Page 17 of Demitri

“You know damn good and well what I mean. Doing something that brings tears to your eyes and makes you cry in the shower afterwards isn’t healthy.”

“I did it for you!” she tries to defend.

“I didn’t ask you to do anything for me. Don’t you get it? I like you, Mia. I like your brain, and your wit, and your smartass comments. Yeah, I like your body, too, but when you see it as a weapon…” I trail off, knowing there’s no way to say this without laying all my cards on the table. “I appreciate you asking me to stay here. I really do. But I don’t expect for you to ever offer yourself to me, nor do I want you to if that is the aftermath.”

“So you don’t want me.” It’s a statement. In her mind, it’s her truth.

“That is not what I said, and you need to hear me. I want you. I always want you, even when you’re being your stubborn self. But—and this is the but I need you to listen to, Mia—I will not touch you or let you touch me from here on out if the aftermath is you having a breakdown and crying in the shower.”

“And if I say that’s the only way intimacy happens for me? That it always ends that way?”

“Then we have a lot more trust to build up and a lot more talking to do before the clothes come off. And one day, we’ll talk about your missing orgasm, too. But I’ve probably already pushed you too far today for that.”

“All before coffee. What an ass.”

I stand up and slowly walk toward her. I make it very clear that I’m going to touch her face and make sure all my motions are at Mia speed—slow. I cup her cheek, lean in, and kiss her forehead.

“I’ll let you use the jokes now. I’ll let you have this one, but I’ll keep working. I’ll keep waiting. I’ll show you that you can trust me. That you can let yourself be free with me. And I think we do that by slowing everything way down.”

“Are you saying you want to date me?”

I chuckle. This woman. “Mia, I’ve been trying todateyou for four fucking years.”

“I don’t know.”

“No need to decide right now. I’m just telling you what my plan is. When you’re ready to get on board, I’ll be here.”

She doesn’t reply. Typical for her when faced with choice. She will want to think about it, agonize over it, turn it inside out and upside down, and then decide. It’s the reason she’s so successful owning a bar in a small town like Rock Hill. I keep my hand on her face, gently rubbing my thumb back and forth over her cheek, until I can tell she’s at her limit. Other people touching her is hard. Knowing what I do, I understand why, but I hate it all the same.

I pull back and grab the coffee cup on the counter behind her and the plate with toast. I nod my thanks and take it back to the table, sitting down and eating. Mia leans against the counter, drinking her own coffee, watching me. She jumps a little when my phone rings, and when I see the name on the screen, thetoast I just ate threatens to make a reappearance. But the time has come. I can’t avoid reality any longer.

“Morning, Aunt Linda,” I answer.

“Boy, I don’t know what time-zone you’re in, but it’s after noon.”

“The time-zone where I didn’t go to sleep until almost dawn. Spill it. What do you know?”

“More than I can say over the phone. When will you be here?”

I look at Mia, gauging her response. “I think we can be there in about thirty?” I say while asking Mia. She shrugs her okay.

“We?”

“I’m bringing someone. A friend.”

I fix my gaze on Mia as I say friend. She’s not just a friend, and she knows it.

“A woman kind of friend?” Aunt Linda asks.

“Yes, a woman friend. We’ll see you then.” I disconnect the call before Aunt Linda can say anything more, and Mia grins at me. “What?” I ask her.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “Nothing at all.”

“Smartass,” I reply, standing up and taking my cup and plate to the sink. “Let’s get this over with.”

We head toward the front door, Mia picking up her oversized bag and slinging it over her shoulder, following me outside and locking up. When we’ve settled in the truck, she turns to me.

“Who are we going to see?”

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