The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,74
for calming down.
I don’t think this invite to Wes’s place is him wanting to be considerate of my weekend time.
Maybe…just maybe…he didn’t want our night to end.
25
Wes
I picked up Dakota’s favorite wine on my way home. Just in case she wants a glass while she waits for her clothes to go through the washer and dryer.
I also noticed Dakota didn’t eat any of that appetizer she took to the happy hour, and neither did I, so I picked up a few ingredients to make dinner. It might just be an evening of laundry, but I can’t have her over and not have anything to eat or drink.
I know my place is clean, because I keep it that way, but even so I take a walk around to make sure. It doesn’t take long. My cabin is cozy, which is to say that it’s small. My parents built three cabins, one for each son, when I was overseas. Two bedrooms, one bath, a living room, laundry room, and a kitchen. The size is perfect for me, but Warner needed more when he and the kids moved back to the ranch after Anna left, so they added on to his. Maybe someday soon, they’ll need to build one for Jessie.
In less than a minute, I’ve determined the place is ready for Dakota. But am I?
I’ve never had a woman here. And I can’t believe it, but I’m nervous. Standing in the kitchen, I look out across the island and into the living room, trying to see my home through new eyes. Dakota’s eyes.
So much of it is basic and forgettable. The couch, the bookshelf, the TV, the area rug my mom picked out. Dakota’s sharp eyes will zero in on the framed pictures on the shelves. For a guy who keeps the military locked up tight in his chest, there are still parts of it I can’t put away, and that group shot of my platoon is one of them. The other is the shadow box with my medals. It’s confusing how much pride you can have in something that taught invaluable lessons when it’s also responsible for ruining parts of you. Maybe that’s not just the military though. Maybe that’s the case with anything truly momentous.
A car drives into the clearing. From the front window, I watch Dakota park and get out. By the time I get to her, she’s already at the back of her car, struggling to lift a massive suitcase from the trunk.
“Let me,” I say, not waiting for her response. My hand bumps hers as my fingers wrap around the handle.
“I can do it,” she grunts her argument, still trying.
I stand back and watch her struggle. “You can be really stubborn.”
She tries again, then backs away with a huff. “Tenacious,” she clarifies. “It has a better ring to it than stubborn.”
To her credit, the suitcase is surprisingly heavy. It hits the ground with a dull thud. “Are you washing cement blocks? I should warn you, my washing machine doesn’t do well with those.”
Dakota follows me to the cabin, pausing on the first of three steps leading up to the front porch and looking it over. “It’s a smaller version of your parents’ house.” She runs a hand along the wooden railing. “I already like it.”
I look down at her from the porch. “You might want to reserve your judgment for the inside. Maybe it’s atrocious.”
She hops up the remaining two steps. “Given how great the outside is, I’m going to make a bet that the inside is just as good.” She side-eyes me meaningfully and sails past me into the cabin. I remain outside for a moment to get my bearings. Maybe she was only talking about the cabin, but I don’t think she was.
Like I thought, she focuses on the Army picture immediately. I set the suitcase just inside the small laundry room door and stand back, watching her look at the photo. Her hand rises, hovering an inch away from the glass, as she tries to pick me out of the crowd.
I give her ten seconds, then offer help. Between the fact that we’re all wearing the same clothes and my hair was buzz cut, I look different. She doesn’t look at me when she says, “I found you right away. Most handsome guy in the group.” She looks back at me with a wink. “Call it a gift.”
I come closer. I’ve looked at the photo so many times I have it memorized, but I