4. Alani
Alani
From the moment Dean began answering my emails—each reply a little quicker than the last—I should have known. His words were careful, deliberate, but beneath them thrummed something restless.
He pried details from me like a man starved, asking after my health, my happiness, as if the mere idea of me aching was a personal offense.
At first, I thought it was just another way for us to dissect the world together, to pick apart our thoughts over miles of text and ink. But now, standing close enough to feel the heat of him, I understand the truth. Dean doesn’t just worry or fret.
He cares for me more than someone in his shoes should.
He hovers like a man fighting every instinct not to reach out. His fingers graze the small of my back as he passes, happening like it’s instinct.
Does he even realize he’s doing it? Does he know the way my breath snags each time?
I don’t want him to stop. Rather, I want him to do a little more. Be it in the privacy of his cabin or in public.
After settling in for a few days, he takes me to the library to steal their internet.
He doesn’t pay any attention to the cute woman putting the books away, opting to watch me instead while I work on my laptop. He’s not even trying to be sneaky about it.
The library is full of books of every interesting genre, but Dean’s gaze doesn’t wander to the shelves. It stays fixed on me, heavy and unrelenting, as if I’m the only story he wants to read.
“If you have any errands to run, now would be the perfect time,” I say, my voice too tight, too forced. “Downloading all of these lecture videos is going to take a minute.”
A flimsy excuse, but I need the distance before I do something reckless—like reaching over the table to trace that faint, knowing smirk of his with my fingertips.
I should want him to leave because he’s the definition of a distraction. Truthfully, I don’t.
Every accidental brush of his leg against mine sends a jolt through me. Whenever I steal a glance—just to check if he’s still watching—his smile isn’t little at all. It’s slow. Intentional. As if he’s been waiting for me to catch him.
He’s such a tease, even when he doesn’t mean to be. And he doesn’t, I’m sure of it.
All those touches of his always lead to nothing. It’s beyond frustrating.
“I’m not in any hurry. Take your time.” He shifts, leaning back in his chair before crossing his arms. If it’s not the flex of his muscles that catches my attention, it’s the faded white lines that do. He has lots of scars. Dad had them too.
Pursing my lips, I try to narrow my attention back to my laptop. Knee bouncing, I feel the light tap of his boot against my sneaker. Writing it off as accidental, my toes curl anyway.
Even if I tell myself not to let it go to my head, it does. My crush on him only continues to grow.
* * *
“Pick anything you want.” Now in his truck, we roam the streets of the small town. “The options aren’t as vast as you’re used to, I’m sure, but there’s always something good to eat for lunch around here.”
I’m scrolling my phone, hoping something will pop out. In truth, I don’t mind another home-cooked meal.
Maybe he’s tired of cooking? I can always try to cook him something one of these days. I’ll have to print off a few recipes the next time we’re at the library. Something that’ll knock his socks off.
“How about Fiesta del Sabor?” I tap on their menu and scroll through the options. “Haven’t had a taco in a minute.”
“Decent food. Family-run business that’s tucked away.” He hums in consideration. He taps his fingers against the wheel like there’s a possible chance he wouldn’t want this before nodding. Long enough to make me wonder if he actually isn’t a fan of the food. Finally, “Let’s do it.”
Before I know it, I’m being sat down by a friendly waitress with a soft voice and being handed a menu with too many delicious-sounding options to count.
“Order whatever you want.” Dean looks over his menu, telling me which things he’s tried and which he’s curious about. “I’ve been here a few times. It’s been an experience every time.”
His gaze lifts for a moment, and I can’t tell if he’s appreciating the decor around us or searching for something in particular. It’s just a flicker of a glance, but my curiosity grows.
He tells me which he’s liked the most, so I order it without missing a beat. When he chuckles, I can’t even try to hide my flush as our menus are taken away.
I’m totally trying to fool myself here, but this kind of feels like a date. Can I pretend that’s what we’re doing?
Would the idea of calling this one turn Dean off, or would his mouth twitch into a smile?
I don’t have time to humor the idea, not when our meal comes steaming and smelling like paradise.
Groaning as the food hits my tongue, it’s as delicious as it looks. I have to eat slowly to appreciate each bite before I accidentally start shoveling it inside to get more.
Dean watches, amusement filling his eyes. He doesn’t even bother putting his attention on his meal, like he’s not even hungry. He’s more interested in me enjoying mine.
He makes it impossible for a blush not to crawl up my throat.
“Try some, seriously.” I motion for him to eat. “I don’t want to be the only one pigging out here.”
“We can get more if you like it that much.” The corners of his eyes crinkle, but he does as I ask and starts eating.
Even if this isn’t a real date, I’m pocketing away this moment and marking it down as a precious one.
Feeling lighter than ever, my heart flutters wildly in my chest, as if nothing can hold it down, but our peace is soon interrupted.
“Are you guys enjoying your lunch?”
A smooth voice comes from beside me, accompanied by the faint scent of citrus and spice. At the same time, a hand lands briefly on my shoulder—warm, polite, gone before I can tense up.
When I turn, there’s a man smiling down at us, his nametag glinting. Javier’s name is in crisp lettering, the word Owner beneath it.
He’s handsome in an effortless way—olive skin, stubble shadowing a strong jaw, his collared shirt rolled to the elbows. The kind of guy who probably gets extra tips just for looking at his female customers.
His dark eyes spark with warmth as they linger on our plates, his smile revealing a dimple that probably charms most customers.
“The food is delicious,” I offer, turning to Dean just in time to see his jaw tighten. The easy light that had been in his eyes moments before has vanished, replaced by something darker as he stares at Javier. It’s an expression I’ve never seen on a man before. “Don’t you think so?”
Dean’s grunt is noncommittal, but the way he deliberately takes another slow bite, eyes never leaving Javier, speaks volumes. The air between our booth and the smiling owner suddenly crackles with something that has nothing to do with the restaurant’s hospitality.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand at the foreign feelings rolling off of him.
Is Dean… jealous?
Javier must sense the shift, but his smile doesn’t waver. If anything, it seems to grow.
“Is there anything I can get you two?” Friendliness hardly dipping, he puts his attention on Dean. “We have a special on desserts.”
“Probably the bill, and some boxes to go, actually,” I interrupt at the notice of Dean’s knuckles growing white. “But thank you so much.”
The owner nods, happy to call out to the woman who’d been tending us earlier. He then thanks us for coming, hardly hiding the amusement dancing around in his eyes, before he moves to another table to do the very same thing.
“He’s just being friendly,” I whisper, reaching over to lightly touch his hand. “It’s his job.”
Javier might get a kick out of ruffling boyfriends—or not-boyfriends, in our case—but I bite back the observation.
Dean’s jaw stays tight, his shoulders tense beneath his shirt. He doesn’t look jealous. He looks… coiled. Like he’s bracing for a threat I can’t see.
A knot forms in my stomach. Did I misread this? Maybe he’s not jealous. Maybe he’s annoyed.
“Yeah, sure.” Dean finally exhales, dragging a hand over his face. His gaze flicks to the restaurant’s exit, then back to me, and for the first time, I wonder if his problem isn’t Javier at all.
What if it’s me?
What if all this caring nature of his has been a mask, and this is a little slip?
All this time, he’s gone out of his way to help me, and what have I done in return? He won’t let me do anything, and that’s not helping my situation, either.
Grimacing at the thought, there’s no stopping the growth of my insecurities coming in at full force. The same kind of thoughts that hit me back in Texas when I was all alone.
The thought of running away hits me again, but I crush it down. I can’t run from this, not without regretting it. So, if I can’t run, that only leaves one option. I need to fix this, no matter what.