Where the Heart Is (9 page)

“The pine smells really good,” he said, stupidly, “like your hair.”
Really
stupidly.

She arched a blond brow at him, then her mouth cracked into a small smile. “I forgive you. Thanks.”

It couldn't be that easy. Still, he exhaled in relief. “Thank
you
. I'm sorry I didn't come to dinner. That was a dick move.”

“Yes, it was, but I understand.” She peered at him over the flowers, looking hesitant. “I'm not sure what else to say. You left in such a hurry . . .”

The ball was totally in his court. “I know. It's just . . . the house.”

She spoke slowly, as if she were choosing her words carefully. “Maybe I shouldn't move into your house. I talked to Rob last night, and he has a small rental in Newberg that I can afford.”

He didn't want her to live that far away. But the alternative . . . Sound, like rushing water, roared through his ears and the floor seemed to move beneath his feet. This was ridiculous. It was a
house
. Where he'd once lived a long time ago. Ten years had gone by since he'd lived there—longer than he'd even called it home. Wasn't it time to let the past go? Rob and Emily would say so. Still, the thought of going there after steadfastly avoiding it for a decade, which was no easy feat in a town this size, filled him with anxiety.

But it was past time for him to get over it already. “Take it.” He said the words, but it sounded like they came from very far away. “I want you to,” he added, more to convince himself than her.

Her eyes widened briefly, then filled with concern. “Are you sure?”

He nodded, unsure he could get the word “yes” past his lips.

She looked uncertain, but lightly touched his hand. “If you say so.” She smiled reassuringly. “I'm going to put these in water and check on some tables. You're not going to run off again, are you?”

He deserved that. “No.”

“Good.” She smiled before turning and going toward the back.

Derek practically sagged against the side of the bar. He leaned his elbow on the edge and slumped into a stool. His heart was beating fast, and a chill had stolen over the back of his neck. Maybe he needed to see Alex's therapist to work through this.

“What's with the flowers?” George's question startled Derek.

He turned to look at the bartender, whose gaze was inquisitively frank behind his bifocals. “I messed up.”

George tsked as he shook his head. “Just flowers? Women are a little more complicated these days. I hope you're taking her to dinner, or maybe you brought chocolate too.”

No, but he should've.

“What'd you do?” George asked, pulling a pint of Crossbow and handing it to Derek.

Derek took a drink of the wonderfully cold beer instead of answering.

“Eh, doesn't matter.” George narrowed his eyes and leaned a bit over the bar. “Pull yourself together, boy. That girl's the real deal. Don't you dare break her heart.”

Derek set his beer down and squared himself toward George, interested in what the man had to say. “How can you tell she's the ‘real deal'?”

“Well, I've been working with her, and from what I saw of you two on Saturday night—all cozy-like by the fireplace—I'm pretty sure you know her well enough.”

Derek felt heat rise up his neck. He couldn't dispute George's assessment. Furthermore, he and Chloe had both acknowledged that they felt something special. He couldn't very well pretend she was just some girl.

“Don't forget I'm a good judge of people,” George continued, straightening his glasses. “And she's good people. Not like that girl you dated in college. What was her name, Shelby? Gold digger, that one was.”

Derek laughed. He'd dated Shelby his junior year and for a while even thought she might be The One. Until George had pointed out that she spent as much time as possible sucking up to the Archers. After that, Derek had kept an eye on her and when he'd found her hitting on Kyle, he'd broken up with her.

Recalling the relationship, he realized it paled considerably when compared with what he was feeling for Chloe. No other woman held a candle to her.

“Listen,” George said, lowering his voice, “don't let this one get away. There've been a couple of nice girls the past few years—after that Shelby twit—and you've let them go. I don't know what your problem is, but you'd better figure it out before this one decides she can't wait for you too.”

Derek gripped his pint glass as another feeling of—what, panic?—washed over him. He forced himself to breathe. What was his problem? He'd never considered that he had some sort of fear of commitment or something. He was still young, he just figured he hadn't found the right girl yet. But maybe now he had. And he was freaking out over a stupid house.

It wasn't a big deal. He didn't have to spend a bunch of time there. They'd hang out at his loft and at the Archers'. She liked it there.

Derek realized the bartender was staring at him, waiting for some response. “Thanks, George.” He lifted his glass and took another drink.

“Take a risk on this one. You won't be sorry.” He stood back with a twinkle in his eye and went to serve a pair of young men who'd just taken stools at the bar.

After nursing his beer a few minutes, he caught sight of Chloe coming back toward the bar. She put an order in with George and then approached Derek. “Thanks again for the flowers.”

She was so pretty with her blond hair pulled back in that alluring ponytail when she was at work. It made her eyes stand out and he found he could just stare at her all night.

He slid off his stool and faced her. “Are you free for dinner Wednesday? I'd say tomorrow, but I have a work thing.” He flinched a little as he said that, aware that she could be comparing him to her ex.

“I'm working tomorrow night, anyway. But Wednesday I'm off at four.”

Happily, he'd started to finally relax. “Great. I'll pick you up at six?”

“Perfect,” she said. “Sorry, gotta run.” She didn't try to kiss him, but then she was working, duh.

“Have a good night.” He sat back down and finished his beer, stealing glances at her now and again as she worked. He threw some money on the bar for George and said good night.

As he walked out into the dark, he inhaled the unique scent that seemed to accompany the Christmas season. Pine and cold and . . . joy. Or at least the promise of it.

He still felt a little unsettled, but reasoned it was normal. He'd just decided to take a chance, to try to face something he'd long buried when he'd turned his back not only on the physical building—the house—where he'd grown up, but on his entire past.

Hopefully it wouldn't backfire.

 

C
HLOE TOOK
a final look at her hair in the mirror Wednesday evening. Derek was going to be there in ten minutes, or five if his habit of arriving early was consistent. That is, when he bothered to show up.

That wasn't fair. He'd been really upset on Sunday. And she could tell that he was still unsettled on Monday when he'd brought her the flowers. She'd been happily surprised when he'd told her to go ahead and get the house, but could tell it wasn't going to be easy for him. She looked forward to being there for him, to helping him work through whatever he needed to resolve.

Her phone vibrated on the counter and she hurried to pick it up in case it was Derek. But the screen showed her mother calling via Face Time.

Chloe stifled a groan and answered the call. She waited for the connection and then forced a bright smile. “Hi, Mom.”

Barbara English smiled, but the Botox kept her face from looking genuinely happy. “How are you, Chloe? You haven't called in a few days and I've been worried.”

Was she supposed to check in every day? She hadn't done that when she'd lived twenty minutes away. “I'm good, Mom, just busy. I found a new house to rent, so I've been getting that together.” She'd talked to her mom briefly over the weekend and had told her about the fire, but nothing else other than that she was staying with “friends.” Probably time to come clean about the job too. “Plus, I'm working.”

Mom looked surprised. “But I didn't think you started until next month.”

Chloe braced herself for a lecture. “I'm waiting tables at a local pub. The teaching position is only part-time and I need to supplement my income.”

Mom's face got bigger on the screen as she moved closer to her phone. “Chloe! You can't be waiting tables! You have a degree from Carnegie Mellon!”

“Mom, listen, it's a really nice place and I like it. The people I'm staying with? They own the pub.”

A disgruntled frown turned Mom's lips down in one of her favorite expressions. “Well, I do not approve. You should come home. I'm sure Liberty would take you back.”

Liberty Media had been a great job after college, but Chloe couldn't see herself going backward instead of forward. “Probably, but I don't want to go back. Mom, I'm happy here. I met a guy and he's great.”

“You just got there! You can't possibly be dating.” She held the phone farther away. “Ed was here for dinner Sunday. He still misses you. If you came home for Christmas—”

Chloe cut her off, sounding more stern than she probably ought, but she just couldn't listen to her mother sing Ed's praises. “Mom, I'm not coming home for Christmas, and I'm definitely not coming back to Ed.”

Mom sniffed. “He still loves you, dear.”

“I doubt that.” Chloe doubted he'd ever loved her at all, but instead of it making her angry, it just made her feel sad for him because she was pretty sure he had no idea what the emotion felt like. “But please give him my best. You know what? Tell him I have a new boyfriend. Maybe that will help him move on.”

“A boyfriend?” Mom's voice climbed.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. “Mom, I have to go. That's Derek. We have a dinner date.”

Mom exhaled, sounding defeated. “I was going to say you looked really nice. Is that a new blouse?”

“Yes, I had to buy new clothes because of the fire.”

“Right.” She frowned again. “I wish you'd let me send some money.”

“I'm fine, Mom, really. If I need help, I'll let you know.” She'd let Dad know. He'd always been easier to talk to than Mom.

“At least let me send you some accessories. That blouse is screaming for a long gold necklace. You know, like that one with the little crystals I have?”

The doorbell sounded again. “Mom, I really have to go.”

“But when do I get to meet this Derek?” No time soon, thank goodness for distance.

“I'll send a picture, okay?” Chloe didn't know when that would be, but she made no promises about that.

“Okay. Have fun. Call soon!”

“Will do.” Chloe ended the call, grabbed her coat and purse, and dashed down the stairs.

When she opened the door, she was a bit breathless. “Hi.”

“You okay?” he asked, looking at her with a touch of concern.

“Yeah.” She shoved her phone into her purse and started to put her coat on. Derek grabbed the collar and helped her into it. Such a gentleman. “I was on the phone with my mom.”

“Ah. How is she?”

“Judgmental.” Chloe inwardly cringed. She hadn't meant to say that, but why not? She didn't want to hide anything from him. She turned and locked the door, then walked with him to his SUV, where he held open the passenger door.

He climbed into the driver's side a moment later and started the engine. “What's she judging you about?”

Chloe set her purse at her feet and gave him an exasperated glance tinged with humor, because if she didn't laugh at the situation, frustration would reign. “Everything?”

Derek drove out of the courtyard and past the waterfall. “Ouch. That can't be easy.”

“No. She hates that I'm waiting tables. Thinks it's beneath me.”

“That's silly.”

“Exactly. She doesn't understand why I moved out here. I just had to get away from them. I love them, I do, but she's so smothering. Nothing I do is ever quite good enough.” She glanced down at her chest. “I'm lacking a gold necklace, for instance.”

He threw her a confused glance. “What?”

“My outfit. It needs a gold necklace. But she said I look good anyway, apparently.”

“So you never quite measure up?”

Her lips pressed into a grim smile. “Not so much. But then neither do my siblings. One of us is always is in the doghouse for some reason or another. Although, I think it's going to be my turn for quite a while since I left. Especially since I'm not coming home for Christmas.”

“I assume that's a problem?”

Chloe leaned back against the leather headrest and sighed. “She really wants me to come home. She also wants me to get my old job back and make up with my ex.”

“Wow, she's having a really hard time with your choices, isn't she?”

“Always. My haircut. My car. My love life.”

“Uh oh.” He cast her a look of mock horror. “You didn't tell her about me, did you?”

“Actually, I did. I said I'd send a picture.” A devilish thought struck her and she smiled. “Maybe I'll send her a picture of George.”

Derek laughed loudly. “You should! That'd be epic. I mean, unless it would make her head explode.”

“It totally would.”

Derek was silent a moment before saying, “She sounds like a piece of work. Though I'm sure there are good things about her and the rest of your family, right?”

He sounded hopeful, and she realized how this must sound to him. She had a family, had left them, and didn't seem to want to be around them. Whereas his parents had died. Yes, he had a family now, but it was a surrogate.

“There are very good things about them. They're loyal. I know they care about me. My mom, for all her idiosyncrasies, throws a great party. She would've loved the Archers' shindig the other night. And my dad is pretty sweet. He works a lot though, so it's always been more Mom than Dad. I'm hoping he's going to retire soon. He totally could, but he doesn't.” She suddenly felt like maybe she'd been too harsh on them.

“Yeah, I wonder when Rob will retire,” Derek said, “but I just don't see it. He seems to juggle work and family really well. I don't think any of the Archer kids ever felt like he was absent.”

“That's nice,” she said, melting into the delicious heat of the seat warmer. It was colder tonight than it had been—in the low thirties—clear and crisp.

“Don't let your mom get to you,” Derek said, glancing at her. “It took a lot of strength and courage to strike out on your own and follow your dream. I really admire that.”

Warmth that had nothing to do with the seat warmer pooled in Chloe's belly. If she hadn't been already halfway in love with him, she was now.

She also sensed an underlying tone to his admiration. A little bit of envy perhaps? She didn't ask because she thought it might be tied to his family—his blood family—somehow and didn't want to push on that front. She planned to be patient. If her intuition was even half right, they'd have plenty of time to understand everything about each other. Maybe even a lifetime.

Derek pulled into town and turned up First Street. “We're going to Georgia's. Hope that's okay.”

“That's great. I've heard really good things about it.” It was regarded as the best of three—all really good—gourmet restaurants in town. Portlanders liked to come to wine country to eat, drink, and be merry, and Ribbon Ridgers were more than happy to oblige them with multiple offerings.

He parallel parked and rushed to open her door.

“Thanks,” she said, as she pulled on her new pair of bright purple gloves. They were a very soft knit and she loved their coziness.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and took his hand, glancing up at him to see his reaction. He looked at her with the ghost of a smile and squeezed her hand. She had to work to keep the bounce from her step.

They passed a Christmas tree stand manned by Boy Scouts. “Hey, you looking for a tree?” One of them, maybe fourteen years old, called.

“Not tonight,” Chloe answered, “but I'll be in the market this weekend.” She hadn't planned on getting a tree this year—she didn't even have any decorations—but spending time at the Archer house had made her miss the spirit of the season. She was already feeling at home here. Putting a tree in her new house would claim it as hers and set a stake in the ground for her future in Ribbon Ridge.

She thought she felt Derek tense as she spoke to the Boy Scout. When they continued on their way to the restaurant, she asked, “Do you have a tree?”

“I do. But I have to tell you, no self-respecting Oregonian, even a transplant like me—and you—gets their tree from a lot. I'm happy to support the Boy Scouts; I pay them to recycle my tree after New Year's, but we're surrounded by Christmas tree farms. You
have
to cut your own tree down.”

She liked his passion on this subject. “That sounds hard. We always ordered our tree from the high-end home and garden store back in Pittsburgh.”

“You're kidding?” They'd reached the restaurant, whose door faced the street. Derek opened it wide and guided her inside by grazing his palm against the small of her back. She loved it when he touched her there.

She shook her head. “Nope. That's how it's done back home. At least by our family. I don't know how to cut down a tree. I think I need help.”

He shot her a sly glance as the hostess approached. “Are you asking me to cut down your tree?”

Chloe batted her eyelashes. “Pretty please?”

He laughed. “How can I refuse?” He directed his attention to the hostess and gave her his name.

She showed them to a cozy table next to a stone fireplace in the center of the small building. She set a large book—the wine list by the look of it—on the table along with two menus, which were just printed pieces of paper. The menu clearly changed every day. “Our special is herb-crusted salmon and we're also featuring a truffle mousse. I'll let David know you're here.” Chloe liked how everyone called people by their first name. They did the same at The Arch and Vine.

“Is this a converted house?” Chloe asked, looking around at the exposed beams on the ceiling and the archway leading back to the kitchen.

“Yes,” Derek held her chair out for her as she sat. “I never realized it before, but all of the best restaurants in town are.”

“I like that. There's a lot of repurposing around here, I've noticed. It goes well with the artistic spirit that drew me here.”

Derek sat down opposite her. “Some might just call us beer-loving hippies,” he said dryly as he unfolded his napkin over his lap.

Chloe brought the menu in front of her and glanced down at it. But she was more interested in her date than in food at the moment. “You said you were a transplant. Are you a beer-loving hippie by choice then?”

“Actually, I'm from Tacoma.” He leaned forward as if he were sharing a secret. “We're beer-loving hippies up there too.”

She laughed. “I didn't realize you were from that far away.”

“I'm mostly from here. I certainly feel like I'm from here.”

“You don't remember Tacoma?” she asked tentatively, tiptoeing around the bigger subject: his father's death.

He shrugged and focused on the menu, clearly uncomfortable. “It was just a long time ago, and I was young when we left—nine.” He was quiet a moment, then said, “I think I might get the salmon special. What about you? Oh, and we should get the goat cheese and onion tart appetizer. It's fantastic.” He looked up and smiled at her briefly before returning his attention to the menu.