Page 24 of Flawless

“Just give me a few minutes, and I can get my things together and leave,” I say, jerking my hand in the direction of the bedroom I’ve been occupying.

Nodding, Danica says, “Okay.”

Disappointment floods every part of me as I head back to the bedroom.

After I get dressed, I grab my suitcases and begin tossing items inside. Just as I’m zipping up the final one, Danica knocks at the door.

“Come in,” I call out.

“Hey,” she says, holding onto the doorknob as though she might bolt at any moment.

“What’s up?”

“No need for you to leave. This is a three-bedroom cottage, and I think that we should be good as long as we stay out of each other’s way. Besides, whenever I’m here, I normally spend most of my time at the beach.”

Lifting one eyebrow as I recall the condition that the house was in upon my arrival I ask, “Do you even come here anymore?”

Turning her lips down and scowling, she says, “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. You know life and all.”

I nod slowly, wondering what she’s been up to. I don’t follow gossip blogs, celebrity magazines, or talk shows. As a matter of fact, I don’t follow much of what happens in America. My focus is usually on Italy, Brazil, or the UK unless something notable happens in America.

“Well, like I said, you’re good to stay. Besides, I don’t plan on being around for long.”

And though it shouldn’t, sadness fills me with that statement. I cannot help the curiosity that arises within me.

“How long is not long, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, she answers, “Oh, a few days. A week at best.”

Danica has always been that way, noncommittal about most things. It was one of the few things that agitated me about her. She had difficulty committing to anything, including me.

“I’m about to shower, change, and then head down to the beach,” she says, supporting her earlier comment about spending most days down at the beach.

“Okay,” I say and watch as she walks out of my room.

Of the three bedrooms at the cottage, two of them could be considered a master suite. They all have an en suite, small sitting rooms and a walkout leading to the deck. All three are decorated in beach colors: greys, blues, whites, and tans.

The room that I chose has a mural of the ocean against the night sky with the moon shining down on it and the sand below. The other room that Danica is in has seashells and sand everywhere, and she also has peach tones in her room.

The final bedroom has a mermaid motif.

Sitting on the bed, I drop my head into my hands.

“Why?” I grumble.

Of all the times that she chose to come, why would it have to be when I’m here? I knew that I ran the risk of seeing her when I decided to come here, but I also recalled that the few times we visited she shared with me then that she seldom used the cottage because she was always traveling.

When I arrived and saw that the cottage hadn’t been opened in some time, and it was dusty and musty, I figured maybe it would be a while before she returned. My erroneous assumptions led me to become comfortable and allow myself to spend more time here, lingering in her absence.

I shake my head and start chuckling with the realization that perhaps a part of me hoped to run into her while I was here. Not that it will do me any good.

Being in Danica’s presence can only lead to more heartbreak.

The last time she broke my heart, I made some poor decisions. I’ve never been a man to sleep around with any woman just because I can. There has to be a chemistry there, an undeniable bond that weaves us together, if not for a lifetime, at least for a time where a purpose is served beyond the sexual.

My breakup with Danica led me to three months of self-loathing and a downward spiral that no one could have predicted.

Pushing up off the bed, I head back out into the living area.

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