by Ellie Wade
All the boxes are checked, and the dreams achieved, yet there’s this unsettling truth that invades every part of me, telling me that I’m not there yet.
“You okay, baby?” Beau presses his thumbs into the spot on the arch of my foot that makes my back bow in a heady mix of satisfaction and pain. “You’re quiet tonight.”
“I’m good.” I give him a soft smile as I lie to his face—his stunning face.
In terms of checking off the boxes of my partner wish list, Beau checks them all. The moment I met the savvy businessman in his tailored suit, looking like he just stepped out of a romance novel, I knew I wanted him. He’s everything I’ve dreamed about. He’s as close to perfection as they come. The fly version of myself looking down at the scene would agree.
Taking into account this evening alone, Beau has prepared stuffed shells, one of my favorite pasta dishes. The entire house smells of garlic and Italian spices, and my stomach growls just thinking about the meal he’s made for me. He’s responsible for the candles lit around the living room and for supplying the glass of wine at my side. He fills the silence with interesting conversation. Most importantly, he loves me. And I can’t deny that I love him, but I don’t know if that’s enough anymore.
Last night, I dreamed of someone else.
Someone I can’t have.
His ocean blue eyes, shining from the sun’s reflection, came to me in my sleep. He stood there, his toned forearms reaching toward me, and I remember the dream so clearly as if it were real. He didn’t say a word, but the need was evident on his face. The desire was palpable, and as much as he wanted me, I wanted him more. But I couldn’t touch him. I yearned to reach out and run my fingers through his disheveled hair and press my lips to his. He was just there beyond my grasp. All boy next door meets sexy surfer—charming and free—the combination irresistible.
All at once, he started crumbling and drifting off into pieces, vanishing to dust until he was simply gone. I called out his name, over and over again, each time my voice more frantic. He was no longer there as if he’d never existed at all.
I woke to a racing heart and a pillow soaked with tears, gasping for air that wouldn’t fill my lungs.
I’ve thought about him all day, unable to forget the dream and the way it made me feel. The truth is, I think about him a good portion of most days. We’ve never touched or kissed, yet I crave him. All. The. Time.
Instinct tells me to go to him and get what I want, but fear holds me back because he’s not an option. He’ll never be an option for me, and that hurts. I’m not the type of person to bow to fear, never have been, yet with him, it cripples me. I’m strong and determined in all aspects of life, but this one, for I know he could ruin me. I may be a risk-taker at heart, but I can’t risk myself, and I’m terrified he’d destroy me. I vowed years ago to never put myself in a position to be ruined, and that still stands.
Besides, I have Beau, and I love him.
I mean, I do love him?
He lowers my foot to the ottoman and sits beside me on the couch, snuggling into my side as he wraps an arm around me and kisses my temple. “Dinner has another half hour or so. Do you want to watch something?”
I tilt my face to the side and hold his gaze. Beau is safe and comfortable, but he’s not my forever. He’ll never elicit such raw emotion from me as the man who visits me while I sleep, and though I can’t have my carefree surfer boy, I can’t settle for less. There has to be someone out there who will make me wake up sobbing with need.
I don’t dream of Beau. I don’t crave him or need him so desperately it aches. I never have, and sadly, I never will.
Perfection is overrated, and I want the ache, a love so deep that it consumes me. Beau provides everything a healthy relationship should be, tied neatly with a bow. He’s the whole package, but it’s not enough. All at once, I realize it’s not enough. My decision is crystal clear, and though it comes to me seemingly out of nowhere, it fills me with resolve, and I have no choice but to listen and act.
Pulling in a breath, I scoot back from Beau and turn my body to face him. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think…” I shake my head and continue with more finality to my words. “This—us—isn’t working for me anymore. It’s nothing you’ve done or haven’t done. You’re near perfect, and I love you, but I don’t want to lead you on if we’re not meant to be together for the long haul.”
He blinks several times, looking at me in shock. I’m certain he can’t believe he heard those words just come from my mouth. I can hardly believe them myself. This is not how I saw the evening going. “You don’t see us together? Married?”
I frown, hating every second of this. “I don’t. I’m sorry. I wanted to, and maybe for a while, I did, but something’s missing for me. I can’t describe it, but something just isn’t here, a feeling.”
“What feeling?” He furrows his brows.
“I’m not sure, but it’s not here, and I can’t force it. I literally just figured it out, and I don’t want to waste any of your time.”
He forces his fingers through his hair. “Waste my time? Jesus, Quinn. We’ve been together for a year. I thought things were great. I love you, and I thought you felt the same.” Standing from the sofa, he raises a hand and kneads the back of his neck. “I can’t believe this,” he whispers.
My eyes fill with tears, and my heart aches to hold him and take it all back but for all the wrong reasons. I yearn to comfort him because I care about him, and he’s hurting, but my mind won’t change. So I owe it to him and myself to be strong. “I’m truly sorry, Beau. I am.”
“Quinn.” My name is a plea.
“You were the best boyfriend, and I mean that.” I stand and step before him. “I wanted us to work, but it’s…but it can’t, and I’m sorry.”
There’s nothing else to say because the truth is this was inevitable. Some relationships just aren’t meant to be, and someday when Beau is with his true love, I’ll be just some girl he used to date, and all will be right.
He looks at the ground. “I just…” He sighs. His eyes don’t find mine when a dejected whisper leaves his lips, “I gotta go.”
I don’t try to stop him as he walks away, and I don’t say anything because no words will make this better. I can’t risk giving him hope for us where there is none. This breakup came out of left field, and we both need time to process it. As he disappears into the hallway, he snatches his car keys off the foyer table, and seconds later, the front door is closing behind him, and I feel lighter. It’s hard, but it’s right. I know it.
I crave an epic, soul-mate-level love. And I’ll wait for it.
Turning on the TV, I flip through the channels, stopping on an old episode of The Office. It’s hard to focus on the show as my mind races with all the possibilities. Perhaps my mental list for a life partner has been wrong. Sometimes, I feel it’s not so much about what someone does or doesn’t do. It’s more a feeling, a connection.
Beau was perfect but not perfect for me. The deep connection wasn’t there.
The aroma of garlic and spices is replaced with the undeniable scent of burning.
Crap!
I hurry to the kitchen and pull Beau’s dinner out of the oven. The bottoms of the large shells are blackened, but I dish them up anyway.
Scooting against the back of the sofa, I take a sip of wine before putting a forkful of crispy burnt pasta into my mouth, and it’s the best charred pasta I’ve ever eaten.
It tastes of possibilities, a better future for myself than I know to dream for, and I know—deep down—that it’s all going to be just fine.
Chapter 2
Quinn
I can’t wipe the smile from my face as I watch my best friend, Alma, dance with Amos, an expression of true joy on her face. It fills my heart with happiness to see genuine contentment in her expression. She deserves it. We’re a month shy from the four-year anniversary of her husband’s death, and though her daughter brings her joy, a part of her has just been going thr
ough the motions these past few years. She’s great at hiding it, but I can tell she’s been forcing one too many smiles.
Not now, though. The grin on her face is real.
Alma and Amos shocked many people moments ago when Alma thanked Amos for her surprise twenty-eighth birthday party with a kiss, but not me. I’ve always known something was between them. Well…perhaps I believed Alma’s insistence that they were nothing more than friends at the beginning of freshman year when I dated Amos.
Gosh, that seems like an eternity ago.
Okay, I will say that after my short fling with Amos, I sensed something between them, a deeper than friendship connection, especially in the way Amos has been here for her these past four years. He’s a gem, a true saint if you ask me. I don’t know how Alma would’ve gotten through everything without him. Perhaps, Alma’s feelings are just emerging for him, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s loved her forever. Regardless, I’m thrilled that they’re dating.
“She looks good. Doesn’t she?”
His voice causes me to freeze, and I pull in a startled breath. I’d know that voice from anywhere and the gorgeous man attached to it.
But the thing is, I don’t want to know that his eyes are a rich blue, the shade of the deep, infinite ocean. I hate that I know his dirty blond hair is going to be brighter than usual from the July sun. When I turn to take him in, his olive skin is going to be darker than normal, having been kissed by the summer rays.
I’ve memorized all his features, and I hate that I have.
It’s impossible to forget anything about him when he visits me in my dreams almost every night. He’s my secret obsession. I haven’t told a soul about my real attraction to him and never will because it doesn’t matter. I can’t do anything about it.
I grip the stem of my wineglass as if it’s going to ground me in some way and slowly turn toward him. He pulls out the seat next to me and sits down at the table.
I swallow and force a smile. “Yeah, she looks really happy.”
“Right? It’s awesome.” He grins, and my heart stutters.
My gaze drops to his mouth and full lips, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Pull yourself together, Quinn. I take a sip of wine and look back toward the dance floor.
“She deserves all the happiness in the world.”
I can see Ollie nodding in my peripheral. “She does.”
Oliver Hale was Alma’s late husband Leo’s NA, Narcotics Anonymous, sponsor for about five years when Leo was still here. He and Leo were close, and Ollie became a part of the family. Alma has a way of making all the important people in her life more like family than mere friends. She’s built this sense of community with the people most important to her, and Ollie Hale is one of them. So it makes sense that he still comes around and is still included in events even though Leo is gone.
But it’s hard.
I met Oliver about eight years ago at Leo and Alma’s old house in Ypsilanti, across from Eastern Michigan University’s campus, and I felt this immediate attraction to him. I blew it off as a mere crush, of which I’m very familiar with. I’m a flirty person by nature and have had many crushes and short flings that didn’t lead anywhere. I’ve never acted on my attraction toward Ollie.
At the beginning, it would’ve been awkward because he was there to support Leo and help him stay sober. It simply wouldn’t have been appropriate to fool around with him. Now, after seeing what loving an addict can do to a person, there’s no way I can go there—no matter how insanely irresistible I find him.
There’s something about him that leaves no doubt in my mind that Oliver Hale could never be just a fling. If I let him in, he’d take hold of my heart and own it forever. There’d be no going back. Yet the more I attempt to push Ollie from my mind, the more he takes up residence in my dreams. I hate the control that he has over me. The funny thing is, no one knows about it but me.
Sure, Alma’s known since the beginning that I think he’s cute, but I’ve always played it off as nothing serious, a simple attraction. I’d be blind not to recognize how handsome he is. So no one suspects anything.
I’m afraid giving voice to my feelings—my real feelings—would somehow make them a reality, and I much prefer my current state of pretending it’s all in my head.
“What’ve you been up to since May? Last time I saw you was at Love’s third birthday, where, oddly enough, this song was playing on repeat.” He chuckles, looking toward the speakers where Angela Lansbury sings Beauty and the Beast from the Disney cartoon’s soundtrack.
His comment makes me laugh. “I’m sure Love requested it. She has a mild obsession with this movie,” I say of Alma’s three-year-old daughter.
Ollie shakes his head, and the side of his mouth tilts up. “Someday, when I have kids, they’re going to request Green Day, Smashing Pumpkins, and the Stone Temple Pilots, not this trash.”
It’s weird to hear him talk about having kids. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him in a relationship. He’s never once mentioned a girlfriend, and now that I really think about it, that’s odd. He’s so nice and gorgeous—surely there have been women interested in him over the years. Perhaps, he’s really private about that part of his life, or maybe he doesn’t date as part of his NA sponsor role. I’m not sure, but I can’t deny that hearing him mention his future children does something to me. My insides twist, causing jitters to rise from my belly up to my heart.
“Kids like what they like.” I shrug, playing it cool. “My sister’s daughter is obsessed with the baby shark song, and I’m telling you that Disney soundtracks are better than baby shark any day.”
“That may be true, but I think that kids learn to love what they’re exposed to, so I’ll pull out all my old CDs and play them on repeat.” He raises a brow and catches me in his stare. “What?” he scoffs. “What does your look mean?”
I hadn’t realized I was giving him a look, but I’ve always been told that my thoughts and judgments are written all over my face.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I guess it’s weird to hear you talk about your future kids. I didn’t peg you as the Dad type.”
My statement isn’t meant to be negative. Ollie is a free spirit. He reminds me of a stereotypical surfer, out to catch the waves and chill out with his friends at the beach. Were we to live in Hawaii or anywhere near an ocean, I picture him spending his days out on the water. Since we live in Michigan, I suppose his motorcycle is his version of a surfboard. There’s also the fact that he would have to be serious with a woman to have children and a family, which I’ve yet to see, either. One would think that at thirty-eight, he’d have settled down by now if that was something he wanted.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Quinn Kirkpatrick.” He raises a brow, and his full lips pucker slightly. His response is weighted, and I can’t help but feel he’s saying more with that statement than I know.
The way in which my name falls from his lips turns my insides to mush, but as always, I pretend it doesn’t. “Maybe.” I hold his stare in my best attempt to come off as unaffected.
His tongue pokes out and licks his lips before he absentmindedly pulls the bottom corner of his lip between his teeth. Intrigued attraction flares as my chest swells. I bring my wineglass to my mouth and tear my gaze from his, the intensity in the connection too raw.
I watch as Love dances with her grandma, Leo’s mother, on the dance floor, and Alma sways to the music in Amos’s arms.
Ollie taps the pads of his fingers against the top of my hand, regaining my attention. “Hey, are you okay?”
I turn to him, startled. “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shakes his head, squinting his eyes. “I don’t know. You seem off, like something’s on your mind.”
“Nope. I’m good.”
He lets out a dry chuckle. “I’m not really buying it. You know I’m good at reading people. It’s one of the reasons I’m a decent sponsor. I can tell when there�
�s something under the surface that’s not being said.”
I raise my brows. “Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but your people-reading skills are off today because I’m fine. There’s nothing I want to say.” My mouth feels dry with the lie.
He’s right. There’s so much I want to say and want to know about him, but any information he could give me would only fuel this unhealthy obsession I have with him. My subconscious would take our conversation, his mild interest in my feelings, as a sign of something more. And there’s nothing more. He’s just Ollie, steadfast and friendly, as always. It’s who he is and why he is a great sponsor. He genuinely cares about people.
“You don’t get paid for being a NA sponsor, right?” The question leaves my lips before I can remind myself that the less I know about Ollie, the better.
“No, of course not.”
“So what do you do to pay the bills?”
“I fix bikes.” He eyes me, and I can tell my question confuses him.
I’ve heard him talk about working on motorcycles in the past, multiple times. I guess I thought it was a hobby. It never dawned on me that it was his career.
“Oh, yeah, I knew that. I guess I didn’t realize there was money in that. I figured it was a hobby. Sorry.” I scrunch up my nose. “Is there money in that?”
“Yeah.” He laughs. “I make money.”
“Oh, okay.” I pause for a moment. “So you’re a mechanic for motorcycles?”
He nods. “Yeah, but more than repairs, I do custom work and rebuilds. In Quinn terms, I make people’s bikes fancy.”
“Ahh,” I exclaim. “You’re like a bike designer.”
“Sure,” he agrees, and the corner of his mouth tilts up in a smile.
“That’s cool.”
“I like it.” He shrugs and scans the party before changing the subject. “Where’s your guy? Couldn’t make it again?” he asks, and I’m reminded of when he inquired about Beau’s whereabouts at Love’s birthday party a couple of months ago. At the time, the breakup was fresh, and I didn’t want to get into it, so I had simply told him that Beau couldn’t make it.