by Leah Ashton
He still knew it was the right decision. Twenty four hours of over-thinking it hadn’t changed a thing.
But still he stalled.
He ran his fingers along the wall. The surface was smooth, but—
A loud crash stopped Seb in his tracks.
The series of crashes that followed had him racing down the stairs, his boots a loud staccato on the bare boards.
Outside, it was now almost dark, but Seb could still make out Mila inside her shop, her pale apron a contrast to the dark wooden floor. He knocked on the shop window and her head jerked upwards, her eyes wide.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
She nodded her head, but Seb was less than convinced.
Behind him, the street light came on, and for a moment—just before Mila glanced away—it revealed a river of tears on her cheeks.
Immediately Seb went to the door—of course it was locked.
‘Mila, please let me in.’
She didn’t look at him through the glass as she unlocked the door, or as she opened it, or even as he stepped through the doorway. Nor as she turned her back to close the door, and to lock it in a series of clunks and clicks.
But she did when she turned around.
She looked right at him—and then threw herself into his arms.
Mila pressed herself tight against him, wrapping her hands behind his neck and burying her face in his chest. He hugged her tightly—as close as he could.
‘Mila, please tell me what’s wrong.’
‘Would you believe,’ she said against the fabric of his T-shirt, ‘that this is all because I broke a few vases?’
‘No,’ Seb said.
‘Didn’t think so,’ she said, her words muffled.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. Her tears had smudged her make-up, so she had dark patches beneath each eye.
‘No.’ A beat. ‘Yes.’ She half smiled, then sighed. ‘My dad,’ she said. ‘He called. Let me down—spectacularly this time.’
She’d loosened her hold on Seb, but hadn’t made any move to step away.
‘What did he do?’ Seb asked, his words hard-edged.
‘Well!’ she said, expansively. ‘It’s quite a story. But the condensed version is this: my dad called me tonight to tell me he’s married a woman I’ve never heard of and they’re having a baby. Isn’t that great?’
Seb swore harshly.
He hadn’t thought it was possible to hate Mila’s father more than he already did—but, yes, it clearly was.
‘I am so sorry, Mila.’
She nodded again—a short, sharp movement. ‘Me too,’ she said.
She looked at him for a while, exploring his face, as if she was going to say more. Her tears had stopped, but her cheeks were shiny with their remnants.
Eventually, she just smiled. ‘I’m starving—should we order dinner?’
He hadn’t planned to stay. He’d planned a different conversation entirely. But he couldn’t have that conversation now—not after Blaine’s phone call.
‘Sure,’ he said, and followed her up the stairs.
And—while he would do anything to prevent Mila’s dad hurting her ever again—he couldn’t pretend he was anything but grateful to have more time with Mila.
* * *
Mila had fallen asleep on the couch. Her head rested just beside his shoulder, pillowed against the cushions.
He’d barely watched the movie; his concentration had been focused on Mila. Her tears had dried, and she’d laughed when she’d seen the mess of her make-up in her bathroom mirror. Her face was now scrubbed clean, and Seb could just see the tiniest of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He’d seen them before—he now knew every inch of Mila Molyneux’s body—but tonight they seemed particularly beautiful. Particularly poignant. Mila always washed her face before bed. So those freckles spoke of early-morning kisses, of sleepy cuddles and of making love before work.
All things he would never get to experience with her again.
Mila blinked and her eyes fluttered open. She shifted, resting her weight on her hands and leaning, just slightly, towards him. She was exploring his face—her gaze like a touch against the length of his nose, his cheekbones, his jaw, his lips.
‘Kiss me,’ she said, so softly.
A better man would’ve refused. It wasn’t right, given his decision. But in the end the words he needed to say escaped him.
Her name fell from his lips just before they touched hers, his voice rough and jagged. He didn’t kiss her politely. No—he kissed her as if all the reasons he shouldn’t no longer existed. As if all that mattered was the part of him that needed Mila—needed her mouth and her hands and her freckles. That needed her smile and her wit and her drive.
Her mouth was equally desperate against his, as were her hands—tangled in his hair, shoved beneath his shirt. Hot and needy and frantic.
Now she was on top of him, sitting up to drag her T-shirt off over her head. She was so beautiful. So perfect.
Her skin was heaven beneath his hands and mouth, his skin hot beneath her touch. They both still wore too many clothes, but the narrow couch was making it almost impossible for Seb to move without tipping them both onto the floor.
So instead, in one movement, he stood, scooping Mila up into his arms. She laughed against his neck, then kissed his jaw as he strode towards her room.
‘I told you I’d always carry you to bed,’ he said.
And with that everything stopped.
Mila went completely still—for a split second. And then she was struggling, pushing against his chest.
‘No,’ she said.
Immediately he let her go, standing her gently on the floor.
She practically ran from him, searching the small room for her shirt. She kept her back to him as she pulled it over her head—and the contrast of that gesture with its counterpart only minutes ago was as pointed as a blade to Seb’s chest.
He had no idea what he’d done wrong. ‘What’s going on, Mila?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t do this any more. You need to go.’
She was right. But... ‘I can’t.’
‘Really?’ she said, crossing her arms.
He’d never seen Mila like this before—with such nothingness in her gaze.
‘What does that mean? Because I don’t have time for empty promises, or for romantic gestures without substance.’ She glared at him. ‘“I told you I’d always carry you to bed,”’ she mocked. ‘Right.’
‘I meant that,’ he said.
And he had.
None of this was anywhere close to what he’d planned. But he couldn’t lie to Mila.
Maybe he could no longer lie to himself.
Mila laughed. ‘Save your smooth moves for a woman you actually want to have a relationship with, Seb.’
‘But I do want to have a relationship with you,’ he said, the realisation hitting him as forcefully as a semi-trailer. ‘Very much.’
This silenced her. For a moment he thought that maybe it would be okay. That he’d seen a flicker in the flatness of her expression.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not today, Seb. You are not going to pretend that you want me—not today.’
‘I’m not pretending anything.’
He was standing near the hallway and he stepped towards her, hating being so far away. But she held up her hand, stopping him in his tracks.
‘It doesn’t matter, anyway,’ Mila said. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be “not just friends”, or your girlfriend, or your anything any more.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he said.
She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Don’t be so arrogant.’
&
nbsp; But he wasn’t going to let her do this. Not now.
‘I think I’ve worked it out,’ Seb said. ‘What happened down in the workshop the other day...why I hated it that you wanted to hide us from Ivy.’
Mila was doing her best to look bored. ‘I don’t care,’ she said.
‘When it was you hiding us from Ivy it was all about what I wanted—I wanted those close to us to know about us, so I was hurt. But then—when you made it clear that you wanted more than what we had, that you were invested in us...’ Mila was determinedly not looking at him, but he couldn’t stop. ‘Well, then it wasn’t just me who could get hurt. And that was the problem—suddenly I held the potential to hurt you in my hands, and I couldn’t deal with it.’
His pain didn’t matter—he was used to oceans of it—but Mila’s? He’d do anything to protect her.
‘So you didn’t want a relationship with me for my own good?’ she said, raising an eyebrow.
‘It seemed more noble in my head,’ he said.
‘And not as condescending?’
‘Yes, that too,’ he agreed, attempting a small smile.
Mila just narrowed her eyes. But she did move—striding towards him. She stopped just out of reach, her body radiating emotion.
‘So you’ve decided that you can deal with the concept of us going out? Of us telling the world we’re together?’
He nodded.
She nodded too, with the slightest of smiles. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘That’s all fine. And I probably would’ve been happy with that any other day than today. But today that’s not enough for me.’
After what had happened with her dad.
‘Mila—’
She wasn’t listening.
‘I shouldn’t let him hurt me so much,’ she said. ‘But I keep on doing it. I’ve been allowing it for years. Decades. I just keep leaving myself wide open.’
‘Mila, it’s not your fault—’
‘It’s taken me too long, but I’ve finally learned something from all Dad’s years of crappy behaviour: I deserve better than that. I deserve to be prioritised and appreciated and loved. And I’m not going to accept anything else. From anyone.’
Finally Seb began to work out where Mila was headed with this. He met her determined gaze, painfully aware of the beat of his heart in his chest.
‘Tell me if I’m going out on a limb, here, but my guess is that even though you say you want to be my boyfriend, you haven’t thought all that far ahead. You’re just thinking about the fun stuff: about messing about on the couch, nice dinners, barbecues with friends where you introduce me as your girlfriend. Right?’
Seb didn’t move, but Mila knew.
‘What about the other stuff? What about in three months’ time? In twelve? Are we going to move in together?’
‘Mila, I just thought we’d see how things go first—’
‘And if we move in together, then what? Are we going to get engaged? Married? Get a dog? Have a kid?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. You don’t know either. We can’t know—not yet.’
Seb felt as if he teetered on the edge of a watery abyss, helpless to step anywhere but over the edge.
‘Of course not,’ Mila said, almost kindly. ‘But we can know if any of those things are on the agenda. Or even the vaguest possibility.’ She paused. ‘So—just to be perfectly clear—are they on your agenda? With me?’
‘This isn’t fair, Mila. I lost Steph less than two years ago. The last thing I’m thinking about is getting married again.’
He didn’t understand why Mila was doing this.
‘I get that—I do,’ she said. ‘Of course I do. And I’m not expecting a proposal any time soon. But how about the other bits? The house, the dog—you know. The stuff people do when things get serious. When they’re committed to each other.’
He hadn’t thought about this—about any of this. Fifteen minutes ago he’d been working out how he was going to walk away from Mila for ever.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’ It was all he could manage, and he knew exactly how pathetic those words were.
‘I just need a yes or a no, Seb. It’s not difficult.’
But it was. For him and for her. He could see it in her face—could see that slight wobble to her gaze.
There was nowhere else to go—the abyss beckoned. Mila deserved the truth.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No. None of that is on my agenda.’
He just couldn’t do it. Ever again. To Mila or to himself.
‘With me,’ Mila clarified.
‘With anyone.’
She shook her head. ‘No. With me. I’m the only one asking you.’
She wasn’t meeting his gaze now. Instead she studied the wall over his shoulder, and the light fittings. The floor.
‘You don’t understand, Mila, it’s not about you—’
‘Oh, God, Seb—do you hear yourself? Of course it’s about me. It’s always about me.’
Her voice cracked, and that just about killed him. But she didn’t want to hear anything he said. And he didn’t think he could even explain. How could she possibly know the emptiness he was trying to shield her from? Why couldn’t she see how great what they already had was? Why ruin it with complications? With plans for the future?
‘Why are you doing this, Mila? We’ve been together for no time at all. How can you possibly know that all those things are what you want? After just a few weeks?’
Now she finally came closer. She stood right in front of him, tilting her chin upwards to meet his gaze, her lovely eyes framed with her long naked eyelashes.
‘It’s not been weeks, Seb. It’s been years.’
‘Years?’
‘Since before you kissed me behind the surf club.’
She closed her eyes and he watched her take a long, deep, breath.
‘I’ve loved you since I was thirteen.’ She laughed. ‘Just to clarify—then it was hormonal, teenage infatuation. Then later it was platonic—with some effort. But now...’
‘Love?’ he repeated, shocked to his core.
‘Yes,’ Mila said. ‘Love. It’s taken me a while to work it out, but I knew the moment I looked out through my shop window tonight to see you standing outside...I knew. I wanted you with me in that moment more than anyone else in the world. I want you with me in most of my moments, actually. And I guess that’s love, isn’t it?’
Seb had absolutely nothing to say. His brain was desperately attempting to compute what she’d just told him.
‘And if I love you then I’m not going to go through the charade of having fun and saying meaningless things about not being good at relationships. All that armour is ineffective, anyway—no matter how hard I try. I’m not going to be with you if the only possible outcome is you hurting me. I’ve had enough of that. I’ve had enough of allowing that. My dad, Ben. You. I’m done.’
Seb supposed this was the point when he could deny everything that Mila had said. When he could reach across the small distance between them and drag her into his arms—when he could tell her that she was being ridiculous and that he loved her too, that he’d never, ever hurt her...
But none of that would be true.
He loved Mila. He’d loved her for ever. But had it changed from the love of childhood friends? Was he in love with her?
It didn’t matter, anyway, did it?
Because he knew the second part wasn’t true. He knew he couldn’t tell her he wouldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t even tell her that he’d do his best to try not to... Because even that would be a lie.
He would hurt her. It was inevitable.
Once he’d loved Steph with all his heart, but he’d still driven her away. To drugs. To her death.
When it came to relationships
he was unfixable. And Mila deserved so much more.
‘I’m so sorry, Mila,’ he said.
Then he left—because he had to.
And deep in his abyss Seb was drowning.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
STEPH’S BIRTHDAY WAS only a couple of weeks before Christmas.
Mila’s pottery classes had finished up a week earlier, but the shop was still incredibly busy, with Sheri and Mila often both needed to manage the constant stream of customers.
With so much demand, and no time to escape to her workshop during the day, Mila had started working late into the night. She’d managed to replace her window display of vases, but she still needed more to maintain a reasonable amount of stock. It was a really good problem to have—although that didn’t make Mila any less exhausted.
If she was honest, though, Mila wasn’t sure how much sleeping she would’ve been doing, anyway. Because—unless she was so tired she collapsed into her bed and into oblivion—it was in the darkness that her thoughts would drift to Sebastian.
It made her angry that they did that. It had been a week now, and she was still wasting her precious time on Seb. Which was pointless.
She’d done the right thing—she knew that. She’d already known she’d needed to walk away, but now she knew exactly why.
It wasn’t about avoiding hurt, or rejection.
It was about love.
She deserved love. Nothing less was acceptable.
‘Mila?’
Mila had been staring out of the window, her gaze unfocused on the passing traffic.
Sheri grinned. ‘You look off with the fairies.’
Mila shook her head, trying to refocus. She’d been leaning against the counter, and now took a step back, running her hands through her curls. ‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Take the rest of the afternoon off,’ Sheri said. ‘I’ll be fine.’
The shop was currently empty, but Mila knew it wouldn’t last. ‘No, I can’t do that. It’s not fair on you.’
‘Staying here isn’t fair on you,’ Sheri said, more softly. ‘I know what day it is,’ she added. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’