Chapter 14
COOPER
I can’t bring my hand up to knock on the door.
After the bedroom debacle yesterday morning, Stephanie moved into one of the bedrooms down the hall. I told her I could move, but she stubbornly insisted. So here I am—staring at her bedroom door—unable to move.
During lunch I cornered Lou about why she thinks I love Stephanie.
Turns out she overheard a conversation Deke and I were having where the words love and Stephanie each came up at some point.
Her mind put the two words together and then created a train wreck by telling Stephanie I was in love with her.
Which brings my mind back to the hallway and the door in front of me.
I’ve been on a lot of dates with a lot of women, but this is different.
Partly because there is a six year old involved.
Partly because I don’t know if Stephanie is going to come with us, but if she does, how would that work?
Her disdain for me is obvious. The only thing I have going for me is that her love for Lou is even more obvious.
I’m still frozen in front of her door when my phone vibrates with a text.
SAM
Sorry to break your heart, but Lou fell asleep on the couch after dinner. She’s pooped after today, so I’m going to carry her to bed and let her sleep.
I run my fingers through my hair, trying to decide what to do about this new development, and finally find the courage to knock on Stephanie’s door.
When it opens, Stephanie is dressed in a pink floral sundress and white flip-flops. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her face looks fresh and clean. It reminds me of yesterday morning, when she came into the kitchen. I find my tongue is a little tied. “Hi.”
“Hi?” A solitary eyebrow raises, and her voice drips with sarcasm. “Strong opening, Mallory. Do most women fall at your feet with that line?”
“Not all.” I decide to try a casual, playful approach and lean against the wall behind me, sliding my hands into the pockets of my swim trunks. “Some women need a ‘Hi there.’”
Her lips twitch like she wants to smile, but one never emerges. “I’m ready to go whenever you and Lou are.” So, she's going to come.
That little flicker of hope I had decided to snuff out stands up, pays attention, and tells me to proceed with caution. It’s the first time she’s shown any interest in consciously going anywhere with me.
“I got a text letting me know that Lou fell asleep on the couch, and Sam’s going to let Lou sleep, so,” I give a little shrug of my shoulders and try to keep my smile simple, “I guess it’s just you and me.”
Her jaw clenches, and she draws in a slow breath through her nose. “How about I take a rain check?”
Her smile and body language are tense again, but the new flicker of hope from a moment ago screams at me to convince her to come.
“I know it wasn’t the original plan, but we’re both ready to go snorkeling, and since Lou isn’t coming with us, I can take you to a spot farther out.
The coral is amazing, but I’m not as comfortable taking a six year old. It’s my favorite spot on the?—”
“You don’t have to pretend on my account, Mallory.”
“Pretend what?”
“Pretend that you and I spending time together is a good idea.”
I’m at a loss, and my frustration spills out as I push off the wall and take a step in her direction. “I don’t get it!” At this point I have nothing to lose. “What have I ever done to make you hate me so much?”
Stephanie keeps her composure but takes a small step away from me and moves an arm protectively over her middle. “I don’t hate you, Mallory.”
“Then what would you call it?” I hear the challenge in my voice. “Because from my view point, that’s what it’s felt like from the second we met, and I can’t think of a single thing I’ve done to justify it.”
“I don’t hate you.” Her voice is soft but firm. “I just . . . don’t like . . .” she seems to be having an internal debate with herself.
“Just say it, Stephanie. Let’s clear the air.”
“I don’t like players.” Her face is set firm, arm still across her middle, jaw clenched.
All of a sudden, the silence in the hallway is deafening.
She thinks I’m a player?
Every interaction I’ve ever had with Stephanie runs through my mind, and I try to latch onto any memory that would justify her comment.
I come up empty and try to think of anything someone else might have told her.
I’m basically the furthest thing from my definition of a player I can think of, so once again my mind comes up with nothing.
My flippant remark in the kitchen yesterday might have been in poor taste, but would she have gotten player from that?
“So . . . you think I’m a player?” It comes out more statement than question.
Her singular raised eyebrow is all the confirmation I get.
“And if I were a player, going snorkeling with me would mean . . .” I let my sentence die off, hoping she will fill in the blank for me.
“Mallory,” her tone is matter of fact, “you’ve got it all.
You’ve got the looks, the moves, the dimples,” she holds a hand up and gestures to my whole person, “the complete package. I can see why women would swoon and be willing to go anywhere with you while you carelessly juggle them all, proclaiming they are your ‘one and only.’” She puts this in air quotes.
“I’m not one of those women. I’m the type who runs away from your type as fast as I can, because, to put it delicately, I don’t want to be juggled.
” A memory pops into my head of when I overheard her saying, I want someone to love me, and only me.
“I’ll be friendly when we’re with Sam and Deke, but I don’t want to be your friend.
” Her face isn’t fierce or friendly. It’s blank—void of emotion.
“May I ask why you have come to this conclusion about me?”
“I don’t think it matters, but I do have my reasons.”
Silence reigns supreme again as I stand there, stunned.
Understanding settles on me like a dark cloud, and I slowly nod my head. For the last eighteen months, I’ve thought I could break through whatever was keeping Stephanie back—but not now. She just doused my small flicker of hope with a full bucket of water.
She thinks I’m a player.
The irony of how much I’m not a player is almost too much.
I’m not blind; I’ve noticed her watching me when she thinks I’m not looking.
Quite a lot, actually. And you can’t manufacture the chemistry between us.
She always fights it, and now I know why.
The blank space where my flicker of hope used to burn tells me to finally move on, to not try and salvage this.
It’s no longer worth trying to figure out.
“Okay.” My head slowly nods again. “Fine.” I start walking back down the hall, still stunned by her words.
After a few steps, I stop, keeping my back to her.
Words come tumbling out of my mouth. Unedited and vulnerable.
“You’re wrong, you know. About me. But go ahead and think whatever you want.
” I turn around and look at Stephanie, who is still standing in her doorway watching me.
“For what it’s worth, I’ve never wanted to juggle you.
I’ve only wanted a chance to get to know you better.
” I let out a small humorless laugh. “The day I met you, at Deke and Sam’s wedding, Amber told me that you and I were going to be great friends.
It’s the first time I’ve ever known her to get something like this wrong. ”
I allow myself one lingering look at her stunned face before turning and walking back down the hall and out the back door for a long walk on the beach.