Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SCHMUCK
DAHLIA
I go into the bedroom to call Christian.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey. What’s up? Your message sounded strange.”
“What’s strange is how every time I call Chloe, she talks about Dylan. That’s the guy who came over here with you, right?”
“Right,” I say, not liking where this is going.
“So you’re seeing this guy? How’s that working, with him living in California and you living in Minnesota? What did you say he does again?”
“I didn’t.”
He laughs, but it’s humorless. “You wanted to know who Chloe is spending time with when she’s with me. I think it’s only fair that I know who she’s spending time with when she’s with you.”
“He owns a surf shop,” I say, lifting my head to the ceiling.
“Of course he does,” Christian says, laughing. “So you’re low-lifeing it with some loser dude, huh? I’ll never figure you out, Dahlia.”
“Don’t be rude, Christian. Dylan is more successful than you think, but even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t care.”
“Oh,” he says in a low voice, and my blood runs cold, “so you’re in love with this guy, is that it?”
“Why does it matter? How’s Anastasia? Or have you moved on from her by now?”
“When are you going to admit that you belong with me? I’ve tried to give you space, I’ve respected your wishes, but this little cry for help is pathetic. Come back to me, and neither one of us will have to waste any more time with placeholders.”
“That’s a disgusting way to look at people…as placeholders. Trust me, there are no cries for help going on. I’m happy, very happy. I meant it when I said we’re over, Christian. It’s been over for a long time. I’m not sure why you’re dredging this back up now.”
“We have a child together, Dahlia. We’ll never be over. Chloe needs her father. We should be living together as a family. It’s your fault that Chloe is growing up without a stable home.”
He hangs up the phone, and I sit there, fuming.
That took a turn I wasn’t expecting. Christian hasn’t talked about getting back together for a long time. Why now? Is he really so egotistical that the thought of me dating someone warrants all this?
I go into the living room, and Dylan is leaning against the counter. He’s taken his shirt off and is wearing sweats and a sexy grin.
“How did it go?”
I hesitate. “I’m a little unnerved by the conversation. He brought us up.”
He goes still. “What about us?” he asks, his voice low.
“He wanted to know more about you. Said Chloe keeps bringing you up.”
“You did say she yoves me,” he says, laughing.
I grin and then take a deep breath. “He also said he and I will never really be over…because we have a child together.”
A flare of something flickers across his face. Jealousy? Protectiveness? That seems more true to his character.
He lets out a long exhale. “Well, great. He better be prepared for me to be in the big fat middle of whatever he’s planning. I’ll bring the snacks.”
I cough out a laugh even though I’m trying to stay quiet.
“No, no, I get it. Christian wants to be part of your lives forever.” He pushes my hair out of my eyes. “But he doesn’t get to claim you,” he says softly. “And he definitely doesn’t get to claim us losing any sleep over it.”
“I love how you’re not threatened in the slightest.”
“Threatened?” he scoffs. “Hell no. If you wanted to be with that man, you would’ve been a long time ago.”
His arms slide around my back, pulling me close. I settle against him where I belong.
“I hope you put that schmuck in his place,” he murmurs into my hair.
“You know I did.”
He chuckles, and it’s so sexy, I shiver.
“I love you so fucking much,” he says.
My body has been slowly easing, my breath steadying the longer I hold on to him. When I look up at him, the last of that unsettled knot dissolves.
“Good. Because I love you so fucking much too.”
He gasps. “The mouth on you,” he says, kissing down my neck.
I grab his hair and tug his mouth to mine, kissing him deep. His mouth is addictive.
The world shrinks to just us in this moment.
His hands move to my backside, and I let out a little squeak when he gives it a little slap. I cover my mouth and laugh.
“We’ve covered a lot of territory being quieter than little mice,” he says. “All over the Malibu house when Chloe was sick.”
“Here that one night she woke up every five seconds.”
He laughs. “We still somehow had sex. I deserve a medal.”
“For what? Endurance? Stealth?”
“All of the above.”
I laugh into his shoulder, and he picks me up and carries me toward the bedroom.
“And then there’s this house,” he says. “Every room except Chloe’s.”
“And the storage closet. That closet hates me.”
“It hates everyone.”
We’re trying so hard not to laugh that it makes everything worse. Our bodies shake with repressed laughter. He lays me on the bed and leans over me, running his fingers down my chest.
“And the Airbnb,” he says softly. “The couch. The shower. The washer…”
I start laughing harder, and he kisses me to shut me up.
It works because I instantly melt. Our bodies move together, every touch feeling sharper, every little gasp loud in the quiet.
It doesn’t matter whether we cry out with abandon or suppress every sound so no one hears—every time Dylan and I make love, I feel alive.
We fall asleep afterward, still exhausted from the night before, and when I wake up before him the next morning, I surprise him the way he’s surprised me so many times…with my head between his legs.
Dad’s door is wide open, and he’s sitting behind his desk with a pinched, irritated expression.
“Morning,” I offer lightly as I pass by.
He doesn’t look at me. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. Just flips a page in a file with unnecessary force.
Okay. Good morning to you too.
I settle at my desk, take a breath, and start pulling up the spreadsheets he asked me for. His mood affects everyone. The office feels thick. Everyone’s speaking in low tones.
By ten o’clock, I can feel my shoulders creeping up toward my ears. Every time I need something from my dad, he answers in clipped tones like I’m exhausting him.
“If you’re confused, then maybe you didn’t look closely enough,” he snaps when I ask for clarification about a form.
One tiny barb at a time.
Around lunchtime, I hear him snap at Nicole for “hovering.” She wasn’t hovering. She was handing him his mail. He slams his office door after she leaves, and the whole room flinches.
She’s lasted longer than most of his assistants, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s on her way out.
Around three, my dad stands in my doorway, muttering under his breath about incompetence and deadlines. The tension in my neck spikes so sharply I almost wince.
“You’re remote the next few days,” he says abruptly, not slowing down.
“Uh—yes,” I answer, blinking. “It’s on the schedule.”
He’s not let up about wanting me in the office more.
He doesn’t respond. Just stalks toward the conference room like he’s on a mission.
The minute the clock hits five, I shut down my computer so fast. I grab my bag and make a quick exit. The air immediately feels lighter when I step outside. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.
After picking Chloe up from my mom’s, we drive toward Windy Harbor. We’re staying at the Airbnb for a few days since I don’t have to go into the office. It’ll make things easier on Dylan, who won’t have to drive at the crack of dawn to make his excursion times.
I stop at the grocery store once we’re halfway and feel almost giddy.
The traffic closer to Windy Harbor picks up.
There are a lot more cars around here now that the resort is going full throttle.
I look at all the cute restaurants and shops, and I once again feel a little pang that I’m missing out.
When I visit, I want to be part of this community.
Everyone looks so sweet and so happy, and everything Dylan’s told me about his family and friends just makes me want to experience it all too.
I’m so tired of tiptoeing around my dad.