Hometown Hero

Chapter Twelve: Before You Go

Indie remained silent. The tension made me dread the idea of him leaving; I didn't want to leave with so many questions.

We pulled into the drive, and I stared at the house. I'd live here for the next three weeks.

He turned, “Dawson, I...”

“Indie Adams.” I repeated, “Why did I not think to type your name into a damn search engine?”

“Because Waldport is the only place where I'm safe.” He sighed, “At least, to a degree. People don't care about what I do here.”

I scoffed, “Because you're one of the most disliked people in this town.”

“I know.” He said softly. I looked over, and I immediately regretted the words; I liked Indie. I more than liked him. He was becoming one of the most important people in my life.

“I didn't mean that.”

“It's okay, Dawson.”

Indie opened the door, walked over and opened mine. Holding my hand, there was a flash; I looked up, and the rain started to come down. I grabbed my bag, holding it strategically in my hands.

We ran to the house, and I watched Indie stick the key in the door. He pushed it open, aand let me in.

Jumping up and down, Indie closed the door and turned the lights on.

The living room was large, but it had a coziness to it that I loved right away. The kitchen was open, similar to ours, and there were windows everywhere.

I turned, “Indie, this is beautiful.”

He smiled, “It's the house I've lived in my entire life. My mom was all about the natural lightening, which explains the windows.”

A staircase curled down the middle of the entry, and I could see the kitchen from where I stood. He led me up the stairs, showing me the bedrooms.

“Guest room, guest room...” He pointed, and we passed one, it's door closed. I waited for Indie to explain, but he just smiled at me, and we moved on.

We reached a pair of tall white french doors, and he smiled before opening them to reveal a beautiful master bedroom. The walls were a calm green, blending easily with the trees outside the bedroom window. It felt warm, the dark hardwood floors reflecting the honey-colored light from the lamps by the bed.

“You...want me to stay here?” I looked at him, and he moved closer.

“You don't have to.” He rested his hands on my waist, his cheek against mine “But I'd hoped you would. I like the idea of coming home, and you being here, asleep underneath all those blankets.”

I imagined it; Indie crawling into bed early in the morning, moving close so my back was against his chest, his arms curled around me protectively.

I smiled, “I like it, too.”

 

After bringing in my suitcase and showing me the ridiculous master bedroom and bathroom, we waked back downstairs to the kitchen. I grabbed my bag, smiling at him.

“I brought something.” I opened my bag, and slid out a pink box.

He groaned, “I swear, if you give me anymore pie, I'll become diabetic and I won't ever get to eat it again.”

“It's marion berry.” I bribed him, opening the box and searching for a knife. Indie walked to the other side of the counter, sliding a drawer out; he grabbed the pie cutter, and handed it to me. I looked up, confused “Why do you have this? You don't even cook.”