Page 115 of Wallflower
3. Be waiting downstairs at seven o’clock.
I look around, hoping to find Chord or at least evidence that he was recently here, but this note on the fridge and the possible tease of his cologne is all there is.
I read the note again, adrenaline and nostalgia heating my skin as I remember the notes he used to leave for me when I was his assistant at Silver Leaf. That was almost a year ago now, but with his scribbled instructions between my fingers again, my heart pounds with an old, intoxicating mix of anticipation and infatuation.
With just an hour until I need to be ready for whatever Chord has planned, I rush through a shower and throw some clothes in a bag, then hurry to the street with barely a minute to spare.
He’s already waiting for me, leaning against the hood of his favorite cherry-red sports car, looking like a million bucks in his snug dark blue jeans, muscle-hugging white t-shirt, dark hair curling underneath a backward baseball cap. I release a happy sigh at the sight of his slightly amused face before throwing myself into his arms.
He slips a hand behind my head and tilts up my mouth to claim it with his own. Our kiss is long and hungry, tongues stroking, hands clutching, bodies pressing until there’s only one way we could be closer to each other, and it would require removing all our clothes. I miss him so darn much when he’sgone, and though I know this is the life of a hockey player, I’m secretly looking forward to this time next year when Chord will be ready to retire, and I don’t have to share him anymore.
“I’ve missed you, Wallflower,” he says, cradling my head and stroking my pink cheeks with his thumbs as he brushes the tip of my nose with a soft kiss. “So fucking much.”
“I missed you too.” I grip his wrists as he drops his forehead onto mine. “But you’re here now.”
He hums his agreement, then reluctantly removes his hands so he can pick up my bag and open the car door. “And I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I slip into the seat and press my hands over the butterflies in my stomach. “You didn’t have to do anything special. You’re only here one night before your last game and—”
“And that’s exactly why I want to do something special.” He closes the door, throws my bag into the trunk, and rounds the car before sliding behind the wheel, taking my hand, and pulling out into the street. He presses my knuckles to his warm lips, then holds my hand on his thigh as he drives. “The next few days are going to be all about hockey, but tonight is all about us.”
I’ve learned not to protest when Chord wants to spoil me. I don’t need grand gestures to know I love him, but he’s so cute when he gets an idea in his head, like a kid with a new toy, that I can’t bring myself to fight it. And I get a kick out of watching him have his fun.
We cruise out of the city as the sun begins to fall, and though Chord refuses to tell me where we’re going, it doesn’t take long to figure out our destination. About an hour after we start the trip, just as the sun is sinking behind the horizon, we roll past the gates outside of Silver Leaf.
“We’re spending tonight on the ranch?” I ask hopefully, twisting in my seat as the white timber gates slide out of view.
Chord casts me a wide grin. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” I watch the darkening scenery glide past my window as Chord ignores the private road to his house and keeps on driving. “What does that mean? Where are we going?”
His only response is a knowing little smile and his fingers growing tighter around my own. Soon he pulls the car onto a sealed driveway that wasn’t there this time last year, and I frown as I try to get my bearings in the rapidly disappearing light.
We drive through a field that is wild and empty but for the road under our tires until suddenly, in the distance, something twinkles up ahead—lots of little lights wrapped around a frame, maybe?
I’m still not sure where we are when Chord finally pulls the car around the turning circle at the end of the drive and cuts the engine.
I peer out at what looks like an enormous concrete slab framed by poles slung with ropes of twinkle lights. The most romantic campsite with a linen fort-style tent and pillows and blankets and a firepit is set up in the middle of it all, and when I squint harder, I spy wine glasses and candles arranged on one side for a picnic.
“Chord!” I gasp. “It’s beautiful but… Please tell me you didn’t buy a road and build a concrete platform just for one night?”
“Not quite.” He shakes his head with a happy smirk—like a kid with a secret, there’s no other way to describe it—and I force myself to be patient as he rounds the car, opens my door, and leads me off the asphalt toward the campsite.
We step onto the enormous concrete circle, and the setup is even prettier up close, with the low fire crackling and throwing off an orange glow from the low steel drum and the blankets beckoning us in the cooling air and falling night.
Before I can ask again what this is all about, Chord pulls me against him, my back on his chest, and loops his hard arms around my middle, pressing a kiss against my hair before hereleases a heavy sigh of contentment. And suddenly, I don’t care if or how or why he bought me a road and a slab of concrete. I only care that he’s here.
I sink against his warm, immovable frame and close my eyes. I’m in the arms of the man I love in the middle of Silver Leaf Ranch. My favorite places in the world.
“Are you hungry?” he murmurs close to my ear, his warm breath sending goosebumps rippling along my arms.
“A little.”
“Good. I had employees from Silver Leaf come by and set all this up so it would be ready when we arrived.”
He guides me to a cushion, covers me with a blanket, and retrieves a cooler hidden behind a stack of cushions. The amazing meal inside has Dylan’s fingerprints all over it, and as the stars pop to life in the blackness above us, we share dinner and Silver Leaf pinot noir the way we used to—without ceremony, straight from the boxes, eating from each other’s forks.
When it’s done, Chord collects the empty containers and sets them aside, then scoops me into the crook of his arm and draws me down on the pillows, his other hand under his head, legs crossed at the ankles. I snuggle against him, wrapping myself in the warmth of his chest, the crackle of the fire, and the smell of burning wood, and luxuriating in the feeling that everything is right in my world.
