Chapter 11 #3
Nothing had ever been civil. It had always been crazy, scary, and traumatic.
So this idea that two people could like each other, and want each other, and not blow up the world when they were done with each other was a fascinating one.
She felt tempted.
So, so tempted.
Why? She genuinely had no answer for that.
“Don’t think so hard about it, Cassidy. This is not a mental game.
From the first time I met you—and I mean really met you, not saw you around town from a distance—I knew.
I knew that we would be something. That if we touched we would put all the Christmas lights in town to shame.
I tried to be good. That’s never been my forte.
So I’m putting myself out there, and I’m telling you. I want you.”
“I …” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t think you understand how my parents were. Or how they treated people. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to have casual sex.”
“Who said it would be casual?”
“You don’t have anything to offer me. We’re not in a relationship.”
“That doesn’t make it casual. It doesn’t make it meaningless.”
He was talking about a middle ground, and she’d never been good at that.
Her early childhood hadn’t had any middle ground; it had been pass/fail.
The stakes had felt so high, and she’d always had to keep it together, do the right thing.
The years since then might have been easier, but she’d still been worried, deep down.
That the wrong move could destroy something, because in her mind it was one or the other. All well, or destruction.
He was suggesting something else. Another path, another possibility.
“I want … I want to be safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I had an upbringing that felt dangerous. Every minute of it. All the time. You know that. I told you about it.”
“Sex with me won’t be dangerous, Cassidy. Because you know exactly what you’re going to get. I’m not going to make you any promises. I don’t want love. And you don’t want to love me. Trust me on that. I would make you feel good. It would be so damned good.”
“But what would the point be?”
“To feel good.”
“But that’s …”
“You have a problem with it because you associate things like that with your mom. You’re torturing yourself.
You’re keeping yourself locked up, locked away because you’re so afraid of what else is out there.
You don’t want Dalton. He just makes you feel safe, and those are two different things.
Maybe you do love him. Maybe you really love him.
But do you want to be with him and always wonder what it would’ve been like to be with me?
Before you settle into domesticity, maybe you should consider that. ”
Her heart was thundering so hard, she thought she was going to be sick. Was he right? Was she settling for domesticity, for safety, before she’d let herself actually live?
“I’m going to dinner with Dalton. I need to get ready. Don’t … don’t ask me about him again.”
“Cassidy …”
“Don’t. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Will you?”
“Yes. I will.”
She felt overwhelmed by emotion. She hung up, took her clothes off, and turned the shower on in the bathroom.
She waited for it to warm up, then stood underneath the spray.
She regretted how simple her wardrobe was as she got dressed for dinner.
Regretted that she hadn’t brought any makeup.
She wished there was some way she could signal to Dalton that this felt significant to her.
That it felt special. That he was special.
She wished there was some way. Maybe she was just going to have to tell him.
Her conversation with West was pushing in on her. She wanted him. That was what hurt the most. She wanted him so much, she ached with it. And while she was wanting him, it was hard to even imagine kissing Dalton. West had jumped in front of him in line, presented himself as a crucial experience.
She should be thinking about making a move on the man she had wanted for so many years but …
You don’t want him.
She did. When she imagined her future—a wedding, children—she could imagine having it with Dalton.
She wanted the nice, safe love that Millie and Austin had.
She wanted to live in a cozy little house, maybe on the same property where she lived now.
Or maybe with Dalton on his. They would be companionable; she would know exactly how to act.
And he would keep her, because she would do the right things.
Because she knew exactly who he was, and he knew who she was.
There would be no risk of being rejected. No risk of being hurt.
It was her deepest, dearest fantasy.
It didn’t feel like a match being struck across her skin, but she didn’t want that. That hurt. She didn’t want things to hurt.
Her phone lit up and she jumped. It was a text from Dalton, saying he was waiting in the hallway. She took a deep breath and stepped out, closing the door behind her.
“I remember that you like Thai food?” he said.
“I do. We just can’t get any in town.”
“Yeah. I found a place here; I thought you might like to go.”
“I would,” she said.
He nodded.
He was dressed up. He had put on a black cowboy hat and black jeans. He looked exceptionally handsome. A fact that was only underscored by the way women looked at him as they walked into the restaurant.
He opened the door for her, and then he reached out and put his hand on her lower back as he ushered her through.
The casual, somewhat intimate contact made her heart skip a beat.
She looked up at him, and he looked at her, his expression grave.
She swallowed hard as they went to the hostess stand, where they were almost immediately led to a table.
They filled time discussing their order, and then making it.
Then the two of them were left sitting there, with very little to talk about.