Chapter Fourteen Eliott
‘No Cash?’
It’s been a week since our initial consultation and Dane is standing on Nan’s porch, a bag of tools slung over his shoulder, his signature lopsided grin etched onto his face.
‘Nope. Just me tonight,’ he says, grin widening slightly. ‘Is that a problem?’
I’m not going to pretend like I know anything about patio repair, but I get the impression that it’s definitely the kind of job that would go by much faster with two people on it.
I shrug, matching the nonchalant energy he’s bringing. ‘Can you handle it by yourself?’
He lifts a brow as he steps past me and into Nan’s house, our arms brushing against each other in the narrow space. ‘There’s not much I can’t handle, Eliott.’ He says it with a drawl, drawing out each syllable of my name, like he’s offering me a challenge.
I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose.
The flirting, I mean.
I’m pretty sure that being an unrepentant flirt is simply a non-negotiable part of his personality. One he doesn’t know how to switch off.
And I absolutely shouldn’t be falling for it. Especially after I’ve put up these boundaries between us. But I can’t stop my cheeks from warming, the urge to lean right into the moment and throw one of my own carefully crafted lines right back at him is overwhelming.
It would be so easy, too. Natural, even.
Instead, I roll my eyes as he walks past, feigning indifference. ‘Well, I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?’
He laughs and shoots me an easy grin. ‘I guess we will.’
Everything about Dane is easy and I feel an increasingly familiar twinge of envy towards him. It must be nice to just be able to float through life without having to be in a perpetual state of worry.
Sometimes it feels like I can never just be in the moment, focused on one thing.
I’m either worrying about Nan or sorting out something for Leanne, or – and this is the current bane of my life – emailing back and forth with our landlord because Sasha refuses to engage with him and leaves any issues up to me to deal with.
There’s always something .
Even now, I should be working on edits and most definitely not following Dane through Nan’s house so I can make sure the patio gets sorted and not have to worry about Nan snapping an ankle every time she steps outside.
‘Everything all right?’
I blink up at Dane. He’s crouched down by the pile of tiles he ordered to the house, watching me curiously.
‘Everything’s fine,’ I sigh.
His brows furrow slightly.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, a little more forcefully this time. ‘Just… life, you know?’
He opens his mouth immediately, a response already on the tip of his tongue. But then he clamps it shut and gives me an annoyingly sympathetic smile. ‘Got it.’
‘Pretty sure you don’t,’ I mutter. It’s petty and childish, and Dane doesn’t deserve my ire, but the words come out before I can stop myself.
‘Try me,’ Dane says with another easy shrug. He’s started lifting the broken tiles and stacking them in a pile.
I hesitate.
I should really let him get on with it. He knows what to do and definitely doesn’t need me lurking around. But there’s something in his expression, a kind of earnestness that reminds me of the look he had back at the restaurant. Before I know it, I’m settling down on the garden steps.
‘It’s a long story,’ I say.
His gaze flits over to me for a second, and a teasing grin tugs at his lips. ‘A long story like how the patio was? Or an actual long story?’
I laugh. ‘An actual long story. The patio’s part of it, I guess.’
Dane nods in understanding. ‘Cool. So start with that.’
‘Do you ever feel like—’ I pause. There’s a lump forming in my throat.
I don’t think I’ve ever voiced this aloud.
Not even to Sasha. It’s been my own secret burden to bear for as long as I can remember and the fact that I’m telling it to Dane, of all people, is enough to make a nervous laugh bubble out of me.
Maybe it makes sense that it’s Dane. Someone I’ve got no real connection with. Someone who doesn’t expect anything from me.
‘Do you ever feel like everyone’s relying on you?
’ I ask after a few seconds. ‘Like you’re the one everyone turns to in a crisis, and you can’t let them down?
’ The words come out and my chest suddenly feels lighter.
It’s like a weight has been lifted, but I’d become so used to it I hadn’t even realised it was there.
Dane frowns. ‘Not really.’
The weight settles on my chest again. ‘Didn’t think so.’
‘Why can’t you let them down?’ Dane asks.
‘Because they need me?’ My response comes out sounding more like a question than I expect it to.
‘Who told you that?’ Dane has stopped with the tiles and is staring directly at me, forcing me to hold his gaze.
‘Nobody told me,’ I say. ‘It’s just – That’s just how it is. How it’s always been.’
I think I was nine when I finally realised that my relationship with Mum was never going to be the kind of mother–daughter one I watched on television.
I was equal parts her therapist and personal assistant before I even hit secondary school.
I remember being fifteen when Grandad got officially diagnosed, and knowing that I had to keep the harsh reality – that Grandad was sick, really sick – from Leanne.
I almost didn’t even go to university because Nan and Grandad got really sick at the same time and I didn’t know if Mum would be able to handle it by herself.
‘That sounds exhausting.’ Dane’s voice cuts through my memories like a hot knife through butter.
‘It is,’ I say quietly.
So exhausting.
‘So, why do you keep doing it?’ There’s no judgement in his tone. He sounds genuinely curious. Like he can’t possibly fathom why someone would choose to live their life the way I do.
I’ve told myself this answer so many times, I don’t even have to think about it. ‘Because I love them. And if I can do something to make life easier for them, then I should do it. Right?’
I expect him to agree. To accept the universally recognised truth that, when you love someone, you just do things for them if you can.
‘Who makes life easier for you?’
‘I—’ I stare at him. ‘What?’
‘Who makes life easier for you?’ Dane repeats. He’s staring me at me so intently, I’m surprised he’s not burned a hole through my skin yet. ‘You’re busy worrying about everyone else, right? Who worries about you?’
The lump in my throat is back and bigger this time. ‘I don’t need anyone to worry about me,’ I manage to choke out.
‘That is—’ His jaw ticks slightly and he shakes his head, cutting off whatever train of thought he was on.
‘No, no.’ I stand up and cross the short distance between us. ‘Say it. Go on. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.’
The wind whirls around us and sends a few stray curls whipping around my face. I raise a hand to brush one away, but Dane gets there first. His fingers lightly ghost along my cheekbone as he pushes a strand away.
‘You shouldn’t have to handle it, Eliott,’ he says softly, fingers still dancing along my skin. The moment can’t last for any longer than a second, but it feels like it stretches out for an eternity. He clears his throat and finally pulls away. ‘That’s the problem.’
Since he refuses to bring Cash, Dane is working on the patio in a kind of piecemeal way. He comes over to Nan’s house every Friday evening to work on the patio and I, despite my best intentions, always end up spending the evening sitting on the garden steps watching him work.
Before I know it, we’ve started to develop a routine of sorts. It’s completely unintentional, and I don’t even realise we’ve fallen into it until it’s almost over, but I’m not complaining.
Sometimes we sit in silence; me with my tablet working on some edits while Dane methodically tears up broken tiles and replaces them with newer ones.
And sometimes we talk.
The conversation flows like we’ve been friends for years and… It’s nice.
It’s easy .
‘I need your opinion on something,’ Dane says suddenly. ‘As a wedding expert,’ he clarifies when I shoot him a wary look.
‘I wouldn’t say expert .’
It’s that weird time of the year where it’s not quite winter, not quite spring.
The sky is a mix of dark blues and purples and the sun is just a tiny orange blip on the skyline.
Nan’s one pathetically flickering garden lamp is doing very little to illuminate the space between us.
This is normally the part in the evening where Dane heads home, mumbling something about it being too dark to work and that he’ll be back to finish the job next week.
But not tonight.
I jump slightly as he drops down into the empty spot next to me on the garden steps. Something in the back of my mind vaguely acknowledges that this isn’t part of the carefully crafted routine we’ve put together over the last few weeks.
This is new.
‘How many weddings have you been to?’ he asks, stretching his legs out in front of us.
‘As a guest or…’
He shrugs. ‘Just in general.’
I lean backwards and my hand brushes against his. It’s not quite electricity that shoots through my veins at the contact, it’s more like an unexplainable warmth that starts at the tip of my fingers and spreads like wildfire through me.
I snatch my hand back and stare determinedly at the setting sun. ‘Probably coming up to about two hundred now,’ I murmur. Beside me, I feel Dane shift slightly but I don’t look. ‘Why?’
He clicks his tongue and even without seeing his face, I can easily picture the teasing grin that’s curving his lips right now. ‘Let me know what you think about this opener for my best man speech.’ He clears his throat dramatically. ‘ The Oxford Dictionary defines love as —’
‘Absolutely not .’ A cackle splutters out of me and I finally turn to look at him. I was right. He’s grinning down at me. One of his locs has fallen out of the bun he keeps them in and my fingers twitch to reach forward and slide it back into place.
‘You don’t like it? I thought it was a pretty good opener.’
‘If you start your speech with that, I’ll drag you out of the wedding myself.’
‘That doesn’t sound too bad,’ Dane laughs, a teasing glint in his eyes. ‘Depending on where you’re dragging me, of course.’
And here we are again. I should start timing how long it takes for Dane to bring a harmless conversation back into flirting territory.
‘How about straight into the Ligurian Sea?’ I ask, refusing to take the bait.
My reluctance to engage doesn’t seem to bother him at all. His grin widens fractionally. ‘Will you be joining me?’
‘Can’t swim,’ I throw back.
‘That’s fine.’ Something flashes in his eyes. ‘I can hold you.’
That gets a snort out of me. ‘Love the enthusiasm, but—’
‘But what?’ Dane looks me up and down slowly through hooded eyes.
At some point during this back and forth, we’ve shifted slightly and the space between us is minimal.
‘If you’re about to say that you don’t think I can handle holding you up—’ He leans in and suddenly there’s barely an inch between us.
‘I didn’t have any problem with it two years ago, and I definitely don’t now. ’
Memories flash through my mind.
Dane holding me up against the wall, peppering my neck with soft, wet kisses.
Me, pushing him onto the bed and climbing on top.
The little groan that fell from his lips as he gripped my still hovering thighs and pulled me firmly down onto him with no hesitation.
The way his dick, hard and wanting, felt pressed against my thighs.
The grin on his face is irritatingly self-assured as he pulls away and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the memories replaying in his mind right now are identical to mine.
‘Do you like making this whole friends thing difficult?’ I ask, because there’s no point in pretending like he can’t plainly see what’s written across my face.
His smile doesn’t waver. ‘It is fun,’ he concedes. ‘And I like making you blush.’
‘I don’t blush.’
‘Hm.’ He reaches over, closes the gap between us again, and runs a thumb along my cheek.
I’ve noticed that he likes doing that. Holding my face with a tenderness that always surprises me. I don’t think anyone’s ever held me like that before.
‘Your cheeks are warm,’ he murmurs before he pulls away. ‘I think that’s the very definition of a blush.’
‘Maybe it’s my turn to make you blush.’
‘Shoot.’
There are a lot of things I could say right now. I could follow his lead and lean into the flirtatious rhythm we’ve struck up tonight. I’m doubtful that it would make him blush, but I’m pretty sure he’d enjoy it.
There’s a quip on the tip of my tongue when something else jumps into the forefront of my mind. ‘How come you haven’t brought Cash here?’ I ask, instinctively voicing the question that’s been ruminating in my mind for the last month or so.
He goes quiet, the smile wiped off his face, and I can practically see the gears in his brain working overtime as he scrambles for a way to respond.
‘Honestly?’
I nod and bump his shoulder with mine. The touch sends that same warmth shooting through me again. ‘Honestly.’
Dane shrugs and he’s not blushing exactly, but there’s something about the expression on his face. Something I can’t quite place. ‘Maybe I just don’t want to share you with anyone else?’
His response is equal parts evasive and flirtatious – very much the Dane I’ve come to know over the last few weeks.
But there’s something else to it. A rare air of vulnerability there.
Like I’ve finally caught him with his walls down and he’s not quite sure how to proceed, so he’s trying to mask it with a joke that’s not entirely untrue.
I don’t know what to say in response, so I don’t say anything. But I do smile.
And then he smiles back and the urge to run and grab my camera and capture this moment – Dane, grinning widely, the setting sun around us making his skin glow even more than usual – is so strong, it startles me.