Chapter 37
KOLTON
Swanky restaurants aren’t generally my deal. The pressed shirts and gelled hair are too uptight for my liking, but Shay had to work late, and it’s close to the shop.
I check the time again. She should be here soon, which means the conversation I’ve delayed will also happen soon. I force another swallow of scotch.
I finished my design-firm research several days ago, but every time I try to broach the subject with Shay and suggest she move to Vancouver, I overheat and feel off and find myself switching topics.
I’m obviously terrified of her rejection, but time is no longer on our side.
The store is almost complete, merchandise arriving tomorrow along with Sawyer, who will help us pull the space together.
We’ll have late nights and long hours of training staff ahead.
Tonight is my last chance before the grand opening next weekend to spend quality time with Shay. To propose my plan for our future and hope she doesn’t rip out my heart. I mean, I love her so damn much—words I finally need to say out loud—that I’ve been working myself into anxiety sweats.
Needing distraction, I continue with my people watching. At least the dude at the back provides ample entertainment.
He’s in a corner booth with another couple, his arm draped over the dark leather cushion behind what must be his girlfriend, but his eyes haven’t left the waitress with the full breasts, her tight white blouse sure to rake in tips.
I tap my fingers to the crooner tunes drifting from the speakers, relaxing more and enjoying the show. Either the girlfriend is oblivious to his wandering gaze, or she happily trades that for the rocks sparkling around her neck.
“Hey there, handsome.” Shay’s voice blocks out the rising laughs from another nearby table as she slides into the seat opposite me.
“Sorry I’m late. It took forever to fix the angle of the silkscreens.
But, oh my God, it looks so freaking good.
I can’t believe how the space is coming together.
And”—she tries to sit still, but the table shakes from her bouncing legs—“I have news.”
I plant my palms on her knees until they still. Her bare knees. The ones above her red fuck-me boots and below that sexy, fitted gray skirt of hers. I love when she wears skirts. “Kiss me first, news after.”
She huffs out a playful breath. “If I must.”
I never used to be one for PDA, or sex in public places, but there’s something about Shay. Sliding my hand up her skirt, I kiss her hard and run my thumb along her panty line.
She pulls back, breathless. “Hello to you, too.”
I extricate my hand and push the glass of Chardonnay I ordered for her across the table. “Why don’t we toast your news, Connor?”
My use of her nickname earns me a glare—which is pretty much why I do it—but she doesn’t ask for its source again. She’s determined to figure out the reference on her own.
Her dirty look transforms quickly, her face scrunching like Jackson’s when he’s too keyed up to sit still. My lips tug upward, too, her excitement infectious, but as the seconds tick by, I realize there’s only one thing that would have Shay so stoked that she’s bouncing in her chair.
The job. The associate designer position.
Hilary must have promoted her.
This is everything Shay wants. Everything she’ll hate to leave.
I raise my glass, expecting my heart to sink, but I feel oddly calm. Happy for her, really. Because she worked her tail off for this.
Finally, her joy spills out. “Hilary took me aside as I was leaving, which is why I’m late, and she offered me the job.
Associate designer, Kolton. A permanent position!
I mean, I know she’s hinted at it, but it’s been so nuts I didn’t have time to stress over her decision.
And now”—she squeals—“I have a real live job.”
She tosses her head back, and I can’t help but revel in her success. I’m so damn proud of her. No matter what she chooses for our future, that won’t change.
“To you,” I say, raising my drink higher.
She settles onto her elbows, and we clink glasses. “To the man who thought I could do it and gave me the chance to prove myself.”
Eyes locked, we sip our drinks, then we chat about the space, the job, and the opening next week. The whole while, she gestures with her hands and sips her wine, only stopping when a plate of steak frites passes our table. Our cue to order. More talking, more laughing.
As we eat off each other’s plates, we dissect the Sawyer-Lily drama.
Shay agonizes over how they’ll survive the grand opening—Lily attending with Kevin, Sawyer with his flavor of the week.
It won’t be pretty. She frowns when I mention Nico will be coming, too.
Apparently, Raven gets weird when the big guy is mentioned, but Shay hasn’t figured out why.
Our plates are removed, a molten chocolate cake is ordered, and I suddenly feel ready to have The Talk with Shay.
My weird flushing and heart palpitations are absent.
My palms aren’t clammy, and I feel confident laying out my plan.
Delaying this talk another day or week or month won’t make any difference.
We need to figure our shit out, promotion or not.
I run my finger around the base of my wineglass, distracted momentarily by that jerk from earlier, who guffaws with a loose arm slung behind his girlfriend.
Ignoring him, I say, “We need to talk.”
The glow Shay has sported all night dulls, the lines between her eyes creasing. “Now?”
“I leave in two weeks, Shay, and the rest of our time here is only getting busier. We can’t keep pretending we’re not on a timeline. But I’ve been thinking a lot, and I have a suggestion.”
She bites her lip. Her eyes search mine, imploring, seeking.
I clear my throat. “We both knew one of us would have to make sacrifices for this to work. We always knew that, and we jumped in anyway. I’ve tried. I spoke to Sawyer about me moving and working from here permanently, but the complications are too…complicated.”
She winces, a slight twitch of her cheeks. I grip her wrist, and her fingers curl around mine, holding on, but she doesn’t speak.
“It’s not just about me, Shay. Caroline has been a wreck without Jackson there.
He’s a living reminder of her daughter, all she has, and I couldn’t live with myself if I took that away from her.
” It’s getting easier to talk now. Still no racing heart.
No second-guessing myself. “That leaves you. There’s a great job opening at a design firm in Vancouver, and I’ve already spoken to them.
They’ve seen your sketches from the shop, and, of course, love them.
They want to set up an interview. I know how much the promotion with Hilary means, but this job is pretty sweet.
It’s a bigger firm. They just finished a lodge in Whistler that would blow your mind. ”
She studies the table as her nails dig into my wrist. I wait for her to reply, but she stays quiet.
“I know you have a life here and friends,” I go on, before she shuts me out completely, “but I also know what we have isn’t something you find every day.
I don’t want to lose you. I care about you too much.
” I don’t tell her I love her, not when she hasn’t said one word.
The only emotion readable in her expression is the fear in her flitting downward gaze.
Finally, she looks up at me. “You used your influence to get me a job again.” Her tone is flat. Disappointed.
Of course she latches onto the one thing in this equation that reminds her of her asshole ex.
Like I’m trying to control her. Like I don’t want what’s best for her.
“It’s your work they looked at, Shay. Your designs.
It’s your interview to rock or fail. I opened the door, because I wanted to help.
I want you with me—me and Jackson. I knew how hard leaving Hilary and Concept would be for you, and I wanted you to know you have options.
That’s all. Look for another job, for all I care.
Or don’t work. I can support us. Whatever you want.
Just say you’ll consider coming with me. Say you think we’re worth it.”
Oblivious to our intense conversation, our waiter appears and places our dessert between us. The rich chocolate scents smell bitter.
Shay inhales deeply, releases my wrist, and lowers her shoulders on an exhale.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Thank you for doing the research.
I’ll think about moving, because you are worth it.
We’re worth trying to figure this out. There’s just a lot to consider.
Maybe we’ll find a middle ground,” she says, her eyes suddenly hopeful.
“Some kind of long-distance compromise?”
My mouth instantly sours. Shay and I have talked about so much, but we’ve never discussed my visceral reaction to long-distance relationships. Not in specifics. All these years later, it’s still hard to admit what Marina did.
I pick up a fork, gripping the thing too damn tightly.
“Long distance can be rough. Marina and I tried it at the start of university—she had her heart set on a nursing program in Calgary, and I got a scholarship to UBC. Figured we’d be a province apart, but it was us and we thought we could make things work. ”
I try to say the rest, but when the words rise, bile rises with them. Waves of embarrassment, shame, and anger—emotions I thought I’d moved past—surprise me in their ferocity.
“It was a bad time,” I say instead of getting specific, my tone probably too curt.
“Not something I want to revisit. But you and me—we still have a couple of weeks together. Maybe we should table this for now. Talk about your job options again after you’ve had time to think everything through.
” Except it already feels like she’s made her choice.
I wait for my gut to bottom out, my heart to speed, my neck and face to heat. Nothing happens. Well, not exactly nothing. Numbness spreads through me, like I’m encased in fog. I swallow and wipe my hands down my thighs.
She studies me a moment, then tilts her head. “Is everything okay? You seem…off.”
I rub my chest, wanting to feel more. Frustration? Hope? All I get is this hazy disconnect. “It’s just the situation,” I say. “I’m worried about us, but I’m not leaving tomorrow. We have time, like I said, and we have this beautiful dessert. We’ll talk later, okay?”
She chews her lip, then nods and cuts into the dessert. A thick river of chocolate spills from the center.
She scoops up a decadent morsel and is about to place it on her tongue when a deep voice says, “Shay? Is that you?”
Her lip curls before she glances up…at the fuckwit who was ogling the waitress earlier. Not a gelled hair on his head is out of place, his button-down shirt is neatly tucked, and his cologne makes my nose itch.
“Richard,” she says, and I nearly stand and deck the guy.
The woman with the sparkly necklace is at the front door, her impatient “Ri-chard” drawing a sharp glare from Shay. He seems oblivious. He drags his gaze up Shay’s body, settling on her breasts the way he leered at the waitress.
Yep. I really want to deck the guy.
Finally, he looks her in the eye. “Michael said he saw you recently, said you were doing well. Designing that new Moondog shop, right?”
I don’t know who this Michael is, but I don’t like that Richard knows what Shay’s up to, like he’s keeping tabs on her. And he hasn’t even acknowledged me.
Shay shoves a forkful of chocolate in her mouth, moaning like she did that day on Aspen Mountain in the cafeteria.
As if she’s goading him, daring him to make a comment.
She drops her fork and curls her hands into fists.
“Yeah, things are good. Perfect, actually. This is my boyfriend, Kolton. He owns Moondog.” Her words are clipped. Tense.
I offer a curt nod and place my hand back over hers.
His assessing gaze focuses on our hands, on my thumb rubbing circles. Then a smug, trust-fund smile settles on his face. Like he’s Sherlock Holmes about to crack a case. “That’s great, Shay. I’m really happy for you. It’s really nice of Kolton to let you design the space. Can’t wait to see it.”
That’s great. Really nice. Let you design.
Shay wasn’t kidding when she said this douche was arrogant and condescending, insinuating I gave my girlfriend the job as a favor. Not because she had the most creative sketches I’d seen. Not because she’s capable.
I squeeze her hand. “Shay’s an amazing designer. Her work speaks for itself.”
Smirking, he studies her breasts another minute. “I’m sure it does. Anyway, see you around.”
What a total dick.
But that wasn’t some simple run-in with an ex, one of those blips where women flaunt how good they look and how awesome they’re doing since moving on. That was Richard reinforcing the very things that plague Shay.
Me, controlling her life. Me, influencing her career.
Her not making it on her own.
“You know he’s wrong, right?” I say, trying to catch her eye. If she overthinks this interaction, it’ll be more reason for her to stay in Toronto. End things with us. “You know he’s full of crap.”
“Yeah, I know.” But there’s no conviction in her words. Then more forcefully, “I know, Kolton. I know why you hired me.”
“Also, I fucking hate that guy.”
She laughs, but the sound is strained. “You and me both.”
She resumes eating the cake. I force in a few bites. We talk, but the topics of Richard and moving out West are avoided. When Shay gets quiet while shredding a sugar packet, I signal the waiter for our check.
We hardly talk on the ride home. Her continued silence when we crawl into bed joins the unease accumulating between us.
Still, she curls her body around mine and drags her hands through my hair, and I’m on her in seconds, pressing my fingers into her skin while I suck a path down her neck and over her heart.
Her legs fall wide, and I touch her and tease her, feeling anything but numb and foggy now. I’m almost shaking with my need for her. Overwhelmed with too much emotion, different than in the past. Like I know we’re ending soon, and these are my last nights with her.
I rock my hand, and she grips my length, her hazel eyes brewing with all we aren’t saying.
Then I’m pushing into her and pumping faster and kissing her so hard my lips feel bruised.
I say her name a thousand times as tension travels up my thighs and expands against my ribs.
This isn’t sex. This is possession. I can’t control my need to move fast and deep, to obliterate anything but us, here in this bed. I thrust and bite and groan.
She matches my movements, clawing at my back. Rougher and needier, until we fall apart together, my face buried in her neck, all that hair of hers gripped in my fists.