The drive to Carley's house was mostly silent. She knew she was insane. What was she doing bringing a stranger into her house, allowing someone she barely knew into the sanctuary of her life? She sighed glancing over at Dean in the passenger seat. She might have been crazy but she was responsible for injuring this poor man and she was damned if she'd let his amnesia-ridden brain wonder around lost and confused.
Dean had enjoyed the silence between them. It didn't feel awkward or strained. There was something about driving down a backcountry road that made him feel oddly comfortable.
After a fairly long drive Carley pulled the car off the road into an unpaved driveway. It was a minute or so before the house came into view.
"So, this is it." Carley said as she got out of the 67' Ford pickup. Dean had given the truck an eager once over, admiring its classic beauty. The moment he'd seen it he'd wanted to pop the hood and give it a tune up. He'd hit his head but didn't have any trouble remembering the things he liked.
Dean looked over at her, watching as she dug her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, wondering what it might feel like to have her pressed against him and slowly slide his hands over hers. She had an awkward prettiness, a girl next-door look that had him wondering more about the way that friend comment had made him feel. Her features were soft and sweet, how he imagined her true nature was. He just wished he had some insight into what might have made her a bit standoffish and shy.
The house was an old Victorian style mansion, in need of some serious repairs. The shingles on the roof were unstable; paint was peeling off the shutters. The spots where the siding was pulling from the foundation of the mansion gave Dean a very eerie feeling.
"This is it? Huh." He walked around the front of the car to stand next to her. "I didn't picture you living in," he paused, "a haunted house?"
Carley looked over at him, smiling. "Funny. I know it needs a lot of work." She walked over to the car to get out the groceries she'd picked up to make dinner.
"It took me awhile to get up the nerve to move in. Start a life over, start a new project. But I think it's going to be a lot of fun. It was just something I had to do."
She didn't know why she just told him that. She'd known him a total of a week and she was already on her way to revealing her past.
Dean caught her last statement and thought better to leave it alone.
Carley smiled when Dean offered to help her with the groceries. It was refreshing to meet a man who seemed to think about other people. She definitely wouldn't call him polite since she'd felt the majority of his snide remarks and egotistical attitude when she'd visited him in the hospital. That didn't mean she was about to give up on him though. She'd been there. She'd been the beaten and bruised girl who was left alone. It was a shame that her family had taken Cameron's side in divorce, but she'd healed and she wasn't about to let that dictate her life. She was just going to start a new one.
Carley showed Dean to an extra room across the hall from hers. She'd given him a tour of the old house and some time to settle into his room. She'd busied herself with prepping for dinner, and lost herself in the avid smells and her vivid thoughts. Carley felt at ease in the kitchen, it must come from the expansive dinners she was so used to preparing. More like the meals Cameron forced her to cook. Only now she was able to prepare her choices in her own time.
Running was the only reason she was able to start this life. Hold up in a small town didn't hurt either. Getting away from Cameron hadn't been easy. He'd been chasing her for over a year and once she'd got the restraining order to go through, he'd become violent. Carley moved her leg in remembrance of the severe pain she experienced when Cameron knocked her down the stairs breaking her leg.
Damnit. She swore she would never think about the past. So she pushed her mind off of it, gathered up the chopped potatoes and put them into a bowl, while humming softly.
Dean leaned on the beaten wood frame of the door, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched Carley move around the kitchen, deep in thought. This woman had just taken him home. If he hadn't been in such an uncompromising position he might have thought her to be a lunatic. At this point all he could do was be grateful.
How was it that he couldn't remember a damn thing about his life? He remembered parts of things, things that not everyone knew. His mind kept on Carleys' truck. He had a clear picture in his mind of what it looked like under the hood even though he couldn't remember ever looking beneath it. His hands had itched to pull open that hood and burry himself in the intricate make of that car. It was a shame he didn't even recognize his own damn face in the mirror.
Dean walked forward into the kitchen. He smiled automatically; he couldn't seem to help it. Carley looked amazing. She was dressed in tight pink tank top and slim jeans that hugged her curves. She had her back to him and all he could occupy himself with was the way her golden red hair swayed against her half naked back. A quick violent sensation went straight to his crotch as he thought about stepping behind her and gently pushing at her hair to kiss at the back of her neck. He thought about pushing her right up against that counter, back still to him, pushing his hands up and around under her pretty pink tank top.
"Dean!" She screeched startled when she turned around. "I didn't realize you were standing there." She smiled, innocently.
"Yeah, uh sorry." He snapped quickly, clearing his throat guiltily. "Do you need help with anything?"
"No. Dinner's almost ready. You could set the table if you don't mind."
"I guess I could do that. I don't remember much but I don't think I ever passed up a home cooked meal. It sure does look good Carley." He winked.
Ahh. Carley thought. His usual demeanor seemed to return. The way he had said her name all deep and slow, immediately made her chest tighten. There had been something during their drive here that seemed to quiet him, calm him really. The curves and bends in the road seemed to ease him just like it did a child. It'd been a few hours since he'd carried on in his egotistical way. But she smiled anyway and directed him to silverware and wine glasses.
While Dean was busy fixing the table Carley had time to prepare herself for what she thought might be an awful dinner conversation. What do you say to a man who has no idea who he is? Does he know what he likes, dislikes? What the hell were they going to talk about? God knows she wouldn't want to be in that situation and she could only imagine how alone he must feel. She knew one thing; she couldn't let the conversation rest on her for too long. That was a whole lot of mess that she wasn't willing to get into.
Dean poured the wine into two glasses. He liked wine right? His mouth watered for beer but that wasn't something he was about to complain to Carley about, after she'd gone through all the trouble. There was something about the way things were playing out that made him feel odd. Maybe his life before this hadn't been so simple. All he knew was that a home cooked meal by a beautiful women, wasn't something that he was about to turn down.
When they were sitting together at the table, the silence dragged on. Dean couldn't get himself to relax. Was sitting at a dinner table something that he normally did? From the awkwardness he felt he gathered he wasn't much of a dinning room member. In fact, he'd be much happier right now on the couch in front of the TV, feet propped on the table, beer in hand.
Unable to resist, Dean filled the silence after a large forkful of roasted potatoes.
"So, what do you do when you're not inviting strangers home?"
Carley raised her eyebrows before sipping her wine. Knowing he wasn't making an insult she responded, "I'm a writer."
Dean nodded. Somehow he wasn't surprised. Pretty Carley seemed like she could create a world and be an inspiration to others. Isn't that what she was doing now? She moved to a new place, creating a new story, a different chapter in her life. There seemed to be numerous layers to her and he couldn't help put wonder what he'd find when he'd peeled them all off. Realizing, that wasn't all he wanted to peel off of her he took a big gulp of wine.
When Dean didn't say anything she went on, "I've done everything from freelance writing for some magazines, a few biographies, and even some supernatural based novels."
"Are you working on anything now?" Dean shoveled more food into his mouth between sentences. Carley's skill in the kitchen was incredible. He couldn't ever imagined eating this well. He only hoped there were more potatoes.
She sighed. There were so many reasons this was a touchy subject. What did she say to this stranger? There were so many reasons she couldn't write. Like losing a bit of herself when she lost the only family she had in her life? That the man she thought she loved had never really cared about her? That he'd cheated on her and raised fists and the only way out was to run.
"Not really. I guess you could say I'm concentrating on the house, taking a break. However, I have no idea where to start." She smiled warmly.
"There's a lot to finish." Dean started. "Re-shingling on the roof, new shutters, siding repairs,"
"I get the drift." Carley knew there was a lot of work to be done, but she needed this. If she didn't start over she might not survive.
"That's just the outside, Carley." Dean smirked now, knowing he was pushing her buttons as he watched her jaw clench.
"You just think that you know everything, don't you. Smug Dean Smith, with your swollen head and bad attitudeā¦"
"I can help you." He'd cleared his plate, and Carley had barely touched hers. He leaned back in his chair, knowing he had reeled her in.
"What?" She hadn't expected that from him.
"How do you know if you can even do handy work?"
"I just do. I can't explain it but as soon as we got out of the car my hands were itching to fix things."
Carley smiled now. That was a good thing right? That maybe he hadn't lost everything about himself. He might just get through this. "That's great Dean, but I don't think I could ask that of you."
"You're not." He said and leaned forward staring straight into her eyes. "I'm offering. You'd still have to hire a few people but I can handle the majority of the work."
They launched into discussion on splitting the workload. Inside vs. outside, and some areas would need the both of them. They ended dinner by coming up with a plan on where the projects should start.
Dean offered to help Carley with the dishes but wanting to be left to her thoughts she pushed him off to relax in front of the TV. She'd even brought him a beer. He was sure he'd died and gone to heaven. Carley hadn't even seemed to notice when he propped his boots up on the table. She'd just gone back into the kitchen and tried to wrap her head around what was happening.
Carley leaned on the counter. She'd hit a man with her truck, invited him to stay in her house, and agreed to let him fix up her house? What was she thinking? Apparently it wasn't enough that Cameron had been looking for her, threatening to kill her. She could only hope that she was right about Dean, that there was something special about him.
Maybe it was the fact that he had the most devilish, captivating smile she'd ever seen. Or that she couldn't stop imagining what his lips would taste like.
She peeked out into the living room. His laughter echoed in her head. Carley didn't think she would forget that sound, the way a TV show had made him laugh, so innocently. Then her eyes settled on his biceps. He'd taken his button up off and was now in a solid black tee. His muscles rippled through his arms with the slightest movement. She imagined the way she'd feel in his strong arms, with them running up her sides, her back, into her hair. She turned back into the kitchen with her back on the wall.
"Oh my god. I'm in big trouble."
