Chapter 23
D ean holds my hand when we get off the train.
He keeps holding my hand when we walk through Zermatt’s station.
And he doesn’t let go when bustling cars, smoke exhausts, and people’s chatter surrounds us.
Zermatt belongs in a fantasy novel. Brick walls, stone pathways, the inviting people around. Tourist upon tourist, children with their parents. Couples… there’s a lot of them here.
We walk for a while in silence. I tend to zone out when I’m with someone that can take care of me, and Dean’s written his name on that small list of people.
“So,” my palms are sweaty. “What’s the plan?”
Dean doesn’t let go of my hand when he takes his phone out. He taps it on. I catch a glimpse of his lock screen.
It’s a screenshot of his notes.
I point a finger at the screen. “Why do you have a checklist on taking care of someone with migraines?”
He barely glances when he says, “Because you have them.”
“How do you know that?” I’ve never told him .
“I’ve known for a while,” he clicks his phone off. “Before coming here.”
“Care to share?”
Dean fixates on our hands. “It’s in the paperwork at Vuk Securities.”
The memory hits me outrageously.
“Will your health be a problem?” Callahan Vuk reviewed the paperwork with disinterest. He didn’t linger on information and passed my name multiple times. It’s the first time I called him odd in my head. The scar on his chin, the tick in his jaw, the stubborn unhappiness shadowing over him.
“No,” I replied.
“I didn’t think you read it.” I turn to look at Dean, our hands slipping away.
He doesn’t bat an eye when he catches it. Tightening his hold. “Does it bother you that I know?”
“Will you forget it if I ask?”
“No,” he grumbles. “Your migraines don’t bother me.”
“They shouldn’t,” I retort. “But this whole time I thought I could be normal around you.”
“You’re used to hiding yourself and look,” his thumb swipes against my skin. “You’re calling it normal.”
It bothers me a lot more than I’d like it too. This whole experience is meant to be a blank slate. Yet Dean has known the whole time, kept an eye on me, watched me like a hawk, and is constantly there in every corner of my being.
Most would find this suffocating, but it’s comforting.
A solid wall to lean on.
“It actually doesn’t matter,” I sigh. “I would’ve told you eventually and I’m glad you know.” Keeps me from pretending I’m not in pain .
“Why haven’t you gotten meds for it?” He surprises me by asking. “I’ve only seen you take Advil.”
A bicycle rings past us. A man in a leotard runs across.
And there’s fresh bread somewhere.
“I have some but,” my chest falls. “I can’t afford the refills.”
“It’s not covered by OHIP?”
The Ontario Health Insurance Plan. Most Canadian citizens—if not, all—have it. It covers many medications, checkups, hospital visits, eye exams, etc. It should make life easier.
“I was never properly diagnosed.” Dean pulls me by the wrist. I’m pulled into him.
Our hands on his chest, my breath mingled with his.
Comfortable noise surrounds us. “My symptoms were never consistent with one kind of migraine. My doctor signed it off as chronic migraines, but it doesn’t cover the drugs that could truly help.
I’ve gotten some off-brand, even tried home remedies, and tied a scarf as tightly as possible around my head.
” I give him a tight smile. “It is what it is.”
“It shouldn’t be.” Dean tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t settle for simple answers, Nova. Look for more because there’s always a way around it. If you can’t find it, then I will.”
He waits a moment before asking, “Is this why you quit editing?”
Dean’s observant.
“Yes,” I sigh. “I loved the idea of being an editor at UofT, but then the migraines hit hard and rotting in bed seemed lovely.”
“What was the breaking point?” He asks, curious.
I think back to my last year. I’ll never forget the way words blurred on my exam paper. I couldn’t understand a single letter. “My final year,” I answer. “But thankfully I had the skills of a floral fairy, you know? Otherwise, how else would I have met you?”
“I would’ve found you,” he hums under his breath.
“You’d be working somewhere you love—a bookstore, perhaps—and I’d walk in and see you.
I wouldn’t approach you and you wouldn’t notice me, but I’d come every weekend to catch a glimpse of you.
One day you’d see me and ask if I need help finding anything, I’d say yes.
You’d take me to the romance section, then I’d ask if you have recommendations.
You’d think it’s for my girlfriend, but it would be for you.
Eventually, I’d muster the courage to ask you on a date. ”
My abdomen blooms with hot rays of sunshine. My throat can’t swallow the idea that Dean’s thought about this more than I have.
“Tell me the truth,” I raise a brow. “You’ve dated before, haven’t you?”
Dean chuckles. Deep and throaty. “Not since high school.”
“But you’ve liked people right?” We pull apart and start walking again. There’s no way someone as smooth as Dean doesn’t have a good chunk of experience in his pocket.
He pulls my hand to stop.
Turning to look at him.
“Just one.”
Green eyes pierce into my soul. Not in a way that makes me cower, but it’s a bubble. A passage into the secret garden. There’s roots buried that he allows me to see, to skip over, to pull apart.
I never knew vulnerability had a face until Dean.
My muscles in my throat tighten. The stress in my muscles releases. A conundrum of feelings occurs, but all I can focus on is him. Dean Vuk. The calming rain to my thunder.
Clearing my throat, “You’re good with your words.
If you weren’t grumpy, you could be a motivational speaker.
” I’m rambling. Losing my mind because I’d have to be stupid not to know he didn’t mean me.
“You know what’s crazy? I’ve been thinking about what’s on your bucket list since the minute we got here, and I still don’t know.
I’m starting to think it might be hanging out with a girl,” I joke to lighten up the air, but the opposite happens.
Dean replies, “Hanging out with you is on my bucket list.”
I’m ready to spread my legs and have his babies.
It’s weird. The way I’ve never been sexually attracted to anyone this intensely.
But with Dean, my body shifts, claws its way up the walls of my inner skin and bites its lusty teeth into me.
I’m hypnotized. His body, his voice, and especially his eyes.
This is new and I’m not good with new, but all I want is to feel him.
Figure out different ways he makes my thighs clench together or my heart pace rapidly.
I want to be an experiment he never gets tired of testing.
He's talking right now. Something about architecture, the buildings, the creative design. But I’m looking at him.
The shape of his lips and how the top moves more to the left when he’s amused, how he doesn’t let my hand go despite how clammy it is, or how he’s actively trying to smile more because he’s seen me smiling because of it.
My last crush was in high school. His birthday was a day before mine. Our names started with the same letters. We bonded over our fated friendship until we grew apart and naturally stopped talking.
I thought he was my greatest love.
But if what I felt then was love, then how can what’s occurring within me right now be stronger?
We turn left on a street. Tourists crowd the area, people shopping, taking pictures, looking at the mountains visible from here .
But I’m looking at him.
The sun hits those glimmering greens.
“…still waiting on trying cheese fondue and?—”
“I think I like you, Dean.” I blurt out.
He freezes. Doesn’t turn his head.
“I think that I’ve been liking you. But I’m feeling— realizing it now.”
There’s no other explanation. Why else would I have been upset about his conversation with Azar a month ago? There’s no beginning to my feelings, just a swindle of turns and twists until my finger pricked the needle.
Dean swallows hard, then drops my hand.
My stomach drops right after.
“Maybe you’re confused,” there’s utter anguish on his face. Unfiltered and wholly open for me to see every ounce of fear, affection, and desire.
I shake my head. “I like you, Dean Vuk. It’s taken me a while to get here, but I know there’s no way out.
There’s a reason why I was mad at you for saying I mess everything up or how I notice who you’re on a date with.
Before, I thought it was professional. That, I wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything to ruin why I’m here.
But that’s the thing… you’re the reason I’m still here. ”
His brows pull inwards. Dean studies me. His eyes fixating on every edge of expression at inhuman speed. Over and over until he stops on my eyes.
Wind rushes through at the same time Dean breathes out.
Gone is the anguish and pain. What lies is a tender definition of Dean Vuk.
“Can I…” He takes a step forward. “Can I hug you?”
I let out a watery laugh. “I’d like that.”
Dean puts all of him into the hug. There’s no room to breathe or think. It’s me and him on a busy street, people shouldering and bumping into us. But it’s me and him. Me and Dean. Nova and Dean. Us .
In a faraway land somewhere, a book flips open to a blank page and the story of us begins unfolding. Gold, magical ink writes his name next to mine, leaving a permanent stain in history.
Before pulling apart, Dean’s lips press against my temple.
“You realize that we’re still in public right?” I lean back with a smile.
“Don’t care,” he continues pressing kisses down to my cheek. His lips linger there.
“Stop that,” my breath hitches. He gazes up. Hooded, dark. Carefree .
“People are looking.”
“Lovebird, I don’t care.”
I’m laughing now. “I don’t want people thinking I have you wrapped around my finger and start talking about toxic femininity.”
“Toxic femininity,” He pulls away. “Is that real?”