Dreams Collide: Collide Series Book 2

by Kristina Beck

  “I can’t wait to look at our selfies from today. Can we download them onto your computer?”

  “Sure. I’ve downloaded the others already. We can do it after we eat. I want to frame the picture of you shoving a huge handful of peanut M&Ms in your mouth,” he adds smoothly.

  “Oh, and you shoving almost an entire hot dog in your mouth was any better? Ketchup-and-mustard face. Disgusting!”

  “Buuut, we don’t have a picture of it.”

  I crinkle my face in annoyance as he gestures for me to go inside.

  He chuckles behind me. “Someone gets cranky when she’s hungry.”

  I step into a narrow, compact kitchen to the right. The appliances look top-notch. I almost need sunglasses—the room sparkles, it’s so clean.

  “Your kitchen looks like a showroom. Is it because you’re anal or because you don’t use it often?”

  “Probably both. I never really wanted to cook for anybody here until you arrived looking like a pirate. Hey, maybe we should watch Pirates of the Caribbean tonight.” His eyes crinkle on the sides and his lips fold in to hold back his laughter.

  “Don’t start Mr. Instigator over there. You’re lucky my hands are full. Are you lacking sugar, or did you drink a can of sarcasm today?”

  “I think you’re the one lacking sugar.” He’s right.

  As we move farther in and put the groceries down on the tiny kitchen counter, I’m surprised to see the apartment as a whole isn’t so small, the way people claim city apartments are. It isn’t huge, but it’s the perfect size for one person.

  He points to the left and taps a door. “Here’s the bathroom when you need it.” He walks out of the kitchen which is immediately the living room and then he turns to the right. “Here’s my bedroom.”

  I peak in. There’s a king-size bed with a fluffy black-and-white checkered comforter. It taunts me to take a nap after all the walking we did today. I love naps. There’s no space for a dresser or any other furniture except one small black nightstand. Ceiling fans spin in lazy circles in each room. The wall connecting the bedroom with the living room is red brick. “I like the red brick walls. It’s unique and adds some color to your place.”

  “When I go to bed, I close the folding doors. It blocks some of the noise. You’d be surprised how loud it still is during the night. Even with the windows closed.” He opens and closes the black, squeaking doors.

  I turn slowly in the living room which includes a tiny kitchen table for two, a couch, small TV and a desk. I do a double take when I notice a staircase going down. “Do you have a basement?”

  “Not a basement. It leads to another bedroom and guest bathroom, but I use it for my rowing machine and storage. As you can see, I have no space up here for any big furniture.”

  “Two bathrooms and two floors in this small apartment, and you live so close to work. You’re spoiled rotten.”

  He opens the bags and puts the items on the counter. “Sit down and rest your feet while I cook. I don’t keep beer here, but I have wine. What will it be? Red or white?”

  I put my hand on my hip. “And who said I wanted to drink tonight? In case you don’t remember, I need to go home later.”

  He snaps his fingers. “That sucks. I was hoping I could get you drunk and take advantage of you. You ruin all the fun.” He pouts. “You said Alexa’s away this weekend for sales training. She’d never know.”

  “You’re funny. Maybe I want to take advantage of you. What do you think of that?” I poke his arm.

  “Let’s go!” He pretends to pull me to the bedroom.

  I tug him back. “You’re a real riot.” I tickle his ribs while he tries to wiggle away. “Red wine sounds good.”

  “I want to get everything ready now so we can relax while the sauce and meatballs simmer. You can sit and talk to me while I chop away. But first let me get the wine.”

  He goes downstairs and comes back with two bottles. He hands one to me with a corkscrew. “Can you open this for me please?”

  I’m not good at opening wine bottles, so it takes me several seconds. I don’t want to break the cork. I let the bottle sit open for a few minutes.

  “Want to listen to some music? I can plug in my handy.” He clears his throat. “Um…iPhone. Who’s your favorite band?” he asks while chopping the hell out of fresh parsley.

  I’m waiting for pieces to shoot over his shoulder like Edward Scissorhands.

  “One Republic. I’m not a fan of concerts, but that’s one band I’d love to see. Ryan Tedder has a voice I could listen to all day long. If he sang to me, I’d cry just like his groupies.” I close my eyes and smile.

  “A famous German actor wrote and directed a movie that had the remix of ‘Apologize’ on the soundtrack. The song became a huge hit in Europe. That’s how I heard of them the first time.”

  “That’s my favorite song by them.” I don’t push him to turn on music. I enjoy talking to him. Granted, I can still hear the muffled sounds of the city outside. Being here alone with him in his apartment is more exciting than anything else we’ve done. My craving for him increases every day. It’s hard not to hear his voice at least once a day.

  He stops his chopping madness and wipes his hands on the dishtowel hanging from his belt loop. He reaches for some onions.

  My eyes spring open as I watch him. “It’s amazing how fast you chop onions. I’d be so afraid to cut my finger off.”

  “Practice makes perfect. Believe me—I’ve cut myself plenty of times. Some of them needed stitches.” He points out one noticeable scar on his finger.

  I lift my hand up. “No need to share the details.”

  I pour us wine, and I giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” he says.

  “I’ll never be able to toast my friends, family, or you, for that matter, without locking eyes with them again. No need for more bad luck in the bedroom. Maybe that’s why I’ve had such a dry spell these last years.” I giggle again. “I have the giggles, and I haven’t had a drop of wine yet.”

  “I like you this way. Start drinking. Maybe you’ll tell me your deepest, darkest secrets.”

  “If I do, then you need to spill yours too. There’s no one way here.” His gaze slips from mine, and his good mood shifts for a moment to something I can’t name but returns within seconds. So he does have secrets.

  “Cheers!” he says. Our eyes connect, knowing our luck in the bedroom will be far from bad. I can’t wait.

  I smack him on the butt and lean against the counter. “Get back to your duties, my giant chef. I’m starving. I need food if I’m going to drink this wine.”

  He cuts up a baguette and puts the pieces in a basket.

  “Aren’t you going to wear your chef hat?” I say, only half kidding. I kind of want to see him with one on.

  “Why? Do you think it’s sexy?” He growls.

  I cock my head to the side. “I don’t know. I never thought watching a man chop vegetables would be attractive, and you proved me wrong there a few minutes ago. Why not add the hat to it?”

  “Obviously I don’t wear it at home. If I did, I’d suggest you walk out the door right now.” He aims his chin toward the door. “I’d brand myself as crazy.”

  I spread a gob of butter on a piece of baguette. “You didn’t have one on when I ate those currants.”

  He shrugs. “I took it off in the kitchen before I went to your table.”

  “One more question. Why do you always wear black?”

  “It’s only out of habit. A chef is always covered in food by the end of the day. I’d rather not see it. Working in a restaurant is the same.”

  He sautés onions and garlic as I munch away. “Hey, not too much garlic. Alexa will kick me out of our apartment when she comes home tomorrow morning. She hates when someone smells like garlic. Her nose can detect it from a mile away even a day later. It’s hysterical how angry she gets. And people say my nose is sensitive.”

  He points to the fresh parsley. “I’ll give you a bunc
h of parsley to chomp on when you go home. That’ll help. Or you’ll just look like a rabbit.”

  As he prepares the meatballs, I roam into the living room. I place my wine on the end table and plop onto the couch. “Phew. It feels good to sit.” I could get used to someone cooking for me. I love to eat food, not cook it. “Thanks for cooking, good looking. No one—well, no guy—has ever cooked for me. This is a real treat.”

  He drops the last meatball in the sauce. “I love how you talk. You make me laugh and teach me new ways to say things.”

  “What can I say? I love to entertain.” I lay my arm on the back of the couch.

  He washes his hands. “Good. Now this needs to simmer for about thirty minutes.” He sets the timer that’s on the counter. “I think the baguette will hold us over for now.”

  “It soaks up the wine, so I need to eat some more.” I scoot over to the left. “Come sit on the couch with me and relax. You deserve it.”

  He takes his wine and sits down. “Ahhh. That does feel good. I guess my dogs are barking too.” He cracks up.

  He takes my sneakers off, then lays my feet on his lap and begins to massage them. At first, I’m embarrassed he’s touching my feet. What if they smell? But no way am I pulling them away. “That feels so good. I love to have my feet and hands massaged.” I moan as I lean my head back on the couch to savor the moment. “I could get used to this. You making me dinner and now a foot massage. Doesn’t it gross you out to touch my feet? Feet are disgusting. Garlic to Alexa is what feet are to me.” I crinkle my nose.

  “I’ll never be grossed out by your feet or anything else on your body.”

  I lift my head up and notice the sweetest smile on his face. My heart quickens, but I lay my head back again before my hormones insist I do something I shouldn’t.

  “Where did you get your necklace? You wear it every day. You haven’t been playing with it as much lately. Does that mean you aren’t as nervous when you’re with me?”

  I touch my necklace softly and look at him again. “My nervousness decreases every minute I spend with you. You’re always so relaxed, which calms me down.”

  “Is there a special story behind it?”

  Should I tell him? He’d be the first person to know. The urge to tell him everything about me is intense. I inhale deeply. “My mom gave me this necklace for my sixteenth birthday. She sat me down on my bed and gave it to me when we were alone. When I opened the jewelry box, I cried. My parents never gave me something so expensive. Mom didn’t work, and Dad was a mechanic. We didn’t have a lot of money.”

  “Is that why you love purple so much?” His strong hand massages a spot that makes me want to melt into the couch.

  “Actually, purple was her favorite color. It’s my birthstone. She wanted to give me something that would remind me she’s always with me. She died before my seventeenth birthday. It’s almost like she knew she wasn’t going to be around for long. My dad and Lisa forgot my seventeenth birthday. They didn’t even notice I got my driver’s license. I almost didn’t pass, but I did it for Mom.” My heart aches thinking about it. “Anyway, it was her favorite color, so it became mine too.”

  “Anything purple makes me think of you. It brings more than a smile to my face.” His warm eyes say everything.

  “I didn’t know such a burly guy like yourself could be so sweet and romantic in a sexy kind of way.” I try to deny his honesty affects me. Do not let yourself feel anything, or you’ll get in trouble tonight.

  “I didn’t know I was a romantic either until I met you.” He tickles my foot. I yank it away in response because I can’t stand when someone tickles my feet. It’s the worst torture ever.

  He stifles a laugh. “Sorry. I’ll stop. Keep going.” He gently pulls my other foot on his lap and massages it.

  “When she gave it to me, she told me something I’ll never forget. She kneeled in front of me as I sat on my bed. She took my hand in hers and told me how proud she was of me and made me promise I’d follow my dreams to get out of New Jersey and make something of myself. To follow my desire to travel, to push myself outside my comfort zone, to go after what I want without backing down, to never be afraid of anything. She never did it herself, but she wanted me to explore the world before I was to ever settle down and have a family. She saw how smart I was in school and envied the drive I had. She knew I couldn’t handle monotony after I graduated high school.” I pause for a second to push back the light tears beginning to form. “She gave me the best gift that day, and it wasn’t the necklace. She gave me the strength and encouragement to do whatever I wanted.”

  My voice cracks as a single tear escapes and trickles down my cheek. I never cry in front of people. He wipes it away with his thumb and gently caresses my face. I touch his hand with mine and lean my face into it to enjoy the comfort of his intimate touch. “But those dreams and ambitions disappeared when she died. I deserved it. Now all I have is this necklace. I wear it every day. I don’t know when I took it off last. It’d kill me to lose it, because I’d lose her all over again.”

  His head flinches back. “Wait. What do you mean, you deserved it?”

  “Never mind. Ignore what I just said.” I spring from the couch, pissed I slipped like that. He follows me.

  He captures my hand in his and places it over his heart. “I’m not going to ignore it. Sit back down and tell me. I promise it’ll never change how I feel about you, and I won’t tell a soul.” He pulls on my hand. I follow and sit back down.

  I inhale deeply. “It was my fault that day.” I cover my face with my hands. “It was all my fault.”

  He pulls my hands away from my face. “Why would you say something like that? It was an accident. You weren’t even in the car. Right?”

  I stare at a speck on the wall. “Things happened that morning between my mom and me. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. That’s all I’m willing to say.” I scoot away from him. “Please don’t push me. I’ve never told anybody what happened.” I force back the tears that are just about to win. Don’t cry. The one tear that fell was enough.

  He remains still, and his face only reflects sympathy, not disappointment.

  I search for my bag.

  “What are you looking for?”

  I sniff in the most disgusting way. “Tissues.”

  He retrieves a box from the side table. I pull one from the box and blow my nose. His hand presses on my leg. “Please talk to me. It’s obvious you have been hiding something for years. You need to talk about it.”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m not saying anything else. This is something I can’t talk about. I never have and never will. Not to you. Not to anyone. I’m sorry I even said anything.”

  He brushes strands of hair away from my face. “Does anyone know how you torture yourself?”

  I shake my head.

  “You’ve been suffering by yourself all these years?”

  I nod. “Now you know why I went to the batting cages. I needed to find something to get my anger, regret, sadness, and every other emotion out that was draining me. I’d come home with blisters on my hands and pain in my shoulders and arms. Then I took up yoga to try to deal with it in a softer, healthier way.”

  “I can’t believe your friends and family didn’t see what you were going through. It makes me mad.” His jaw tightens.

  “In the beginning, it wasn’t easy, but once things calmed down, I slapped the smile on my face and wore it as much as I could. When I needed a moment, I’d let go behind closed doors. I’d lock myself in my bedroom and sit in my closet and cry. I spent a lot of time at my mom’s grave, begging her for forgiveness. I deserved to grieve alone. The more I hid my feelings, the easier it got. Then it became my norm. The teardrop you just saw never happens. I don’t allow myself to cry in front of people.”

  “Doesn’t anyone notice you don’t cry? Didn’t you tell me one time that your sister is a therapist? I’m sorry. It doesn’t make sense.” He shakes his head with annoyance.


  “For a long time we lived apart. We spoke mostly on the phone because we were both in different colleges. When we’re together, I’m genuinely happy. Once in a while, someone will ask why I don’t cry. I just blow it off.”

  His body stiffens. “When I’m with you, you seem happy. Is it real happiness, or is it an act?” He tips away from me and looks into my eyes uneasily.

  I grab his shirt, pull him closer, and say with complete sincerity, “I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you. What you see isn’t an act. The only thing I try to hide is my feelings for you, but you make it so hard because you’re so damn cute.” I nudge him back and let go of his shirt.

  His face softens.

  “This is difficult for me to explain. I don’t want you to think I’m not a happy person or am completely mental. As time passed, I became content with my life. I got used to it. Lisa still had moments, and I was always there for her. I finished college and graduate school. I live my life; it’s just not quite the way I imagined.”

  “Maybe you should talk to your dad and Lisa. Don’t you think you’d feel better if you opened up to them? It’s not healthy to keep it all inside.”

  I shove my hands between my legs. “No. I’d never burden them with this. Then they would feel bad. It would be one big, vicious cycle.” I close my eyes and take a few breaths. “Please don’t tell anyone. This is between you and me. Don’t make me regret telling you.”

  He takes my face in his big but gentle hands. “I swear on my life I will never tell a soul. Thank you for telling me this much. Maybe one day, you’ll trust me enough to let me in. It helps me understand you much better. And the obsession with your necklace.”

  He kisses my forehead, then pulls away. I look into his eyes, and my heart bursts open. If I’m not careful, I’m going to fall in love with him one day…if I’m not already.

  I close the gap between us, urging him to kiss me. He looks at my lips and dips his head. This is it. It’s going to happen. I don’t care anymore.

  We spring apart when the timer screeches in the kitchen.