21. Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
F irst, he accosts me in his room. Then he says I’m dangerous and recommends I invite my boyfriend to our party. Shane and I broke things off, and I haven’t said a word about it to Cade. I don’t intend to—at least not right now. It provides some necessary distance and boundaries. Cade Deans has made me nothing if not an unreasonable mess.
He avoided me for days.
What does he do once he’s done giving me the silent treatment? Ask me to take him on dates. Kiss me on a Ferris wheel—get on a Ferris wheel to appease me, even though he’s apparently afraid of heights.
Shane and I broke up the night after the Ferris wheel incident.
We grabbed sandwiches from a shop on the boardwalk and found a picnic table on a nearby patio overlooking the beach. Shane kept looking at the water, refusing to look at me. I was waiting for him to say it.
“Is everything okay?”
He took a shaky breath. “Gigi—”
I knew that tone. Marcus used that tone. “You’re ending this, aren’t you?”
Shane sighed. “It’s not—look, you’re a great girl. You’re so funny.”
“If you don’t want to see me anymore…” My eyes ached with impending tears, my throat burning. Just like Marcus, Shane got what he wanted from me and told me to keep the rest. Rejection hurts. Even if I was planning on ending things, regardless.
“I’m not…” He hesitated. “I don’t know how to—”
“It’s fine,” I said. At that point, I was excited, knowing I was free. Knowing I could explore everything with Cade. Knowing I could have Cade if I wanted to and not think twice about the implications.
He visibly recoiled, like he could tell I was actually happy about what was coming next. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” he said softly. “When we first started dating, I enjoyed being with you. The nights in my studio—I really care about you, Gigi. I just—”
I stared at him, stone faced. “It’s just not working anymore, right?”
He averted his gaze, sheepish. “After your friend met us at the boardwalk that night on our date, you haven’t been the same. I tried to rationalize, tell myself you’d come back. But you haven’t, and I can’t wait.”
Wait. He’s dumping me because of Cade? Cade fucking Deans is the reason I’m getting tossed aside?
“Are you talking about Cade? We’re just friends. In fact, I can’t stand him.”
“You spend a lot of time with a friend that you can’t stand,” he says. “You got a random tattoo with him. I think any guy who wants a relationship with you would have a problem with that.”
The realization hit me in the face. “I didn’t get a tattoo with him. It’s not—” There’s no point in fighting this. He’d made his decision, I’d made my mistakes. Now I have to make them right.
I chose my person long ago. And it’s not Shane.
“I’m sorry,” I told Shane then.
“I like you,” he said, smiling gently. “But who you’re becoming… It isn’t my type. No offense? Is there a way for me to say that and not sound like the world’s most douchiest douche?”
I know I’m not Shane’s type anymore. Because I’m becoming Cade Deans’ type, whether I want to be or not.
But Shane didn’t have to know that. So, I kept it all to myself.
A few days after the breakup, Cade asked me about a dinner date. A practice run, he’d said. We went to the same restaurant Shane took me to on our first date. Cade wore an all-black suit. I’d never seen a man in an all-black suit until that night. It made me realize that I never want to see another man in a suit again.
I thought he was going to kiss me after dinner. I wanted him to, more than I needed air. With his body pressed into mine against the brick and all the wine muddling our thoughts, it was the perfect recipe for a night together.
But Cade didn’t kiss me. He didn’t even try. He let me move away from his grasp and ended it there.
Cade Deans is an enigma—and for some reason, I’m determined to figure him out. But I can’t start now.
“What are the chances you could buy the stuff for the party?” EJ peers at us over Beach Brew’s espresso machine. I can barely hear him over a coffee grinder whirring.
“Why me?” Cade asks EJ.
“Because”—finally, the noises stop—“I work all the time. And I don’t want to bother Rory.” He hands over our coffees.
“So, you bother me.”
EJ sighs. “I’m not trying to impress you.”
Cade makes a face. I laugh, and he winks at me.
God damn you.
As EJ hands over my mother’s iced macchiato, I say, “I wish you would tell Rory how you feel about her.”
“She spends nearly every night at my place, even though I’m in the friend zone,” he points out. “I think I’m in a good spot.”
I roll my eyes. “If you need someone to do the shopping, I can. I don’t mind.”
Cade’s eyes slice into me. “Gigi. Don’t offer to help him.”
“I really don’t mind,” I say. “Besides, I think it’s sweet, romantic, and immensely caring that he doesn’t want to inconvenience Rory.” Cade’s eyes darken. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that.”
I thank EJ for our coffee and tell him goodbye, Cade’s eyes trailing after me the entire time. He doesn’t follow me out of the coffee shop.
He’s either telling EJ an update about the tattoo shop, or he’s talking about me.
Either one excites me in a way I can’t explain.
For the next few days, I busy myself with work, Cade, and even a little time with Belinda. She has enjoyed talking over her dating life with me—if she’s liking being a cougar, I guess I can’t argue. The happier she is with her graduate students, the less she focuses on me, my appearance, my lack of social butterfly syndrome that she suddenly wants me to experience because she has found it herself.
“I like Luke,” she says to me as she sits down with a glass of wine one evening. “He’s majoring in economics, taking summer classes. He’s immensely driven.”
“How old is he?” I ask. “And what happened to Damon?”
“Things come and go,” my mother says, wistful. “But I’m enjoying my time with Luke.”
“Is that the guy I saw in his boxers in our kitchen?”
“Gigi.” Belinda goes pale. “What are you talking about?”
“Did you know he was drinking milk from the jug?”
She purses her lips, displeased. “What a Neanderthal.”
I smile at her comment. “I’m serious. Why are you dating these guys?”
“To feel youthful, sugar.” She takes a sip from her wineglass, contemplating. “I’m not getting younger.”
“There are ways to feel youthful besides meaningless hook-ups,” I tell her. “Trust me.”
“It seems like that’s what you’ve been doing all summer, no?”
My head whips to look at her. “What?”
She waves a hand to punctuate her words. “You and your boyfriends. Cade, the one you’re just stringing along. The other boy you’re spending time with.”
“Shane broke up with me,” I say, sighing. “And Cade is not my boyfriend. Not even close.”
“So, you flirt with every man, then. Not just the ones you’re dating.”
Gaping at her, I say, “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying, sugar,” she says with a flippant wave of her hand, “you’re very forward with Cade.”
“I’m not,” I say. “In fact, I do my best to thwart him.”
“He is very attractive,” Belinda says. I shiver. “He seems interested in getting your attention. Maybe you should humor him.”
“What makes you think I want to give him my attention?” I bite back, heat rising to my hair.
“Don’t be that way, Gigi,” Belinda says, stern. “A boy like Cade doesn’t give a second thought to girls like you often. I’d be thankful.”
Oh, my god.
“What do you mean?” This’ll be good. What is it, I wonder. My hair? Have I gained weight despite her monitoring my caloric intake in the weeks since I’ve arrived?
“You’re just… flat,” she says.
“Flat?”
“You don’t…” She hesitates, thinking, then finishes her glass of wine. “Men like Cade are after a woman with spark. A woman who chases dreams, reaches goals, pours herself into her ambitions.”
“Oh, he wants ambition? When did he tell you about what he’s looking for in a woman?”
“I have an intuition for that kind of thing.” She stands up and walks toward the kitchen, glass in hand. “You’d be surprised how well I pick up on things like that.” She refills her wine and traipses back to me. “As busy as I’ve been lately, I still notice when Cade has his eyes glued to your behind at the diner, Gigi.”
“Mom.” The word comes out reflexively. White hot heat rises to my hairline.
“I’m allowed to enjoy romance, sugar. Even if it’s my daughter’s.” She laughs.
I can’t help but laugh at her—with her. “There isn’t romance between Cade and me.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “I’m serious.”
She raises her eyebrows in rebuttal. “Uh huh.”
We laugh together, and I’m caught up in the lighthearted sweetness—something rare, hardly ever seen or experienced by Belinda Elliott. I’m enjoying her company, and despite her quips about me not being Cade’s type, I appreciate this moment with her.
It feels like a normal mother-daughter moment.
“You called me mom,” Belinda says quietly as our laughter settles. “I like being your mom.”
“If you like this so much, why do you seem like you’re fighting to not experience it at all times?”
Belinda, wine glass poised in the air, mid-sip, sets her glass down on the coffee table. “Fighting what? Being close to you? That’s crazy, Gigi. I’ve wanted nothing more since you got here than to be close to you. Why do you think I asked for help at the diner? I’m there constantly—I thought, why not have you there with me, too?”
“If you want closeness,” I say, not looking at her, “maybe start with not making me feel bad about my appearance.”
Her eyes land on my face. She hesitates before saying, “Sugar. I don’t mean to hurt any feelings. I just want you to be your absolute best.”
“No, I know.” I shake my head, the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck and any nerve I had fizzling out. “Nevermind.”
“I didn’t realize I was bothering you,” Belinda says, faint. “I was offering helpful suggestions.”
“I know. Forget it.”
Belinda loses herself in thought for several minutes. “What do you do with your other family?” I turn to look at her. “You enjoy being with them so much… What do you do with them that’s so great?”
“It’s not about what we do,” I tell her, surprised at my own willingness to divulge this. “It’s about how. My mom—Greta—is walking sunshine.” The anti-you, I think. “She makes me feel amazing, like she’s elated that my sister and I exist at all times. She loves us so much.”
Belinda swallows.
I expect a ‘ Don’t I?’ Or even a ‘ You know I’m happy you exist. Being your mother is my greatest joy.’
She watches my face and doesn’t say a word.
“With Mom, there aren’t any diets, or suggestions that I dye my hair, or lose a few pounds. Ever. She wouldn’t dare.” Belinda flinches, but I charge on. “She thinks I’m beautiful, no matter what. That’s the difference.”
“I didn’t intend to make you feel ugly ,” my mother says. “I don’t think you’re ugly, sugar.”
“It’s not ugly so much as…” I can’t believe I’m saying this. To my mother. “Unattractive? Unwanted?”
Am I projecting? This feels like projecting.
“I wasn’t trying to do that, either.” She sighs. “I just want you to look your best.”
“I’m happy as I am,” I say.
She considers this. “You are beautiful as you are. You are my daughter, after all.”
It’s a backhanded positive resolution, but it’s a positive outcome, nonetheless.
“What can I do to say I’m sorry?” Belinda asks.
I don’t even need to take the time to think about it.
“Ice cream.”
“You want… ice cream?”
“Yep.”
“Oh-kay. But you’re driving—all this wine is making my head spin.”