“This isn’t a heavy load. It’s me going on a dating show. Azar didn’t need to know.” He sounds impatient. “And Cal knows where I am.”
“Tell Callahan everything and not Azar?” I rest my head against the stone and close my eyes. “Isn’t it a little hypocritical for you to comfort me about my sisters when you’re being the same way with Azar?”
I feel him move closer to me. “My brothers are my first priority, Nova. Sometimes we act in certain ways to keep you guys from spiralling.”
I take a deep breath. “I understand that. But I don’t get why youcan’t confide in us. You say you love us—would kill for us—but when the time to share your feelings comes around, you disappear.”
“It’s because only we can help ourselves.”
“What you’re not getting,” I open my eyes to look at Dean. “Is that all we want from you is to rest your heads on our shoulders. That’s the only way you’d be helping us.”
“Know that your efforts never go unnoticed,” Dean responds.
It’s an eye-opening conversation for both of us. The oldest son and the youngest daughter talking to each other. We may not understand how the other truly feels, because it’s a mission turning the gears of someone’s mind to spill out its guts.
We stand in silence. Watch the crowd for a while.
Dean manages to ask, “Why’d you come here, Nova?”
This is meant to be a fun, first date. I started the deep conversations, and I can get us out of it. Looking around for dramatic effect, “Oh, welltechnicallyI was dragged to Zermatt by a roguishly handsome man?—”
He laughs, “You know what I mean.”
It’s rough and scratchy, like it’s been hidden in a cave of his vocal cords far too long. There’s a melodic ring to it. An old song that plays on the radio twenty years later, or when you walk into a warm home after spending hours in the snow. He’s hot cocoa and warmth swaddled beneath my chest and it’s making me realize Dean isn’t a grump after all.
My astonishment and awe is interrupted by the sound fading out.
Dean covers his mouth. “What?”
“You laughed,” my lips twitch. “I’ve never heard you laugh before.”
His gaze softens. “I’m comfortable around you.”
All of me turns to mush.
No confession can beat the feeling of peace or comfort.
I make a mental note to buy baby clothes instead of a sentimental gift.
Somehow we’re walking again. Turning on another street. We end up on a secluded street. There’s an old man reading a newspaper on his balcony, a woman hanging clothes out to dry, and someone baking bread somewhere. It’s a childhood fantasy within one shot. Dreams do come true.
Dean’s an oceanic presence. He’s the first coat you grab when the news tells you there’s going to be the first universal sighting in over fifty years. I love that I get to be with him without the pressure of being too much or too little.
He’s walking slow and I know it’s for me because those long, thick legs are not made for this pace. Dean’s physique is made, practiced, and rehearsed. He’s a new instrument everyone tries to master, but only rare people end up perfecting it.
His shirt stretches with each breath he takes.
Gosh, how I wish I was that shirt.
To feel his skin against me. The taut muscles and how they’d move above me.
Call me horny but blame him.
I wonder how he got them.
“Question,” I start. “And feel free to refuse answering, but what’d you do in prison?”
He stops walking.
