Wildest Dreams: A Small Town, Single Dad Romance (The Wilds of Montana Book 3)
Chapter 4

I’d intended to take her out to dinner since I was already in town, and I had heard from Millie that today was a huge success for Polly.

But she does look so fucking tired, so I’ve had a change of plans.

“Let’s get you home,” I suggest, and I know it’s the right decision when she practically sags in relief. “I’ll order something in. Or, if you’d rather not have company, I can wait until tomorrow night to hear about it all.”

“You’re welcome to join me,” she says as she gathers her designer handbag and slings it across her body. “I was just going to have a glass of wine on the patio.”

“That sounds really nice.”

It really does. I’m curious to see Polly’s home, and I’m itching to spend some time alone with her. Sure, a big part of me wants to get her naked again, but it’s more than the incredible sex with her. I want to talk with her, learn her better.

Polly Allen intrigues me.

I follow her out the front of the shop and wait for her to lock the door. She pauses and takes in a deep breath of summer air.

Grinning, I can’t help but reach out and slide the tip of my finger down her cheek, and then down her jawline, where her skin is smooth as silk. “Where are you parked?”

“Oh, I walked.”

“Come on.” I take her hand and lead her to my truck. “I’ll give you a lift. You’re dead on your feet.”

“I guess I underestimated how exhausted I’d be tonight. I think the whole past week just caught up with me.”

“I get it.” I hold the door for her, and when she’s settled in the seat, I buckle the belt for her, then cross around to the driver’s side. “You’ll have to give me directions.”

“That’s right, you’ve never been to my house.” She grins. “I’m over on 4th Street. Not too far from the high school.”

With a nod, I put the truck in gear and head off that way. Nothing in Bitterroot Valley is very far away because we’re such a small town, and the high school is about eight blocks away.

The sun is still high in the sky, and will be late into the night. We’re at that time of year when the days are long and about to get hot.

“I’m the little green house,” she says, pointing to the right. “You can park in the driveway. My car is in the garage.”

With a nod, I pull in and cut the engine. She’s not kidding when she says small. The lawn is the size of a postage stamp and has recently been mowed. The yard is actually really cute and well-maintained. “This is cute.”

“It’s a project,” she says with a shrug. “But it looks like my neighbor kid came to mow the grass today. I love that kid.”

Polly pushes out of the truck, and I follow her to the door. Close up, I can see that the screen door has seen better days, and I don’t like that she doesn’t have any kind of security at all, aside from the deadbolt.

“I don’t have AC,” she warns me. “I’ve had the house closed up, so it shouldn’t be too hot, and when the sun starts to go down, I’ll open everything up and get a breeze blowing through.”

It doesn’t surprise me. The house has to be a hundred years old, and most people didn’t start adding AC in their new builds until about twenty years ago. Still, it’s a little warm when we step inside.

Polly’s house is tidy and clean, if a little sparse on the furniture. What she does have is newer and looks comfortable.

“What happened there?” I ask, pointing to the wall in the living room. It’s covered in eight swatches of paint.

“I couldn’t decide which color I liked the best,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I still can’t.”

“When did you put the swatches up?”

“Two years ago.” She shrugs, and I can’t help but chuckle. “There’s always another priority to see to, and I’m hardly here anyway. I’m going to take a quick shower. Please make yourself at home.”

“I’ll order dinner. Take your time.”

She smiles over at me, and then she walks down a hallway, and I hear a door close.

I want to follow her and join her in that shower. But I’ve decided to take things slow with Polly. We already know that the sexual chemistry is off the charts. Keeping my hands to myself is proving to be more of a challenge than I anticipated.

But I don’t like that she assumed that I was only interested in fucking her. And now that the dust has started to settle in my private life, I want to see what could happen between us.

Pulling out my phone, I place an order for Italian from Ciao, pleased when they say that the delivery should be here in about thirty minutes, and then I walk into the kitchen and hunt up some wineglasses.

Polly owns exactly two of them.

There’s a bottle of white in her fridge, so I locate a corkscrew and open the wine. The shower cuts off down the hall, so I pour the wine and take a sip of mine, leaning against the counter and waiting for the gorgeous redhead.

When she walks into the room, I almost say fuck it to my plan of talking and getting to know her and simply fuck her right here on this counter. She’s in a black tank top that molds to her curves. No bra. And the little denim shorts she’s wearing don’t leave much to the imagination. Her wet red hair is up in a knot on top of her head, and she’s barefoot.

I want to kiss each and every toe.

“Wine,” she says, almost desperately, and reaches for the glass. “Thanks for waiting.”

“It’s not a problem.” I have to clear my throat and cross my arms over my chest so I don’t reach for her. “The food should be here soon.”

“Want a tour while we wait? It’ll take about three minutes.”

I laugh and nod. “Hell yes. Show me your home, madam.”

“This is the kitchen.” She gestures grandly. “The only appliances that work in here are the fridge and microwave. The dishwasher is iffy at best, and the stove gave up the ghost a while ago.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Another project?”

“One that I haven’t had time for,” she confirms and leads me back to the living room. “This is not an open floor plan. I was going to take down that wall that separates the kitchen and living space, but again. Time.”

With another shrug, I’m led down the short hallway, and she gestures to the bathroom. “This is my one and only bathroom. But I live here alone, so it works fine for me. Even though it looks dirty, I assure you, it’s not.”

“It doesn’t look dirty,” I reply with a frown.

It just looks old. The whole place needs a complete overhaul.

“My bedroom,” she continues, and I poke my head in. There are more paint swatches on the wall, and the bed in the center of the room doesn’t have a headboard. But it is covered in soft blankets and pillows full of color and looks damn comfortable. “And I converted this smaller bedroom across the hall into a closet.”

I follow her and feel my eyebrows climb into my hairline.

“Wow.”

She smiles with so much pride and joy that it makes me want to tug her close and hug her.

“I know.” She walks inside and stands on the other side of the island, drinks her wine, and gazes around happily. “This is the one project that I refused to put off. I needed a place for my clothes and bags. And shoes. And all of the pretty things.”

There are built-in racks and shelves around the room. She has a few bags on display, but there is still a lot of room for more of those. The racks for clothes, however, are practically bursting.

“I love clothes,” she continues. “Bags. Shoes. Jewelry. Scarves. Fashion is just so wonderful to me.”

“You have some blank spaces.” I gesture to the shelves she has designated for her bags and watch as she bites her lip and then nods.

“I’m picky,” she admits with a laugh. “I want the more luxurious bags. I like labels. So, I save up and buy the bags on my wish list when I can.”

“Is there one bag that is the bag of all bags that you’d want to own?”

“Duh.” She laughs again and sips her wine, wandering over to pet the leather on a black purse. “I want a black Chanel classic flap, medium, with silver hardware. I’d prefer caviar leather.”

“They make leather out of fish eggs?”

That makes her grin, and it’s a punch to the gut. Fucking hell, she’s beautiful.

“No, it’s just a thicker, grainier leather. The lambskin is also gorgeous and feels like butter, but I think it’s more fragile, so I’d be afraid of scratching it. Anyway, that’s a lot of information about a handbag.”

“It interests you,” I reply simply.

“My ultimate dream?” she says before taking another sip of her wine. “Buying that bag in Paris, at the original Chanel store on Rue Cambon. In Coco Chanel’s store, the one she labored in and loved. I’m somewhat of a Coco Chanel history buff.”

“Fascinating.” Following her out of the closet and back to the living room, I sit next to her and turn to face her on the comfortable couch. “What do you replace the most interesting about her?”

Polly narrows her eyes. “She never lived in the apartment above her shop. She entertained there. She loved to entertain and would often replace ways to trick people into staying longer. I think she was lonely. But she lived just a block away at the Ritz Paris. From her suite, she could see her shop, and that’s where she lived for thirty years. The suite still exists to this day, and it’s the only room in the whole hotel that is decorated differently because they let her decorate it the way she wanted. From the photos I’ve seen online, it’s beautiful. She was an interesting woman, and I love her bags and clothes.”

“Did you study fashion in college?”

The doorbell rings before she can answer, so I collect dinner from the delivery guy, tip him, and when I turn, Polly is standing behind me.

“Let’s eat on the patio,” she suggests and leads me out back.

I have to blink. It’s beautiful out here. There’s a swing and several chairs situated around a gas fireplace, and with the click of a button, screens come down, closing us in.

“I had the screens put in last summer,” she tells me, “because I hate it when I’m eating and all the flies, bees, and mosquitos decide to join me.”

She flips on an overhead fan, and we take our seats next to each other, digging into containers full of food that smell like heaven.

“I haven’t been to Ciao yet,” she says, choosing lasagna. She adds a piece of bread to her plate and sits back to dig in. After one bite, she closes her eyes and tips her head back, as if in ecstasy. “Oh, my God, I didn’t know what I was missing.”

That groan hits me right in the dick. She moaned like that when I was inside of her and when I was licking her, and it all comes back in vivid detail.

But I take a sip of wine and sit back with some bowtie pasta with Alfredo sauce and a piece of bread of my own.

“So, what drew you to this particular house?” I ask her, trying to keep my libido in check.

“I wanted the project.” She rolls her eyes. “Someone should have shaken some sense into me. I thought it sounded fun, but who has the time? My brother helps out a lot. He did the closet and this patio for me.”

I can tell where she spends all her time in this house. Out here and in her closet.

Those are the areas she’s poured love into. The rest is clean, but an afterthought.

“I like the location,” she continues and reaches for her Caesar salad. “And I like the neighborhood. Summer used to live just two blocks over, and we’d hang out at each other’s houses in the evening with a glass of wine, chatting. It was nice. I know the neighbors to the left of me. Larry and Denise. They’re super sweet people, and they have two teenage boys, Jeremy and Zach. Zach mows my lawn. In the winter, they take care of the snow. They’re good kids.”

“And the other neighbors?”

“I don’t know them as well,” she admits and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “They throw block parties in the summer and stuff, but I’m usually at the shop.”

“Don’t look now, but I think you’re a bit of a workaholic, Polly.”

She smirks and nods. “Yeah. Guilty. But I love it, so why not? Besides, you’re a workaholic, too.”

“Totally.” I don’t even try to deny it. “For the same reasons. I enjoy what I do, and I’m good at it. I’ve slowed down just a bit since Jake came into the picture and since I’ve moved back home permanently. But I still work long hours.”

“So, what does slowing down look like for you?”

“Well, instead of working twenty-hour days, I’d say I put in twelve or so. Much to Arthur’s dismay.”

“Who’s Arthur?”

“My assistant. He’s a taskmaster.”

Her lips tip up into a grin, and then she sets the last of her food aside and sits back, patting her stomach. “I’m so full. That was delicious, thank you.”

Her eyes are droopy as she smiles softly over at me.

“I’m going to kick myself out of here,” I tell her and begin gathering what remains of our meal. “I’m glad your fridge works so you can keep the leftovers.”

“You should take them home to Jake.”

“He’s having dinner with Rem, Erin, and the kids. Rem had an issue with a horse that he wanted Jake to look at, so Jake is hanging out there for the evening.”

“He must be really good with the animals.”

“He’s excellent,” I confirm, pride filling my chest. “He’s looking into vet school after he graduates in a couple of years. He wants to be a large animal doctor.”

“That’s amazing,” she says. “He’s a far cry from the angry kid that was hanging out with those brats who stole from me last year.”

“He’s replaceing his way,” I agree, and we walk inside, where Polly stows the food away and then walks with me to the door.

When I’m on the front stoop, she leans on the doorway and smiles softly. “Thanks again.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, for our first official date.”

“This wasn’t it?”

I shake my head and walk down the steps, impressed that my feet are listening to my brain because I want to stay here and kiss the hell out of her.

“No, ma’am. Because if it was, I’d be kissing you right now.”

I wink at her and climb into the truck, loving the way she looks right now, in that skimpy outfit with her hair up, wishing I could stay.

“Taking it slow, Wild,” I mutter to myself as I back out of the driveway. “This is one time you need to have patience.”

Jake is pulling into the driveway just as I am, and we climb out of our trucks and grin at each other.

“How’s the family?” I offer my fist for a bump, which he taps with his own, as we walk into the house through the garage.

“They’re good. The kids are cute. They wanted me to give them piggyback rides around the backyard. I’m going to be sore tomorrow.” He grins at me, and I can see that he had a great time. “Erin made lemon chicken for dinner.”

“You know, I don’t think I know what your favorite dinner is.” I pull a bottle of water out of the fridge and toss it to him before retrieving my own.

“Food.” He shrugs. “I don’t really have a favorite. I’ll eat anything.”

“Pizza? Burgers? Steak?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.” He laughs and turns to retreat to his bedroom. “I have some zombies to kill, and Russ is already waiting for me.”

“Have fun,” I call back.

Jake plays video games online with a couple of friends in the evenings, and I don’t mind at all. I’d rather he was here, shooting zombies and talking shit while eating junk food than out and about doing God knows what.

I haven’t talked to Jake yet about my seeing Polly. I want to see if it’s going to go anywhere before I loop the kid in. If it fizzles, there’s no need.

I don’t think he’ll have an issue with it. He likes Polly.

I make my way through the house and make sure it’s locked up tight before I go up to my office to settle in and work for a few hours.

As I pass by Jake’s room, I can hear the noise from the game, and Jake yells out, “Haha, you’re an idiot, SheenaWasAMan69. Did you see that? Yeah, man, let’s go over there and see if we can get the loot.”

I grin. I’m relieved that bringing Jake into my home has been so seamless. Almost effortless. Given what he’s gone through in the past two years, he deserves to feel safe and happy in his home.

There hasn’t been even one day of nasty attitude from him. Even the first time he came out here to work for me, he was sullen and quiet, but he never showed the attitude that Chase warned me about when he asked me to take Jake on.

And I’m happy he’s here.