by Tia Lewis
13
Amanda
It was so different, but so familiar.
To think we thought we knew it all back then. We knew all about each other’s bodies and how to kiss and touch each other. We thought we were so good in bed. Maybe we were for kids. We had stamina, for sure. But there were certain things that could only come with time. Patience and tenderness and understanding. Sweetness. The appreciation of good sex after a long stretch of bad sex or no sex at all. The even bigger appreciation of fantastic sex. And the sex with Dawson was fantastic.
I couldn’t get enough of touching him, even long after we had both caught our breath and our sweaty bodies had dried. The palm of my hand rested against his bare chest, and every once in a while I’d run my fingers over his skin. I had to be in contact with him somehow.
Did I really think I could be happy without him? I must have at some point or another. I must’ve convinced myself somehow that I could live without hearing him whisper my name when he was inside me. How could I think that? No wonder everything in my life seemed wrong. He wasn’t in it.
His breathing was slow and even. His eyes were closed. If anybody deserved a rest, it was him. I smiled a little at the memory, still fresh and clear. I could still feel him on me, in me. I didn’t want to fall asleep and soften the memory.
He stirred, and I waited to see if he would wake up or go back to sleep. He turned his head toward me with a sleepy smile. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I could just make out the shape of him in the darkness as he extended an arm and slid it under my neck, then curled it to pull me closer to him. I snuggled up gratefully with my head on his shoulder.
“How are you feeling?” He stroked my bare arm. Even that slight touch was heavenly. I closed my eyes and focused on it.
“Oh, pretty damn good,” I murmured with a soft laugh.
“That was my plan.” He squeezed me just a little, and I wrapped my arm around his chest.
“How about you?”
A chuckled rumbled up in his throat. “How do you think? Like a man who needs to recuperate.”
“Oh, old man,” I teased. “You need time to recover after just a single session?”
“I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“Me, neither.”
“You look it. You look great. Like no time has passed at all.”
“You’re such a liar,” I giggled. “But thank you.”
“Hey, you got this going again.” He took my hand and placed it over his growing erection. “That’s not an invitation or a hint, by the way. I’m just saying.”
I gave him a few good strokes, making him groan softly, before letting him go. There was time for that. And I did intend to have him again, whether he liked it or not. But I was pretty sure he would like it.
“Can I ask you something?” I whispered.
“As long as it’s not anything I have to think too hard about,” he joked.
“No, I don’t think it is. It’s just that you haven’t told me much about your life lately, what you’re doing besides working. That sort of thing.”
“That’s pretty much all I’m doing,” he admitted. “It’s a more than a full-time job. It’s a lifestyle. I found that out pretty early on.”
“I can’t imagine the sort of dedication that must take.”
“You know about dedication, though. Don’t lawyers work nonstop when they first start out?”
“Oh, don’t remind me,” I groaned. “Eighty- and ninety-hour weeks. Going to sleep only when the work was finished and waking up to work again. Yeah, that was a lot of fun.”
“That’s pretty much the way my life is, most of the time. I’m only spending less time at the diner because you’re around. I’m sure things will go back to normal after.” I tried not to show how much it hurt to hear him talk about what he would do when I was gone. I didn’t want to think about that just then. Yes, it would happen. It had to happen. But not at that very minute.
“But what made you start working there?”
It took a little time for him to answer, and when he did, his voice was tight. There was no softness, none of that just-you-and-me-in-bed tenderness. “I had to find a job when I came back.”
Came back. In a flash, I understood what he meant. When he came back from fighting. I had walked into a minefield. When would I learn to stop asking questions? “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“It’s okay. You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He cleared his throat and shifted a little. His free arm, the one not around me, he bent and wedged under his head. “I was kind of a mess when I got back. I can admit that. I was over there too long, probably. I saw too much. I don’t know.” I glanced at his face and saw his eyes squeeze shut. “You’d be surprised how many guys come back after something like that and don’t know what to do with themselves after. No matter what you wanted to do before you went, you’re just not the same person when you get back. Some people can rebuild, and some can’t. I needed a job, and Ken’s a vet, so he wanted to help me out. He understood. I started as a cook, but I sucked at that. I was just never great at juggling all the orders and not burning things.” He snorted. “I must’ve cost Ken so much money in wasted food, I swear.”
“But then I started asking questions about how to run the place. What did Ken supervise? Accounts with vendors, accounts with equipment providers. When did he place orders for produce, who provided it and how did he know how much to order. It fascinated me, I guess. You don’t think about stuff like that when you’re just going in and ordering food. And don’t get me started on payroll and all that.”
“He started handing things over to you, then?”
“Mm-hmm. I mean, the guy was getting older. He deserved a break. So one thing at a time, he started handing things off to me. After a few years, I was in charge of just about everything. That’s when we had a visitor from Richmond who agreed to keep me on as the manager because he didn’t feel like dealing with the everyday stuff.”
“That’s wild,” I mused. “He just came in and decided he wanted to buy?”
“I know. Crazy. I guess guys like that know a good thing when they see it. It makes money for him, so he’s happy.”
“And you’re happy?” I asked. “I mean, really happy?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I didn’t mean there was any reason for you not to be. It’s just important to me that you are.” And I meant that without judgment. I had seen him at work in the diner that morning. I had watched as he greeted people and remembered everybody’s name. He asked them about the little details of their lives as if he really cared—and the thing was, I believed he did. That diner was the hub of the town. It held everything together. And he was at the center of the hub. He kept things going and made people happy. That was admirable. More admirable, I thought, than closing a takeover deal.
He was quiet for a while, and I wondered if he was thinking it over. Did he have any doubts? Then, he replied. “Yeah. I’m actually really happy there.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “That’s amazing. It makes me so happy that you’re happy.”
Something moved over his face. “There’s only one thing that would make me happier.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I didn’t know it I felt excitement or dread at the possibility of him telling me I would make his life complete. Did I want to hear it? Maybe a little. “What’s that?” I whispered.
“If I could buy the place for myself.”
I blinked. Oh. “Really? The owner, huh? Do you think he would sell?”
He shrugged. “I could try.”
“What did he pay when he bought it?”
“Around three-quarters of a million.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. No joke.” He sighed and looked over my shoulder—what he was staring at, I didn’t know. “I have some money in savings, but it’s not nearly enough. Around fifty thousand. I would need a bigger bulk payment than that. Otherwise, I could get a loan for the re
st. Bob Kenney told me so, down at the bank. He knows I want to buy eventually.”
Fifty thousand dollars. That was a considerable nest egg, but he was right to wait. The less he borrowed, the less in interest. But it would take forever to put it all together. “What about going in with other investors?”
He shook his head. “No way—not because I don’t want partners, but because I wouldn’t want things to ever get messy when it comes to profit distribution and all that. I don’t feel like kissing ass whenever one of my partners wants to change the way I do things. I’ve already thought it through. I don’t want to be accountable to anybody but myself and my customers.”
“I admire that.” I was pretty sure he would never achieve his dream if he insisted on being stubborn, but I admired his standards. He was a proud man. He wanted it his way.
“Craig did, too.”
My breath caught. “He knew how you feel?”
“Sure. We talked a lot about it.”
“And he thought it was a good idea?”
“He loved the idea. He hated that some outsider was the owner in name only. He thought it should be owned by somebody who lives here, you know?”
“He really loved this place,” I whispered. I looked down at Dawson’s broad chest and traced invisible letters on it.
“You know, I think he did.”
“I wonder what brought him back,” I murmured.
“When he could’ve gone anywhere else,” he finished for me.
I frowned. “There you go again, putting words in my mouth. No, I didn’t mean it in a nasty way. It’s just that he never did tell me why. All of a sudden, his life plan shifted. I thought maybe something bad happened at his hospital and he needed to get away. Something.” I shrugged, remembering how it felt to know he kept a secret from me.
“And he never told you?”
“No, he never did.”
“He told me.”
My eyes met his. “He did? Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Is that such a surprise?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Don’t be pissy,” he chuckled.
“I’m not pissy. I’m just surprised that he opened up to you and not to me. Maybe it hurts a little.”
“He opened up to you about a thousand other things, I bet.”
“True. But he never would tell me why he came back.”
“Maybe… Maybe he thought you might judge him for it.”
I sat up and pulled the sheets around me. “He knew me better than that. I would never have judged him.” Was that really what he thought? Didn’t he know me at all?
“Then maybe he knew how important it was to you to be a big shot, and thought you would look down at him for that.” Bitterness seeped into his voice.
Just when I thought he couldn’t surprise me. “You don’t know anything,” I whispered. Tears threatened to spill over, but I willed them back. “Did it ever occur to you, even once, that I wouldn’t have pushed myself so hard if I had anything better in my life? Hell, at least Craig had his parents here. My mother was a basket case who was glad when I grew up, so she didn’t have to worry about me anymore. And then you pulled the rug out from under me. I had nothing else.” I choked a little but pushed through. “It was pride that kept me away, yes. But not the way you think it did. I couldn’t face you again when it felt like you never cared about me. You were so cold; it was like nothing we had was real. Instead of blaming me, why don’t you try thinking about the part you played?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he got out of bed and pulled his clothes together without looking at me. “Life isn’t a straight line, Amanda. It curves and twists and sometimes it even doubles back on itself. I mean, you’re here, right? Shit happens.” He pulled on his shirt, then buckled his belt. His movements were quick, jerky. “Maybe once the guy spent all those years in college and med school and interning and whatever, he had seen enough of the world already and wanted to come back to where things made sense. Even if that’s not good enough for you, it was good enough for him. And for me.”
“For you?”
“I had the choice of not coming back if I didn’t want to. I didn’t have anything to tie me down here—no mom, no dad, no girl or kids. Nothing. And I thought about it before I left, too, that I didn’t have to come back once I was out. But I did, because I had seen enough. I wanted to go back to something simple, that I didn’t have to think about.”
He turned to me, and his eyes cut through the darkness. They almost gleamed, though I didn’t know with what. Anger, probably. “That’s why he came back, too. He had seen too much. And so did I. And neither of us thought that was good enough for you, I guess.”
It was like talking to a brick wall. “You were wrong. And you’re still willfully misunderstanding me. You’re ignoring everything I just told you. Why? Would it ruin this image you have of me? Why do you keep pushing me away?”
He took a breath like he was about to say something, then turned his back to me.
“Why won’t you talk to me? What did I do?” My words fell on deaf ears. Once he had his shoes on, Dawson left the room and went downstairs. The slamming of the door was the last thing I heard before the sounds of crying filled the room.
14
Dawson
She was waiting for me on the front steps at the diner on Sunday morning. Only a handful of hours had passed since I stormed out of the house. I was already regretting it, too. From the look on her face and the very fact that she was there, I could see I wasn’t alone.
She stood when I got out of the truck. “I don’t have a lot of time to talk right now,” I explained. “Not because I’m mad, but because we open in an hour.”
“Yeah, I know. I just…I had to see you.”
I nodded shortly and walked around her. “Come in.” I unlocked the door, and she followed me inside, then locked it behind us. “Here. Follow me.” I flipped the lights on, lighting up the dining room, then went to the kitchen and did the same. She watched while I powered up the grills and oven.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked in a small voice.
I couldn’t help snorting. “No. It’s okay. We sort of have a system in place.”
“Gotcha.” She rubbed her arms and looked around. I could tell at a glance that she hadn’t slept all night. Well, that made two of us. It was going to be a long day.
“So what brings you here at this time of morning? I know the coffee’s not that good.” That reminded me to get it started up, so I pushed through the swinging doors leading to the dining room and turned on the machines, then went through the process of getting them brewing.
“There’s a lot of work to be done here,” she murmured.
“Is that what you came here for at five in the morning? To tell me what I already know?”
“You know that’s not it.” She sounded hurt and disappointed. Not angry. Maybe she was too tired.
“So what is it?” I leaned against the counter as I turned to her. “What’s the situation? Why are you here?”
“I’m here to try to clear up what happened last night, and you know it. Why are you making it so hard for me to do this?”
When tears filled her eyes, I felt like the world’s biggest asshole. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m being a dick.”
“It’s just… You misunderstood me last night, and it felt like you ignored me on purpose. That wasn’t fair. And I’ve had a lot of…I don’t know, conflict…going on inside, and I would’ve liked to talk it out with you. But you shut me down because you keep assuming what I mean.”
I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but the more I thought about it, the more I saw she was right. If I hadn’t blown up, the whole night could’ve gone in a different direction. “I apologize. What is it that’s bothering you so much?”
She looked around. “Now? I mean, do you have the time?”
“If you talk fast,” I said with a slight smile.
She nodded. “Okay. I remember asking you
why Craig came back when we had other plans. And you were annoyed because you thought I was talking about you, too. It had nothing to do with you. I need to understand…for me.”
I frowned. “For you?”
“Yeah. I needed to understand why he changed his mind, because…” She shrugged and looked away. “Sometimes I guess I wonder if I should’ve changed my mind. I was wondering what his breaking point was because I think I might’ve reached mine.”
That wasn’t what I had expected at all. I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but a knock at the back door interrupted me. “Hold that thought.” I opened the door for the cooks, then took my time getting back to her. I wasn’t sure what to think.
When I returned, she was sitting on a stool at the counter. “You want a cup?” I asked, pointing to the machine. She nodded gratefully and rubbed her eyes. I slid the coffee over to her and said, “So you wonder if you should’ve changed your mind. About what? Living in New York?”
“I guess. I don’t know. I just wonder why he decided he was wrong about what he thought he wanted. I wish he would’ve told me, but he never did. I always assumed it was because he was ashamed of his choice or something.”
“He always seemed happy here,” I reminded her.
“I know, I know. That’s what’s so confusing. It was easier, I guess, to assume I had made the right decision and he had let himself down. But then you tell me that he wanted to get back to a place where things make sense, and I think, of course, he did. I should’ve made it so he could’ve told me that. Instead, there I was, feeling proud of myself for sticking to my guns.” She snickered. “How pathetic is that?”
“It’s not pathetic, so long as you were sticking to those guns because you were happy—not because you were trying to prove a point.”
“You know?” She looked up from her coffee cup. “I don’t even know anymore. Like I said, I had nothing else going for me.” Her words struck a chord in me, because I was what she was talking about. Tell her why, my inner voice urged. Tell her it wasn’t her fault.
