Page 4 of Big and Rowdy (Big Boys Love Curves #1)
four
Boone
I spend most of Sunday getting my house ready for Savannah's visit, telling myself it's just basic courtesy and not because I want to impress her.
The truth is, I haven't had a woman over for dinner in longer than I care to admit, and certainly not one who makes my pulse race just thinking about her.
By five-thirty, I've made my grandmother's chili recipe, baked cornbread that actually turned out edible, and changed my shirt twice. When I see headlights coming up my driveway at exactly six o'clock, my stomach does something that has nothing to do with hunger.
Savannah emerges from her SUV wearing a soft blue dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.
"Right on time," I say, jogging down the porch steps to meet her. "I was starting to worry you'd come to your senses and decided to stand me up."
"The thought crossed my mind," she admits, accepting the quick kiss I drop on her cheek. "But then I remembered you promised chili."
"Best chili," I say solemnly.
The inside of my house always makes me proud—exposed beams, a stone fireplace that dominates one wall, and windows that showcase the mountain views.
It's masculine but not aggressively so, comfortable without being cluttered.
Family photos line the mantel—three young boys fishing, a teen version of me on what must be my first four-wheeler, and a recent shot of the three of us cousins, arms around each other's shoulders, looking like we'd just climbed a mountain.
"This is beautiful," Savannah says, following me into the kitchen where my grandmother's chili recipe is simmering.
"Thanks. I did most of the work myself, with help from the cousins." I stir the pot, then offer her a spoon to taste. "What do you think?"
Savannah's eyes widen as she takes a taste. "Oh, wow. That's incredible."
The air between us seems to shimmer with possibility. I feel my breath catch as I step closer, my hands coming up to frame her face.
"Savannah," I say softly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm going to kiss you now. If that's not okay, you should probably tell me to stop."
Instead of answering, she rises up on her toes and meets me halfway.
The kiss is everything I've been hoping for and nothing like I expected.
Gentle at first, almost questioning, but when she sighs and melts against me, my control slips.
My arms come around her, pulling her flush against my chest, and the kiss deepens into something that makes my entire world narrow down to the woman in my arms.
When we finally break apart, Savannah looks dizzy and breathless. I know I probably look the same.
We stand there for a moment, lost in each other, until the timer on the stove chooses that moment to go off, making us both jump.
"Cornbread," I say unnecessarily, but I don't immediately move to check it.
"You should probably..." She gestures vaguely at the oven.
"Right. Yes. Cornbread." But instead of stepping away, I lean down and steal one more quick kiss, soft and sweet this time. "To be continued?"
"Definitely," she breathes.
Dinner is a revelation. Not because my cooking is particularly exceptional—though the chili is pretty damn good, if I do say so myself—but because of the easy way conversation flows between us.
Savannah asks about growing up in the mountains, and I find myself telling stories I haven't thought about in years.
About the time Holt, Orson and I built a raft that sank about ten feet from shore.
About the summer my dad taught us all to track deer through the forest. About the first time I rode a four-wheeler and nearly crashed into a tree.
"So there I was," I say, gesturing with my beer, "sixteen years old and convinced I was Steve McQueen, trying to jump the creek on my dirt bike."
"Please tell me this ends with you in the hospital."
"Worse. Ended with me in the creek, bike and all, with half of Whitepine watching from the bridge." I shake my head ruefully. "Took three of us to fish the bike out, and it never ran right again."
"And that didn't cure you of your need for speed?"
"Are you kidding? That just proved I needed a better bike."
We move to the porch after dinner, settling into comfortable chairs with fresh beers and a blanket I insist she needs. The temperature is dropping with the sun, and the first stars are beginning to appear in the clear Alberta sky.
"It's so quiet up here," Savannah says, pulling the blanket more tightly around herself.
"Too quiet for most people. That's why I like it."
"No, it's perfect. I can actually hear myself think for the first time in months."
I turn in my chair to look at her. "What kind of thoughts need that much quiet?"
She considers the question seriously. "The important ones, I guess. The ones that get lost in traffic noise and deadlines and all the things that seem urgent but aren't really important."
"Such as?"
"Whether I'm living the life I actually want, or just the life I think I'm supposed to want." The admission seems to surprise her. "Sometimes I wonder if I keep moving because I love adventure, or because I'm running from something I can't name."
"And what's the verdict?"
She looks out at the mountains, then back at my face. "Still working on that one."
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the distant call of an owl and the soft whisper of wind in the trees. I find myself stealing glances at Savannah, noting the way the porch light catches the curve of her cheek, the way her fingers curl around her beer bottle.
When I walk her to her car later that evening, the air between us is charged with unspoken promise. I stop her before she can open the driver's door, one hand resting lightly on her waist.
"I had a really good time tonight," I say.
"So did I."
"Good enough that you might want to do it again?"
Instead of answering immediately, she steps closer, eliminating the space between us. "What did you have in mind?"
Her eyes darken with the same desire that's been building in me all evening. "I could think of a few things."
When I kiss her this time, there's nothing gentle or questioning about it. It's heated and demanding, full of the promise of everything we're not quite ready for yet. Savannah kisses me back with equal fervor, her hands fisting in my shirt as she tries to anchor herself.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. It takes everything in me on to throw her delicious plump body over my shoulder and take her back to my bedroom, caveman style. But my mother raised a gentleman, and I want our first time to be somewhere special.