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When I went to sleep, it was with the anticipation that we’d be fucking in the morning. As sure as night followed day, we’d get it on. When I awoke to an empty space beside me, I didn’t worry. Dean was in the bathroom.
Or not. I heard the rumble of his voice somewhere close, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
I cracked my eyelids open. Soft morning light bathed the bed through open curtains. They’d been shut last night. I yawned and sat up, one hand pushing the tangled hair back from my face.
Dean stood, his back to me, phone pressed against his ear. He was fully dressed, and my heart sank. Maybe no sexy times this morning after all.
I coughed, and he glanced at me over his shoulder, before resuming his call. “Yep. See you later.” He put the phone down on the table, turned around, and walked back to the bed. His face was impassive. “There’s a community thing on today. I told Tim I’d help out.”
Huh? “How soon do we need to leave?”
Dean frowned and sat, but in the armchair. “Soon.”
“What sort of community thing?”
He shrugged. “There’s a weekend market, and we’re sending a truck to raise awareness for fire safety.”
“But it’s your day off.” It was supposed to be our day together.
“It’s a voluntary thing.”
This didn’t add up. I was missing something. I tried a smile, and then patted the bed at my side. “Got time for a kiss?”
He sighed. “We need to talk.”
Oh no. Whatever he was about to unleash, I wasn’t going to like it. Awareness thrummed in my veins. I was naked. I needed armour. I tugged up the bedclothes, gripping them tight.
“Last night was rough on you,” he said. “The accident. And when emotions are running high, it’s normal to say things in the heat of the moment. Things you don’t mean.”
I opened my mouth to speak—to say something, anything—but he held up his hands to stop me. “You were half asleep,” he continued, “and you said you loved me. But here’s the thing—it’s just misplaced hero-worship.”
—the fuck? “But...”
“Let me finish. You’re vulnerable right now, Steph. You were right when you said we should stay friends. Anything more is too complicated.”
His words were patronising as fuck, but his delivery was sensitive. The calm voice and the sympathetic smile would have convinced most people.
I didn’t believe a word of it. “I’m calling bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Misplaced hero-worship? So every time you rescue a woman, she falls in love with you? Teeny bit arrogant, don’t you think?”
His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you said that’s why I think I love you.”
His hesitation was brief, but I noticed it. “Yes.”
“What if you’re wrong? And excuse me, but how dare you tell me what I mean when I say something?” Wow. I was surprising myself. Was this outpouring of emotion because I hadn’t gulped down my meds yet this morning?
Dean leapt to his feet and strode the few steps to the window, before turning to look at me. His face was shuttered. Did I hit a nerve?
“I need to leave soon. Can you be ready?”
Anger bubbled inside me. This argument wasn’t anywhere close to being over. I needed him to listen. “I think something else is bothering you, but you don’t want to say it.”
He crossed his arms. His glare would freeze a bubbling spa bath. “How long do you need, Steph?”
“You’re scared.” I tossed my verbal grenade and watched his lips twist in response.
“Scared?” He was scathing. “Of what. You?”
“Of admitting you feel something for me. I tell you I love you, and now you’re running away.”
“I’m not running...”
“You so are. You’ll see a dangerous situation and charge straight in, but when it comes to risking your heart, you back off so fast, you leave skid marks.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
And I wasn’t prepared to listen to him calling what we had a lie. I knelt up, the bedclothes falling away. “I love you, Dean. I’m in love with you. This was before I saw you leap into action last night. And I know it’s soon. Fuck knows, the idea frightened me at first. It still does. And most likely, it’ll end badly. You’ll go back to Auckland, and I’ll still be here, putting the pieces of my heart back together, but you don’t get to deny these feelings are real.”
Like a clockwork toy running out of juice, I ran out of words. I gazed at him, to see if he was paying attention. If anything made an impact.
Dean cleared his throat.
I silently begged him to acknowledge me. To acknowledge us.
“I’m sorry, Steph. I’d like us to stay friends, but I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”
I’d never been so angry. I didn’t imagine the way Dean behaved with me, but he was standing here, denying what we had. I dug deep, to find a valid argument to throw at him. “I’m not asking for a lifelong commitment. I know you can’t wait to leave Kapiti and get back to Auckland, but be honest with me. At least for the time you’re here.”
His jaw was so tight, I wasn’t surprised he said nothing in reply.
I had one final grenade, and I was reluctant to use it, but I didn’t have anything else left. “Tell me honestly you don’t care about me, and that our fling—or however you think about it—was a meaningless fuck.”
“We’re friends, Steph. Of course I care about you. I care about all my friends.”
Despair washed over me in a freezing wave, and I slumped back against the pillows and tugged the duvet up to my chin. “Okay. What happens now?” He couldn’t have missed the defeat in my voice.
“I’ve got the community thing today, and then I’m moving out of the beach cottage tomorrow.” He spoke stiffly and avoided my gaze. “Probably best if we have some space.”
Space. Yup. He was running scared, but there was nothing I could do about it. “What about my exhibition? Will you still come to that?”
He lifted his head, and I saw the surprise in his lovely, odd-coloured eyes. “Of course. I told you I would. Are you inviting your family?”
“Don’t be silly. They don’t even tell me my sister is engaged. They don’t want to know anything about me.”
“What about your co-workers at the café?”
“Yes, they know. I told Lou, and she told Jacques, and he told everyone who works there. I’ll have some people turning up.”
“I’ll be there,” said Dean. “I promise.” For a second, he looked at me with something more than friendliness in his gaze, but then he snapped back to aloofness. “Do you want room service breakfast or do we go downstairs to the restaurant?”
I wasn’t hungry, and the dead-last thing I felt like doing was sitting across a restaurant table from Dean, and making small talk. I had to eat, though. Quite apart from my meds, low blood sugar triggered anxiety bouts for me. That was a complication I didn’t need.
I opted for room service, and hid in the shower while Dean ordered food. It arrived quickly, and like a re-run of the night before, I ate scrambled eggs and toast, this time washing them down with coffee. We barely spoke.
I thought about inventing an excuse to stay in the city, and then catching the train home, but that would be cowardly. These days I tried to face up to my problems. And who knew? Maybe Dean would want to open up and talk to me on the way home.
That didn’t happen. We spent an excruciating hour in the car together, listening to a playlist of Homegrown tracks, where the deepest conversation we had was to comment on the weather. It might be warm outside, but it was mid-winter in my heart. I was numb. And what an utter fucking irony. I’d been the one to back away from Dean, afraid of getting involved, and now I was the one pushing him for more.
He dropped me off at the café and lifted my bag out of the car, before handing it to me. Would he kiss me? No. Give me a hug? No. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and then nodded. “If I don’t see you before the exhibition, I’ll see you then.”
I stood there, bag in my arms, heart lying in the dust. “See you,” I whispered.