Chapter 18 Dawsen
Dawsen
This fucking day.
The last couple weeks have probably been the first weeks I’ve actually really looked forward to anything, and I didn’t even care how pathetic it was that I just looked forward to being around her all day.
So when I came down from my apartment this morning and she wasn’t there, I just deflated.
I asked Greg for her number, only because I knew he had it.
He gave me a suspicious look but didn’t question me any further, I was thankful for that at least.
When she called me on Stephanie coming by last week, all I wanted to do was defend myself and explain that the only reason she was there was to pick up a box of her things because I broke off whatever it was that had been going on—I decided to not even acknowledge it.
I hate the thought of her thinking that I’m sleeping around with anyone, let alone Stephanie, but I don’t even know what it matters, we aren’t anything to each other. But it still bothers me.
I felt so much relief when I saw her walk in.
She looked so beautiful, and she had this lightness about her today.
I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, but she just had a glow.
Even though she didn’t give me the time of day, I selfishly just loved getting to look at her all day, humming to whatever she was listening to, just watching her exist, being so good at what she’s doing.
Then Max had to waltz in and fuck up the day entirely.
Max is an old buddy of mine, and he’s a nice guy, don’t get me wrong.
But I don’t want him anywhere near Birdie.
The guy is a tool. He used to brag about how many chicks he got at summer camp every year.
Girls have always been a game to him, and even in his 30s, nothing has changed.
And okay, I’ll admit that my past isn’t much better, but at least I’m aware of being an asshole in my 20s, he’s oblivious and thinks he can get any girl he sets his eyes on, and I don’t want Birdie falling victim to him.
When I saw him talking to her in my winery, I felt my blood start to boil. It took everything in me to not go over there and punch him square in the face. I have absolutely no right to feel this level of jealousy, but here we are.
I had every intention of asking Birdie if she agreed to a date with Max when I was walking her to her car, but I froze. I couldn’t formulate any sort of conversation that wouldn’t be laced with envy.
I reach into my shower and turn the knob to the perfect amount of heat and let it warm up.
My apartment isn’t anything fancy, but I did renovate my bathroom before I moved in—it was super outdated and needed a good refresh.
I chose dark blues, and nickel finishes.
I wanted something modern and masculine.
I set my phone down on my counter as I peel off my clothes from the day when I see my phone light up.
I grab my phone and open up my messages.
A notification from Birdie Banks comes up on my screen.
It’s a picture. I swipe open and see a selfie of her, sitting up in her bed with a book that I can’t quite make out the name of, and a glass of red wine.
She has red glasses on and her hair is up in a messy bun and I think I’m short circuiting at the sight.
I’m standing in my bathroom, undressed, staring at a picture of my best friend’s little sister. Again, this day is fucked.
Birdie: You’re right. This wine is smoooooth.
Me: I knew you’d like it. Nice glasses, nerd.
Birdie: I didn’t choose the blind life. It chose me.
Me: Do you wear contacts?
Birdie: Yes, Dawsen. I wear contacts. I cannot see shit.
Me: Well… I like the glasses.
Birdie: Thanks. I figured if I’m going to be blind, best to do it in style.
Me: That’s very on brand for you.
Birdie: What do you mean?
Me: Nothing. You just have good style.
Birdie: That’s the best compliment.
Birdie: …So what’re you up to?
I can’t tell her the reality of this situation, so I leave her on read while I take the fastest shower I’ve ever taken in my life.
Me: Just showered. Gonna have a drink and catch up on some TV.
Birdie: Are you still into those dorky documentary’s on Ancient Rome?
Me: First of all, those are not dorky. Secondly, yes.
Birdie: Ha! I knew it. You’re such a nerd.
Me: Look who’s talking, miss ‘I have multiple collections of rocks and postcards’
Birdie: Wow Dawsen. You’re cold. But fortunately for me, I am very proud and unashamed of my collections. I am impressed you remember that though.
Me: I remember everything.
Birdie: I would challenge you on that… but you did remember my coffee order last week, sooo.
Me: It’s getting late. I’ll see you tomorrow?
Birdie: Sweet Dreams! *nerdy glasses emoji*
I wanted to talk to her all night long, but I also know that I can’t go there with her.
It would be selfish, and I care too damn much about her.
I wish I didn’t. I wish she wasn’t so damn magnetic and magical, but she is.
She’s always been. As much as it pained me, I had to put some space between us, because I know I’ll get too comfortable and say something I know I’ll come to regret.
* * *
I could barely sleep last night. Between staring at the photo of Birdie in her bed and willing myself to be a gentleman—I tossed and turned all night. Which is part of the reason why I’m standing in line at Mel’s, buying her a coffee and scone. I’m pathetic.
I walked from Mel’s, back to the shop—it’s just a couple blocks and it didn’t make sense to drive.
I see Birdie’s cherry red Volkswagen Cabriolet parked right out front of the winery, and I like the way it makes me feel.
I pull the door to the winery open and I see her back to me as she’s focusing on her mural.
Before I can think better of it, I sneak up behind her and pinch her waist.
“SHIT!” She yelps and pulls her headphones off and turns around.
“What the hell Dawsen, you want me to mess up your wall or do you have a death wish?” She spits out.
I hand her my peace offering—a white paper cup holding her favorite hot liquid and a brown paper bag. She hesitates before she grabs it.
“What’s this?” She asks, looking at me, trying to hide the smile creeping across her face… that I put there.
“You know what it is.” I say, casually crossing my arms and leaning against the table that holds all of her painting supplies.
“Wow, what did I do to deserve this?” She asks while taking the coffee and scone. I laugh at that, because what I really want to say is, ‘You deserve a hell of a lot more than a coffee and pastry,’ but what I opt for instead is—
“Just wanted to be nice.” Sliding my hands back into my pockets, and wondering if I should walk away now before I say something stupid.
“I really like when you want to be nice.” She smiles and takes a sip of her coffee. “Really, thank you. This is perfect.” She adds and purses her lips together, as she’s looking at me with those eyes.
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll let you get back to work.” I spin on my heels and head straight for my office.
Owning a business comes with a lot more office work than I really expected, and now that I own two businesses, It’s easy for me to fall behind.
Inventory, managing wine shipments, and overseeing marketing efforts, it’s a lot sometimes.
I usually put it off until it all builds up and I have absolutely no choice but to lock myself in my office and get it all done.
But having Birdie here has been productive because I try to spend as little time around her as possible—because since she’s been back, I have fallen deeply down into the well of my repressed feelings for Birdie Banks, and it’s best for both of us that I just put as much distance between us as possible, which is why I groan and rub my hand across my face when I see a group chat notification pop up on my phone’s screen.
Casey: Y’all. Let’s get tickets for tomorrow night to the Matt Schuster concert. He’s performing at Echo Hall.
River: Dope. I’m in.
Casey: Yeah… you seem to be in everyone these days.
River: You jealous, Casey? ;)
Casey: Fuck off. I change my mind, you’re uninvited.
Birdie: OH MY GOSH. I love Matt Schuster. I would love that.
Me: Ahh, I don’t know. The winery is pretty busy on weekends.
River: Dude, just have Greg and Savannah take care of it.
Me: You don’t own a winery and it shows.
River: WINE-ey bitch.
Me: *eye roll emoji*
Casey: Okay drama kings. Dawsen, don’t be lame. River, stop being a pest.
Birdie: Sorry, I’m working and I don’t want my boss to find out I’m texting, wasting valuable painting time. ;)
Birdie: Anyways, I have a date tonight and if it goes well, maybe I can invite him to join us? He’s Max. One of Dawsen’s old friends.
Casey: You have seriously got to do a better job of keeping me in the loop. When were you going to tell me about this mysterious hottie!?
River: Max? Like Max from summer camp?
And… there it is. She has a date. Tonight. My stomach feels like an empty pit. With Max.
Dawsen: Yep. That’s the one.
Birdie: HA! I’m sorry, I’ve been busy. Maybe you can meet him tomorrow. I’ll call you tonight after the date and fill you in on the details.
River: He’s kind of a player, Bird.
Birdie: I’m sorry, is this River? The man who invented that game?
Casey: HA HA. Ooh, do you need ice for that burn, Riv?
River: You’re such a brat, Casey!
The thought of being at a concert tomorrow with Birdie and Max might make me physically ill. I’d love to fake an injury or tell them I’m gonna need to stay back and take care of a few things, but I’m going to be there, and I’m going to make sure he doesn’t fucking mess with her.
Dawsen: I’ll be there.
Birdie: I’ll call you later Casey!
I put my head down and get to work, trying to distract myself front the events of the next 48 hours.
* * *
A gentle tapping on my office door pulls me from my focus and I glance at my watch, it’s 5:30.
“Come in.” I say plainly and finish submitting the shipment I was working on.
“Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting.” Birdie’s voice fills up my office as she slips through the door.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying not to look up, trying to seem detached from anything pertaining to her.
Even though I’m feeling very territorial over her, and hating that she’s going out with Max tonight.
“I was wondering if maybe I could use your bathroom to change and freshen up? I’m going out for drinks tonight with your friend Max, and I got in a fight with a paint can today.
I lost the battle, as you can see.” As she signals down her paint covered clothes.
I hate how she keeps referring to him as my friend, because at this point I pretty much detest the guy.
“I wouldn’t really consider him a friend” I pause for a beat and continue, “But yeah, that’s fine. I’ll show you up.” I push up off my chair a little bit more aggressively than I intended.
“Okay… Are you fine?” She asks, brows furrowed, looking so fucking adorably concerned with my attitude.
“I’m good, Birdie. Come on. You don’t want to be late” I say with a bitterness I’m trying to hide as I lead her out of my office, and down the hallway to the staircase leading up to my loft.