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I coached myself all day, in readiness for meeting Dean this evening. I’d be friendly and supportive. I’d remember how embarrassed I was the night before. How he pitied me. Above all, I wouldn’t eye him up like he was the last man alive and I needed to repopulate the world.
The yoga class I planned to attend after my shift would put me into a state of zen-like calm. Maybe. Or it might leave me pink faced and sweaty. Either way, Dean wouldn’t care how I looked. We were going to talk about his late friend’s widow, not sex.
Going to yoga kicked off a new medley of anxieties. The classes were held at Jasper’s gym, and he might be taking them. Did he pity me for my crush on Zack? Jasper had always been friendly toward me, apart from when he asked me to leave his house to stop upsetting his sister, that one time.
The messing about with Dean had almost pushed Zack from my head, but now I thought about my soldier again. He wasn’t mine and never would be. God, that hurt. I needed to hold my head high and pretend I didn’t care. I was sick of being labelled victim by everyone, and now was the time to move on and reclaim my life.
I changed into stretchy exercise pants and a cropped top before I set out. Long sleeves weren’t an option, so my scars would be on display, which I hated. I stroked the ugly red lines across my wrists. The scar tissue was rough, but it served as a reminder of the depths I’d fallen to—what I was capable of. I sometimes thought about tattooing over them and turning my ugliness into beauty.
I was procrastinating again.
Before I could second—third—guess myself, I climbed into my car and drove to the gym. It was only ten minutes away, and traffic was light. There were plenty of parking spaces available. No reason to turn back. Fear wasn’t allowed.
A scruffy SUV pulled up next to me, and four young women scrambled out, clutching yoga mats and sports bags. I recognised two of them as café customers, and they smiled at me.
“I know you,” said one. “Beach Café, right?”
“Yes.” I held my mat and water bottle tighter. “I’m Steph. It’s my first class here.”
“I’m Milly,” said the woman. “This is Rachel, Sue, and Lynn. It’s a great workout. Come on up.”
I fell into step with them. “Does Jasper teach the class?” I asked.
“No, it’s usually Tane. Don’t worry. He’ll be kind to you.”
Not Jasper. That made it easier to cope with. I picked up my pace and let their easy chatter wash over me.
We pushed through the double doors and into the reception area, where I checked in. Unlike the others, I didn’t need to change. I looked around, half-searching for Jasper, but instead saw another familiar face. I frowned as I tried to place the pretty girl standing there with her arms full of cardboard boxes.
“Hey. You’re Steph, aren’t you?” she said.
“Yes.” Where did I know her from?
“I’m Caitlin.” She smiled at me. “We met at Jasper’s, and I’ve seen you at the Beach Café.”
I remembered. Jasper’s girlfriend. “Hi. Can I help you with those?”
“Aww, thanks, but I’m good. They’re bulky but lightweight. Cupcake and muffin wrappers.”
In a gym?
She snorted with laughter at my obvious puzzlement. “I run the onsite café. Pop in for a drink when you’re done. Call it professional curiosity, but I want to see how you think my cakes stack up against yours.”
I laughed, surprised and charmed at the same time. “Maybe next time. Thank you.”
My fellow class members were making their way into a side room, and Milly waved to me, to follow her.
The class was good. More of a workout than the one I’d been taking in Wellington, but the stretches and holds were doable, and I was pleased I kept up with the others. Tane was sweet and easy-going, and generous with his praise. I liked him as a tutor. I’d take this class again.
I dashed back to my place, to pick up King and my camera, before heading out to the beach. There was no time to shower or change. If I was lucky, I’d have time to cool down and do my art before Dean arrived.
Or not. He sat in my usual space and stared at the ocean. His back was to me. It was a strange reversal to our normal routine.
I snorted. We did not have a routine. There was no us. He asked to meet me, and I came. I came last night too. Argh. I tried to scrub the thought from my brain.
King saved me from further mental wobbles. He bounded across the sand with a genial woof and danced in and out of the shallows, tossing his shaggy head up and down. He loved the water.
I couldn’t help smiling. One of us was having fun.
Dean twisted around, and scrambled to his feet when he saw me. “Hey,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”
I had to bite my lip to prevent snorting with laughter. “No worries,” I managed to say in a sensible voice. “Not running tonight?”
“No. It got late, and I didn’t want to risk missing you.”
It was hard not to gaze at him, at the way the low sun painted stripes on the sea behind him. He looked as though he should be modelling expensive aftershave in a glossy magazine. If I asked, would he model for me? I reined back my wayward thoughts with some difficulty. “I just finished yoga class, and I still need to do my art. Do you mind waiting?”
His stiff jawline softened a fraction. “I wondered where it was.” He shoved both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “What are you doing tonight?”
“A Rumi quote. You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” I cast around for a stick to use and saw one a few steps away. Without waiting for Dean to speak, I picked it up and started to frame where the quotation would go. He stood nearby, and I knew without looking that he watched me. My pulse quickened at the idea of him watching me do something I normally did in private. When I chose my sites, I went to great pains to select a location where I wouldn’t be overlooked, but for some reason, I didn’t mind Dean being here.
Creating art, no matter what kind, soothed my soul. Maybe it would help him too.
The words were complete. A heart breaking onto the sand, in forty-two letters. I fell back on my weeping-willow design at the edge—the branches bare, the final leaf eternally drifting to the ground—and my signature S.
“That’s beautiful.” Dean’s voice was quiet. “How do you come up with the design?”
Now it was done, I crept back into my shy-and-retiring shell. I shrugged. “It depends how I feel. It’s a daily diary of what mood I’m in.”
“Oh.” He stared at the sand some more. “So, you’re not in a Batman mood, then?”
I laughed. He lifted his head, and I saw the start of his smile. “Not tonight.” I still had my pictures to take, and I took a few minutes getting into the right position. It wasn’t perfect, though. The sun needed to be lower and the shadows longer. “Can we talk here? I want to wait before I take my shot.”
“Sure.”
I expected him to sit down again, but he stayed on his feet, shoulders hunched. He looked unhappy.
I patted the sand at my side. “Why don’t you sit down, to save me squinting up at you?”
“Sure,” he repeated, and dropped to sprawl nearby.
I took pity on him and his discomfort, and kicked off this conversation. “What’s the matter? You mentioned your friend’s wife?”
“Yeah. I was talking to Lisa, and her GP told her that anti-depressants are only a temporary measure. He wants to see her develop supporting strategies.”
“How long has she been taking them?”
“About a month. She’s not in a good space right now, and I’m worried as fuck about her.”
I thought back to my own experiences. “Do you know what else she’s doing? What strategies?”
“Exercise, mainly. She’s started running and remodelling her garden, and she’s thrown herself into helping out at their kids’ school. She’s scared to stop. Says she needs to keep moving.”
I nodded. “Does she have people to talk to?”
“Yeah.” He dropped his head and twisted it from side to side. I caught a glimpse of the back of his neck.
I was fascinated by the fine dark hairs beneath his hairline. I longed to touch them, to see if they were as soft as they looked. I mentally shook myself. “I don’t know what to tell you, Dean. I only know what my experience is like. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He turned his head and met my gaze. He’d slipped off his shades, and his eyes gleamed in the evening light. “I guess I wanted to see what you’re doing. How you cope.”
Me? “I do yoga, and I have my art.” I waved a hand at the quotation near my feet. “My exhibition opens soon. I have King to look after.” My dog thumped his tail at the mention of his name. “And apart from last night, I’ve avoided alcohol and drugs.”
“Is that enough? Will you be okay this time?”
Was he worrying about me? No. He must be thinking of Lisa. “I’m dealing with it. I’ve also cut myself off from the bad influences I hung around with. I guess I’m reinventing who I am. I live a clean, quiet life, and I get by.”
“I’m glad.” His voice was husky, his words hanging in the air.
My cheeks heated at the intensity in his gaze. “I need to take my picture,” I said and turned to grab my Leica. Fuck. If he kept looking at me like that, stroking me with his words, I’d ask if he wanted any company again tonight.
Another night wouldn’t hurt.