Page 49 of Nothing At All

Want to come over later?

Relief flowed through me, washing away the lingering unease. Another text vibrated my phone against my palm.

We can talk

Baking did not help, so I carried a heavy dose of nerves as well as two dozen cookies to Dan’s door. Clutching the box, I knocked, remembering a time when I didn’t have to, when he’d simply text me the door would be open when I arrived.

I’d closed a door between us, and the realization made me sick, nausea coiling in my chest.

Steady footsteps sounded before the door swung open. Gray joggers hung on his hips, a navy t-shirt hugged his chest, and he was barefoot. At my first sight of him, relief and concern mingled with the leaden dread. His bruises looked worse, red and purple with increased swelling under the splint.

“Hey. How do you feel? Are you hurting?” The words spilled like a gushing waterhose after being unkinked. “I made you cookies, the ones you like from the bakery.”

“Um, thanks.” Blinking, he took the box I shoved at him. My heart fell to my stomach. He wasn’t pleased to see me at all. Unsmiling and without kissing me, he stepped back. “Come on in.”

I followed him inside, and he set the box on the island, next to a clear plastic container of . . . bakery cookies. The small bubble of hope I’d managed to keep alive deflated. He didn’t need anything I brought, did he?

“Got just about anything you’d want for supper.” He swung the refrigerator open, studying the interior. “Chuck’s mama raided the bakery so we’re good for days–”

“You said we needed to talk.” Where had my chill gone? Because I had none.

His mouth dropped before he snapped it shut, jaw tightening. He pushed the refrigerator closed. “Okay.”

Nerves coiled low in my belly, tying into hard knots. “You said not while you were concussed. What’s different?”

Had he decided I wasn’t worth it?

“Got some sleep. Ate something.” He scuffed a hand over his nape. “I’m not a hundred percent, but I’m not as fuzzy as I was this morning.”

“Where was your phone?” I was fuzzy apparently.

“Supposedly they found it in the ER.” Something about the ironic twist of his mouth cast doubt on the assertion. He cleared his throat. “So about us . . .”

A hollow yawned where my stomach dropped like I was going over the top of a terrifying roller coaster.

He frowned. “You want to sit down?”

I didn’t want to do this at all, but standing in the kitchen was probably weird. Instead, I stalked to his couch and perched on the edge. He settled at the other end, one arm stretched along the back.

“Okay.” His voice emerged a little nasal, but as calm and steady as always. “I messed up because I assumed we were on the same page. My cross country coach back in high school used to tell us assuming made an ass out of you and me. Guess he was right.”

“Dan–”

“Let me finish. So, yeah, I was looking at us from the angle of being longterm from the first. I let the infatuation blind me from the practicalities.”

“Infatuation?” Why did that sting so much?

“Well, yeah. I mean, probably a lot of dating relationships start with infatuation, but that stage doesn’t last. It either deepens into something real or it leads to nothing.”

But he said he loved me. Like, today. Like that morning.

“So for me, it got deeper. And for you, it . . . hasn’t.” He grimaced, then winced and touched a finger to the splint. “And that’s okay.”

Relief flooded through me, so my breath whooshed out. I forced my lips into a tremulous smile.

He shifted, gripping his knees. “So we need to talk about this, decide if we’re going forward or if it’s time to end things–”

The little rivulets of happiness froze, and that couldn’t-breathe sensation rushed back in. “What?”