Page 15 of It's Only Love

“Would you like me to bring you an adult beverage?”

“Hmm, I don’t think getting wasted will help with this planning, maybe just a coffee?”

“Okay coming right up, don’t worry about paying for lunch, it’s our treat,” Taylor threw over her shoulder as she headed back to the bar.

“I can afford lunch!” Christy shouted after her, but Taylor waved her away. Christy’s heart clenched slightly in her chest, they’re so good to me. She felt guilty, but guilt soon morphed into anger when she thought about Douchebag Alfie and put the blame with him.

She’d met him at a library and he seemed nice, sweet and unassuming; at first. But then he changed, he became aloof and distant, and she got the feeling he wasn’t interested in her, that he didn’t even like her sometimes. Turns out, she was right.

She woke up one morning with no boyfriend and no money. He took it all, leaving her nearly bankrupt. She reported it to the police, but unfortunately, there was no way to prove he emptied her accounts. She let down her guard with him, desperate to have a deeper connection and build a foundation with someone. He often stayed at her apartment while she went out to write, she loved to sit in coffee shops and people watch in New York. She thought he was being supportive and giving her space to write. In actual fact, he was rifling through her belongings, trying to find all her bank accounts. Asshole.

She would never trust a man again, not with her money and certainly not with her heart. She would never let anyone get close to touching it, casual dating only, and she would get out if she started to feel too much. She pushed her thoughts aside, she had plenty going on this week without making herself feel like shit.

She got her notebook and pen out of her purse and started working through her super long list. She already booked the crematorium and invited everyone from the town. She didn’t know if her father had any friends so figured a blanket invite would be best. The crematorium had a sweet-looking chapel where the ceremony would take place. She just needed to check there was enough room for everyone, organize for the flowers to be dropped off in the morning, and find somewhere to host a last-minute wake.

She rang the florist to check the order and gave them the address of the crematorium and the time to deliver. Then she checked the list of attendees and rang the crematorium to update them on the number, seating arrangements, and the flowers. Lastly, she rang around all the bars and local venues in the area, struggling to find somewhere to host the wake. It was her own fault but with the news of her father’s death, the Alfie situation, and coming back to town, she had forgotten to organize it. She begged, cajoled, and threatened but no one had anything available.

Christy dropped her phone on the table and sighed. She noticed there were now three empty coffee cups in front of her. How long have I been here? She looked out the windows and could see the evening sun was setting through the trees. The door to the bar swung open and she spotted Beau entering and smiled. Dean came in behind him and her stomach dipped, immediately her brain filled with flashes of the dreams she had last night.

Beau glanced her way and flashed her his beautiful smile as they headed over to the bar to get a drink. It made her smile back but didn’t quicken her pulse the way just looking at Dean suddenly did. Which irritated her, especially as Dean also looked over but couldn’t so much as muster a smile. Their eyes clashed; his brow furrowed in anger, he seemed permanently angry at the moment. And yet something stirred, as he held her gaze, awareness prickled through her, making her feel hot and...uncomfortable. He reluctantly lifted his arm in a wave and she waved back, well at least he acknowledged me, she thought sarcastically. As she watched Beau give their order to Kayleigh, Dean headed over to her. Her stomach fluttering increased.

“Hey Christy, mind if we join you?” Dean asked, his deep voice washing over her.

“Uh, sure,” she replied and began clearing the table of her debris as he eased into the booth opposite her. When he settled himself, his knee brushed against hers under the table and she jolted at the contact, banging her knee on the underside.

“Ouch, shit!” she cried, reaching down to rub her throbbing knee.

“Are you okay? That sounded painful,” he said, concern furrowing his brow, turning him from broody sexy to adorable sweetie pie in the blink of an eye. Heat suffused her cheeks as embarrassment over her clumsiness washed over her. Also, annoyance at his stupid, big, sexy – uh – body taking up all the room and encroaching on her space.

“Yeah, your knee hit mine and jolted me,” she snapped accusingly, instantly regretting her show of temper. Why did Dean always bring out her bitchy side? Dean frowned at her again looking annoyed but before he could open his mouth, Beau appeared with the drinks.

“Hey beautiful, how are you today?” Beau asked, leaning down to kiss her briefly on the mouth. As he eased in next to her, she looked across at Dean who, shock, looked angry again.

“Hey, Beau, fine thank you.”

“And what have you been up to?” he asked.

“Not much really, met the girls here for lunch, and I’ve been trying to organize a few bits for the funeral but I’m not having much luck,” she said and all of a sudden, completely out of nowhere, she got choked up.

*

As Dean watched Beau drop his head to kiss Christy, he felt white-hot jealousy consume him. This was ridiculous, he wasn’t jealous of Beau and he didn’t have any designs on Christy. He was just getting worried for Beau, yeah that’s it, his friend was going through a tough time and getting involved with Christy would only lead to heartbreak. He was trying to do the noble thing and get Beau to realize what a mistake this was, he was such a good friend. Not all heroes wear capes.

It certainly didn’t have anything to do with how much he kept thinking about the curvaceous, blond sitting opposite him whose mouth he couldn’t stop fantasizing about. He watched as Beau asked her a question but then immediately turned his attention to the bar, watching Taylor and Kayleigh. He wasn’t even listening to Christy’s response. If it was him she was talking to, then he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off her mouth, because – uh – that’s what a good listener he was.

“...organize the funeral but I’m not having much luck,” Christy’s words registered with him. Oh God, her father’s funeral was at the end of the week. As his gaze moved to her eyes, he saw them fill up with tears, she bit her bottom lip looking away out the window. His heart ached for her, in that moment she looked so vulnerable that he just wanted to wrap her in his arms and comfort her, but he couldn’t. He looked at Beau who hadn’t even noticed what was happening.

“Beau!” he hissed, but saw Christy stiffen. She looked uncomfortable and he spotted a single tear slide down her cheek, Beau turned to him and Dean nodded towards the bar.

“Christy needs another coffee,” he said quietly, and Beau jumped up eagerly.

“Sure thing! One coffee coming right up,” he said and left. Dean looked at Christy, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. She sniffled quietly, and it just about broke his heart. She had no family left that he knew of, except for Taylor and Justine. Her dickhead ex had stolen all her money and her father had just died. She’s having a really tough time and he suddenly felt even worse about acting like a jerk to her. Another tear slid down her cheek, and he watched as it collected in the corner of her pink mouth, soon followed by another.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure it’ll stop in a minute,” she said softly.

“Don’t worry about a thing, it’s only you and me here, no one else. Take your time,” he replied gently, trying to use a soothing tone. He must have said something wrong because more tears fell, quicker and fatter than the first. Her shoulders began to shake and he ached to comfort her. He didn’t want to draw attention to her though, thinking she would be embarrassed by it, despite there being nothing wrong with crying. Dean reached under the table and placed his hand on her knee. It was bare, warm, and soft and he pushed aside the zing he felt at the contact. Get your mind out of the gutter, she needs comforting, not pawing!

He was going to pull his hand away, worried it was making her feel awkward, but after a moment he noticed she seemed to relax slightly so he left it right where it was. He rubbed his thumb back and forth gently, hoping the touch would calm her. She took a few shuddering breaths and after another moment, the tears stopped, and she hiccupped. He rummaged in his back pocket with his free hand looking for the clean rag he usually kept there for wiping his hands on when he was fixing a car. He pulled it out, inspecting it discreetly before offering it to Christy. She took it hesitantly.

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