“Ah, a bunch of older women. They were drinking pretty heavily, and it got...uncomfortable.”
Cara chokes, and I rush to fill a glass of sparkling juice. She’s laughing, coughing, and I want to pat her back, but I’m afraid whatever she’s choking on might get lodged further in her throat. She’s got to be more careful with this choking shit. My heart can’t take it.
She lets out a wheezing breath. “You’re telling me you got chased out of a cooking class by a bunch of cougars?”
For some reason, my brain gets stuck on ‘bunch of cougars.’ “What do you call a big group of cougars? It’s a murder of crows, a pride of lions.” I’m such an idiot. Why do I have to spew stupid shit like this? I’m always doing this, going off on a tangent about random shit. Not exactly a great first-date conversation. But Cara’s not looking at me like she thinks I’m dumb. She’s tapping her bottom lip, deep in thought.
“I honestly have no idea. And this is when I’d normally pull out my phone and Google it.” Her smile is bright and wide. “Why don’t we name it ourselves? How about a harem? A harem of cougars?” She giggles at her own suggestion. “A swarm of cougars.”
Her joy in this moment is completely disarming. I put aside my attempt to be cool and play too.
“A gaggle of cougars? A school of cougars. A flock of cougars?”
“Oh my god, I’m imagining you being chased out of a cooking class by a gaggle of cougars.”
“Chased is about right. I didn’t even take my apron off. I just bolted.”
I love watching her fall apart. Her laughter is so big, so disarming. I spend a lot of time in my head. And around her, I’m usually worrying about what she’s thinking of me. But those worries have mostly dissolved, evaporated into the ether. Watching her fall apart this morning helped. I hated that she was hurting. Still do. But I got to see a part of her that’s less than perfect. I had her on a pedestal as this perfect, confident woman. But she’s not that. She’s human. Flawed. And I love her all the more for it.
“This is a pretty great first date, Dec,” she says through her laughter. “What’s up for date number two?”
24
CARA
N othing about Declan is boring. The man wore a red mohawk for months. His mind is going a mile a minute all the time. And his brown eyes are gorgeous, with deeper flecks of black mixed with a dash of gold.
He’s never been boring to me. But until this fucked up trip, I didn’t know he was a caretaker. It’s so much a part of him, and I had no idea. As an unattainable guy I work with, Declan was hot. But as the man who refuses to let me drive into a snowstorm, throws me over his shoulder so I don’t slip, and puts his hand on my back when we’re walking through a room? He is scorching.
The Declan that wraps me up and holds me, stroking my hair and humming to me when I’m falling apart, is impossible to resist.
I’ve never had that with a man. Not once.
Ever since my parents died, I’ve been the strong one. The rock. I had to be, for Bree. Everything changed for her when they died. New home, new school, new friends. So no way could I fall apart. She needed me strong.
And this Tyler thing? I’m trying to keep cool. Reassure her and me that it’ll be ok. That I won’t be going to prison. But I’m having a hard time believing it.
As we settle back into our booth —we’ve sat here twice, so it’s ours— I marvel at the changes in here. This morning there was some daylight coming in through the small windows. Now, hours later, the windows are dark and the bar is hopping. The same cast of characters from this morning are here. The knitting lady has a whole blanket in her lap, leaning forward to catch her straw in her mouth, hands busy the entire time.
The suit guys are back, a little further from us this time. They’re looking more rumpled, less stiff. And judging by the number of glasses on the table in front of them? Drunk as hell. But I don’t really care. I don’t care about any of them. Because Declan is smiling at me in a way that makes me light up. He’s the only one I care about in here.
“I don’t know why I’m so hungry. We’ve done nothing but sit all afternoon, and I’m starving.” He rubs his hands together, warming them.
He’s right. We’ve done nothing but sit on that blanket all afternoon and talk. He went off on tangents more than once, on video games and the technology in winter clothing. It was completely nerdy, so why was I so happy to sit there and listen to him? Because I was. I would happily sit and listen to him wax poetic about anything as long as he stayed that animated.
“Me too. Maybe it’s the panic from yesterday? Or the colder temperatures?”
He looks intrigued. “Maybe it’s evolutionary. A part of our lizard brain, forcing us to pack on weight to survive the winter.”
“I’m already well equipped for the winter,” I tell him with a wink. He blushes, and I sit back, letting him look his fill. I like the way he looks at me. A lot.
“I suppose you’re well equipped for famine, but your skin is still so delicate and soft. Frostbite could be a real concern.” All he needs is a pair of glasses, and he can star in every geeky fantasy I have.
“Good thing you’re here to help me stay warm,” I purr, enjoying the flush of color over his skin. His throat bobs with his swallow.
“Yes. Well...yes. I am. I can. I’ll do that.”
Laughing, I reach for his hand, half worried he’ll freeze up on me and run. But I only have to go halfway, and his much larger hand is there, wrapping around mine.