Page 49 of Somewhere You Belong

“Judy’s Knick Knacks. It’s on the boardwalk near my sister’s photography studio.”

The mention of his other siblings rings a bell. “Oh. I haven’t been to visit that area yet.”

“You should. The view alone is amazing, but so are the businesses. Judy can make almost anything and she takes custom orders. I put a rush on it, but she followed my instructions to the letter.” He smirks as he unlocks the door to his car and puts his bag and clipboard inside.

He catches me admiring the car for a moment before I bring my gaze back to him. “I can tell you were very specific about details.”

“I needed it to be perfect.”

“It was scarily accurate, that’s for sure.” A thought pops into my head. “You own a business, help out your brother, sneak around town in the early morning hours to deliver gifts, and coach soccer.” I shake my head at him. “How do you manage it all? And why do you do it?”

His gaze is steady. “I like helping people. With the soccer thing, it’s more than just them needing a coach. A lot of those boys have parents in the service, so they’re not here. Or, they lost a parent like Bentley did. So Penn and I help out because no matter how old you are, you need a positive role model in your life, and Marines always stick together.”

My insides melt. “That’s pretty incredible of you, Dallas.”

“And I have amazing employees who keep my business running smoothly, so that’s not as demanding as you might think.” He reaches up and scratches his chin through the scruff that’s grown out. “Maybe it’s the oldest brother in me, but I take pride in taking care of people.I feel like everyone needs someone they can depend on in life, Willow. Don’t you agree?”

A resoundingyesis on my lips, but the truth is, I’ve only been able to depend on two people besides myself, so I’m not sure that I’m qualified to answer. Instead, I offer, “I think the people in your life are lucky to have you.”

Dallas’s lips spread into a soft smile. “Thank you. Well, I hope Penn gets some work done for you today. I need to get to the restaurant to prepare for the evening rush.”

“Oh yeah. Sure. Good luck with that,” I manage to say, stumbling through my reply. I’m not sure how to leave things, or that I want to leave at all. The last ten minutes have been eye-opening, revealing glimpses of a man I'm only just beginning to understand beyond the surface, to the parts that truly matter.

“Thanks. I’ll—I’ll see you around?”

“Um, yeah. I’ll be here.” I give him an awkward wave and then move to get in my car as he does the same, the sound of his motor firing up and vibrating behind me, igniting awareness in my entire body. When I sit in the driver’s seat of my car and look out my window, I catch a glimpse of him backing up, his hand draped casually over the wheel as he spins it then shifts into drive and presses on the gas, not so much as casting another look in my direction.

But I look athim, admiring the sight of the man driving his car that only adds to his allure, leaving me a pile of mush before I realize I’m still sitting in this parking lot and I haven’t moved at all.

“Jesus.” I slap a hand to my forehead and then prepare to drive home, knowing I have more than enough work to keep me busy and hopefully keep my mind off Dallas for a few hours.

Except there’s not much else to do while painting except think, and forgetting about Dallas is much easier said than done.

Chapter ten

Willow

“Who on earth could that be?”

The next day, I hear the doorbell ring from downstairs as I’m getting ready for work in the master bathroom. I’m finishing my makeup before I hop on a conference call with my firm. These Zoom calls have taught me the critical importance of decent makeup and strategic lighting—without them, I'd resemble a troll that has crawled out from under a bridge.

I finish the last coat of my mascara and then cinch the tie around the waist of my white silk robe, hoping maybe it was just a package being dropped off on the doorstep. Online shopping has been a godsend for finding products that the stores in this small town don’t carry. It’s given me a much broader selection of choices when it comes to home décor and essentials as well, compared to the hardware store that I seem to know like the back of my hand now.

As I tread lightly down the stairs, I cast my eyes over my home that looks fairly put-together considering the construction going on around me.

My home.

The more I utter those words out loud and to myself, the more that reality sets in.

Living in an apartment for most of my adult life and then moving into a house has made me realize that the walls I’ve called home in D.C. don’t hold as much sentiment as this house does in even one square inch. These walls have character, the floor holds secrets, and the windows offer breathtaking views of the ocean just a few hundred feet away.

The desired feeling of belonging and finding roots is starting to take shape, which only adds to the conundrum I’ve found myself in—my desire to sell this place dwindling with each project Penn and I complete on the house, turning it into a place I could actually see myself living in.

I push my hair from my face, knowing that by now the person that rang the doorbell has to be long gone, so I pull open the door—with my new, non-sticking doorknob installed just yesterday—expecting to see a box on the porch.

And there is a box.

But it’s in Dallas’s hands.

---