again.
“I do. But since my dad was first diagnosed, it’s been an up and down battle. I can’t leave him.”
“But, he’s better, right?”
“For now, yes.”
I drop the subject because her eyes glisten. And I don’t want the little time we have together spent on her focusing on her dad.
Disappointment knots in my chest. What is it with this woman? I should worry about my addiction to her. She’s everything I don’t need right now, but everything I want.
Chapter Twelve
Aspen
How do you put a fire out with gasoline?
You don’t. You let it burn.
I’m trying to continue my life as if Ryker Dallas didn’t storm into it and monopolize my daytime thoughts and nighttime dreams.
See, gasoline.
I whimper, ending it with an exhausted sigh, knowing I messed up. Even the cookies I’m baking remind me of him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man with a sweet tooth like his. I’ve baked him an extra dozen for the past few days. I thought he’d be sick of cookies by now, but I think it’s made his cravings worse.
Even the island’s whispers haven’t stopped me. Dante has kept his distance and I’m not even sure why. The horrible part, I don’t care because I’m too caught up in Ryker.
I swore I wouldn’t do this again.
The cookie pan slams into the rear of the oven and a couple balls of cookie dough bounce off the sheet. Calm down, Aspen. I carefully use tongs to grab the balls from the bottom of the oven, between the hot coils, and toss them in the trash.
“I’m afraid to know what that sheet did to you.” I startle at the male voice.
“Dante,” I say, holding my mitten covered hand over my frantic heartbeat. He steps inside, dressed in his normal attire. Bright floral shirt with plaid shorts. At some point, he’ll learn they don't match. “What are you doing here?” If it wasn’t five in the morning, there wouldn’t be a question.
He shrugs, a somber expression on his face. “I haven’t seen you in a few days, so I thought I’d drop in to say hi.”
I throw the mitten on the counter and level him with a scrutinizing stare. “At five a.m.?”
“I knew you’d be home, baking.” As opposed to being with Ryker. I guess he’s not wrong. I have been spending my free time with him the last three days.
Silence hangs between us, and I hate it. It’s never been this awkward between us. “What have you been up to?” I ask, breaking the silence.
He leans his elbows on the counter, clasping his hands in front of him. “Nothing new. You?”
He knows what I’ve been up to, so I don’t mention Ryker. “The Ritz increased their order by three hundred cookies a day, so I’m excited about that.”
“That’s cool.”
I huff in irritation and pivot to the sink to wash my hands. Why did he come here if he’s going to sulk? “He’ll break your heart.”
There it is. The real reason he’s here.
I stop short of drying my hands, putting the hand towel on the counter and cross my arms. “I don’t have any grand illusion that this is something more than a couple weeks of enjoying someone’s company, Dante. It’s no different from when you guys do it. Yet, no one bats an eye when that happens, but god forbid a woman allows herself to have fun with a foreigner.” The buzzer goes off behind me. Putting the mitt back on, I pull out a sheet of cookies and drop the hot metal on the stove. The metal clink echoes in my compact place, against the hushed morning. I pinch my eyes closed, the irritation growing that it’s none of his business what I do. “And it’s my heart. If it breaks, then no one has to deal with it other than me.”
Palms slap down against the counter and he stands up tall. “That’s where you’re wrong, Manu.” Slapping his chest with his fist, he continues, “I feel it, too.”
The air stills as he storms out the front door mumbling a string of curse words. I watch him out my kitchen window as his boat speeds away.
I smack my hand down, his words squeezing my already fragile heart. Why is he so mad? Hurting my best friend was never part of the plan. I don’t understand why he’s acting different with Ryker than the other foreigners I had affairs with. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t take it personally.
Ryker’s different.
I hang my head. That’s the problem.