Trust Again_Dawn and Spencer's Story

by Mona Kasten

  All the best,

  Nolan

  P. S.: If the two of them don’t stay together in the end, that’s okay. There are romance novels with bittersweet endings and even some that end ambiguously.

  I read his email. Twice. Three times. Then I read About Us up to the end of chapter twenty-six, where I was now stuck.

  Of course I could change some things. A lot, in fact. Mackenzie could trust Tristan earlier. They could go home together already in chapter seven. Tristan could make his true intentions clear much earlier, instead of hiding himself behind a façade of jokes and half-truths. It was exactly like Nolan said: a few little changes would be enough to get Tristan and Mackenzie to their happy ending. Not a big deal, if it were just a manuscript.

  But it wasn’t.

  This was Spencer’s and my story. It was full of mistakes and inconsistencies. It was real—more real than anything I’d ever written. And I just couldn’t let it end without a twenty-seventh chapter.

  What I wanted with Spencer was chapter twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, and everything that followed. Because, goddammit, I was in love with him.

  I was angry and hurt, and I was sure he felt the same way. But one of us had to take a step in the right direction if we were ever going to get our happily ever after.

  I reread chapter twenty-six. And then started to write.

  Twenty-seven

  Spencer,

  Everything that Mackenzie feels for Tristan is what I feel for you. That and so much more. I know I’m really bad at showing you this, but… here it is. In black and white.

  I can’t erase my mistakes. But what I can do is what you showed me: start every day fresh and try to be someone who deserves the love of a man who is simply perfect for me.

  With love,

  Dawn

  I printed out the manuscript. Then I called Allie and drove with her to Spencer’s house. I left the stack of pages, tied with a blue ribbon, on his doormat.

  Chapter 37

  I waited nine hours.

  At three a. m. my cell phone rang. Bleary-eyed, I sat up. When I tried to reach for the phone, I banged the back of my hand on my bedside table. Cursing, I swiped the display and answered the call.

  “Hello?”

  Silence. Then: “Tristan is an asshole.”

  Suddenly I was wide-awake.

  “He doesn’t deserve Mackenzie. The way he treated her, she should be looking for someone who treats her better,” Spencer continued.

  In the background I heard the rustling of paper. My heart was banging in my chest. “But that’s not what Mackenzie wants.”

  More rustling. “Dawn… it’s a great book. Really. You made me feel everything that Mackenzie was going through. I… had to read it twice to get everything. Especially what’s between the lines,” he continued softly.

  “And?” My heart was in my throat.

  “Now… I kind of get her. Sometimes I’m a little slow.”

  “Slow isn’t bad. I’m slow myself,” I blurted out.

  “Okay.” He cleared his throat again. “A few things caught my attention.”

  I sat up a bit straighter. “Shoot.”

  “Why does Tristan have to get into the pants of so many women? I mean, he’s loved Kenzie for years but still sleeps around. Sometimes this makes him a little less believable.”

  “Some guy once told me he’d only had one-night stands,” I murmured.

  “Banging ten women in one week is just not realistic, Sweetie. Even if Tristan is amazingly hot, with a body to die for.”

  With my eyes closed, I could see his smile, sly and loving at the same time.

  “Besides, I think he would change his ways after they met,” he added, softly.

  I swallowed. “Think so?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because she means something to him.”

  My throat was dry. “And the same for her.”

  Hearing his calm breathing through the phone, I wished suddenly that he were here. Or that I were there.

  “I didn’t know how you felt about it, Dawn,” he said after a while, his voice husky. “Of course, I heard you, when you said you… couldn’t… but didn’t really understand until now. You described Mackenzie’s feelings so… realistically. I was too blind and stubborn to imagine what you were going through. And I didn’t want to pressure you or hurt you.”

  I twisted the corner of my blanket. “I know.”

  “Anyway I wanted to tell you again.”

  The silence made me nervous so I tried to bring the mood back to the lighthearted beginning of the call. “So, fewer women for Tristan; check. Anything else?”

  The rustling of paper came through the phone again. “Okay… I don’t like the first sex scene.”

  Now I sat bolt upright. “What? My sex scenes are top notch!”

  “I’m not saying they’re bad. But the way you describe it, he’s throwing himself at her in a blind passion. When really, she wants him just as much,” Spencer said drily.

  I snorted.

  Sawyer groaned and pulled her pillow over her head.

  “I think it could use some revision,” Spencer said.

  “Check. Anything else on your list?”

  He breathed out slowly. “Chapter twenty. Tristan’s declaration of love comes at completely the wrong moment.”

  “So that’s why Kenzie reacts the way she does.”

  “Her reaction is appropriate, but Tristan still has to find out at some point why she finds it so hard. Knowing Tristan loves her can’t really be so terrible for her, can it?”

  I smiled a bit. “No, not at all. She was just blindsided by Donovan’s call.”

  “And did she really go to him and tell him all those things?” he asked, slowly.

  “Yes, she did. And she’s glad she did it. It’s over and done.”

  His breath came out haltingly. “That’s good.”

  “Want to know something?”

  “Mhh-hmm.”

  “Donovan is getting married and is going to be a father.”

  Spencer cursed. “What?”

  “Yes. He’s living in the house he bought. Together with his pregnant fiancée.”

  “Stupid idiot. He should never have cheated on Kenzie.”

  “But if he hadn’t, Tristan and Kenzie would never have become friends.”

  “Oh, I think the two of them would have eventually met.”

  “How come?”

  “Because they were dealt the right cards and fate would have taken care of it.”

  I laughed softly.

  “Your laughter is my favorite sound,” he said abruptly. “I missed it.”

  Now my heart was really pounding. It felt like a whole Samba band was drumming inside my chest.

  “Dawn, I’m sorry—about everything I threw at you. I’m sorry I gave up on us and called you a coward. You’re not a coward at all. You’re the opposite.”

  I gripped my phone tighter. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I was angry and frustrated. I felt like we could finally be together but at the same time knew I had to savor every second because you could decide to run at any moment. That mix of hope and fear was… tough. I know that wasn’t your intention. It was unbelievably courageous of you to let me in at all, after what you’d been through, and all your fears. I get it now, and… I’m really sorry.”

  “Me too. Everything you said,” I whispered. I leaned back onto my pillow and pulled the blanket up to my chin.

  “What happened to chapter twenty-seven?” murmured Spencer after a pause.

  I sighed. “I haven’t written it yet.”

  “You can’t leave me hanging like this, Dawn. I need the next chapter. Tristan and Mackenzie belong togethe
r. You know it, I know it, the entire world has known it since the beginning of time.”

  It felt like a lifetime ago that he’d said pretty much the same thing to me.

  “So ask me,” I whispered.

  “Hm?”

  “Ask me again,” I repeated.

  “I don’t understand.”

  I cleared my throat to get rid of the lump in it. “We could talk for hours about our mistakes, or we could skip that part and get it right this time. So just ask me out on a date so I can finally give you the right answer.”

  He took a deep breath. “Go out with me.”

  I laughed. “That wasn’t a question.”

  “Fuck, you’re right.” He inhaled again. “Dawn Lily Edwards, would you do me the honor of going out with me?”

  I gave him the answer he deserved the first time he asked me.

  “Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

  Chapter 38

  Tonight was my first date. My first real date. With Spencer.

  I was dying with excitement as Spencer drove us to my favorite Italian restaurant, Cassano’s. They had the best pasta and pizza in Woodshill. From the outside, the place looked unremarkable. But the interior made up for that, with its black-and-white photographs of Italian tourist destinations and the owners’ own photos. The atmosphere was personal and warm. Today there was even a pianist playing live music. The sound of the piano filled the space, as did the wonderful aroma of freshly prepared food.

  Spencer entwined his fingers with mine and guided me past the tables toward the kitchen. I almost stopped and asked him what he was up to, but I trusted him. So I let myself be pulled through the swinging doors.

  The Cassano kitchen was a whirlwind of activity. On the huge gas stove were a few pots in which sauce was bubbling, and across the aisle, between gaps in the huge steel shelves, I could see someone twirling pizza dough in the air.

  None of the kitchen staff was surprised by our appearance. Most even greeted Spencer and me warmly. Spencer confidently led me between the rows of pots and pans until we reached the very back.

  “Ah, there you are.” The man who’d just been spinning pizza dough came toward us with outstretched arms. His hands and apron were covered with flour, and he wore a bandana decorated with stars over his hair. His tan face was lined, and he had gray stubble on his cheeks.

  “Dawn, this is Antonio Cassano, owner of the restaurant. He’s going to show us how to make an authentic Italian pizza,” Spencer explained.

  Antonio grabbed Spencer by the hand and pulled him into a half-hug, clapping him on the back. Then he bowed slightly to me.

  “Hello, Dawn, nice to meet you. Call me Tony.” His light accent gave his voice a lovely melody.

  “My pleasure,” I said, still unsure of what was happening.

  “Okay now, friends.” Tony clapped his hands and walked over to a counter, grabbing two fresh, white aprons and handing them to us. “You’re dressed far too nicely for the messy work ahead of us.” He raised his eyebrows and Spencer gave him a lopsided grin.

  I could tell why they got along so well.

  Spencer came over to me with one of Tony’s aprons. He lifted the upper loop over my head, careful not to mess up my hair. Then he walked behind me and tied a bow. His fingers grazed the bit of skin between my lace top and skirt, and I shivered. Then he removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves—it wasn’t just the heat of the ovens that made my cheeks glow—and loosely tied his own apron around his hips.

  Tony led us to a sink where we were to remove any jewelry and wash our hands thoroughly. Then we returned to the counter.

  “Okay. I’m gonna show you how you throw pizza dough.” He shoved two huge wooden boards with lumps of dough across the steel surface. “First, take a handful of flour to keep the dough from sticking to your fingers.”

  We did as he said. Meanwhile, Tony walked around us and turned up the radio that was hanging on the side of the steel shelf. Italian music filled the kitchen, and the other employees cutting vegetables cheered.

  I looked over at Spencer. He was gently covering the dough with flour and letting his fingers slide over it. Hmmm…

  “After you’ve done that, press the dough flat, until it’s about half an inch thick,” Tony said.

  Again I cast an eye at Spencer.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured.

  I just grinned. Before our “date,” I’d been worried that everything would be different between us. That there’d be tension or that our fight would still be hanging in the air. But I was wrong. Things were back to normal. Or maybe even better than normal. This date was terrific.

  “How do you know Tony?” I asked, pressing on the dough.

  “He used to work for my parents as a caterer,” Spencer said. “When I was five, he was my best friend. He moved here before…” He cleared his throat. “Before the accident.”

  “Were you close then?”

  “Dad wasn’t thrilled about it, but yes. Tony’s a good guy, and he taught me a lot. After he moved away, I was angry as hell, and things got out of hand.”

  “Stop ruining your date with stories like that,” came Tony’s voice from behind us. He looked over my shoulder again. “Very good.” Then he checked Spencer’s work. “A little too thick, but we can work with it.” He reached for my dough and took the edge between his thumb and forefinger. “Now stretch and pinch the dough at this distance from the edge, around the whole circle.”

  Again we followed his instructions.

  “What about you? Do you still keep in touch with childhood friends?” Spencer asked.

  I shrugged. “I’m still pretty close to Wren. He wasn’t in the same circle of friends as Nate and me; he’s the son of one of my father’s colleagues. We used to sit together in the workshop and talk about everything under the sun. Aside from him, I’ve broken off contact with everyone.”

  He threw me a sidelong glance.

  “Better that way,” I assured him with a smile. “I’m a lot happier here than I was in Portland. Because I can be myself. I don’t think I ever had friends like I do now.”

  He nodded. “It was the same for me. All those people from the private school never really cared about me. After Olivia’s accident I didn’t stay in touch with them. They thought I was a freak because of the therapy, the medications, and because I’d rather spend time with Livvy than go to parties.”

  It was amazing how easy it was for him to talk about it with me now. Where once there was a wall between us, now there was none.

  “When can we throw it, Tony?” Spencer asked.

  The chef looked at our pizzas, which were taking shape; he fixed an edge here and there, and finally nodded.

  “Now you put your fist under the dough, like this,” he said and demonstrated on his own dough. “Make a fist with the other hand, exactly the same, and then you put it next to the other fist. Very good, Dawn.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Now pull your hands apart a bit.”

  “But then the dough will get even thinner,” I said.

  “That doesn’t matter at all,” replied Tony. “Now turn your left fist toward you and the other away from your body, so the dough starts to spin. That’s right, Spencer.”

  Spencer had already gotten the hang of it, while my dough was just flapping around.

  “Once your pizzas have the right diameter, you can move your fist in an arch backward. And the other fist goes forward. If you shift the motion slightly upward, the dough will spin faster.”

  I tried, but my dough flopped to the side.

  “That was just a little too fast, Dawn. You don’t want the pizza to stick on your pretty face,” Tony joked.

  Over the next few minutes we tried to get the right spin going. It was harder than it looked. I got flour in my face and was pretty sure the apron wasn’t protecting much of my outfit.
But after 15 minutes I got it down. The dough spun around on my fists, and I squealed.

  “Wow, great, Dawn! Now you can throw it up in the air. But be careful not to tear it when you catch it on your fists,” Tony said.

  I tried throwing it, just a few inches, and caught it again.

  “That’s so amazingly sexy,” Spencer murmured.

  I threw it up again, this time higher. I caught it on my fists and grinned broadly. “Look how cool I am!”

  Spencer had let his dough fall onto the board and was staring at me. His eyes flew to my mouth. I want to kiss you, was written on his face.

  “Your dough looks done,” Tony said to me, and I pried my eyes away from Spencer. Tony inspected his dough and wrinkled his nose. “Yours needs a little work.”

  After we’d thrown on some toppings, we shoved our pizzas in the oven. We took off the aprons and washed our hands and arms. Spencer and I helped each other remove the flour from our faces; I took every opportunity to touch the corners of his mouth and let my fingers follow the line of his chin.

  Spencer put his jacket on and took me back through the restaurant until we came to the pianist. There, on the parquet in front of the piano, he pulled me close. I stumbled briefly and stared up at him, perplexed.

  “What’re you doing?”

  He took my hand, stroked his thumb over my skin and reached the other arm around my waist. “Dancing,” was his simple answer.

  “Is that in the dating manual?”

  He pulled me even closer “No. But I’ve always wanted to do this with you.”

  Then he began to move. The pianist played a tune that sounded vaguely familiar. I leaned my head back; Spencer smiled softly when our eyes met. “I behaved terribly, Dawn.”

  I shook my head. “This is our first date. What happened before isn’t important anymore.”

  Spencer let his hand drift down to the skin between my top and skirt again. His fingers snuck under and stroked my lower back. I melted in his arms.

  “I just wanted to tell you again that I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. Are we done?” I asked.

  “In no way are we anywhere near done with each other, Dawn Edwards,” he said gently, lowering his face until our lips were nearly touching. Then, a soft, sweet kiss. A promise. “This is just the beginning.”