Indigo Nights: A Sexy, Contemporary Romance (31 page)

To speak?

To touch?

Jesus, waiting without any promise of resolution was killing me. I was so used to getting what I wanted, when I wanted it. Beth had turned everything on its head for me in every way.

Beth

I looked down at my doorstep to the now-familiar pink-striped patisserie box from the Langham. It had been a little over a week since I’d run into Dylan. How long would the daily deliveries continue? Right or wrong, I enjoyed receiving them. It took the edge off my sadness that he seemed so genuinely sorry.

“What’s that?” Haven asked.

“Cake.”

“Is that a regular delivery?”

“I guess you could say so.” I stooped to collect the box. “It’s from Dylan.”

“Really? How do you know? Do you get them a lot?”

“Every day.” I put my key in the lock.

“He has them sent every day? Seriously? That’s so sweet.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side. And he doesn’t send them, he delivers them.” I opened the door and put the box on the console table while I took off my coat. Haven was unusually quiet. She’d come over because she wanted a hand making a birthday cake for Jake. I got the impression it was just an excuse; she wasn’t much of a baker.

Haven dumped the shopping bags she’d been carrying on the counter and started to unpack. “Shall I put these in the fridge?” She held up two blocks of butter.

“No. First rule of baking is that everything has to be at room temperature when you start.”

I set Dylan’s delivery next to the shopping and opened the box. I swear he must be making special requests. There was no way the Langham had such variety.

“Whatcha got?” Haven peered over my shoulder. “Wow, they look good. Does he pick them out himself?”

I shrugged. The Bakewell tart looked delicious. There were a couple of things I didn’t recognize. I resisted the temptation to dig in, closed the lid and put them in the refrigerator.

“So, he’s in London?” Haven asked. “I mean, if he’s delivering you cake every day . . .”

I thought it was a little odd Haven hadn’t focused on that fact. “Yeah, I think so.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. He said . . .” He’d said he’d wait for as long as it took, but he’d have to go back to Chicago soon, wouldn’t he? I should be pleased, but as much as I couldn’t bring myself to have a conversation with him, I was glad he was close. “He said he’d be around a while. I don’t know when he’ll go back.”

“He’s here on business?”

I was pretty sure he hadn’t abandoned his company, but I was equally sure he would be most effective in Chicago. It must be inconvenient being in London. Perhaps I didn’t want to have the final conversation because ultimately I didn’t want him to leave. And I wasn’t sure I was ready to give him up just yet. “I guess.”

“I thought you hadn’t talked since you left Chicago?”

“Grab a wooden spoon,” I said, handing Haven some caster sugar and a mixing bowl. “I ran into him a week or so ago when he was leaving the desserts. That’s how I know he’s delivering them.” I pulled out some scales from the cupboard and set them on the counter.

“Did you talk?”

“When I saw him?” Haven nodded. “Not really. I’m just so scared of ending up someone’s fool again. I feel trapped, like I can’t go back to him because it will mean going back to the old Beth who glossed over so many signs with Louis. But I can’t move forward either, because the thought of Dylan not being in my life is just too painful to contemplate.”

“But Dylan and Louis aren’t the same person. I’ve met Louis. You’re right, he might as well have ‘asshole’ tattooed on his forehead, but you were young and vulnerable and your mother had just died. You saw what you needed to see.”

Was Haven right? Would Louis have had the same effect on me if I hadn’t been grieving?

I pointed at the sugar and Haven opened it. “You’re one of the wisest people I know, but even you don’t get it right all the time. Are you sure Dylan’s not just human rather than an asshole?”

I took the bag of sugar from Haven and poured out two hundred and twenty five grams, thinking about what she’d said. Was I making Dylan pay for my previous bad judgment? “I’m not saying I’m perfect. Far from it. I’m saying the opposite.”

“I know. But I wonder if Dylan had been perfect up until then for you. He’d gotten everything right, but that was never going to last. He’s bound to fuck up, and so are you. That’s just life. You can’t expect him to be perfect any more than you can expect perfection in yourself.”

Did I want to erase the possibility of any fuck ups in my life, to try to make everything perfect?

I turned on the oven then rounded the counter and took a seat on a stool opposite Haven. “Now add two hundred and twenty five grams of the butter.” I rested my chin on my hand. Since I got sober, I’d existed in a bubble that kept me safe and happy and only allowed people I knew I could count on in. Jake was my constant. He pissed me off at times, but I never doubted his honor or his desire to see me happy. I’d immediately liked Haven, but I didn’t open up to her often. I didn’t want to put myself out there to be judged or rejected. Feelings like that didn’t belong in my bubble. In my world, I was safe and sober and happy. Steady.

As close to perfect as I could get.

“You think I’m trying to make everything too—?”

“It’s like how the pastry on an apple pie is supposed to be flaky, golden and crisp to be good. But sometimes it doesn’t come out that way. But you know what? It’s still delicious.”

“But Louis’ problem wasn’t soggy pastry.”

“No, his apples were rotten. That’s the point. Dylan’s not rotten, he’s just not perfect. Edible if you like.” Haven grinned at me and raised her eyebrows.

Dylan had been my first attempt at seeing what life was like beyond my safe haven. I’d thought he’d be a good time, a bit of fun. I hadn’t expected to fall in love with him.

Haven tipped the bowl toward me. I nodded. “Yup. Now you add the flour. The same amount as the sugar and butter.”

“Don’t you have a mixer for this shit?”

“Not for beginners. You need to feel the texture of things when you stir so you know it’s right.”

“You’re a hard-ass.”

I shrugged. “You think I’ve been too hard on Dylan?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. All I’m saying is that people fuck up, but it doesn’t mean you have to cut them out of your life. Thank God your brother is so forgiving. I can be a maniac at times.”

I grinned. I saw Haven and Jake do things they shouldn’t all the time, but they seemed to forgive each other and love each other anyway. Was that how it was supposed to be? “So you think that because of Louis, I’ve overcorrected with Dylan?”

Haven smiled. “I don’t know. Did you?”

Maybe. I’d wanted him to fit into my perfect bubble. Perhaps I should hear him out, see if there was a way through this for us. The thought was terrifying because it meant turning my world upside down and reinventing the rules I’d created for myself. But he’d been right—picturing a future without him was impossible.

“But how do I know? How do I separate asshole from human?”

Haven grinned at me. “You know as much as I do. You’re always going to get assholes. You can’t protect yourself from that. I just think that you need to dust yourself off. You’re strong; you can handle whatever life throws your way. You’ve proven that. If you hear Dylan out and feel in your heart that he’s playing a game, then toss him aside. But I don’t think he would be in London, delivering cake to your doorstep every day, if he was an asshole. The guy is lava-hot. There’s going to be no lack of women wanting to take your place. He doesn’t need to chase one halfway across the world.”

My stomach churned at the thought of Dylan with someone else. Or with Alicia. She was an idiot for the way she’d treated him. As much as I didn’t want to repeat my mistakes, I didn’t want to repeat hers, either.

“Remember,” Haven continued, “when you were accepting all the bullshit from Louis, your judgment was affected. Your true feelings were covered by the booze.”

I let Haven’s words sink in. Perhaps sobriety meant I could trust my heart. I reached for my phone. Should I message him? Reach out and see how my heart felt with him?

“The answer’s yes, you should text him,” Haven said.

“You a mind reader now?”

“Don’t overthink it. A message isn’t going to make or break you.”

She smiled as I hesitantly typed out a message.

Beth: Thank you for the cakes. I love Bakewell tart.

I hadn’t put my phone down before it buzzed in reply.

Dylan: I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I want to be the man you deserve.

My heart squeezed and my stomach flip-flopped. There was no question that he still had a hold over my body, heart and soul.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t the reply of an asshole,” Haven said with a smile.

I shrugged. Maybe not.

Beth

I’d been to a meeting every day since I’d returned from Chicago. Recovery gave me a single focus and a pass to put everything else aside and just concentrate on my sobriety. But it was as if the meeting today had been designed for me. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought Haven had put together the agenda. The last words of the speaker rang in my ears as I put up my umbrella and started the short walk back to my apartment. “Remember, AA is meant to provide you with a bridge to normal living. It’s not here to cocoon you from all the difficulties that life will throw at you, but instead to help you navigate them without alcohol.”

Talking things through with Haven had helped me see that I was expecting Dylan to be perfect. He’d kept things from me, but I hadn’t even let him explain himself. I owed him that. I owed me that. I couldn’t turn away the man I was in love with so easily. I couldn’t walk away from the only man I’d ever really loved because I was scared. Haven was right; I needed to hear him out, then see what my heart told me.

I didn’t regret texting him.

I hadn’t responded to his reply. I didn’t quite know what my next move was. The following day I’d received two patisserie boxes. One with four cakes, each a different variety. The other held four Bakewell tarts. I was beginning to worry Dylan may be a feeder.

My heart skipped as I pulled the door to my building open. What would I find today? Maybe I’d run into Dylan again. I checked the time on my phone. He was probably long gone.

My heart beat faster as I got to my floor at the thought of Dylan in my building. I turned toward my apartment as I stepped off the lift, but didn’t see the usual pink-striped box on my doorstep.

Normally Dylan would have been and gone by now. My heart went from skipping to thudding. Why no delivery, and today of all days? Had he finally gotten sick of waiting around for me? My forehead became tight and I took a deep breath, trying to neutralize the prickling of my skin.

I pulled out my keys but couldn’t bring myself to unlock the door. Had he flown back to Chicago without telling me?

I rested my forehead on my front door as I tensed, releasing my grip around my phone. I couldn’t exactly message him asking where my cake was. That seemed a little . . . selfish.

My stomach churned. I was at a crossroads, and whichever path I chose from here would be a one-way street. I could pretend I didn’t notice the lack of delivery and let Dylan slip away, or I could take action and have a conversation that was long overdue.

I headed back down to the lobby to speak with the doorman. Barney must have been letting Dylan in.

“Hey, have you seen Dylan today?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. I was sure I was failing miserably.

Barney looked a little guilty. Given we never came or left together, it was probably clear that he knew that Dylan and I weren’t on the best of terms. “Not today. Should I not let him in? I can say no next time he tries.”

I smiled. “No, that’s fine. I just wondered how he always knows to come when I’m out. Do you know?”

Barney glanced at his feet. “He usually waits at the café across the street until you’ve left. He told me he had some making up to do, and I know that feeling. I figured you would have told me if you didn’t like getting the gifts he brings.”