Chapter 52 #2
I haul my suitcase upstairs and find a small room with a freshly made bed, a few of my boxes stacked neatly in the corner, and a window cracked open to let in the scent of damp earth.
It overlooks Shelby’s backyard with a garden, and I can’t wait to see it properly in daylight.
The rain has finally let up, and moonlight is poking half-heartedly through the clouds.
The air smells like wet pavement and cherry blossoms.
I strip off my jacket, collapse into bed, and sink deep into the soft mattress. The recliner in first class was top notch, but this… this feels like home.
Muted duck-egg blue. Trust Shelby to pick something timeless. It’s calm, soothing, and…
I’m out before I can count to three.
The next thing I hear is a soft knock and Shelby’s voice.
“Holly? Soup’s ready,” she says in a low voice as she pokes her head in. “Oops, I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry, go back to sleep.”
I pop my head out of the covers. “No, never let me miss food.”
Five minutes later, we’re in the kitchen in our baggy sweatshirts, bowls steaming in front of us. She’s made tomato soup and laid out crusty bread, some nutty English cheddar, and sliced cucumbers. After filling my belly with soup, I fix myself the biggest sandwich I can stomach.
Only one bite in, my eyes flick to my phone.
Still no message. No call. No text. I hesitate.
It’s nearly midnight here. Which means… what, 7 p.m. in New York?
“You okay?” Shelby asks, setting a mug of chamomile in front of me.
“Just a little worried. Dexter hasn’t let me know if his pitch went well. Actually, I haven’t heard from him at all.”
“You want to call him?”
I’m setting my phone down. “He’s probably out, schmoozing with those suits from that loaded firm, over wine and legal paperwork.”
The double chime nearly makes me jump. Two messages, back-to-back. Finally!
Dexter:
Glad you survived the flight.
Busy right now, I’ll catch you later.
I breathe out, tension easing just a little.
After a day of nothing, he answered. I read it once, and again.
It’s exactly what I pictured: him in some sleek restaurant, deal sealed, a glass of red raised.
I’m happy for him. Of course the whole pitch was a breeze.
Of course it went well. How could it not?
I text him back.
Me:
Figured. Enjoy your dinner! Talk later!
And that’s that. With a sigh, I toss my phone aside and try to leave it at that.
Shelby narrows her eyes and sets her mug down. “Right. Holly, cut the crap. What’s going on? Talk to me before I lose patience.”
Her tone leaves no room to wriggle out. She’s got that teacher-look, the one I imagine she gave naughty kids in the back row.
Mad Shelby is not something I need in my life right now, so I spill it. All of it. Well, she already knows most of the story, but I fill in the last few days. The fight. The goodbye, and the mess in my chest I’ve been trying to pretend doesn’t exist.
When I finish, she stares at me like I just told her I left a baby on a bus.
“So let me get this straight,” she says slowly, “you’re second-guessing Dexter just because he happens to share a few personality traits with your complete twat of an ex?”
I blink. “When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous. He’s not my ex.
He’s nothing like him. But it’s hard not to flinch when some of the patterns feel familiar.
I know Dexter cares about me, a lot, that much is clear.
He even told me he loved me, and maybe he does.
But with Dean, I thought he did too, until his actions proved me wrong.
” I shrug, take another bite, and wash it down with tea.
“I’m just trying not to walk back into the same mistake. ”
“Oh, sweetheart.” She reaches over and grabs my hand. “Just because Dean was a controlling wanker doesn’t mean Dexter is. That’s not how it works.”
“But Dexter is a control freak.”
“Yes, he is. But he’s the good kind. The useful kind. There’s a difference. One wants to shrink you. The other wants to shield you.”
“I guess.” I hear the doubt in my own voice.
My sister huffs, annoyed. “Listen. Was he there for you?”
“Always.” I gulp as the words leave my lips.
“Did he try to buy our kindergarten building to make your life better, not worse?”
“Yes. But…”
“No but!”
“Yes but! He didn’t just buy our building. He bought others too, so we’d have fewer options. So we’d be cornered into giving up. That’s not support, that’s sabotage.”
“Okay. And that is… completely unhinged. But also… oddly romantic.” She sips her tea, deadpan. “Honestly, if a man went to that much effort to keep me near him, I’d marry him on the spot. Then ruin him in bed.”
I snort, shaking my head.
“What?” she says innocently. “You can’t let that self-absorbed pillock from your past take up space he no longer deserves.
Dexter didn’t do this to stroke some narcissistic, self-absorbed, completely fucked-up—argh.
” She covers her mouth, but drops her hand the second she sees my lips press together, fighting a smile.
Even though the kids are asleep, she’s still trying to watch her language.
(Mom raised us right—well, raised her better than me.
Love you, Mom.) “Anyway, point is,” she goes on, “Dexter doesn’t want children. He wants to be a father.”
My throat tightens. I nod slowly and reach for my tea.
“When that man stepped in, it wasn’t about his ego. It was about you.”
I stop mid-sip.
“He didn’t do it for himself. He did it because he didn’t want you to go. And he’s not exactly the type to beg.”
The memories slam in. Not the obvious ones. But the quiet things.
The way he protected me when I was falling apart, not just my body. My soul.
The way he held me, as though I was always worth holding.
The way he gave me space when I needed it most.
The contract, stripped of anything that would bind me. Just provisions meant to keep me and the baby safe. The upgrade to first class, just to make the flight a little easier, to make the goodbye hurt less. Even though he didn’t want me to get on that plane in the first place.
And the resolve it took to let me leave, even when it was killing him.
I blink the tears back. “So… you think I screwed up?”
Shelby gives me a long, warm look, rubbing my arm.
“No, sweetheart. We all do the best we can with our life experiences in the moment, don’t we?
That’s all any of us can do, really. But that inner bodyguard of yours, the tough little menace of a watchdog who’s been guarding your heart 24/7, bless her, she’s refusing to allow anybody in.
She’s brilliant at keeping the bastards out, I’ll give her that.
Trouble is, she might be growling at the one man who actually deserves to be let in. ”
I let out a tearful laugh. “You think so?”
“Oh I know so. Maybe I’m a drama queen, but trust me. Dexter is your destiny. He’ll go through fire and back for you, girl.”
My belly flip-flops. “Wait… what did you just say?”
“You heard me, darling. I know, I know. I’ve been saying for years that your whole ‘we’re nothing but friends’ thing was complete bollocks.
See, fate doesn’t always come crashing in like thunder.
Sometimes it sneaks up on you. Sometimes it shows up as the bloke who’s been by your side your whole bloody life. ”
I nod, heart tight. “I’ll talk to the watchdog.”
The kettle clicks off.
“Good.” She squeezes my hand, and gets to the counter, lining up mugs and fishing teabags from a tin. “And if she acts like a prat, I’ll help you kick her little ar—” she catches herself, “—little bottom.”
Ding-dong.
“Oh, that’s probably Jane, my neighbor,” Shelby says, already pouring. “She often pops by when she can’t sleep. Poor woman’s been a bit lost since her husband died. I told her the kettle’s always on, and I’ve got a herbal blend strong enough to tranquilize a horse.”
No wonder Shelby never sleeps.
Knock-knock-knock.
“Hold on, love, I’m coming!” Shelby calls softly, filling the second mug.
“I’ve got it,” I say quickly, pushing my chair back. “You’re elbow-deep in Earl Grey, and I’m closer.”
The knocking turns more urgent.
I head down the hall to answer the door. Whoever it is, they must be desperate for that tea.