Page 46 of Anything for You
Her gaze intensified on me and she licked her lips, but fury shone out of her eyes. “Are you saying you don’t think anyone would want you because you have a history of depression?”
It sounded ugly. Awful. I’d never tell anyone else that. I’d neverthinkit of someone else. And yet…
I shrugged a shoulder.
Her mouth dropped open and she launched to her feet, walking right between my legs and cupping my face in her hands. She stared down directly into my eyes, just scowling into the depths of me.
And I sat there, hands on my knees and desperate to hold her steady at her waist over her scrubs, maybe feel the warm skin of her belly if the material rolled up. My heart sprinted, the intensity in her expression lighting me on fire as I sat there, her hands on my face, waiting.
“You have to be one of the best men I’ve ever known, Dorian.” Instead of fierce or furious, her voice held a shudder of emotion. “I envy the person you decide is worth your time and effort, if you ever do. And if you don’t? That’s okay. You get to decide.”
“You do, too,” I scratched out.
She held my face a little longer, eyes just staring into mine, burrowing down into the deepest parts of me, until Bear nudged his nose over my leg against her thigh. It broke whatever spell she’d been under, some accidental web I’d woven with all my doubts and fears laid bare that garnered the softest response.
We moved silently save a few quiet “thank yous” and “see you soons” after she stepped away and insisted on carrying the tray to the kitchen. I refused her help with the dishes, and she thanked me again as she left, looking back over her shoulder one last time before she went inside her cabin.
It took me a while to close the door on the moment, on her words… on her. I couldn’t stop thinking about herenvyingthe person I’d eventually decide was worth my time.
Because more and more obviously, I knew exactly who that person was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dove
The next day, I found a perfect petite cake on my door and a note.
Something sweet for you today. Hope it’s a day full of good things. —DQ
So simple. So effective.
Two days after that, when I dragged myself home from a long, hard shift, I found dinner neatly packaged, and I cried while I ate it standing at my kitchen counter before pouring myself into bed, because of course I did.
When Dorian left me two more little tea cakes after my hastily scrawled note about how great they were, I took them to my visit with Nan and we ate themtogether. She kindly ignored the way my cheeks heated when I talked about Dorian, and we avoided discussing Hawk since there was nothing to be done about him. When I’d told her about the call, and that he was living at Patriot Ridge, she just gave me a grim, close-lipped smile and squeezed my hand. Over the years, we’d said about all there was to say and until he showed his face, there wasn’t anything more.
On my one day off, I knocked on Dorian’s door, but no answer came. To say levels of devastation rolled over me was putting it mildly. I wanted to see him. Part of me felt like Ineededto. We’d grown closer the last time we’d spent time together.
In a very real sense, Dorian was rapidly becoming my closest friend. I wasn’t looking to replace Elise or anyone else, but in real time, we were getting to know each other in small and fundamental ways. My friends were busy people just like me, but along with their work, they were tethered to their partners and now, in Jess’s case, their children. Catherine was working even longer and harder hours than I was, and she hadn’t been much for socializing even before her cleaning empire began.
It was all a natural part of the process. I got it. Maybe I was making Dorian an unhealthy stand-in, but I didn’t think so. What was growing between us felt so entirely and actively healthy, it was kind of scary.
Sometimes, as I was drifting off to sleep, I’d think about that look on his face when he didn’t say he wasn’t sure if anyone would want him, but he might as well have said it aloud. I could read it so clearly in the resigned set of his shoulders. My heart would squeeze in my chest, filling up with aching for a man who’d served his country and endured unspeakable things, and then had wrestled withthe fallout for years. He hadn’t given up, and he was such a beautiful person.
I’d kept my crap together, but I’d wanted to shout, “I’d want you!” But there was no hypothetical anymore. It simply boiled down to the fact that I did.
I wanted more of Dorian in any way he’d be willing to give himself, and there’d been moments that made me wonder if maybe he was thinking the same thing.
As I shuffled out to work with a coffee thermos under one arm and my purse slipping off the other shoulder as I tied the knot at the waist of my scrubs, Dorian’s voice greeted me.
“Morning, Dove.”
I startled, nearly dropping the coffee, but collected myself in time to haul open my car door and settle the mug into a cup holder and dump my purse in the seat. As I turned toward him, all kinds of butterflies took wing in my belly. He stood tall and dark in jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt rolled to his elbows. He had a hat pulled low on his head, and hair curled from under it at his ears and no doubt at his neck. I’d rarely seen him in anything else—well, except that one time when he’d been missing the shirt part of his outfit.
“Morning, Dorian.”
Our eyes met, and my breath caught. He looked so handsome in the early glow of morning, and he was holding a paper sack.
“Thought you might like breakfast,” he said, holding it out to me.
