Love in Smoke

by Holly Hall

  “No more stunts?” he murmurs.

  “No stunts,” I say, and he stands up to get me a glass of wine.

  Harsh rays of sunlight rouse me from sleep, and I cover my eyes, rubbing the sleep away. When I finally peek through my fingers, my head jerks back in surprise. Just a few inches from my face is a pair of the wisest, richest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, set into the scruffy, gray face of a dog that’s larger than most ponies. I receive a huge lick across my face in greeting.

  “Hello, handsome,” I say when I’m upright. I stretch out a hand, allowing the dog to sniff it, and he gives me another soft lick.

  I look around, gathering my bearings. I’m in a bed. Dane’s bed. And I’m wearing a t-shirt that’s too big for me. Nothing happened beyond watching a movie last night, that I remember, and I wasn’t drunk. But I don’t recall coming in here. Snippets of me asking for a change of clothes, however, arise in my memory.

  “Good morning to you, too,” says a voice from the doorway. The dog ambles over to where a bright-eyed, mussed-haired Dane is braced against the frame, mug in hand. I pull the sheets tighter around me.

  “That’s Gulliver, by the way.”

  “He looks like a horse.”

  “Irish wolfhound,” Dane says in answer.

  Gulliver sits at his feet, his wiry head reaching Dane’s waist, and I finally get a good look around, scanning the room and taking in all the features like I’m seeing them for the first time. The head and footboard look crafted from reclaimed wood, and there’s a matching dresser across the room with a toolbelt, some loose change, and a bottle of cologne atop it. Dane’s little bungalow couldn’t be more different from the main house. There are no modern lines and sharp, metallic edges; it’s all warm wood and muted, masculine colors, containing all the character the other is missing. It suits him.

  “I slept on the couch,” Dane offers, as if sensing my bleary confusion.

  I nod, and as my mind wakes, I become more conscious of myself. I’m sure my breath leaves something to be desired. Smoothing my unruly morning hair, I clear my throat. “Bathroom?”

  Dane gestures to his left, toward the other door in the room, and I make for it. I don’t know if it’s my imagination when I feel his eyes sweep up my naked legs before I take cover behind the closed door. It’s much harder to be bold in the light of day. It wasn’t my aim to stay over, and now I’m tiptoeing into unfamiliar territory. I haven’t woken up in a strange man’s house in over half a decade. Thankfully, the stars have aligned and my clothes from last night are waiting in a folded stack beside the sink.

  Thinking it’s past time to leave, I take a moment to change and compose myself, swishing around a bit of toothpaste and cleaning up smudges of mascara. It’s not the prettiest picture, but he won’t catch more than a glance as I walk out the door.

  “Cream or sugar?” Dane asks when I step out of his room.

  I freeze in place, unprepared. He’s tending to something in the kitchen, his gaze directed down at the countertop, but nothing in his tone or expression leads me to believe he regrets the unexpected night we had. Nor that he’s ready to rush me out the door. He just looks up in question and holds up a mug.

  “Just cream,” I finally say. I accept the mug and inhale with pleasure. Maybe sticking around won’t be so bad.

  “I took you for a coffee woman.”

  I just quirk my eyebrow at him, wondering what else he can perceive from what few hours we’ve spent together. His expression tells me he’s pleased to have gotten one thing right.

  “So, last night,” Dane begins.

  “Will never happen again,” I say.

  “We’re back to that?” He laughs and shakes his head wryly. Then he discards his mug in the sink and crosses his arms, facing me.

  “It wasn’t my smartest move.”

  “I wasn’t referring to you showing up unannounced and forcing yourself on me over dinner.”

  My chest tightens, and I feel my cheeks heat. This is why I don’t make a habit of acting recklessly. The consequences are always uglier when the sun comes up. “You didn’t object.”

  “I didn’t because I didn’t want to. Trust me when I say it was difficult to hold back. That still doesn’t explain why it happened.”

  I lean my head back, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t think we’d circle back here so quickly. My reasons for coming over. My reasons for kissing him. My reasons for being in Heronwood. Reasons, reasons, reasons. Explaining myself was low on my to-do list when I moved here. It would’ve been better to sneak out while he was sleeping. Or not to come in the first place.

  “Something brought you here, Raven. I don’t expect anything from you but to admit what that was.”

  “Guilt,” I answer in a rush because if I hadn’t, the word would’ve never come out.

  Dane waits for a beat, then says, “Is that all?”

  “I judged you and your family when I had no idea what I was talking about. I had no right to make assumptions based on the things people I don’t even know told me.”

  He nods slowly. “So you came by to apologize, and instead—”

  “Ruined your dinner.”

  “Ruined my dinner.” He chuckles. “Yeah. Something like that.” Grinning to himself, he directs his eyes away from me, toward the cabinets. Maybe he senses that too much eye contact with those Mediterranean-blues makes me uneasy. “So you owe me a dinner.”

  A dinner? My foot begins to tap, a sure sign of my agitation. Would I really mind going to dinner with this man? No. Am I certain that it’s the best idea? No. But I can feel my heart, my gut, leaning in towards him. Straining against the bonds that my overactive brain has placed on them.

  “Okay, a dinner. That’s fair. I did interrupt yours.”

  “A dinner date,” he clarifies, with laughter in his eyes.

  “Fine.” I raise my chin, willing my gaze to hold his. I feel foolish for showing up here and making him think he had to dote on me with some couple-y movie night, so it’s the least I can do.

  “I’ll let you call me, then,” he says, and I nod.

  Dane insists on walking me out to my car, and when we reach it, he opens the door for me. Thankfully, there’s no awkward inner debate over whether we should hug or kiss because he urges me not to forget about our deal and shuts the door behind me. Just like that. No nonsense.

  He waits at the edge of the driveway with his hands in his pockets all the way up until I round the bend in the trees.

  ELEVEN

  Dane calls me before I can call him, informing me that I’m off the hook. Well, that I won’t be taking him to dinner, at least. Before I can react to the news, he instructs me to dress comfortably and wear close-toed shoes because he’s taking me somewhere. He doesn’t give me time to protest or to guess where we’re going, and I silently pray it’s not take-a-girl-to-work day. I think my nerves took on more than they could handle with my first trip to Cross Automotive.

  I hear a knock on the door and squeak over to it in my sneakers, trying to ignore the flock of butterflies in my stomach. When I pull it open, I find him scowling at the floorboards of my porch deck. Not this again.

  “I misplaced my handyman,” I crack, shutting the door behind me and locking it.

  “No kidding. I’ll be surprised if this thing doesn’t collapse before the year is over.” He tests some of the wooden slats with his weight, frowning. He’s so concerned with the house that he hasn’t really noticed me yet.

  “Oh, I think it’ll be fine.” I hardly get the words out before an ominous crack sounds from the old wood.

  “Yep, all good here,” he jokes. “Are you ready?” When his eyes scan over me, the tension in his brow eases, and he smiles. It has a strange twirly effect on my insides. With dinner, I would know what to expect. Only a finite number of things can go wrong in the space between drinks and dessert. Now, well, I have no idea where we’re even going. I had to dress the best I could with what limited information I was given—in leggings,
a tank top, and a fleece jacket.

  “I hope so.”

  “I think you’ll manage just fine.” He winks cheekily.

  Soon we’re headed west on the highway. We don’t talk much, but the atmosphere is comfortable. I find myself relaxing beneath the warmth of the sunshine on my arms, and overhead, stretches of blue sky are broken up by only a few tufts of cotton-candy clouds.

  We drive for almost an hour before the truck slows and Dane turns off onto a narrower, heavily-wooded road. We’re surrounded by untamed wilderness and who knows what else. Trees tower over our path, and I follow their trunks skyward, my forehead knocking against the glass that’s impeding my view. Dane parks in a crescent-shaped clearing off to the side of the road, surrounded by more green foliage and stoic pines. There are a few other cars parked in the rugged lot, but other than that we are alone.

  Stretching my legs when I climb out, I look around for a hint as to what we’re doing. There’s nothing in the way of camping materials from what I can see of the truck bed, but there is a locked toolbox. I hope they’re not in there. God, what if we’re camping? A night alone with Dane and nothing else? It’s an intimidating thought.

  There’s a sign up ahead that I’m not close enough to read, but I’ve attended enough summer camps to conclude this is the start of a trail.

  Hiking. Wilderness. Not something I mess around with too often.

  Dane pulls a backpack from the backseat and beckons me over, and my suspicion rises.

  “What’s that for?”

  “I need you to carry this,” he says in lieu of explanation.

  “Is it equipment?”

  “Sure. It wouldn’t all fit into one backpack, and it would be awkward for me to carry two.”

  I’m not convinced that we need two backpacks full of stuff if we’re just going for a little walk. I reach for the zipper, but he bats my hand away.

  “No peeking.”

  “But you need my help carrying it,” I say.

  “Only because I know you’re strong enough to handle it.” I stare, and he stares back, and when I finally give in and turn around, he helps me into the straps, adjusting them to where I’m comfortable. “Good?” he asks, leveling his gaze with mine.

  I bend my knees a few times to test out the weight, before finally answering, “Yep.”

  Dane shrugs into his own backpack, then he locks up the truck and we take off down the trail. It’s worn and pitted, but relatively tame. Although we’re surrounded by foliage, there’s an openness to being enclosed by so much green. The trees don’t crowd in close here, and the air is clean and untainted. Birds wheel and call to each other overhead, and critters skitter through the brush around us. I focus more on where I’m placing my feet instead of anything else, stepping carefully over roots and rocks in our path, dappled by sunlight. I attended a yoga class weekly in Nashville, but that was about the extent of my physical exertions.

  While hiking isn’t something I ever expected to enjoy, it takes no more than five minutes for me to settle into a rhythm, my eyes finally roaming over the path ahead. We are alone but for the sounds and smells of nature.

  “You could’ve warned me about this, you know,” I say as we reach an incline.

  “Then you wouldn’t have come.”

  I bristle. “You don’t know that.”

  “I know enough to know you would not have done this.” He gives me a look that dares me to challenge him. I don’t.

  We approach a stream, or maybe the narrow part of a river, shallow enough to where you can see the brown glint of rock beneath the surface, and the water rises and dips as it crests over stones and swirls into depressions. Wordlessly, Dane begins removing his shoes and socks and steps into the stream before I can think to argue. I realize he’s waiting for me when he pauses just off the bank, and I swipe off my own shoes, holding them tightly when I take the first step in. The water is so cold a gasp hisses between my teeth. I take the first few steps slowly, mindful of the slick rock bottom, then settle into a kind of precarious groove.

  “I used to do this kind of stuff, you know,” I finally say when I’m less offended. Dane helps me up the opposite bank, and we perch on a rock to put our shoes back on. I don’t know why it’s important for me to tell him, but I do.

  “Oh yeah?” he says. He’s one of the few men I’ve met who doesn’t feel the need to fill silent spaces with nonsensical ramblings. I don’t think he even does it on purpose.

  “Yes. I wasn’t always this . . . frosty. Rigid. I was more impulsive when I was younger. Reckless. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

  “Are you proud of who you are now?”

  That gives me pause. It’s not what I expected he’d ask. “I’m glad I’m more responsible.”

  “I think you just appreciate control.”

  I’ve got to hand it to him, he is tactful. He succeeds in calling me controlling, without actually saying those words. “That’s part of it, I guess. Almost everything is easier when you can manipulate your environment to be how you want it.”

  “Let me ask you this: when you’re dancing, do you let anyone else lead?”

  My forehead creases in confusion. “I can’t remember the last time I danced.”

  Dane grimaces. “It’s worse than I thought, you won’t even dance.” When I shoot him a scathing look, he holds up his hands in surrender and passes me up to lead the way. “You can’t always force things to be. Sometimes they just . . . are.” It’s like he’s confusing us both; his scowl matches mine. “My point is, life should be spontaneous, don’t you think? Or else when would you have any fun?”

  “I have fun!” I exclaim, then I deadpan. He’s poking fun at me. “I’m just more careful. There’s less hurt that way.”

  “Sure. But also less feeling.”

  I don’t respond to that. In the past year, I’ve felt so much it’s like I’ve come crawling out on the other side of a storm, a refugee amongst devastation. There are things you don’t have to experience twice, and feeling all that is one of them.

  “How about something lighter—what do you do for a living?”

  “Spend way too much time in people’s mouths,” I tease.

  “Oh yeah? Dentist?”

  “Too much school for me. I’m a hygienist.”

  “So you’ve been critiquing my teeth since the moment you met me,” he says, glancing over his shoulder as if to check on me.

  “Wrong again. I see too much of them every day. It’s a relief when I don’t have to stare at plaque anymore.”

  “I bet. Personally, I think that would be pretty gross.” He shakes his shoulders like he’s just gotten the chills. “Where were you from originally? Before Nashville?”

  “Evansville, Indiana.”

  “Quite-a-ways from home, then,” he says.

  “I haven’t called it home since I was in high school.”

  “All right. Any siblings?”

  “One. An annoying older sister named Serena. I would ask about yours, but I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting him.”

  “And what a pleasure he is.” When we reach a fork in the path and Dane examines the trail to the right, I see half of the bitter smirk on his face.

  “Were you guys close growing up?” I ask. If he’s going to by nosy, it’s only fair to return the favor.

  “We probably haven’t been close for fifteen years.”

  I could’ve guessed that based on what little time I’ve spent interacting with them. Trey’s demeaning undertone told me enough.

  “Same. Mostly. Like I said, I haven’t always been boring, and Serena and I were the opposite of each other in every way. You’d think that would be a good thing when it came to clothes and boys and friends, but really, she just resented me for it. Like I was trying to do it on purpose to stand out or something. She’s still bitter about it.”

  “Does she live close by?”

  “She’s an army wife in North Carolina, so no.”

  The terrain has beco
me more uneven, with rises and drops in elevation, more rocks to travel around or over, and some switchbacks to navigate. Dane holds up a finger and departs from the trail, rooting around for something while I stop and rest. I let my head fall back and look up at what patches of sky I can see through the leaves above. I’m not sure when the last time was that I went somewhere without an agenda. My mind is blissfully blank.

  When Dane returns, he offers me a stick that’s almost my height. I take it, and he sets off, using his own as a walking stick.

  “Do you miss it? Nashville?”

  I’m on the verge of saying no when I realize the answer is more complicated. “I miss the activity, and the potential. It’s like the whole town was buzzing with it. But, looking back, it didn’t ever feel like it was mine.”

  He gives me a sidelong glance. “So you’re from Indiana, and your sister lives in another state. What made you come out here by yourself?”

  He knows where to push and where to retreat, and I don’t yet know whether that should concern me. If that’s just part of the charm the Town Moms tried to warn me about, or if it’s just how he is.

  “That’s exactly why I came out here. The seclusion,” I say with a sigh.

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “And yet you’re here with me.”

  “Yes, well, I was kind of tricked into it.”

  “Do you regret agreeing to our date, yet?”

  “I haven’t decided,” I tease him, although our walk has been way too beautiful to regret. He just chuckles, and we continue.

  “What are you hoping to find out here, Raven?”

  It’s suddenly grown very hot out here, despite the absence of humidity and the shade offered by the trees. I pause on the trail and slip out of my jacket, tying it around my waist. I’m fully aware of why I’m here, but making sense of it to someone else is another matter.

  “I needed to do something for myself,” I finally answer. “A big portion of the past ten years has been spent focusing on others and how their actions made me feel. For once, I wanted to take everyone else out of the equation and see what I would find. You know—jump to see if I could fly kind of thing.” The landscape has become trickier and is demanding more of my attention. We’re now stepping up rock shelves that form natural staircases, picking our way down steeper declines, and tiptoeing carefully as the trail narrows and the ground falls more precipitously away on one side of the path. But the words are flowing, and I don’t regret them as soon as they leave my mouth.