I stop colouring to meet his gaze and see if it matches his tone. Spoiler alert, it does.
“Everyone says that.”
“It’s true,” he grunts. “If someone doesn’t try to understand you even after you put in the effort, it’s because they don’t live up to what you deserve.”
That’s more words than I’ve ever heard him say.
Biting back a soft smile, “What is it that you think I deserve, Dean?”
Who would have thought Dean and I would be having a deep conversation like this in Switzerland?
As grumpy as he might show himself to be, there’s more to him. Layers and layers. Not like an onion, but more like a potato. He’s not complicated, merely annoying to peel if you don’t own a peeler.
I fully expect him to remain silent or reply with another signature grunt, but he doesn’t.
“You deserve someone who can see you for who you really are rather than what you show everyone else.”
The marker slips from my fingers, creating an ugly line down his tattoos.
It doesn’t feel like we’re talking about my sisters anymore.
Dean picks it up and caps the marker before putting it back in my hand. “Why do you dim the same light that shines bright on others when it comes to shining it on yourself?”
I pull at the sleeves of my robe, unable to conjure up a single thought. This is weird. Weirder than weird. To be noticed is onething, but to be seen—truly seen, is another.
“Pass,” I choke out. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“I want to,” he responds quickly.
Oh, look at that?Grass. I like grass. I think grass is great and useful and lovely and has many uses like growing things and?—
“What did I do to make you upset with me?”
My eyes move on their own accord and when we meet each other, he holds me there. Funny thing, I don’t want to look away. “I’m not upset with you.”
He gives me a look.
Screw it. I can tell him now.
I’m not gaining much from holding it in, plus he’s not that kind of guy. I hope.
“At the anniversary party,” A shaky exhale. “I heard you—uh—talk to Azar about me. Messing things up.Blah,blah.Whatever.”
His lips press in a white line. “Did you listen to our whole conversation?”
I shake my head. “I’m good at self-sabotage, but I’m not a masochist.”
Your nether regions would disagree.
Dean chuckles deeply without humour.
My insides buzz. Intoxicating.
“If you’d stuck around to eavesdrop a little longer,” he does an extremely attractive thing.
Dean removes his hand from my thigh and leans back on the palms of both. Slightly tilting his head back, he looks at me through lowered lashes. “You’d know that the reason why I didn’t want you at the anniversary party wasn’t because I hate you. But because I really, really like you.”
My heart stops.