Page 26 of Anything for You (Veterans of Silver Ridge #7)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Dove

T he next day, I found a perfect petite cake on my door and a note.

Something sweet for you today. Hope it’s a day full of good things. —DQ

So simple. So effective.

Two days after that, when I dragged myself home from a long, hard shift, I found dinner neatly packaged, and I cried while I ate it standing at my kitchen counter before pouring myself into bed, because of course I did.

When Dorian left me two more little tea cakes after my hastily scrawled note about how great they were, I took them to my visit with Nan and we ate them together.

She kindly ignored the way my cheeks heated when I talked about Dorian, and we avoided discussing Hawk since there was nothing to be done about him.

When I’d told her about the call, and that he was living at Patriot Ridge, she just gave me a grim, close-lipped smile and squeezed my hand.

Over the years, we’d said about all there was to say and until he showed his face, there wasn’t anything more.

On my one day off, I knocked on Dorian’s door, but no answer came. To say levels of devastation rolled over me was putting it mildly. I wanted to see him. Part of me felt like I needed to. We’d grown closer the last time we’d spent time together.

In a very real sense, Dorian was rapidly becoming my closest friend.

I wasn’t looking to replace Elise or anyone else, but in real time, we were getting to know each other in small and fundamental ways.

My friends were busy people just like me, but along with their work, they were tethered to their partners and now, in Jess’s case, their children.

Catherine was working even longer and harder hours than I was, and she hadn’t been much for socializing even before her cleaning empire began.

It was all a natural part of the process. I got it. Maybe I was making Dorian an unhealthy stand-in, but I didn’t think so. What was growing between us felt so entirely and actively healthy, it was kind of scary.

Sometimes, as I was drifting off to sleep, I’d think about that look on his face when he didn’t say he wasn’t sure if anyone would want him, but he might as well have said it aloud.

I could read it so clearly in the resigned set of his shoulders.

My heart would squeeze in my chest, filling up with aching for a man who’d served his country and endured unspeakable things, and then had wrestled with the fallout for years.

He hadn’t given up, and he was such a beautiful person.

I’d kept my crap together, but I’d wanted to shout, “I’d want you!” But there was no hypothetical anymore. It simply boiled down to the fact that I did.

I wanted more of Dorian in any way he’d be willing to give himself, and there’d been moments that made me wonder if maybe he was thinking the same thing.

As I shuffled out to work with a coffee thermos under one arm and my purse slipping off the other shoulder as I tied the knot at the waist of my scrubs, Dorian’s voice greeted me.

“Morning, Dove.”

I startled, nearly dropping the coffee, but collected myself in time to haul open my car door and settle the mug into a cup holder and dump my purse in the seat.

As I turned toward him, all kinds of butterflies took wing in my belly.

He stood tall and dark in jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt rolled to his elbows.

He had a hat pulled low on his head, and hair curled from under it at his ears and no doubt at his neck.

I’d rarely seen him in anything else—well, except that one time when he’d been missing the shirt part of his outfit.

“Morning, Dorian.”

Our eyes met, and my breath caught. He looked so handsome in the early glow of morning, and he was holding a paper sack.

“Thought you might like breakfast,” he said, holding it out to me.

I took it, hand grazing his as I gripped the folded-down edge. “I will never say no to breakfast.”

Seemingly pleased, he nodded. “Good. You need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. ”

A bubbly warm glow started at the soles of my feet and fizzed its way up through my entire body.

“Thank you. I had yesterday off, actually, but I didn’t see you around.” Like I’d ever been that casual in my entire life.

“I went into Saint for a shift. Sorry I missed you.”

My, my, my. The way he didn’t take his eyes from mine might’ve felt odd in a different situation—like too much. But right now? It simply made me feel like someone had dumped champagne into my blood stream.

“Me, too,” was all I could manage to say before my watch beeped, alerting me to the hour. I frowned down at it. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

“Don’t be late,” he said, and took a step back.

And then, because I was me and couldn’t let a chance to be awkward pass me by, I whirled around and lunged for his hand, clasping it for a second, then releasing him. “Thanks for breakfast. See you soon?”

Without waiting for his reply or daring to look back at him, I slammed my car door and turned the engine on, flustered and messy but oddly pleased with myself. As I backed out, I could feel him watching, and when I gave one final wave, he tipped his chin my way.

During my shift, I amazed myself by keeping my focus on my patients and not on the man who was single-handedly keeping me fed.

The breakfast burrito he’d made had been absolutely delicious with scrambled eggs, bacon, and sharp cheddar cheese in a toasty flour tortilla.

He’d also included a little baggy of apple slices and a square napkin with the words “Have a good day, DQ” scribbled on one side in black ink.

Basically, he was wooing me and he didn’t even realize it.

In some ways, that was tragic. How could I be falling for someone who didn’t even mean to make me fall?

But it was happening, despite my very real knowledge that he likely wasn’t looking for anything with me.

He might not want anything with anyone. He didn’t sound like anything had changed in terms of what he thought or what he wanted.

I wrote him a letter of thanks and wished I had something to offer him. My culinary skills were serviceable, but I was barely keeping myself fed and only enjoying things he brought so generously. What else did he need? As far as I could tell, he had everything he seemed to want.

By Friday afternoon, I was more than ready for a night out at Craic.

I slipped into one of my favorite blue dresses with a flowy skirt and fitted bodice with sleeves.

Nothing fancy, but it felt good to be out of scrubs, and I’d have quality time with my sweatpants soon since I didn’t have any shifts this weekend.

I knocked on my landlord’s door, anxious energy surging through me at the thought of seeing him again. Sure enough, when he opened up, my stomach did backflips.

“Hey, happy Friday,” I said, waving as though I wasn’t standing directly in front of him. “Um, I was wondering if you were going to happy hour tonight?”

Then I took him in—apron over his clothes and hands covered in flour.

“No, I’m not going.”

My hopes sank. “Darn. I was hoping we could hang for a while, maybe have a drink.”

His brow furrowed and his eyes shifted past me for a moment before landing back on mine. “It’s usually a little much for me there.”

I nodded. “Thought that could be a possibility. Totally get it. Just thought I’d ask.” Say it. say it, say it, say itttt. “So maybe we could, you know, do something? Else? Another time?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly, so instantly , I beamed. “Okay, great. Let’s figure it out tomorrow, if you’re around.”

“I’m around.”

“Great.” I bit my lip to try to stifle my ridiculous smile because it was absolutely eating my face, but then I laughed because… well, I was too happy not to. “See you tomorrow.”