Chapter 13 #2
Hina yawns while I’m chopping veggies for the salad. “At this rate, we’re going to eat at midnight.”
The kitchen feels welcoming and cold at the same time. A large island covers half of the space, with white marble countertops outlining its rectangular shape. There’s a ceiling-length window that has no curtains. It must be sunlit in the morning.
“It’s been fifteen minutes since we started,” I hand her a baby carrot with a chuckle .
Dean’s been on real cooking duty. He hasn’t offered any of his beautiful voice to us, but he’s been attentive. When I washed the vegetables, he had a paper towel on standby. Then when I realized I forgot to wash the lettuce, he was already at the sink doing it for me.
“You forgot this,” his voice vibrates behind me.
Before I realize what’s happening, he’s tying an apron to my back.
His knuckles bump against my spine. The knife falls from my hand and onto the cutting board.
The slightest interaction has me gasping for air and praying to keep me safe from whatever this feeling is.
The crunch echoes. “So, Dean, I have a question for you.”
Cold air replaces his touch.
When I’m certain he’s not right behind me, I grab the knife.
“If it’s a sexual one, I pass.” There’s subtle amusement in his response.
“Boring,” Hina rolls her eyes. “What if you fall in love with someone on this show? Do you think you’d be with them in the real world?”
“Are we not in the real world?” Dean moves behind me, grabbing things, the pan is sizzling and personally, I think he needs to keep his eyes on the meat rather than talking to Hina.
“We are but it isn’t real real yet, you know?” Hina points her half-bitten carrot at me. “Tell me you know what I’m talking about.”
I nod.
The cameras and the performance of it isn’t real. It exists momentarily and I get why people on Love Land and shows where they’re completely cut off from the world struggle with understanding how much time has passed, because it can feel like ages.
Thankfully, we were only told to delete any social media platforms and not search up the show or our names. Otherwise, all of us would be searching our names and trying to see who likes us and who doesn’t .
“Let me think about my answer,” he arm brushes over mine to get the dull knife I was working with earlier. It’s hot, heated, totally unwanted.
I think.
Hina waits for my response.
Grabbing a tomato, “The surprising thing is I don’t believe in love like that. You can find someone you feel connected to here, but it’s temporary. You really need to know someone in order for love to exist and to be honest, is that possible in the eight weeks we’re here?”
It’s not like I hate love, but romance has always been out of reach. I’ve never been confessed to. Never had a man tell me he wanted me or yearned for me. If I don’t know what it feels like or what it is I’m truly missing out on, do I even deserve to want it?
“Real,” Hina replies with a salute. “But then if every man here looked like Dean, I’d think love is everywhere.”
I choke on a laugh. Or shock. Who knows? This woman is starting to make me laugh with anything she says.
“I’m a one-woman man,” Dean says. “If I fall in love with a woman on this show, then no amount of hate, press, or change can drag me away from her.” Something odd constricts in my chest.
Maybe it’s gastritis?
Wrong organ.
It happens so fast. One minute, I’m cutting using the claw method and the next the knife slips from my fingers and scrapes against my palm.
My breath hitches.
“Shit, you’re bleeding.”
I don’t get a second to think about the red line, when Dean takes me to the sink and runs the cut under warm water.
He cups his palm below mine, spreading my fingers with a gentle push using his own. “Are you okay?” He gruffly asks.
I tilt my head to look at him. His brows are pushed together, eyes dead set on the cut. He presses his lips together, a look of complete guilt morphs into his face.
Then, like he can feel me staring at him, he looks. And all I see is green, green, green.
I can feel every part of my body light up. There’s fireworks in my knees, the back of my elbows, in the crevices of my cellulite.
“I, uh…” I pull my hand away. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Another crunch .
“That looks bad, girl.”
“Nothing a little iodine and a bandage can’t fix,” I joke to try and lighten up the mood. It doesn’t work too well.
“Go sit,” Dean orders from behind. Then passes by me to the stove. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“But I can?—”
He pins me down with a glare.
Just as I’m about to argue, Hina pulls me down on a barstool next to hers. “Nova, babe. Shh .”
In the next couple of minutes, Dean hands me a clean towel to press against the cut and goes back to working in silence.
Hina yaps about her expectations in love with men.
Which I learn has a lot to do with physical intimacy and very little with emotional intelligence because she says, and I quote, “Men are as stupid as the shit that comes out of my ass.”
When that makes me laugh, Dean is staring at me and doesn’t look away.
I’m still mad at him. Especially for the anniversary party.
I haven’t forgotten how easily he talked negatively about me to one of my best friends.
However, what kind of person would I be if I let that single moment define him?
Yes, Vuk Securities has been my client for two years, and I owe him the benefit of the doubt. At least, that’s what my heart thinks.
Hina’s scrolling on her emails when she asks, “Why’d you guys come on Love? Check! ? Is it for fun, to build a platform, for love, or is it something else?”
My ears perk up. I’ve been waiting to ask this question but I’m glad Hina beat me to it.
Dean turns the stove off and covers the steaks with the cover.
He then turns around to face us, leaning back against the opposite counter.
There’s a moment where he glances over at me, and it stays there. It doesn’t move and when I blink, it’s like I imagined it.
“It was on my bucket list,” he says.
“How’d you hear about it?” I want him to tell me a truthful answer.
“From an acquaintance,” he doesn’t back away from my glare.
“Who was this friend? Are they on the show?” Be honest, Dean. You heard it from me. Though, I don’t take it being on his bucket list as a proper answer. If it was, he would’ve mentioned it that day in his office.
“Irene,” his lips quirk up. “I heard it from her. Last I know, she pitched this season to me and said they were looking for two more contestants and asked me if I wanted to be a part of it. I thought about it and said yes.”
Oh. Why hide it then? Why not mention that you’re going to be here when I told you about it two days ago?
“You don’t need to tell us that,” Hina looks between us. At the sudden tension.
There’s an odd curve to his lips. An anomaly in his tongue .
Dean’s not telling the truth.
He’s too carefree.
Whatever it is that you’re here for, Dean Vuk, I promise I will figure it out.