17. Katie
17
KATIE
My house is too quiet and far, far too small with a man like Dallas standing in the lounge.
Thankfully he’s not looking at me as I frantically search the kitchen for something to offer him to drink. Instead, he’s studying the bookshelf along the wall that’s crammed with a bunch of my grandma’s old paperbacks and a few framed photos.
I’m pretty sure Olivia or Violet put them all back out after the last tenants vacated, but I’ve never asked them. I’m just happy to have the familiarity of my teenage years and my grandmother’s comfort surrounding me these days.
“I’m sorry,” I say, leaning on the doorframe joining the kitchen to the lounge. “I can offer you water. I have nothing else to drink. I do have a bag of popcorn though, if you’d like some?”
Dallas turns. “It’s all good,” he says. “I’m fine.”
I barely hear the words because I’m staring at the photo in his hands. Between the spill of the streetlight coming in the window and the glow of the kitchen light behind me, I can recognise the frame from across the room. The metallic gold. I forgot that one was up there. He’s picked it up and is studying it closely.
My feet carry me across the room and I gently take the frame from his hands, staring down at the girl I used to be.
“Your school ball?” Dallas asks and I nod.
“One of the best nights of my life,” I say, my voice a soft rasp. It was at the time. That night was incredible and if it could have just been about the three of us in the photo—me, Olivia and Flynn, howling with laughter while wrapped up in each other’s arms—maybe I could still remember it that way.
But like all of my memories of my time in Kauri Creek, Toby and therefore Max, are woven so tightly into it, it’s hard to remember the joy.
“It’s quite a dress.”
I snort. “It was quite the discussion piece. I don’t think this town had ever seen so much skin.”
He chuckles. “I get the feeling sixteen-year-old you would have shaken this town up quite a bit.”
I laugh, but it feels hollow. I sure did shake the place up, just not in a good way.
I place the picture back on the shelf, then collapse onto the couch. “Sorry I don’t have a drink to offer you,” I say.
“It’s okay, Katie. I’m a solo dad. It doesn’t really go with heavy drinker.”
I sigh and tip my head back against the cushions, closing my eyes when they suddenly feel hot. “I’m also sorry I ruined your night out. You didn’t have to be a single dad tonight, you were supposed to have a good time. You could always go back. I’m fine here.”
The couch dips and I can instantly feel the heat from Dallas’s body as he sits beside me. I want to lean into him. I want to feel his arms around me again, his palm pressed against my skin.
As much as I know I shouldn’t be, I keep replaying all our near-misses tonight. The dancing, me dragging him into that hallway and how close I was to having his mouth on mine.
Choosing to wait for him in the same place as I did the first night we met was no accident. It sent a little thrill through me when he found me there and commented on it.
I so desperately wanted him to bring me home and wipe all the stress and anxiety of today away with his body.
But, I should have known he’d never go for it, regardless of how good the first time was. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise for him to say he’s not a one-night type of guy. And once he said that, it all clicked into place.
He has a child in his care. He’s all she has. He’s not interested in random flings. He wants to settle down. He wants a family for Sadie. Stability, security, a home.
“You could head back to the farm, be with Sadie. You haven’t drunk much.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Dallas asks. There’s a thread of something in his voice that makes me think he might be offended.
“No,” I say with a sigh.
“Do you want to be alone?”
I tilt my head to the side and crack my eyes open. He’s right there beside me, blue eyes gazing softly down at me.
“Not really, no,” I say. “I’m really tired of being alone.” My eyes burn again at my confession.
It’s the raw truth though, one I’ve been desperately trying to avoid. But since Toby died, and even before he did, I’ve been alone. It’s part of the reason I came back to Kauri Creek.
I knew it wouldn’t all be roses, but I thought being with Olivia again, my best friend in the world, would help.
And it does. Being with Olivia and Violet, Dallas and Sadie, and now with Flynn’s return, it’s like being part of a family again.
If I could spend all my time at the farm, with the only people I truly care about in the world, I’d be happy. But the farm is here, in this tiny town where seeing people I don’t want to see is unavoidable.
Maybe I could handle Max if it was just Max hating me for some unknown reason.
But it isn’t just Max’s hatred I have to deal with. I’ve seen him three times since I’ve been home and every time it’s like my heart is shattering over and over.
He’s too much like Toby. The way his hair falls over his forehead, the dark eyes I always found utterly sexy, even the tone of his voice is too similar to the guy I once thought was the love of my life.
Until he left me heartbroken, then took whatever was left of me and completely shattered it.
I can’t stay in this town. I can’t live here, surrounded by the pain of the past, seeing Max all the time and remembering the heartbreak and devastation his brother left in his wake, all while enduring Max’s wrath.
So as much as I want to tell Dallas I can stay, as much as I want to tell him we can have a shot at something more, I can’t.
Because as soon as I have some money saved and I’m back on my feet, I’m out of here and this time, I won’t be ever coming back to Kauri Creek.
“Want to watch a movie or something then?” Dallas’s voice pulls me back from the spiral of painful memories.
“Yeah, that would be good,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as shaky to him as it does to me.
I pass Dallas the TV remote and slip off my boots. Dallas watches me, the remote clutched in his hand and a little thrill goes through me. He may not want to act on it, but he’s clearly fighting some internal battle over it. He has been all night. I flash back over the moments of this evening when he’s been far too close for colleagues, or even friends.
It’s not as good as taking him into my bedroom and sliding onto his lap, or having his weight press me down into the bed as he fits himself between my legs, but the little glow of knowing he can’t help but stare at the length of my thigh as I slide my boots off helps soothe the sting of his rejection.
I drop the boots on the floor and drag my favourite fleecy blanket off the end of the couch, draping it over our laps. The comfort is instant. Dallas is flicking through the movie options now.
“Rom-com?” he asks.
“Really? Thought you’d be an action guy.”
He shrugs. “I’m not particularly fussy, but you look like you need a rom-com. Or something to cry over so you can pretend you’re crying over the movie and not whatever else has happened today.”
“Well, that’s … hit the nail on the head.”
“So, crying movie it is.” He flicks through a few more options before settling on one I haven’t seen. “This is the best one. For crying.”
“You sound well educated in crying movies.”
He shrugs again. “You’re not the only one who needs them sometimes, you know.”
I study him as he stares at the TV screen. Between the streetlight and the TV, the room is a soft wash of colours, striking Dallas on all the sharp lines and soft curves of his face, neck and shoulders.
He finally turns to face me, as if wondering why I haven’t responded to his comment. I haven’t said anything because I don’t know what to say.
“You’ve had a big day.” His voice is soft and he reaches out to brush hair out of my eyes and gently tuck it behind my ear. “It’s okay to be upset over it.” He hesitates, then lifts his arm.
It’s an invitation, for me to curl into his side, to have him wrap his arm around me and hold me close.
This doesn’t feel friendly and at some stage we’ll need to define some boundaries, because we’ve already blurred them so epically, I don’t know where we stand.
I’ve been staring at the space beside him for too long.
“It’s okay,” he says, beginning to lower his arm.
Before I lose my chance, I slide across the couch to him and slip myself under his arm. It comes to rest across my shoulders and he gently pulls me into him, my head resting against his chest and somehow my legs hooked over his.
“Is this what friends do?” I whisper into the semi-darkness.
“Probably not,” he says, “but tonight, it’s okay.”
“Okay,” I whisper back.
“We’ll sort the rest out tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say again.
“I’m going to start the movie now.”
I never find out if it’s the best crying movie. I fall asleep long before we make it to the sad parts, wrapped up in Dallas’s body.
It’s better than any blanket.