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“My dad homeschooled me, but I could go to dance lessons and hang out with Dante once I was a little older. My dad wanted a simplistic life, so we didn’t have a TV. But I shared his love of music. Specifically, eighties music.”
I wag my brows, and she rolls her eyes. “What? It’s a glorious memory.” One I’ll never forget.
I’m sure she never will either.
“When I was sixteen, I asked my dad if I could go to college so I could get a good job at one of the hotels popping up everywhere. He surprisingly said yes. Even more so, he paid for me and Dante to go. So, we lived on the island, Papeete, during the week on the University campus and came home on weekends. We did that for almost four years.”
“You got your degree at twenty?”
Her success in life is impressive considering her environment. I doubt many people here can say the same. A lot of people here are transplants. Hell, I thought she was too. “I have a Bachelor’s in Business Management. My plan was to visit the United States after I saved up enough money, but that’s when my dad first got sick. Instead, I stayed to take care of him and that’s when I started my cookie business.”
“You’re incredible.”
She shies away, looking down. “Thanks.”
“Do you still want to go to the US?” Hope builds that maybe I’ll see her again.
“I do. But since my dad was first diagnosed, it’s been an up and down battle. I can’t leave him.”
“But, he’s better, right?”
“For now, yes.”
I drop the subject because her eyes glisten. And I don’t want the little time we have together spent on her focusing on her dad.
Disappointment knots in my chest. What is it with this woman? I should worry about my addiction to her. She’s everything I don’t need right now, but everything I want.
Chapter Twelve
Aspen
How do you put a fire out with gasoline?
You don’t. You let it burn.
I’m trying to continue my life as if Ryker Dallas didn’t storm into it and monopolize my daytime thoughts and nighttime dreams.
See, gasoline.
I whimper, ending it with an exhausted sigh, knowing I messed up. Even the cookies I’m baking remind me of him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man with a sweet tooth like his. I’ve baked him an extra dozen for the past few days. I thought he’d be sick of cookies by now, but I think it’s made his cravings worse.
Even the island’s whispers haven’t stopped me. Dante has kept his distance and I’m not even sure why. The horrible part, I don’t care because I’m too caught up in Ryker.
I swore I wouldn’t do this again.
The cookie pan slams into the rear of the oven and a couple balls of cookie dough bounce off the sheet. Calm down, Aspen. I carefully use tongs to grab the balls from the bottom of the oven, between the hot coils, and toss them in the trash.
“I’m afraid to know what that sheet did to you.” I startle at the male voice.
“Dante,” I say, holding my mitten covered hand over my frantic heartbeat. He steps inside, dressed in his normal attire. Bright floral shirt with plaid shorts. At some point, he’ll learn they don't match. “What are you doing here?” If it wasn’t five in the morning, there wouldn’t be a question.
He shrugs, a somber expression on his face. “I haven’t seen you in a few days, so I thought I’d drop in to say hi.”
I throw the mitten on the counter and level him with a scrutinizing stare. “At five a.m.?”
“I knew you’d be home, baking.” As opposed to being with Ryker. I guess he’s not wrong. I have been spending my free time with him the last three days.
Silence hangs between us, and I hate it. It’s never been this awkward between us. “What have you been up to?” I ask, breaking the silence.
