Beer
Vex
My eyes deceive me.
My ears lie to me.
My heart yearns for what it cannot have.
But my mind… it’s going to find a way to give me what I do not deserve… the perfect creature in front of me.
The soft, sweet, and innocent woman I just placed down on a cloud of Victorian ruffles and flowers can’t be real.
Only a doll could live in a house like this.
She seems genuine, but is this all a game she’s playing?
A dream set to tempt me, then disappear into the darkness of reality.
I’d kill—I’ve already killed for her. I’d tear the world apart.
But trust …
“Do you want me to get you a drink?” She probably thinks this a generous and kind offer, but I’m neither of those things. Getting a drink for her is an opportunity to sneak around her house. I’ve controlled the urge to investigate her, but now she’s presented an opportunity I can’t ignore.
“Milk please.”
Before that sweet, bemused smile of hers makes me do something impetuous, I turn to walk away. There are several floors. I won’t have time to investigate all of them thoroughly.
“Um…”
That small, scared voice of hers makes me freeze in place.
“If you want… You know if you don’t have anything else going…. You could um…”
Even her nervous babbling draws me farther into obsession.
“You could get yourself a drink too.”
Should I do this? Can I control my urges and get to know her like a normal man? I turn to look at her. “Are you inviting me to stay?” Her wide eyes are enough of an answer. A woman like her shouldn’t want to be with a man like me.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll grab a drink then.” And search your house.
“And a bowl for the popcorn.”
“Salty it is.” She’s given me even more time.
Those are the actions of someone completely na?ve or prepared… I’m about to find out which.
Silently, I take the stairs two at a time.
The first floor down has one room on either side of the staircase. It’s consistently decorated. It takes less than five seconds for me to open each door.
Guest bedrooms aren’t my priority.
Down one more flight. This landing also has two doors.
The first door I open leads to a craft room. It’s all too easy to picture Dahlia in here with the sun shining down on her… Now isn’t the time to daydream .
The next room is filled with several sewing machines, a dress form, and a large empty table.
Everything fits so far.
But none of these rooms hold the information I need.
Down I go again.
Two doors to choose from. One of these needs to be an office…
My heart beats faster than it ever has.
Books. They’re everywhere. This floor wasn’t split evenly. The other room has to be very small to fit this many books in one space. Unlike the immaculate order everywhere else, this room is complete and utter chaos. Like a reader obsessed.
Dahlia has a library. My eyes move to the spines of their own accord.
There isn’t time for me to go through them even though I want to spend forever in here getting to know her.
What does she read? Or is she just a collector?
Some of the spines look worn. Well-loved books…
Stop. You don’t have time for this. You certainly don’t want her to come looking for you and find you mooning over her books.
The last tiny room is an office.
Jackpot.
A pristine one. There isn’t a single piece of paper anywhere.
She has a desktop computer and a laptop casually placed on a table by an armchair.
Are they password-protected?
They’re both new and expensive… I flip the laptop open first.
Locked.
The desktop is the same.
There has to be a file cabinet somewhere. Even in our mostly paperless world, we all have a few papers.
There aren’t any drawers or visible cabinets.
The closet .
Dahlia definitely seems the type to hide anything unsightly away.
A safe.
She has a shelving system inside the closet, but the safe doesn’t fit.
That safe is top-of-the-line. I can crack it, but not easily, nor without breaking the locking mechanism. She won’t miss that.
Why does she have a safe like this?
Jewelry maybe?
This house wasn’t cheap by any means. The Vincenti’s make it hard for outsiders to move into their neighborhoods.
There’s always a family discount, but outsiders pay top dollar.
It has to be jewelry.
But she doesn’t wear much.
That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a collection of family jewelry.
A safe deposit box in the bank would be a better choice in most cases, but she could probably leave them sprawled out everywhere living on this street without a single worry.
I flip through a few shelves, but they don’t hold anything more interesting than bills. Normal bills at that. She has far too many streaming services.
Another thing we have in common.
The library took too much time. I can’t shuffle through anything else, not that there’s anything interesting outside of that safe.
Should I come back and crack it...
I dash down the last set of steps, through the living room, and into her kitchen.
This room is lived in.
Everything is neat and tidy, but Dahlia actually cooks here.
You don’t have time to dissect her kitchen. Drinks and a bowl need to happen before she starts questioning the timing.
I pull a crystal bowl and a cut-glass vase off a shelf, filling the vase with water and the flowers before I move to the fridge. It’s big enough to feed a crowd, which is way past what a single woman would need. But a Vincenti probably designed this space, and families around here tend to be large.
The door opens to a mostly empty space. There’s a half-full quart of milk in the door and not much else…
BEER!
Dahlia doesn’t drink, but there’s beer in here. Two bottles are missing from the six-pack. I snatch a bottle up. This is a craft beer. A nice one at that.
Someone has exceptional taste in beer.
And it’s not her.
Maybe she doesn’t drink liquor but enjoys a beer once in a while.
Drinking beer while watching a baseball game is almost a requirement. For guys.
Not for a woman who has a floral and lace coverlet on her bed.
Did she just recently break up with someone?
Is she seeing someone else? My empty hand balls up into a fist. We aren’t anything yet. She doesn’t know I’ve claimed her, but that doesn’t matter. If she’s seeing someone, that guy is about to disappear from her life one way or the other.
Payne would say I’m wrong for hoping he chooses the other way… the permanent choice.
Is she secretly married?
There hasn’t been a single other sign of a man living here. I snatch a beer out and pour a glass of milk, then rush over to the coat closet by the door.
He’d have to have a coat there.
Nothing… There’s nothing but a dozen different women’s coats and jackets.
Time’s up. I run up the stairs.
Why does Dahlia have beer in her refrigerator?
Who’s been drinking that beer?
Don’t ask.
Don’t ask .
Play this cool. “What are you doing out of bed?” That was the exact opposite of cool.
She pokes her head above the chest lid. “Um. I’m… Um.” Dahlia closes the lid and holds a blanket in front of her like a shield. “Getting you a blanket.”
“Dahl, it’s hot in your house. I don’t need a blanket.”
“I keep the temperature at a chilly 66.”
“Still don’t need a blanket, Dahl.”
“But you don’t have jammies on. I. um… I… um… didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I... you wear those clothes outside… and it’s my um… bed. And in bed, people wear jammies.”
“I can grab a chair or sit on the floor.”
“NO!” She practically jumps out of her skin. “There’s no need. I’ll just put this on the bed. The way we can cu—” Dahlia slaps a hand across her mouth, dropping the blanket to the floor.
Do not stare at her. It doesn’t matter how enticing those little shorts are that she’s pretending are pajamas.
“What I meant is, you’ll be more comfortable on the bed. I’ll just spread this out. Then we can relax.”
“That’s doubtful.” The beer will torment me until I get some answers.
Don’t stare at her. She’s sick. She’s not playing games with you.
“All set.” Dahlia stands up, rushes around to the other side of the bed, and climbs in. “Are you—Do you—Is this—”
“Dahl, relax.” I’m anything but relaxed. Has she noticed the beer in my hand?
That’s doubtful.
“I don’t do that very well.”
Yet another thing we have in common. Though I’m better at hiding it.
With a controlled stride, I walk over to her side of the bed and set her glass of milk down on her nightstand, giving her a clear view of the beer in my hand.
She gives me nothing.
But her focus is off. Instead of placing the flowers on the dresser, I set them next to the nightstand, moving the bottle in my hand right into her line of sight .
There’s no guilt or fear on her face, just those jittery nerves and an innocent smile.
“Thank you.”
Those words hit me harder than any punch to the gut I’ve ever received. My throat constricts, making it impossible to speak, so I nod.
Whoever she bought this beer for is gone from her life, starting right now.
This woman is mine, and I don’t share… ever.
I fill the bowl with popcorn before settling into the bed next to her.
A cloud describes her bed perfectly. Dahlia likes her bed just as soft as she is.
“A blanket—” Her hand goes to the coverlet. “I’ll go get you one out of the chest. I don’t have any weighted ones, but I have some quilts that I use in the middle of winter that are heavy.”
Why are we having this discussion again? “I don’t need a blanket.”
“But we’re going to watch movies, and you might get cold.”
Cold? Her house is hot. If anything, I’d take some clothing off, but she’s not ready for that. “I’m fine.”
“It’ll just take a second.” Dahlia shifts her body.
“I’m fine.” But I’m not. The cold bottle in my hand burns my soul. “Where’s the remote?”
“Over in the nightstand next to you.” She lifts her body like she’s going to climb over me to reach it.
One thing she needs to learn early is that the control of the remote isn’t up for debate.
The drawer opens to a tablet instead of a remote. Is she fully integrated like me?
“Um… The remote is under… my um…”
Interesting. What is she worrying about? I have to see.
The tablet opens right up without requiring a password.
That’s a security breach. I could use this to hack into her desktop or laptop.
An image of a purse fills the screen. Did I really expect anything else?
“I… um… told you that I have a purse addiction. ”
A quirky one at that. The purse in front of me is fully beaded in the shape of a flamingo. “Where did you plan to wear that one?”
“On the beach. But it’s not for me. My mom is going with my dad in a couple of weeks, and I knew she’d love it. My addiction to purses is almost as bad as my mom’s.” Dahlia scoots closer.
“Any other incriminating evidence on here?” I joke even as I swipe to the next open tab which is another purse.
“Maybe.” Her cheeks go pink. “That one matches a coat I’m planning to get this winter.” Her cheeks could compete with a fire engine for the brightest red.
What’s so embarrassing about a coat—That’s the exact same color as the one she used of mine. It still smells sugary sweet like her.
She plucks the tablet out of my fingers before I can snoop anymore and sets it in the nightstand drawer next to her. On top of a pile of cosmetic tools.
Why does she have beer in the fridge if she’s buying a coat that reminds her of me?
Now isn’t the time to ask, even if I’m dying to know.
“What do you want to watch?” I hold up the remote to establish dominance.
Her brow wrinkles as she stares at it hard. “Normally when I’m sick, I watch Anne of Green Gables or Pride and Prejudice, but I doubt you would enjoy either of those.”
“Pride and Prejudice sounds good.” We aren’t to the point that I will admit to enjoying Jane Austen’s books, but I can let her think I’m being kind. But this is actually a test.
The version of Pride and Prejudice she picks says a lot about her.
“Are you sure you don’t mind? It’s just that I know every word, so if I fall asleep, I won’t feel lost when I wake up.”
“Not at all.” But if you fall asleep, you’re waking up in my arms regardless of where you start out. I’m not enduring this much torment without that small reward.
“I prefer the longer version. It’s listed on my favorites. ”
In no time, the movie is playing. I’ve strategically placed the candy and popcorn on my legs so that she needs to move closer to me. Dahlia almost immediately scoots over until she’s close enough for me to wrap an arm around her.
That will come later, though.
“This popcorn is amazing.” Dahlia grabs a handful.
“That’s because there’s real butter on it. Not the chemicals that you’re used to.”
“Heath nut.” She grins as she shoves them in her mouth.
I’m not quite that militant. This is my chance. “You have some good taste in beer.” I tip the bottle to my lips and contemplate ways to kill the man she bought it for.
“It’s my dad’s favorite.”
Her dad’s… The hate burning in my throat fades away. “He has good taste.”
“That’s what everyone says. I order it from a small brewery near where they live.” She yawns.
Now’s the time to make my move. I stretch my arms out and feign a yawn. My left arm settles down lightly on her shoulder instead of by my side.
One…
Two…
She cuddles in close without my assistance.
The only thing stopping today from being perfect is the pain that keeps her from fully relaxing against me.