Page 12 of Ablaze

I press an index finger into his chest and push him back so I can get some distance in between us. “You’re also incredibly bullheaded and . . . and annoying.”

His lips twitch, his eyes finally getting back their missing twinkle, as he locates a steel frothing cup and pours milk into it. “Looks like I’m meeting my life’s goals, then. Anything else?”

“And . . . I don’t like it when your smile doesn’t light up your face like it usually does. When you don’t smile for real.”

Whoa, where did that case of verbal diarrhea come from?

Dean freezes in place, blinking a couple of times as if he’s completely taken aback by my confession.

Yeah, you and me both, pookster.

And though it’s too late to take back my words, my shoulders slump when I study his tight jaw. I probably shouldn’t have said that; I probably should have left it alone. Whatever he’s going through with Nora is not my business, anyway.

But I guess my overwhelming need to let him know that I care, that he has someone he can talk to, outweighed my better judgment to stay out of his business. It still does, apparently, because a moment later, I hear myself voicing my opinion yet again.

“You know you can talk to me, pooch.” I smile, using another dog name to try to give the moment some levity. “You don’t have to hold in whatever you’re thinking.”

He nods, putting the steel cup under the steamer wand.

“What’s going on?” I press. “Why don’t you want to meet her parents?”

In all the times we’ve hung out, Dean makes a point to be as vague as possible about Nora. All I know about her is that she’s a dermatologist–no surprise there since her skin sparkles like it’s covered with diamond dust–and constantly hounds him about the crazy hours he has to work.

For God’s sakes, woman! The man risks his life to save everyone else’s. Give him a damn break!

Dean’s shoulders mimic mine before he looks out the large windows over his shoulder. “I just–” he huffs. “I mean, I should want to meet them . . .”

“But you don’t,” I fill in.

He shrugs, leaving the cup where it is before running a hand through his long, straw-colored hair. “I don’t know. It’s all too real, I guess.” His throat bobs as his eyes find mine again, and I notice an anguish in them I’d never seen before. “I’m not the guy who’ll walk down an aisle and tear up at the sight of my bride, sprinkles. I’m not the guy who has hopes and dreams of raising a brood of kids or growing old with someone.”

An unexpected sorrow climbs into my chest, settling there like a heavy weight.

In the time I’ve known him, Dean has always been with Nora. Sure, he hasn’t ever seemed head-over-heels for her, but I never suspected it was due to his reservations about long-term commitments. It makes me wonder what happened to make him not want those things he just spoke about.

Stepping closer, I latch my palm around his wrist, studying his sullen expression. “Why not?”

Dean’s eyes roam over my face, as if he’s taking me all in. And even though the time we spend together is generally cloaked in light banter and teasing, this moment seems more significant. More real. Like I’m finally getting a glimpse of the man who shields himself behind a mask of jest. “Because those are someone else’s hopes and dreams, not mine.”

I lick my lips. “Does she know that? Have you told her how you feel?”

He shakes his head. “I’m no good at feelings.”

My eyes bounce between his, and I revel over the thickness of his brows, wondering how any man could have such lush lashes. “But you have plenty of them.”

“Yeah? How would you know that?”

“Call it intuition. We haven’t been friends for long, but everything about you–from the way you talk to your grams every week to the way you put your whole heart into your work, risking your life for someone else every single day, to the way your eyes light up when you talk about your brothers–says you feel a lot. You feel big. So when you don’t have those same big feelings for someone, I guess I have to wonder . . .”

“Wonder what?” he whispers.

I pause, hoping my words come out right. “The way I see it, if those are someone else’s hopes and dreams, then it’s time you go after your own.”

It’s when we’re both reeling in the weight of the moment between us that the bell over the door chimes, and we turn to find Meg taking off her thin jacket and placing it on the hook before she turns around to me, wincing. “I’m so sorry, Mala. I had a little emergency this morning. My cat jumped into a tree, and I had to climb it to get her down.”

Ugh. I wish I was the type to listen to my gut and call someone on their bullshit, but I’m not. I’m the type to take someone at their word and give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she really did have a cat emergency . . . How can I prove it otherwise?

I straighten my shoulders, glancing at Dean before tracking an older couple walking with their chocolate lab toward the set of stairs leading to the café doors. I smile at Meg. “Looks like we have our first customers for the day. Let’s get started.”

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