Page 20 of The Scars I Bare
Not now. Maybe not ever.
Dear blog family and friends,
I met a man.
A handsome devil of a man.
I never thought I’d use the term handsome devil in my life without either being seriously inebriated or trying to deliver a clever punch line of a joke, but there’s no other term to adequately describe Blake Ashcroft.
He’s spoiled, a bit rude even, but when I look at him, I turn to mush. We met at a bar. I know; it’s totally cliché. A few of my coworkers had dragged me there after our shift, and I don’t know, we just clicked. I’ve never been into fancy guys. You know the type—the ones with the sharp suits and the designer watches that cost more than a mortgage payment. Well, that’s Blake. His family is one of the wealthiest on the East Coast, and sitting next to him makes me feel so plain. But he says he likes that about me. My genuineness. He says it’s refreshing after growing up the way he did.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, Dad. I’m sure you’re reading this all the way from Texas, probably while drinking a cup of coffee from your Star Trek mug, muttering under your breath about how you should never have let me move away. But I’m fine.
We’re taking things slow. We’ve been on a few dates, and he’s been nothing but gentlemanly. I have a feeling this is the one, guys. I know that’s crazy to say, especially after a few dates, but I can’t help it.
So, stay tuned. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe this is all puppy love, or perhaps it’s intuition, and I’ve finally found something real.
XOXO,
Cora
“What makes you think I need that kind of baggage in my life right now?”
It was a single sentence, one that hadn’t been meant for my ears, but I’d heard it all the same. That was what I got for being raised by parents who drilled good manners into my marrow and an overbearing need to help whenever possible. Although Molly had pressed that I take a few days to adapt and rest after arriving at the inn, saying that I should think of myself as a full-fledged guest during that time, I couldn’t help but feel an itch burning up my spine after several hours of sitting around.
The need to do something. The need to help. So I went in search of something to do. Anything really—that would help me feel like I was earning my keep.
It used to drive Blake crazy. Being born into wealth, my husband had wanted for nothing in his life, having a full staff in his ginormous house to cater to his every whim. When I had taken his name, he’d felt—no, he’d demanded I do the same.
Unlike the staff that had surrounded him, I hadn’t been nearly as obedient.
I guessed that was where it had started.
Taking a deep breath, I stood a bit straighter, refusing to let those thoughts of the past drag me down, much less a few stray words from a man I barely knew.
I knew they shouldn’t hurt me. What he’d said was true. I was a lot of baggage, and he didn’t know the half of it.
I wasn’t even looking for a relationship. I didn’t think I ever would be. Not after everything I’d gone through.
Yet it hurt all the same.
My eyes stung, and my lips quivered, but I didn’t let it get to me. I wouldn’t indulge the pain. So, instead, I turned toward the parlor, ready to join Lizzie on the back patio where she was currently inspecting every inch of her new home.
Her temporary one,I reminded myself.
But, before I could do so, the door to the kitchen swung open, and I heard a sharp inhale of surprise. Knowing who’d just occupied the space, I didn’t have to guess who was standing behind me.
“Oh, hey,” he said awkwardly as I turned back around.
Always awkward, this man. Like he’d just been recently introduced to the English language after being found in the jungle or something.
Giving him a cursory glance, I couldn’t help but notice how well he’d recovered since his accident. No longer bruised and wounded, Dean Sutherland proved to be quite an attractive man.
But I’d always known that.
Even when he’d been covered in bandages and laid up in a hospital bed, anyone could plainly see the appeal in this green-eyed fisherman. He carried a ruggedness that I was unused to after years of refined living. With a few days’ stubble around his jawline and a well-worn pair of jeans, he looked like his body had been built for hard labor, and God help me, I wouldn’t mind watching it in action.
“Hello?” he said before I realized I hadn’t answered his initial greeting because I was too busy ogling the man.
