Dylan
While Marie’s line rang, I stared out of the window onto the Georgian and Edwardian buildings of Portland Place. The views of the Georgian terraces from the Langham in London were very different from the views of the river from Beth’s hotel room in Chicago. But I knew Beth didn’t stay there for the view. It was all about the cakes and desserts. Even though I was in London, staying at the Langham brought me closer to her somehow.
“Marie, can you arrange to have my laptop couriered to me? And can you speak to Dawn and ask her to pack my things for a two-week trip? Also, send the luggage already in my hallway as well.” Dawn was my housekeeper who came in three times a week.
“You’re going to be in London two weeks?” Marie asked.
“I don’t know.” I’d stay for as long as it took. “But it will be as if I’m there. No need to cancel anything. I’ll do everything on video or phone. Can you put me through to Raf?”
“No problem.”
“Dylan, what’s going on?” Raf asked when he came on the line.
“I’m in London—”
“What the fuck? We’ve got that tech start-up coming in in an hour.”
“I know. I’ll dial in. Look, I think I’m going to be here a while, I just . . . I’ll handle everything from here. Marie is couriering my laptop and stuff to me. I can work remotely. You won’t notice I’m gone.”
“Of course I’m going to notice you’re gone. We have a mountain of work here, all these strategic plans to review. You never take vacations, so why the sudden trip? Are you trying to screw with me?” Raf and I rarely argued and the last thing I wanted was to fuck things up with him as well.
I took a deep breath. “I fucked things up with Beth and I need to set things straight.” Somewhere along the way, Raf and I had stopped talking about personal shit. He teased me about being celibate from time to time, and I made sure I told him he was a man-whore on a regular basis, but other than that, everything had been about business between us for a long time.
But now I needed a friend. “I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid I’ve lost her.”
Raf sighed. “What did you do?”
“What didn’t I do? She caught me having lunch with Alicia yesterday.”
“What do you mean caught you? I was there; Alicia forced you into having lunch with her. That wasn’t your fault.”
That wasn’t entirely true. “Yeah but I should have told Beth before I went. In fact, I just shouldn’t have gone.”
“You really like her, don’t you?”
“I love her, man.”
“Wow. Well, good for you. So lunch with an ex isn’t a great idea, but it’s not a capital offense as far as I can see. Can’t you just explain it to her?” Raf was very black and white. It was part of the reason his relationships never lasted. If only life were that simple.
“And then there’s Raine Media. I never got around to telling her we owned it.”
“You fucktard.” Raf had a knack of getting right to the heart of the problem. He hadn’t lost his touch. I was a fucktard.
The corners of my mouth twitched as if remembering how to smile.
“So when you told her, she went postal?”
I shrugged off my jacket. “If only. The Sun-Times ran an article about how she was sleeping with her boss.”
“Jesus, man, that’s how she found out?”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “That’s how she found out. She wants nothing to do with me and it’s killing me. I can’t leave London until I sort this shit out. I need you to cut me some slack. I’ll be able to get through loads of stuff in the mornings here while you’re still sleeping. I’m not going to leave you to hold the fort—I’m not that stupid.”
“I know it sounds weird, but I’m fucking ecstatic. I mean not that Beth wants nothing to do with you. That part blows. But the fact you care enough about someone to go after them? I wasn’t sure it would happen, and as much is it stings now, I’m pleased for you.”
Raf might be an asshole when it came to women, but he was a good friend. I’d missed this side of him. “She isn’t just someone, and I’m not just finally getting back on the horse. Whatever Alicia and I had doesn’t come close to what I feel for Beth.” I sat on the bed. “I feel like a fucking douche for hating Alicia for so long. She set me free. I couldn’t be more grateful, but if I don’t make it right with Beth, this is the woman I’ll never recover from.” Telling Raf was like going to confession; it felt good to explain the gravity of the situation.
“Then you gotta do what you gotta do. You’ve got plenty of weapons in your arsenal. She won’t be able to resist you for long.”
“I don’t know about that. Honesty is the most important thing for her, and I’ve just trampled on that. I don’t know if I can ever get her back.” A darkness tugged at my chest. Losing Beth forever was too painful to think about. She’d brought me to life, and I didn’t want to go back to an existence without her.
“Look, we’ve built our considerable fortunes on turning the shitty situations companies find themselves in into million-dollar opportunities. You’ve just got to apply the same planning and precision to your personal life. I know you can turn this around.”
Perhaps he was right. My instinct was just to camp on her doorstep and beg her forgiveness constantly. But maybe I needed to be slightly more strategic, a little more patient. Perhaps I needed to give her the time she’d asked for.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime you need me to call you a fucktard, you know I’m here. Now fuck off, I’ve got a meeting to prepare for.”
I managed a half-chuckle. “I’ll call to you in the meeting.”
I hung up, and went straight to the phone on the low table by the sofa and dialed room service. Perhaps eating a lot of sugar would assist me in coming up with a plan to win around Beth, and get my life back.
I’d been in London a little over two weeks, and I had something of a routine now. I got up and went for a run. On my way back through the hotel, I’d place an order for four cakes and desserts to go. Then I’d shower, grab my laptop and head down to collect the patisserie box. This morning, like the last fifteen before them, the doorman flagged me a cab.
A few minutes later, he’d drop me at the café across the street from Beth’s building, where I came every day. I’d not spoken to Beth; I was trying to be patient, but I was having a hard time of it. I missed her. I wanted some kind of reassurance that she’d forgive me, someday.
“An Americano with a chocolate biscotti?” the waitress asked.
“Yes, please.”
Beth left her building around ten every day. The first couple of times I’d seen her from my seat in the café, my heart had pinched as I took in her sad eyes and turned-down mouth. I’d taken joy from her and couldn’t have felt worse about it.
When I was sure she wasn’t coming back, I paid for my coffee and biscotti, then slipped inside her building to deliver my gift. The security guard had taken pity on me, and as long as I made my entrance when no one was looking, he was happy to let me in. I made my way up to her floor, taking in a deep breath in the hope of catching the scent of her hair.
The doors pinged open and I headed left toward her apartment. I set the box down on her welcome mat. The print of a giant pink cupcake on the mat always made me smile. I’d started to wonder if I should be leaving her a note along with the cakes. I didn’t want to push her, but I wanted her to know I was here.
I turned back to the elevator and pressed the down button. Sometimes I went back to the café, but lingering felt increasingly like I was stalking Beth. Today I’d just go back to the hotel. I’d set up a virtual office there, and I had a day of calls that would take me late into the London night.
As the doors to the elevator opened, I came face-to-face with Beth.
She took my breath away. Her smooth, pale skin with the flash of red lipstick contrasted so perfectly with her almost black hair. But there was an unfamiliarity in her eyes that was like a knife to my chest.
We both froze, not knowing what to say or how to react.
“I was just leaving,” I said as the doors started to close. I moved to one side and held them open so she could get off.
She stepped out of the elevator, her eyes firmly on the ground. “I didn’t realize you came each day.”
“You didn’t think the cakes were from me?”
“I thought you’d be in Chicago. I assumed you had them delivered.” Her voice was small as she continued to stare at the ground, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I drank her in, desperate at having spent the last two weeks without her.
“I told you that I wasn’t going until we had a chance to talk. I can’t give up. You mean too much. You’ve become the reason I get up in the mornings.” I took a breath. How could I convince her to give us a second chance? “Tell me it’s not too late. Tell me you can imagine not being together, because when I shut my eyes, all I see in my future is you.”
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t leave either. I wanted to reach out to touch her; I wanted so desperately to feel her skin against mine.
“It’s hard, Dylan. I need to keep my heart safe. I can’t go back to how I was—weak and vulnerable. You know that.”
She didn’t feel her heart was safe with me? I cringed. “I’m so sorry, my sweet. Tell me what to do.”
She lifted her eyes slightly, but she still didn’t look at me. “I don’t have an answer for you. You should be in Chicago. Raf and—”
“I need to be wherever you are.” I reached for her, but she shrank away and turned. “Try to imagine your life when we’re not together. If you can do that, then tell me and I’ll walk away, broken, but I’ll be out of your life forever.”
“Don’t, Dylan. I can’t. Not yet.”
Nausea seeped into every part of my body as she went out of sight. I stumbled into the elevator. I needed to be able to breathe, needed fresh air. What got to me the most was that Beth didn’t sound angry. Her voice was full of sadness. Anger I could have coped with, but that look of disappointment on her face killed me over and over again.
Walking back to the hotel, replaying our encounter in my head, I cringed. What were her words? Don’t, Dylan. I can’t. But there’d been something after that. Not yet. My heart pounded as rain dampened my hair. Not yet implied that there was a future. But for what?
To speak?
To touch?
Jesus, waiting without any promise of resolution was killing me. I was so used to getting what I wanted, when I wanted it. Beth had turned everything on its head for me in every way.
Beth
I looked down at my doorstep to the now-familiar pink-striped patisserie box from the Langham. It had been a little over a week since I’d run into Dylan. How long would the daily deliveries continue? Right or wrong, I enjoyed receiving them. It took the edge off my sadness that he seemed so genuinely sorry.
“What’s that?” Haven asked.
“Cake.”
“Is that a regular delivery?”
“I guess you could say so.” I stooped to collect the box. “It’s from Dylan.”
“Really? How do you know? Do you get them a lot?”
“Every day.” I put my key in the lock.
“He has them sent every day? Seriously? That’s so sweet.”
“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side. And he doesn’t send them, he delivers them.” I opened the door and put the box on the console table while I took off my coat. Haven was unusually quiet. She’d come over because she wanted a hand making a birthday cake for Jake. I got the impression it was just an excuse; she wasn’t much of a baker.
Haven dumped the shopping bags she’d been carrying on the counter and started to unpack. “Shall I put these in the fridge?” She held up two blocks of butter.
“No. First rule of baking is that everything has to be at room temperature when you start.”
I set Dylan’s delivery next to the shopping and opened the box. I swear he must be making special requests. There was no way the Langham had such variety.
“Whatcha got?” Haven peered over my shoulder. “Wow, they look good. Does he pick them out himself?”
I shrugged. The Bakewell tart looked delicious. There were a couple of things I didn’t recognize. I resisted the temptation to dig in, closed the lid and put them in the refrigerator.
“So, he’s in London?” Haven asked. “I mean, if he’s delivering you cake every day . . .”
I thought it was a little odd Haven hadn’t focused on that fact. “Yeah, I think so.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. He said . . .” He’d said he’d wait for as long as it took, but he’d have to go back to Chicago soon, wouldn’t he? I should be pleased, but as much as I couldn’t bring myself to have a conversation with him, I was glad he was close. “He said he’d be around a while. I don’t know when he’ll go back.”
“He’s here on business?”
I was pretty sure he hadn’t abandoned his company, but I was equally sure he would be most effective in Chicago. It must be inconvenient being in London. Perhaps I didn’t want to have the final conversation because ultimately I didn’t want him to leave. And I wasn’t sure I was ready to give him up just yet. “I guess.”
“I thought you hadn’t talked since you left Chicago?”
“Grab a wooden spoon,” I said, handing Haven some caster sugar and a mixing bowl. “I ran into him a week or so ago when he was leaving the desserts. That’s how I know he’s delivering them.” I pulled out some scales from the cupboard and set them on the counter.
“Did you talk?”
“When I saw him?” Haven nodded. “Not really. I’m just so scared of ending up someone’s fool again. I feel trapped, like I can’t go back to him because it will mean going back to the old Beth who glossed over so many signs with Louis. But I can’t move forward either, because the thought of Dylan not being in my life is just too painful to contemplate.”
“But Dylan and Louis aren’t the same person. I’ve met Louis. You’re right, he might as well have ‘asshole’ tattooed on his forehead, but you were young and vulnerable and your mother had just died. You saw what you needed to see.”
Was Haven right? Would Louis have had the same effect on me if I hadn’t been grieving?
I pointed at the sugar and Haven opened it. “You’re one of the wisest people I know, but even you don’t get it right all the time. Are you sure Dylan’s not just human rather than an asshole?”
I took the bag of sugar from Haven and poured out two hundred and twenty five grams, thinking about what she’d said. Was I making Dylan pay for my previous bad judgment? “I’m not saying I’m perfect. Far from it. I’m saying the opposite.”
“I know. But I wonder if Dylan had been perfect up until then for you. He’d gotten everything right, but that was never going to last. He’s bound to fuck up, and so are you. That’s just life. You can’t expect him to be perfect any more than you can expect perfection in yourself.”
Did I want to erase the possibility of any fuck ups in my life, to try to make everything perfect?
I turned on the oven then rounded the counter and took a seat on a stool opposite Haven. “Now add two hundred and twenty five grams of the butter.” I rested my chin on my hand. Since I got sober, I’d existed in a bubble that kept me safe and happy and only allowed people I knew I could count on in. Jake was my constant. He pissed me off at times, but I never doubted his honor or his desire to see me happy. I’d immediately liked Haven, but I didn’t open up to her often. I didn’t want to put myself out there to be judged or rejected. Feelings like that didn’t belong in my bubble. In my world, I was safe and sober and happy. Steady.
As close to perfect as I could get.
“You think I’m trying to make everything too—?”
“It’s like how the pastry on an apple pie is supposed to be flaky, golden and crisp to be good. But sometimes it doesn’t come out that way. But you know what? It’s still delicious.”
“But Louis’ problem wasn’t soggy pastry.”
“No, his apples were rotten. That’s the point. Dylan’s not rotten, he’s just not perfect. Edible if you like.” Haven grinned at me and raised her eyebrows.
Dylan had been my first attempt at seeing what life was like beyond my safe haven. I’d thought he’d be a good time, a bit of fun. I hadn’t expected to fall in love with him.
Haven tipped the bowl toward me. I nodded. “Yup. Now you add the flour. The same amount as the sugar and butter.”
“Don’t you have a mixer for this shit?”
“Not for beginners. You need to feel the texture of things when you stir so you know it’s right.”
“You’re a hard-ass.”
I shrugged. “You think I’ve been too hard on Dylan?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. All I’m saying is that people fuck up, but it doesn’t mean you have to cut them out of your life. Thank God your brother is so forgiving. I can be a maniac at times.”
I grinned. I saw Haven and Jake do things they shouldn’t all the time, but they seemed to forgive each other and love each other anyway. Was that how it was supposed to be? “So you think that because of Louis, I’ve overcorrected with Dylan?”
Haven smiled. “I don’t know. Did you?”
Maybe. I’d wanted him to fit into my perfect bubble. Perhaps I should hear him out, see if there was a way through this for us. The thought was terrifying because it meant turning my world upside down and reinventing the rules I’d created for myself. But he’d been right—picturing a future without him was impossible.
“But how do I know? How do I separate asshole from human?”
Haven grinned at me. “You know as much as I do. You’re always going to get assholes. You can’t protect yourself from that. I just think that you need to dust yourself off. You’re strong; you can handle whatever life throws your way. You’ve proven that. If you hear Dylan out and feel in your heart that he’s playing a game, then toss him aside. But I don’t think he would be in London, delivering cake to your doorstep every day, if he was an asshole. The guy is lava-hot. There’s going to be no lack of women wanting to take your place. He doesn’t need to chase one halfway across the world.”
My stomach churned at the thought of Dylan with someone else. Or with Alicia. She was an idiot for the way she’d treated him. As much as I didn’t want to repeat my mistakes, I didn’t want to repeat hers, either.
“Remember,” Haven continued, “when you were accepting all the bullshit from Louis, your judgment was affected. Your true feelings were covered by the booze.”
I let Haven’s words sink in. Perhaps sobriety meant I could trust my heart. I reached for my phone. Should I message him? Reach out and see how my heart felt with him?
“The answer’s yes, you should text him,” Haven said.
“You a mind reader now?”
“Don’t overthink it. A message isn’t going to make or break you.”
She smiled as I hesitantly typed out a message.
Beth: Thank you for the cakes. I love Bakewell tart.
I hadn’t put my phone down before it buzzed in reply.
Dylan: I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I want to be the man you deserve.
My heart squeezed and my stomach flip-flopped. There was no question that he still had a hold over my body, heart and soul.
“I’m guessing that wasn’t the reply of an asshole,” Haven said with a smile.
I shrugged. Maybe not.