Page 18 of Smoke and Fire
Hearing their names on her lips sent a weird feeling through me, like a shot of lightning. Did she like that? Did I care if she liked them?
I did.
My pride certainly gained some power from her adoration of Jess when I strolled in. Now, it worked against me. Dahlia shot to her feet. Her fingers trembled as she shoved hair back behind her ear, then swallowed hard. Her throat bobbed.
Why so nervous?
So . . . panicked?
“Listen,” she said, “you’ve created a super tough situation for yourself and I get that you need help. But this is . . . I can’t do this.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve got the wrong girl.” She stepped back. “Lizbeth Bailey is down the canyon. She’s already read all your books and if you want someone to step into the shoes of a romance author and live it to the fullest, that’s your girl. Not me. I don’t even . . . it’s not . . .”
With that, she turned and strode out of sight.
5
DAHLIA
Sometime in between me running away from Bastian and ten minutes later, he’d quietly departed.
My retreat to the bathroom to slap cold water on my face and pretend our exchange hadn’t happened didn’t restore any courage.
My thoughts grew at an alarming rate, nearly tripping over each other as I returned behind the counter. Central to the theme was one main point: Bastian had to be insane. At least partially.
Why were all the cute ones unbalanced?
I shook my head to clear my thoughts, but they held on with tenacious regard. No matter what part of the shop I cleaned or paced or reorganized, the only thing that filled my head was the panic in Bastian’s gaze.
I need this to work.
He’d avoided saying whysuch a need was so important to him. Obviously, it had roots in money. He’d mentioned as much, anyway, but not what he’d spend it on. He didn’t strike me as the buried-in-debt kind of guy, nor a big spender. No ring on his finger, so it wasn’t a wife and kids, I’d wager. He might be dating someone. He could be gay.
A thousand scenarios streamed through my mind. I pushed a pot of coffee onto the warmer and prayed for someone to order something and save me from myself.
Besides, who made a request likecan you pretend to be my pen nameanyway?
I leaned back against the counter, tilted my head back, and closed my eyes. Deep in my gut, I could already feel it. The regret. The curiosity. Beneath the roiling emotions, my inner voice quietly said,you’ve felt that way before too.
The constricting panic born of having nowhere to go. Hemmed in by decisions that went awry, even when they weren’t supposed to. I’d responded to his sincere plea for help out of fear.
Fear ofhim, for heaven’s sake.
What are you afraid of?Inner Me asked.
“You know what,” I growled.
You’re afraid that you’ll fall for him. Hard. Because you already are crushing on him and you think that relationships can’t be trusted. You think you’re not ready.
“I know it, don’t I?” I muttered. “I totally botched my own life with Jakob. I invested too much in another person because it felt so good at the beginning. Then I fought to get that back for too long.”
No. That’s not what you were supposed to learn from Jakob. That’s not what’sreal. It’s what you’re telling yourself. There were other problems with Jakob. A total lack of connecting ground, for one. The only thing you had in common was a shared love for raisin cookies.
My inner dialogue only made my quagmire worse, so I shut it off. Regret for turning Bastian away swooped in on swift wings. Why should I regret saying a very normalno, thanksto such a crazy offer?
Because . . . because.
