Chapter 7 #2
I don’t think he has any idea how much his words truly mean to me.
I swallow hard, my vision slightly blurring with emotion. I’ve gotten so used to brushing shit off with a smile that I forgot how nice it is to feel important.
“Thank you, Owen,” I murmur, my voice almost a whisper. “That…that means more than you know.”
He’s quiet for a second, then blows out a breath and leans back.
His captivating eyes hold mine, not wavering for a second. He looks at me like he needs to make sure I don’t miss what he’s about to say.
“I mean it,” he replies, his tone firm. “You deserve better than the way she treats you.”
“I know,” I nod. “That’s why I’m going to hit the ground running and apply to as many jobs as I can when we get back from this trip.”
He flinches as a flicker of emotion twists his face.
It’s tiny, but I catch it.
The lines around his eyes tighten as his shoulders go rigid, as if the thought of not seeing me every day hinders his ability to breathe.
Before I can process Owen’s reaction, he gathers himself and leans back in the chair.
“Yeah, well,” he says, his voice casual, “wherever you go, you’re taking me with you. Non-negotiable.”
My brows lift. “Oh yeah? You're just going to follow me around like that?”
His lips curve into a slow, devastating grin that has me curling my toes beneath the table.
“In a heartbeat,” he replies without needing to think. “You think I’m going to give up our lunch excursions? Coffee runs? Vent sessions? My daily dose of Meadow?”
My daily dose of Meadow.
My pulse stumbles.
My throat goes dry.
There’s no way he just said that, right?
I force a laugh, trying to play it off before he notices that I’m practically wiggling out of my seat, finding it impossible to sit still.
“Oh, okay , Owen,” I drawl out, my tone dramatic. I toss him an eye roll because he has to be joking. He didn’t mean that.
His gaze doesn't falter. If anything, it intensifies.
“I’m serious,” he replies. “There’s not a chance in hell that you’re going anywhere else without me. If you leave, I’m stapling my resume to yours and waltzing right into your new office with you.”
My heart does a ridiculous little flip.
God, I haven’t felt butterflies like this since my middle school boyfriend kissed me for the first time in the back of the movie theater.
How is it so easy for him to say things like that?
And why does it feel so real?
If I don’t get a hold of myself, I’m going to start believing that Owen actually wants me as badly as I want him.
I need to say something light, anything , before cartoon hearts start to pop out of my eyes.
“Careful there, Brooks,” I manage, my voice laced with humor. “You almost sounded sincere for a second, as if you might actually like me.”
“Shhh,” he smirks, pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
We both chuckle before falling into an easy rhythm again, grabbing pieces off the sandwich and plucking the best nachos from the center of the pile. Outside, the waves crash and pull, steady as breathing.
After we’ve cleared the takeout containers, our stomachs pleasantly full, a question bubbles up inside me that I’ve been holding back for days. Longer than just days if I’m being honest…
“Owen,” I mutter. “Can I ask you something?”
He looks up. “Yeah. Go for it.”
I fiddle with my napkin, folding the corner into a perfect triangle. “Are you… Sad?”
His brows draw together. “Sad?”
“About her,” I clarify, my voice hesitant. “Your ex. About the breakup.”
He stares at the table for a while, and for once, I don’t fill the silence. I give him the time he needs.
“Sometimes,” he finally admits. “I mean, I’d be lying if I said I never think about it.
Two years is a long time to be with someone.
You don’t just erase that overnight,” he swallows thickly.
“Some days are harder than others, especially when I see something that reminds me of her. It still stings a little.”
He shrugs one shoulder and rubs a palm against his jaw.
“But I’m not… heartbroken,” he continues. “Not in the way I think I should be if she were the one.”
“What really happened?” I ask gently. “If you don’t mind me asking…”
He leans back in his chair, gaze drifting toward the window before cutting back to me.
“She wanted everything,” he mutters. “Marriage, kids, and a house in the suburbs. And she wanted it now . She wanted timelines, ring shopping, and serious conversations about what we would name our future kids.”
Is it terrible that I feel relieved he didn't want those things with her? Is it delusional that I think it could ever be me?
“And you didn’t?” I ask.
“It’s not that I don’t want those things,” he answers.
“I think I do. One day. I just knew deep down she wasn’t the person I wanted them with.
We didn’t fit like that. We were good on paper.
Everything looked great from the outside.
But what people didn't know is that we were constantly arguing about stupid shit. I felt like it was all a performance.”
“A performance?”
“Yeah,” he scoffs with a humorless smile. “Always trying to be the picture-perfect couple. I felt like nothing but a pawn in her game.”
My chest squeezes. I can’t help thinking about how different he is with me… The Owen I know is witty, sarcastic, unfiltered, and delightfully charming.
“So you ended it,” I say softly.
His throat bobs. “Yeah. I couldn’t keep up with the lie anymore. She deserved someone who was all in. And I was halfway out the door—my heart somewhere else.”
Somewhere else.
Those two words feel so charged… like they’re pressing down on Owen’s chest.
He lifts his gaze, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that I feel deep in my bones.
For one reckless moment, I convince myself he’s trying to tell me something without saying it. It feels like he’s talking about me. Like I’m the somewhere else .
Fragile hope rises to the surface, infiltrating my heart and mind.
No.
Don’t do this to yourself, Meadow. You’ll only break your own heart.
I shove the thought down hard, burying it before it can take root and wreck me.
“And kids?” I recover, clearing my throat. “Do you want them?”
His eyes flick between mine, as if he’s searching for the answer in my gaze.
“I mean, I think I do,” he responds, voice thick. “But only with the right person. Someone I can be myself with. Someone who doesn’t make everything feel like a fucking checklist.”
Neither of us looks away.
Jesus Christ, why does he keep making it feel like he’s talking about me?
As my pulse thunders in my ears, I force myself to blink and break the spell brewing between us.
“I get it,” I say, my tone low and breathy. “I hope you find that one day.”
His jaw ticks, not with anger, but with a dark heat. His gaze turns to coal as flames rise behind his eyes. There’s a possessive edge to his stare that turns my lungs to ash.
“Yeah,” he clips, his voice short and rough. “Me too, Meadow.”
He holds my stare as a territorial flare fills his gaze, as if the idea of someone else giving me that life makes him physically sick.
Shit.
This is all too much.
The air feels too thin.
The room feels like it’s caving in on me.
My skin feels like it’s on fire.
I need an escape.
Right the hell now.
“You still want to go to the pool?” I rush out. “I could go for a night swim right now.” I lie, my belly uncomfortably full from our feast.
Actually, I could dive into an ice bath given how flushed I feel right now.
His mouth curves slowly as a flicker of relief fills the lines of his handsome face.
“Let’s do it.”
And that’s when I know that I’ve truly screwed myself. Because just when I thought the tension between us was too much for me to handle, I realized that I’m about to see Owen half-naked for the first time.
God help me.