Page 37 of Restored Dreams

“Why?” His brow furrows as his fingers stop twirling my hair.

“Because I own the shop, which includes the apartment upstairs.”

“But what if…you moved?”

“I’m not moving my bakery.”

“Not the shop, just you.” Suddenly, I’m not sure I like this game. He must be teasing me, and I don’t feel like playing anymore.

“I think we should stop,” I say softly.

“Stop what?”

“Stop the what-ifs.” Because there are so many other what-ifs we could address, but I don’t want the answers to those. The pain would be like picking at an old scab. I’d bleed again and have to heal. The process took long enough the first time.

His eyes search my face. “Okay, Lily pad.” His arm shifts back from my shoulders, and he reaches for the remote. “How about a movie?”

It’s a strange request. We haven’t watched anything other than the ballgame the other night. He’s doing it to fill the awkward tension suddenly between us. Hoping not to ruin our second date completely, I agree. Once he selected something, he returns his arm to my back and tugs me against him. I’m not focused on the rom-com before me, though, as my thoughts travel back to more what-ifs.

+ + +

I’m the one to wake alone on the last full day of our vacation. A light blanket covers me on the couch. I’d fallen asleep during the movie but thought that Brut rearranged us so we both lay on the cushions. I see that isn’t true. Shifting to my back, I stare up at the ceiling until the smell of bacon hits my nose. I sit up, peering over the back of the cushions to find Brut working in the kitchen. I never purchased bacon, so he must have stepped out for the salty treat I deny myself.

He’s wearing my Because Cupcakes cap backward on his head again. I giggle at the pink against his skin but realize I like seeing him with it. I also like seeing him working in the kitchen. What if he did give me a dream kitchen?

A whisk scrambles eggs in a bowl.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he says as he notices I’m awake. I’m sure beauty is the last thing I am with my hair all over the place, but Brut’s smile tells me he means what he says. He thinks I’m beautiful.

“I slept here all night.” I’m a little concerned we didn’t sleep together. Maybe the what-if game turned too serious for him as well.

“You did. I couldn’t rouse you to save your life, so I just let you be.”

“I’m sorry,” I answer, crossing my arms over the back cushions.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because I didn’t want to sleep without you.”

The whisk thuds in the bowl as Brut sets it down on the counter and rounds the island. Within a second, he’s cupping my face and climbing over the back of the couch, flattening me into the cushions as he straddles me.

“I don’t want to sleep without you either.” His mouth finds mine, tender and soft. “Good morning, sugar.”

“Good morning.” I sigh under him. What if I woke to kisses like this each morning?

“Eggs?” he asks, and I nod while he presses upward. He steps off the couch and returns to the kitchen.

After breakfast, we spend the day at the beach. I follow Brut down to surf, and he returns with me to hang out in the sun in the afternoon. It’s another lazy day filled with soft touches and lingering kisses, and my heart breaks with each passing minute.

How will I say goodbye to this?

“Got any plans for tonight?” Brut abruptly asks me, and I laugh. A sheepish look fills his eyes.

“I think my calendar is clear,” I tease.

“Then date three it is.” His brows wiggle, and my heart sinks a little despite the playfulness. I don’t want to keep counting dates like we’re counting down for the inevitable, but when evening comes, I understand what Brut meant.

Date three. The sex date.