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Of course, my brain went into overdrive on the walk back to my place. Dean banished my demons last night, but in the cool morning light they ambushed me.
Stupid Steph, mocked my subconscious. You’ve done it again.
Done what? Met a nice guy? Someone who might want me?
One night, he said. Been there, done that.
The steady sffft of my footsteps on soft sand grounded me. One step, and then another.
Why did he only want a fling? My inner critic clutched her sides and laughed. Because that’s all you’re good for. Nobody sees you as more than a quick fuck.
No. Dean came back to me. Twice. Maybe his one-night-only rule wasn’t set in concrete. Why didn’t I ask him about it?
The look he gave me when I left... He was surprised. Disappointed?
I blew out a frustrated breath and tried to order my cascading thoughts.
I liked Dean. Maybe even could love him.
He liked me.
The chemistry between us was so far off the scale, there wasn’t a number high enough to describe it, but we had fun outside of sex, too. He made me feel good about myself.
I showered and dressed, ate some muesli for breakfast, and gulped down my pills. I was composed and ready for work, and decided on my direction. If Dean came in for coffee, I’d ask if he was free later. If he didn’t, I’d walk by his place tonight and see if he was home. I wanted to talk to him, to see if this thing between us was one-sided, or if he felt something too. He was different to the other guys I knew. I felt the truth of it in my gut.
With my mind made up, it felt like a weight lifted from my shoulders. I bustled through my morning routine in the café, setting out flowers and tidying the outdoor space, with a song playing in my head. Villainy. The track Dean liked.
Lou caught me in the kitchen and raised her eyebrows. “Wow. You look happy today.” She stepped closer. “I saw you driving off with Dean Logan yesterday. Did he put that smile on your face?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.” I felt playful, but Lou looked worried.
“There’s something you need to know about him. I think I...” Lou’s words trailed away, and I followed her gaze to my arms.
I’d been washing the water jugs, and my sleeves were pushed up above my elbows. She was looking at my scars. Embarrassment burned like a thousand suns, and I tried to tug down my cuffs.
“Shit,” she whispered. “Did he hit you? Dean?”
Okay. Not my scars. I wanted to laugh and say, God yes. He spanked me, and it was amazing, but that wasn’t something I’d ever share.
She touched the blue-purple bruise marks on my forearm. Where Dean had stopped me from falling over. “I hoped it was only gossip,” she said. “I have to tell you, Steph. He’s dangerous.”
Wait. “What?”
Lou glanced left and right, and then beckoned me into the dry store cupboard. It was the most private place in the kitchen. “I heard this from Susannah, who’s married to Aaron, one of Dean’s watch at the fire station. He’s been given a formal warning for violent behaviour.”
“Who? Dean?”
“Yes. They say he beat up one of his colleagues. It was so bad, the guy spent a week in hospital.”
I got into a fight, he’d said. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You say that, but the day after you go out with him, you have bruises on your arms. You don’t have to put up with that. I know he’s charming and all, but say no. I’ll say no for you, if you’d rather.”
I didn’t know what to say. She was genuinely concerned, and that was sweet. “I’m touched,” I began, groping for the right words. “But this isn’t what you think. I fell over, and Dean caught me. He didn’t hurt me. Well—not intentionally.”
“Oh.” Her hazel eyes opened wide. “This is awkward.”
“Yeah.”
“But what Susannah said? She didn’t make a mistake. That’s what they all heard, and it fits with his character. He exhibits classic psychopathic tendencies, and I still want you to be careful of him.”
“If he really did that, why would he still be in the fire service? Wouldn’t he have some kind of reprimand?” His words rang in my head. I had the option of suspension or riding it out here. No. I still didn’t believe it was that bad.
“Watch yourself, Steph. And if he scares you, come and tell me.”
“Lou,” called Jacques. “Need you in here.”
She left, and I stared at the plastic tubs of flour and sugar, and tried to figure out my thoughts. Dean was no more dangerous than King. It was kind of Lou to look out for me, but her story was crazy. Was that what his teammates were saying?
Poor Dean. I had to talk to him. And how difficult would that conversation be? Hey, did you know your workmates are calling you a psycho? Yeah... no. Not happening.
I dragged my concentration back to the job at hand and took my turn at the coffee machine. The milk delivery was late today, and I kept a lookout for the van arriving. When I saw it pull up at the back, Lou covered for me, and I went to check in the delivery. It took a few minutes, and as I went back into the café, I heard my name mentioned. Lou was talking to someone. I hesitated, uncertain about listening, and then collided with her as she turned the corner.
“Ay caramba,” she said, and clapped her hands to her face. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Who were you talking to?”
Her face was bright pink, and as I stared, the flush crept down her neck. “Dean. I was telling him to keep the fuck away from you.”
“You did what?”
“You heard me.”
I stepped around her, to look into the courtyard. There was no sign of him. I couldn’t see his car, but he might have walked here or be parked up the street.
“You had no right to do that.” I was trembling, whether from shock or anger, I’d no idea.
“I’m trying to help you, Steph. Get you out of a violent relationship before it escalates.”
“You want to help me? Cover for me on the Gaggia for ten minutes. And keep King here.”
“But—”
I pushed past her and wove through the empty tables and chairs. I’d only just missed him. He came here to see me, and now he’d been turned away, and he probably thought it was what I wanted.
I charged out of the gate and paused on the pavement.
There he was, striding under the trees and about to disappear into the sand dunes.
“Dean,” I shouted.
He paused, looked over his shoulder, and turned around when he saw me. The way he stood, hands in his pockets, shades and ball cap obscuring his face, I’d no idea what he was thinking.
I hurried across the road, rushing to his side.
“You know”—his voice was cold—“if you have a problem with me, you can tell me to my face.”