Page 47 of Dreaming of Dawson

“It is?”What is? I can’t remember what we were talking about…

“Yeah. I need to get back there so I can take a shower and get to work.”

Oh, yeah… the cab, and her leaving. Unfortunately.

“But you’re not due back here until four,” I say, frowning, my brain still catching up.

“I know, but I’m due at the apple orchard at nine.”

How could I have forgotten? She has another job.

“I could have taken you,” I say, and she tilts her head, like it’s her turn not to understand.

“Taken me where?”

“Back to your aunt’s place. I’d have waited while you showered, and then driven you to the apple orchard, if you’d asked… I mean, if you’d wanted me to.”

She shouldn’t have had to ask, you fucking fool. Just like she should have had to ask to stay last night. You should have offered, and if you’d been sober, you would have done.

She shakes her head. “The cab’s ordered now,” she says. “It’ll be here in thirty minutes.” She glances at her watch. “Probably closer to twenty-five now.”

I want to tell her to cancel it, so I can take her, but I have a feeling she’d decline and I don’t want to put her in the position of having to find excuses not to be with me.

“You can’t wait out here for thirty minutes… or even twenty-five.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t wanna get in your way.”

“You won’t,” I say, notching that up as excuse number one. Before she can work out excuse number two, I grab her hand, making her gasp. “It’s too damn cold out here. You’ll catch pneumonia.”

“But… but…”

I haul her back inside, not giving her a chance to argue, and then I close the door, looking down at her sparkling eyes and pinked cheeks. It’s a look she wears well, and I tilt my head toward the bar.

“Do you want a coffee? It’ll help warm you up.”

She hesitates for a second, but probably not much more, and then nods her head. “Okay.”

I get the feeling she’s accepting out of politeness rather than enthusiasm, but I’ll take it. She’s here, and as far as I’m concerned, even if we’ve only got twenty-five minutes, it’s twenty-five minutes more than I thought we’d have.

I glance down and realize we’re still holding hands, and although I know I reasoned it was too soon for things like that, I can’t help thinking how good it feels… right until she pulls away, letting me know she doesn’t feel the same.

“Take a seat,” I say, determined to make the most of what I’ve got, rather than dwell on what I haven’t, as I rush to the back of the bar, switching on the lights, and then return to her, watching while she unwraps her scarf and unfastens her coat, sitting up on one of the bar stools.

It doesn’t take long to prepare two cups of coffee, although rather than staying on this side of the bar to drink mine, I walk around and join her. The moment I sit, I take a sip of coffee, closing my eyes and letting it relax me a little before turning in my seat so I can look at her.

“Sorry,” I say, and she twists, so she’s facing me, confusion etched on her face.

“You already said that, when we were upstairs. Or have you forgotten?” She glances down at my drink, presumably wondering if I’ve sneaked some bourbon into the cup. I haven’t. For the first time in a long time, I’m drinking neat coffee.

“No. I hadn’t forgotten, but that didn’t feel like enough.”

I didn’t get to explain. Not properly.

“It’s fine. Really,” she says. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Yeah. I do.”The sadness in your eyes tells me that. “I’m sorry you saw me drunk.”

“I know. That’s what you said upstairs,” she says, picking up her cup.

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