Chapter 3 #2
“I’ll always look after her,” Rowan says, and I think he might just mean it. He’ll be here whether I like it or not—whether he should be or not.
My dads smile at Rowan before Dad says, “We’d love to spend some time with you before we head out again.”
“Oh? Where are you off to?” Rowan sips his drink. I should have been the one to make it like I do every other day.
“Canada,” Daddy answers, grinning. “Then maybe Alaska.”
My dads are older—I see it more clearly now that I don’t see them everyday.
And it breaks my heart every time I notice their hair is more white and gray than the last time I saw them, especially over video calls.
It hurts when I notice the crow’s feet at the corners of their eyes and the lines around their mouths.
I miss them.
“Canada? Wow.”
I don’t hate Rowan Asher for any particular reason other than his devastating good looks, his annoying yet sweet obsession with my well-being, and because he’s too nice to me.
I couldn’t possibly think of any more reasons, but, admittedly, whenever he doesn’t come into The Black Cat there is a slight tang of disappointment.
So the fact that he appeared today, only a few minutes ago, is either a blessing or a curse. Or the worst kind of omen.
But he laughs beside me, beautifully, at something my dad says and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Well, I would love for you to come to my restaurant before you get back on the road. Dinner on me.”
Dad and Daddy share a look of happy agreement. “Of course, Rowan,” Dad says. “That is very kind of you. We’ve been meaning to make a reservation.”
“So kind,” I mutter under my breath and punch his thigh again.
Rowan grunts quietly, his jaw tightening, but he keeps his smile pasted on. “Great. Friday at seven?”
“That’s perfect, Rowan,” Dad says. “Thank you.”
Rowan smiles. “I’ll be sure to reserve us a table for four then.” His eyes slam into mine, his gaze soft and my gaze glaring. “Is that good for you, sweetheart?”
Ohh…
I peel my eyes away from him and find a corner of the room to focus on and settle my stupid heart.
My dads voice their approval, continuing in conversation as I try to navigate how Rowan ended up as my fake boyfriend until my dads leave.
Convenient.
His random appearance is convenient. Comforting.
I can’t allow myself to get used to his comfort.
Feeling shaky and lightheaded, I stand from the chair and slur, “I’ll be right back.”
I wish they’d leave. I just want them to leave—everyone and everything. I want it gone; I want to be gone. I just want to stay home all day, every day, in bed with my cat—alone.
I brush past Rosa, one of my employees, and move to hide in the kitchen that smells like sweet sugar. That is comfort. Looking around with spotty vision and dots of red, I go for the only thing other thing I know that doesn’t involve crying in a corner.
I wash my hands before I gather sugar, flour, eggs, and milk, and prep my work station.
“Natalia—”
I jump at the deep sound of my name, flour flying around me and some landing on his navy sweater. “Wh—What?”
“Nat, you’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I croak, shaking my head as I attempt to concentrate on the dough on the table. I try to focus through the blurs, hoping it’s just a fluke and not real tears.
I punch the dough.
“Natalia, stop, you’re—”
I whirl around to face him, sizing him up as if he isn’t an entire foot taller than me. “What do you think you’re doing? Why would you come in and pretend to be my boyfriend?”
He blinks several times, his mouth opening and closing as he stammers quietly, “I was trying to help you. I’m sorry—”
“That wasn’t helping,” I snap. “Now they think you’re my boyfriend.”
“Didn’t you want them to think you have a boyfriend?”
“Yes, but not you!”
Rowan laughs, surely trying to lighten the mood. “But they love me; everyone loves me.”
“I hate you,” I mutter.
“We’ll just date when your parents are around,” Rowan reasons gently. “This way you at least get what you wanted by lying about a boyfriend.”
“You know nothing,” I say under my breath. “And they’re leaving next week.”
He shrugs. “Then we’ll date until then so they stay off your back about your life choices. Because I’m assuming that’s why you lied…” he says. “Did you not see how happy they were when they found out we were together?”
I wipe the tears as they fall and hope he doesn’t see them. “It isn’t real!”
“I think the point is, they approve of me.”
“That isn’t any of the points, Rowan.” I groan. “Stop trying to be funny and happy!”
“Natalia, it’s fine.” His hand wraps around my upper arm, comforting me again. It makes my stomach dip and twist, my body heat with suppressed wanting.
“I don’t think you understand, Rowan,” I say. “My dads are vicious.”
“No they aren’t; I love your dads,” he scoffs. “And they love me.”
I glare. “They’re my dads, which means they have to be on my side, which also means they hate you too.”
His eyes narrow, lip tipping upward. “One day, you’ll love me too.”
As if I don’t already.
I roll my eyes and wipe my nose with my sleeve. “I can promise you that I won’t.”
I turn away from him, not capable of staring up at his face any longer. I think that if I were okay, if I felt better about myself, I’d look at him for as long as I want. I might indulge in this…crush.
Crushes are dumb. They hurt. They especially hurt when you like someone who you know can’t like you back.
“Natalia?”
My body shudders as he stands beside me, his fists on the edge of the stainless steel workspace, before I say, “We aren’t dating.”
“Okay.” A huff of laughter.
“We aren’t,” I insist again, slamming my hands into the dough.
“Okay,” he says again and I stop, facing him.
“Stop that! We are not dating!
“All I’m saying is okay!”
“But in a hateful way!
“What?” He laughs.
“Rowan, please,” I rasp, leaning my hip against the table to hold myself up. I feel dizzy and hazy…and stuck in this life.
I just need a way out.
The waves in his ocean eyes calm, the current softening, and a small, sympathetic smile blooms on his full, pink lips. “I’m sorry.”
I avert my gaze and draw focus to the dough before it all blurs again. “We’ll go to dinner at your restaurant and then it’s over, we’re done.”
His hand slaps over his heart and he gasps. “You’re breaking up with me already? At least give me a chance—”
“Rowan.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” He chuckles.
I grunt my forgiveness.
“Hey, what happened the other night?” Rowan asks.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
“I meant what I said,” he says, inching closer. His cologne wraps around me—a scent that is only his. A scent I don’t know the name of and I wish I did so I could be a weirdo in the store and sniff it while I think about him. “You can talk to me.”
“If I wanted to talk, I would.”
Rowan sighs, the breath sounding pained and saddened. I wish I could tell him that I went home and stared at the ceiling in silence for hours. I wish I could tell him how empty I feel and I’d do anything not to feel it anymore. To feel nothing at all anymore.
His hand slips around my waist, resting on the center of my back. He rubs a circle, then another, his eyes begging.
If he keeps touching me like this…
“Okay, well, I already said goodbye to your dads because I have to go to the restaurant. They’re waiting for you to go back out there, okay? I’ll see you later for my lunchtime cupcake?”
Red velvet coconut. Sometimes dark chocolate with peanut butter frosting.
I swallow and nod, flitting my eyes away from him again.
Rowan rubs one last circle on my back before he slips away, and the lack of his comfort hits me immediately. But I’ll feel his hand like a phantom touch for the rest of the day.
Regardless, I can’t have him.
He can’t love me.
And I don’t know how to love him.