Falling for Fate (Second Chance Book 2)

by Quinn, Caisey

  His warm skin heated where her cool lips had been. He squeezed her hand before letting go and pulled out a chair for her.

  They each filled their plates and Dean watched her take her first bite—the crepes, of course.

  “I could eat Nutella off your naked body every day for the rest of my life,” she said candidly.

  Dean chuckled. “Is that so? Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

  She was halfway finished with her second one when she looked up at him. After she wiped her mouth with her white, linen napkin, she pinned him with a quizzical expression. He hadn’t yet touched his food. He’d been too busy watching her.

  “You’re not hungry? Between last night and this morning, I’m famished.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t expect to feel this way.”

  “Meaning?” Fate folded her napkin in her lap.

  “Meaning I’m considering sailing us to the edge of the Earth and saying to hell with the real world.”

  Fate smiled at him. “It certainly sounds good in theory. Though I’m scandalized. I hadn’t realized kidnapping me was part of this deal.”

  “So tomorrow,” he began, seamlessly changing the subject. “How about we just try to keep our distance at work? Frankly, if I see you, I might drag you into a supply closet and ravage you. So I’ll try to be scarce. But I’ll call you tomorrow evening and let you know how the HR meeting went. That sound okay?”

  She nodded. But then she frowned. “I feel like we’ve been pretty honest with each other this weekend, so in the spirit of continuing with that for as long as possible, I’m going to say something I probably shouldn’t.”

  Dean held his breath. He half-expected her to tell him that it had been fun and she’d gotten him out of her system, so no need for the phone call or any other non work-related communication whatsoever.

  “Ignoring each other at work sounds pretty crappy, actually, but what can I really say? No, I want you to hold my hand and skip around the bullpen with me?”

  Relief refilled his previously empty lungs. “As much as I would love to do all kinds of things with you in the bullpen, we both know that’s not possible. This is new for me, Fate. And frankly, whatever we decide, I don’t want my father knowing that we’re anything more than colleagues if we can help it.”

  She nodded again. “I promise I’m good, Dean. You told me you didn’t know if you could offer me more than this weekend and I’ve told you repeatedly that I’m okay with that. I know it’s not the typical female response, but my situation is…complicated as well. One day at a time, okay? That’s my mom’s motto in rehab and I think it’ll serve us well too. I just wanted to be honest.”

  He grinned, grateful that she was so understanding. “Sounds good. I’ll try to do the same.”

  “Now,” Fate said, pointing her fork at him. “Eat, boss man.”

  Dean complied, telling Fate bits and pieces about The Wishing Star and the few trips she’d made between bites. When they both finished eating, he stood and helped her down from the boat.

  “Back to the real world it is, I suppose.”

  Fate nodded. “Guess so. Wonder if it missed us?”

  “Doubtful. It probably didn’t even notice that we were gone.”

  He kept his hand on the small of her back, surprised not only that he still felt territorial when it came to her, but that, while walking past the dock workers and a few men fishing from the pier and noticing the appraising glances that slid over Fate’s legs and arms as they peeked out from beneath a gray-and-white-striped dress, he felt even more possessive of her than before.

  Keep it up, Maxwell. Soon you’ll have her locked in your office and be growling at anyone who knocks on the door.

  What had Keaton called him? Oh yes. A caveman. It was beginning to feel extremely fitting.

  Dean held her hand on the drive to her apartment. The conversation flowed easily as the miles passed. They spoke more about The Civil Wars and other bands they both enjoyed. She even told him about her mom’s bouts of depression that had led to her serious aversion of all things Willie Nelson.

  He told her a little more about his mom, sharing a few sweet stories from his childhood about the kind of mother Fate hoped she would one day be.

  “The quotes, I love that. Did it make you sad later to realize they weren’t all originally hers?”

  Dean briefly took his eyes from the road to give her a soft smile. “Nah.” He raised their joined hands and kissed the top of hers. “I think, in a way, she did it on purpose so that later, when I came across them, it would be like a reminder. She’s still with me in a lot of little ways.”

  Fate squeezed his hand. He’d jokingly said that he had mommy issues in reference to the fact that he hadn’t allowed any other women to get close to him other than in the physical sense in the years since his mother had died. But Fate could see how the woman had shaped and molded his heart. Even if he didn’t realize it, she’d instilled within him the capacity to love and be loved. Hard years with his father had buried it deeper below the surface, but this weekend had brought that part of him a little closer to the surface. Just as growing closer to Dean was soothing the gaping wound in her heart that Trevor and Melissa’s betrayal had made.

  She hadn’t yet told him about Trevor and what had caused her to run that day. It was time though. She knew it was. As much as she dreaded reliving the painful memory, Dean had opened up and shared so much with her that she felt safe to do the same.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the radio. “For sharing so much with me about your mom. There’s something I should tell you. Several somethings, actually.”

  Dean pulled his car into a parking space on the street only a few feet from the stairs to her apartment. “Want to tell me now? Or over dinner later this week?”

  His eagerness to plan a date so soon after having spent so much time together made her smile. A part of her had feared he’d be sick of her by now and she certainly wasn’t sick of him.

  “It’s up to you. We can sit out here and talk now or you can come inside. Or we can discuss it at dinner whatever night this week is best for you.”

  “I’d love to choose option D, all of the above, but I really should get home and prep for tomorrow’s meeting. How about dinner Friday night? Then, if you’re not terribly bored of me by then, maybe we can make a weekend of it at my place? It’s not as nice as the beach house, but it’s—”

  “Yes,” she answered, cutting him off. “Yes to all of the above.”

  Dean killed the engine and leaned over to kiss her. He gently brushed his lips against hers before reaching forward to place a hand on her face. “Work is going to be torture, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m afraid you might be right.” She pressed her lips to his once more. “Though I’m already looking forward to next weekend.”

  “Ditto,” Dean said, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

  He’d explained what the word meant to him on the drive, but she could tell that he hadn’t used the word as it was intended in a long time. Hurt flickered in his eyes and she ached to soothe it. But she feared she’d make it worse before she could make it better.

  “Dean,” she whispered against his lips. “There’s so much I should tell you. Maybe I should’ve already told you.”

  He nipped her bottom lip before pulling back. “You can tell me anything, Fate. You know that, right?”

  Fate took a deep, courage-gathering breath. “Before you…before the night I met you. Wait. No. On the night I met you but just before that.” It was like trying to recite a tongue twister from grade school. She didn’t know why this was so hard, but it was. She didn’t want Trevor to infiltrate what she had with Dean, didn’t want the messy, hurtful memories to seep over into her shiny, new relationship.

  Everything with Dean felt new and green, like something growing in its infancy, a tiny sprig budding up from the ground. The past was like a pile of manure she didn’t want to dump on it—
necessary for growth but disgusting all the same.

  “Baby, whatever it is, you can tell me when you’re ready. We have all the time in the world.”

  It felt like they did. But the strange urgency from the beach still seemed to sit at the door of her subconscious mind.

  “Dinner on Friday, right?” She wanted confirmation because that’s when she was going to tell him everything. If he still wanted her to stay the weekend with him, then she would.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Don’t be late.” She let him break their kiss long enough to get out of the car. She waited for him this time—smiling as he came around to open her car door.

  “I’m a gentleman. I’ll walk you to your door.” He offered her his hand and she took it.

  Dean carried her bag up the stairs, and was mid-sentence, making a joke about her being the only woman willing to freeze to death in the ocean to get his attention, when they both froze at the landing above the stairs. A man stood at her door and he probably wasn’t there to see Gwen. Or maybe he was. With his track record, anything was possible.

  “Trevor,” Fate said, feeling as if the wind had been punch out of her sails. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to see you because you wouldn’t answer your phone. Your roommate is a fucking lunatic, by the way.”

  Her feet felt fifty pounds heavier as did her hands. Maybe that was why one of them dropped from Dean’s.

  “I was out of town. Besides, I didn’t have anything to say to you.”

  Dean cleared his throat loudly. “Who’s this guy, Fate?”

  Fate caught her breath and tried to speak rationally as her wide-eyed gaze swung from one man to the other. Trevor didn’t matter. Dean mattered. Focus on Dean.

  “Dean, this is—”

  “I’m Trevor Harris,” Trevor announced as if he were someone Dean was supposed to recognize on sight. “Fate’s fiancé.”

  Her fiancé. Well, fuck him sideways. Explained why she hadn’t ever pressed for more to their relationship.

  In Dean’s experience, most women wanted more. They wanted commitments, romance, dates, and promises about the future. He wouldn’t give them those things, hence why most of his encounters were limited to one or two nights.

  But an engaged woman looking for one last fling certainly didn’t need those things.

  It didn’t make sense any way he looked at it. If she was engaged, why had she given her virginity to him? But then maybe she’d gotten engaged after their one night. His head throbbed from questions pounding the hell out of it.

  He examined every single sentence she’d spoken that he was capable of recalling. She’d said that it was complicated—that she didn’t need anything more, and that she was happy to take it one day at a time.

  One day at time until when? Her wedding day?

  The weekend had certainly given birth to some type of hope that maybe what he and Fate had could be different than what he was used to. The feelings he’d developed for her were real, and the problem with that was that, when he realized she didn’t return them, it hurt like a son of a bitch.

  Dean smirked at the skinny bastard Fate was currently glaring at. The desire to punch him in the face was becoming the most prevalent one, but Dean took a step back. Whatever he’d stumbled into with her was messy, clearly complicated, and something he no longer wanted any part of. Dean didn’t really do complications—he hadn’t before and he had no plans to start now. Working with her was complication enough. There was an animalistic urge growing in his chest that made him want to tell the other guy to go to hell, that she was his now and he’d fight to the death for her. But he’d never been that guy, and adding a fiancé to the mix was just outright insanity. So he decided to take a hard pass on the entire situation.

  “I can see you two have a lot to talk about. I’ll leave you to it.” He handed Fate her bag without meeting her eyes. The thought of looking into them now and knowing another man would be the one waking up to them every morning just pissed him completely off.

  “Dean, wait—”

  He didn’t wait.

  He could imagine what she might be going to say. Probably the same types of things he’d be saying if he had been busted in this situation. She was having doubts, or her and her fiancé had taken a break, or she wanted one last fling—and honestly, that’s exactly what Dean had offered. So that’s what she’d get.

  He’d barely made it down the stairs when she caught up with him.

  “This is what you do when the going gets tough, right? You bail. I don’t even know why I’m surprised.” Her voice was thick with hurt and laced with an edge of panic.

  Dean whirled around to face her. “No. This is what I do I find out the woman who spent the weekend attached to my dick is engaged to another man. I’m not going to fucking fight your fiancé for you, Fate. Jesus. We agreed to have the one weekend and we did. Now, we’re done here.”

  Christ. He’d never been so deeply affected by his own words before. It felt as if someone had shoved a fist through his chest and was squeezing every organ within reach.

  “I’m not—” she cut herself short and stared intently at her hands. “We’re done here,” she repeated softly, glancing up at him for confirmation.

  He didn’t answer, just gave her a curt nod.

  Her mouth turned down and the dimples he usually loved to see when she smiled appeared. He watched her make a serious effort to swallow. “Okay. Well, that clears that up. Thank you for the weekend. As I said before, I had a wonderful time. Goodbye, Dean.”

  He briefly closed his eyes, unable to watch the emotions swirling with the memories they’d made that weekend playing out across her face.

  “Look, we work together. It wasn’t really going anywhere anyway.” Especially since she was probably getting married sometime in the relatively near future. “Let’s just call it what it was and move on. No harm, no foul. Though your fiancé might disagree.”

  Her lips remained firmly pressed together. She nodded her head in agreement. “That’s what I was trying to tell you before. About Trevor.” Fate took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

  Dean tensed at hearing her fiancé’s name on her lips. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting her confession short so that he wouldn’t have to hear it again. “Like I said, we’re adults—we both know what this was. We had a good time. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Her eyes widened and he could see what looked like the beginning of tears forming in them. But she blinked quickly and they were gone. “You know what? You’re right. You couldn’t be more right. Take care, Mr. Maxwell. I’ll see you at work.”

  Like hell she would. He was already planning to be in as many meetings as he could work into his day in order to avoid her.

  “Take care, Ms. Buchanan. Best of luck with—” His waved a hand toward where he assumed her fiancé was still waiting at the top of the stairs.

  She jerked her head upward and turned away from him. Dean didn’t have it in him to watch her return to another man, so he made his way to his car and got in without looking back.

  “Goddammit!” The tension swelling in his chest finally broke free. His hands slammed against the steering wheel so hard that it was a miracle he hadn’t done serious damage to himself or the car. Or both.

  Dean drove to his apartment, practically squealing his tires into the parking garage below it.

  He’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted.

  One weekend with her, no strings.

  Yet…he felt as if he’d lost something.

  That piece of himself that he’d given to her felt permanently removed—as if he’d had a limb amputated and could still feel the phantom pain from where it used to be. Retrieving his phone from the console, he glanced at it. For a brief flash of an instant, he wished they’d been the kind of people who snapped photos of themselves with their phones. Then he’d at least have something concrete to hold on to. As it was, all he had
were memories—chest-constricting, mind-blowing memories that now felt as if they had the power to suffocate him.

  Every step he took toward the elevator was another foot of distance he put between the man he’d been with her at the beach and the man he really was. He scoffed out loud at the idea that one weekend could really change a person. Who had he been kidding? He wasn’t the relationship type. He never would be.

  This was for the best, he told himself, riding up the twenty-one floors to his penthouse. She would work things out with her fiancé and get married and move on with her life just as he’d said she should.

  His apartment greeted him with a kind of empty familiarity he’d never paid attention to before. He avoided the couch, where he’d rubbed her petite little feet the night he’d caused her to lose her job at Lux. Lowering into his favorite reclining chair, he worked to reclaim the Dean Maxwell who didn’t get caught up, the one who didn’t pay attention to how many different types of smiles a woman had or get lost in the pleasure in her eyes when she ate for fuck’s sakes.

  His cell phone buzzed where he’d laid it on the coffee table and he leaned forward to pick it up. A part of him wondered if it was her and he strangled that part until it was limp and lifeless when he saw that it was his dad.

  “You don’t need to remind me of our previous conversation,” he said in place of a greeting. “It’s done. There’s nothing going on with Fate Buchanan. It’s handled.”

  “Um, Mr. Maxwell?” a hesitant female voice interrupted.

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Regina Harken,” she informed him. “Your father’s assistant.”

  Great. So he’d just told a Maxwell Medical employee about his relationship with Fate. Just another wonderful occurrence in his world today.

  “I see. My apologies. I thought you were—”

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Your father’s in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit at Mt. Sinai, Mr. Maxwell. He told me it wasn’t necessary to call anyone, but I thought you should know.”