Page 18 of Anything for You (Veterans of Silver Ridge #7)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dove

D orian Forrester, giant tree-farming ex-special ops soldier, served me tea in a dainty bone china cup with a fine golden honeycomb pattern and little porcelain bees perched on the arch of the handle.

They were stunning. And completely unexpected.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of tea you like, so I went with a classic English breakfast. I also have chamomile if you prefer decaf or something lighter.” He arrived with a teapot that matched the delicate cups and all the requisite dishes for cream and sugar.

“This is so lovely. I’m a little embarrassed to say I didn’t have any idea this would be so fancy,” I said, heat at my cheeks.

“What did you expect?” he asked, holding aloft the teapot in question, then guiding it down low to pour the warm liquid into the cup after I whispered, “Yes, please. ”

“I’m not sure. I guess a less ornate setup, maybe?”

He huffed softly. “It’s gotten fancier over the years.”

“Years? You’ve been doing afternoon tea like this for years?” I lifted mini tongs and selected a perfect sugar cube. The fact that he had cubes made this even more delightful for some reason.

“Kenny started it years ago. When I was struggling, he’d come over and make me try different teas and little treats.

He’d pretend he needed my help figuring out what each tea tasted like or whether to order this or that item for a meeting, but it was just an excuse to check on me.

” His eyes stayed on his cup where he stirred in a drop of milk.

“Check on you,” I repeated, not quite a question, but feeling around in the phrase for more information.

He sighed and took a sip of tea, savoring the drink and taking his time with it. I watched his throat work to swallow and enjoyed my own tea while bracing for whatever he’d tell me. Jo and Jess had mentioned something had happened to him, and I’d also wondered.

He adjusted his big body in the seat. His knees were higher than the coffee table. The squat setup was the only thing not fancy about it, but somehow, it made him look even larger in this moment when his shoulders had risen toward his ears and his face had gone serious.

Was I making him uneasy? It was the last thing I wanted, to make him uncomfortable, especially in his own home, his sanctuary.

“You don’t have to tell me. You’ve hinted at something in your past and I’d like to know you. If you’re not ready for me to know whatever this is about you, that’s okay.”

I hoped he’d let me in sometime, but it didn’t have to be right this second.

It felt like I’d stripped naked in front of him more than once lately, between how we first met with me in his bed to me sobbing into his shirt, and yet I didn’t feel embarrassed, and I certainly didn’t want him to feel pressured.

“I don’t mind telling you. It’s not something I keep hidden.

It’s just more…” His gaze shifted around his quaint, cozy living room, then snagged on Bear, whose head had perked up like he could sense a shift in Dorian’s mood.

“It’s more I don’t want you to think of me differently, but I don’t really know that that’s an issue. ”

“Well, I can’t make any promises, but I can say so far, I think of you as a bit of a mystery with serious baking and tea skills. Also, you’re an excellent landlord and you appear to be a lovely dog dad and a great friend.”

His light brown eyes lingered, the way they settled on mine sending a fresh trill of nerves straight to my toes. I couldn’t read his expression but everything in me wished I could. So much hid behind those eyes and that beard.

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

I shrugged a shoulder and reached for what I now recognized as one of Dorian’s signature items—a tiny lemon tart.

As I took a bite, he spoke again.

“I was always pretty quiet. It’s not unusual in the EMU—lots of people are introverts, despite what the stereotype and media depictions might make many think.

Anyway, I was quiet, but after my last deployment, I started struggling hard.

Things went wrong, and I had some physical therapy to do where I’d gotten injured, but I didn’t address the mental health piece. ”

What had he seen and done? How had he been injured? I wanted every bit of detail, but I wouldn’t stop him when he’d just started opening up.

I wouldn’t allow myself to cry. It wasn’t fair to him to start blubbering over his moment and put myself in a position to need comforting, but my heart was already aching and I wanted to wrap him up with my whole body like an overgrown koala and just hold him.

“I got depressed and eventually, suicidal. I never attempted, but I came close. Kenny, Beast, Luc, Doc… all the guys, they were there for me.”

My breathing had shallowed and I forbade my eyes from leaking out the liquid emotion rising in me. This man… this strong, beautiful man. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook those words off. “I am, too. I’m sorry I put them through it, I’m sorry I put me through it. I’m sorry for the people who didn’t survive that deployment and how the ripple effect of those events still impact my life and others’, even today. But I’m also grateful.”

I studied him, aching to understand. So much hurt, yet also so much compassion.

It was a dichotomy, one I was realizing made Dorian who he was, a study in contradictions that somehow also made perfect sense.

He had been in situations that demanded brutality but he was entirely gentle.

He seemed so closed and withdrawn on the outside, but here he was sharing these most intimate truths.

“I struggled with why I survived and three of my teammates didn’t.

I struggled with how not to hate myself for things I’d done, even though when I did them, they’d been justified and part of the mission.

I even started hating things about myself—my face, my chin, my size…

I was just misery wrapped in anger shrouded in grief and it all added up to depression that took me years to figure out. ”

Realizing I’d frozen with my teacup oddly suspended, I set it down with a slight rattle. “You didn’t give up.”

With a small shake of his head and a grim smile, he continued.

“I didn’t. But it’s not all tidy. I still struggle.

I have to be careful with my routines and the things that help me feel good.

I go to therapy, and I do what works. And I try not to fear slipping back into that place where even lifting my head to greet a friend felt like a task too great. ”

My heart cracked open and I stood. He rose, too, his exemplary manners on full display.

“Would it be terribly presumptuous of me to give you a hug?”

His gaze nearly burned into me as though he were looking for a reason I needed to offer him this. He would find no words from me because I didn’t have them. I only knew the gut-level demand ruling me said to hug this man this instant.

When he nodded, I stepped right into his space and wrapped my arms around his solid torso, then squeezed.

His scent was pine trees and crisp air and a sweetness like honey or spun sugar and lemon. It was absolutely divine and if I had been any more lost to the moment, I might’ve nuzzled my face into his chest and huffed him like a scented candle.

“I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through that,” I said into the cool fabric of his dark blue button-down.

His arms loosened, and I took the cue. Focusing on the food and table so I wouldn’t tumble over it and ruin the afternoon, I settled back into my seat and thought through what else I could say.

“Still working through mild agoraphobia and ochlophobia with a side of anxiety and depression. So I’m…”

His expression darkened, and my heart stuttered, waiting for what judgment he might settle on himself. I couldn’t stand the idea that he’d fault himself for the fallout of a traumatic event, or what was likely multiple events over many years .

“You’re amazing. And I’m not saying that because I’m hoping for more treats on my doorstep.

I’m saying it because you are. You haven’t given up and you’re still working toward healing, even when it’s hard.

” My chin wobbled, the jerk, but I pressed my lips together to steady it.

“I just think, not everyone keeps working. But here you are, and you’ve got this whole regimen of things that you know help, so you do them. ”

“I also live on a tree farm and only see people when I’m willing to,” he mumbled, nudging a half-eaten éclair around his plate.

“Well, me, too.”

His gaze flicked to mine, and he raised a brow. “Guess that’s true.”

“See?” I shrugged. “I’m not sure I know anyone without a little cocktail of anxieties and traumas, though I know they don’t always affect people the same way.

I don’t mean to make light of what you’ve been or are currently going through.

More that… you’re not alone. Maybe in your unique mix of things you have to deal with, yes.

Those are all yours. But in terms of being someone who’s just trying to figure out how to handle what’s been piled on his plate?

” I reached out and touched the back of his hand with the tip of my pinky, then held his gaze with mine. “In that, you’re not alone.”