Chapter Six
Chris
I thought he was going to pass out again. His knees wobbled, and I clamped my hands on his shoulders to steady him. “Tak? If you faint every time I talk to you, you’re eventually going to hit your head on something hard. And I don’t think that’s a good way to start a relationship.”
“R-relationship?”
“Okay, mating, marriage, forever togetherness.” I was pushing it, but why not do that now while I was holding him up.
“Chris, I can’t even take this in. A fantasy...well, they don’t usually come true.” I eased him down to sit on the bottom step then sat beside him and put an arm over his shoulders. “I’ve had this dream before, you know.” His cheeks flamed. “You...you come back to town and say you have always cared for me and just didn’t know it.” He lifted his gaze to me, eyes shining with tears. “What if I wake up?”
My heart pulsed and my eyes filled, too. “Aww, Tak. You’re acting like you’ve won the state lottery. You haven’t known me in a lot of years. I’m nobody’s prize. Just a lonely man who’s finally realized he might stand a chance at his own dream.” I kissed his cheek then sighed. “I’m not the football hero anymore.”
“I never cared about the sports, except it was fun to watch you enjoy them.” He rested his head on my shoulder and I tucked him closer, inhaling his scent. He smelled the same as he always had. Soap and water, that weird bay rum aftershave he’d picked up from his grandfather that somehow was now very sexy, and just Tak. He was home to me. How had I taken so long to figure that out?
“I have bad habits. I eat over the sink most of the time, have been told I snore a little. Drink cheap beer, never dress up anymore for any reason, and”—I hesitated, knowing I had to continue —“and my job is far less glamorous than you probably think.”
He straightened. “First of all, unless you love over-the-sink dining, in which case I won’t try to change you—we will eat at the table or, if there’s something we want to watch, on the couch in front of the TV.” He waggled a brow. “I’m not a professional at this, because of the virgin thing, but I understand that some couples have been known to cart their meals to bed.”
I nodded, wishing I wasn’t so familiar with what other people did in bed.
“Second, drink what you like. I mostly like coffee and iced tea, but a man’s beverage is a personal choice. If you don’t object to my occasional Dark and Stormy Moscow Mule, I won’t object to your cheap beer.”
“I don’t know what that is, but party on!”
He grinned, his eyes merry now. “Third, I sleep like a rock. Snore like a buzz saw all night if it makes you happy.”
I shifted, uncomfortable with the image. “I didn’t say I snore like a—”
He waved away my comment. “I’m saying it doesn’t matter. And as to dressing up? This is a small town. I dress a little nicer than most because my out-of-town customers think an antique shop owner should have a certain gravitas, and I have to admit that a vest with a pocket watch or other vintage garments hold a certain charm for me, so if you don’t mind that, wear torn jeans and an ancient T-shirt if it pleases you.”
The image he painted of me was far less than flattering. “Well, I’m not that bad, I hope. But my job holds zero need for gravitas and most of my social life lately has involved playing pool with guys several years younger than me at a bar featuring old country classic music.” I winced. “I think I’m the old man there. The hangers-out from when I started have all gotten married and stopped coming by.”
“I’m not big on hanging out at bars.”
“Me, either, anymore. But with all the travel, it was somewhere I could go and talk to people without interfering with anyone’s home life when I am in town for a few days.”
“Sure.” Tak stood and started up the stairs. “I’ll go get changed.” He paused on the landing. “So...what kind of law do you practice that involves so much travel and ‘unglamorous’ clothing, if you don’t mind my asking? I thought all lawyers had to dress up in suits every day.”
Mind? It was on the tip of my tongue to lie, to try to save face, but how long before he figured out I wasn’t a lawyer like I’d always planned on.
“Get your trunks. I heard someone at the gas station talking about a pond not far from here?”
“Yeah, O’Keefe’s Dunking Hole. Everyone goes there, but I know of another one even closer that’s almost always deserted. It’s even nicer.”
“If it’s so great, why isn’t it crowded?”
“It’s on my property. I’m on the edge of town here and this used to be a farmhouse before the other nearby houses were built. I own a bunch of acres into the woods.”
“Wow. Let’s go there then. Maybe we don’t need trunks.”
His eyes flared with heat, and he swayed. We had to get past this. Maybe when he learned his hero from high school was a truck driver, he’d stop being so dizzy. “I’ll get a couple of towels.”
Fifteen minutes later, he’d hung the Gone Fishing sign on the shop door and we were headed out the back. “Do you really?” I asked.
“Really what?” He swung a soft-sided cooler by the strap, the reason we’d taken so long to get going. It held ham and Swiss cheese sandwiches on mini-baguettes, a bag of pita chips, a container of hummus he’d told me he’d made himself, and some beautiful rosy apples. Also bottled water.
“Really go fishing?” It sounded so un-antique-shop-owner-like.
“Sure. We used to go all the time.”
“Do you close during business hours to do it?” After all, he had a sign.
“Nah, but I think it’s better than Closed to go to the bathroom, which up until now is the only reason I’ve ever used it. Major hooky playing here!”
We stepped off the wide deck, furnished with comfortable chaise lounges and a glass dining table, onto a grassy space edged with flowerbeds, the entire space surrounded by a five-foot hedge. “This is quite a yard.”
“Thanks. It was pretty much extra storage for some of the larger items, farm finds mostly, when I bought the place, but I built a shed at the side of the house for that stuff. After all, it was deteriorating just sitting outside.”
“And then you hired a landscaper.” It had to have cost a mint to create this Eden with its colorful flowers, herbs lining the path we now walked, and a small fountain in one corner, splashing merrily away and helping, along with the hedge, to suppress the highway sounds.
He snorted. “No. I couldn’t afford that on a small shop’s profits. If my folks hadn’t helped me get started, I’d be deep in debt.”
“Then how…?”
“I guess I have a green thumb. While you were playing pool, I was shoveling manure.” The path ended right at the hedge, and he stopped. “C’mon. Let’s get to the pond.” Grabbing my hand, he towed me behind him through the greenery, and we emerged on the other side to find a whole other kind of beauty.