Scars Like Ours | Red View Romance #2

🐈 Thirty One

If he hadn't asked her on a date, she might not have believed him. She might have thought--did think, even if it was only for a second--that he'd come there thinking he'd be a good friend and pretend to have feelings he assumed she wouldn't reciprocate, just to make her feel better about the night before. Even in the kiss she'd hesitated, thinking it all too impossible, too good to be true.

But then he'd asked her on a date without any uncertainty, as if he'd forgotten all about his insecurities and his fear of facing the town he grew up in. He'd asked her out to breakfast so easily, like the idea of being seen wasn't important at all.

How was it possible that he wanted her too? That all her time yearning hadn't been one sided? It felt like a dream, one that she'd had numerous times. But this was no dream--his words were real, their lips had touched, and he was standing in her apartment with wet hair and a boyish smile.

He held her umbrella over them while she locked her front door and willed her hands not to shake. There was no need to be nervous--she'd had plenty of moments alone with Cliff. And yet when she'd stepped into her room and over to her armoire, she'd had to take a few calming breaths before opening the doors and picking out what to wear--a pair of black jeans, a cream sweater, and the trusty pair of black chelsea boots she wore for almost every occasion that her sneakers didn't live up to.

The choice of outfit had been simple enough. But God, she wondered as they headed down the iron steps, what about conversation? She vowed to treat it the same as any other time they were together and figured the words would come easily enough. But when he walked in front of her to open his passenger's door for her, the even-larger-than-usual swarm of butterflies inside reminded her that this wasn't the same.

He shut the door for her and came around to get in behind the wheel. "It feels weird driving from one place to another in Red View. If it wasn't so wet out, it would've been a nice walk."

"I know--I think my car's been angry with me since I moved here," she joked. "I only use him when I go out to the orchard, or the grocery store."

The corner of Cliff's mouth twitched as he pulled onto the main road. "Him? Does he have a name?"

She flushed, watching the little red car disappear from view in the side mirror. She hadn't meant for that to slip. "As a matter of fact, yes. It's... Colonel Brandon. After the character from Sense and Sensibility."

His eyebrows raised in recognition. "Jane Austen, right?"

Her heart fluttered. If he liked Jane Austen, the attraction to him might just kill her. "You've read it?"

"I've spent a lot of time reading these past four years. And the ones that had movie adaptations, I usually watched those, too. It's a good way to forget for a while that you've locked yourself in your apartment." He raised a shoulder, slowing slightly as they neared the diner, with its shiny, retro exterior. Inside, the lights were on, but every booth she could see was empty. "I liked that one, as far as I remember."

"She's my favorite author," Annie said as they entered the parking lot, which was deserted apart from three cars parked near the back entrance--employees, most likely. "But I love romance novels in general. All the angsty drama and grand gestures."

"The happily ever afters," he added.

"That's the most important part. I like the feel-good stuff, I guess. Plus," she tried to move on before she embarrassed herself too badly, "I'm just not cut out for sad stories--they make me cry."

Well, so much for that goal.

"And no horror," he remembered as he parked the car. Her heart fluttered at the fact that he listened to her well enough to recall something so trivial. "So I'm guessing I won't find any Stephen King books on those shelves in your apartment."