Page 32 of Dreaming of Dawson

“And you weren’t?”

“Not as seriously as she was. She really wanted her degree and had ambitions to become an accountant. I’d just gone because I didn’t wanna spend four years away from her.”

He was clearly devoted to her, but I’m not jealous. I think it’s kinda sweet.

“How did it work out when you got back here and spent so much time in each other’s company?” I ask.

“It was weird to start with…”

“Why?” I say, interrupting him. “Why was it weird?”

“Because there was no-one to tell us what to do. We were free to do what we wanted, and that took some getting used to, although we made a good team. Stevie was a lot more organized than I was. She dealt with all the paperwork and the finances, and I did all the manual labor. Once we’d established our roles, it worked well…” His voice drifts off, and he takes a long sip from his glass, shaking his head.

I want to ask if that made it harder still when she left him, but I can’t. I don’t really need to, either. After all, they’d created this place together. When Stevie ran off with Peony’s ex, not only did Dawson have to deal with the breakdown of his marriage, but he had to carry on their business without her.

No wonder he’s found it hard.

He must be reminded of her every moment of the day.

Maybe that’s why he drinks.

So the memories are more hazy.

“This is silly,” he says, making me jump.

“What is?”

“We haven’t seen a soul for the last two hours.” He nods toward the entrance. “We may as well close up for the night.”

He has a point, and even though I’d rather stay and talk, I get the feeling he’s had enough for one night. And maybe I have too. Even if I’m not jealous of his relationship with Stevie, there’s only so much of it I can take at one sitting.

“I’ll fetch my things,” I say, getting down from the stool. He opens his mouth, but then closes it again, and while I’m tempted to ask what he was going to say, I doubt he’d tell me. Judging from the look on his face, he’s done for tonight.

When I come back out, wrapping my scarf around my neck, I notice he’s already topped up his drink, and I let out a silent sigh. It seems talking didn’t help as much as I’d hoped. Or maybe I was hoping for too much. Who knows?

Either way, I think he’d rather be alone, and I go straight to the door, turning back as I open it, and saying, “Goodnight,” to him.

He looks up slowly. “Goodnight,” he says, and I stare at him for a moment, before stepping outside, my breath catching in my throat when I see the sight before me.

It’s been snowing. Hard. And while I have to say the town looks absolutely beautiful, I can see the impracticality of it. There’s no way I can walk home, for one thing. There must be a good ten inches of snow on the ground. Oddly enough, it doesn’t feel as cold as it did earlier. There’s a gentle stillness in the air, and as I glance around, taking in the snow-decked roofs and trees, I realize why it’s been so quiet in the bar tonight. No-one else wanted to venture out, either.

Still, I’m sure there must be a cab company here. Aunt Bernice has been under the impression I’ve been using it to get home, and I pull out my phone, quickly checking on the Internet. Sure enough, I find one straight away and dial thenumber. It’s busy, which isn’t an enormous surprise, but I try again… and again… and finally, it rings.

“Hello?” The woman on the end of the line sounds harassed, to put it mildly.

“Hi. Is there any chance I could…”

“If you’re looking for a cab, you’re out of luck,” she says, cutting me off mid-sentence. “It’s too dangerous out there. The drivers we sent out earlier are mostly stuck in the snow, and we’re not taking any bookings.”

“None at all? It’s just I don’t have a car, and I live a mile and a half away.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do, hun,” she says, sounding more friendly. “Where are you now?”

“I’m at Dawson’s Bar.”

“Look on the bright side. You could be the woman who drove her car into a ditch about a mile outside of the town. The sheriff had to rescue her.”

“Oh. Is she okay?”

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