Page 63 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

My head feels like it’s being crushed by an elephant, but after a quick check, I realize I’m still dressed and so is Dave. What the hell happened last night? Where are we? We didn’t—

No, we both still have our clothes on. Besides, Dave . . . He doesn’t seem like the type to take advantage. Actually, I think I remember him carrying me. Him putting me on the bed . . . Ohgod, did I— I remember my hands touching his skin. A muscled stomach that felt as smooth as velvet. Did I come on to him? And he pushed me away. Embarrassment makes me squirm, my gaze landing on the bottled water next to me on the nightstand.

My mouth feels stuffed with cotton and I chug the water, some semblance of life coming back to me. What would really help is a shower. Looking back down at Dave, I take in his dark blond hair framing his face, his strong jaw and slightly parted lips. I definitely dreamt of him last night, and I wonder achingly if he dreamt of me too.

I try to sneak off the bed, the weight of his hand resting on my hip sending a shiver down my spine. He groans and shifts but seems to fall back asleep as I dash for the bathroom. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I’m a little pale, but I’ve seen myself look worse as steam begins to settle on the glass from the shower. Slipping out of my dress and underwear, I pull the last few remaining pins from my hair and let the tangled strands fall down my back.

The heat from the water helps me feel a little like myself again as I try to piece together the memories from last night. The incident in the car and how Dave proceeded to ignore me. Ignored me until he saw me dancing with another man. Then he behaved like a caveman, dragging me out of there like I was a dog on a leash. How the drinks helped me forget about Simon and the pile of rejections I flushed down the toilet. Then there’s the fuzzy memories of Dave laying me down in the bed. I think I might have thrown up. I definitely threw up. Ugh, hopefully I had the decency to do that in privacy. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to look him in the eye if I threw up in front of him.

I dreamed that you kissed me.

Did I say that out loud? I drag a wet hand down my face. What he must think of me.

When I’ve scrubbed my body clean and untangled my hair, Idry off and pull my clothes back on and wrap my hair up in the towel. I wonder if Dave is still sleeping. Was he drinking too? How did we end up in the same motel room? But when I walk out of the bathroom, the bed is empty. The room is empty. He’s gone.

“Dave?” I call, opening the closet door. “Dave?”

Did he . . . leave me here?

Before I can start to spiral, I notice a note on the bed.

Isabella,

I went to get my car from the chapel. There’s a diner next door, meet me there after your shower for some breakfast.

Dave

At least he didn’t take off on me. Right, well, this won’t be awkward at all. I wish I could remember exactly what I said last night, then I could at least find a way to make a U-turn out of this mess. Or . . . maybe this is a good thing. Dave and I have been dancing around this weird flirtatious will-they-or-won’t-they for months now. Maybe after last night, I can finally get some straight answers out of him.

I towel dry my hair and I put my heels and jacket back, then head out the door, dropping the key back in the slot on the office door. I peer left and right of the motel, my eyes landing on the diner right across the parking lot. Feeling a little ridiculous in my halter dress and heels on a Tuesday morning, I open the door, immediately feeling my queasy stomach settle at the smell of fresh coffee and bacon and eggs. I’m starving and so desperate for coffee I would accept an IV hooked straight to my veins.

Looking around, I spot Dave sitting at a large booth, sipping a glass of water. How does he look so handsome after a night out like we had? As I approach, I notice he’s reading a tattered piece of paper. There’s an expression on his face that reeks ofconcentration, and his brows pinch together as his eyes travel over the small crinkled note. I’m not sure why I stand and stare at him. I suppose it’s because interrupting him like this feels indecent. Like I would be intruding on a very personal and private moment.

As though sensing my thoughts, he looks up, those stormy eyes finding mine across the row of tables. My cheeks burn as though I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t be, but he smiles gently and waves me over, folding the piece of paper and tucking it into his wallet on the table. I sit down across from him as he picks up his cigarette from the ashtray and takes a drag.

“Good morning,” I say shyly.

“Morning,” he says as he watches me fiddle with my bag. Once I’m settled, he steeples his hands under his chin. “How are you feeling?”

I slump in the squeaky vinyl seat. “Like my head is about to explode.”

He laughs. “Yeah, you really tied one on last night.”

I snort. “We all did. Even Becks, and I’ve never seen her drink.”

The grin fades from Dave’s face, but the waitress comes by asking if I would like some coffee and I nearly burst into tears as she fills the ceramic mug in front of me. I add one cream and sugar and take a long sip, relishing the way the bitter coffee burns and rids that stale morning taste from my mouth.

“Heaven,” I sigh, and I notice Dave is looking at me with a strange expression. “So, can I ask?”

“Ask what?”

I bite my lip. “Last night, we didn’t—”

He pulls back, shaking his head. “Oh, no. No, definitely not.”

Relief scatters across my skin. I didn’t think it had happened since we both woke up in clothes, but you never know.

“And was us ending up in the same room just . . .” I’m notsure how to end that sentence, so I wave my hand to encourage him to finish it for me.

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