Chapter Twenty
I spend the entirety of the next two days scrutinizing Rafe from across the room, wondering what’s going on in his head. I wish I could crack it open and read what’s written inside.
Why did he refuse the second room? What’s his game? I try not to think about it while simultaneously thinking of nothing else.
After we’re done with our classes on Thursday, I head to the gym for a workout, setting myself up in the weight area. Nothing gets out my stress and anxiety like lifting a lot of heavy things. I haven’t been as dedicated as I am at home, but in my defense, there has been a lot going on.
Of course, I’m a few minutes in, my earphones blasting, when Rafe shows up and sets up next to me. I pull out an earbud, the metallic sounds of music audible above the hotel’s choice of generic motivational music. He looks at it and then at me, and I think we’re both remembering Molly shouting at him through the phone.
“You’ll damage your eardrums playing your music that loud,” Rafe says as he lies down on the bench and begins pressing an enormous set of dumbbells. I choke out a laugh.
“Oh, thanks for the tip, Dr. Gallagher.”
He gives me a sort of half grin–half grimace as he works. I become momentarily rooted to the spot as his triceps bunch and his chest heaves as he completes each rep. When he’s done his set, he drops the weights and sits up, peering at me.
“Tris.” I jump and meet his gaze as he drags a finger down the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got drool there.”
My nostrils flare, and I resist the urge to check because, honestly, it might be true.
“Shut up,” I say and wince. I hear him chuckle as I turn away and replace my earbud. We spend the next hour dancing in each other’s spaces.
I came here to release the tension in my shoulders, but I’m only growing increasingly aware of Rafe and the sheen of sweat glistening over his muscles. After a while, he pulls off his shirt and wipes his forehead, and if I wasn’t drooling before, then I definitely am now. I pull out my earbuds again.
“Excuse me,” I say, pointing to a large white sign on the wall. “Rule number nine says shirts must remain on in the workout room.”
He pretends to scrutinize the sign, squinting and rubbing his jaw. Then he winks. “So go report me.”
I almost laugh, but I hold it in. Our push and pull has always relied on maintaining the facade that I’m not enjoying this. And I wonder if it’s the same for him.
He returns to what he was doing, and I stare at his back, not at all distracted by the shadows and hollows of his muscle, and why is the light so good in here? He looks over his shoulder and grins, and my chest twists with a lurch.
I think about my night with Andy and how much I wanted to escape, but with Rafe, I want to remain suspended here forever. We’re not even doing anything—we’re barely speaking—but over the past two weeks, his presence has become a constant that makes me feel just a little more… whole. We went from two people standing on opposite sides of the room to whatever this is.
His gaze catches mine, a small smile playing on his lips, and I wonder if he feels this, too. He said we shouldn’t have kissed, so maybe not. But that kiss was too hot not to have meant anything to him. So maybe something is also holding him back.
After finishing my weights, I head to the stretching area. When Rafe is done, I get up, dust my butt off, and grab two bottles of water from the fridge, handing one over.
“Thanks.” He uses his still doffed shirt to twist off the cap and takes a long drink. If that fairy godmother returned, I’d use my second wish and ask to be turned into that water bottle.
Fuck, I need to get out of here.
I make my way for the elevator with Rafe on my heels. We stand at opposite ends of the tiny box as it fills with his scent and his entire presence. The light bounces off his abs and his chest, and I will myself to stare at a spot just above his shoulder so he doesn’t catch me gawking again.
“You’re strong,” he finally says, and I arch an eyebrow.
“For a girl, you mean.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“No, but it’s what you meant,” I challenge because I can’t help pushing him.
“Don’t put words in my mouth. It’s not what I meant. It was a compliment, freely and unsarcastically given.”
I bite my lip. “Fine. Thank you.”
“Your form is very nice,” I say, immediately blushing at my unintended double entendre.
Rafe gives me a wicked smile that might be my new favorite.
I think he likes this, too.
The bell dings and we arrive at our floor and enter the suite. The one we’re still sharing because Rafe turned down the second room. I’m dying to ask why, but something makes me hesitate, perhaps worried the answer isn’t the one I’m hoping for.
“You can take the first shower,” he says.
“I thought you were back to using the other bathroom?”
He lifts his brows and tilts his head. “Is it okay if I keep using the shower?”
“Yeah, of course. I’d never force someone to take a bath against their will.”
He smirks. “Not a bath person?”
“The only thing they’re good for is handwashing delicates and the occasional two-person, post-sex cleanup.”
We both freeze, tiny fractures forming in the space between us.
I meant that to be funny, except we kissed, and it was so hot, and I’ve just uttered the word sex in front of Rafe, and now that’s the only thing I’ll ever be able to think about again.
He hesitates, his fist tightening around his water bottle as it crackles.
“Right,” Rafe says, rolling his shoulders.
“Help yourself,” I say, gesturing towards the room.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I need to cool off a little.”
I’m still burning up, partly from the exercise but more because I’ve worked myself into a tizzy. Rafe is standing inches away, still not wearing his shirt, and I need him to get dressed immediately.
“Please, go put something on.” I make a face of disgust no one would ever buy.
That earns me another wicked grin before he disappears into the bathroom. And yep, that’s definitely my favorite smile.
A short while later, I emerge from the bathroom clad in sweats and a tank top, my wet hair loose around my shoulders.
Rafe sits on the balcony, looking at his phone.
“I was going to order dinner—you want something?” he asks, looking up.
“Of course I want something,” I say, picking up the menu card from the table. “Scallops Alfredo.” I flip the card over. “And the chocolate lava cake.” Rafe nods and calls down to room service with our orders.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I point towards the kitchen.
He arches a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re going to serve me?”
I’m about to smother him with a pillow, but he’s laughing, and I plant my hands on my hips. “Don’t get used to it.”
“I would never.” He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’d love some sparkling water. Thanks.”
I nod and disappear inside. Our food arrives shortly after, and we settle on the balcony in our designated lounge chairs, with the small metal table between us. There are a dozen other places we could dine in the suite. Somewhere we could eat without our knees brushing together, but I think that maybe we both know that.
I’m so weirdly grateful we’ve moved past the kiss and are speaking normally again. Maybe we’ll pretend it never even happened. But despite all my reservations about getting closer to anyone, I already know that isn’t what I want. No one has ever kissed me like that. How can I let that go?
I can’t.
When his knee touches mine, there is more electricity in that tiny brush of nothing than a whole entire kiss with Andy. I can’t ignore it. I can’t pretend. And I need to reconcile that with myself. I also need to know what’s going on in his head.
Apparently, I’m not the only one having thoughts , because as soon as I open my mouth to say something, Rafe beats me to it.
“I want to apologize again for the other day,” he says. “I shouldn’t have behaved like that at the pool with Andy. Of course, it’s entirely up to you who you talk to, and it’s none of my business. I’m sorry I went all caveman on you. He’s just such a dick.”
He picks up a napkin and wipes his mouth. “I was in Cleveland for a meeting where I first met him a few months ago. A group of us went for drinks, and the things he was saying about the women in his office… Well, he’s just not a good guy.” He raises a hand. “But that’s all to say I had no right to do any of that.”
I sigh because none of that really surprises me. “Do I want to know what he said?”
Rafe presses his mouth into a straight line. “There was a ranking system.”
“Ew,” I reply, mentally banishing Andy to the graveyard where potential hookups go to die. Then, I shovel an extra thick layer of dirt over his plot. “That’s why you had that weird tension between you on our first night.”
“I might have told him that he was a shithead, and he didn’t take too kindly to that.”
I huff out an incredulous laugh. “No, I don’t imagine he did.” I study his face briefly and then ask, “You said your dad was giving you a hard time that day?”
He nods with a grim press of his mouth as he runs a hand through his hair and looks out towards the water. “The training program. He thinks it’s imperative for my future and is convinced it’ll motivate me.”
“Motivate you into what?”
He clasps his hands and looks down at them before he meets my gaze. “Wanting his life. As his only kid, he wants me to follow in his footsteps. WMC has been his entire identity for his adult life, and he can’t see any other future for me.”
“But you don’t want that?”
“I don’t. Not at all.”
I study him as he watches me, perhaps waiting for my reaction.
“You don’t want any of this, and they gave you the team lead promotion.”
He shakes his head before he gives me a strange look.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
He exhales a long breath. “You already know you should have gotten it. You always meet your KPIs. Your team was the fastest. You’re brilliant and a great leader. Everyone can see that, and it should have been a no-brainer.”
My gaze narrows, wondering where he’s going with this. “And?”
“And I debated ever telling you this, but I went to my uncle and told him I didn’t deserve the position and that he should give it to you.”
“Because you didn’t want it,” I accuse.
“No. Because you’re the one who deserved it. Tris, you’re so damn capable and brilliant, and the truth is, you’re the reason I’m even half-competent at my job.”
I shake my head, “What does that mean?”
“Working with you made me want to be better. Even if it isn’t really what I want, I’ve tried to make the best of it, and I don’t really know why we became so competitive with one another, but you’d get that determined look in your eyes, and I… wanted to impress you. But there’s no doubt that you are so much better at this.”
His words sink between us like a lead balloon.
“So, what happened when you went to Charles?”
Rafe inhales a long breath. “He told me the decision had been made, and if I didn’t want it, they’d give it to Rory. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought knowing that idiot was their next choice would hurt even more.”
I say nothing for a moment, blood thundering in my ears. It’s then that I understand I never stood a chance. I’d convinced myself I was second best, but I wasn’t even a consideration. It’s a cold slap in the face. A dose of reality. A hearty shove reminding me that the only person who can break me out of this rut is me.
I leap up from my seat and brace my hands against the balcony railing. Immediately, he follows.
“Talk to me,” he pleads.
“Rory?” I ask. “They were going to give it to Rory .”
I want to puke.
He nods. “It felt like I had no choice but to accept it. Rory would have been so much worse for everyone. For you . Fuck, I’ve been trying to get him fired for years, but this company can’t seem to pull its head from its ass even when someone is that toxic.”
“I thought he was your friend?” I ask, scrutinizing his face.
“He’s not my friend .” He looks so mortally offended by my question that I blink. “He just won’t leave me alone. He thinks that because we’re related, I owe him something. I tell him to stay away from me, but the asshole does what he wants. I can’t stand him.”
I huff out a breath that is part disbelief and part defeat.
My hands squeeze the railing as I will my tears not to fall. Rafe stands silently next to me, tension radiating between us. I grip the railing as I bend forward and belt out a scream of frustration.
“Tris, what can I do?”
“I don’t know!” I yell, throwing up my hands.
“You have every right to be angry. I’m going to fix this. When we get home, I’ll try again. I will try harder.” He looks so agonized that I almost feel sorry for him.
I shake my head, my eyes drifting shut. “No. I don’t want you to do that.”
“Tris—”
“No, please. I know you mean well, but I don’t know what I want anymore.”
“I let you down. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
I look at him and am surprised by the open, raw expression on his face.
“You mean that?”
“I do. I really do. I am truly sorry. Tris, this place doesn’t deserve you.”
My answer is a rueful smile. “Maybe I’m finally starting to get that.”
Once again, I face the water, and he leans next to me, our elbows propped on the railing. I feel the brush of his arm, and I steal a glance over. We’ve spent years as drifting tectonic plates working our way against each other’s edges. If we keep shifting, could we fit together?
I breathe out a long sigh, realizing that I’ve made Rafe the poster child for my personal stagnation when he was never truly the villain. I can’t change the world on my own, and I can’t change WMC, nor is that my job. I’ve been so scared to move on, but it’s time to face the reality I keep refusing to see.
I’m reeling from the fact that he asked his uncle to give me the promotion. But maybe a part of me isn’t surprised anymore that he’d do that for me.
Part of me is angry that he thought he could be my white knight, but maybe it was the right thing for him to do. And they would have given it to Rory instead. I should have known that all along. Maybe in his own way, Rafe did what he could. He can’t change the world overnight, either.
But there’s something else I have to know.
“Why did you have me moved from your team?”
He bites the inside of his lip, wariness flickering across his expression.
“I thought that’s what you would’ve wanted.”
A tightness grips my chest. This he did for me, too?
I squeeze my eyes and run my hands over my face. “I thought it was because you couldn’t stand the idea of working that close to me.”
The admission exposes a raw nerve, but maybe we’re revealing all of our scars tonight.
“No, that wasn’t it at all ,” he says softly, and I sense he wants to say something else, but then he looks away.
“I keep a file on Rory,” I say a moment later.
His eyes widen. “You do? Of what?”
“All the crap he says. Screenshots of the shit he posts on social media. I’m sure it won’t ever matter, but it’s there just in case.”
“Good. Hang on to it,” Rafe says, a note of admiration in his voice.
“So, then, what do you want for your life?” I ask.
He hesitates, uncertainty etched into his features. He’s holding something back.
“Tell me. I want to know.”
I see it then. Something boiling just at the surface that craves the release of freedom. He studies me as if he’s weighing his next move. We are full of truths right now, and I sense he’s about to assign me as the catcher in his trust fall.
A moment later, he lets out a loud sigh and picks up his phone from the lounger.
He unlocks it and then looks at me before opening an app and handing me the phone. I furrow my brow, taking it from him. I’m looking at someone’s Instagram account. It’s full of food. Desserts, to be specific. Stunning, beautifully crafted, colorful desserts.
Towering perfectly iced cakes. Plates of smooth rainbow-hued macarons. Chocolate and lemon tarts decorated with perfect swirls of cream and jewel-hued berries. I give him a quizzical look, and he worries his lip, watching the phone in my hand.
I tap on a video that shows someone decorating a cake with perfectly precise lines of icing. Familiar hands. Hands attached to the most perfect forearms I’ve ever seen. Ones I’ve fantasized about an embarrassing number of times. A moment later, a face fills the screen. A face I’ve studied with such dedication that I could tell you the exact latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates of that soul-shattering dimple.
I look up, finding a wariness in his expression that twists my heart.
“You’re a… baker?”
He grabs the phone. “Never mind. It’s stupid, I know.” I yank the phone from his grasp and hold it against me. I am not failing this trust fall.
“ Excuse me. But this is not stupid.”
I scroll through the photos. There are thousands and thousands of likes and comments on every single one. People gushing over him. People fawning over his talent. People asking for his hand in marriage. I keep scrolling, tapping on his live video feed, and there he is, smiling and talking to the camera as he walks through a cute Hawaiian bakery full of colorful macarons. I turn up the volume, and there he is. Charming Rafe. Charismatic Rafe. The Rafe he’s always been for everyone but me.
He’s talking to the camera, explaining to his followers why he’s in Maui as he describes the setting in loving detail. Comments pop up on the screen.
Swooning, declarative, and totally in love with Rafe the Baker.
I remember the drawings in his sketchbook of those elaborate desserts. His disdain for the dry lemon tarts in the airport. Now it all makes sense.
“The Dessert Wolf?” I ask, reading out the name of his account.
He shrugs. “Rafe sort of means wolf in Old English.”
Of course it does.
“This is incredible. And amazing. I literally couldn’t be more surprised or pleased if you’d told me you were my fairy godmother here to send me to the ball.”
His shoulders drop, and he lets out a slow breath. I can practically feel his tension melt away, but I’m also confused by his reaction.
“You really think so?”
I nod and then shake my head. I have never, ever seen Rafe Gallagher anything but fully and totally confident in himself, but he looks like a lost little boy seeking approval.
“I really think so. What the hell, Rafe? How did I not know about this? I definitely would have liked you better if I’d known you could make me cake.”
His eyes darken a little. “Hardly anyone knows about this. My family, Hannah. That’s it. I keep it quiet.”
“But why? You’re incredible.” I scroll through a few more images, marveling at these actual works of art. He shrugs, but there is nothing casual about the gesture.
“My father disapproves. He thinks it’s a waste of time and I’m an embarrassment to him. This is also why I need motivating .” He doesn’t say what else his father believes, but I can guess what David Gallagher thinks of his son’s desire to be a pastry chef.
“I went to Vegas for a two-week course with Victoria Avery last year. She was amazing. Her chocolate sculptures are masterpieces.”
I’ve just scrolled to a string of photos from those same two weeks. Poetry. True honest-to-goodness poetry rendered in chocolate. Flowers and clocks and even a rocking horse so lifelike, I can easily imagine a child riding it. “Hannah was so pissed I used two weeks of my vacation time for it. She wanted to go to Italy. So, as a compromise, we stayed at the Venetian. She sat by the pool the entire time, angry, while pointing out all the reasons this wasn’t as good as the real Venice. But it was one of the most formative experiences of my life.”
The ache in his voice surprises me. I’ve spent the last two weeks delving into the layers of Rafe, but he keeps revealing new ones I would never have guessed existed at all.
“This is what you want to do?”
He shrugs again. “I don’t know. Maybe I want to work in a restaurant or open my own shop? I’ve never really let myself think about it too much. Remember when I said I caused my mom a lot of stress? This is mostly why. I swear that almost every time I see my parents, my dad and I fight about it, and it kills her. I hate doing that to her.”
“Oh,” I reply because this is truly one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. I’ve returned to the video of him in the macaron shop as he talks to his adoring fans and shows off his purchase.
“Wait,” I say, looking up at him. “The macarons. You knew they would go stale and wouldn’t survive the trip back home. You didn’t buy those for Hannah.”
Rafe’s eyes spark, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve always loved how you eat even the cheapest piece of sugary birthday cake as though it’s the most decadent thing ever to cross your lips.”
I frown. “What?”
“In the office, when it’s someone’s birthday and they buy some shitty cake, I love how much you enjoy it.”
He laughs at the look on my face because I’m not sure if I should be flattered or horrified. Cheap grocery store cakes are my guilty pleasure, and what the hell? He was noticing how I ate them?
“Hannah hates it too. She politely requested I never breathe a word of my ‘hobby’ to any of her friends.” He shakes his head. “It’s another reason we broke up. She thinks it’s too risky to bank on this as a career, and… it hurt that she wouldn’t even try to believe in me. I actually make a pretty decent amount from my social media accounts, but no one believes this is a real job.”
I blink, trying to arrange all of these pieces into some kind of order.
“So, you bought the macarons for me ?” I blurt out.
Good job, Tris. That’s the important part here.
His smile turns sheepish. “Sorry, it was stupid. I walked past the shop and had to look inside, and I thought you’d love them. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’d changed my mind about giving them to you by the time I’d made it back here.”
“It’s not stupid,” I say quietly, my heart tying into weird twisty knots. “That’s really sweet.”
He bought them for me. Not Hannah. Why does that mean something?
We watch each other for a moment, silence blooming between us. It’s not uncomfortable or tense—it’s an endless runway stretching into possibility.
The chocolate lava cake I ordered is sitting on the table. I pick up the fork and take a bite, closing my eyes in ecstasy because it’s really, really good. Rafe watches me intently, and I spear another forkful and hold it out for him.
“You’re a fan of dessert, then?”
“Yeah.” He wraps his hand around mine and the fork perched in the air. “I am.”
I wave my other hand in a sweeping motion. “And yet, you look… like that.”
He snorts. “Why do you think I work out so much?”
I huff out a laugh and cover my mouth as a spray of chocolatey crumbs dusts the air. “That’s why I exercise too.”
He grins and then pulls my hand towards his mouth as he wraps his lips around the end of the fork. Good grief, I could watch him do that every day for the rest of my life.
I gesture to him again. “You do a much better job at that whole chiseled abs thing,” I joke, taking another bite. Rafe’s expression turns serious as he takes the fork from me and spears another bite.
“You’re perfect, Tris.” His voice is so intense that my breath catches, and my heart trips over itself. “Absolutely perfect. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.” He holds the fork to my mouth, and I take the bite, chewing slowly, unsure of how to respond.
I swallow the cake and tip my head. “Why did we never talk about any of this before?”
He chews and swallows before giving me a penetrating look. “We didn’t get off on the best foot for some reason.”
“Right,” I say, thinking of all the reasons I pushed him away when we first met. Five years ago, those reasons defined my entire existence. They became the hard-and-fast rules I lived by, making me so fucking afraid of allowing anyone in.
I convinced myself that this was how I wanted to live.
And now I’m realizing just how much that might have been to my detriment.
Then he adds, “Maybe the universe wasn’t ready yet. Maybe we needed this place and this moment first.”
I smile. I like the sound of that.
“I feel like after all this sharing, I should invite you back to the bed,” I say. “That couch looks miserable.”
The corner of his mouth crooks up. “It’s not so bad.”
I scoff. “Fine, then stay there.”
Then, I open my mouth like a baby bird, and Rafe smirks, taking another piece of cake and feeding it to me.