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The knock comes again, although more persistent this time, and I roll my eyes. “I’m coming! Jesus,” I mutter to myself before coming to a stop outside the door.
My breath gets caught in my throat as I open the door and see Dawson. “What are you doing here?”
Dawson smiles and pushes forward, a large box tucked under his arm. “I came for you, Sav.”
“M-me?” This can’t be happening right now. I shake my head and frown. “You shouldn’t have come here, Dawson.” I stumble back a few steps, desperate to put some distance between us and blow out a rough breath. “There’s a reason I didn’t come to you before I left, you should’ve let this go.”
Who am I kidding? Not even I can let this go. Every night when I fall asleep, I dream of Dawson’s hands running over my body. I wake up every time with sweat damp on my skin.
Dawson steps further into the room and nods. “I figured you would say something like that which is why I brought this with me.” He shakes the box and sets it on my coffee table, smirking at the empty glass bowl in the center of it.
At one point I wanted to be like those families who decorate their tables with candles and other things which is why I have the bowl, but for the life of me I can’t remember the last time I actually put anything in it. Was it last Christmas?
That’s the least of your problems right now, Savanna.
Right.
Dawson is at my home in Chicago when he should be in Maple Creek. “How did you find me?”
He chuckles. “It’s amazing what people will tell you when they know you have good intentions.”
Good intentions? Judging by the heated look in his eyes as his gaze travels down my body, good intentions are the furthest thing from his mind right now. I shiver under his stare and clear my throat. “You should’ve called first.”
“That’s funny because I’ve called and texted many times over the last few weeks and yet I’m still waiting for you to respond.” He cocks his head to the side. “So when exactly, would you have liked me to warn you about this little visit?”
I sigh. “I don’t know, Dawson, but you can’t just show up like this.”
It’s psychotic behavior, right? Or maybe that’s just me trying to project even more negative thoughts about him to guard my heart. “Just look in the box, Sav, and you’ll understand everything.”
My eyes cut to the box in question and I squint my eyes as if I’ll be able to magically obtain x-ray vision and see everything without having to touch it. Something tells me that the moment I take the lid off that box, everything in my life will change. “What if I don’t want to?”
He nods slowly, no hint of surprise at my question. “Then, I’ll accept your decision and I’ll leave. I think you want to though, Savanna.”
I shake my head and point to the door. “I’ve got to get to work, I’ll walk you out.” This isn’t the conversation I had expected to take part in this morning. Usually my days start with conversations with my neighbor about how terrible her cats have been lately – thank goodness I didn’t have to deal with that though.
“Look in the box, Sav.” That’s all he says before letting me push him out the door and shut it in his face. I lift up on my toes, staring through the peephole, and watch as he calmly saunters away from the front door without looking back.
Did Easton know he was going to be coming here?
I pull my phone out and punch a finger on the call button, my cheeks heating as the line rings with my outgoing call.
“Savanna, what’s up?” Easton asks breathlessly.
“You could’ve told me, Easton… that wasn’t cool.”
He groans. “Sav, I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Right, like you had no clue Dawson was going to show up here in Chicago.”
Easton snorts. “I mean, I had hoped he would but I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”
“It’s not funny. I said this wasn’t going to happen and now he’s here, trying to get me back.” It’s not what I had in mind. I thought he would ignore me running away this time just as much as he did before, but I guess this is what Easton meant when he said people change. The old Dawson would’ve stood back, watching as my car pulled away, but this Dawson seems more… afraid.
What could he possibly have to be afraid of?
That’s not my problem. “Seriously, Easton, what is he doing here?”
“How would I know? Maybe let him inside so you can find out, sis.”
