Chapter 20 Dawsen #2
“Yeah? Is that why you’re here, on a Sunday, at the crack of dawn?” I say, not making eye contact, as I guide her booted foot down onto the floor.
“Ha, yes. Well, I just needed to talk to you about the project. I think I’ll need some scaffolding to finish the mural.
I’ve been doing just fine with the ladder, but I think for the details on the top half, it’d be really helpful to be able to get up closer and have my supplies with me and a bit more space to work.
” She reels on, I can tell she’s nervous for some reason, probably feeling like an imposition or maybe worried I’d decline her request?
I don’t know why she’d be nervous, I haven’t thought I was being a hard ass but maybe I’ve been coming off that way while I’ve been trying to control my Birdie Banks infatuation since we’ve been in such tight quarters… of my own doing.
“Yeah, of course, anything you need. I’ll call Lee at the hardware store and get scaffolding here for you this week.
Not an issue at all.” I say, not realizing my hand is on top of her knee, my thumb brushing against the soft denim.
I move it away quickly as I see her eyes glance at it for just a split second before she clears her throat and continues.
“Well, that’s the thing, I already talked to Lee and he has no scaffolding or lifts at the shop. He said that our best bet is the hardware shop in Munsen… the next town over. So…” She trails off, and before she continues, I just interject, trying to ease her anxieties surrounding this conversation.
“Well, why don’t we drive out to Munsen tomorrow then and pick it up with my truck? It’s just a little over an hour away. I’ll just make sure Greg is here to cover for me at The Merc and South.”
Her eyes light up instantly, and I won’t be forgetting the way her shoulders relax, like the weight of the world was lifted somehow.
And there’s a twinge in my gut at that. Why was she so nervous to bring this up?
I mean, shit, she’s doing me the favor by painting the mural, it’s the least I can do to make sure she has everything she needs.
Have I just come off as a compete and total brooding asshole this whole time?
Yeah, I’ve been trying to keep my distance, but I didn’t intend to seem like a total ass hat.
Note to self: Keep distance so you don’t accidentally kiss her or say something stupid, but be close enough so that you seem approachable.
“Really? That would be so great.” She slides her hand up into her hair and brings it around her shoulder, “Thanks Dawsen.” She gestures at her boots and then shrugs, “For this and that.” I chuff out a laugh as I stand up, “Anytime, Bird.”
We both stand, and she starts making her way towards the door. It’s Sunday, it’s early, and I ask before I can talk myself out of it because once again, I’m a weak man, and the gravitational pull to Birdie’s orbit is strong.
“Do you want some breakfast?” I’m scratching the back of my neck and hiking my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the kitchen.
She pauses and rocks back onto her heels as she considers my question.
I see her pull her bottom lip in between her teeth as she looks at me for a beat. Her gears turning.
“Only if there’s coffee also.” She says, as her lips purse together in a delicious way.
“There’s always coffee, Birdie.” With that, she claps her hands and strides over to meet me in the kitchen. She grabs a seat at one of the bar stools that line the side of my counter top and I head straight for my coffee pot and start filling the filter with fresh coffee grounds.
“Well this is kind of fun. It’s like family breakfast but it’s just us.” She says with a small laugh as her fingers trace circles on the counter top.
I smile, but my back is to her as I finish preparing the coffee pot to brew. “I don’t think we’ve ever had breakfast just you and I.”
“That’s not true! We used to eat pop tarts together in the morning whenever you’d sleep over at the house as kids. You were always up so early… apparently nothing has changed.”
I smile at the memory.
“Can pop tarts be considered an actual meal though?” I laugh, grabbing a pair of coffee mugs from the cabinet and sliding one in front of her.
“They are most definitely considered a meal when you’re between the ages of 5 to 18.” She says with absolute certainty, almost like it says so under the nutrition facts or something.
“Well, then I guess you’re getting an age appropriate breakfast from me this morning. With some actual protein.” I teased her as I start grabbing the bacon and eggs from the fridge.
She grabs the package of bacon and starts inspecting it.
“You get the good stuff!”
“Life’s too short for bad bacon, Birdie.” I reply, as I grab the coffee pot and start pouring the hot liquid into her mug.
“I wholeheartedly agree.” She says, smiling as she brings her cup to her lips, letting the steam fill her face, like she’s giving herself a coffee facial.
“So, how was the date?” I hate myself for asking, but I’ve not made any other smart decisions today, so why stop now.
Her eyes dart up to mine and I can see her brows pinch together just slightly. She sets her mug down, rubbing her finger up and down the small ceramic handle. She let’s out a soft, tired sigh.
“I can’t actually give you any sane or good reason why I didn’t necessarily enjoy it.” My heart swells at her admission. I’m aware of how fucked it is that I’m actually happy that she didn’t enjoy her time with him.
She pauses before continuing, “He is just very… city. And let’s just say that my experience with city men leaves something to be desired.
But I don’t know. Maybe I’m not giving him a fair shot.
He’s going to come to the concert tonight, so I guess we’ll just see how it goes.
” I practically wince at that sliver of information she just shared.
And just like that, the good feeling is gone and my gut churns at the thought of seeing him with her tonight.
I want to plead with her and tell her that he’s not worth it, that she should tell him not to come and that she should hang out with me all night instead.
But of course, I’m a coward and don’t say any of that.
I just nod and smile and act like that wasn’t the worst thing I’ve heard all week.
I was able to regain my bearings and act like a civilized human while I finished making Birdie breakfast. Once the spread of bacon, eggs and toast was complete, I sidled up on the bar stool next to hers.
We ate, or I should say that I ate while she told me all about her job in the city and how she got fired, and how humiliated she felt.
From there she told me about her life in the city; what she loved about it—which had everything to do with the proximity to her favorite coffee shop, and the feeling of progressing in her career there, which obviously ended abruptly, so she came to the realization that maybe the only thing she liked there was in fact, her proximity to the coffee shop.
She was adorably upset when she came to that conclusion.
I let her vent and carry on about how even the friendships she had while she was there were built on sinking sand. We finished an entire pot of coffee and scraped our plates clean while I watched this precious, smart, incredible woman work through a “pre-mid life crisis” as she coined it.
I wanted to pull her into me. To bring her face to my chest while I kissed her hair and let her know how incredible she is.
That all of these things are just part of her story.
That she’s got so much ahead of her. That her talent can’t be snuffed out by anything or anyone, and that she doesn’t need those people because she has River.
She has Casey, but most of all because she has me.
I wanted to keep a lid on my feelings for her as she bore her heart to me, but I couldn’t do it—well, not completely.
I pulled her into me, rubbing my hand up and down her arm for a beat before I released her, looking into her big doe eyes, and told her, “you’re exactly where you need to be.”
She smiled a smile laced with self-pity as she joked, “in your kitchen, crying about how much of a failure I am?”
“Well, not exactly—but I do love your being here, for the record.” I chuffed out a laugh before I elaborated.
“You’re home.”
* * *
It’s about 8:45 and I’ve just parked in the lot of Echo Hall. I lean my head back against the headrest and listen to the hum of the engine as I contemplate throwing this thing in drive and heading back home.
The thought of spending all night in such close quarters with Birdie and Max on a date is probably one of the most miserable ways I could think to spend my night.
I think I would almost rather be forced to watch infomercials while sitting in an ice bath than watch him drool all over her.
Although I don’t know if it’d be more miserable going home and picturing that—which is why I’m about to quit being a little bitch and face the music.