Page 42 of Love in Mission City
Chapter Six
Byron
Icouldn’t remember having ever met a more persistent man. Not pesky…just persistent.
Certainly, Percy had never been so…ardent…in his pursuit. In fact, I’d done most of the pursuing.
Maybe that had been my first mistake.
Carter’s persistence was wearing me down. We walked every day with the dogs.
The dogs spent time with him.
He came over and spent time with me.
Somehow, we both got work done. In fact, now I was actually accomplishing more because I wasn’t working so long. Fewer hours translated into better and more work. An oxymoron. Whatever. It worked.
And for a man who’d sworn off love, and was determined to be single for the rest of his life, my defenses were slowly falling away.
My attraction to Carter was deeper than I expected. A handsome man. His skin color was irrelevant to me. Alwayshad been. I wanted to know the man behind those amazing books. I’d bought them on audio and listened while I walked the dogs. When he wasn’t with me. The level of creativity blew my mind. Knowing he was smart and then having it confirmed by the amazingly complex books he wrote was something entirely different.
Tonight I’d put on my favorite sweater and made tortellini. His favorite. A dish I enjoyed as well, so not a hardship. Somehow, we were eating dinner together three times a week. At least. Most nights we chatted. Sometimes, when he was visibly exhausted, we’d watch a fluffy movie.
God, he had me enjoying rom-coms.
Who’d have thought that would ever happen?
He arrived promptly at six with warm buns straight from the oven. He’d told me his father had insisted he learn to cook to alleviate the burden his parents carried. As I gestured him in and scented that subtle aftershave he used, I acknowledged just how much I knew about him.
I’d put the food on the counter, and he was already retrieving plates for us. Next, he’d—
Yep, serve both of us. He knew exactly how much pasta I liked. I didn’t count carbs, but I was keenly aware of age catching up to me—and how he was much younger.
“Don’t dawdle. Grab the butter and let’s eat this food.” He nudged me.
I grinned. Yeah, actually grinned.
Before long, we settled on the couch together to watch another episode of this compelling dystopian show that I never would’ve picked but was finding both engaging and enlightening. He’d share little details of the secrets of the writers’ room that he’d picked up from a college buddy who’d moved straight into screenwriting.
By the end of the episode, I felt weirdly invigorated. “Another?”
He yawned. “I was up early. I had this great idea I just had to write down. That turned into an all-day writing marathon.”
“Did you take a break?”God, do you have to sound like a father?
He gazed at me. “You worried?”
“Well…if you injure yourself, then we can’t take Rosebud and Sheffield for walks.”Together. I hadn’t, until this moment, realized how important those walks were. How much they meant to me.
“Do you want to go for one now? I think the temperature is still warm enough I won’t need a coat—”
“You go home and get some rest. We can get together in the morning.” If he wanted to. I expected one day the text simply wouldn’t be responded to. That he’d have some guy over. Or he’d be at some guy’s place. Because handsome men with vibrant personalities deserved to be in happy relationships…right?
“I don’t want to go home. I don’t know why. It’s just…lonely there. I lived with my family my entire life, and now I’m alone. And I like it here at your place…”
Uncertain of what to say, I gazed at my long couch. “Do you want to crash here?” I’d never had someone stay over. I had my king-sized bed in my bedroom, and the other bedroom was an office.
“Maybe after we walk the dogs, I’ll feel better.” He petted Rosebud, who’d leapt on the couch and put her head on his lap during the show.
