Page 16 of Dreaming of Dawson

She smiles, her face softening. “Even after everything that happened with James?” she says.

I take a moment, and I swallow hard before I nod my head. “Even then.”

“In that case, I wish you luck with Dawson Pine. Most people around here think he’s beyond saving.” She tilts her head, looking at me for a second or two, and then says, “Who knows… maybe you’re just what he needs.” I’m not sure what she means by that, but before I can ask, her phone rings, and she picks it up from the table. “Oh… it’s Vivienne,” she says and connects the call, brushing crumbs from her sweater as she gets up from the table.

I set about clearing away, loading everything into the dishwasher, and finishing my coffee before I put the cup into the top rack and close the door. There’s still a little while before I have to leave, and I can hear Aunty talking on the phone, so I take advantage of her absence and go into my bedroom, collecting my laundry and taking it through to the room which is just off of the kitchen. Bernie uses this space for all kinds of things, from cutting flowers, to cleaning shoes, but its primary function is as the home to the washing machine and dryer, as well as an enormous deep-freeze. I know Aunt Bernie has some towels she wants to wash, but my theory is, if you snooze, you lose… and I got here first.

Once the machine is running, I step out into the kitchen again and look around. It’s a lovely old-fashioned room, with farmhouse-style cabinets, which suits this place – and Aunt Bernie – perfectly. She loves to be out here baking, and her cakes have a reputation in the town… especially at the fourth of July picnic. I remember coming here as a child to celebrate and enjoy the festivities on the green in the heart of the town, and I guess maybe that was one of the reasons I ran here, when I ran.

I knew I’d be welcome… and safe.

Aunt Bernie comes back into the room and glances over my shoulder toward the laundry room.

“You beat me to it, then?” she says, although she’s smiling.

“I did. Is everything okay with Vivienne?”

“It is. She knew I’d be going to the grocery store this morning, and she wanted me to pick up a few things for her.”

“Oh. I see,” I say, nodding my head. “I’m gonna make my bed and get ready to go.”

“Okay.”

I wander out into the hall, and by-pass the living room, going along to my bedroom, which is next door to the main bathroom. I’m still getting used to all the rooms being separate, rather than open-plan, but Aunt Bernie loves it.

“It means I can make a mess and close the door on it,” is the way she’s always looked at it, and that makes me smile, because she keeps a very tidy house.

It’s that thought that ensures I keep my room clean and make my bed every morning. I’m grateful to her for letting me stay, and for never complaining about the meagre contributions I make toward the housekeeping. It feels like the very least I can do is clear up after myself.

Fortunately, making my bed never takes long. I’m one of those people who barely moves while they’re sleeping, so all I have to do is puff up the pillows and straighten the cover. It’s the work of moments.

As for what to wear, jeans would be comfortable – not to mention practical – but I ought to at least look as though I’ve made an effort, so I swap them out for my smart black pants. A blouse would be better than a sweater, but it’s freezing, and I’m not insane, so I add a pretty scarf to my plain cream pullover, find my black shoes, pull on my puffer jacket, and go back out into the hall.

“How could Dawson not like what he sees?” Aunt Bernie says, smiling at me as she leans against the doorframe.

I can’t help blushing – which is probably because this is Dawson we’re talking about – although I feel I have to check.

“Are you sure this is okay? I don’t look too untidy?”

“You look lovely,” she says. “He’d be mad not to take you.”

I wish she hadn’t said that. The thought of being ‘taken’ by Dawson is something I’ve been trying to put out of my mind ever since Ryan first told me there was an opening at the bar. Still, I can’t back out now…

The walk takes me a little less time than I’d expected, and when I get to Dawson’s bar, it’s only been open about ten minutes, instead of the thirty I’d hoped for. Even so, it’s too cold to wait around outside, and there’s really no need.

I push open the door, relieved to be in the warm.

The bar is just as big as I’d expected, the walls down either side taken up with booths, while the space in front of the bar has some tables and chairs, none of which are occupied. That’s not a surprise. Like I say, this place only opened ten minutes ago, and as I unzip my jacket, I glance at the long bar, which occupies the middle of the room, and beyond it to an area where there’s a jukebox and a pool table. It’s quite dark back there, but I can see three doors along the wall, spaced evenly. One has the words ‘Rest Rooms’ on it, the middle one says ‘Kitchen’, and the third just says ‘Private’.

There’s no-one in sight, and I’m about to call out when Dawson himself stands up from behind the bar. He must have been crouching down, or bending to do something, and he’s as surprised by my appearance as I am by his.

“Hello,” he says as I walk up to the bar, remembering to put one foot in front of the other. “What can I get you?”

“Nothing, thanks. I—I’m here about the help wanted poster?” I turn my head, tilting it toward the window where the sign is displayed, before I look back at him, my breath catchingin my throat. He’d seemed attractive from the other side of the street, but close-up, he’s utterly irresistible.

Except I have to resist. Regardless of his dark good looks, I have to keep my mind on why I’m here, and not let it wander.

“Oh,” he says, sounding slightly dismayed, which is hardly an ideal response.

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