Say You Love Me (Pine Valley Book 3) Read online

  “Hey,” Clara said, squeezing his hand lightly. “You’re talking to a woman who was engaged to a man who was in another long-term relationship. At least Romy wasn’t cheating on you, because being blind to that makes me a first-class dunce.”

  Dawson sped up the truck to get around a slower car. He’d tightened his grip on Clara’s hand without realizing it.

  “Dawson, are you okay?” she asked.

  He loosened his grip and slowed his speed. “I don’t know if she was cheating on me. I look back now, and there were signs—signs I’d ignored, of course.”

  “Oh,” Clara said in a faint voice.

  “She never came home from the gym until close to midnight. I assumed it closed at 11:00 p.m., but after our divorce I found out it closed at 10:00 p.m. Even finding that out, I continued to justify that she might be cleaning workout equipment or something.”

  “Did you ever ask her?” she asked.

  “I don’t think I wanted to know,” he said, glancing over at her to find that she was gazing at him. “I mean, it would only add insult to injury.”

  Clara bit her lip. “The more I learn about Romy, the less I like her. I mean, I know she wrote you a letter with all of her complaints, but I’m thinking you could write a similar letter to her.”

  Dawson raised his brows. “You know, I think you’re right.” He tugged her hand toward him and kissed her knuckles. She didn’t pull away. “But I think I’d like to keep Romy in the past.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Clara said in a soft voice.

  Then she leaned her head against his shoulder, and Dawson felt like he’d won the lottery.

  The hum of Dawson’s truck and the warmth of his solid shoulder beneath her head made Clara doze off. She awoke when he pulled up to the curb in front of the realty office on Main. She felt like she was in a bit of a haze, and it took her a moment to grasp the reality that she’d fallen asleep on Dawson’s shoulder.

  “We’re here,” he said in a quiet voice as she lifted her head.

  It was then that she realized she’d looped her left arm around his right. And it was deliciously comfortable. And now that she was aware of it, her pulse started to race. She drew away from him and used her hand to stifle a yawn. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.” She blinked in the dimness.

  “Maybe I was boring you,” Dawson teased in his low voice.

  Clara scoffed. “No. Your truck was just warm and comfortable, I guess, and I did eat a lot.” She neglected to tell him that he was warm and comfortable. She hadn’t fallen asleep in a car or any vehicle since she was a kid.

  He shut off the engine of his truck. “Is Jeff working you all hours?”

  “Not really,” Clara said. “We’re busy, but it’s a good busy. I’ve had a hard time sleeping through the night since—well, since everything fell apart back home.”

  Dawson’s eyes met hers, and even though the only light inside the truck was coming from a streetlamp, she could feel the intensity of his gaze. “That gives us something else in common.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Insomniac here.”

  Clara grimaced. “Sorry, it’s awful. I know.”

  “Maybe next time I’m awake at 3:00 a.m. with no hope of falling back asleep, I’ll text you.”

  Clara shrugged as if it wouldn’t be a big deal for him to call her in the middle of the night, but she was sort of thinking it crossed the boundaries of a casual friendship. And she wasn’t minding that possibility the more she was with Dawson. “We could count sheep together.”

  Dawson laughed and opened his door. “Are you parked behind the building?”

  “Yeah, but you don’t need to walk me,” she said.

  He just opened his door the rest of the way and hopped out.

  “Stubborn man,” she said under her breath, but loudly enough for him to hear.

  As he walked around the truck to open her door, Clara took off her seatbelt and picked up her purse.

  They’d had a fun night together. There’d been plenty of flirting, but some somber talk as well. Dawson’s phone had stayed off the whole time, and Clara had fallen asleep against him. She was starting to seriously wonder why his ex-wife had treated him so poorly. Yeah, it was obvious Dawson wasn’t perfect and perhaps worked way too much, but he was willing to listen, quick to apologize, and definitely aware that he had faults.

  It was all sort of endearing.

  Dawson opened her door, and she placed her hand in his as she climbed out. They walked hand in hand through the alleyway leading to the back of the building where a parking lot led to another exit.

  Dawson didn’t speak as they walked, and neither did Clara, even though a dozen thoughts seemed to be going through her head. Things seemed more intimate between them, and she couldn’t figure out exactly what had changed. Maybe it was hearing that Dawson’s ex-wife had blindsided him just as Max had blindsided Clara.

  When they reached her car, she turned and looked up at him. He simply gazed back as she scanned his face, the slightly messy look of his hair, and the wrinkles on his dress shirt, likely from her. He’d taken his tie and suit coat off before they’d gone into the restaurant, and Clara sort of loved how he dressed up most of the time. Although, she equally liked him in a T-shirt. The top buttons of his dress shirt were undone, and she wanted to lean in and press a kiss against the beating pulse at the base of his throat.

  The desire startled her and should have forced her to release his hand, to step away, and to collect her thoughts.

  Instead, she said, “So, I was thinking, if you’re not busy Friday night I’d cook you dinner.”

  Dawson blinked. Then a slow smile grew on his face. “Are you being serious?”

  “Yes, are you busy Friday night?”

  “I can be persuaded to keep it open for you.”

  She smiled back and released his hand. “Great. My place or yours?”

  He paused. “My place. I don’t want you to think I’m hiding anything from you. In fact, you can search my condo for any dark secrets.”

  Clara laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her keys. “Thanks for dinner, and everything. I had fun tonight.”

  He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Me too, Clara.”

  The way he said her name was so tender that her heart hitched. She could tell he was using a great deal of self-control, keeping his hands in his pockets and not teasing her about kissing anymore.

  She opened her door and climbed in, then started her car. Of course, Dawson remained standing there as she pulled away and headed for the parking lot exit. She slowed before turning onto the street and checked her rearview mirror. Dawson was still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching after her.

  A lump formed in her throat, and she was confounded by the emotion that surged through her. Before she could talk herself out of her next impulse, she put her car into park and opened her door. Leaving the car door open, she hurried back across the parking lot to where Dawson was standing.

  His brows rose. “Did you forget something?”

  “Yes,” she said in a breathless voice. When she reached him, she grasped the front of his shirt and tugged him toward her.

  He didn’t resist, and she slid her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his.

  She was pretty sure she’d imagined kissing Dawson a time or two, but the fantasy was not as good as the reality.

  Dawson rested his hands on her hips and drew her flush against him as he kissed her back. His mouth was warm, his lips searching, and his heart was thudding nearly as hard as hers. Everything inside her heated as their kissing turned exploratory, and Dawson slid his hands behind her back and lifted her up.

  She tightened her hold around his shoulders and squealed as he slowly spun her around. He didn’t stop kissing her though, and eventually he set her down. He ran his hands up her back, over her shoulders, then cradled her face. “Clara,” he whispered, but then
didn’t give her a chance to answer.

  His mouth was distracting her from all cognitive thought, and she knew she’d never felt like this kissing another man. Dawson was all-encompassing, and the taste of him and scent of him and his warm and solid body overwhelmed every one of her senses. When he drew away, it was only to trail kisses along her neck.

  His lips against her neck sent a new barrage of warm shivers all the way to her toes. She moved her hand to thread her fingers through his hair and drew him even closer. Then he buried his face against her skin and pulled her into a tight hug.

  Clara knew she could stay wrapped in Dawson’s arms indefinitely, which probably meant she should release him as soon as possible and figure out the numerous lines she’d just crossed.

  “Dawson,” she whispered.

  “Hmm?” He didn’t move.

  “I should go.” She didn’t move either.

  Finally, Clara sighed and ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. She drew away. He let her go, but his intense gaze made her remember his every touch and every kiss.

  “Good night,” she said, taking a deliberate step back. She had to keep moving, force herself to walk to her car.

  The slightest smile touched his face. “Good night, Clara.”

  She bit her lip, then nodded. Now. Leave now. So she took another step, then turned and hurried back to her car that was still idling with the door wide open. This time, when she climbed in, she didn’t let herself look back.

  Clara drove back to her apartment along the quiet, dark streets of Pine Valley. She couldn’t believe she’d jumped out of her car and run back to kiss Dawson. Her entire body felt numb and tingly at the same time, and she wanted to laugh at herself, then groan in dismay. She’d just had the best kiss of her life, and it had been with Dawson Harris.

  They were supposed to be friends, and even though they’d flirted with each other, Clara had had no serious intentions of kissing him and changing everything. Apparently, her subconscious mind had other ideas and had taken over her body.

  Clara parked in front of her apartment, went inside, and, without even turning on any lights, went to her bedroom. She kicked off her sandals and climbed into bed, fully clothed, and pulled one of her pillows to her chest. She closed her eyes and relived every moment of her spontaneous actions and the way Dawson responded.

  She knew, knew he cared about her. The way he’d kissed her and the way he’d said her name had been more romantic and sweet than any moments she’d shared with Max. Hadn’t she been in love with Max? He had been comfortable, he had been her friend, and they’d kissed plenty of times. But none of their kisses had advanced to anything more intimate, and Clara had thought he was just waiting until they were married.

  Now she knew better.

  Kissing Dawson had made a few things very clear to her. He wasn’t holding back any of his own emotions, and he was already invested. And that worried her more than anything, because with Dawson, his kissing her hadn’t been flirtatious. It had come from his heart. And it had come from hers.

  Clara buried her face in her pillow. What was happening to her?

  “Your mother says you’re dating someone,” Dawson’s dad said over the phone.

  Dawson paused. It was about 8:00 p.m., and he was on his way home from the office after another long day. After the kiss the night before with Clara, he’d definitely consider them dating. But confirming that to his parents would be an entirely different story. And he didn’t know if the newness of what was developing between him and Clara would be up to the task of his parents’ scrutiny.

  “Her name is Clara Benson,” Dawson said. “And like I told Mom, we’re friends.”

  “Uh huh,” his dad said. “So you have plans with this friend on Saturday night?”

  “I might,” Dawson said, knowing that his dad would get to the point eventually. His dad was the kind of guy who could spot an accounting error with a single glance, and predict the next big stock market success. But when it came to managing family dynamics, that was Mom’s field of expertise.

  Dawson found it laughable that his mom had put his dad up to the task of getting him to commit to coming to a barbeque at his parents’ home—surely Paula Smith would be there. Instinct told him it wouldn’t do to offer to bring Clara with him. No, his mom wanted him at the barbeque, available and single.

  “If you’re available, we’d love to see you there,” his dad continued. “It might be better if you don’t bring your lady friend.”

  And . . . there it was.

  “Tell you what,” Dawson said. “I’m going to invite Clara, and if she can come, I’ll bring her. If she can’t, I’ll come alone.”

  The other line went silent. Dawson could just imagine that his dad was trying to figure out how to impart this news to Mom. Dawson really didn’t want to air out Paula Smith’s dirty laundry, but it might be the only way to get his mom off his back about her. This was all getting ridiculous. His divorce had been traumatic enough, and now he felt like he was a twenty-year-old bachelor with his parents trying to set him up with a “nice girl.”

  “Thanks for the call, Dad,” Dawson continued. “I just got home, and I’m beat.”

  “All right,” his dad said. “Take care, and see you Saturday.”

  His tone sounded a bit distant, and Dawson could only imagine the report his dad would give to Mom.

  Dawson climbed out of his truck and went into his condo. After flipping on the lights and setting his computer bag on the kitchen table, he opened the refrigerator. Not much selection. Grocery shopping might actually help, but even when he did shop, half the food went to waste. It looked like he’d be eating another freezer meal. He should have stopped to grab takeout on the way. But tomorrow, Clara would be cooking for him. She refused to tell him what she’d fix, but that thought would keep him content to eat something manufactured tonight.

  He pulled out a box of some sort of chicken and pasta and set it in the microwave. While it cooked, he went into his bedroom and changed into some gym shorts and a T-shirt. He was tempted to lie down in bed and go to sleep right now, but his growling stomach would wake him in a few hours. Besides, he had an early morning court appearance he needed to double-check some things on.

  So he walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a glass, then filled it with ice water. He leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for the microwave to finish. He sent Clara a text: Heating up a microwave dinner, wishing you were here cooking for me.

  He smiled when she texted back seconds later. Chauvinist.

  So he wrote: Amended to: wishing you were here.

  She sent back a smiling emoji.

  They’d texted back and forth a few times today, but he hadn’t brought up the unexpected kiss. He didn’t want her telling him it was a mistake, and the fact that she was texting him was encouraging. It also made it hard not to just drive to her work or find her apartment and knock on the door. He couldn’t ever remember being this anxious to see someone, especially when he’d just seen her less than twenty-four hours ago.

  The microwave dinged, and he rose to open the door and pulled out the bubbling dish. While he let it cool, he texted, I can bring over ice cream if you haven’t had your dessert yet.

  She wrote: Nice try. I’m still recovering from that seafood dinner. See you tomorrow.

  Dawson sighed. Fine. Did we decide on a time? Or a menu? Do you want me to get some groceries?

  A few minutes passed, then: I’ll get the food, and I’ll see you around 6:00. What’s your address?

  Dawson sent over his address.

  She replied: Thx. Be hungry.

  He thought about sending something flirtatious, but he’d much rather call her or see her in person. His phone rang, sending a jolt through him. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Dad told me you’re bringing that Clara woman to the barbeque.” Her tone was brisk.

  “I don’t know yet,” he said. “I’m going to invite her, but if she can’t come, I’ll come alone
.” Dawson knew his mom already knew all of this.

  His mom exhaled. “If you haven’t invited Clara yet, then why don’t you just come alone? It would be fun to catch up on old times with Paula and her family. They’re really looking forward to seeing you again.”

  “I understand, I really do,” Dawson said. “Paula has a great family, and it will be nice to see them. But I hope you haven’t given Paula or her parents any ideas about me being interested in reconnecting with Paula. Our relationship is in the very distant past, and when we broke up, it was for good.”

  “She’s been through a lot of hard times, Dawson,” his mom said, as if she hadn’t heard a word he said. “I think it will be great for both of you to get to know each other again. You have a divorce in common, and you’re both more mature and seasoned now.”

  Dawson gripped the edge of the counter, letting it take the brunt of his frustration. “We didn’t break up because of immaturity.”

  “You guys had such fun together,” his mom said. “Paula’s mom and I were just reminiscing the other day about . . . ”

  Dawson tuned her out; he had to. He was so close to telling his mom that Paula had been with pretty much every guy in high school that would have her. He’d been naïve enough to think she really liked him, and that their relationship would be exclusive. She’d been the first woman he’d ever been intimate with, and so maybe that’s why the betrayal had hurt so much. It might also be why he never confronted Romy about how late she came home at night. He didn’t ever want to admit to himself that Romy was like Paula.

  When it sounded like his mom was winding down a little, he said, “Okay, Mom, I should run. Long day, and I haven’t eaten yet.”

  “You know you can stop over on your way home from work to eat,” she said. “I can always warm up something for you.”

  Another frozen dinner, but different kitchen. Dawson didn’t point that out. His mom ordered meals from a gourmet delivery service, so it was higher quality than the standard grocery fare. It was remarkable how hearing his mother’s voice often made him feel like he was fifteen again.