing too. She put her forehead on his shoulder, and he could feel her breath against his neck.

  “I feel like a dork now.”

  “Did you call yourself a dork?” He laughed harder. “At least you’re a dork with the sexiest fucking legs I’ve ever seen.” He still had his hand on her ankle. He ran his fingers lightly up the back of her leg, behind her knee and just above it, teasing the skin on her thigh.

  Melissa stopped laughing and her whole body shivered.

  Cary turned his head and whispered in her ear. “I’m glad you like how I smell.”

  “I’m glad you like my legs.”

  “I’m glad we’re going on a date.” He kept his voice low. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

  “I’m glad too.” She lifted her head. “Should we go?”

  “It’s either that or we cancel our reservation for a dinner we don’t have to cook or clean up after and make out for a couple hours in Sandy Strathmore’s tangerine orchard.” He shrugged. “I’m good with either.”

  She gently pushed him away. “You better feed a girl, Nakamura.”

  He ran a hand over her leg one more time. Goodbye, ladies. “Fine,” he said. “But only because I’ve seen how mean you get when you’re hungry.”

  “You are not wrong.”

  Like Melissa, Cary had only had brunch or lunch at Café Georgette. During the day, it was a small restaurant with a pretty, flower-filled courtyard covered by umbrellas.

  At night the umbrellas were removed and sparkling lights and candles decorated the walls surrounding them, lending the bricks, flowers, and trees a fairy-tale atmosphere. Small candles burned in the center of each table. Most of the parties were couples or tables of four.

  Cary took Melissa’s hand and walked to the hostess stand. “We ha
ve a reservation for two. We’re a little late.”

  “Oh!” The hostess smiled. “The name?”

  “Nakamura.”

  “Let me just check and see if your table is ready.”

  She walked away, and Melissa curled her fingers around his. Cary felt the rightness of it down to his bones. Her hand was relaxed. Her shoulders were relaxed. The line that lived between her eyes had disappeared.

  He knew she was capable. She was capable as hell. He knew she was strong. She was so strong sometimes that he thought she could take on the world with one hand, all while nursing a premature calf and fixing a barbed wire fence with the other. He often suspected she hid a third arm somewhere on her person, because he didn’t know it was possible to do everything she did with two.

  He just wanted her to breathe.

  Cary desperately wanted to just take a couple of things off her plate sometimes so she would just be still and relax. He found his stress relief on the side of mountains. She found hers on the back of a horse.

  When she wasn’t working. Which was almost never.

  He squeezed her hand. “Are you relaxed?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Uh… kind of?”

  “Only kind of?”

  She stepped closer. “I’m a little nervous about being on a date. I counted. It’s been over thirteen years since I’ve been on a first date.”

  “You’re doing great; it’s been a few years for me too.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why is that?”

  “Do you really have to ask?”

  Her eyes relaxed. Her whole face got softer. “Really?”

  “Pretty sure you’re the only one surprised by any of this. I think I was pretty obvious.”

  “Is it clueless of me to say that I was too busy to notice?”

  “No.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s not clueless. That’s your reality. Now your reality is you can’t ignore me anymore.”

  “I never ignored you.”

  He smiled. “True. But you only wanted to talk about oranges.”

  The hostess came back and grabbed two menus. “Your table is ready. Thank you for waiting.”

  Melissa leaned close to Cary and said, “So you’re saying you don’t want to talk about the new irrigation system and potential yield improvements that—”

  He turned his face and kissed her hard and quick. “Nope. Don’t even bring it up.”

  Melissa’s laugh was low and wicked.

  There it was. He knew she had an evil side. Now he just had to get it to stay out and play.

  “That was great.” She stretched her legs out in the truck and leaned her head back. “Their food is so amazing.”

  “That dessert was amazing.”

  “Thank you for liking chocolate nearly as much as I do. It makes picking dessert much easier.”

  He smiled, one hand on the wheel and the other holding hers. “You could have picked your own.”

  She made a face. “Too much rich food.”

  “But the best company.”

  Melissa turned her head and smiled. “It was good company.”

  They’d spent an hour and a half at the restaurant, taking their time, enjoying the atmosphere, and not talking once about citrus trees.

  It was a revelation.

  Cary learned things about Melissa he’d never known, like she’d barrel raced competitively in college and really enjoyed drawing, which was a skill both she and her brother had inherited from their father, an old cowboy in Montana who’d never remarried after he left their mom.

  She didn’t like carrots but ate them around Abby because she thought it was responsible.

  She desperately wanted to visit Chile and spoke pretty decent Spanish.

  She’d only ever had two serious boyfriends. One in high school. One in college, whom she married as soon as she graduated.

  And me. He didn’t say that part when it came up in conversation. He’d let her figure it out on her own.

  They were nearly at her ranch. “When are we going to do this again?”

  “Uh… Abby goes back to her grandparents in a couple of weeks.”

  Cary frowned for the first time in hours. “So you don’t want to go out again until Abby leaves town?”

  “I just assumed—”

  “I’m not interested in hiding this—in hiding us—from your daughter.”

  “It’s not that.” She sat up, and he saw the tension return to her shoulders. “But this is all new. And I’ve never dated before. And I want to talk to her about it because she sees you as a close family friend, but not… whatever it is we are now.”

  Cary let her ramble until they were at the ranch. He got out, opened the gate, and drove through it. Then he repeated the process in reverse, not saying a word once he was back in the truck.

  “I’m not going to budge on this, Cary.” Her back was up now. “Abby is my daughter, and she only has one parent now. She has to be the priority and—”

  “Did I say I disagreed with you?” He kept driving toward the house; a low anger simmered in his belly.

  “You’re doing the silent thing.”

  “I’m a quiet person.”

  “You haven’t been quiet all night, and now you’re being silent, so what was it? Me not telling Abby about us right away? Me making her the priority? Me—”

  “You’re trying to fit us in boxes again.” He parked the truck and turned to her. “She sees me as a close family friend. I’m still a close family friend. That’s not going to change.”

  “But if we keep dating, it will change. That’s what I’m saying. And then if things don’t work out—”

  “You already planning on that?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not saying that. But I have to think about it as a possibility.”

  Cary was quiet for a long time, absorbing what she was saying.

  She had to think about the possibility.

  Of course she did. She had to think about every possibility. He probably should have thought about it too.

  The problem was Cary couldn’t even imagine a future where he wasn’t in love with Melissa and nuts about her daughter. So the possibility of her trying him on and deciding it wasn’t a good fit just pissed him off.

  “You should show me the bunkhouse.” He opened his truck door and walked around to hers.

  “What?” She opened her own door.

  He helped her out of the truck. “You should show me the bunkhouse.”

  Melissa blinked. “Is that code for something I should know?”

  He crowded her against the side of the truck and caged her with both arms. “I don’t know. You all right with me kissing you right here where your mom could see from the windows?”

  Her cheeks turned red. “I should show you the bunkhouse.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Melissa had spent weeks cleaning and organizing the bunkhouse so that renovations could begin. The cobwebs were gone. The dust had been chased away. The large room was mostly empty, but there was still some old furniture out there. Nothing plush like the retreat she envisioned for ranch guests, but bed frames and a few dressers.

  She pushed open the door, Cary’s heat at her back, and flipped on the single light, which was nothing more than a bare bulb at the far end of the structure.

  “So… this is the bunkhouse.”

  “Nice.” Cary put his hands on her waist and spun her around. He backed her up to a sturdy dresser on the far wall until she bumped into it. “Tell me more.”

  She hitched her hips up on the edge of the dresser, and Cary stepped between her legs. “Uh… planning to take out half the bunks, shore up the others, and add a queen bed on…”

  She couldn’t concentrate when he nudged her chin up and started kissing her neck. Her heart was racing. She put her hand on his shoulders to steady herself.

  “Where’s the bed going to go?” His hands had landed on her hips, and his fingers flexed as if he was testing the give of her body.

  “Far
wall. Opposite corner. Thought I’d give parents… ah.” Her nipples went hard when one hand skimmed along the edge of her breast. “Um… privacy. Parents need privacy.”

  “I totally agree,” he murmured a second before his lips landed on hers.

  The sound she made was halfway between a moan and a sigh. Kissing Cary was like sinking into a pool on a hot day. His lips were full and firm, moving expertly over her mouth. She didn’t feel nervous anymore. She hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him closer, reveling in the tight control she felt in his body.

  He wanted her, but he couldn’t have her. Not yet. He was letting her have the reins.

  She’d forgotten what it felt like to hold that draw for a man. She was heady with it, full of the knowledge of how his body felt against hers and how her body was responding and welcoming him.

  It was a delicious, decadent hunger to want Cary this way. To crave his kisses and the sound of his voice when his lips were against her skin.

  He kissed her neck, the edge of her jaw, the sensitive skin behind her ear, her collarbone. He dipped his tongue in the hollow between her breasts and ran it up her neck until his mouth met hers again.

  Melissa hooked her fingers in his belt and tugged him closer, eager to feel the hard press of his erection between her thighs. She didn’t want sex—didn’t feel ready for that—but she was imagining what it would be like with Cary.

  Would she still know what to do? It would be different with him, but the basics were the same. Would her body respond the same way?

  Cary’s hands had been still, firm but unmoving. One at the small of her back. One on the curve of her hip.

  Melissa pulled away from his mouth. “Touch me,” she whispered.

  “I am touching you.”

  “Touch me more.”

  He froze, let out a rough breath, and his lips landed on hers again. He moved impossibly closer, and the hand that had been on the small of her back moved to her side.

  He cupped her breast, teasing the nipple hidden beneath her dress and bra. “Like this?”

  She nodded and kept kissing him. She was addicted to his mouth. And maybe his hands too, because that thumb was criminally talented.