Rom-Com Collection (Part 2). Kristan Higgins
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little discussion a few weeks back. “I’ve never seen you sit in your chair,” he commented. “Why is that?”
I glanced up at him, then back at the display. “I’m sort of saving it, I guess,” I said.
“For what?” he asked.
I hesitated. “Um … just for … I don’t know.” For when I’ve earned it. I slipped my hand into Ian’s, and he looked at me, always seeming a little startled—and happy—when I showed him some affection. My heart gave a nearly painful squeeze. Standing on tiptoe, I kissed his cheek. “I like you, Ian McFarland,” I said.
His eyes crinkled a little. “I hope so.”
“And you like me, too, of course,” I prodded.
“Yes,” he agreed. “You’re fun to look at.”
“Like a circus monkey?”
“Exactly.”
I punched his shoulder. “I’ll bet you never expected to be with the crazy woman from the DMV.”
“You would win that bet,” he answered easily.
I paused. “What did you think of me, that day?”
“I thought you were a junkie.” He grinned.
“Nice, Ian! I have to teach you to lie a little bit.”
“Well, it was logical. You were clearly agitated and very … kinetic.”
“Got it, Mr. Spock,” I muttered.
“You couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t finish a sentence. I thought you needed a fix.”
“Flatterer,” I muttered.
He squeezed my hand. “I also thought you had pretty hair. And I liked your ears.”
Ears. Who knew what men would fixate on next? There was that smile again, starting in his eyes and staying there, making that pure blue seem as warm and lovely as a September sky.
“And what about my horrifying propensity to blurt out my feelings, Ian?” I teased. “My ‘emotional diarrhea,’ as you called it. You seemed quite disgusted, I remember.”
“Yes,” he said, lifting my hand and studying it. “I was. At first, anyway.”
I waited for more. Another couple passed us, cooing over a chest of drawers they wished they could afford.
“But then?” I prompted when too much time had passed.
“Then I wondered …” He hesitated.
“Wondered what, Ian?” I said. He didn’t answer. “Wondered what it would be like to cry in the DMV? Because I’m sure they’d be happy to arrange that. Most of us do cry, in fact. Leaving dry-eyed … that’s a fluke.”
He met my eyes abruptly, giving me the full force of the pure blue. “I wondered what it would be like to just … let everything out.” He glanced past me. “Even though I thought you were a little crazy, I sort of admired you, too. For being so … open. And honest.” His eyes came back to mine and softened. “And … well … so full of life.”
Realizing that my mouth was open, I closed it.
That day had been one of the worst days in my adult life. And Ian had found something admirable there.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“You’re welcome,” he said quietly.
“Callie! Did you send that pit bull over to talk to me?” Noah came hobbling up, Jody at his side.
I shook myself out of my haze. “Um, yes, I did. I take it you’re overwhelmed.”
“Some granddaughters should learn to keep their mouths shut,” he grumbled. “But they don’t.”
“Some granddaughters should smother their grandpas in their sleep,” I returned. “But they don’t. But they might, so watch it, old man.”
“They want a canoe for their collection,” Jody explained. “Noah, it’s a compliment.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” he grumbled.
“Oh, boohoohoo,” I said. “You’re flattered. Admit it.”
“Hush you. Mind your elders.” He glared at me, but his beard twitched. I knew the truth. He couldn’t have been more pleased.
Ian held my hand the whole way back, and just the simple sensation of his warm, strong hand holding mine so firmly had me quite ruttish. My heart felt swollen and tender after what Ian had said. That my worst moment had, in some way, shown something good about me. It was somewhat astonishing.
When we got to Jody’s house, a muttered conversation took place in the backseat. “I think I’ll be stayin’ here, Callie,” Noah said.
I turned around in my seat. Even in the near-dark, I could see my grandfather blushing. “Okay,” I said, opting not to tease him. “See you tomorrow.”
Noah looked at Ian. “Thank you,” he grunted. “And if you stay over, make sure you’re gone by the time I get home. You may be a good man, but she’s my granddaughter, and I don’t want my face rubbed in the fact that she’s all grown up.”
“Two words, Noah,” I said. “Bath. Tub. Okay?”
Jody laughed, and Noah opened the door. “How you put up with her is a mystery,” he growled at Ian, but he reached over and pinched my chin. “G’night, youngsters.”
“Thanks for an absolutely wonderful evening, Ian,” Jody said.
“My pleasure,” Ian answered. We waited ‘til they got inside Jody’s house, then headed to my place. Upon our arrival, Bowie twirled and sang, then sniffed Ian’s shoes with religious fervor.
Ian hadn’t stayed over here yet … well, obviously, since Noah was usually in residence. A gentle quiet fell as we looked at each other. The refrigerator hummed. Wind gusted outside, and a shower of yellow leaves fluttered against the window.
“Well, it’s pretty late,” I said, the universal code for make your move, sonny.
“Yes,” Ian said. Right. Forgot who I was dealing with.
“Would you like to stay?” I asked, my heart rate kicking up a little.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Will Angie be okay?”
He nodded. “I fed her before I left, and there’s a dog door to the backyard.”
Of course. Ian would have all the angles covered. “Well,” I said, suddenly shy, but then he kissed me, his mouth gentle and warm. I didn’t know why, but I never expected the man who looked like a Russian hit man to kiss me so … tenderly. If I was a person who read into things—and God knows I was—I might think that Ian could only kiss me this way if it really meant something, because the way Ian kissed me made me feel … cherished.
Then the kiss changed, became hotter, and harder, and his hands slid down to pull me tighter against him, and he was so warm and delicious—
“Come on upstairs,” I whispered, and taking his hand, led him to my room, shutting it before Bowie could come in. “Go sleep on Noah’s bed,” I told my dog through the crack, and he whined, but then trotted off.
My room was dark except for the moonlight spilling in the eastern-facing windows. Ian stood, waiting, looking at me. I slipped off my shoes. “Have a seat,” I whispered. He went toward the bed, but I took his hand, stopping him. “Have a seat,” I repeated, pointing to the Morelock chair.
Ian looked at it, then back at me. My heart thumped. I gave a little nod, then bit my lip as Ian walked over to the chair. He sat down, his hands on the smooth, carved arms. God, he looked